of michigan. =mabini's decalogue for filipinos= [illustration: apolinario mabini] apolinario mabini, martyr. "thou shalt love thy country after god and they honor and more than thyself: for she is the only paradise which god has given thee in this life, the only inheritance of thy ancestors and the only hope of thy posterity." philippine press bureau washington, d. c. 1922 mabini mabini was undoubtedly the most profound thinker and political philosopher that the pilipino race ever produced. some day, when his works are fully published, but not until then, mabini will come into his own. a great name awaits him, not only in the philippines, for he is already appreciated there, but in every land where the cause of liberty and human freedom is revered. mabini was born in tanawan, province of batangas, island of luzon, p.i., of poor filipino parents, in 1864. he received his education in the "colegio de san juan de letran." manila, and in the university of santo tomas. he supported himself while studying by his own efforts, and made a brilliant record in both institutions. later he devoted his energies to the establishment of a private school in manila and to legal work. mabini came to the front in 1898 during the pilipino revolution against spain. in the subsequent revolution against the united states he became known as "the brains of the revolution." he was so considered by the american army officers, who bent every energy to capture him. he was the leading adviser of aguinaldo, and was the author of the latter's many able decrees and proclamations. mabini's official position was president of the council of secretaries, and he also held the post of secretary of the exterior. one of mabini's greatest works was his draft of a constitution for the philippine republic. it was accompanied by what he called "the true decalogue," published in the pages following. mabini's "ten commandments" are so framed as to meet the needs of filipino patriotism for all time. he also drafted rules for the organization and government of municipalities and provinces, which were highly successful because of their adaptability to local conditions. mabini remained the head of aguinaldo's cabinet until march, 1899, when he resigned. but he continued in hearty sympathy with the revolution, however, and his counsel was frequently sought. mabini was arrested by the american forces in september, 1899, and remained a prisoner until september 23, 1900. following his release, he lived for a while in a suburb of manila, in a poor nipa house, under the most adverse and trying circumstances. he was in abject poverty. in spite of his terrible suffering from paralysis, mabini continued writing. he severely criticised the government, voicing the sentiments of the filipino people for freedom. he was ordered to desist, but to this, in one of his writings to the people, he replied: "to tell a man to be quiet when a necessity not fulfilled is shaking all the fibers of his being is tantamount to asking a hungry man to be filled before taking the food which he needs." mabini's logic was a real embarrassment to the american military forces, and in january, 1901, he was arrested a second time by the americans. this time he was exiled to the island of guam, where he remained until his return to manila on february 26, 1903. mabini died in manila, of cholera, may 13, 1903, at the age of 39 years. his funeral was the most largely attended of any ever held in manila. although he died from natural causes, mabini died a martyr to the cause of philippine independence. five years of persecution left his intense patriotism untouched, but it had made his physical self a ready victim for a premature death. ="the true decalogue"= =by apolinario mabini= first. thou shalt love god and thy honor above all things: god as the fountain of all truth, of all justice and of all activity; and thy honor, the only power which will oblige thee to be faithful, just and industrious. second. thou shalt worship god in the form which thy conscience may deem most righteous and worthy: for in thy conscience, which condemns thy evil deeds and praises thy good ones, speaks thy god. third. thou shalt cultivate the special gifts which god has granted thee, working and studying according to thy ability, never leaving the path of righteousness and justice, in order to attain thy own perfection, by means whereof thou shalt contribute to the progress of humanity; thus; thou shalt fulfill the mission to which god has appointed thee in this life and by so doing, thou shalt be honored, and being honored, thou shalt glorify thy god. fourth. thou shalt love thy country after god and thy honor and more than thyself: for she is the only paradise which god has given thee in this life, the only patrimony of thy race, the only inheritance of thy ancestors and the only hope of thy posterity; because of her, thou hast life, love and interests, happiness, honor and god. fifth. thou shalt strive for the happiness of thy country before thy own, making of her the kingdom of reason, of justice and of labor: for if she be happy, thou, together with thy family, shalt likewise be happy. sixth. thou shalt strive for the independence of thy country: for only thou canst have any real interest in her advancement and exaltation, because her independence constitutes thy own liberty; her advancement, thy perfection; and her exaltation, thy own glory and immortality. seventh. thou shalt not recognize in thy country the authority of any person who has not been elected by thee and thy countrymen; for authority emanates from god, and as god speaks in the conscience of every man, the person designated and proclaimed by the conscience of a whole people is the only one who can use true authority. eighth. thou shalt strive for a republic and never for a monarchy in thy country: for the latter exalts one or several families and founds a dynasty; the former makes a people noble and worthy through reason, great through liberty, and prosperous and brilliant through labor. ninth. thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself: for god has imposed upon him, as well as upon thee, the obligation to help thee and not to do unto thee what he would not have thee do unto him; but if thy neighbor, failing in this sacred duty, attempt against thy life, thy liberty and thy interests, then thou shalt destroy and annihilate him for the supreme law of self-preservation prevails. tenth. thou shalt consider thy countryman more than thy neighbor; thou shalt see him thy friend, thy brother or at least thy comrade, with whom thou art bound by one fate, by the same joys and sorrows and by common aspirations and interests. therefore, as long as national frontiers subsist, raised and maintained by the selfishness of race and of family, with thy countryman alone shalt thou unite in a perfect solidarity of purpose and interest, in order to have force, not only to resist the common enemy but also to attain all the aims of human life. for his country and grandmother and the crow works of marshall saunders [illustration] beautiful joe's paradise $1.50 the story of the gravelys 1.50 'tilda jane 1.50 rose à charlitte 1.50 deficient saints 1.50 her sailor 1.25 for his country .50 nita: the story of an irish setter .50 [illustration] l. c. page and company new england building, boston, mass. [illustration: (courtesy of the youth's companion) "'mademoiselle, you are an american?'"] for his country and grandmother and the crow by marshall saunders author of "beautiful joe, etc." illustrated by louis meynell _and others_ [illustration] boston l. c. page & company publishers _copyright, 1900_ by perry mason & company _copyright, 1900_ by l. c. page & company (incorporated) _all rights reserved_ _fourth impression_ =colonial press= electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co boston, mass., u.s.a. [illustration: contents] page for his country 13 grandmother and the crow 41 [illustration: illustrations] page "'mademoiselle, you are an american?'" (_courtesy of the youth's companion_) _frontispiece_ "she went on gathering her sticks" 18 "'i am from california'" 21 "'you, too, love your country!'" 27 "'there is no hope'" 32 "he tried to sing with them" 36 "i saw second cousin george following him" (_courtesy of the youth's companion_) 45 "he went up softly behind him" (_courtesy of the youth's companion_) 50 "rover knew this cry" (_courtesy of the youth's companion_) 51 "'i ain't fit to die,' cried old george" 55 for his country for his country. "my country! 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee i sing!" here the singer's voice broke down, and i peered curiously around my corner of the wall. he was pacing to and fro on the river-bank--a weary-faced lad with pale cheeks and drooping shoulders. beyond him a fat french footman lay asleep on the grass, one hand loosely clutching a novel. an elderly goat, grazing nearer and nearer the man, kept a wary eye on the book, and finally seizing it, devoured it leaf by leaf. at this the weary-faced boy did not smile, and then i knew there was something the matter with him. partly because i wished to console him, partly because i was lonely, i continued the song in notes rather more cheerful than his own: "land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside let freedom ring!" the boy stood stock-still, only moving his head slightly after the manner of a bird listening to a pleasant strain. when i finished he came toward me, cap in hand. "mademoiselle, you are an american?" "no, my boy. i am a canadian." "that's next best," he said, politely. "it's better," i rejoined, smiling. "nothing is better than being an american." "you are patriotic," i observed. "if your ancestors fought with indians, and english and rebels, and if you expect to die for your country, you ought to be patriotic." i surveyed him curiously. he was too grave and joyless for a boy in a normal condition. "in youth one does not usually speak of dying," i said. his face flushed. "ah, mademoiselle, i am homesick! i have not seen america for a year." "indeed? such a patriotic boy should stay at home." "my mother wished me to finish my education abroad." "a woman should educate her children in the country in which they are to live," i said, irritably. "i guess you're most old enough to be my mother, aren't you?" he replied, gently, and with such tenderness of rebuke that i smiled irrepressibly. he had delicately intimated that if i were his mother i would not care to have him discuss me with a stranger. "i've got to learn foreign languages," he said, doggedly. "we've been here one year; we must stay one more and then go to italy, then to germany. i'm thankful the english haven't a different language. if they had, i'd have to go learn it." "and after you leave germany?" "after germany--home!" he was not a particularly handsome lad, but he had beautiful eyes, and at the word home they took on such a strange brilliance that i gathered up my parasol and books in wondering silence. "i suppose," he said, soberly, "that you will not be at the protestant church on sunday?" "probably i shall." "i don't see many people from america," he went on, turning his head so far away that i could hardly hear what he said. "there isn't anybody here who cares to talk about it. my mother, of course, is too busy," he added, with dignity. "_au revoir_, then," i said, with a smile. he stood looking quietly after me, and when i got far up the river-bank i turned around. he was adjusting a slight difference between the footman and the goat; then, followed by the man, he disappeared up one of the quaint old streets leading into the heart of the city. close beside me a little old peasant woman, gathering sticks, uncurled her stooping figure. "_bon jour, mademoiselle!_ you have been talking to the american boy." "_oui, madame._" "it is very sad," she continued, in the excellent french spoken by the peasants of the loiret department. "he comes by the river and declaims. he speaks of linkum and wash'ton. i watch from my cottage, for my daughter mathilde is housemaid at madame greyshield's, and i hear her talk. _monsieur le colonel_ greyshield is a grand officer in america; but his wife, she is proud. she brings her children to france to study. she leaves the poor man lonely. this boy is most heartbroke. mathilde says he talks of his dear country in his sleep, then he rises early to study the foreign languages, so he can more quickly go to his home. but he is sick, his hand trembles. mathilde thinks he is going to die. i say, 'mathilde, talk to madame,' but she is afraid, for madame has a will as strong as this stout stick. it will never break. it must be burnt. perhaps mademoiselle will talk." "i will, if i get a chance." the old woman turned her brown, leathery face toward the blue waters of the loire. "mademoiselle, do many french go to america for the accent?" "no; they have too much sense!" "it is droll," she went on, "how the families come here. the gentlemen wander to and fro, the ladies occupy themselves with their _toilettes_. then they travel to other countries. they are like the leaves on that current. they wander they know not whither. i am only a peasant, yet i can think, and is not one language good enough to ask for bread and soup?" and muttering and shaking her head, she went on gathering her sticks. [illustration] on sunday i looked for my american boy. there he was, sitting beside a handsomely dressed woman, who looked as if she might indeed have a will like a stout stick. after the service he endeavoured to draw her toward me, but she did not respond until she saw me speaking to a lady of huguenot descent, to whom i had had a letter of introduction. then she approached, and we all went down the street together. when we reached the boulevard leading to my hotel, the boy asked his mother's permission to escort me home. she hesitated, and then said, "yes; but do not bore her to death with your patriotic rigmaroles." the boy, whose name was gerald, gave her a peculiar glance, and did not open his lips until we had walked a block. then he asked, deliberately, "have you ever thought much of that idea of abraham lincoln's that no man is good enough to govern another man without the other man's consent?" "yes, a good deal; yet one must obey." "yes, one must obey," he said, quietly. "but sometimes it is puzzling, especially when a fellow is growing up." "how old are you?" "fourteen." "not older?" "no; i am from california," and he drew himself up. "the boys and girls there are large, you know. i have lost twenty pounds since we came here. you have never been in california, i suppose?" [illustration: "'i am from california.'"] "yes. i like california." "you do?" he flashed one swift glance at me, then dropped his eyes. i politely averted my own, but not before i saw two tear-drops splash on the hot, gray pavement. "if i could see," he said, presently, "if i could see one of those brown hills, just one,--this flat country makes me tired." "can you imagine," i said, "that i have been as homesick in california as you are in france?" "no! no!" he replied, breathlessly. "no, i could not imagine that." "that i sailed into san francisco bay with a heartache because those brown hills you speak of so lovingly were not my native hills?" "but you are grown up; you do not need to leave your country." "our duty sometimes takes us to foreign lands. you will be a better soldier some day for having had a time of trial and endurance." "i know it," he said, under his breath. "but sometimes i think i must break loose, especially at night, when the bugles blow." i knew what he meant. at eight o'clock every evening, from the various barracks in orléans, the sweet, piercing notes of bugle answering bugle could be heard; and the strain was the one played by the american bugles in the school that i guessed he had attended. "you think of the boys drawn up in line on the drill-ground, and the echo behind the hill." "do you know almoda?" he exclaimed, with a face as white as a sheet. "i do." this was too much for him. we had paused at the hotel entrance, and he intended, i knew, to take a polite leave of me; but i had done a dangerous thing in conjuring up the old familiar scenes, and mumbling something in his throat, and giving one tug to his hat, he ran as nimbly down the street as if he were a lean coyote from the hills of his native state. four weeks later i asked myself why i was lingering in orléans. i had seen all the souvenirs of joan of arc; i had talked with the peasants and shopkeepers till i was tired; i agreed thoroughly with my guide-book that orléans is a city sadly lacking in animation; and yet i stayed on; i stayed on because i was engaged in a bit of character study, i told my note-book; stayed on because my presence afforded some consolation to a struggling, unhappy boy, i told my conscience. the boy was dying of homesickness. he did not enter into the life of the sleepy french city. "this is a good enough country," he said, wearily, "but it isn't mine. i want america, and it seems to me all these priests and soldiers and citizens are acting. i can't think they were born speaking french." however, it was only at rare intervals that he complained. away in america he had a father who had set the high standard of duty before him,--a father who would not encourage him to flag. on the fourth of july, mrs. greyshield was giving a reception--not on account of the day, for she had not a spark of patriotism, but because she was shortly to leave orléans for the seashore. gerald was also giving a reception, his a smaller one, prepared for in the face of almost insurmountable difficulties, for he received no encouragement from his mother in his patriotic schemes. his only pleasure in life was in endeavouring to make his little brother and sister as patriotic as himself, and with ill-concealed dismay he confided to me the fear that they were forgetting their native land. about the middle of the afternoon i joined him and the children in a small, gaily decorated arbour at the foot of the garden. shortly after i arrived, mrs. greyshield, accompanied by a number of her guests, swept down upon us. the french officers and their wives and a number of english residents surrounded the arbour. "ah, the delicious cakes! but they are not _babas_ and _savarins_ and _tartelettes_! they must be american! what do you call this kind? doughnuts! how peculiar! how effective the arrangement of the bunting, and how many flags--but all of his own country!" mrs. greyshield listened carelessly to the comments. "oh, yes, he is hopelessly provincial. i shall never teach him to be cosmopolitan. what do you think of such narrowness, princess?" and in veiled admiration she addressed her most distinguished guest, who was also her friend and countrywoman. as mrs. greyshield spoke, the american princess, who was the possessor of an exceedingly bitter smile, touched one of the flags with caressing fingers. "it is a long time since i have seen one. your boy has several. i should like to have one for a cushion, if he will permit." the boy's nostrils dilated. "for a cushion!" he exclaimed. his tone was almost disrespectful, and his mother gave him a warning glance, and said, hastily, "certainly, princess. gerald, choose your prettiest flag." "not for a cushion!" he said, firmly. "the flag should be up, never down!" the gay group gazed with concealed interest at mother and son. mrs. greyshield seized a flag and offered it to her guest. "thank you--not from you," said the princess, putting up her lorgnette. "only from the boy." [illustration: "'you, too, love your country!'"] he would not give her one. his mother was in a repressed rage, and the boy kept his eyes bent on the ground in suffering silence. the titled lady put an end to the painful scene. "i have changed my mind," she said, coolly. "i have too many cushions now." the boy turned swiftly to her, and, lifting the white hand hanging by her side, gently touched it with his lips. "_madame la princesse_, you, too, love your country!" his exclamation was so enthusiastic, so heartfelt, there was in it such a world of commiseration for the titled lady before him, that there immediately flashed before each one present the unhappy life of the poor princess in exile. the boy had started a wave of sympathy flowing from one to another of the group, and in some confusion they all moved away. gerald wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and went on with the programme of patriotic selections that the impatient children were obliged to go through before they could have the cakes and fireworks. after the fizzing and bursting noises were over, i said, regretfully, "gerald, i must go to paris to-morrow." "i have been expecting this," he said, with dogged resignation. "when you are gone, miss canada, i shall have no one to talk to me about america." i had grown to love the boy for his high qualities of mind and soul, and my voice faltered as i murmured, "do not give up,--fight the good fight." "of faith," he added, gravely, "looking forward to what is to come." it seemed to me that an old man stood pressing my hand--an old man with life's experience behind him. my heart ached for the lad, and i hurried into the house. "good-bye," i said, coldly, to my hostess. "good-bye, a pleasant journey," she responded, with equal coldness. "if you do not take that boy of yours home, you will lose him," i murmured. i thought my voice was low, but it was not low enough to escape the ears of the princess, who was standing beside her. mrs. greyshield turned away, and the princess's lips moved almost imperceptibly in the words, "what is the use?" "the boy is dying by inches!" i said, indignantly. "better dead than like those--" she said, with her bitter smile, nodding toward the chattering cosmopolitan crowd beyond us. i echoed the boy's words: "you, too, are a patriot!" "i was," she said, gravely, and sauntered away. i went unhappily to paris. would that another stranger could chance along, to whom the boy might unburden his heart,--his noble heart, filled not only with dreams of military glory, but of plans for the protection of the weak and helpless among his countrymen! a week later a telegram from the princess summoned me to orléans. to my surprise, she met me on the staircase of mrs. greyshield's house. "you are right!" she whispered. "mrs. greyshield is to lose her boy!" my first feeling was one of anger. "do not speak of such a thing!" i said, harshly. "come and see," and she led the way to a room where the weary-faced lad lay on a huge, canopied bed, a nursing sister on either side of him. "the doctors are in consultation below," she murmured; "but there is no hope." [illustration] "where is his mother?" "in her room. she sees no one. it is a foreign fashion, you know. she is suffering deeply--at last." "oh, this is horrible!" i said. "can nothing be done?" "do you observe what a perfect accent he has?" she said, meditatively. "there must be excellent teachers at the _lycée_!" from the bed came occasionally muttered scraps of french prose or poetry, and i shuddered as i listened. "sacrificed for an accent!" she went on to herself. "it is a favourite amusement of american mothers. this boy was torn from a father whom he worshipped. i wonder what he will say when his wife returns to america with two living children and one--" she turned to me. "i could have told her that growing children should not be hurried from one country to another. yet it is better this way than the other." "the other?" i repeated, stupidly. "yes, the other,--after years of residence abroad, no home, no country, no attachments, a weary traveller till one dies. i thought you might like to see him, as you were so attracted by him. he fainted the day you left, and has been this way ever since. it cannot last much longer." we had been speaking in a low tone, yet our voices must have been heard by the sleeper, for suddenly he turned his head on the pillow and looked at us. the princess approached him, and murmured his name in an exquisitely soft and gentle voice. the boy recognised her. "ah, the princess!" he said, collectedly. "may i trouble you with a message?" "certainly." "it is for papa," he said, dreamily. "will you tell him for me, please--" here his voice died away, and his dark, beseeching eyes rolled from one to another of the people in the room. "shall i send them away?" asked the princess. "no, thank you. it is only the pain. will you--will you be good enough to tell papa not to think me a coward? i promised him to hold out, but--" "i will tell him." "and tell him i'm sorry we couldn't build that home and live together, but i think if he prepared it mamma and the children might go. tell him i think they would be happier. america is so lovely! mamma would get used to it." he stopped, panting for breath, and one of the nurses put something on his lips, while the other wiped away the drops of moisture that the effort of speaking had brought to his spectral face. then he closed his eyes, and his pallid figure seemed to be sinking away from us; but presently he roused himself, and this time his glance fell on me. "miss canada," he said, drowsily, "the salute to the flag--dottie and howard." the princess motioned to one of the nurses, who slipped from the room and presently returned with the children. a wan, evanescent flush overspread his face at sight of the flag, and he tried to raise himself on his elbow. one of the nurses supported him, and he fixed his glazing but still beautiful eyes on the children. "are you ready?" the small boy and girl were far from realising their brother's condition, but they knew what he wished, and in a warbling voice little dottie began: "this is my country's flag, and i am my country's child, to love and serve her well will ever be my joy." a little farther on her tiny brother took up the formula which it had been gerald's pleasure to teach them. [illustration] the consultation below had broken up, and several of the doctors had crept to the door of the room, but the boy did not seem to notice them. his attention was riveted on the children, to the exclusion of all others. "give brother the flag!" he murmured, when they finished. they handed him the stars and stripes, but he could not retain it, and the princess, quietly moving to the bedside, steadied it between his trembling fingers. "now sing with brother." the two children lifted up their little quavering voices, and turning his own face to the ceiling, a face illumined by a joy not of this world, he tried to sing with them: "my country! 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee i sing!" here his voice faltered, his radiant face drooped, and his darkening eyes turned beseechingly in my direction. in a choking voice i finished the verse, as i had once before finished it for him: "land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside let freedom ring!" his head was on the pillow when i finished, but his fingers still grasped the flag. "gerald," said the princess, tenderly, "do you understand?" "yes, i understand," fluttered from his pale lips. "and are you contented?" he pressed her hand slightly. "would you rather die, or live to grow up and forget your country, as you surely would do if you lived all your young life among strangers?" "i would rather die!" and here his voice was so firm that all in the room heard it. "dottie and howard!" he murmured, presently, and the princess drew back. after all, she was only a stranger. he died, with their little faces pressed close to his own. "give my love to mamma, dear mamma!" were his last words. shortly after the nurses drew the children away. the boy had had his wish. he had died for his country as truly as if he had fallen in battle. grandmother and the crow grandmother and the crow. when i was a little girl i lived with my grandmother, and a gay, lively little grandmother she was. away back in the family was french blood, and i am sure that she resembled french old people, who are usually vivacious and cheerful. on my twelfth birthday i was driving with her through a thick wood, when we heard in front of us the loud shouting and laughing of boys. "drive on, george," said my grandmother; "let us see what this is all about." as soon as he stopped, she sprang nimbly from the phaeton among half-a-dozen flushed and excited boys who had stones in their hands. up in the tall trees above them were dozens of crows, which were cawing in a loud and distressed manner, and flying restlessly from branch to branch. a stone thrown by some boy with too true an aim had brought a fine young crow to the ground. "ha--i've got him. thought i'd bring him down!" yelled a lad, triumphantly. "now give it to him, boys." the stones flew thick and fast at the poor crow. my grandmother screamed and waved her hands, but the boys would not listen to her until she rushed to the phaeton, seized the whip, and began smartly slashing those bad boys about the legs. "hi--stop that--you hurt! here, some of you fellows take the whip from her!" cried the boys, dancing like wild indians around my grandmother. "cowards!" she said; "if you must fight, why don't you attack something your own size?" the boys slunk away, and she picked up the crow. one of its wings was broken, and its body was badly bruised. she wrapped the poor bleeding thing in our lap-robe, and told george to drive home. "another pet, grandmother?" i asked. "yes, elizabeth," she returned, "if it lives." she had already eight canaries, some tame snakes, a pair of doves, an old dog, white mice and rats, and a tortoise. when we got home, she examined the crow's injuries, then sponged his body with water, and decided that his wing was so badly broken that it would have to be amputated. i held his head and feet while she performed the surgical operation, and he squawked most dismally. when it was over, she offered him bread and milk, which he did not seem able to eat until she pushed the food down his throat with her slim little fingers. then he opened and closed his beak repeatedly, like a person smacking his lips. "he may recover," she said, with delight; "now, where is he to sleep? come into the garden, elizabeth." our garden was walled in. there was a large kennel on a grass-plot under my grandmother's bedroom window, and she stopped in front of it. "this can be fitted up for the crow, elizabeth." "but what about rover?" i said. "where will he sleep?" "down in the cellar, by the furnace," she said. "he is getting to be rheumatic, and i owe him a better shelter than this in his old age. i shall have a window put in at the back, so that the sun can shine in." for several days the crow sat in the kennel, his wings raised,--the stump of the broken one was left,--making him look like a person shrugging his shoulders, and the blood thickening and healing over his wounds. three times a day my grandmother dragged him out and pushed some bread and milk down his throat; and three times a day he kicked and struggled and clawed at her hands. but it soon became plain that he was recovering. one day my grandmother found him trying to feed himself, and she was as much pleased as a child would have been. the next day he stepped out on the grass-plot. there he found a fine porcelain bath, that my grandmother had bought for him. it was full of warm water, and he stepped into it, flapped his wing with pleasure, and threw the water over his body. "he is coming on!" cried my grandmother; "he will be the joy of my life yet." [illustration: "i saw second cousin george following him."] "what about second cousin george?" i asked. second cousin george--we had to call him that to distinguish him from old george, the coachman--was a relative that lived with us. he was old, cranky, poor, and a little weak-minded, and if it had not been for my grandmother he would have been obliged to go to an almshouse. he hated everything in the world except himself,--pets especially,--and if he had not been closely watched, i think he would have put an end to some of the creatures that my grandmother loved. one day after the crow was able to walk about the garden, i saw second cousin george following him. i could not help laughing, for they were so much alike. they both were fat and short, and dressed in black. both put their feet down in an awkward manner, carried their heads on one side, and held themselves back as they walked. they had about an equal amount of sense. in some respects, though, the crow was a little ahead of second cousin george, and in some respects he was not, for on this occasion second cousin george was making a kind of death-noose for him, and the crow walked quietly behind the currant-bushes, never suspecting it. i ran for grandmother, and she slipped quickly out into the garden. "second cousin george, what are you doing?" she said, quietly. he always looked up at the sky when he didn't know what to say, and as she spoke, he eyed very earnestly some white clouds that were floating overhead, and said never a word. "were you playing with this cord?" said grandmother, taking it from him. "what a fine loop you have in it!" she threw it dexterously over his head. "oh, i have caught you!" she said, with a little laugh, and began pulling on the string. second cousin george still stood with his face turned up to the sky, his cheeks growing redder and redder. "why, i am choking you!" said grandmother, before she had really hurt him; "do let me unfasten it." then she took the string off his neck and put it in her pocket. "crows can feel pain just as men do, second cousin george," she said, and walked away. second cousin george never molested the crow again. after a few weeks the crow became very tame, and took possession of the garden. he dug worms from our choicest flower-beds, nipped off the tops of growing plants, and did them far more damage than rover the dog. but my grandmother would not have him checked in anything. "poor creature!" she said, sympathetically, "he can never fly again; let him get what pleasure he can out of life." i was often sorry for him when the pigeons passed overhead. he would flap his one long, beautiful wing, and his other poor stump of a thing, and try to raise himself from the ground, crying, longingly, "caw! caw!" not being able to fly, he would go quite over the garden in a series of long hops,--that is, after he learned to guide himself. at first when he spread his wings to help his jumps, the big wing would swing him around so that his tail would be where he had expected to find his head. many a time have i stood laughing at his awkward attempts to get across the garden to grandmother, when she went out with some bits of raw meat for him. she was his favourite, the only one that he would allow to come near him or to stroke his head. [illustration] he cawed with pleasure whenever he saw her at any of the windows, and she was the only one that he would answer at all times. i often vainly called to him, "hallo, jim crow,--hallo!" but the instant grandmother said, "good jim crow--good jim!" he screamed in recognition. he had many skirmishes with the dog over bones. rover was old and partly blind, and whenever jim saw him with a bone he went up softly behind him and nipped his tail. as rover always turned and snapped at him, jim would seize the bone and run away with it, and rover would go nosing blindly about the garden trying to find him. they were very good friends, however, apart from the bones, and rover often did good service in guarding the crow. [illustration] the cats in the neighbourhood of course learned that there was an injured bird in our garden, and i have seen as many as six at a time sitting on the top of the wall looking down at him. the instant jim saw one he would give a peculiar cry of alarm that he kept for the cats alone. rover knew this cry, and springing up would rush toward the wall, barking angrily, and frightening the cats away, though he never could have seen them well enough to catch them. jim detested not cats alone, but every strange face, every strange noise, and every strange creature,--boys most of all. if one of them came into the garden he would run to his kennel in a great fright. now this dislike of jim's for strange noises saved some of my grandmother's property, and also two people who might otherwise have gone completely to the bad. about midnight, one dark november night, my grandmother and i were sleeping quietly,--she in her big bed, and i in my little one beside her. the room was a very large one, and our beds were opposite a french window, which stood partly open, for my grandmother liked to have plenty of fresh air at night. under this window was jim's kennel. i was having a very pleasant dream, when in the midst of it i heard a loud, "caw! caw!" i woke, and found that my grandmother was turning over sleepily in bed. "that's the crow's cat call," she murmured; "but cats could never get into that kennel." "let me get up and see," i said. "no, child," she replied. then she reached out her hand, scratched a match, and lighted the big lamp that stood on the table by her bed. i winked my eyes,--the room was almost as bright as day, and there, half-way through the window, was george, our old coachman. his head was in the room; his feet must have been resting on the kennel, his expression was confused, and he did not seem to know whether to retreat or advance. "come in, george," said my grandmother, gravely. he finished crawling through the window, and stood looking dejectedly down at his stocking feet. "what does this mean, george?" said my grandmother, ironically. "are you having nightmare, and did you think we might wish to go for a drive?" old george never liked to be laughed at. he drew himself up. "i'm a burglar, missus," he said, with dignity. my grandmother's bright, black eyes twinkled under the lace frills of her nightcap. "oho, are you indeed? then you belong to a dangerous class,--one to which actions speak louder than words," she said, calmly; and putting one hand under her pillow, she drew out something that i had never known she kept there. i thought at the time it was a tiny, shining revolver, but it really was a bit of polished water-pipe with a faucet attached; for my grandmother did not approve of the use of firearms. "oh, missus, don't shoot--don't shoot! i ain't fit to die," cried old george, dropping on his knees. "i quite agree with you," she said, coolly, laying down her pretended revolver, "and i am glad you have some rag of a conscience left. now tell me who put you up to this. some woman, i'll warrant you!" "yes, missus, it was," he said, shamefacedly, "'twas polly jones,--she that you discharged for impudence. she said that she'd get even with you, and if i'd take your watch and chain and diamond ring, and some of your silver, that we'd go to boston, and she'd--she'd--" "well," said grandmother, tranquilly, "she would do what?" "she said she'd marry me," sheepishly whispered the old man, hanging his head. "marry you indeed, old simpleton!" said my grandmother, dryly. "she'd get you to boston, fleece you well, and that's the last you'd see of her. where is miss polly?" [illustration: "'i ain't fit to die,' cried old george."] "in--in the stable," whimpered the old man. "h'm," said grandmother, "waiting for the plunder, eh? well, make haste. my purse is in the upper drawer, my watch you see before you; here is my diamond ring, and my spoons you have in your pocket." old george began to cry, and counted every spoon he had in his pocket out on the bureau before him, saying one, two, three, four, and so on, through his tears. "stop!" said my grandmother. "put them back." the old man looked at her in astonishment. she made him return every spoon to his pocket. then she ordered him to hang the watch round his neck, put the ring on his finger, and the purse in his pocket. "take them out to the stable," she said, sternly; "sit and look at them for the rest of the night. if you want to keep them by eight o'clock in the morning, do so,--if not, bring them to me. and as for miss polly, send her home the instant you set foot outside there, and tell her from me that if she doesn't come to see me to-morrow afternoon she may expect to have the town's officers after her as an accomplice in a burglary. now be off, or that crow will alarm the household. not by the door, old george, that's the way honest people go out. oh, george, george, that a carrion crow should be more faithful to me than you!" my grandmother lay for some time wide-awake, and i could hear the bed shaking with her suppressed laughter. then she would sigh, and murmur, "poor, deluded creatures!" finally she dropped off to sleep, but i lay awake for the rest of the night, thinking over what had taken place, and wondering whether polly jones would obey my grandmother. i was with her the next day when polly was announced. grandmother had been having callers, and was sitting in the drawing-room looking very quaint and pretty in her black velvet dress and tiny lace cap. polly, a bouncing country-girl, came in hanging her head. grandmother sat up very straight on the sofa and asked, "would you like to go to the penitentiary, polly jones?" "oh, no, ma'am!" gasped polly. "would you like to come and live with me for awhile?" said my grandmother. now polly did not want to do this, but she knew that she must fall in with my grandmother's plans; so she hung her head a little lower and whispered, "yes, ma'am." "very well, then," my grandmother said, "go and get your things." the next day my grandmother called to her the cook, the housemaid, and the small boy that ran errands. "you have all worked faithfully," she said, "and i am going to give you a holiday. here is some money for you, and do not let me see you again for a month. polly jones is going to stay with me." polly stayed with us, and worked hard for a month. "you are a wicked girl," said my grandmother to her, "and you want discipline. you have been idle, and idleness is the cause of half the mischief in the world. but i will cure you." polly took her lesson very meekly, and when the other maids came home, grandmother took her on a trip to boston. there she got a policeman to take them about and show them how some of the wicked people of the city lived. among other places visited was a prison, and when polly saw young women like herself behind the bars, she broke down and begged grandmother to take her home. and that reformed polly effectually. as for old george, after that one miserable night in the stable, and his utter contrition in the morning, he lived only for grandmother, and died looking lovingly in her face. jim the crow ruled the house as well as the garden after his exploit in waking grandmother that eventful night. all this happened some years ago. my dear grandmother is dead now, and i live in her house. jim missed her terribly when she died, but i tried so earnestly to cultivate his affections, and to make up his loss to him, that i think he is really getting to be fond of me. the end. cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature,--stories that shall not only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover design. each, 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50 _by annie fellows johnston_ =the little colonel. (trade mark.)= the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. this old colonel proves to be the grandfather of the child. =the giant scissors.= this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france,--the wonderful house with the gate of the giant scissors, jules, her little playmate, sister denisa, the cruel brossard, and her dear aunt kate. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the "house party" and the "holidays." =two little knights of kentucky.= who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights." =cicely and other stories for girls.= the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people. =aunt 'liza's hero and other stories.= a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. =big brother.= a story of two boys. the devotion and care of steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. =ole mammy's torment.= "ole mammy's torment" has been fitly called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. =the story of dago.= in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing. =the quilt that jack built.= a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. =flip's islands of providence.= a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, well worth the reading. _by edith robinson_ =a little puritan's first christmas.= a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christmas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child of the puritans, aided by her brother sam. =a little daughter of liberty.= the author's motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation from her introduction, as follows: "one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride,--the ride of anthony severn,--which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its consequences." =a loyal little maid.= a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders important services to george washington. =a little puritan rebel.= this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massachusetts. =a little puritan pioneer.= the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown. the little girl heroine adds another to the list of favorites so well known to the young people. =a little puritan bound girl.= a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers. =a little puritan cavalier.= the story of a "little puritan cavalier" who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders. _by miss mulock_ =the little lame prince.= a delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. =adventures of a brownie.= the story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him. =his little mother.= miss mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of delight to them, and "his little mother," in this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers. =little sunshine's holiday.= an attractive story of a summer outing. "little sunshine" is another of those beautiful child-characters for which miss mulock is so justly famous. _by juliana horatia ewing_ =jackanapes.= a new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching story, dear alike to young and old. =story of a short life.= this beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. it is a part of the world's literature, and will never die. =a great emergency.= how a family of children prepared for a great emergency, and how they acted when the emergency came. transcriber notes: passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. small caps were replaced with all caps. throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. those words were retained as-is. the illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. teaching the child patriotism valuable and instructive books by well-known writers the correct thing cloth, 12mo, $1.35 _a hand-book of good manners_ by florence howe hall social customs cloth, 12mo, $1.50 _a complete manual of american etiquette_ by florence howe hall a hand-book of hospitality for town and country cloth, 12mo, $1.50 _a subject of interest to every hostess_ by florence howe hall boys, girls and manners cloth, 12mo, $1.50 _an invaluable aid to parents in training their children_ by florence howe hall little talks with mothers of little people cloth, 12mo, $1.35 _a timely guide for the daily life of mother and child_ by virginia terhune van de water my boy and i cloth, 12mo, $1.35 _a discussion of the problems that confront the average mother of sons and daughters_ by christine terhune herrick woman's club work and programs cloth, 12mo, $1.35 _unique and original, and of value to every club woman_ by caroline french benton practical sewing and dressmaking cloth, 8vo, illustrated, $1.50 _the most complete work ever written on this subject_ by sara may allington the page company 53 beacon street, boston, mass. [illustration] teaching the child patriotism by kate upson clarke author of "the dole twins," etc. with a frontispiece by harriet o'brien [illustration] the page company boston mdccccxviii _copyright, 1918, by_ the page company _all rights reserved_ first impression, october, 1918 contents chapter page i the appeal to history 1 ii the patriotism of peace 22 iii personal responsibility in politics 42 iv teaching the meaning of democracy 61 v sacrificing for patriotism 76 vi patriotism and health 93 vii work as a vital part of patriotism 111 viii a patriot's manners and morals 130 ix the patriot's religion and ideals 147 teaching the child patriotism [illustration] chapter i the appeal to history let us suppose for a moment that any set of men could succeed in sweeping away from them all the influences of past ages. suppose a race of men whose minds had been suddenly deadened to every recollection--can we imagine a condition of such utter confusion and misery?--frederic harrison. we have been lately told by one of our foremost educators that "the best schools are expressly renouncing the questionable duty of teaching patriotism by means of history." to some of us who have brought up children, this startling statement came like a bomb. if history is to be used, as it certainly is used, in many of our "best schools," in the teaching of political economy, sociology, philosophy, psychology, biology, religion and nearly everything else, why should we not use it also in teaching a child the value of his own country, how dearly it has been bought, and his duty to serve it? when anybody undertakes to prove that a child who hears, for instance the story of the six "leading citizens" of calais offering their lives for the redemption of their city, does not feel a deeper sense of patriotism after it, he must prove that the children whom most of us know are exceptional. see the widening eyes and working features of children listening to a spirited reading of "horatius at the bridge," or "hervé riel," or the story of nathan hale. your "educator" may say that all this means merely an "emotional spasm." what is that but interest or enthusiasm? and what is more potent in moving the will? most of our intelligent mothers can testify that there seems to be nothing which more rouses a child's loving consciousness of his own land, and more enkindles a desire to do something for it,--even to die for it--than listening to these fiery old tales of exalted patriotism. in an eloquent panegyric upon the influence of a knowledge of history, president woolley of mt. holyoke college says: "it is a circumscribed life which has no vision into the past, which is familiar only with present conditions and forms of government, manners, customs and beliefs. such a life has no background, no material for comparisons, no opportunity to learn from the mistakes of others, nor from their achievements." and, in re-inforcement of the contention that much besides general culture and useful information is gained from the study of the past, and especially from the study of the classics, senator henry cabot lodge during a recent session of the new york latin club uttered a strong plea for the study of latin and greek, as an incentive to patriotism. "it is impossible," he said, in effect, "to read of 'the brave days of old,' of marathon and salamis, of martius curtius, lycurgus and a hundred others of the heroes of greece and rome, without a sense of the glory of living and dying for one's country. all children should be made familiar with them, and especially with the ringing lines and sound patriotism of the iliad. they not only teach patriotism, but many of the other higher virtues, and in such an interesting way that children want to hear the stories over and over. thus their lessons become indelibly impressed upon young minds." but one of the hard truths which should be taught in connection with these tales of heroism, is the fact that by far the greater number of splendid sacrifices for one's country are never heard of. cincinnatus, hector, ajax, pheidippides, have come to fame, which is generally considered reward enough for any hardship; but most of the world's heroes are unknown or forgotten. every soldier can relate courageous deeds which he has witnessed but which live only in his memory or in those of his comrades. in fact, we are told that heroism is so common in the present war that almost every soldier deserves a medal. an interesting instance of obscure heroism is quoted by miss repplier from sir francis doyle: "dr. keate, the terrible head-master of eton, encountered one morning a small boy crying miserably, and asked him what was the matter. the child replied that he was cold. 'cold!' roared keate. 'you must put up with cold, sir! you are not at a girls' school.' "the boy remembered the sharp appeal to manhood; for fifteen years later, with the third dragoons, he charged at the strongly intrenched sikhs (thirty thousand of the best fighting men of the khalsa) on the curving banks of the sutlej. and, as the word was given, he turned to his superior officer, a fellow-etonian, and chuckled, 'as old keate would say, "this is no girls' school,"' and rode to his death on the battlefield of sobraon, which gave lahore to england." thus does the true hero lay down his life, cheerfully and unrewarded, for his country. the anonymous hero, so numerous and so grand, is well typified also by browning's "echetlos," "the holder of the ploughshare." this can be so read that even children of eight or ten can take it in. one wishes that a real historical event were commemorated in browning's "how they brought the good news from ghent to aix"; but it has the heroic ring, and fires the young imagination as well, perhaps, as "an incident of the french camp," which is said to be true,--another story of an unnamed hero. it will interest those same children to hear browning's ballad of "pheidippides," who did "--his part, a man's, with might and main, and not a faintest touch of fear." the story should be told before the poem is read. it is a pity that napoleon iii proved to be such a small man; for mrs. browning made some wonderful lines about him, which might well be read to children for the promotion of patriotism. in "casa guidi windows" occur some of the finest lines for the awakening of true patriotism, that can be found in our language, yet they are seldom mentioned by writers on this subject. the best should be read, a few at a time, often in the family circle. from the history of the crimean war many striking tales of patriotism can be culled, such as incidents in the life of lord raglan and the careers of the wonderful napiers, who were connected even more closely with the peninsular war. girls will especially find joy and inspiration in the story of florence nightingale. boys and girls alike will revel in mrs. laura e. richards' charmingly written "life" of that heroine. it is the fashion to speak rather slightingly of the patriotic poems which were thundered from the old lyceum-platforms by our forefathers, but many of them naturally possess the spirit of the first patriots, and thus are of especial value to our children. it goes without saying that every child should early become familiar with the lives of george washington and abraham lincoln. show them that such men "set the pace" for america, and taught us what true patriotism really is. washington's farewell address should be read often in every american family, and portions of it should be known by heart to every american child. so should lincoln's gettysburg address, as well as portions of his other great speeches. the stories should be often rehearsed to them of joseph warren, israel putnam, john paul jones, decatur, marcus whitman, grant, sherman, sheridan, lee, jackson and our other heroes of war and peace. many of their achievements have been celebrated in worthy verse. the great orations of daniel webster, edward everett, wendell phillips, william lloyd garrison and others, and the magnificent state papers of woodrow wilson, are well calculated to stir the spirit of true patriotism in the hearts of noble children, and they should not be ignorant of those splendid compositions. a year or more before the great war, a young man was speaking lightly one evening of "all this sentimental rot about 'love of country'"; how it showed "that a man hadn't traveled," and is "provincial." he spoke in the tone affected by a certain class of blasé, hypersophisticated youths, who might well be punished by the same means that were used for edward everett hale's "man without a country,"--another book which all older children should know. the boy had recently returned from a long sojourn abroad. his mother was horrified to hear his words, though she had detected an unsoundness in his views ever since he had come back. still, she said nothing at the moment. she wanted to think it over. one evening shortly afterward the family were assembled on the broad porch. several guests were present. it was warm, but a soft breeze blew in from the moonlighted hudson just below them. some one suggested that it was just the time for poetry. why should not every one recite his favorite poem? they began. one gave rudyard kipling's stirring "song of the english." another followed with a portion of tennyson's "ode on the death of the duke of wellington," beginning with the familiar words, "not once nor twice in our rough island story, the path of duty was the way to glory," and ending with the fine repetition, "and keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure; till in all lands and through all human story, the path of duty be the way to glory." by this time, the party of eight or ten cultivated people were all plainly affected. the one who sat next said, "i was going to recite 'the antiseptic baby,'--and, of course, that is always good, but it doesn't seem to chime in with our mood to-night. i used to know daniel webster's great speech on the constitution. maybe i can recall it," and slowly he rolled forth the stately words. when the mother's turn came, she begged them not to groan if she should give them a very well-worn selection, and started out upon walter scott's, "lives there a man with soul so dead." there was some derision in the laugh which greeted her first words, but all were soon caught in the swirl of the great sentiment, and when she came to the line "unwept, unhonored and unsung," there was long applause, the blasé youth joining in most heartily of all. "that's an old corker, isn't it, mother!" he cried. "i'd forgotten that it was so lively. there's a lot in it." she knew that his ideas were being cleared. all of this heroism and love of country is represented by our flag. its meaning should be explained to our children. teaching them to salute it, and to repeat the words which go with the salute, becomes a mere form unless they understand its deeper significance. henry ward beecher once gave a noble interpretation of it, which has been amplified by secretary franklin k. lane in an address to the employees of the department of the interior. only a few words of it can be given here, but your children should hear or read them all. the flag seemed to say to him: "the work that we do is the making of the flag. i am not the flag at all. i am but its shadow. i am all that you hope to be and have the courage to try for. "i am the day's work of the weakest man and the largest dream of the most daring. i am the constitution and the courts, statutes and statute-makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street-sweep, cook, counselor and clerk. i swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, the pictured suggestion of that big thing which makes this nation. my stars and stripes are your dream and your labors. they are bright with cheer, brilliant with courage, firm with faith, because you have made them so,--for you are the makers of the flag." this is no mere sentimental fancy. the thrill of the flag is best understood by those who have seen it on a foreign shore; but the deepest thrill of all comes on beholding the flag which bears the marks of shot and shell. a little boy of six, who had been considered in his family as unemotional, was one day riding with his mother past a public building, gaily decorated with bunting. among the unstained banners above the entrance hung a cluster of old battle-flags. the child gazed at them with the greatest interest. then he turned suddenly to his mother. "which do you like best, mother?" he asked. "the bright new flags, or the old, ragged flags that have been in the battle?" "which do you like best?" she said. "oh," he replied, while his little lip quivered, "i like best the old, ragged flags that have been in the battle,--don't you?" this child had been brought up from infancy upon the stories and poems of the patriots of the past, but he had never shown before such a marked effect from them. this effect grew with his years. the most stolid and selfish child can be made into a fervid patriot, i firmly believe, by a proper use of the great patriotic literature. until within a short time, some of us have deprecated the idea of filling the minds of our children with visions of killing and of killers, however brave and noble. but we have learned that, as long as there are barbarians in the world threatening to overwhelm civilization, the arts of war must still be practiced. history has described civilizations as good as ours, perhaps better, which were destroyed by barbarians, physically stronger than the gentler races which they attacked. so long as powerful tribes exist, covetous of the wealth and the territory of their neighbors, and willing to trample down everybody and everything else to get them, what can we do but fight? "'tis man's perdition to be safe, when for the truth he ought to die." that means, in the terms of to-day, that we must still sing to our children the glories of war. americans properly hate war. it is antiquated, out of date,--utterly opposed to the spirit of the twentieth century. we should bring up our children to see that it is just that, and that we are fighting now simply because otherwise barbarism would overspread the world,--a barbarism which includes autocracy and militarism as its chief features, two elements which are intolerable in a world of democracy. and yet war is often a purifying fire. it has its noble and uplifting side. this is the side which is emphasized in the heroic tales which have been mentioned, and which makes for the development of patriotism in the child and in the man. chapter ii the patriotism of peace the great mind knows the power of gentleness- only tries force because persuasion fails. --robert browning. the patriotism of war is far easier to teach than the patriotism of peace. when bands are playing and the love of adventure is calling, men find it easy to march away to battle for their country, and boys and girls throb through all their young beings to do something for it. but when men are staying at home, with comfort beckoning; with the government jogging along and getting the main things done somehow or other, under the guidance of professional politicians; and with one's personal affairs requiring apparently the application of all one's mortal powers,--then patriotism needs a spur. it was of such "piping times of peace" that goldsmith wrote: "ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, where wealth accumulates and men decay." the task set forth before the conscientious citizen then is to keep alive in himself the clear torch of patriotism,--which simply means the duty to sacrifice as freely, in proportion to the need, in time of peace as in time of war. it is the difficulty of this task, seldom yet accomplished, which has led to the many eloquent panegyrics, in all languages, upon war as necessary to the very existence of a nation. several entire books have been written to prove that sordidness and selfishness always possess and soon destroy a nation which does not have frequent wars. the philosophy of nietzsche is largely founded upon this theory. treitschke and bernhardi follow him closely. even de quincey, ruskin, and others from among our best english writers, subscribe to this monstrous doctrine, and it is true that there is plenty of support for it in history. but we americans have always believed in brains rather than brawn for the settlement of international as well as personal controversies. the duel has been banished from our country as an antiquated means of adjusting the quarrels of individual men, and logic requires that a similar course be pursued toward quarrels on a larger scale. because we have been obliged to lay aside temporarily our convictions in order to save ourselves and the right, from a mad dog of a nation, which threatens to overthrow civilization, does not mean that we have given up our ideals. if the american nation stands for anything, it stands for peace, though we can and will fight if liberty and right are threatened. in the study of the iliad which has been suggested, the words which agamemnon speaks to hector should be especially commended to children: "cursed be the man, and void of law and right, unworthy property, unworthy light, unfit for public rule or private care, the wretch, the monster, who delights in war,- whose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy, to tear his country and his kind destroy." but in the face of the almost universal testimony against it, all of us should realize that extraordinary pains must be taken to inculcate the truth, and live it, that high patriotism can be kept alive in peace as well as in war. precept alone goes not very far in any line, and less, perhaps, in this, than in any other. the study of history and a little of the most modern literature, helps. classical literature, in all languages, preaches with frightful unanimity, the necessity and the nobility of war. in the religion of rome, mars received ten times more homage than did jupiter. the book and the precept must not be neglected, but your chief weapon in teaching your child the patriotism of peace must be the deed. you must set a strenuous example, or else all your words will pass like the whistle of the wind. in president hadley's inaugural, he asserted that the main object of education is to make good citizens,--which is, perhaps, only another way of saying that the chief object of education is to make patriots. he was talking of the education of the schools; but emerson somewhere says, in effect, that though we send our children to the schoolmaster, it is, after all, their environment which does most of the educating. emerson speaks of the shop-windows along the child's way; but it is his home which forms the most influential factor in his environment; and the part of the home usually dearest to him is his mother. it is a common saying, especially in our cities, that fathers see their children only when they are asleep, leaving them at breakfast-time, and returning after they have gone to bed. up to the age of twelve, or thereabout, children should retire shortly after eight o'clock. during the next few years, even though they sit up later, they generally have to study. thus, during their formative period, it is upon the mother that the home training of the children chiefly devolves. a distinguished clergyman in a public address once eulogized his mother. he attributed to her every virtue and a wonderful mind. he was a violent anti-suffragist, and supposed that he was presenting a strong argument for his side when he said, "but though my incomparable mother counseled us upon almost every subject that could engage our attention, she never mentioned to us the subject of politics." had he not struck, perhaps, the main reason for the corruption of our politics? the fathers have no chance to instruct their young children in the rudiments of politics,--yet those children ought to be so instructed by somebody. they get little or nothing of it in school. if their mother does not teach them something about it, they will probably grow up ignorant of many of its snares and its opportunities. to-day the anti-suffragists are wiser. they say that women should understand civic duties and should canvass them thoroughly with their children. the sin and the shame come only, in their opinion, when women actually vote for the best men and women to fill the offices. the case is as if a woman should furnish a house, supplying its kitchen with every facility for cooking and cleaning; fitting its dining-room with the proper linen, silver and china; arranging its bedrooms for comfortable sleep; making its parlors beautiful for guests; and then, though she has known so well the needs of a household and how to provide for them, she draws back from the responsibility of running her model house, as if to say: "my sisters and i are not competent to manage this house. you men are far abler. please make and enforce all the rules to govern it." let the men and the women work together, dividing the responsibility according to the fitness of each individual. there are stupid men and stupid women and there are bright men and bright women. women are human beings before all else and all human interests are their interests. there is among us too much of cowardice and laziness, posing as hyper-refinement and modesty. women as voters, "weavers of peace," as the old saxons called them, are bound to be a helpful force in many departments, and especially in this great work of establishing universal peace, and teaching men how to use it. they should begin with the child in its cradle. for, let us repeat, it cannot be too strongly impressed that the underlying and fundamental principles of politics must be taught by the mother, if they are taught at all; and like everything else that is good, they can be and should be taught. it does not seem to be generally understood, but it is a fact, that a training in politics is possible, and if our great experiment in government is to succeed, such a training should be given to every child, and the mother seems to be the natural, and often the only person to give it. a mother was one day walking along the streets of the great city in which she lived, when she saw that a new liquor-saloon had been opened within two blocks of her home. "oh, dear!" she said to her little boy of eight, who held her hand, "here is another saloon,--another place where men will spend their money foolishly and perhaps become drunkards,--and so near our own home! we have never had one so near before." as she spoke, two men staggered out from the saloon-door and made their way unsteadily along the sidewalk. the child had never seen a drunken man before. his eyes widened with horror and an expression of utter disgust settled upon his eager little face. "why do they let 'em do it!" he burst forth. "aren't there any christians in congress?" it was plain that ideas of law and restraint, and of the difference between good government and bad government, were struggling for form and coherence in the child's mind. the mother seized her opportunity. she explained briefly some of the evils of the saloon; the meaning of "high license" and "prohibition," and something of the arguments on both sides; how most good people agree that the saloon, as at present conducted, is a cancer on the body politic, and how the chief disagreement is concerning the best ways of controlling or suppressing it; how the liquor men are active in politics, while the temperance men are so busy with their own affairs, and usually so contemptuous of legislatures that they do not look carefully after the laws; how voters are often bribed; and as many more details as the boy seemed to want to hear. he listened closely and asked many intelligent questions. he had received a lesson in politics which he did not forget, as his chance remarks showed for months afterward. he talked the matter over with his younger brothers, and they, too, began to ask questions. during the next few years that mother gave her boys brief talks on arbitration, the tariff, public education and its bearing on democracy, street-cleaning, road-making, silver and gold money, and many other topics of current politics. she was careful never to force them, for she knew that it is only when the mood is upon him that a boy likes to discuss serious subjects. the terms she used were of the simplest; and her husband, who was deeply interested in her efforts, and helped her whenever he could, supplied her with many illustrations, such as children could understand. especially did she impress upon her children's minds the true and striking saying of a great frenchman, that "governments are always just as bad as the people will let them be"; and that, as a part of the people, it was their duty to see that the government was made and kept good. by "line upon line, precept upon precept," knowing that opinions are formed "as boys learn to spell,- by reiteration chiefly." this mother tried to impress upon those children the duties of good citizenship. they are grown up now and show the effects of their training. many of us feel that more upon the subject of politics,--again we should remind ourselves that politics and patriotism are very nearly the same thing,--might easily and properly be taught in our public schools; for the foundation principles of politics are only those of ordinary ethics. in this way, morality, which is far more necessary than book-learning for the perpetuity of our institutions, would take that dominant place in our educational system, so strongly advocated by that prince of educators, horace mann. "among all my long list of acquaintances," he says, "i find that for one man who has been ruined for want of intellectual attainments, hundreds have perished for want of morals. and yet we go on bestowing one hundred times more care and pains and cost on the education of the intellect than on the cultivation of the moral sentiments and the establishment of moral principles." he insists that morals should be regularly taught, and not "left to casual and occasional mention." thus broad and clear ideas of perfect honesty, with abraham lincoln and other good and great men as examples, form the foundation of clean politics, and should be impressed upon the children in our schools. the daily papers often describe shining instances of this cardinal virtue. suppose that a theater is burned and many lives lost. laws may have been passed for the safeguarding of theaters, but the manager of this house disregarded them in order to save a few dollars. there is a chance to impress regard for law and its enforcement. or suppose that bribery is under discussion. here is a true story of the way in which its devious methods were impressed upon the mind of a small boy: he was stopping with his mother in a country town, when the tailor of the place, in speaking of the day's voting, remarked: "i don't gen'ally vote, but i did to-day, because they sent a carriage up from the center for me. it takes time to vote and 'tain't much use. what does one vote amount to anyway? but when one of the bosses is anxious enough to come an' git me, why, then i'll vote, or if they'll give me my fare on the cars." "why," said the boy quickly, "isn't that bribery?" "lord, no!" said the man, shuffling about uneasily. "that jest pays me for my time an' trouble. i don't git nothin' for my _vote_." sophistries like this should be immediately made clear to the child. it would probably be impossible to show them to that tailor. "our revolutionary fathers," said horace mann again, "abandoned their homes, sacrificed their property, encountered disease, bore hunger and cold, and stood on the fatal edge of battle, to gain that liberty which their descendants will not even go to the polls to protect. our pilgrim fathers expatriated themselves, crossed the atlantic,--then a greater enterprise than now to circumnavigate the globe,--and braved a savage foe, that they might worship god unmolested,--while many of us throw our votes in wantonness, or for a bribe, or to gratify revenge." this is a terrible indictment. it is not as true now as it was in the time of horace mann. still, the lesson contained in it should be impressed upon our children. chapter iii personal responsibility in politics let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.--abraham lincoln. during the last few years the magazines have published many helpful series upon politics and a number of these deserve especial credit for their work in this line. in one of these articles the writer reminds us that though the sins of our time are the same old sins which were denounced by jeremiah and ezekiel, they are likely now to be enameled with fine new exteriors and called by new names. "especially, the current methods of annexing the property of others are characterized by an indirectness and refinement very grateful to the natural feelings." this is terribly true, and the child should be made aware of it. a dazzling outside may cover a black heart. illustrate this fact to him by the story of those beautiful flowers whose sweet odor is laden with death. tell him of william m. tweed, whose gigantic thefts almost bankrupted a great city, yet who read a chapter in his bible every day, and who possessed many kind and even noble qualities. many other public men of ancient and modern times will afford equally striking examples of inconsistency. a certain excellent country gentleman, who did not realize the possible deceitfulness of the outside, went down to the capital of his state to see about some bills which vitally affected his business. he had written to the senator from his section that he was coming and had asked for an appointment to meet him. he had never met this man, but the papers had criticized him severely, and our friend was prepared to encounter a mean and churlish creature. "instead," he reported upon his return to his home, "i found him a perfect gentleman. he met me at the train and took me to my hotel in his own automobile, and invited me to dine with him the next day. he lives in a beautiful home. i was surprised to see what kind of a man he really is. you would think by the way the papers go on about him that he had horns and hoofs, but," he repeated, "he was a perfect gentleman." yet this man was one of the most dangerous "practical politicians" in the state--one of those who believe that the ten commandments have no place in politics, and who scrupled at nothing which could benefit himself and his friends. he simply could not understand a man who could "swear to his own hurt and change not." "unlike the old-time villain," says mr. e. a. reed, "the latter-day malefactor does not wear a slouch-hat and a comforter, and breathe forth curses and an odor of gin. fagin and bill sykes and simon legree are vanishing types. good, kindly men let the wheels of commerce and industry redden rather than pare their dividends, and our railroads yearly injure one employee in twenty-six, while we look in vain for that promised day of the lord, which shall make 'a man more precious than fine gold.'" and, again, "the tropical belt of sin into which we are now sweeping is largely impersonal. the hurt passes into that vague mass, 'the public,' and is there lost to view. hence it does not take a borgia to knead 'chalk and alum and plaster' into the loaf, seeing that one cannot know just who will eat that loaf. the purveyor of spurious life-preservers need not be a cain. the owner of rotten tenements, whose 'pull' enables him to ignore the orders of the health department, fore-dooms babies, it is true, but for all that, he is no herod. "often there are no victims. if the crazy hulk sent out for 'just one more trip' meets with fair weather, all is well. briber and grafter are now 'good men,' and would have passed for virtuous in the american community of seventy years ago. therefore, people do not always see that boodling is treason; that blackmail is piracy, that tax-dodging is larceny. the cloven hoof hides in patent leather, and to-day, as in hosea's time, the people are destroyed for lack of knowledge." let us see to it that our children are not so destroyed. in the old abolition days, mr. emerson wrote: "what an education in the public spirit of massachusetts have been the speeches and reading of our public schools! every district school has been an anti-slavery convention for these two or three years last past." special policies cannot often be taught like this in the modern public school, but the broad principles of pure politics can and should be. for instance, a lesson in civil service management may be given without once uttering those words, simply by teaching the sentiment well uttered by ruskin: "the first necessity of social life is the clearness of the national conscience in enforcing the law,--_that he should keep who has justly earned_." children can be taught the dangers, not only to their principles, but their worldly fortunes, of office-seeking and of making a profession of politics. the child of wealth should be especially instructed in his duty to look after the affairs of his own town, county, state and nation. the man whose powers are strained to the utmost in order to support and educate his family, can of necessity give little time to the searching out of civic wrongs and their remedies. the well-to-do citizen must give all the more to make up for the limitations of his poorer neighbor. children can be taught, too, something of the protean forms of bribery, the schemes for trading votes; the duty of every voter to vote and do jury-work; the need of looking at every question from both sides; of avoiding blind partisanship; and much of the rest of the elementary ethics of politics. and, again, it is upon the mother that this patriotic duty must chiefly devolve. as with all of her training, she may often feel that the work is slow and uncertain, but she may well take to heart the encouraging words of the poet: "thou canst not see grass grow, how sharp soe'er thou be; yet that the grass has grown, thou presently shall see. so, though thou canst not see thy work now prospering, know the fruit of every work-time without fail shall show." jacob riis used often to say that the apparent corruption of our politics was largely due to crass ignorance. there are, too, many human beings who are born moral idiots, who cannot be made to understand ethics, any more than intellectual "subnormals" can be made to understand proportion and international law. but we know that up to the ability of every being he should be taught. we know that the appalling illiteracy of mexico, russia and china renders a stable republic in any one of them almost impossible. education is a slow business. generations of it will be required to make those countries what they ought to be; but it is the desideratum to successful republicanism. therefore it is vital that we guard our public schools. but again it must be emphasized that though school discipline should be of the best, yet the real education of your child depends more upon his home than upon his school. what newspapers are lying around there? what magazines? do you patronize salacious plays? do you exalt in your conversation the prize-fight and the automobile-race? what sort of people visit your home? what sort of conversation goes on at your table? is wine or beer served there? is the air in your parlor or study often thick with tobacco-smoke? the father who wishes his children to become pure-minded and unselfish patriots, must ask himself many questions like these. remember that the boy is influenced by your words only to a certain degree. our seer of concord never uttered a more impressive truth than when he pictured a youth as demanding of his father, "how can i hear what you _say_, when what you _are_ is thundering so loud in my ears?" you can bring very near to your boy and your girl, the responsibility of us all for good home government, by mentioning often to them the burning issues in their home town. in many of our towns and villages, one part of the city or township is jealous of another part, will not vote for improvements there and is generally suspicious and contrary. explain to your children how contemptible such an attitude is. weigh for them the arguments on both sides, and make them help you to decide justly how you ought to vote. make the girl, especially, form an opinion. on her may devolve the future political training of influential citizens. in fact, she may herself be a member of congress or a united states senator! are the roads bad in your town? are the taxes improperly collected? are the schools inferior or managed by politicians? is the town poorly policed? are the back yards unsanitary? are the town officers inefficient? explain to your children how the taxes are laid,--how a town has to spend a good deal to keep itself up, so to speak; and how important it is that its tax-money should be carefully spent. particularly should we impress it upon our children that if a town is a slipshod, ugly or unhealthy place, it is not the fault of a vague, formless thing, called "the town" or "the city," or "the state," but of each and every one of us; and especially of every separate voter who fails to be on hand at the town-meetings or caucuses, and to try his best to get good men elected and good measures passed. an american was riding in a cab through the streets of vienna, some years before the war, reading his mail. as he finished with certain letters, he tore them up and threw the fragments out of the cab-window. the driver soon began to notice what was going on, left his box and picked up the torn papers. then he put his head in at the window, and cried, with a passion which seemed to the careless and untidy american quite uncalled-for, "what do you mean by littering up our beautiful streets in this way? where do you come from? have your people no pride in their country? do they wish it to look all over like a slum?" he actually reported the matter to the police. the man was thereupon haled to court and had to pay a considerable fine. although some of our cities, as well as foreign ones, carry civic pride to an almost ridiculous extent, it is a good fault. children should early be taught to regard the neatness and beauty of their town. if they complain that these matters are hard to remember and to do, give them to understand that patriotism is not easy. few virtues are easy to practice, and perhaps unselfish patriotism is the hardest of all. a young man graduated from that great american university where it is said that citizenship is most strenuously taught, and where he had certainly imbibed a lofty desire to do his duty by his country. he lived in a great city and presented himself in due time after his graduation at the door of his ward political organization. there he met with an experience something like this: a gentleman, plethoric and red-faced, welcomed him, asked his name and address, and gave him "the glad hand." at the same time, he showed a spice of suspicion. "are you a republican?" he asked. "yes." "i suppose you have always voted the straight ticket?" "well,--i have been voting only a year or two. i think i have voted the straight ticket so far." "and i suppose you intend to vote the straight ticket right along?" "i may or i may not," said the youth, with some spirit. "i reserve for myself the right to vote for the best candidate, especially in local affairs." "then,--ahem--perhaps you haven't got into just the right place. this is a straight organization, you know. maybe you can find an 'independent'" (pronounced with scorn) "organization somewhere in the ward. i rather think that is where you belong. we have found these 'independents' a sort of obstruction to the transaction of business,--a kind of kickers, you know, though of course, you might not turn out so. still,"--with decision,--"you really don't belong here." "i was mad clear through," said the youth, in relating the story later. "i was disgusted with the looks of the man and with those who were in there with him. i just turned on my heel and left, and i haven't darkened that door again." was that patriotic? was not that boy deliberately turning over the government of his city to "boodlers" and "grafters"? "but," you may say, "should he have stayed on where he was not wanted?" certainly he should. he had a right there, as any citizen had. he should have taken time to find other voters like himself, which he could no doubt have done, and together they could have maintained themselves. he saw that this man and his companions were not proper persons to have control of an organization of his party, and he should have done his best, even at the sacrifice of considerable time, to oust them and get better men in. he was no patriot. chapter iv teaching the meaning of democracy in a country like ours, there is a public opinion of almost uncontrollable power. the educated and the intellectual may have a decisive voice in its formation; or they may live in their own selfish enjoyments, and suffer the ignorant and depraved to form that public opinion.--horace mann. one of the most irritating things in the world to a true patriot, is the visitor at his table, who exalts the superiority of other nations to our own. not that nearly every other nation may not have some one or more points of superiority, which should be acknowledged and emulated; but your worshiper of the foreign usually makes a blanket indictment of america. one such man was a guest at a certain table just before the war. he had recently returned from a long stay in europe, where his great wealth and important commercial and social connections gave him access to many of the circles which largely control the life over there. "how are the people abroad thinking of us nowadays?" inquired his hostess rather lightly. "do they despise us as much as ever?" "yes, indeed," replied the great man emphatically. "but i hope you stood up for us?" "i wish i could say that i did," he had the effrontery to reply calmly; "but how could i? they consider that the corruption of our government is so bad that it cannot possibly continue very long. i couldn't deny it, could i? i agreed with them entirely that we were nearly at the end of our rope." "really?" gasped his hostess. "are you in earnest?" "i never was more so in my life. look at the condition of affairs in blank and blank and blank,"--naming several states in which legislative scandals had been lately unearthed,--"how long do you think that things can go on like that and a government survive? i had to admit that a democratic form of government is a failure. of course, it was a great dream of the fathers, but it has proved to be as impracticable as a good many other rainbow visions. sometime the world may be ready for it, but it evidently is not now." "and what do you think will follow?" asked his hostess, holding on to her temper with difficulty. "are you in favor of an autocracy like germany, or of a limited monarchy like great britain? or do you think an oligarchy a better form? and if we decide on a monarchy, where should we get our royal family? should we elect one from candidates that present themselves? or should we request europe to send us one?" "now you are making fun of me," he commented with some feeling. "oh, no, not exactly," she laughed. "but really, if europe is unanimous in thinking our republic a failure, there must be 'something in it.' you have been in many countries and have met the leading people, and you know what you are talking about. if we are truly on the verge of a revolution, it is to the men like you, our foremost and ablest men, that we must turn to save us. therefore you ought to be thinking of ways and means. here is a nation of nearly a hundred million persons. if its government is so rotten that it cannot last, what should be done?" but he declined to continue the discussion. he merely laughed rather weakly and some one just then introduced a new topic. strange to say, during the next few months several other men were encountered, who also bemoaned the "failure" of our institutions. our children must be taught how to meet such pessimists. they would probably, in the light of recent developments, say that they repudiate the doctrines of nietzsche, but they are really endorsing one of his prime tenets, namely, that democracy is bound always to be a failure; that the "masses" should be kept down; that all attempts to elevate "the herd" are folly; that they should be made to observe that strict morality, from whose shackles the "supermen" are free; and should submit unquestioningly to authority. women, even in the "super" class, are made in nietzsche's opinion, simply, as milton says, to serve by "standing and waiting." one would think that men who hold such views as this traveled guest, had never studied democracy. they surely do not understand its deep and splendid meaning. they should be made to see, as our children should be, by every means that we can devise, the tremendous advance which a democratic form of government shows beyond any other that the world has hitherto known. they should have impressed upon them elihu root's definition: "democracy is organized self-control." especially should they be told that universal education and unselfishness of patriotism are the only conditions under which a democracy can be perfected; and that no nation has ever yet been sufficiently educated and unselfish to arrive at perfection, and probably will not be until the millennium. we all realize that our government has many defects; but most of our critics stupidly fail to recognize that our public officials, instead of being our masters, are regarded by us, and in no pickwickian sense, as our servants. we are all so criminally busy with our personal affairs that we allow our government to run along almost anyway, often knowing that grafters are in charge of it; but feeling that it is cheaper to let matters go until they become unendurable, than to take the trouble to keep close track of them. after awhile, we say to ourselves, we will have a regular cleaning-up, turn the rascals out, and put in a new set of officials, who, we hope, will do better. our children must be taught that this is a wicked way to do. they must devote some of their time to following public affairs. they must understand also that, while low salaries must usually be paid to public officials, in order that offices may not be too eagerly sought, yet that patriots must be willing, when they can possibly afford it, to accept these low salaries, if their country is to be well and honestly served. in this war, we have seen many noble men resign large incomes in order to serve the nation. we must learn to do that in peace as well as in war. and we must all understand too, that these officials do not really represent the governing power of our country, which is undoubtedly that intangible thing called public opinion. it is as subtly invisible as electricity or gravity, but in this nation as powerful. in china, in india, and in most of the other oriental countries; in russia also, as the recent upheavals there have proved, there is nothing which can properly be called organized public opinion. in france and in great britain, there is much. in our country, it is everything. it dominates our whole social and political system. our press is sometimes said to create it. oftener the press says that it follows public opinion,--while a considerable section of our population declare that the press and public opinion are the same thing. in any case, the child should be made to understand that in a truly and nobly democratic form of government, no czar, no kaiser, no caste nor clique controls, but the people themselves, who, as lincoln said, can be fooled by their leaders part of the time, but whose sober second thought usually sets them ultimately on the right side. the child should be made to feel that since he is one unit in this controlling mass, he should form his opinions with care. one of the most frequent accusations against us among foreigners, is that we are wholly and ineradicably sordid. as outsiders often put it, "all that americans care for is the dollar." most of us, when we hear this, share the sentiment of a bright high school girl, who took part in a debate in 1913 on the comparative excellence of foreign and domestic manners. "i have just come back from a summer in europe," she said, "and i found there, on the whole, much worse manners than we have here. for instance, in nearly every country where we went, we had relatives and friends, and they were constantly saying, and very rudely, i thought, 'oh, yes, we understand your america. all you care for over there is the dollar.' but i don't care for the dollar and my father and my mother, and my uncles and my aunts, and our friends,--hardly anybody i know, in fact,--none of them care for the dollar,--not half so much as they do over there,--and i told them so!" her passionate plea brought forth equally passionate applause from her young hearers,--for it was true. human nature is inherently selfish and grasping. we have only to read the book of proverbs to see that it was so in ancient times and it will probably always retain something of that meanness; but americans are the most generous people in the world, and, as a whole, are the freest from miserliness and avarice. look over the marriage notices of a century or more ago in any english periodical, and you will probably find mentioned there the amount of the bride's dowry. we all know how invariably it has to be ascertained nowadays before a foreign nobleman takes an american bride. among ourselves, there is almost nothing of this sort. one reason, perhaps the principal one, for this universal accusation, is not far to seek. all foreign nations have their leisure classes. the great nobles and gentry often do not even manage their own estates. some "factor" or "agent" does it for them. as for working for money, the very idea would shock them unspeakably. a woman who works for money is especially scorned over there. it is seldom that such a woman has any social standing whatever. utterly different is the american estimation of merit. here we have a leisure class, but it is so small as to be negligible, and it is commonly despised. all of our men are expected to work for money, or, as we put it,--to earn their living, though many of our rich men often contribute freely much time and labor to public affairs and to philanthropy. a woman who earns her living over here is quite as likely as not to rank among our most respected citizens. as a well-known snob once said, "even in our first circles, you once in a while meet one of these writers or painters, who expects to be treated as if he were one of _us_." thus public opinion controls our social as well as our political life. chapter v sacrificing for patriotism look back upon washington and upon the savior-like martyrs, who, for our welfare, in lonely dungeons and prison-ships, breathed a noisome air; and when the minions of power came around day after day and offered them life and liberty if they would desert their country's cause, refused and died. the great experiment of republicanism is being tried anew. in greece and italy it failed through the incapacity of the people to enjoy liberty without abusing it. millions of human beings may be happy through our wisdom, but must be miserable through our folly. religion, the ark of god, is here thrown open to all, and yet is to be guarded from desecration and sacrilege, lest we perish with a deeper perdition than ever befell any other people.--horace mann. a little boy many years ago was marching down fourth avenue in new york, his face bright with interest and his whole air that of one who has important business on hand. a gentleman who met him was curious to know what was in the child's mind and stopped him. "where are you going so fast, my little man?" he asked. "i'm going to the bible house," replied the boy promptly. "you see the _morning star_,--that's the missionary ship, has just got in, and i paid a penny to get that ship, and so it's part mine, and i'm going down to hear all about it." the gentleman who told this story was old, and the incident had occurred in his young manhood, but he said he had never forgotten it, for it illustrated better than anything he had ever seen the effect upon the mind of a personal share in any enterprise. the child who has worked in a garden is likely to watch its growth and progress with an interest which he could not otherwise feel. in the same way he can be made to appreciate his home better if he has daily light tasks to do in maintaining its order and comfort; but these tasks should, if possible, be made regular ones, and their performance should become a habit. if they are done only now and then, they are much more likely to be felt as a burden. the maintenance of the ordinary home requires great labor and expense. without unduly distressing them, children should be made to understand this, and that it is only fair that each member of the family should do his part in keeping it up. in the households of the rich, such a course is hard to manage, for servants do all the work; but in the average home where but one servant, or none at all, is kept, a little ingenuity on the part of the parents will accomplish it, without "nagging" or tiresome repetition. in one family of five children, where there was no servant, but where the standards of the mother were high, there was naturally an enormous amount of work to do. the eldest child was a girl of twelve, the next, a girl of ten. then came a boy of eight, and so on down. the older ones were in school, but all helped cheerfully in the household work as far as they were able. the boy of eight, who may be called chester, was a thoughtful little fellow, and when he saw his mother rising at four or five o'clock every morning to wash or iron or cook; then, all day long cutting out little garments, running the sewing-machine, tending the teething baby, or engaged in the never-ending task of cleaning the house, his tender heart was deeply moved. he was a great reader and the lady who superintended the village library came to know him well, and often had long talks with him. from his extensive reading, coupled with a naturally rather "old-fashioned" way of expressing himself, his remarks were often of a nature to amuse her, but she never laughed at him, and so was able to keep his confidence. one morning chester appeared with his weekly book, and as the librarian was alone, he sat down for a little talk. his face was long, and as he dropped into his chair, he sighed heavily. "what is the matter, chester?" she asked kindly. "my mother is sick," he replied dejectedly. "she is sick in bed. my father got the breakfast, but he isn't much good,--and we children helped, but we ain't much good either. not anything goes right when my mother is sick." "but she will soon be well. probably she has been working too hard." "yes, that's it," agreed chester wearily. "my father says so. he tells her to let things go more, and she says she tries, but she wants the house to look so nice,--and see how well she mends my stockings,"--rolling up one of his knickerbockers, "and it is work, work, work for my mother from morning to night. oh, miss smith," concluded chester in a tone of anguish, "the lot of woman is very hard." miss smith had never had such difficulty to control herself as when she heard this monumental sentiment from the lips of this diminutive urchin, but she managed to utter steadily, "still, it must be a comfort to your mother to have so many good children to help her," to which chester gravely assented. there are not many children who so fully appreciate their mother's responsibilities; but it is well that, without complaint or whining, the mother should, in such circumstances as those which have been described, make her family understand that her "lot" needs all of the amelioration that they can supply; and they will love and value their home all the more, the more they do for it. the same thing is true of the affairs of your town or city. if you do nothing for it, you are likely to care nothing for it. in miss mccracken's interesting book, "teaching through stories," she tells of a little girl, who, from reading the story, "the microbe which comes into milk," became convinced of the importance of pure milk. in this tale, emphasis is laid upon the rapidity with which milk deteriorates, if it is left standing in the sun, and the harm which often comes to babies in consequence. a little later, a neighbor, who had a small baby, reported that this child rang her bell early one morning, about ten minutes after the milk-man had brought the baby's milk, and said anxiously, "your milk-bottle is standing out on the piazza in the sun. aren't you afraid it will spoil if you don't put it in the ice-chest?" it is but a little way from an interest in the pure milk of an individual baby to an interest in pure milk for all babies. this little girl will probably grow up to see that laws are enforced for pure milk, and for the cleanliness of cows and stables. even though she may never develop an enthusiasm for any other branch of politics, it is a good thing to have one woman working hard for pure milk. all children can be taught to see that good laws for such matters are a part of patriotism; and that a man who does not try to help to get such laws, even though he may shout for political candidates and hang out flags in front of his house, is not a true patriot. it is not often that one person can work in many different directions; but if each one will choose some reform in which he is particularly interested, and hammer at that until it is accomplished, he will have done something fine for his country. he may meet with all kinds of discouragements, but let him hold on. again, he must be reminded that patriotism is seldom easy. even after you have succeeded in getting your ordinance passed, you may have trouble in having it enforced. worst of all, the clever rascals on the other side may manage to get your hard-won law repealed,--and there is your long task all to do over again. eternal vigilance is the price of liberty just as much now as ever. look across the ocean, and you see what it is costing the nations of to-day. you think that our fathers gained it for us in the revolution, and that, however others may have to fight for it, it is secure for us; and all that we have to do is to sit back and enjoy it. on the contrary, some form of tyranny is always just around the corner, waiting to devour us. it is not impossible that a wrong issue of this war may force us to fight on our own soil again for it. in any case, there are plenty of social and commercial tyrants only waiting to lay hands on us. sometimes it is a rich corporation, stretching out shrewd tentacles to entrap us. its managers may be philanthropic and courteous, even religious, tyrants,--but despots none the less. it may be a company of racetrack gamblers, defeated for a while by a fearless governor, but stealing back to power as soon as his back is turned. different states may have different tyrants,--or an arrogant party of socialists may "tie up" the whole country. there is almost every minute some movement going on, calculated, if it succeeds, to hamper or destroy our liberty. mr. d. l. moody once said, when he was commenting upon this phase of our national life: "anything that is going to hurt this nation we ought to fight. anything that is going to undermine this grand republic or tear out its foundation, you and i ought to guard against with our tears and our prayers and our efforts." explain this often to your children. it will strengthen their determination to defend their country. one of our young reformers in a public address lately pleaded for a wider recognition among the people of the good work of honest officials. "there are enough among us to find fault when things are not done right," he said, "but there are few who will take the trouble to commend the man who does well. he keeps on with his efforts, whether he gets any praise for it or not, but he is often immensely cheered and refreshed by an appreciative word. if his morality is not of the heroic kind, he may fall away and cease to put forth any special effort to do his work well, just for lack of encouragement." he illustrated his point with the story of the small boy who was sweeping the sidewalk when some ladies appeared to call upon his mother. one of them asked pleasantly, "is your mother at home?" his rather rude reply was laden with significance. "do you suppose," he growled, while a slight twinkle broke through his scowling eye, "that i would be sweeping here if she wasn't at home?" in spite of the fact that a well-fed, well-clothed and well-educated people, like the germans, for instance, will bear an autocratic government, which kindly does everything for them, but gives little opportunity for individual initiative; it cannot be compared, in its salutary effect upon its citizens, with one which calls forth the powers of judgment and decision in every one, and feeds self-respect, discouraging toadyism and caste, like a republic. an autocracy, if wisely administered, undoubtedly means greater order and efficiency, until the democracy has mastered its new problems and its people have become thoroughly educated. rough working of new machinery is almost inevitable; and the modern democratic idea has not, even in our own country, in the absence of the votes of half the people, been allowed proper space for expansion, though england, france and switzerland are hewing at it also. a hundred years longer will show what it can do, if demagogues do not overturn it. if our republic fails, another will arise upon its ashes, for the noble principles upon which it was founded are the highest yet conceived by man, and are immortal. this truth cannot be too early or too strongly impressed upon our children. there are enough men, like our distinguished capitalist, who do not believe in it. their plausible arguments may undermine the convictions of our young people, unless we furnish them with solid reasons for our higher belief. as mr. benjamin c. r. low has recently written in a fine poem, "america is so new!" we are new. we realize that we are an experiment. whether this experiment, the greatest the world has ever seen, is to succeed, depends upon the kind of patriotism that is instilled into our children. they must be thoroughly inoculated with the truth that both peace and war make incessant, expensive and personally sacrificial demands upon every citizen, and that these demands must be met by them, or else america is lost. there must be no "slackers" in this everlasting conflict. chapter vi patriotism and health entire abstinence from intoxicating drinks as a beverage, would, with all its attendant blessings, in the course of a single generation, carry comfort, competence and respectability, with but few exceptions, into all the dwellings in the land. this is not a matter of probability and conjecture. it depends upon principles as fixed and certain in their operation as the rising of the sun.--horace mann. we are accused by our foreign visitors of being a sickly nation, and the numerous exemptions from military service among our young men for physical defects, have reinforced their contention. our ice-water, our ice-cream soda-water, our custom of bolting our food, and our over-heated houses, make it impossible, they say, that we should ever be a strong and healthy people. and so, of course, we can never hope to be a "world-power!" many other indictments are brought against us in this line, most of which, if the ardent accusers would only think of it, might be brought with equal justice against every other civilized nation. thus, excessive alcoholism, in which we have been said to be second only to great britain, evidently applies somewhat to other countries, in which the new prohibitory laws are declared to have worked a social and industrial revolution. drunkenness must have prevailed there to a considerable degree, since the condition of the people has been so much improved by a prohibitory law. we are all ready to concede, even though prohibition has won to its support so many of our states, that there is still room for improvement in the public opinion of a large part of the country, regarding the merits of "wet and dry." it is stoutly maintained in certain social circles that the daily presence of wine upon the family table is more likely than its absence to promote temperance there. this theory does not commend itself to most of us, and our position is strengthened by the facts recently proclaimed by science, which go to prove that not only do drunkards abound among the families which serve wine upon their tables, but that the use of any alcoholic beverage lowers efficiency and is distinctly injurious to health, in spite of exceptions. we always hear of these shining exceptions, while of the vast army of those who have succumbed, no records are available. dr. eugene lyman fisk, in one of his interesting articles, states that recent scientific researches have proven that "alcohol has been found to be a depressant and a narcotic, often exerting, even in small daily doses, an unfavorable effect on the brain and nervous functions, and on heart and circulation, and lowering the resistance of the body to infection." the testimony of the life insurance companies and of the managers of athletic "teams," is also conclusive as to the deteriorating effects of alcohol; and the motive of patriotism will be found of great assistance in impressing the desirableness of total abstinence upon the young. we should all like to have our country called the healthiest in the world. to that end we drain our marshes, protect our water-supply, make innumerable laws for tenement-reform, street-cleaning, pure food and so on. but all these measures are bound to be more or less ineffective so long as we cram our systems with chemical poisons. make this plain to your boy and your girl; and that, as the famous story has it, as every deed was done by the early fathers, "in the name of the king"; so, in what might seem to be irrelevant, though really germane and vital, we should all do the right thing in the name of america. we all know well the absolute slavery of men to fashion. the average man would rather be racked on the wheel of the inquisition than to "appear out" in a coat or a hat different from those that "the other men" are wearing. boys, large and small, are quite as sensitive. mothers encounter angriest protests and even floods of tears if they strive to impose on their young sons any detail of costume different from that worn by "the other fellows." women have long borne the imputation of being the chief sinners in this regard, but they are not. their brothers are even more tightly bound in the meshes of the merciless despot, fashion. this fact must be taken into consideration in all efforts at social reform among men, as a class. the independence which can defy a hurtful social custom is very rare among them. many a man who would "go over the top" without quailing, lacks the courage to oppose a popular social movement, though he may know that it is of dubious benefit to the race. but true patriotism, to say nothing of other motives, bids us discard every habit and stamp out every malady which lowers the _morale_ or impairs the efficiency of the people. one of the most subtle foes of our national health, and only lately dragged out of its secret lair for the open contumely and united attack of all good men and women, is the most terrible of sex-diseases, which is said to be frightfully prevalent. mr. cleveland moffett, in _mcclure's magazine_, pleads for specific sex-instruction in our educational institutions. he says: "the youth of america are taught everything, with the exception of the most essential of all, the great secret of life. one result of this inexcusable neglect is seen in alarming high school conditions reported in various cities." he advises home instruction in these important and delicate matters, but admits, what we all know, that few parents are qualified to give it. those few should do so; but if the most terrible disease known to civilization, and probably, in a more or less virulent form, the most common, is to be successfully combated, such instruction should be imparted. under the circumstances, it must be done, apparently, by regular teachers, who should be high-minded, tactful and thoroughly trained. this instruction should be given to each pupil separately and when alone with his teacher. two or three interviews, of perhaps twenty minutes each, ought to be sufficient each year. it should be possible to arrange that number in every school in the land. there is another great curse which operates especially against the health of our girls. a well-known woman is in the habit of saying, "i have scarcely a woman-friend who either has not just had an operation, or is not having one now, or is not going to have one soon." this statement always raises a laugh, but is no joke; it is a solemn, awful fact. now why are so many of our splendid women, well-fed, living largely in the open air, busy, educated, passionately devoted to the study of hygiene and sanitation, inevitably destined to be cut up on the operating-tables of our hospitals? why,--it is so commonly expected, that we hear of these operations now without a quiver, even though we know they are likely to be fatal. we accept them as though they were decreed by an inescapable fate, and there was no remedy. is it reasonable that the creator should have made woman to be a natural invalid,--to have powers and faculties which she could never fully employ and enjoy? of what use are our hard-won educational advantages, if they are going simply to a band of sickly, half-dead girls and women? it is a monstrous and blasphemous thought that our maker designed women for such a destiny. huxley says that nine-tenths of the impediments to women's health are not inherent, but are due to her mode of life. she was made to be strong and helpful. her body is wonderfully wrought and fashioned for motherhood, and for the accomplishment of the high spiritual mission to which the woman-soul aspires. one is driven to the conclusion that at the root of her physical enfeeblement is the costume which has been imposed upon her by the false ideals and hyper-refined standards of past centuries, and of nations which have admired most the class of women who do not prepare themselves for motherhood. the costume which women wear is intended chiefly to give an impression of slenderness. it is not suited to the hard work of the busy housewife, nor to that of the cramped and confined officeor shop-worker, nor to the life of the schoolgirl. a hard-working man, dressed in the modern corset and in the usually closely-belted blouse of the girl and woman of to-day, would fail physically and resort to the operating-table as universally as do his wife and sisters. that so many of them survive the ordeal and are able to perform some useful work in the world is, says one prominent physician, "one of the wonders of our time." "pauline furlong," in a recent issue of a widely circulated journal, begs that the corset and the closely fitting costume of the present be discarded, and replaced by something light, loose and hung entirely from the shoulders. the recent remarks of mr. edison upon this subject are sound. he says, "there should be no pressure upon any part of the body, if the organs within, which require perfect freedom in order to do their work efficiently, are to perform their functions." we shall never have a strong and healthy nation, though we may make volumes of sanitary laws, until there is a radical change in the dress of women. that, just as a girl is approaching the age when she is likely to marry and bear children, the organs of motherhood should be subjected to strong pressure and largely deprived of activity, so that the delicate milk-ducts are often atrophied, and the muscles most needed to support the child are weakened; while the chief organ of all is frequently displaced, leading to painful and sometimes fatal complications;--all this is so discreditable to the intelligence of our people, that future ages will doubtless look back upon our period as one of densest ignorance regarding eugenics. you may ask, "what do you advise to take the place of the present mode of dress?" only the experts in such matters can answer this question. it seems likely that some combination of the best points of the oriental costumes offers the best solution. the new dress should be perfectly loose; light in weight; should depend entirely from the shoulders, like a man's, thus bringing no pressure to bear upon the important but loosely hung organs of the abdomen; and the legs should be allowed the utmost freedom. women who have long depended upon a corset for support will doubtless find it uncomfortable, or even dangerous, to lay upon their enfeebled muscles alone the task of upholding their bodies. girls who do not wear corsets will not "look well" (according to our modern distorted ideas) in any but the prevailing costume. the dancers say that if a truly hygienic mode of dress is introduced, the modern dance will have to be reformed,--which may not be the least of the benefits of such a mode! these are some of the objections raised to radical changes in women's attire. but the health of our girls, and especially of our mothers, is a vital matter, and must be made paramount. there will always be causes enough for illness; but it must be emphasized that we shall never have a strong and healthy nation, in which but a small percentage, instead of the enormous one of the present draft, is rejected for physical defects, until the motherhood of the nation is properly equipped for motherhood. neither will our girls be ready to fulfill nobly their new political duties. nature is strong, and she manages to circumvent, to a certain extent, the obstructive devices of man. there are apparently many healthy children born of tightly corseted mothers. the outer flesh and blood of the child are made in the obscure laboratories of the body more easily than the later and highly refined fabrications of brain and nerve. are the low average brain-power and the weak nerves of our people, leading in so many pitiable cases to moral and mental degeneracy, largely due to our criminal neglect of the conditions of free and splendid motherhood? but, if we want to become a healthy and powerful people, what is more necessary for us than strong and healthy mothers? the child should be taught that any tampering with health is immoral. the most conscientious observance of its laws should be impressed upon every boy and girl. especially must we guard the health of our girls, for their function in the state is just now of vital moment, and yet it is not so much regarded apparently as that of their brothers. chapter vii work as a vital part of patriotism gurowski asked, "where is the bog? i wish to earn money. i wish to dig peat." "oh, no, sir, you cannot do such degrading work." "i cannot be degraded. i am gurowski."--emerson's journals. something has been said of the estimation in which work and working for a living, are held in our country. in an illuminating sermon, dr. lyman abbott once treated of this subject. it was on the fourth of july, and he began by saying that the most important result of the civil war, as he viewed it, was one that he had never heard mentioned. having thus enlisted the keenest attention of his hearers, he continued in nearly these words: "before the civil war, the man who worked with his hands was despised by the leading element in the south. supplied with an army of slaves to wait upon him, the average planter was spared the necessity of exertion. he hunted in the season, raced sometimes and sometimes played an athletic game; but he held the theory, broadly speaking, that no man could be a gentleman (as most foreigners believe also) who engages in trade or pursues any mechanical occupation. "the war changed all that. many of the richest planters had to go to work. some of them had even to enter menial servitude in order to earn bread for their families. then they found out that it was possible to preserve their scholarship, their refinement and their gentle manners, though they worked hard every day. it was an epochal discovery. "from that time, the dignity of labor was established in the south, as the pilgrim fathers had long before established it in new england, and as it must eventually be established throughout the world, if the world is ever to rise to the full glory of the democratic ideal." the chief, and almost the only argument of the advocates of child labor in our fields and factories, is that the children thus become early used to work,--a habit which is productive of the best results in later life. carlyle's great essays upon work have inspired thousands; and in professor carl hilty's wonderful volume called "happiness," there is an essay on "work," which every parent should read. he shows how laziness,--the inherent aversion to work,--has been a chief obstacle to progress in all ages; how hard labor was so universally relegated to slaves during early times that even to philosophers like plato and aristotle, any social system was unthinkable, which did not include a slave class. one of professor's hilty's incidental remarks is worth mentioning. he speaks of the many excellent women who observe scrupulously the injunction in the fourth commandment to keep the sabbath day holy; but who seem to fail to observe the opening sentence of the commandment, "six days shalt thou labor"; often apparently thinking that one day out of the seven, or even none at all, is enough for that purpose. he feels that the progress of the world depends upon the combined and strenuous labor of every living man and woman for six days out of the seven,--with only occasional vacations! we are all probably agreed that every citizen should know how to support himself. one of our truant officers went to a poor home to find out why a boy who lived there had been absent from school for several days. the mother reported that the father was in the hospital, and that her only support was the small pay which this boy received for holding horses, doing errands for the corner grocer, and so on. the teapot stood on the stove, and the officer said, "but your boy will grow up ignorant if you keep him out of school like this. don't you want him to know about tea,--where it grows and how it is prepared for the market?" "oh," responded the poor woman, with a practical common sense which disconcerted her hearer, "i'd a dale rather he should know how to airn a pound of it." and in her desperate circumstances, it was far more necessary that he should. but in well-to-do households, where there is not much work that a child can do, especially in the city, how can he be trained up in habits of industry? this is a problem which, as we have said, confronts thousands of conscientious mothers, who believe profoundly in mrs. browning's pregnant lines: "get work! get work! be sure that it is better than anything you work to get." country children can gather the eggs, cut feed for the animals, often have a pet lamb, chickens, heifers or colts of their own to care for. there is little difficulty in finding "chores" for them to do. but the city boy and girl are not so fortunately situated. all that can be done for them is to devise errands, and to place upon them as much responsibility for small duties about the house, as you think they can bear. they should spend as much time as possible in the open air, playing in their own yard or, under close watch, in the street,--the playground of most city children. every means that can be thought of should be used to make them despise the idea of idleness, and to love work. a distinguished professor in one of our great universities taught his classes that work was one of the cardinal evils, and that a prime endeavor of life should be to get along with as little work as possible. a mother of one of his pupils, who had brought her son up to believe that work was noble and honorable, and that it ranked with the four gospels as a means of salvation from sin, has never forgiven that professor. he overturned in the mind of her son the ideal of the glory of work, which she had so painstakingly erected there, and it has never been fully re-established. no such man as that teacher should ever be given a position upon a college faculty. when one reads of the childhood of the vast majority of our distinguished men it seems chimerical to hope that children brought up in comfort, with plenty to eat and to wear, should ever attain to high positions. most of our great men appear to have struggled through seas of adversity, in order to get an education and a foothold in the world of literature or art or politics or finance. we recognize that it was the self-reliance and the capacity for hard work thus developed, which brought them success. we know that it is a truism that poverty is the mother of muscle and of invention. many wealthy parents have tried to supply this great motive by depriving their children of luxuries, and making them work their way through college, or "begin at the bottom" of some business. this has sometimes, but not often, resulted well; for, after all, artificial poverty is only a blind, and the child has ever the underlying consciousness that it is, and that there is no real need that he should much exert himself. a lady who conducted a subscription class of society women in their own beautiful parlors, testified that their mental inertia was lamentable, and that the only two in her class of fifty, who really seemed to have any capacity for keen thought, were women who worked for a living. they had to make their minds nimble and bright in order to keep themselves afloat. in professor drummond's remarkable book, "natural law in the spiritual world," there is a striking illustration of the deteriorating effect of disuse upon organs, in the highly organized crab, which, when it finds a rich feeding-ground, attaches itself to some convenient rock, loses one by one its feelers and tentacles and soon becomes a simple sac, fit only to suck up nourishment. many of the absurd opinions and nearly all of the sins of the so-called "society" people can be laid to idleness. the mind, seldom used to its capacity, becomes dull and unable to reason, and the moral nature loses its strength of conviction. nothing is worse for our country than the increase of our idle classes. its salvation is the slogan that every man and woman should work and earn at least a living. our "leisure women" are realizing their plight, and most of them are entering actively into our great philanthropic and civic organizations. the war has given them a splendid opportunity and it is a good sign for our nation that so many of them have seized it. the idle woman, whom george meredith calls, "that baggage which has so hindered the march of civilization," is coming to realize her responsibility as a citizen of a great democratic nation. the leisure man among us is so rare that he is an almost negligible quantity, for which we may well be thankful. if we can get the child of america started well in the ways of industry, the man is safe; for one who has experienced the transporting pleasure of achievement, can scarcely help wanting more of it. "the phrase, 'economy of effort,' so dear to froebel's followers, had little meaning for dr. william james," says agnes repplier. "he asserts that effort is oxygen to the lungs of youth, and that a noble, generous rivalry is the spur of action and the impelling force of civilization." it is certainly the "cue" of every patriot who loves his country. the joy of work is well described by cleveland moffett in the article which has been mentioned. he says: "however disagreeable work may be, life without work is even more disagreeable. all who have tried it, no matter how rich they are, agree that enforced idleness ranks among the most cruel of tortures. men easily die of it, as doctors know, who every day order broken-down neurasthenics in their middle fifties, back into the business or professional harness they have foolishly retired from." the field of work for those women who are obliged or prefer to support themselves, is broadening hopefully. president woolley of mount holyoke tells of seven of her recent graduates who took part lately in a symposium at the college, all of whom were engaged in paying work, but no one of whom was teaching, though that has hitherto been the main dependence of the wage-earning girl. one of these young women was a physician; the others were respectively: a lawyer; an interior decorator; an editor of the children's department of a well-known periodical; a county agent in new york state; a member of the staff of the children's bureau at washington; and the secretary of the american nurses' association. such incidents make us confident that the varied talents of our bright girls will soon find as wide a scope as that enjoyed by our boys. and it cannot be too strongly emphasized that regular daily work in early life is invaluable in establishing habits of industry. a common expression used to be: "he has good habits," or "he has bad habits." we do not hear it so often nowadays, but the words are full of meaning. as a man's habits are, so is he. "could the young but realize," says mr. moffett, "how soon they will become mere walking bundles of habits, they would give more heed to their conduct while in the plastic state." it is then that we mothers must mold them into the workers that we want them to be, and we must use the patriotic motive to quicken their love of industry. in certain states this motive is strengthened by laws compelling idle men to work. robert gair is the founder of what is now the greatest "paper-products" business in this country, and probably in the world. it is located in the borough of brooklyn, new york city. there mr. gair, on the occasion of his seventy-fifth birthday, made an address to his employees, a portion of which, as reported in the _brooklyn eagle_, was as follows: "no permanent achievement, whatever its form may be, appears to be possible without stress of labor. nothing has come to me without persistent effort of the head and of the hand. hard labor will win what we want, if the laws of nature are obeyed. self-coddling and the fear of living strenuously, enfeeble character and result in half-successes. hard labor has no penalties. it is the loss of hardihood through careless living that brings penalties. do the one thing before you with your whole heart and soul. do not worry about what has gone by, nor what lies ahead, but rivet your mind and energies on the thing to be done now. self-indulgence and late hours produce leaden hands and a listless brain, robbing your work of 'punch.'" mr. gair cast his first vote for abraham lincoln. he enlisted early in the civil war and saw hard service. less than two hundred of the original 1,087 of his regiment remained to be mustered out at the close of the war. surely his wise and uncompromising words indicate one of the most necessary ways in which our young people, who desire to show how much they love their country and wish to promote her glory, can contribute to it. chapter viii a patriot's manners and morals manners are the happy way of doing things. . . . give a boy address and accomplishments, and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes. . . . the moral equalizes all; enriches, empowers all.--emerson. a thoughtful writer upon american customs recently remarked, "the morals of america are better than those of any other nation, but their manners are the worst." a certain mother once said, "i was always so fearful that my children would become bad men and women that i devoted all my attention to making them good. then i was shocked to find, when they had grown up, that though their morals were satisfactory their manners were not." perhaps most american mothers are like her. and that may be the reason why we have the reputation of being the worst-mannered of all the so-called "civilized" peoples. still, the outlook is encouraging. observing critics have been heard to say that the children now growing up, in spite of many exceptions, have better manners than those who have preceded them. the public schools are more careful regarding such matters than they used to be, and so are parents. in fact, if it were not for our numerous importations from the countries which most severely criticize us, our american manners, on the whole, might be called pretty good. have you not noticed how many laboring men remove their hats when apologizing to you, or offering a seat in a street-car? or say, "excuse me?" when it is proper. instead of staring at a cripple or a deformed person, as people used almost invariably to do, in very many cases lately it has been remarked that eyes have been politely turned away and an effort apparently made to appear unconscious of the misfortune. parents are teaching their children to eat more gracefully. more hands are neatly manicured. in fact, perhaps we are going almost too far in this direction. in one of the "country contributor's" interesting articles in the _ladies' home journal_, she says, "don't let anybody tell you that a lady or gentleman must have nice hands. it isn't true." she means, of course, that useful work, which often spoils the beauty of the hands, must be considered far more important than the keeping of them immaculate. quarrelsome and ill-bred children are still to be found among us, even in pretty good families; but in spite of the large class always present, who are chronic complainers of the decadence of the times,--a sure sign of approaching senility,--it must be acknowledged that the manners of the children one meets nowadays are better than those of the last generation. it would be a confession of the impotence of effort if this were not so. thousands of women's clubs and scores of women's periodicals have been hammering at "the bringing up of children," for, lo, these many years. add to these, the thunderings of the pulpit and of the lecture-platform, and we must admit that the best ways that we know of imparting information and inspiration are useless, unless there has been within the last quarter-century an improvement in the behavior of our children. we must remember that civilization is a slow process, and one cannot readily believe that, even in the millennium, there will not be some silly mothers and some naughty children. it is said that we behave better, so far as outward signs go, when we wear our best clothes. without fostering the love of dress, which is likely to be fully developed without help, especially among our girls, it cannot be too strongly impressed upon our children that they must never appear before others without being neatly and properly dressed. a principal of a famous normal school used to instruct his students that they must always dress as well as they could afford. "it will have a good effect upon your pupils," he said, "and it will help to establish the dignity of your profession." one of the few compliments which foreign visitors generally paid us (before the war) was that we were a well-dressed people. perhaps this has had more effect upon their estimation of us as a nation than have some of our more solid virtues. perhaps it is really a sign of the possession of solid virtues. but, again, it is example which counts more than precept in the case of manners, as in everything else. if you wish your children to treat your wife with respect, you must treat her so yourself. if you rise when she enters the room; if you hasten to place a footstool for her; if you apologize for passing in front of her; if you hasten to help her up and down the rough places; then your children will do it. otherwise, all of her and your injunctions will have small influence. there are good citizens and good soldiers who are uncouth and awkward in their manners, but a graceful courtesy clothing the more substantial qualities will give them far more weight in the community. one impatient boy complained to his fastidious mother, who was bound to make him a gentleman in manners, no matter what else he might become, "oh, mother, it is nothing but 'thank you,' and 'i beg your pardon,' and jumping up to give people your seat, from morning to night--and i get so sick of it! when i grow up, i'm never going to say them or do them any more!" courtly and polished manners are said to be impossible among the mass of the people in a republic. let us try to show the world that this is false. distinction of manner is not one of the great qualities of a nation, but if we wish to impress upon a somewhat incredulous world the glory and beauty of our institutions, we shall find the cultivation of beautiful manners a great help. dr. lyman beecher once said, "what a pity that so many of our finest and most self-sacrificing christians have had rough manners! they have robbed their example of half its force." the current ambition that our nation should be courteous as well as brave, is shown plainly in the questions which come by the hundred to the "household departments" of our periodicals, especially from mothers and young people. points of good behavior and etiquette are expounded there so fully and so often that there would seem to be no excuse for any ignorance among us of the proper conduct in any situation. the printed answers to these questions do not always commend themselves to the judgment of the judicious; but, on the whole, they are satisfactory, especially when we consider that opinions of just what constitutes a lady or a gentleman have differed even among the best authorities. thus, the old english social doctrine was that a gentleman is born, not made, and that no amount of training could graft the gentleman on one of humble lineage. our own admiral sampson used to say that "certain specific advantages of training and education were needed to make a gentleman,"--implying that gentlemanliness is an acquired art; and so the famous, but profoundly immoral chesterfield, would have defined it, though he considered good blood essential also. steele, in the "tatler," observed that the appellation of "gentleman" is never to be affixed to a man's circumstances, but to his behavior in them. old chaucer puts the matter thus: "he is gentil that doth gentil dedes." the outside likeness to a gentleman or lady amounts to little, unless there is a kind heart behind it, for affectation and insincerity are in themselves bad manners. huxley expressed it well when he said: "thoughtfulness for others, generosity, modesty and self-respect are the qualities which make a real gentleman or lady, as distinguished from the veneered article which commonly goes by that name." thackeray gives the best definition of all, though his own manners were harshly criticized by some of his contemporaries. it was, "to be a gentleman is to be brave, to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous, to be wise, and, possessing all these qualities, to exercise them in the most graceful manner." there are laws which forbid us to teach in our schools any particular religion, but there are no laws, as has already been said in this book, against the teaching of morals. let us quote again horace mann's strong words: "morals should be systematically taught in our schools, and not left for merely casual and occasional mention." few text-books in morals are as yet supplied in our public schools, and little time is provided in the daily schedules for lectures upon them; but one great avenue to their understanding and attainment is still open. in many schools there is a story-telling hour at intervals, and, as miss mccracken and her co-laborers have proved, patriotism and every other virtue can be deeply impressed upon the youthful mind by stories. for instance, one of the most necessary qualities for the development of a strong and noble personality is courage. now courage is not merely not being afraid, as miss mccracken shows, and as many of the anecdotes of the present war prove. it is going ahead and doing your duty, even when you are afraid,--as almost every human being is, when exposed to danger. every one must have noticed, in reading the innumerable war-stories in our books and periodicals, how many times the soldier confesses, "my whole frame trembled and my heart was like water, but i kept right on,"--and in several such cases we are told that some deed of extraordinary bravery was done by the faltering but determined man, which earned for him some medal or cross of merit. to go forward, no matter how the body may rebel, is the great test of courage. this advice is especially needed by our girls. upon women and girls have fallen many of the men's tasks in these days, and great moral and physical courage is needed to meet them. among the other inspiring words of robert gair are some to fit these new circumstances. "most of you have more quality than you know," he said. "do not fear to put your ability to the test." governor whitman of new york, in a recent address at mount holyoke college, quoted these beautiful words of phillips brooks, "do not pray for easy lives. pray to be stronger. do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. pray for powers equal to your tasks." our great task is to preserve this nation and its splendid ideals, so sacredly handed down to us by martyr-heroes. our children must be taught that the task is great, whether peace or war befall us, but that god can impart the wisdom and courage to perform it, and hand it down unimpaired to their descendants. frederick the great was brought up to be courageous, but his was chiefly the courage of battle. "frederick the great," said mr. james w. gerard, our late ambassador to germany, in a recent address, "is the hero and model of germany. his example, coupled with the teaching of germany's leading philosophers, has built up that ideal of force and dominion which has been the undoing of that great nation. this ideal must be entirely demolished before they can ever resume that place in the brotherhood of nations, to which their gifts and attainments entitle them." as a model, frederick the great is repugnant to the soul of america. we may not all be christians, but the claim that we are a christian nation is justified by the fact that our ideals are the ideals of christianity,--of justice toward all, of the love of mercy, of equality of opportunity for all, and of fraternity among men, of all races and creeds. peace is one of the grandest things on earth; but, as dean howard robbins reminds us, it is only a means to an end,--namely, this end: the coming of the kingdom of god. if war is required for this end, then we must for a time sacrifice peace. chapter ix the patriot's religion and ideals who seeks and loves the company of great ideals, and moves among them, soon or late will learn their ways and language, unaware take on their likeness. --president samuel v. cole. the venerable bede wrote of a king of northumberland and his counselors as debating whether the emissaries of pope gregory should be allowed to present to their people the christian faith. a gray-haired chief told of a little bird, which on a stormy night flew into his warm, bright dining-hall. it was a sweet moment for the bird, but his surroundings were unnatural. he was frightened, and presently out he flew into the storm again. "he came out of the dark, and into the dark he returned," said the old chief. "thus it is with human life. we come we know not whence. we depart we know not whither. if anybody can tell us anything about it, in god's name, let us hear him." and thus came the missionaries into britain and made it a so-called religious nation. our religious journals have discussed from many standpoints the possibility of making our own a religious nation. a formally "established" religion is especially forbidden us. we all admit this to be wise, and that church and state should be separate. yet there are few thoughtful people who do not realize that each individual has his spiritual part, which must be fed and nourished, and that this cannot be done by culture alone. when a series of sex-films was on display in new york, and good people were wondering whether more of good than bad would result to the young who flocked to see them, one distinguished man said to another, "knowledge alone will never make men virtuous,"--and no truer word was ever spoken, as the spectacle of highly educated germany amply proves. we are told that there are other forces than the love of god and the desire to serve him, which may elevate and redeem mankind. that old gospel, we are told, is outgrown. by other means, character, the banishment of injustice and crime and the establishment of universal brotherhood can be just as well secured. first, science was to do it. "from huxley's 'lay sermons' of 1870," says the _christian work_, "to the latest fulmination of professor haeckel, we have been hearing that science was the true messiah, the eliminator of all evil." science was to be taught to our children in the place of the outworn fables of the bible. then came the prophets of education. herbert spencer and his followers informed us that education was the panacea for all ills. educate the people as to what is best and they will choose the best. the prophets of culture came next. all that was necessary to bring in the millennium was the diffusion of art, literature, music, philosophy. the mastery of the world by supermen was to be the religion that should create a strong and virtuous nation. not meek men, not suffering christs, but giant men, by force summoning perfect character and perfect efficiency out of erring humanity. economic reform was the idol of the next decade or two. if we could get an eight-hour day, one day's rest in seven, a good wage, plenty to eat and model tenements, then religion, as the church views it, would be superfluous. during the last forty or fifty years, all of these gospels have been given a fair trial. "science," says dr. frederick lynch, "has driven the classics out of our colleges, and has almost become the text-book of our sunday schools,"--and yet it has worked little improvement in our national morals, and is just now devoted chiefly to the inventing of machines and chemicals for the slaughter of mankind. even airships have apparently been used mostly for dropping bombs on playgrounds and nurseries. education was never more general. education has stood next to the army in the consideration of germany. many of our principal cheap politicians and grafters are educated men. culture, too, is almost universal. every town has its library and its women's clubs; and chautauquas in summer and courses of lectures and concerts in winter, are provided in our smallest villages. germany has boasted of her culture, and we are proud of ours,--but it seems to have done little more than "to veneer the barbarian" in them and in us. all of the high-sounding promises of economic reform have failed as utterly. germany's fine insurance plans, england's old-age pensions, the higher wages, shorter hours and better homes of the working people, have proven but vanity. "be happy and you will be good" is not the great slogan of redemption, after all. sects are vanishing, and that is well. but the great ideals of the bible, the great pattern of the life of jesus christ, these are and ever must be the inspiration of the passion for righteousness which we long to instill into our children. science, education, culture, economic reform--these are good and necessary things,--but they are, each and all, only parts of the greater gospel, and that is what we must teach our children, if we are to make them good citizens; for, as a community without a church goes to pieces, so does character without religion. familiarity with the bible is one of the essentials to this teaching. besides its ethical and spiritual power, its stories, its poetry and its great essays furnish so much literary culture that a man thoroughly conversant with them is essentially a cultured being. one of our distinguished statesmen wandered into a backwoods church, where he heard a well-expressed, logical and highly spiritual discourse from a man who bore every mark in his outward appearance of having always lived in the locality. upon inquiring where this remarkable preacher gained his knowledge, he found that he had always lived in an obscure hamlet and that his library consisted simply of his bible and his hymn-book. abraham lincoln obtained his wonderful literary style largely from his study of the king james bible. webster recommended it as a model of condensed, dignified and vivid expression. thousands of our best writers and orators are indebted to it for the high quality of their style, and many have so testified. the work of these writers, such as shakespeare, browning, mrs. browning, tennyson, matthew arnold, lowell, longfellow, bryant, whittier, sidney lanier, are full of allusions and figures which cannot be understood by our young people unless they are familiar with the bible. all of our greatest modern literature is permeated with its language and its spirit. every child should know its stories, should be made to learn some of its grand poetry, and should have its ethics and its spiritual lessons deeply graven upon their hearts. we can truly say of it: "thou art the voice to kingly boys to lift them through the fight." "the child," says president butler of columbia university, "is entitled to his religious as well as to his scientific, literary and æsthetic inheritance. without any one of them he cannot become a truly cultivated man. . . . if it is true that reason and spirit rule the universe, then the highest and most enduring knowledge is of the things of the spirit. that subtle sense of the beautiful and sublime which accompanies spiritual insight and is a part of it,--this is the highest achievement of which humanity is capable. it is typified in the verse of dante, in the prose of thomas à kempis, in the sistine madonna of raphael and in mozart's requiem. to develop this sense in education is the task of art and literature; to interpret it is the work of philosophy; to nourish it is the function of religion. it is man's highest possession, and those studies which most directly appeal to it are beyond compare most valuable." theodore roosevelt has recently given us a fair definition of religion. the new york bible society asked him to write a special message to be printed in the copies of the new testament designed for soldiers and sailors. he sent the following: "the teachings of the new testament are foreshadowed in micah's verse: 'what more doth the lord require of thee than to do justice and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy god?' "do justice: and therefore fight valiantly against the armies of germany and turkey, for these nations in this crisis stand for the reign of moloch and beelzebub upon this earth. "love mercy; treat prisoners well; succor the wounded; treat every woman as if she were your sister; care for little children; be tender with the old and helpless. "walk humbly; you will do so if you study the life and teachings of the savior. "may the god of justice and mercy have you in his keeping!" mr. roosevelt had evidently in mind the great prayer of george washington for america, well-known to most episcopalians, but not so familiar to members of other sects. in fact, it is rather shameful that so few know it. here it is: "almighty god, we make our earnest prayer that thou wilt keep the united states in thy holy protection; that thou wilt incline the hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and obedience to government; to entertain a brotherly affection and love for one another and for their fellow citizens of the united states at large. and, finally, that thou wilt most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility and pacific temper of mind, which were the characteristics of the divine author of our blessed religion, and without an humble imitation of whose example in these things we can never hope to be a happy nation. grant our supplication, we beseech thee, through jesus christ our lord, amen." this prayer may well be taught to every one of our boys and girls, and be used by them in their daily devotions. the sunday school should be a nesting-place for patriotism as well as for religion. it is occasionally felt by some among us, some even who are truly religious, that the sunday school accomplishes little good. powerful evidence to the contrary, in spite of its negative form, was afforded by judge fawcett of brooklyn, when he testified that of the twenty-seven hundred men and women brought before his court during the last five years, not one had ever seen the inside of a sunday school. the sunday school has never been developed to its right capacity. it can be made a tremendous engine for the manufacture of religious men and women, and enthusiastic patriots. for that is what we greatly need in this country,--enthusiastic patriots. dr. jowett dwells especially upon the value of enthusiasm. "no virtue is safe," he says, "until it becomes enthusiastic. it is safe only when it becomes the home of fire. in the high realms of the spirit, it is only the passionate that is secure. the seraphim, those pure spirits who are in the immediate service of the lord, are the 'burning ones,' and it is their noble privilege to carry fire from off the altar and touch with purifying flame the lips of the unclean." nothing will more certainly enkindle this life-giving flame than the study of the lives of great heroes,--first, those of sacred writ, the patriarchs, prophets and apostles, of whom the world was not worthy; then the noble army of the martyrs and the brave men of the great middle age; then john wesley, john fox, roger williams, whitefield, john knox, john huss, john calvin,--how ignorant our children are of the thrilling heroisms of the past! agnes repplier, in one of her brilliant essays, illustrates this disgraceful fact with this anecdote: "american children go to school six, eight or ten years, and emerge with a misunderstanding of their own country and a comprehensive ignorance of all others. they say, 'i don't know any history,' as casually as they might say, 'i don't know any chemistry.' a smiling young freshman told me recently that she had been conditioned because she knew nothing about the reformation. "'you mean--' i began questioningly. "'i mean just what i say,' she interrupted. 'i didn't know what it was or where it was, or who had anything to do with it.' "i said i didn't wonder she had come to grief. the reformation was something of an episode. when i was a schoolgirl, i was never done studying about the reformation. . . . we cannot leave john wesley any more than we can leave marlborough or pitt out of the canvas. . . . history is philosophy teaching by example, and we are wise to admit the old historians into our counsel." walter savage landor devoted one of his most eloquent paragraphs to this subject: "show me how great projects were executed, great advantages gained and great calamities averted. show me the generals and the statesmen who stood foremost that i may honor them. tell me their names that i may repeat them to my children. show me whence laws were introduced, upon what foundation laid, by what custody guarded, in what inner keep preserved. place history on her rightful throne." it is true that most of the great forward steps of civilization have been made by war. our brave soldiers of 1776, of 1812, of 1847, of 1861, and of 1898, are rightly our most revered heroes. our children should know the stories of their lives. but the heroes of duty should be even more emphatically impressed upon their minds. it is true that warriors are soldiers of conscience no less than others, but our children will, we hope, need chiefly the heroism of civil life, which, being less showy, requires more of resolution. here is a tale of a soldier who kept his courage in another place than the battlefield: colonel higginson was once asked what was the bravest deed that he ever saw done in the civil war. he replied that the bravest deed he ever witnessed was not done in battle. it was at a banquet, where several officers had related salacious stories, and the turn came of a young lieutenant. he rose and said, "i cannot tell a story, but i will give you a toast, to be drunk in water,--our mothers." there was a hush of guilty silence, and soon the party broke up. may our sons never be placed in similar circumstances, but if they are, may they show a similar bravery! it may be remembered that a story almost identical with this was told of general grant. the lives of livingston, of stanley, of paton, of elizabeth fry, of florence nightingale, of julia ward howe, of alice freeman palmer, of anna h. shaw,--of wilberforce, of judson, and of men like the late joseph h. choate should be made familiar to our young people and a desire awakened to emulate their example. unfortunately the "path of duty" is not often at present "the way of glory,"--but it is a part of religion that the glory of an approving conscience and of the final smile of god should rank far above fleeting earthly fame. the boy scouts, in their excellent creed, embody this idea, and so do the camp-fire girls. both set up the right ideals, which is the main object of true education. "the country contributor" to the _ladies' home journal_, feels that our nation is suffering from a falling-away in this respect, and that our ideals and our strength to follow them are going to be improved by the great war. "we shall have heroes to mourn for," she says, "not moral degenerates, not financial failures, not self-satisfied good citizens, dying of slow spiritual decay. maybe our men will wake up. perhaps new-born men may flash upon our vision as custer did at the grand review. "during that three-days' march of the grand review, somebody flung a wreath of flowers from a window, and it dropped upon the beautiful head of general custer, with his leonine mane of yellow hair falling on his shoulders. his horse was frightened and ran; so custer rode, a wild, beautiful figure of young victory, down the length of pennsylvania avenue. or like phil kearney at seven pines, with his one arm still left and the reins in his teeth." alfred noyes, in the _bookman_, has pointed out to a scoffing man who has belittled our heroes and our history, and says, "there are no ghosts in america," the fact that we have abundant romance and heroism within our annals, and names some of the men and events which stand for them, adding: "must all those dead lie still? must not the night disgorge the ghosts of bunker hill, the ghosts of valley forge, or england's mightier son the ghost of washington? "no ghost where lincoln fell? no ghosts for seeing eyes? i know an old cracked bell shall make ten million rise, when his immortal ghost calls to the slumbering host." but the chief element in the child's ideal should be democracy. his idea of "classes" and of "masses" should be that a democracy has none. "imagine!" cried a gaily dressed young woman one day, "that shop-girl is actually trying to be a lady!"--yet that shop-girl was gentle and refined and far more of a lady than the silly rich girl who so vulgarly criticized her. "i wish we had more clearly defined classes here in america," remarked an apparently loyal american woman (she was wearing conspicuously an american flag brooch). "it is a much more comfortable way." she represents a considerable section among us, who would like a return to titles and class decorations in our social system. you have doubtless observed that such people always expect themselves to be included in the gentry-and-nobility class. our forefathers, with a vision and a valor far in advance of their time, fought and died on purpose to abolish such distinctions, and may they never return! some undiscerning ones insist that we are as truly "classified" as is any european monarchy; but they do not seem to realize that with us caste and class change with almost every generation. the great name and estate are not handed down by primogeniture from father to son. "the only 'lower orders,'" said horace mann, "are those who do nothing for the good of mankind. the word 'classes' is not a good american word. in a republic there should be but two classes,--the educated and the uneducated; and the one should gradually merge into the other until all are educated." he summed up the whole matter thus: "the law of caste includes within itself every iniquity, because it lives by the practical denial of human brotherhood." teach your children this lesson thoroughly. pasteur defined democracy as "that form of government which permits every individual citizen to develop himself to do his best for the common good." we must come to recognize that "common good" means not only the good of our own nation but that of the world. may not pasteur's definition be used as a basis for the great democratic principle to which we look forward as the security for the peace of the world? the athenian's patriotism was for athens. the spartan's was for sparta, the roman's was far more for the city of rome than for the empire. ours should be, first, for our own land, but then for the world. it would be a traitor and a craven who would in a shipwreck save another man's wife before his own, if he could help it. so patriotism, like charity, begins at home. but equally true is what lowell wrote: "he's true to god who's true to man; wherever wrong is done, to the humblest and the weakest, 'neath the all-beholding sun, that wrong is done to us; and they are slaves most base, whose love of right is for themselves, and not for all their race." de tocqueville, years ago, reproached his own nation with being willing to fight only for its own liberty, while to the anglo-saxon the liberty of his neighbor was also dear. since then, france has developed. to her, also, is the liberty of her neighbor dear. may it ever be so to us! perhaps the whole content of this little volume is gathered up in edwin markham's splendid lines: "what do we need to keep the nation whole,- to guard the pillars of the state? we need the fine audacities of honest deed; the homely old integrities of soul; the swift temerities that take the part of outcast right--the wisdom of the heart; brave hopes that mammon never can detain, nor sully with his gainless clutch for gain. "we need the cromwell fire to make us feel the common burden and the public trust to be a thing as sacred and august as the white vigil where the angels kneel. we need the faith to go a path untrod, the power to be alone and vote with god." the end go, get 'em! [illustration] _by william a. wellman_ maréchal des logis of escadrille n. 87 the true adventures of an american aviator of the lafayette flying corps who was the only yankee flyer fighting over general pershing's boys of the rainbow division in lorraine when they first "went over the top." _cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50_ when a young yankee athlete makes up his mind to play a part in the most thrilling game which the world has ever witnessed--war in mid air--the result is certain to produce a heart-thrilling story. many such tales are being told to-day, but few, if any, can hope to approach that lived and now written by sergeant "billy" wellman, for he engaged in some of the most amazing air battles imaginable, during the course of which he sent tumbling to destruction seven boche machines--achievements which won for him the coveted croix de guerre with two palms. maréchal wellman was _the only american in the air_ over general pershing's famous "rainbow division" when the yankee troops made their historic first over-the-top attack on the hun, and during that battle he was in command of the lowest platoon of french fighting planes and personally disposed of two of the enemy's attacking aircraft. his experience included far more than fighting above the firmament. he was in paris and nancy during four distinct night bombing raids by the boche and participated in rescues made necessary thereby; he, with a comrade, chased two hostile machines far into germany and shot up their aviation field; he was lost in a blizzard on christmas day; he was in intimate touch with the men and officers of the rainbow division, and was finally shot down by anti-aircraft guns from a height of 5300 metres, escaping death by a miracle, but so seriously wounded that his honorable discharge followed immediately. sergeant wellman's story is unquestionably the most unusual and illuminating yet told in print. the strange adventures of bromley barnes [illustration] _by george barton_ _author of "the mystery of the red flame," "the world's greatest military spies and secret service agents," etc._ _cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50_ mr. barton first "broke into print," as the saying goes, with a mystery story entitled "the scoop of the session," which was published in _collier's_ a number of years ago, and has the reputation of having written more short detective stories than any other writer in the united states. in this new book mr. barton sets forth in absorbing fashion the strange adventures of bromley barnes, retired detective, but whose interest in the solution of baffling cases in public and private life is just as keen as in his days of active government service. worried and harassed government officials, also perplexed and anxious private individuals, seek the services of the astute detective in national problems and personal matters, and just how the suave and diplomatic barnes clears away mysteries makes a story that is mighty good reading. dawson black, retail merchant [illustration] _by harold whitehead_ _assistant professor of business method, the college of business administration, boston university, author of "the business career of peter flint," "principles of salesmanship," etc._ _illustrated by john goss, cloth, 12mo, $1.50_ as assistant professor of business method in boston university's famous college of business administration, the author's lectures have attracted widespread attention, and the popularity of his stories of business life, which have appeared serially in important trade magazines and newspapers all over the country, has created an insistent demand for their book publication. dawson black is the story of a young man's first year in business as a store owner--a hardware store, but the principles illustrated apply equally to any other kind of retail store. in bright, pithy style the author narrates the triumphs and disasters, the joys and sorrows, the problems and their solutions with which a young employer, just commencing his career, is confronted. relations with employees, means of fighting competition, and trade psychology in advertising are some of the important subjects treated. the hero's domestic career lends the "human interest" touch, so that the book skilfully combines fact with fiction, or "business with pleasure," and is both fascinating and informative. the man who won or, the career and adventures of the younger mr. harrison [illustration] _by leon d. hirsch_ _cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by william van dresser, $1.50_ mr. hirsch has given the public a novel decidedly out of the ordinary--a stirring story of political life combined with a romance of absorbing interest. * * * * * in compelling fashion the author tells how edward harrison, recognized political boss, who had long controlled the affairs of a prosperous city, was forced to admit that his unprincipled political methods must give way to clean government, an exponent of which he sees in his son. * * * * * cleverly the author depicts edward harrison, the unscrupulous political boss; jack harrison, his son, who differs quite a bit from his father; mrs. harrison, the indefatigable social climber; and alice lane, a bright, lovable girl; and around these widely different characters mr. hirsch has written a vivid story of politics, ambition, love, hate and--best of all--of real _life_ that grips the reader. _a new "blossom shop" story_ the mt. blossom girls [illustration] _by isla may mullins_ _a sequel to "the blossom shop," "anne of the blossom shop" and "anne's wedding"_ _illustrated, cloth, 12mo, decorative jacket, $1.50_ in this fourth and last volume of the blossom shop stories may carter and gene grey, who have won countless friends among readers of the series, come before them now as the center of interest. university graduates, the two girls come forth enamoured of the settlement idea, and proceed to carry it out at the mining and iron ore plant of their father in the mountains of alabama, with the added interest of effort among the quaint mountaineers of the region. things move at a lively pace from the moment of their arrival--things unexpected and gay and tragic, which put them on their mettle, but do not find them wanting. the girls are much imbued with the new independence of woman as well as with thought of her broadened sphere, and cupid, who lingers near, is beset by various unyielding obstacles, but conquers in the end. the book has for an underlying thread ideals of the same high type which have characterized the former volumes. the mystery of the red flame [illustration] _by george barton_ _author of "the world's greatest military spies and secret service agents," etc._ _cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50_ take the glorious red flame diamond from the museum at rio de janeiro, a wily brazilian rascal, as conceited as he is clever, romantic as well as a rogue, a little-talking but much-doing american secret service man, a diamond merchant whose activities won't bear a customs inspector's searchlight, and of course a beautiful girl! imagine them all interested intensely in the diamond and most of them in the girl. it is evident that these ingredients are ideal for the thrilling mystery tale, especially when the author is a newspaper man whose hobby is the study of crime and criminals. the mystery of the red flame is the story par excellence to be read in conjunction with the shaded lamp, the arm chair and the open fire! selections from the page company's list of fiction works of eleanor h. porter each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50 pollyanna: the _glad_ book (400,000) trade mark trade mark mr. leigh mitchell hodges, the optimist, in an editorial for the _philadelphia north american_, says: "and when, after pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is going to take 'eight steps' tomorrow--well, i don't know just what you may do, but i know of one person who buried his face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness and got down on his knees and thanked the giver of all gladness for pollyanna." pollyanna grows up: the second _glad_ book trade mark (200,000) trade mark when the story of pollyanna told in the _glad_ book was ended, a great cry of regret for the vanishing "glad girl" went up all over the country--and other countries, too. now pollyanna appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted, more grown up and more lovable. "take away frowns! put down the worries! stop fidgeting and disagreeing and grumbling! cheer up, everybody! pollyanna has come back!"--_christian herald._ * * * * * _the glad book calendar_ trade mark the pollyanna calendar trade mark (_this calendar is issued annually; the calendar for the new year being ready about sept. 1st of the preceding year. note: in ordering please specify what year you desire._) decorated and printed in colors. $1.50 "there is a message of cheer on every page, and the calendar is beautifully illustrated."--_kansas city star._ miss billy (19th printing) cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by g. tyng $1.50 "there is something altogether fascinating about 'miss billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page."--_boston transcript._ miss billy's decision (12th printing) cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by henry w. moore. $1.50 "the story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty of action and humor. miss billy is nice to know and so are her friends."--_new haven times leader._ miss billy--married (10th printing) cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by w. haskell coffin. $1.50 "although pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, miss billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just as much gladness. she disseminates joy so naturally that we wonder way all girls are not like her."--_boston transcript._ six star ranch (20th printing) cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by r. farrington elwell. $1.50 "'six star ranch' bears all the charm of the author's genius and is about a little girl down in texas who practices the 'pollyanna philosophy' with irresistible success. the book is one of the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of the pollyanna books has done. it is a welcome addition to the fast-growing family of _glad_ books."--_howard russell bangs in the boston post._ cross currents cloth decorative, illustrated. $1.25 "to one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal."--_book news monthly._ the turn of the tide cloth decorative, illustrated. $1.35 "a very beautiful book showing the influence that went to the developing of the life of a dear little girl into a true and good woman."--_herald and presbyter, cincinnati, ohio._ works of l. m. montgomery the four anne books each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50 anne of green gables (43rd printing) "in 'anne of green gables' you will find the dearest and most moving and delightful child since the immortal alice."--_mark twain in a letter to francis wilson._ anne of avonlea (28th printing) "a book to lift the spirit and send the pessimist into bankruptcy!"--_meredith nicholson._ chronicles of avonlea (7th printing) "a story of decidedly unusual conception and interest."--_baltimore sun._ anne of the island (12th printing) "it has been well worth while to watch the growing up of anne, and the privilege of being on intimate terms with her throughout the process has been properly valued."--_new york herald._ * * * * * each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50 the story girl (10th printing) "a book that holds one's interest and keeps a kindly smile upon one's lips and in one's heart."--_chicago inter-ocean._ kilmeny of the orchard (11th printing) "a story born in the heart of arcadia and brimful of the sweet life of the primitive environment."--_boston herald._ the golden road (6th printing) "it is a simple, tender tale, touched to higher notes, now and then, by delicate hints of romance, tragedy and pathos."--_chicago record-herald._ novels by isla may mullins the blossom shop: a story of the south cloth decorative, illustrated by john goss. $1.50 "frankly and wholly romance is this book, and lovable--as is a fairy tale properly told. and the book's author has a style that's all her own, that strikes one as praiseworthily original throughout."--_chicago inter-ocean._ anne of the blossom shop: or, the growing up of anne carter cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by z. p. nikolaki $1.50 "a charming portrayal of the attractive life of the south, refreshing as a breeze that blows through a pine forest."--_albany times-union._ anne's wedding cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by gene pressler $1.50 "the story is most beautifully told. it brings in most charming people, and presents a picture of home life that is most appealing in love and affection. it is a delightful tale, highly refreshing and most entertaining."--_every evening, wilmington, del._ novels by daisy rhodes campbell the fiddling girl cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "a thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension."--_boston herald._ the proving of virginia cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "a book which contributes so much of freshness, enthusiasm, and healthy life to offset the usual offerings of modern fiction, deserves all the praise which can be showered upon it."--_kindergarten review._ the violin lady cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "the author's style remains simple and direct, as in her preceding books, and her frank affection for her attractive heroine will be shared by many others."--_boston transcript._ * * * * * transcriber's notes: page 7, "battlefied" changed to "battlefield" (battlefield of sobraon) page 176, "marechal" changed to "maréchal" (maréchal des logis of escadrille) [illustration: the creature sprang to its feet] ------------------------------------------------------------------------a little maid of province town by alice turner curtis author of a little maid of massachusetts colony a little maid of narragansett bay a little maid of bunker hill a little maid of ticonderoga a little maid of old connecticut a little maid of old philadelphia illustrated by wuanita smith the penn publishing company philadelphia ------------------------------------------------------------------------copyright 1913 by the penn publishing company ------------------------------------------------------------------------contents chapter page i. anne nelson 1 ii. anne wins a friend 14 iii. anne's secret 27 iv. anne and the wolf 39 v. scarlet stockings 51 vi. captured by indians 62 vii. out to sea 73 viii. on the island 86 ix. the castaways 97 x. safe at home 107 xi. captain enos's secrets 119 xii. an unexpected journey 129 xiii. anne finds her father 143 xiv. a candy party 157 xv. a spring picnic 177 xvi. the may party 186 xvii. the sloop, "peggy" 195 ------------------------------------------------------------------------illustrations page the creature sprang to its feet 1 a blanket fell over her head 65 she worked steadily 111 "this is from boston" 162 the boat began to tip 194 ------------------------------------------------------------------------a little maid of province town chapter i anne nelson "i don't know what i can do with you, i'm sure!" declared mistress stoddard, looking down at the small girl who stood on her door-step gazing wistfully up at her. "a man at the wharf said that you didn't have any little girls," responded the child, "and so i thought----" "'twas joe starkweather told you, i'll be bound," said mrs. stoddard. "well, he's seven of his own to fend for." "seven little girls?" said anne nelson, in an almost terror-stricken voice, her dark eyes looking earnestly into the stern face that frowned down upon her. "and what would become of them if their mother should die, and their father be lost at sea?" "sure enough. you have sense, child. but the starkweathers are all boys. well, come in. you can take your bundle to the loft and leave it, and we'll see what i can find for you to do. how old are you?" "eight last march," responded anne. "well, a child of eight isn't much use in a house, but maybe you can save me steps." "yes, indeed, mistress stoddard; i did a deal to help my father about the house. he said i could do as much as a woman. i can sweep out for you, and lay the table and wash the dishes, and bring in the wood and water, and----" there came a break in the little girl's voice, and the woman reached out a kindly hand and took the child's bundle. "come in," she said, and anne instantly felt the tenderness of her voice. "we are poor enough, but you'll be welcome to food and shelter, child, till such time as some of your own kinsfolk send for thee." "i have no kinsfolk," declared anne; "my father told me that." "come you in; you'll have a bed and a crust while i have them to give you," declared the woman, and anne nelson went across the threshold and up to the bare loft, where she put her bundle down on a wooden stool and looked about the room. there was but a narrow bed in the corner, covered with a patchwork quilt, and the wooden stool where anne had put her bundle. the one narrow window looked off across the sandy cart tracks which served as a road toward the blue waters of cape cod bay. it was early june, and the strong breath of the sea filled the rough little house, bringing with it the fragrance of the wild cherry blossoms and an odor of pine from the scrubby growths on the low line of hills back of the little settlement. it was just a year ago, anne remembered, as she unwrapped her bundle, that she and her father had sailed across the harbor from ipswich, where her mother had died. "we will live here, at the very end of the world, where a man may think as he pleases," her father had said, and had moved their few household possessions into a three-roomed house near the shore. then he had given his time to fishing, leaving anne alone in the little house to do as she pleased. she was a quiet child, and found entertainment in building sand houses on the beach, in wandering along the shore searching for bright shells and smooth pebbles, and in doing such simple household tasks as her youth admitted. a week before her appearance at mrs. stoddard's door, john nelson had gone out in his fishing-boat, and now he had been given up as lost. no sign of him had been seen by the other fishermen, and it was generally believed by his neighbors that his sloop had foundered and that john nelson had perished. some there were, however, who declared john nelson to be a british spy, and hesitated not to say that he had sailed away to join some vessel of the british fleet with information as to the convenience of the harbor of province town, and with such other news as he had brought from ipswich and the settlements nearer boston. for it was just before the war of the american revolution, when men were watched sharply and taken to task speedily for any lack of loyalty to the american colonies. and john nelson had many a time declared that he believed england meant well by her american possessions,--a statement which set many of his neighbors against him. "'mean well,' indeed!" joseph starkweather had replied to his neighbor's remark. "when they have closed the port of boston, so that no ship but the king's war-ships dare go in and out? even our fishing-boats are closely watched. already the boston people are beginning to need many things. americans are not going to submit to feeding british soldiers while their own men go hungry." but now joseph starkweather was the only man who interested himself in the lonely child. day after day of that first week of her father's absence anne had stayed close to the little house, looking hopefully out across the harbor for a sight of his boat; and day after day joseph starkweather had come lounging down the beach to speak with the child, to ask her what she had for breakfast, and if she slept safe and unafraid. "the meal is gone," she told him one morning, "and i do not sleep now--i wait and listen for my father;" and then it was that he told her she must seek another home. "you are too young to stay alone," he said; "pick up a bundle of your clothes and go to mrs. stoddard on the hill. she hasn't a chick or child of her own. like as not you'll be a blessing to her." and anne, used to obedience and sorrow, obeyed. there was nothing of much value in the small house, but on the day after anne's entrance as a member of the stoddard family, captain stoddard loaded the poor sticks of furniture on a handcart, and pulled it through the sandy tracks to his cottage door. "it's the child of an english spy you're giving shelter to," he had said, when martha stoddard had told him that anne was to live with them, "and she'll bring no luck to the house." but his wife had made no response; the dark-eyed, elfish-looking child had already found a place in the woman's heart. "i don't eat so very much," anne announced as mrs. stoddard gave her a bowl of corn mush and milk when she came down-stairs. "you'll eat what you want in this house, child," answered her new friend, and anne ate hungrily. "now come to the door, anne, and i'll brush out this tangle of hair of yours," said mrs. stoddard; "and after this you must keep it brushed and braided neatly. and bring down your other frock. i'll be doing some washing this afternoon, and i venture to say your frock is in need of it." the first few days in the stoddard family seemed almost unreal to anne. she no longer watched for her father's boat, she no longer wandered about the beach, playing in the sand and hunting for shells. her dresses were not now the soiled and ragged covering which had served as frocks, but stout cotton gowns, made from a skirt of mrs. stoddard's, and covered with a serviceable apron. a sunbonnet of striped cotton covered the dark head, and anne was as neat and well-dressed as the other children of the settlement. to be sure her slender feet were bare and tanned, and hardened by exposure; but there was not a child in the neighborhood who wore shoes until the frost came, and mrs. stoddard was already making plans for anne's winter foot-gear. "i'll trade off something for some moccasins for the child before fall," she had resolved; "some of the chatham indians will get down this way when the beach plums begin to ripen, and will be glad of molasses, if i am lucky enough to have it." for those were the days when the little coast settlements had but few luxuries, and on cape cod the settlers were in fear of the british. province town was especially exposed, and at that time there were but thirty houses; and the people had no established communication with the outside world. the sea was their thoroughfare, as a journey over the sandy country from province town to boston was almost impossible. news was a long time in reaching the little settlement of fishermen. but they knew that king george iii had resolved to punish boston for destroying his cargoes of tea, and had made salem the seat of government in the place of boston. war-ships from england hovered about the coast, and the children of province town were quick to recognize these unwelcome craft. "mistress stoddard," said anne one morning, when she had returned from driving the cow to the enclosed pasturage at some little distance from the house, "jimmie starkweather says there is a big ship off race point, and that it is coming into harbor here. he says 'tis a british ship, and that like as not the men will land and burn down the houses and kill all the cows." anne looked at mrs. stoddard questioningly. "nonsense!" responded the good woman. "jimmie was but trying to make you afraid. 'twas he sent thee running home last week in fear of a wolf that he told you was prowling about." "but there is a ship, mistress stoddard. i went up the hill and looked, and 'tis coming along like a great white bird." "like enough. the big ships go up toward boston and salem on every fair day. you know that well, child." "this seems a different kind," persisted anne; and at last mrs. stoddard's curiosity was aroused, and with anne close beside her she walked briskly up to the hill and looked anxiously across the blue waters. "'tis much nearer, now," said anne. "see, it's coming to--'twill anchor." "sure enough," answered mrs. stoddard. "jimmie starkweather is a wise lad. 'tis a british man-of-war. trouble is near at hand, child." "will they kill our cow?" questioned anne. "jimmie said they would, and eat her," and anne's voice trembled; for the small brown cow was the nearest approach to a pet that the little girl had. it seemed a loss hardly to be borne if "brownie" was to be sacrificed. "it's like enough they will," replied mrs. stoddard. "they'll be sending their boats ashore and taking what they can see. run back to the pasture, anne, and drive brownie down the further slope toward the salt-meadow. there's good feed for her beyond the wood there, and she'll not wander far before nightfall, and she will not be quickly seen there." anne needed no urging. with another look toward the big ship, she fled back along the sandy road toward the pasture, and in a short time the brown cow, much surprised and offended, was being driven at a run down the pasture slope, around the grove of scrubby maples to the little valley beyond. anne waited until brownie had sufficiently recovered from her surprise to begin feeding again, apparently well content with her new pasturage, and then walked slowly back toward the harbor. the village seemed almost deserted. the children were not playing about the boats; there was no one bringing water from the spring near the shore, and as anne looked out toward the harbor, she saw two more big ships coming swiftly toward anchorage. "poor brownie!" she said aloud, for if there was danger in one ship she was sure that three meant that there was no hope for the gentle brown cow which she had just driven to a place of safety. before night a boatload of british sailors had landed, filled their water-barrels at the spring, bought some young calves of joseph starkweather and returned quietly to their ships. "they seem civil enough," said captain stoddard that night as he talked the newcomers over with his wife. "they know we could make no stand against them, but they treated joseph starkweather fairly enough." anne listened eagerly. "will they take brownie?" she asked. "indeed they won't if i can help it," answered mrs. stoddard; "we'll not drive the creature back and forth while the british are about. i can slip over the hill with a bucket and milk her night and morning. she's gentle, and there's no need of letting the pirates see how sleek and fat the creature is." "and may i go with you, mistress stoddard?" asked anne. "of course, child," answered mrs. stoddard, smilingly. after anne had gone up to the loft to bed captain stoddard said slowly: "she seems a good child." "that she does, enos. good and careful of her clothes, and eager to be of help to me. she saves me many a step." "'tis john nelson, they say, who has brought the britishers into harbor," responded captain enos slowly. "joseph starkweather swears that one of the sailors told him so when he bargained for the calves." "anne's not to blame!" declared mrs. stoddard loyally, but there was a note of anxiety in her voice; "as you said yourself, enos, she's a good child." "i'll not be keeping her if it proves true," declared the man stubbornly. "true it is that they ask no military duty of any man in province town, but we're loyal folk just the same. we may have to barter with the british to save our poor lives, instead of turning guns on them as we should; but no man shall say that i took in a british spy's child and cared for it." "they'd but say you did a christian deed at the most," said his wife. "you're not a hard man, enos." "i'll not harbor a traitor's child," he insisted, and mrs. stoddard went sorrowfully to bed and lay sleepless through the long night, trying to think of some plan to keep anne nelson safe and well cared for until peaceful days should come again. and anne, too, lay long awake, wondering what she could do to protect the little brown cow which now rested so securely on the further side of the hill. chapter ii anne wins a friend "come, anne," called mrs. stoddard at so early an hour the next morning that the june sun was just showing itself above the eastern horizon. "yes, mistress stoddard," answered the little girl promptly, and in a few minutes she came down the steep stairs from the loft. "it is early to call you, child," said the good woman kindly, "but the captain has made an early start for the fishing grounds, and i liked not to leave you alone in the house in these troublous times; and so eat your porridge and we'll go and milk brownie." anne hastened to obey; and in a few moments the two were making their way up the slope through the fragrant bayberry bushes, and breathing in the sweet morning air. no one else seemed astir in the little settlement. now and then a flutter of some wild bird would betray that they had stepped near some low-nesting bird; and the air was full of the morning songs and chirrupings of robins, red-winged blackbirds, song sparrows, and of many sea-loving birds which built their nests among the sand-hills, but found their food upon the shore. anne noticed all these things as they walked along, but her thoughts were chiefly occupied with other things. there was one question she longed to ask mrs. stoddard, yet almost feared to ask. as they reached the summit of the hill and turned for a look at the beautiful harbor she gained courage and spoke: "mistress stoddard, will you please to tell me what a 'spy' is?" "a spy? and why do you wish to know, anne?" responded her friend; "who has been talking to you of spies?" "is it an ill-seeming word?" questioned the child anxiously. "the cary children did call it after me yesterday when i went to the spring." "did they that!" exclaimed mrs. stoddard angrily, "and what reply did you make, anne?" the little girl shook her head. "i said nothing. i knew not what they might mean. does it mean an orphan child, mistress stoddard?" and the little girl lifted her dark eyes appealingly. "i will tell you its meaning, anne, and then you will see that it has naught to do with little girls. a 'spy' is like this: suppose some one should wish to know if i kept my house in order, and what i gave the captain for dinner, and could not find out, and so she came to you and said, 'anne nelson, if you will tell me about the stoddard household, and open the door that i may come in and see for myself, i will give thee a shilling and a packet of sweets'; then, if you should agree to the bargain, then you could be called a spy." "but i would not do such a thing!" declared anne, a little flash of resentment in her dark eyes. "do the cary children think me like that? i will throw water on them when next we meet at the spring--aye, and sand." "nay, anne," reproved mrs. stoddard, but she was not ill-pleased at the child's spirit. "then you would be as bad as they. it does not matter what they may say; that is neither here nor there. if you be an honest-thinking child and do well they cannot work harm against you." as they talked they had walked on and now heard a low "moo!" from behind a bunch of wild cherry trees. "there's brownie!" exclaimed anne, "but i do wish she would not 'moo' like that, mistress stoddard. the british might hear her if they come up this far from shore." "'tis only to remind me that it is time she was milked," said mrs. stoddard. "you can play about here, child, till i have finished." anne did not wander far. there was something else she wished to know, and when the bucket was filled with foamy, fragrant milk, of which mrs. stoddard bade the child drink, she said: "'tis near a month since my father went. the cary children also called after me that my father was a 'traitor'; is that an ill-seeming word?" "the little oafs!" exclaimed mrs. stoddard, "and what else did they say?" "'twill not make you dislike me, mistress stoddard?" questioned the child. "i honestly do not know why they should so beset me. but they called me 'beggar' as well, whatever that may be; though i'm sure i am not it, if it be an ill-seeming word." mrs. stoddard had set down her milking-pail; brownie was quietly feeding near by; there was no one to see, and she put her arm about the little girl and drew her near. it was the first outward show of tenderness that she had made toward the child, and as anne felt the kindly pressure of her arm and looked up into the tender eyes her own face brightened. "we'll sit here for a bit and rest, child," said mrs. stoddard, "and be sure i think only well of you. thou art a dear child, and i will not have aught harm thee or make thee unhappy." anne drew a long breath, and snuggled closely to her good friend's side. a great load was lifted from her sad little heart, for since she had come to province town she could remember but few kindly words, and to have mistress stoddard treat her with such loving kindness was happiness indeed. for a moment she forgot the taunts of the cary children, and sat silent and smiling, her head resting against mrs. stoddard's shoulder. there was a peaceful little silence between the two, and then anne spoke. "i would wish to know what 'traitor' might mean, mistress stoddard?" "very like to 'spy,'" answered mrs. stoddard. "the children meant that your father had told the british that they could find good harbor and provisions here. that, like a spy, he had opened the door of a friend's house for silver." anne sprang from the arm that had encircled her, her cheeks flushed and her eyes blazing. "now!" she declared, "i _will_ throw water upon them when i go to the spring! all that the bucket will hold i will splash upon them," and she made a fierce movement as if casting buckets full of wrath upon her enemies, "and sand!" she continued; "while they are wet with the water i will throw sand upon them. 'tis worse to say things of my father than of me." "come here, child," said mrs. stoddard; "we will not let words like the cary children speak trouble us. and you will remember, anne, that i shall be ill-pleased if i hear of water-throwing at the spring. come, now, we'll be going toward home." anne made no response, but walked quietly on beside her companion. when they reached the hilltop they paused again before going down the slope toward home. "look, anne! are not the fishing-boats all at anchor? what means it that the men are not about their fishing? we'd best hurry." captain enos met them at the door. he gave anne no word of greeting, but said to his wife, "the british tell us to keep ashore. they'll have no fishing. they know full well how easy 'tis for a good sloop to carry news up the harbor. they are well posted as to how such things are done." "but what can we do if we cannot fish?" exclaimed mrs. stoddard. "'tis well known that this sandy point is no place for gardens. we can scarce raise vegetables enough to know what they mean. and as for corn and wheat, every grain of them worth counting has to be bought from the other settlements and paid for in fish. if we do not fish how shall we eat?" the captain shook his head. "go about your play, child," he said, turning toward anne, and the little girl walked slowly away toward a bunch of scrubby pine trees near which she had established a playhouse. she had built a cupboard of smooth chips, and here were gathered the shells she had brought from the beach, a wooden doll which her father had made her, and the pieces of a broken earthenware plate. she took the doll from its narrow shelf and regarded it closely. her father had made it with no small skill. its round head was covered with curls carved in the soft wood; its eyes were colored with paint, and its mouth was red. the body was more clumsily made, but the arms and legs had joints, and the doll could sit up as erect as its small mistress. it wore one garment made of blue and white checked cotton. it was the only toy anne nelson had ever possessed, and it had seemed more her own because she had kept it in the little playhouse under the pines. "now, you can go up to the house and live with me," she said happily, "and now you shall have a truly name. you shall be martha nelson now. i know my father would want you to be called martha, if he knew that mrs. stoddard put her arm around me and called me a 'dear child,'" and anne smiled at the remembrance. she did not speak of her father before the stoddards, but she could not have explained the reason for her silence. she had wondered much about him, and often watched the harbor yearningly, thinking that after all the old sloop might come sailing back, bringing the slender, silent man who had always smiled upon her, and praised her, and had told her that some day she should have a maltese kitten, and a garden with blossoming trees and smooth paths. anne did not forget him, and now as she regarded her wooden doll a great longing for a sight of his dear face made her forget everything, and she leaned her head against a little pine and cried silently. but as she cried the remembrance of the taunts of the cary children came into her thoughts, and she dried her eyes. "'tis near the hour when they go to the spring," she said, laying the doll carefully back in its former resting place. "i will but walk that way that they may not think me afraid of their ill-seeming words," and with her dark head more erect than usual, anne made her way down the path, her brown feet sinking ankle-deep in the warm sand at every step. the cary children, a boy and a girl, both somewhat anne's seniors, were already filling their buckets at the spring. jimmie starkweather was there, and a number of younger children ran shouting up and down the little stream which flowed from the spring across the road. as anne came near, jimmie starkweather called out: "oh, anne nelson! the indians from truro are camping at shankpainter's pond. i've been over there, near enough to see them at work, this morning. my father says they'll be gone as soon as they see the british vessels. we'll not have time to buy moccasins if they go so quickly." anne's eyes rested for a moment upon jimmie, but she did not speak. she could hear the carys whispering as they dipped their buckets in the spring, and as she came nearer, their voices rose loudly: "daughter of a spy! beggar-child! beggar-child!" but their taunts vanished in splutterings and pleas for mercy; for at their first word anne had sprung upon them like a young tiger. she had wrenched the bucket of water from the astonished boy and flung it in his face with such energy that he had toppled over backward, soused and whimpering; then she had turned upon his sister, sending handful after handful of sand into the face of that astonished child, until she fled from her, wailing for mercy. but anne pursued her relentlessly, and captain enos stoddard, making his mournful way toward the shore, could hardly believe his own senses when he looked upon the scene--the cary boy prostrate and humble, while his sister, pursued by anne, prayed for anne to stop the deluge of sand that seemed to fill the air about her. "i'll not be called ill-seeming names!" shrieked anne. "if thou sayest 'traitor' or 'spy' to me again i will do worse things to you!" captain stoddard stood still for a moment. then a slow smile crept over his weather-beaten face. "anne!" he called, and at the sound of his voice the child stopped instantly. "come here," he said, and she approached slowly with hanging head. "give me your hand, child," he said kindly, and the little girl slipped her slender fingers into the big rough hand. "so, jimmie starkweather, you'll stand by and see my little girl put upon, will you!" he exclaimed angrily. "i thought better than that of your father's son, to stand by and let a small girl be taunted with what she cannot help. it speaks ill for you." "i had no time, sir," answered the boy sulkily; "she was upon them both in a second," and jimmie's face brightened; "it was fine, sir, the way she sent yon lubber over," and he pointed a scornful finger toward the cary boy, who was now slinking after his sister. "here, you cary boy!" called the captain, "come back here and heed what i say to you. if i know of your opening your mouth with such talk again to my girl here," and he nodded toward anne, "i'll deal with you myself. so look out for yourself." "i'll see he keeps a civil tongue, sir," volunteered jimmie, and captain enos nodded approvingly. "now, anne, we'd best step up home," said the captain. "i expect mistress stoddard will not be pleased at this." anne clung close to the big hand but said no word. "i am not angry, child," went on the captain. "i like your spirit. i do not believe in being put upon." "but mistress stoddard told me i was not to throw water and sand," responded anne, "and i forgot her commands. i fear she will not like me now," and remorseful tears dropped over the flushed little cheeks. "there, there! do not cry, anne," comforted the captain; "i will tell her all about it. she will not blame you. you are my little girl now, and those cary oafs will not dare open their mouths to plague you." mrs. stoddard, looking toward the shore, could hardly credit what she saw--the captain, who but yesterday had declared that anne should not stay under his roof, leading the child tenderly and smiling upon her! "heaven be thanked!" she murmured. "enos has come to his senses. there'll be no more trouble about anne staying." chapter iii anne's secret mrs. stoddard said nothing to anne of the trouble at the spring, and when anne would have explained her part in it, her friend said quickly: "captain enos is not displeased with you, anne. he thinks the cary children not well taught at home, and says for you not to play with them," so that anne had gone happily back to her playhouse, and told "martha" that there was no one so good as mistress and captain stoddard, "except my dear father," the little girl had added loyally. "now, martha, you must be a good and quiet child," she advised, "for after this you will live in the house with me. you can come out here to play with me, but every night you are to sleep in my bed; and it may be, mistress stoddard will let you rest in the kitchen now and then, and you may go with me over the pasture hill to see brownie." the big british ships lay quietly at anchor for several days. the men came ashore in boat-loads, washed their clothes at the spring, bought such provisions as the little settlement could offer, and wandered about the shore. the citizens treated them not uncivilly, for since the men of province town were unable to make any resistance to those they felt to be their country's foes, they knew it to be best to be silent and accept the authority they had not the strength to defy. so the fishing-boats swung at anchor in the harbor, and the men lingered about the landing, or fished for plaice fish and sole from their dories near shore. "we'll be poor indeed when frost comes," complained mrs. stoddard; "my molasses keg is near empty now, and the meal barrel not half full. if those britishers do not soon leave the harbor so that the men can get back to the fishing, this place will know hunger, for our larder is no poorer than our neighbors'." "yes," agreed captain enos, "the whole coast is feeling the king's displeasure because we will not pay him taxes to fill his pockets, and make slaves of us. i wish we had some news of our boston friends. the freemans are well to do, but with boston beset on all sides with british soldiers they may be hard pressed." "'twill come to worse yet, be sure," predicted mrs. stoddard gloomily. it was but a few days after this when with joyful songs the british sailors made ready to sail, and on a bright july morning the vessels, taking advantage of a fair wind, bent their sails and skimmed away up the coast. "they are bound for boston," declared captain enos, "and 'tis soon enough they'll be back again. the boston folk will not let them come to anchor, i'll be bound." hardly had the ships got under headway before the fishermen were rowing out to their sailboats, and soon the little fleet was under sail bound off race point toward the fishing grounds. "now, anne, you had best go after brownie and bring her back to her old pasture. i like not the long tramp morning and night to milk the creature," said mrs. stoddard, and she watched anne, with the wooden doll clasped in her arm, go obediently off on her errand. a little smile crept over her face as she stood in the doorway. "captain enos would like well that anne be called anne stoddard," she said aloud; "he begins to recall good traits in her father, and to think no other child in the settlement has the spirit that our girl has. and i am well pleased that it is so," she concluded with a little sigh, "for there will be poor days ahead for us to bear, and had the captain not changed his mind about anne i should indeed have had hard work to manage," and she turned back to her simple household tasks. anne went slowly up the sandy slope, stopping here and there to see if the beach plums showed any signs of ripening, and turning now and then to see if she could pick out captain enos's sail among the boats going swiftly out toward the open sea. as she came in sight of the little grove of maples her quick eyes saw a man moving among them. brownie was quietly feeding, evidently undisturbed. anne stopped, holding martha very tightly, her eyes fixed upon the moving figure. she was not afraid, but she wondered who it was, for she thought that every man in the settlement had gone to the fishing grounds. as she looked, something familiar in the man's movements sent her running toward the grove. "it is my father. i know it is my father," she whispered to herself. as she came down the slope the man evidently saw her, for he came out from the wood a little as if waiting for her. "anne, anne!" he exclaimed, as she came near, and in a moment his arm was around her and he was clasping her close. "come back in the wood, dear child," he said. "and you have not forgotten your father?" anne smiled up at him happily. "i could never do that," she responded. "see, here is my doll. her name is martha stoddard nelson." "an excellent name," declared the man smilingly. "how neat and rosy you look, anne! you look as if you had fared well. be they kind to you?" "oh, yes, father. they say now that i am their little girl. but i am not," and anne shook her head smilingly. "i am my own father's little girl; though i like them well," she added. the two were seated on a grassy hummock where no eye could see them; but from time to time john nelson looked about furtively as if expecting some one to appear. "you are not a 'traitor' or a 'spy,' are you, father?" questioned the child. "when the cary children did say so i chased them from the spring, and captain enos said i did well. but i did think you lost at sea, father!" the man shook his head. "try and remember what i tell you, child, that you may know your father for an honest man. the day i left harbor on my fishing trip i was run down by one of those british vessels. the sloop sank, and they threw me a rope and pulled me on board. it was rare sport for their sailors to see me struggle for my very life." the man stopped and his face grew very grave and stern. "then they said they were coming into cape cod harbor, and that i should be their pilot. they said they would make a good bonfire of the shanties of the settlement. and then, child, i misled them. i laughed and said, ''tis a settlement of good royalists if ever there was one.' they would scarce believe me. but they came into harbor, and when the men proved civil and refused them nothing, then they credited what i said. but they told me they were bound for dorchester harbor, and there they would make a good english soldier of me. i said nothing, but this morning, in the confusion of making sail, i slipped overboard and swam ashore, bound that i would have a look at my girl and know her safe and well." "and now, father, shall we go back and live in the little house by the shore? mistress stoddard has kept our things safely, and she has taught me many useful things," said anne proudly. "no, child. for me to stay in this settlement would bring trouble upon it. those ships will return here, and if i were found among the men here, then, indeed, would their anger be great. they must think me drowned, else they would indeed make a bonfire of every house along the shore." "but what will you do, father? you must stay with me now." "no, dear child. i must make my way up the cape to the settlements and join the americans. my eyes are opened: 'tis right that they should protect their homes. i will have some information for them, and i no longer have any place here. the stoddards are good to you, anne? they task thee not beyond thy strength? and they speak pleasantly to thee?" "they are ever kind, father; they do smile on me, and captain enos does always give me the best piece of fish at table; and he told the cary children that i was his little girl, and that i was not to be plagued. but he is not my own father," answered anne, "and if you must go up the cape i will go with you. the nights are warm and pleasant, and i shall like well to sleep out-of-doors with the stars shining down on us. and if you go with the americans i will go too. they will not mind one little girl!" her father smoothed the dark hair tenderly and smiled at the eager, upturned face. "you love me, anne, and i'll not forget that i have a dear, brave daughter waiting for me. i'll be the braver and the better man remembering. but you cannot go with me. i shall be scant fed and footsore for many a long day, and i will not let you bear any hardship i can keep from you. it will be a joy to me to know you safe with mistress stoddard; and if i live they shall be repaid for all they do for you. they are indeed kind to you?" he again questioned anxiously. "they are indeed," responded anne, seriously. "now i must begin my journey, anne. and do not say that you have seen me. keep in your heart all i have told you. i shall come for you when i can. but you are to be happy and not think of me as in danger. a brave man is always quite safe, and i wish you to believe that your father is a brave man, anne." "am i not to tell mistress stoddard?" "tell no one, anne. remember. promise me that when they speak of me as drowned you will say no word!" "i will not speak, father. but if they do say 'traitor' or 'spy' i am not to bear it. captain enos said i need not." a little smile came over the man's face and he nodded silently. then he kissed his little daughter and again promising that it should not be long before he would come for her, he turned and made his way through the wood, and soon anne could no longer see him. for a long time the little girl sat silent and sorrowful where he had left her. she had forgotten all about the little brown cow; her wooden doll lay neglected on the grass beside her. but after a little she remembered the errand on which she had been sent, and, picking martha up, started off to drive brownie back to the pasture near home. anne was so quiet that day that at night mrs. stoddard questioned her anxiously. "have those cary children been saying hateful words to you again, child?" she asked. "no, i have not been to the spring," answered anne. "has jimmie starkweather been telling thee more foolish tales of a big wolf that comes prowling about at night?" continued mrs. stoddard. "oh, no, mistress stoddard. and indeed i do not think jimmie starkweather would frighten me. you know his father has seen the wolf. 'twas near blackwater pond." "then, child, i fear you are ill. your face is flushed and you left your porridge untasted. would you like it better if i put a spoonful of molasses over it?" anne nodded soberly. molasses was not to be refused, even if she must live without her brave father; and so she ate her porridge, and mrs. stoddard patted her on the shoulder, and told her that the beach-plums would soon be ripening and then she should have a pie, sweet and crusty. and if the captain did well at the fishing, and the british ships kept their distance, she should have some barley sugar, a great treat in those days. "we'll be getting you some sort of foot-gear before long, too," promised mrs. stoddard. "i have enough wool yarn in the house to knit you a good pair of warm stockings. 'tis an ugly gray; i wish i could plan some sort of dye for it to make it a prettier color." "but i like gray," said anne. "last winter my feet were cold, and ached with the chilblains. my father knew not how to get stockings for me, and cut down his own, but they were hard to wear." "i should say so!" said mrs. stoddard; "a man is a poor manager when it comes to fending for children's clothes. 'tis well i am provided with some warm garments. when the frost comes you shall learn to knit, anne; and if we be in good fortune you shall do a sampler," and anne, comforted and somewhat consoled by all these pleasant plans for her future happiness, went to sleep that night with the wooden doll closely clasped in her arms, wishing her father might know how good mistress stoddard was to her. chapter iv anne and the wolf "a pie of beach-plums, sweet and crusty," anne repeated to herself the next day as she carried martha out to the playhouse, and rearranged her bits of crockery, and looked off across the harbor. "i do wish they would ripen speedily," she said aloud. "indeed those i tasted of yesterday had a pleasant flavor, and i am sure mistress stoddard would be well pleased if i could bring home enough for a pie. i will take the small brown basket and follow the upper path, for the plum bushes grow thickly there," and martha was carefully settled in her accustomed place, and anne ran to the house for the brown basket, and in a few moments was following a sandy path which led toward the salt meadows. she stopped often to pick the yellowing beach-plums, and now and then tasted one hopefully, expecting to find the sweet pungent flavor which the children so well loved, but only once or twice did she discover any sign of ripeness. "i'll cross the upper marsh," she decided; "'tis not so shaded there, and the sun lies warm till late in the day, and the plums are sure to be sweeter. i hope my father finds many to eat along his journey. i wish i had told him that it was best for me to go with him. we could have made little fires at night and cooked a fish, and, with berries to eat, it would not have been unpleasant." the july sun beat warmly down, but a little breath of air from the sea moved steadily across the marshes filled with many pleasant odors. here and there big bunches of marsh rosemary made spots of soft violet upon the brown grass, and now and then little flocks of sand-peeps rose from the ground and fluttered noisily away. but there was a pleasant midsummer stillness in the air, and by the time anne had crossed the marsh and reached the shade of a low-growing oak tree she began to feel tired and content to rest a time before continuing her search for ripe beach-plums. "i wish i had put martha in the basket," she thought as she leaned comfortably back against the scrubby trunk of the little tree; "then i could have something to talk to." but she had not much time to regret her playmate, for in a second her eyes had closed and she was fast asleep. there was a movement in the bushes behind her, a breaking of twigs, a soft fall of padded feet, but she did not awaken. a big animal with a soft, gray coat of fur, with sharp nose and ears alertly pointed, came out from the woods, sniffed the soft air cautiously, and turned his head warily toward the oak tree. the creature was evidently not alarmed at what he saw there, for he approached the sleeping child gently, made a noiseless circle about her, and then settled down at her feet, much as a big dog might have done. his nose rested upon his paws and his sharp eyes were upon the sleeping child. in a little while anne awoke. she had dreamed that jimmie starkweather had led a beautiful, big gray animal to mistress stoddard's door, and told her that it was a wolf that he had tamed; so when she opened her eyes and saw the animal so near her she did not jump with surprise, but she said softly, "wolf!" the creature sprang to its feet at the sound of her voice, and moved off a few paces, and then turned and looked over its shoulder at anne. "wolf!" anne repeated, brushing her hair from her eyes and pulling her sunbonnet over her head. then she reached out for the plum basket, and stood up. still the animal had not moved. "i do believe it is tame," thought anne, and she made a step toward her visitor, but the gray wolf no longer hesitated, and with a bound it was off on a run across the marsh, and soon disappeared behind a clump of bushes. "i wish it had stayed," anne said aloud, for there had been nothing to make her afraid of wild creatures, and jimmie's stories of a big wolf ranging about the outskirts of the settlement had not suggested to her that a wolf was anything which would do her harm, and she continued her search for beach-plums, her mind filled with the thought of many pleasant things. "i do think, mistress stoddard, that i have plums enough for a pie," she exclaimed, as she reached the kitchen door and held up her basket for mistress stoddard's inspection. "'twill take a good measure of molasses, i fear," declared mrs. stoddard, "but you shall have the pie, dear child. 'twill please captain enos mightily to have a pie for his supper when he gets in from the fishing; and i'll tell him 'twas anne who gathered the plums," and she nodded smilingly at the little girl. "and what think you has happened at the spring this morning?" she went on, taking the basket from anne, who followed her into the neat little kitchen. "jimmie starkweather and his father near captured a big gray wolf. the creature walked up to the spring to drink as meek as a calf, and mr. starkweather ran for his axe to kill it, but 'twas off in a second." "but why should he kill it?" exclaimed anne. "i'm sure 'tis a good wolf. 'twas no harm for it to drink from the spring." "but a wolf is a dangerous beast," replied mrs. stoddard; "the men-folk will take some way to capture it." anne felt the tears very near her eyes. to her, the gray wolf had not seemed dangerous. it had looked kindly upon her, and she had already resolved that if it ever were possible she would like to stroke its soft fur. "couldn't the wolf be tamed?" she questioned. "i went to sleep near the marsh this morning and dreamed that jimmie starkweather had a tame wolf." but for some reason, which anne herself could not have explained, she did not tell her good friend of the wild creature which had come so near to her when she slept, and toward whom she had so friendly a feeling, and mrs. stoddard, busy with her preparations for pie-making, did not speak further of the wolf. there was a good catch of fish that day, and captain enos came home smiling and well pleased. "if we could hope that the british ships would keep out of harbor we could look forward to some comfort," he said, "but starkweather had news from an ipswich fisherman that the 'somerset' was cruising down the cape, and like as not she'll anchor off the village some morning. and from what we hear, her sailors find it good sport to lay hands on what they see." the appearance of the beach-plum pie, warm from the oven, turned the captain's thoughts to more pleasant subjects. "'tis a clever child to find ripe beach-plums in july," he said, as he cut anne a liberal piece, "and a bit of tartness gives it an excellent flavor. well, well, it is surely a pleasant thing to have a little maid in the house," and he nodded kindly toward anne. after supper when anne had gone up to her little chamber under the eaves, and captain enos and mrs. stoddard were sitting upon their front door-step enjoying the cool of the evening, captain enos said: "martha, anne calls you mistress stoddard, does she not?" "always," answered his wife. "she is a most thoughtful and respectful child. never does she speak of thee, enos, except to say 'captain.' she has been in the house for over two months now, and i see no fault in her." "a quick temper," responded captain enos, but his tone was not that of a person who had discovered a fault. indeed he smiled as he spoke, remembering the flight of the cary children. "i would like well to have the little maid feel that we were pleased with her," continued the captain slowly. "if she felt like calling me 'father' and you 'mother,' i should see no harm in it, and perhaps 'twould be well to have her name put on the town records as bearing our name, anne stoddard?" and captain enos regarded his wife questioningly. "it is what i have been wishing for, enos!" exclaimed mrs. stoddard, "but maybe 'twere better for the child to call us 'uncle' and 'aunt.' she does not yet forget her own father, you see, and she might feel 'twere not right to give another his name." captain enos nodded approvingly. "a good and loyal heart she has, i know," he answered, "and 'twill be better indeed not to puzzle the little maid. we'll be 'uncle' and 'aunt' to her then, martha; and as for her name on the town records, perhaps we'll let the matter rest till anne is old enough to choose for herself. if the british keep on harrying us it may well be that we fisherfolk will have to go further up the coast for safety." "and desert province town?" exclaimed mrs. stoddard, "the place where your father and mine, enos, were born and died, and their fathers before them. no--we'll not search for safety at such a price. i doubt if i could live in those shut-in places such as i hear the upper landings are." captain enos chuckled approvingly. "i knew well what you would say to that, martha," he replied, "and now we must get our sleep, for the tide serves early to-morrow morning, and i must make the best of these good days." "captain enos was well pleased with the pie, anne," said mrs. stoddard the next morning, as the little girl stood beside her, carefully wiping the heavy ironware.[1] "and what does thee think! the captain loves thee so well, child, that it would please him to have thee call him uncle enos. that is kind of him, is it not, anne?" and mistress stoddard smiled down at the eager little face at her elbow. "it is indeed, mistress stoddard," replied anne happily; "shall i begin to-night?" "yes, child, and i shall like it well if you call me 'aunt'; 'twill seem nearer than 'mistress stoddard,' and you are same as our own child now." anne's dark eyes looked up earnestly into mistress stoddard's kind face. "but i am my father's little girl, too," she said. "of course you are," answered her friend. "captain enos and i are not asking you to forget your father, child. no doubt he did his best for you, but you are to care for us, too." "but i do, aunt martha; i love you well," said anne, so naturally that mrs. stoddard stopped her work long enough to give her a kiss and to say, "there, child, now we are all settled. 'twill please your uncle enos well." as soon as the few dishes were set away anne wandered down the hill toward the spring. she no longer feared the cary children, and she hoped to see some of the starkweather family and hear more of the gray wolf, and at the spring she found jimmie with two wooden buckets filled and ready for him to carry home to his waiting mother. "you missed the great sight yesterday, anne," he said, as she approached the spring. "what think you! a wolf as big as a calf walked boldly up and drank, right where i stand." "'twas not as big as a calf," declared anne; "and why should you seek to kill a wild creature who wants but a drink? 'tis not a bad wolf." jimmie looked at her in surprise, his gray eyes widening and shining in wonder. "all wolves are bad," he declared. "this same gray wolf walked off with widow bett's plumpest hen and devoured it before her very eyes." "well, the poor creature was hungry. we eat plump hens, when we can get them," answered anne. jimmie laughed good-naturedly. "wait till you see the beast, anne," he answered. "its eyes shine like black water, and its teeth show like pointed rocks. you'd not stand up for it so boldly if you had but seen it." anne made no answer; she was not even tempted to tell jimmie that she had seen the animal, had been almost within arm's reach of it. "i must be going," she said, "but do not harm the wolf, jimmie," and she looked at the boy pleadingly; "perhaps it knows no better than to take food when it is hungry." "i'd like its skin for a coat," the boy answered, "but 'tis a wise beast and knows well how to take care of itself. it's miles away by this time," and picking up the buckets he started toward home, and anne turned away from the spring and walked toward the little pasture where brownie fed in safety. she stopped to speak to the little brown cow and to give her a handful of tender grass, and then wandered down the slope and along the edge of the marsh. "maybe 'twill come again," she thought, as she reached the little oak tree and sat down where she had slept the day before. "perhaps if i sit very still it will come out again. i'm sure 'tis not an unfriendly beast." the little girl sat very still; she did not feel sleepy or tired, and her dark eyes scanned the marsh hopefully, but as the summer morning drifted toward noon she began to realize that her watch was in vain. "i s'pose jimmie starkweather was right, and the gray wolf is miles away," she thought, as she decided that she must leave the shadow of the oak and hurry toward home so that aunt martha would not be anxious about her. "i wish the wolf knew i liked him," the little girl said aloud, as she turned her face toward home. "i would not chase him away from the spring, and i would not want his gray fur for a coat," and anne's face was very sober, as she sent a lingering look along the thick-growing woods that bordered the marsh. she often thought of the wolf, but she never saw it again. ---- [1] a coarse chinaware. chapter v scarlet stockings "good news from truro, captain enos," said joseph starkweather, one morning in august, as the two neighbors met at the boat landing. "there'll be good hope for american freedom if all our settlements show as much wit and courage." "and what have truro men done?" demanded captain enos. "they are mostly of the same blood as our province town folks, and would naturally be of some wit." joseph starkweather's eyes brightened and twinkled at his neighbor's answer. "'twas the sand-hills helped them," he answered. "you know the little valleys between the row of sand-hills near the shore? well, the british fleet made anchorage off there some days since, and the truro men had no mind for them to land and spy out how few there were. so they gathered in one of those little valleys and, carrying smooth poles to look like muskets, they marched out in regular file like soldiers over the sand-hill; then down they went through the opposite depression and around the hill and back, and then up they came again, constantly marching; and the british, who could be seen getting boats ready to land, thought better of it. they believed that an immense force of american soldiers had assembled, and the ships hoisted sail and made off. 'twas good work." "indeed it was," responded captain enos. "i could wish that we of this settlement were not so at the mercy of the british. our harbor is too good. it draws them like a magnet. i do think three thousand ships might find safe anchorage here," and captain enos turned an admiring look out across the beautiful harbor. "have you any news of john nelson?" questioned joseph starkweather. "how could there be news of a man whose boat sunk under him well off race point in a southerly gale?" responded captain stoddard. joseph approached a step nearer his companion and said: "he was on one of the british ships, enos; he was seen there, and now news comes by way of a newburyport fisherman that 'twas no fault of john nelson's. the britishers ran down his boat and took him on board their ship, and the news goes that when the fleet anchored off here nelson escaped; swam ashore in the night, the story goes, and made his way to wellfleet and joined the americans at dorchester who are ready to resist the british if need be." captain enos's face brightened as he listened. "that is indeed good news!" he said. "i am glad for our little maid's sake that her father is known to be a loyal man. but 'tis strange he did not seek to see anne," he continued thoughtfully. "john nelson loved the little maid well," declared joseph starkweather. "he had but poor luck here, but he did his best. the newburyport man tells that the british are in great anger at his escape, and vow that the settlement here shall pay well for it when they make harbor here again." "we have no arms to defend the harbor. 'tis hard work to rest quiet here," said captain enos; "but it is great news to know that our little maid's father is a loyal man. we like the child well." "'twas i sent anne to your house, enos," responded joseph. "my own is so full that i dared not ask mistress starkweather to take the child in; and i knew your wife for a kind-hearted woman." "it was a good thought, joseph," responded the captain, "and anne seems well content with us. she has her playhouse under the trees, and amuses herself without making trouble. she is a helpful little maid, too, saving mistress stoddard many a step. i must be going toward home. there was an excellent chowder planned for my dinner, and martha will rejoice at the news from truro," and the captain hurried toward home. half-way up the hill he saw anne, coming to meet him. "uncle enos! uncle enos!" she called, "brownie is lost! indeed she is. all the morning have i gone up and down the pasture, calling her name and looking everywhere for her, and she is not to be found." "well, well!" responded captain enos; "'tis sure the britishers have not stolen her, for there is not one of their craft in sight. the cow is probably feeding somewhere about; we'll find her safe in some good pasturage. is the chowder steaming hot and waiting?" "yes, uncle enos," replied anne, slipping her hand into the captain's, "but aunt martha is greatly concerned about brownie. she fears the indians may have driven her off." "we'll cruise about a little after dinner," answered the captain. "i don't like to think that the indians would show themselves unfriendly just now," and his pleasant face grew stern and serious. but his appetite for the chowder was excellent, and when he started out to search for brownie he was sure that he would find her near the marsh or perhaps in the maple grove further on, where the cattle sometimes wandered. "now, anne, i have an errand for you to do," said mrs. stoddard, as the captain started on his search. "i've just remembered that the starkweather children had good stockings last year of crimson yarn. now it may be that mrs. starkweather has more on hand, and that i could exchange my gray, as she has stout boys to wear gray stockings, for her scarlet yarn; and then we'll take up some stockings for you." anne's face brightened. "i should well like some scarlet stockings," she said. "i mean you to be warmly clad come frost," said mrs. stoddard. "now see that you do the errand well. ask mrs. starkweather, first of all, if she be in good health. it is not seemly to be too earnest in asking a favor. then say that mistress stoddard has enough excellent gray yarn for two pair of long stockings, and that she would take it as a kindness if mistress starkweather would take it in exchange for scarlet yarn." "yes, aunt martha, i will surely remember," and anne started off happily. as she passed the spring a shrill voice called her name, and she turned to see amanda cary, half hidden behind a small savin. "come and play," called amanda. "i am not angry if you did chase me. my mother says you knew no better!" anne listened in amazement. knew no better! had not captain enos approved of her defense of herself, and were not the cary children the first to begin trouble with her! so anne shook her head and walked sedately on. "come and play," repeated the shrill voice. "my brother and jimmie starkweather are gone looking for our cow, and i have no one to play with." "is your cow lost, too?" exclaimed anne, quite forgetting amanda's unkindness in this common ill-fortune. amanda now came out from behind the savin tree; a small, thin-faced child, with light eyes, sandy hair and freckles. "yes, and we think the indians have driven them off. for the starkweathers' cow is not to be found. 'twill be a sad loss, my mother says; for it will leave but three cows in the town." "but they may be found," insisted anne. "my uncle enos has gone now to look for brownie." "'uncle enos'!" repeated amanda scornfully. "he's not your uncle. you are a waif. my mother said so, and waifs do not have uncles or fathers or anybody." "i am no waif, for i have a father, and my uncle enos will tell your mother not to say such words of me!" declared anne boldly, but she felt a lump in her throat and wished very much that she had not stopped to talk with amanda. "i don't see why you get angry so quick," said amanda. "you get angry at everything. i'd just as soon play with you, if you are a waif." "i wouldn't play with you anyway," said anne; "i have an errand to do, and if i had not i would rather never play than play with such a hateful, ill-speaking child as you are," and anne hurried on her way toward the starkweathers' low-built, weather-beaten house near the shore. "i shall be glad indeed to get rid of some of my scarlet yarn," declared mrs. starkweather, "and you can take home a skein or two of it and tell mistress stoddard that her little girl does an errand very prettily. i could wish my boys were as well-mannered." anne smiled, well pleased at the pleasant words. "uncle enos says there is no better boy than jimmie," she responded. "he says he is a smart and honest lad,--a 'real starkweather,' he calls him," she responded. "does he so?" and the woman's thin face flushed with pleasure at this praise of her eldest son. "well, we do prize jimmie, and 'tis good news to know him well thought of, and you are a kindly little maid to speak such pleasant words. mistress stoddard is lucky indeed to have you." "i call her aunt martha now," said anne, feeling that mrs. starkweather was nearly as kind as mrs. stoddard, and quite forgetting the trouble of brownie's loss or of amanda's teasing in the good woman's pleasantness. "that is well," replied mrs. starkweather. "you will bring her much happiness, i can well see. i could wish you had come to me, child, when your father went; but the stoddards can do better for you." "should i have called you 'aunt'?" anne asked a little wistfully. "indeed you should, and you may now if mistress stoddard be willing. say to her that i'd like well to be aunt starkweather to her little maid." so anne, with her bundle of scarlet yarn, started toward home, much happier than when she had rapped at mrs. starkweather's door. amanda was still sitting at the spring. "anne," she called shrilly, "may i go up to your house and play with you?" anne shook her head, and without a backward look at the child by the spring kept on her way toward home. she had much to tell her aunt martha, who listened, well pleased at her neighbor's kind words. "and amanda cary said that their cow was lost, and the starkweathers' cow, too. amos cary and jimmie are off searching for them now, and do fear the indians have driven them off," said anne. "'twill be bad fortune indeed if that be true," replied mrs. stoddard, "for we are not as well provisioned for the winter as usual, and it would be a worrisome thing to have the indians bothering us on shore and the british to fear at sea. but i'll take up your stockings to-day, anne. the yarn is a handsome color, and well spun." "i think i will not leave martha at the playhouse after this," said anne thoughtfully; "something might happen to her." mrs. stoddard nodded approvingly, and anne brought the wooden doll in. "like as not your uncle enos will make you a wooden chair for the doll when the evenings get longer," said mrs. stoddard. "he's clever with his knife, and 'twill give him something to busy his hands with. i'll call his attention to the doll." "my!" exclaimed anne, "i do think an aunt and uncle are nice to have. and a father is too," she added quickly, for she could not bear that any one should think that she had forgotten her own father. "yes, indeed, child; and there's good news of your own father. he was on the british ship and escaped and made his way to wellfleet to join the american soldiers." "oh, aunt martha!" and the little girl sprang up from her little stool and grasped her good friend's gown with eager hands, and then told her the story of her father's visit. "but i could not tell it before," she said. "indeed you are a loyal little maid," replied mrs. stoddard approvingly, "and you must always keep a promise, but see to it that you promise nothing quickly. i think the better of john nelson that he took great risk to make sure his little daughter was safe and well cared for. the captain will think it good news, too." "my father will come back some day," declared anne, and mrs. stoddard agreed cheerfully. "to be sure he will," she said, "but do not think of that too much, dear child. see, i have the stitches all cast on, and your scarlet stockings are really begun." chapter vi captured by indians the more anne thought about brownie the more fearful she became that some harm had befallen the pretty brown cow. "her foot may have caught in those twisted roots on the hill," thought the little girl, "or perhaps the indians have fastened her in the woods. i do believe i could find her, and save uncle enos the trouble," and the more anne thought of it the more eager she became to search for brownie; and, on the day that the scarlet stockings were begun, anne resolved to walk up the hill and look about for the missing cow. as she trudged along she thought of many things, of the gray wolf, which had disappeared completely, having probably made its way up the cape to better hunting grounds; and she thought a great deal about her father, and of the day he had come to tell her of his safety. but anne did not think much about the indians. the cape settlements had been on friendly terms with the chatham indians for some time, and the people of province town were more in peril from the freebooters of the sea than from indians. anne had climbed the hill, passed the grove of scrubby pines, and stood looking across the sand-dunes toward the open sea. she had looked carefully for brownie, but there was no trace of her. but anne was sure that, at the edge of the pine woods, some creature had been near her. she had lived out-of-doors so much that her ears were quick to distinguish any sound. at first she had wondered if it might not be the wolf, and, as she stood looking across the sand, she almost hoped that it might be. "perhaps i could tame it and have it live at our house," she thought, and then remembered what aunt martha had said: that it would be a hard winter, "and wolves eat a good deal, i suppose," decided anne, "so 'twill not be wise to tame it." had she looked behind her she would not have felt so secure. an indian woman had been following anne, and was now within arm's reach of her. and anne had just come to her decision in regard to the wolf, when a blanket fell over her head, was quickly twisted about her, and she felt herself lifted from the ground. then she heard a chatter of voices in a strange tongue, and realized that she was being carried away from the pine woods. she tried to free herself from the blanket, and tried to call out; but she could not move, and her voice made only a muffled sound. she heard a laugh from the squaw who was carrying her so easily, and in a moment felt herself dropped on the soft sand, and held down firmly for a moment. then she lay quietly. she knew, though she could not see, that a canoe was being launched. there was talk among a number of people near her, and then she was lifted and put into the canoe, and again firmly held by a strong arm. then came the smooth dip of paddles, and anne knew that she was being taken away from home, and she felt the tears on her cheeks. she did not try to scream again, for there had been a rough twist of the blanket about her head when she cried out before, and she was held too firmly to struggle. she could hear the guttural voices of the indians, and, after what seemed a long time, she realized that her captors were making a landing. she was again dropped on sand, and now the blanket was unwound and anne stood up. she found herself facing three indian women. two of them frowned at her, but the younger smiled and nodded, and patted anne's shoulder. [illustration: a blanket fell over her head] the two elder squaws began to talk rapidly, but the one who stood beside anne remained silent. the canoe was lifted from the beach by the two, as they talked, and carried up toward the rough pasture-land. anne's companion took her by the hand and led her after the others. "i want to go right home," anne announced. "you must take me right back to captain stoddard's." the young squaw shook her head, still smiling, and anne realized that her companion could not understand what she said. the little girl stopped short, and then the smile faded from the squaw's face; she gave her an ugly twitch forward, and when anne still refused to move a stinging blow on the cheek followed. anne began to cry bitterly. she was now thoroughly frightened, and began to wonder what would become of her. the squaws hid the canoe carefully, covering it up with vines and brush, and then started along the shore. anne and her companion now kept close to the other two. and the three squaws talked together. now and then they would stop, and shading their eyes with one hand, look seaward as if watching for some expected boat, but none appeared. anne's bare feet began to ache. she believed they would be blistered, but the women paid no attention to her. anne knew that they were very near the truro beach. she could see the big waves dashing up in a long curving line, and as they came round a high cliff of sand they came suddenly upon a big fishing-boat drawn up on the beach. two sailors stood by it. in an instant the squaws had turned to flee, dragging anne with them. but she screamed, and threw herself down on the sand. the sailors came running toward them, and the indian women fled. "it's a white child," exclaimed one of the men, picking anne up, and wiping her face with a big soft handkerchief. "what were they doing with you, child?" and leaning against his friendly arm, anne told her story, and showed her bruised feet. "'tis lucky for you we put ashore," said the man. "we'll take you home, little maid, safe and sound." "you are not from province town?" anne ventured to ask, looking up into the kind blue eyes. "we are good english sailors, my girl," the other man answered her question, "and we borrowed this boat from a settler up shore to get fish for his majesty's ship 'somerset'; but we'll take you safe home, never fear." the blue-eyed man lifted anne into the boat, and the two men were soon pulling strongly at the oars. "'tis a stiff pull to province town, but the tide's with us, william," said the last speaker. anne sat very quiet. she was wondering if aunt martha had missed her, and if uncle enos would blame her for having wandered to the outer beach. she looked up to see the sailor whom his companion called "william" smiling at her. "do not be afraid," he said kindly; "the folks at home will be glad to see you, and you'll not be scolded." anne tried to smile back. she wanted to ask him if he had any little girls of his own; but she remembered that he was an englishman, and decided that it was best not to say anything. "can you walk across the pasture if we set you ashore near here?" asked the sailor, when they had reached the smooth beach near where anne had been seized by the indians. "you'll not be troubled again, and we cannot well round the point to-night." "i can get home from here. i see the pine woods," anne agreed, and the men ran the boat well up on the beach, and william lifted her out. "'tis hard for those tender feet," he said, "but be quick as you can. my name is william trull, if your folks ask who 'twas that fetched you home, and my mate's name here is richard jones." "thank you; my name is anne nelson," anne replied. she turned back and waved her hand to them when she had reached the land above the shore, and saw them push off their boat and row away. it was very hard now to walk over the rough ground, and anne felt very tired and unhappy. she kept steadily on, and was soon in sight of home. mistress stoddard and captain enos were both standing in the doorway looking anxiously toward her. "well, well, anne, and do you think you should stay away like this? and what has become of your sunbonnet?" questioned mrs. stoddard. "indians!" wailed anne. "indian women, aunt martha! they carried me off," and, with mrs. stoddard's arm about her, and captain enos listening in angry amazement, anne told the story of her adventure. "'twas an evil thing!" declared the captain. "i'm thankful the english sailors were on shore. i'll remember their names." mrs. stoddard bathed the tired feet, and anne was quite hungry enough to relish the hot corn bread, even though she had no milk to drink with it. "we must be careful about letting the child wander about alone," captain enos said, after anne was safe in bed that night. "'twould be ill-fortune indeed if harm befell her." "i'll keep her more at home," replied mrs. stoddard. "she is to begin knitting now, and that will give her amusement indoors." "'tis said that english soldiers are coming into boston by land and sea," said captain enos. "we province town people are exempt from military service, but we are loyal to the american forces, and some of us think the time is near when we must let you women stay here by yourselves," and captain enos looked at his wife questioningly. "we'd do our best, enos, be sure of that," she answered bravely, "and i'd have anne for company, if you're needed in boston." "if we stood any chance of getting there," complained captain enos, "without the britishers making us prisoners. no boat gets by them, i'm told." "talk no more of it to-night, enos. mayhap things may be settled soon, and these unhappy days well over," and mistress stoddard stepped to the door and looked out on the peaceful little settlement. "we have great cause to rejoice this night that our little maid is safe at home," she said. "i'll make a good search for brownie to-morrow," declared captain enos, "but i fear now that the indians have her." the good couple decided that it would be best to say as little of anne's adventure as possible, and to tell her not to talk of it to her playmates. "i'll caution the mothers," said mrs. stoddard, "but 'tis no use for our little people to frighten themselves by wondering about indians. maybe they will not come near us again, and they'll not dare to make another mistake." so but little was made of anne's escape from the squaws, although the children now stayed at home more closely, and anne did not often stray far from aunt martha. chapter vii out to sea captain enos and the boys returned without having found any trace of the missing cattle, and the villagers felt it to be a loss hardly to be borne that three of their six cows should have disappeared. the men went about their fishing even more soberly than before, and the women and children mourned loudly. amanda cary waited at the spring each day for anne's appearance. sometimes the two little girls did not speak, and again amanda would make some effort to win anne's notice. "your father is a soldier," she declared one morning, and when anne nodded smilingly, amanda ventured a step nearer. "you may come up to my house and see my white kittens if you want to," she said. there could be no greater temptation to anne than this. to have a kitten of her own had been one of her dearest wishes, and to see and play with two white kittens, even amanda's kittens, was a joy not lightly to be given up. but anne shook her head, and amanda, surprised and sulky, went slowly back toward home. the next morning, as anne went toward the spring, she met amanda coming up the hill, carrying a white kitten in her arms. "i was just going up to your house," said amanda. "i was bringing up this white kitten to give to you." "oh, amanda!" exclaimed anne, quite forgetting her old dislike of the little girl, and reaching out eager hands for the kitten which amanda gave to her. "my mother said that we could not afford to keep two kittens," amanda explained, "and i thought right off that i would give one to you." "thank you, amanda," and then anne's face grew sober, "but maybe my aunt martha will not want me to keep it," she said. "i guess she will," ventured amanda. "i will go with you and find out, and if she be not pleased i'll find some one to take it." the two little girls trudged silently along over the sandy path. anne carried the kitten very carefully, and amanda watched her companion anxiously. "if mistress stoddard says that you may keep the kitten may i stay and play a little while?" she asked as they came near the stoddard house. "yes," answered anne, "you may stay anyway, and i will show you my playhouse." amanda's thin freckled face brightened. "if she won't let you keep the kitten you may come over to my house every day and play with mine," she said; and almost hoped that mistress stoddard would not want the little white cat, for amanda was anxious for a playmate, and anne was nearer her age than any of the little girls of the settlement. mrs. stoddard was nearly as much pleased with the kitten as anne herself, and amanda was told that she was a good little girl, her past unkindness was forgotten, and the two children, taking the kitten with them, went out to the playhouse under the pines. amanda was allowed to hold the wooden doll, and they played very happily together until disturbed by a loud noise near the shore, then they ran down the little slope to see what was happening. "it's brownie!" exclaimed anne. "and our cow and the starkweathers'," declared amanda. "where do you suppose they found them?" jimmie starkweather drove brownie up to the little barn, and mrs. stoddard came running out to welcome the wanderer. "where did they come from, jimmie?" she questioned. "a truro man has just driven them over," explained jimmie; "he found them in his pasture, and thinks the indians dared not kill them or drive them further." "it's good fortune to get them back," said mrs. stoddard. "now you will have milk for your white kitten, anne. since the english sailors rescued you from the indians, they've not been about so much." the kitten was almost forgotten in petting and feeding brownie, and amanda looked on wonderingly to see anne bring in bunches of tender grass for the little brown cow to eat. "i cannot get near to our cow," she said; "she shakes her horns at me, and sniffs, and i dare not feed her," but she resolved to herself that she would try and make friends with the black and white animal of which she had always been afraid. "come again, amanda," said anne, when amanda said that she must go home, and the little visitor started off happily toward home, resolving that she would bring over her white kitten the very next day, and wondering if her own father could not make her a doll such as anne nelson had. "thee must not forget thy knitting, anne," cautioned mrs. stoddard, as anne came in from a visit to brownie, holding the white kitten in her arms; "'twill not be so many weeks now before the frost will be upon us, and i must see to it that your uncle's stockings are ready, and that you have mittens; so you must do your best to help on the stockings," and mrs. stoddard handed the girl the big ball of scarlet yarn and the stocking just begun on the shining steel needles. "remember, it is knit one and seam," she said. "you can sit in the open doorway, child, and when you have knit round eight times we will call thy stint finished for the morning. this afternoon we must go for cranberries. we will be needing all we can gather before the frost comes." anne put the kitten down on the floor and took the stocking, eyeing the scarlet yarn admiringly. she sat down in the open doorway and began her stint, her mind filled with happy thoughts. to have amanda speak well of her dear father, to know that brownie was safe in the barn, to possess a white kitten of her own, and, above all, to be knitting herself a pair of scarlet stockings made anne feel that the world was a very kind and friendly place. the white kitten looked at the moving ball of yarn curiously, and now and then made little springs toward it, greatly to anne's amusement, but in a few moments she found that her progress was slow, and the white kitten was sent off the broad step to play by itself on the sandy path. from time to time mrs. stoddard would come to look at anne's knitting, and to praise the smoothness of the work. "your uncle says you are to have stout leather shoes," she said. "elder haven tells me that there will be six weeks' school this autumn and it be good news." "shall i go to school, aunt martha?" questioned anne, looking up from her knitting. mrs. stoddard nodded, smiling down at the eager little face. "indeed you will. 'twill be the best of changes for you. like as not elder haven will teach thee to write." "i know my letters and can spell small words," said anne. "i'll teach thee to read if time allows," answered mrs. stoddard. "your uncle enos has a fine book of large print; 'pilgrim's progress' it's named, and 'tis of interest. we will begin on it for a lesson." that afternoon found anne and mrs. stoddard busily picking cranberries on the bog beyond the maple grove. jimmie starkweather and amos cary were also picking there, and before the afternoon finished, amanda appeared. she came near anne to pick and soon asked if anne was to go to elder haven's school. "yes, indeed," answered anne, "and maybe i shall be taught writing, and then i can send a letter, if chance offers, to my father." "you are always talking and thinking about your father," responded amanda; "if he should want you to leave the stoddards i suppose you would go in a minute." anne's face grew thoughtful. never had she been so happy and well cared for as at the stoddards'; to go to her father would perhaps mean that she would go hungry and half-clad as in the old days, but she remembered her father's loneliness, how he had always tried to do all that he could for her, and she replied slowly, "i guess my father might need me more than aunt martha and uncle enos. they have each other, and my father has only me." amanda asked no more questions, but she kept very close to anne and watched her with a new interest. "i wish i could read," she said, as, their baskets well filled, the two girls walked toward home. "i don't even know my letters." "i can teach you those," said anne eagerly. "i can teach you just as my dear father did me. we used to go out on the beach in front of our house and he would mark out the letters in the sand and tell me their names, and then i would mark them out. sometimes we would make letters as long as i am tall. would you like me to teach you?" "yes, indeed. let's go down to the shore now," urged amanda. "we'd best leave our berries safely at home," replied anne, who did not forget her adventure with the indian squaws and was now very careful not to go too far from the settlement, and so it was decided that they should hurry home and leave their baskets and meet on the smooth sandy beach near anne's old home. anne was the first to reach the place. she brought with her two long smooth sticks and had already traced out an enormous a when amanda appeared. "this is 'a,'" she called out. "'a' is for anne, and for amanda." "i know i can remember that," said amanda, "and i can make it, too." it was not long before a long row of huge letters were shaped along the beach, and when amos came down he looked at them wonderingly. "amos, can you spell my name?" asked his sister. "of course i can!" replied the boy scornfully. "i'll mark it out for you," and in a short time amanda was repeating over and over again the letters which formed her name. after amos had marked out his sister's name in the sand he started along the shore to where a dory lay, just floating on the swell of the incoming tide. "amos is going to fish for flounders," said amanda; "he catches a fine mess almost every afternoon for mother to cook for supper. he's a great help." "want to fish?" called out amos as the two little girls came near the boat and watched him bait his hooks with clams which he had dug and brought with him. "oh, yes," said anne; "do you think i could catch enough for uncle enos's supper?" "yes, if you'll hurry," answered the boy; "climb in over the bow." the barefooted children splashed through the shallow curl of the waves on the beach, and clambered over the high bow of the dory. amos baited their lines, and with a word of advice as to the best place to sit, he again turned to his own fishing and soon pulled in a big, flopping, resisting flounder. "the tide isn't right," he declared after a few minutes when no bite came to take the bait. "i'm going to cast off and pull a little way down shore over the flats. they'll be sure to bite there. you girls sit still. you can troll your lines if you want to. you may catch something." so anne and amanda sat very still while amos sprang ashore, untied the rope from the stout post sunk in the beach, pushed the boat into deeper water, and jumped in as it floated clear from the shore. it was a big, clumsy boat, and the oars were heavy; but amos was a stout boy of twelve used to boats and he handled the oars very skilfully. "the tide's just turning," he said; "'twill take us down shore without much rowing." "but 'twill be hard coming back," suggested amanda. "pooh! hard! i guess i could row through any water in this harbor," bragged amos, bending to his oar so lustily that he broke one of the wooden thole-pins, unshipped his oar, and went over backward into the bottom of the boat, losing his hold on the oar as he fell. he scrambled quickly back to his seat, and endeavored to swing the dory about with one oar so that he could reach the one now floating rapidly away. but he could not get within reach of it. "you girls move forward," he commanded; "i'll have to scull," and moving cautiously to the stern of the boat he put his remaining oar in the notch cut for it and began to move it regularly back and forth. "are you going inshore, amos?" questioned his sister. "what for?" asked the boy. "i've got one good oar, haven't i? we can go along first-rate." "it's too bad to lose a good oar," said amanda. "father won't care," said amos reassuringly; "'twa'n't a good oar. the blade was split; 'twas liable to harm somebody. he'll not worry at losing it." the dory went along very smoothly under amos's sculling and with the aid of the tide. amanda and anne, their lines trailing overboard, watched eagerly for a bite, and before long anne had pulled in a good-sized plaice, much to amos's satisfaction. he drew in his oar to help her take out the hook, and had just completed this task when amanda called out: "amos! amos! the oar's slipping!" the boy turned quickly and grabbed at the vanishing oar, but he was too late--it had slid into the water. they were now some distance from shore and the tide was setting strongly toward the mouth of the harbor. amos looked after the oar and both of the little girls looked at amos. "what are we going to do now?" asked amanda. "we can't ever get back to shore." chapter viii on the island amos made no answer to his sister's frightened exclamation. he was well used to the harbor, as he often went fishing with his father, and had been on cruises of several days. tide and wind both took the boat swiftly toward long point, a low, narrow sand-beach, which ran out into the harbor. "we'll run straight into long point if the wind don't change," said amos. anne had held fast to her line and now felt it tugging strongly in her grasp. "i've caught something!" she exclaimed, "and i don't believe i can ever pull it in." amos reached across and seized the line. "gee!" he exclaimed, "i'll bet it's a cod," and he pulled valiantly. it took all the boy's strength to get the big fish into the boat. "i'll bet it weighs ten pounds," declared amos proudly, quite forgetting in his pleasure over the big fish that the boat was still moving swiftly away from the settlement. "amos, amos, just see how fast we are going," said amanda; "we'll be carried right out to sea." "well, then some vessel will pick us up and bring us back," answered her brother, "but it looks now as if we would bring up on long point, and we can walk home from there easy enough. it's only a couple of miles." "perhaps we could get home before they missed us," suggested anne, hopefully. amos nodded; he was still busy with the big fish, but in a few moments he began to look anxiously ahead. "the wind's pulling round to the southeast," he said. "i guess we sha'n't hit long point after all." "we're going right into wood end," declared amanda, "or else to house point island. oh, amos, if we land on that island nobody will ever find us." "it will be better to land anywhere than to be carried beyond race point," said amos; "the wind is growing stronger every minute." the three children no longer felt any interest in their fish-lines. amos had drawn his line in when they started off from shore, and amanda had let go of hers when the first oar was lost. anne was the only one who had kept a firm hold on her line, and now she drew it in and coiled it carefully around the smooth piece of wood to which it was fastened. "i'll get this boat ashore some way," declared amos boldly; "if we run near any land i'll jump overboard with the painter and pull the dory to shore. i'll get up in the bow now so's to be ready." neither of the little girls said anything. amanda was ready to cry with fear, and anne was watching the sky anxiously. "the sun is all covered up with clouds," she said, and before amos could answer there came a patter of raindrops. the wind, too, increased in force and the waves grew higher. anne and amanda crouched low in the boat, while amos in the bow peered anxiously ahead. within the curve of the shore of race point lay house point island, where amos hoped they might land. it was a small island partly covered with scrubby thickets but no tall trees, and with shallow water all about it. amos was sure that he could pull the clumsy boat to shore if the wind would only set a little in that direction. the september afternoon was growing late, the sky was now completely overcast, and the rain falling steadily. "we're getting near the island," said amos. "i'll slide overboard in a minute, and all you girls need do is keep still till i tell you to jump," and amos, the painter of the dory in one hand, slipped over the high bow of the boat and struck out for shore. he was a strong swimmer, and managed to change the course of the boat so that it swung in toward the shallow water, and in a few minutes amos got a foothold on the sand, and pulled strongly on the rope until the boat was well out of the outward sweep of the current. "now jump out," he commanded; "you on one side, anne, and amanda on the other, and take hold of the side and help pull the boat ashore." the two girls obeyed instantly, and the three dripping children struggled up the beach, pulling the dory beyond reach of the tide. "we must be sure this boat is safe," said amos; "if we can get it up a little further, we can tip it up on one side and crawl under and get out of the rain." the codfish, plaice and flounder amos took out carefully and carried to a large rock further up the beach. "we'll have to eat those fish if we stay here very long," he said. it grew dark early and the children, under the shelter of the boat, peered out at the rushing waves, listened to the wind, and were very glad that they were on shore, even if it was an island and miles away from home. "nobody can find us to-night," said anne, "but prob'ly to-morrow morning, first thing, my uncle enos and your father will take a boat and come sailing right down after us." "how will they know where we are?" whimpered amanda. "we'll have to stay here always; i know we shall." "if we do i'll build a brush house," said amos hopefully, "and there's lots of beach-plums grow on this island, i've heard folks say; and we'll cook those fish and i'll bet i can find mussels along the shore." "we can't cook anything," said anne, "for we can't make any fire." "i can make a fire when things get dry," said amos; "how do you suppose indians make fires when they are off like this? an indian doesn't care where he is because he knows how to get things to eat and how to cook them, and how to make a shelter. i've wished lots of times that i'd had the chances to learn things that indians have." the boat proved a shelter against the wind, and the long night wore slowly away. amos slept soundly, but neither anne nor amanda could sleep, except in short naps from which they quickly awakened. the storm ceased in the night and the sun came up and sent its warm beams down on the shivering children, who crept out from the dory and ran and jumped about on the sand until they were quite warm and very hungry. amos went searching along the shore for the round dark-shelled mussels which he knew were good to eat, and anne and amanda went up toward the thick-growing bushes beyond the sand-banks to look for beach-plums. "look, anne! look! did you ever see so many on one bush?" exclaimed amanda, and the bush was indeed well filled with the appetizing fruit. "we must take a lot to amos," said anne, "for he is getting mussels for us now." "yes, indeed," agreed amanda; "do you suppose they will come after us this morning, anne?" "of course they will, first thing," replied anne hopefully, so that amanda grew more cheerful, and when they got back to the boat with aprons full of beach-plums and found amos waiting for them with a fine lot of fresh mussels they quite forgot to be troubled or unhappy. the sun was shining brightly, the blue water looked calm and smooth, and the wind had entirely gone. they ate the plums and mussels hungrily. "we'd better look around a little," said amos, when they had finished, "and see if we can find a good place for a brush house. we ought to build it near the shore so that we can keep a watch for any passing boat." "won't father find us to-day?" asked amanda anxiously. "can't tell," replied her brother; "anyway we want to get ready to build a house, for we might have to stay here a week." "i believe you want to stay a week, amos cary!" exclaimed his sister. "i'd just as soon stay as not," said amos, "if i can find some rotten wood like the indians use to start a fire; but it isn't much use to look for it until things begin to dry up." amos, followed closely by the little girls, went up the bank and toward a place where grew a thicket of small pines. "we can break off a lot of these branches and carry them down to the shore," he said, "and fix some beds of them under one side of the dory. it will be better than sleeping on the sand." they made several trips back and forth to the boat with armfuls of pine boughs until they each had quite a pile, long and wide enough for a bed, and high enough to keep them well off the sand. but amos was not satisfied. "this sand-bank makes a good back for a house," he said; "now if we could only build up sides, and fix some kind of a roof, it would make a fine house." "won't the dory do for one side?" asked anne. "no," said amos, "but we can pile up heaps of sand here on each side of our beds, right against this sand-bank, and that will make three sides of a house, and then we'll think of something for the roof." so they all went to work piling up the sand. it was hard work, and it took a long time before the loose sand could be piled up high enough for anne and amanda to crouch down behind. "i'm dreadful hungry," said amanda, after they had worked steadily for some time; "let's rest and eat some mussels and beach-plums," and amos and anne were both quite ready to stop work. "it must be past noon now," said amos, looking at the sun, "and there hasn't a boat come in sight." anne had begun to look very serious. "my aunt martha may think that i have run away," she said, as they sat leaning back against the piles of warm sand. "no, she won't," amos assured her, "for they'll find out right off that amanda and i are gone, and father's dory, and it won't take father or captain enos long to guess what's happened; only they'll think that we have been carried out to sea." the little girls were very silent after this, until amos jumped up saying: "i've just thought of a splendid plan. we'll pile up sand just as high as we can on both sides. then i'll take those fish-lines and cut them in pieces long enough to reach across from one sand heap to the other, and tie rocks on each end of the lines and put them across." "i don't think fish-lines will make much of a roof," said amanda. "and after i get the lines across," went on amos, not heeding what his sister had said, "we'll lay these pine boughs across the lines. see? we can have the branches come well over each side and lap one row over another and make a fine roof," and amos jumped about, greatly pleased with his own invention. they all returned to piling up sand and before sunset had made walls taller than their heads, and amos had put the lines across and the covering of pine boughs, so that it was nicely roofed in. "it will be a lot better than sleeping under the dory," said anne, as they looked proudly at the little shelter, "and there's pine boughs enough left for beds, too!" "we can get more to-morrow," said amos, "and we'll have a fire to-morrow if i can only find some punk, and cook those fish." "but i want to go home to-morrow," said amanda; "i know my mother wants me. we've got a boat; can't you make an oar and row us home, amos?" "there isn't anything to make an oar out of," answered amos. they made their supper on more mussels and beach-plums, and then lay down on their beds of boughs in the little enclosure. they could see the moon shining over the water, the big dory hauled up in front of their shelter, and they all felt very glad that they were not drifting out at sea. amos had many plans in his head, and was eager for another day to come that he might carry them out, but amanda and anne went to sleep hoping only that the next day would see one of the big fishing-boats of province town come sailing up to the island to take them safely home. chapter ix the castaways "my, it was cold last night," shivered amanda, as she and anne went toward the spring of fresh water which bubbled up near the shore for their morning drink. "i do wish amos would plan some way to get us home to-day." "how can he?" asked anne; "he hasn't any oars, and see what a long way it is across the water to long point. he couldn't swim that far." "yes, he could, too," declared amanda, "and when the tide is out the water is so shallow that you can see the yellow sand shining through. he could swim some and walk some, and he'd get over there all right; then he could walk home and tell father and captain enos and they would come right after us." "why doesn't he go then?" questioned anne. "i do know that my aunt martha is sadly worried; it is full two days since we set forth." "amos likes to stay here," said amanda, lowering her voice to a whisper; "he thinks it is fun to live as indians do, and he doesn't want to go home. if he gets enough to eat he'll stay and stay, and then he can tell jimmie starkweather of being wrecked on an island." "couldn't we get across to long point?" asked anne. "no. we can't swim, and 'twould be foolish to try," answered amanda. "we'll have cooked fish for dinner," said amos as they ate beach-plums for breakfast. "i'm sure i can find some punk somewhere on this island, and while i am looking for it you girls gather all the dry twigs you can find, make a good-sized hole in the sand and fill it up with dry stuff that will take fire quickly, and i'll show you how indians cook." "i'd rather have some indian meal mush," replied amanda; "can't you swim across to long point, amos, and hurry home and send some one after us?" amos looked at her in astonishment, and then smiled broadly. "i know a better way than that," he said, and without waiting to answer the girl's eager questions he ran off toward the thicket of pines. "we'll dig the hole in the sand, and then find some dry wood," said anne; "anything cooked will taste good, won't it?" "amos knows some way to get us home," said amanda, "and he's got to tell us what it is, and start just as soon as he cooks his old fish. i wonder what it is!" now that amanda saw a prospect of getting home she felt more cheerful and so did anne; and they gathered dry brush, bits of bark and handfuls of the sunburned beach-grass until the hole in the sand was filled, and there was a good-sized heap of dry brush over it. "do you suppose amos can really make a fire?" asked anne. "i guess he can," said amanda. "amos is real smart at queer things like that, that other boys don't think about." "i've found some!" shouted amos, as he leaped down the bank; "just a little bit, in the stump of an old oak tree up here. now wait till i get the thole-pins, and you'll see," and he ran toward the dory and returned with a pair of smooth, round thole-pins, and sat down on the sand in front of the brush heap. the precious piece of punk was carefully wrapped in a piece of the sleeve of his flannel blouse. "i had to tear it off," he explained, when amanda pointed to the ragged slit, "for punk must be kept dry or it isn't a bit of use." he now spread the bit of flannel on the sand in front of him, and kneeling down beside it began to rub the thole-pins across each other as fast as he could move his hands. anne and amanda, kneeling on each side of him, looked on with anxious eyes. "there's a spark!" at last shouted amanda. the spark fell on the dry punk, in an instant the punk caught and there were several sparks, then amos held a wisp of dry grass in front of it and blew vigorously, and the smouldering punk flamed up, the grass caught, amos thrust it under the dry brush, and in less than a minute the whole mass was burning briskly. the children all jumped about it in delight. "my, i wish we could have had a fire like that last night, when i was so cold," said amanda. "we'll keep it burning now," said amos. "i've always wanted to start a fire this way. i think it's better than flint and tinder," for in those days the wooden splint matches were not known in the settlement, and fires were started by rubbing flint and steel together until a spark caught. "we are going home this afternoon," said amanda, so firmly that amos looked at her in surprise. "what for?" he asked. "i think it's fine here. we've got a house and a fire, and we'll have fish enough to last----" "we are going home," interrupted amanda; "it's horrid here, and everybody will be afraid we are drowned." a little smile crept over amos's freckled face. "'twill indeed be a tale to tell jimmie starkweather," he said, looking admiringly at the brush-covered shelter, and then at the brisk fire. "'tis a shipwreck such as no boy in the settlement has had." amos asked no more questions, but sent the girls after more dry brush, while he dug another hole in the sand. then with a long stick he pushed the hot wood and coals from the first hole into the second, and carefully laid the big plaice fish on the hot sand, pushed a thick covering of hot sand over it, and started a new fire on top of it. "'twill be baked to a turn," he said to his sister and anne; "'tis the way the indians cook fish and mussels and clams. i have seen them." "we'll go home as soon as we can eat it," said amanda; "'twill be low tide by that time, and if you have no better plan for us, amos, anne and i will wade to long point." "wade!" repeated amos scornfully; "you'd be drowned." "then tell us your plan," urged amanda, while anne looked at him pleadingly. she had thought much about her father as she lay awake under the roof of pine boughs, and wondered if some word from him might not have reached the settlement. she thought, too, about the scarlet stockings, and wished herself back in the little brown house on the hill. so she said, "we must go home, amos." "i wish you girls had stayed home," muttered amos; "if some of the boys had come we'd have had a good time here; but girls always want to go home. well, i'll get you to long point without swimming," and again amos smiled, for he had a secret of his own that he knew would greatly surprise amanda and anne. it was not long before he began scraping the hot embers from the sand under which the fish was cooking. then he poked the hot sand away, and there lay the plaice, steaming and smoking, and sending out an appetizing odor. "there!" said amos proudly, as he managed to cut off a piece with his jack-knife for each of the girls, "that's as good fish as you ever tasted." "it's the best," said anne, and amanda ate hungrily. indeed the children were all so hungry that they devoured the entire fish. "if you'll stay till to-morrow i'll cook the cod," said amos, but both amanda and anne said they wanted to go home. so amos with their help pushed and dragged the dory into the water, and then telling the girls to stay right by the boat until he returned, started off up the beach to where he had found the mussels. in a few minutes they saw him running back. "look, amanda!" exclaimed anne, "he's found an oar!" the little girls could hardly believe it possible; but amos was smiling and seemed to think it was a great joke. "i found it yesterday morning, the very first thing, when you were off after beach-plums," he explained, "and i hid it, because i knew if i told you i'd found an oar you'd want to start for home right off; and as long as we were here i wanted some fun out of it. now jump in, and i'll scull you over to long point in no time." the girls were too glad at the idea of really starting for home to blame amos for keeping them on the island so long, but anne thought to herself that she was sure that none of the starkweather boys would have hidden the oar. "amos is smart, but he's selfish," she decided, as the boy bent to the big oar and sent the clumsy boat toward long point. "'tis a good oar, better than the one i lost," said amos, "and i do think 'twas lost from one of the english ships. there's a big 's' burned into the handle. mayhap it belonged to the 'somerset.' if so i'm glad they lost it." "'twas the 'somerset' ran down my father's boat and nigh drowned him," said anne, "and the sailors lent him no help, but laughed to see him struggle till he reached near enough their ship to clamber up." "i wish i could be a soldier like your father," said amos, and at this anne looked upon him more kindly. "scull faster, amos," urged amanda; "the sun is not two hours high, and 'tis a long walk through the sand before we can get home. i do hope we'll get there before milking time that i may have a drink of warm milk." when the boat touched the sandy shore of long point, anne and amanda scrambled over the bow and urged amos to hurry. "i must make the boat safe," he said; "'twould be a sad loss to have the tide take her out. and i'll hide this good oar, too. to-morrow jimmie starkweather and i will sail down and tow her back, and maybe take a look at the island," and amos looked back regretfully to the shores they had just left. the dory was drawn up beyond reach of the tide, the oar hidden under the sand, and the children started on their walk toward home. the distance was but two miles, but walking through the loose sand was hard and tiresome. "i slip back a step every step i take," said anne; "look, the sun is nearly out of sight now." "the milk will be strained and set ere this," said amanda mournfully; "there's not even a beach-plum grows on this point, and the long grass cuts my feet whenever i come near it." "you could have had another baked fish by this time if you would have stayed on the island," said amos complainingly. after this the children plodded on in silence for a long time. the harvest moon rose beyond the harbor and smiled down upon them. there was a silvery glint all over the water, and as they came round one of the big piles of sand, which are so often seen along the coast of cape cod, they all stopped and looked out across the harbor. it was amos who pointed toward a big ship riding at anchor, perhaps a mile from the shore. "there's the 'somerset' back again," he said. "i wonder if there's any harm done at the settlement?" chapter x safe at home it was late in the evening when the three tired, hungry children reached the settlement. amanda and amos ran up the path to their door and anne plodded on toward mrs. stoddard's, nearly a half mile from the cary house. there was not a light to be seen in the village, but anne could see the shining lanterns on the "somerset" sending narrow rays of light across the water. but she was too tired to think of the british ship, or of anything except how good it would be to sleep in a real bed again. at mrs. stoddard's door she stood for a moment wondering if she could not creep in and up-stairs without waking uncle enos and aunt martha; she tried the door softly, but it was bolted, so she rattled the latch and called, "aunt martha! uncle enos!" a sudden fear filling her heart that they might not hear her and that she might have to sleep on the door-step. but in an instant she heard steps hurrying across the kitchen floor, the big bolt was pulled back, the door swung open, and anne was warmly clasped in aunt martha's arms. uncle enos hurried close behind her, and anne was drawn into the kitchen with many exclamations of wonder and joy. "light a candle that we may look at her," said aunt martha, "and start up a fire. 'tis a chilly night, and the child must have some warm porridge." it was not long before the fire was burning brightly, a kettle of hot water bubbling cheerfully, that anne might have a warm bath to rest and soothe her tired limbs, and anne, sitting on aunt martha's lap, was eating a bowl of hot porridge and telling the story of her adventures. "house point island, eh?" said uncle enos; "'tis lucky there was an island just there, even so low a one as that. in a hundred years or so the tides and waves will sweep it away." anne told of the brush-covered shelter, of amos making a fire and cooking the fish, and of their journey home, while her kind friends listened eagerly. "we feared the boat had been carried out to sea and that our little maid was lost," said aunt martha, "and the men have looked for you all about the shore. the 'somerset' is in harbor and its crew are doing much mischief on shore, so that we have had much to disturb us. what a tangle of hair this is for me to brush out," she added, passing a tender hand over anne's dark locks. how good the warm water felt to anne's bruised feet; and she was sure that nothing ever tasted so good as the porridge. the rough hair was brushed into smooth braids, and it was a very happy little girl who went to sleep in the upper chamber with her wooden doll beside her, and the white kitten curled up on the foot of her bed. "i'm glad i'm not a little indian girl," was anne's last thought before she went to sleep. it was late the next morning when she awoke. her soiled and torn clothes were not to be seen, but a dress of clean cotton and a fresh pinafore lay on the wooden stool. "my, it's nice to be clean," thought anne, remembering the uncomfortable efforts that she and amanda had made to wash their faces in water from the island spring. "it's near noon, dear child," said mrs. stoddard, as anne came into the kitchen. "you shall have a boiled egg for your breakfast, and i am cooking a fine johnnycake for you before the fire. you must be nigh starved. to think of that amos cary hiding the oar instead of fetching you straight home." "but he worked all the time to make a house for us, and to cook the fish," explained anne, "and he speaks well of my father. i like him better than when he called me names." "of course you do, child; and i did not think him so smart a boy as he proves. 'twas no small thing to start a fire as he did." "'twas amanda made him come home," said anne; "she told him we would walk through the water to the point, and then he said he would fetch us." "your uncle enos thinks amos may make a good sailor," said aunt martha. "indeed, if it were not for these british ships hovering about our shores it is likely that skipper cary would have been off to the banks and taken amos with him." the "banks" were the fishing grounds off the island of newfoundland, and for several years the cape cod fishermen had made summer cruises there, coming home with big cargoes of fine fish which they sold in the boston market at excellent prices. these fishing grounds were called the "banks," because of the heavy banks of fog which settled down in that region. after anne had finished her breakfast she went to mrs. stoddard's big work-basket, and took out her knitting-work. "may i not knit a long time to-day, aunt martha?" she asked. "my feet ache sorely, and i should like well to knit." "that is right," answered mrs. stoddard, nodding her approval. "your uncle enos drove brownie over the hill where the sailors from the 'somerset' will not be like to see her, and we will both stay indoors to-day and knit. maybe we shall begin to read to-day, also." "after i have knit a good stint," said anne, "for 'twill be time for stockings soon." it was a happy morning for the little girl. she worked steadily and carefully until captain enos came up from the shore for his noon meal. "well, well," he said smilingly, "now this seems good--to see our little maid safe at home by the window with her knitting. i saw mistress starkweather as i came home, and she bade me tell you she should walk this way to see you this afternoon. 'tis a great day for amos," continued the captain; "he tells all the boys in the village of his great adventure in rounding long point and living two days on an island. you'd think he'd seen terra del fuego, to say the least." [illustration: she worked steadily] "and what is terra del fuego?" asked anne wonderingly. "'tis a far island, anne, in warm southern seas, such a distance as few cape cod sailors ever go; though we go to most places, i will say," he added with a hearty laugh. "amos and jimmie starkweather were all for sailing off this morning to bring the dory home," he continued, "but a boatload of the 'somerset's' men stopped them and sent them ashore, threatening to dismast any sloop that put up a sail in this harbor without their permission." anne knit steadily on, thinking of her father, and wondering if these men on board the "somerset" had any knowledge of him. but she asked no questions, knowing that captain enos would tell her if any news came. the scarlet stockings had made good progress when mistress starkweather was seen coming up the sandy path. anne ran to the door to meet her, and the good woman kissed her heartily. "to think of the danger you were in, dear child," she said, as anne led her into the sunny kitchen and drew out the most comfortable chair for her. "amos was not afraid," said anne, "but amanda and i did wish ourselves home." "i'll warrant that boy would not be afraid of the water, storm or no storm," said mrs. stoddard, drawing her own chair near to her neighbor's; "yet captain enos tells that he fled from our anne here when she threw water at him," and the two women smiled, remembering the little girl's loyal defense of her absent father. "school is to begin next monday, if all goes well," continued mrs. starkweather, "and beside that the minister declared we must all come more punctually to church. last sunday there were but seven in the meeting-house," and mrs. starkweather's face grew sober. "i shall not have time to learn to read long words before monday," said anne anxiously. "i planned to teach the child a little before school begins," explained mrs. stoddard, "from captain enos's 'pilgrim's progress.' his mother bought the book in boston, and he treasures it." "and no wonder," replied mrs. starkweather; "beside the bible there are few books in any household in the settlement. i doubt if the minister can lay claim to a half dozen. he has his knowledge in his head." "and so should all people have," said mrs. stoddard. "anne, go to the big red chest in my bedroom and take out the book that lays there and fetch it to me. mayhap mistress starkweather would like to see it." anne quickly obeyed. the big red chest was one that captain enos had carried when he went on whaling voyages. it had handles of twisted rope, and a huge padlock swung from an iron loop in front. anne lifted the top and reached in after the book; but the chest was deep; there were only a few articles on the bottom of the chest, and she could not reach it. so she pushed the lid back until it rested against the wall, and stepped into the chest, stooping down to pick up the book. as she leaned over, bang,--down came the lid to the chest, shutting anne closely in. for an instant the child was too frightened to move, as she lay on her face in the big chest; then she tried to sit up, and found she could not. she tried to call "aunt martha," but her voice sounded thick and muffled. in the kitchen the two neighbors sat waiting for anne and the book. "anne! anne!" called mrs. stoddard. "why, the child is usually so spry. i wonder what keeps her," and she went into the bedroom. "did anne slip out while we talked?" she called back to mrs. starkweather. "she's not here." just then there came a sound from the chest. "pity's sake!" exclaimed mrs. stoddard. "i do believe anne is in the chest," and she hastened to swing back the big lid and to lift the half-stifled child out. "did you ever!" she said. "how came you in the chest, child?" "i got in to get the book and the lid fell on me," half whispered anne, clinging to mrs. stoddard's skirts. "well, well, child, there is no harm done," said mrs. stoddard, "but 'tis not a safe thing to get into chests. i will get the book. i thought your arms were longer," and mrs. stoddard reached into the sea-chest and drew out a long black-covered book. "it has many pictures," she said. "i wonder i have not shown it to anne before." mrs. starkweather looked at the book admiringly, and mrs. stoddard took anne in her lap that they might all enjoy the pictures together. "look," she said; "here is christian setting forth on his journey, and here are obstinate and pliable, two of his neighbors, following him to urge him to come home." anne looked at the picture eagerly. she had never seen pictures in a book before, and it seemed very wonderful to her. "it is a good story," said mrs. starkweather. "true, it is said to be but a dream, but i read it in my youth and liked it well. it has been a treat to see it, mrs. stoddard. 'tis seldom i have so care-free an afternoon. six boys to look after keep me busy," and the good woman rose from her chair and with cordial words of good-bye started for home. "i wish i could read this book," said anne, turning the leaves over carefully and wondering what the pictures meant. "so you shall. we'll read a little now. come, you shall spell out the words, and i will speak them for you and tell you their meaning." an hour later when captain enos stepped into the kitchen he declared that he thought school had begun there; and while mrs. stoddard hurried about to prepare supper uncle enos continued anne's reading lesson. "perhaps i can read this book after i go to school," said anne. "that you can," answered the captain. "and i will learn to write," said anne, "and it may be i could send a letter to my dear father." "that is a good child," said captain enos, patting the dark head; "learn to write and we'll set about starting the letter to your father as soon as you have it ready." "i shall have much to tell him," said anne, smiling up into uncle enos's kind face. "and he'll have a good deal to tell you," replied captain enos. "i wish i could see him myself. i'd like news of what's going on in boston." chapter xi captain enos's secrets the playhouse under the pines was almost forgotten as the days grew colder, and the fall rains came, with high winds; and anne's scarlet stocking was now long enough for aunt martha to "set the heel" and begin to shape the foot. school had begun in elder haven's sitting-room, with fourteen scholars, and anne was learning to write. "master haven says i write my own name nicely," she said at the end of the first week, "and that by the time school closes he thinks i can write a letter." captain enos nodded approvingly. he and anne were sitting before a bright fire of driftwood in the pleasant kitchen, while mrs. stoddard had gone to mrs. starkweather's for more scarlet yarn. anne was knitting busily; her wooden doll sat on the floor, and the white kitten was curled up close to the little girl's feet. captain enos had several pieces of smooth cedar wood on a stool near his chair, and was at work upon one with his sharp jack-knife. "well, well!" he said, looking up from his whittling. "that will please thy father, anne. and learn as fast as you can, for i see a fair chance of sending a letter to boston, when one is ready; and then thy father could soon get it." "oh, uncle enos!" exclaimed anne, "if there be a chance to send a letter could you not write for me? it may be when i can write there will be no chance to send a letter." captain enos nodded. "you are a wise child," he said. "my writing isn't the plainest in the world, but i'll do my best. i have some sheets of good smooth paper in my sea-chest, and a good quill pen, too. elder haven fixed the pen for me from the feather of a wild goose i killed on the marshes last spring. but i do not think there is such a thing as ink in the house; but i can make a fair ink with the juice of the elderberry and a fair lot of soot from the chimney. so think up what you wish to tell your father, anne, and if it storms to-morrow we'll write the letter." "how will you send it, uncle enos?" asked anne, forgetting to knit and turning eager eyes toward the captain. "sshh!" said captain enos. "'tis a secret--hardly to be whispered. but there is a good-hearted sailorman on board the british ship. we have had some talk together on the shore, and he told me that he liked thy father; and that he did not blame him for escaping from the ship." anne nodded smilingly, and reached down and picked up her wooden doll. "has the sailorman any little girl?" she asked. "that he has," said captain enos. "he told me that he had two small maids of his own in plymouth, england, far across the ocean; and he asked if i knew aught of john nelson's little girl." "that's me!" said anne, holding the wooden doll tight. "yes," said captain enos, "and he said that he might find a chance to send some word to thy father that you were a good and happy child. then i told him, anne, that you planned to write a letter, and he said he'd take it to boston, and then 'twould soon reach thy father." "i wish i could hear the sailorman speak of my father," said anne, "and tell me of his little girls in england." "mayhap you can, child. he comes ashore after water each day. a stout man he is, with reddish hair and good honest blue eyes. he tells me his name is william trull. if you see such a man you may speak to him." "uncle enos! that is the sailorman who saved me from the indian women, and brought me safe home," exclaimed anne. "do you not remember?" "indeed i do, anne. and i thought the name would mean something to you," replied captain enos. anne smiled happily. it was good news to hear from the sailorman, and to know that he was a friend of her father's. "what are you making, uncle enos?" asked anne, as the captain put down one smooth bit of wood and picked up another. captain enos pointed to anne's wooden doll and whispered, "i'm afraid martha stoddard nelson will hear. put her down behind your chair and come over here, and i'll tell you." anne set the doll down carefully, with its head turned away from captain enos, and tiptoed across the little space between them. "i'm making a chair for martha stoddard nelson," whispered captain enos, "for a surprise. and you mustn't tell her a word about it till it is all ready for her to sit in." anne laughed. to have a secret with uncle enos was about the most delightful thing she could imagine; and to have it mean a fine cedar chair for her doll to sit in was the best kind of a secret. "you mustn't let martha stoddard nelson face toward me more than you can help," went on uncle enos. "you don't think she has noticed what i am doing, do you?" "no," whispered anne. "i'll be very careful, and let her stay up-stairs a good deal until the chair is finished." "that will be a good plan," said uncle enos, "and there comes your aunt martha. i hear her at the door." anne ran to open the door and mrs. stoddard came in smiling and rosy from her walk in the sharp wind. the white kitten jumped up and came running toward her, and the good woman looked about the cheerful room as if she thought it the finest place in the world. "i have more scarlet yarn," she said, sitting down near captain enos, "and i have a present for thee, anne; something that mistress starkweather sent thee with her love," and mrs. stoddard handed anne a small package. "it's a box!" declared the little girl, taking off the paper in which it was wrapped, "and see how sweet it smells." "'tis of sandalwood," said captain enos. "there must be many such in the settlement, for 'twas but a few years ago that some of our men came back from a voyage to ceylon, and fetched such boxes in their chests." "open it, anne," said mrs. stoddard, and anne carefully took off the cover. "look, look!" she exclaimed, holding out the box toward aunt martha; "what are these shining things; all pink and round?" and she picked up a string of pink coral beads and held them up. "coral beads!" said aunt martha. "mistress starkweather said that she thought when her husband brought them home she would keep them for a little girl of her own; but since she has but six boys, she says she knows of no little girl to whom she would rather give them than to thee, anne. and you must go down to-morrow before school begins and thank her properly." "coral beads!" repeated anne, holding up the pink beads and touching them softly. "may i put them around my neck, aunt martha?" "indeed you may, child. see, here is a clasp of bright gold to hold them," and mrs. stoddard fastened the beads around anne's neck. "'tis a fine gift," said captain enos admiringly, "and shows a kind heart in mistress starkweather." "i wish my father could see," said anne. "when he knows about my scarlet stockings and leather shoes, and the white kitten, and that i go to school and have coral beads, he will think i am the luckiest girl in the world." "we will write him all that," said captain enos. just then the wooden latch of the kitchen door rattled and the door swung open. "it's amanda!" exclaimed anne, and amanda cary stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind her. "see, amanda!" exclaimed anne happily, "i have had a fine present. mistress starkweather gave me these," and she touched the pink beads, "and this!" and she pointed to the sweet-smelling box of sandalwood. amanda's thin face brightened. "i've got some coral beads just like yours," she said; "my father got them 'way off across the ocean. when i grow older and times are better, my mother says i shall have a white dress and can wear my coral beads then." the two little girls played with the doll and kitten and captain enos kept on with his work. "i wish i had a doll," he heard amanda say. "i have asked amos to make me one, but he is not clever at whittling out things." captain enos nodded to himself smilingly. since anne and amos and amanda had been carried down the harbor to house point island together, and he had heard how pleasant amanda had been to anne, he had liked the cary children better, and had quite forgiven their old-time teasing ways. after amanda had started for home he called anne to him and said, "i have another secret!" "yes!" said anne, with a gay little laugh. "would you like to make amanda cary a present?" he questioned. "i could not give her my doll," answered anne, her bright face growing sober. "'tis all i have that my father made." "but if i make another doll, a fine wooden doll, as near like yours as i can, would you like to give that to amanda?" asked uncle enos. "oh, yes! yes, indeed," said anne, the smiles all coming back again. "then 'tis a secret till i have the doll finished," said captain enos; "then maybe you can make a dress for it, and give it to amanda, just as she gave you her white kitten." anne was very happy over this secret; it seemed even better than the new wooden chair for martha stoddard nelson. "i never gave anybody a present," she said, "but i know it must be the finest thing in the world to give somebody a gift," and she looked up into uncle enos's kindly face questioningly. "you are a good child, anne," he said, "and i will make the wooden doll as soon as time offers. now take thy beads and box and martha stoddard nelson to thy room, and i will bring in some wood for aunt martha. then 'twill be time for a bite of supper." anne carried her treasures up-stairs to the little room. there was a stand in the room now, one that had belonged to her father. it had two drawers, and in one of them anne carefully put the sandalwood box with the pink coral beads. "i guess i have more lovely things than any little girl," she said to herself, as she slowly closed the drawer. "there's my doll, and my white kitten, and my scarlet stockings, which i shall have finished to-morrow, and my leather shoes, and these coral beads and the box!" but anne gave a little sigh and then whispered, "and if my dear father could only know all about them, and that i am to give a doll to amanda." she looked out of the small window toward the beautiful harbor, and wished that she might go sailing over it to boston, to find her father and bring him safe to province town. "i wish king george knew how much trouble he was making with his old war-ships," anne whispered to the wooden doll. chapter xii an unexpected journey "i have a fine dish of ink all ready," said captain enos the next morning, "but 'tis too clear a morning to sit in the house and write letters. there are good cod coming into the harbor, and i must row out and catch what i can while the weather is good." "can we not write the letter to-night?" asked anne. "aunt martha has some fine pitch knots to burn that will make the kitchen light as day." "we'll see, come night," replied captain enos. the two were walking down the sandy path together,--captain enos bound for the shore, and anne started for mistress starkweather's to thank her for the coral beads. "be a good child," said captain enos, as he turned from the path and left anne to go on alone. as the little girl came near the spring, she saw a man rolling a water cask toward it, and toward the shore she could see several other men, whom she knew came from the british ship. she looked closely at the man at the spring, and as she passed near him, noticed that his hair was red. he smiled and nodded as anne went by, and then she saw that he had pleasant blue eyes, and she stopped and said: "have you forgotten the little girl you saved from the indians?" "no, indeed!" replied the big man heartily; "and so you are john nelson's little girl. and you are not afraid of a britisher?" "oh, no!" said anne, in surprise; "you have two little maids in england." "that i have, safe with their mother. but i should like well to see their bright faces, and your father would like to see you, child. you do not forget him?" "no," said anne soberly. "we plan to write him a letter for you to take." "speak not so loud," cautioned the man; "the other sailors may hear. and get your letter ready soon, for, come a fair wind, we'll be off up the coast again to boston harbor." "do your little girls write you letters?" asked anne. the big man shook his head. "no, they are not yet taught to write," he said. "it may be i'll be sailing back come spring, and then i'll tell them about the little maid i saw in province town." "tell them my name is anne," said she eagerly. "i wish i could go to boston and find my father. i must hurry now, but i wish i knew the names of your little girls." "they have good names," said the big man. "each one is named for a grandmother. one is betsey and the other hannah." "i'll remember," said anne, and she said "good-bye" and went quickly on toward mrs. starkweather's. "i do wish i could go and find my father," she thought as she walked along. "i know he'd like to see me better than a letter. i wish i had asked william trull to take me in the big ship. but maybe aunt martha would not wish me to ask him." all day anne thought about the letter that captain enos had promised to write for her; and when supper was over and the kitchen began to grow dusky with the shadows of the october evening, she ran out to the little shed and came tugging in a big root of pine. "may i put this on the fire, aunt martha?" she asked, "that uncle enos may see to write?" "tis a pine knot," said mrs. stoddard. "we shall need many such for light and heat before the long winter goes. but put it on, child. 'tis a good plan to write thy father." the pine knot blazed up brightly, and captain enos drew the table near the open fire, and, with anne perched on a high stool beside him, and mrs. stoddard busy with her knitting, while the white kitten purred happily from its comfortable place under her chair, the letter was begun. word for word, just as anne told him, captain enos wrote down about the stockings and shoes, the school and the kitten, the pink beads and william trull, and at last anne said: "that is all, only that i want to see him and that i love him well," and captain enos finished the letter, and anne went up-stairs to bed. "i have a plan to take a cargo of fish to boston, martha," said captain enos, as soon as anne had gone. "the 'somerset' will sail on the first fair wind. i can fill the sloop with good cod by the time she is out of gunshot; and i'll venture to say they will bring a good price in boston town." "but how can you make safe landing there, enos?" asked his wife anxiously. "i'll manage," replied the captain smilingly, "and it may be i can get some news of anne's father." "'twould be a brave cruise," said mrs. stoddard. "i should like well to go with thee, enos." captain enos laughed heartily. "and so would anne, i dare say," he replied. "maybe when spring comes and the british have been sent home i'll take you and anne to boston on a pleasure trip. if i get a good price for my fish, i'll bring you home a warm shawl, martha." "mind not about me, enos, but get some good wool cloth, if you see the chance, to make anne a dress. she likes bright colors, and the freemans will tell you where to purchase, and you may see some plaid or figured stuff that has good wearing in it. three yards of good width will be a plenty." "there's but little trading in boston these days," replied captain enos; "there's a blight on the land, until we can make england give us fairer treatment. i do believe 'twill come to open war in boston." as they talked, captain enos was busy shaping the wooden doll which anne was to give amanda. "i must finish this before i begin to plan for boston," he said. "what did we do for pleasure, martha, before anne came to live with us? why, we had not even a white kitten. and 'twas little enough i thought of whittling out dolls." "or i of knitting scarlet stockings," answered his wife. "anne knits her stint each day, and will soon have hers done, but her second pair i am knitting for the child. november is close at hand, and then she must be warmly clad." "her leather shoes are ready," said captain enos, with a satisfied nod. the next morning captain enos gave the letter to william trull, who promised to find a chance of forwarding it to john nelson. "what think you, anne?" said mrs. stoddard when the little girl came home from school that day. "the 'somerset' is getting under way, and your uncle enos says 'tis like enough that your father will have the letter before the week ends." "i wish i could see him read it," said anne. "and your uncle enos has a bold plan, child. he is filling up his sloop with fine cod to take to the boston market, and if this wind holds, he will go sailing up the coast to-morrow morning. mayhap he'll be in boston before the 'somerset.'" "but they will fire their big guns at him and sink the sloop!" said anne fearfully. "your uncle will not give them a chance," answered mrs. stoddard. "he will put in and out among the islands and keep out of their sight." "may i not go with him, aunt martha? i could see my father then." mrs. stoddard shook her head. "'twould not be wise, child. your uncle would not wish it. there would be but little chance of finding your father. your uncle plans to make but a short stay and get home as soon as may be. it is no time to be coasting about, with british ships ready to sink any craft they see. here, see!" and she held something up in her hand. "oh, amanda's doll!" exclaimed anne, "and you have made a fine dress for her. can i take it down now?" and the little girl took the wooden doll which captain enos had whittled out and looked at it admiringly. "yes, run along," replied mrs. stoddard; "'twill be a great surprise for amanda." anne hurried down the hill and along the shore toward the cary house, holding the doll carefully under the little shawl of gay plaid which mrs. stoddard had pinned about her shoulders. the sand no longer felt warm about her bare feet. "i shall be wearing my new stockings and shoes soon," she thought, as her feet felt the cold dampness. amanda saw her coming and ran out to meet her, a white kitten close at her heels. "see, the british ship is going!" exclaimed amanda, and the two little girls turned and watched the big ship under full sail moving off across the harbor. "amanda," said anne, "you know you gave me the nice white kitten?" "yes," replied amanda; "has it run away?" "oh, no; it is just as contented as can be," said anne; "only ever since you gave it to me i have wished i could give you something." amanda's face flushed and she dug her bare toes into the sand. she was remembering how unkind she and amos had been to anne, and was wishing that anne would not thank her for the kitten. "and now i have a present for you," went on anne, taking the wooden doll from beneath the little plaid shawl. "your doll!" exclaimed amanda in surprise. anne shook her head smilingly. "no," she said, "your doll. see, it is new. and it is larger than mine. take it," for amanda's hands were behind her, as if she did not mean to take the gift. "it's yours. uncle enos made it, and aunt martha made the dress," and anne held the doll toward her friend. then amanda's hands unclasped and reached forward eagerly. "it's a fine doll," she said. "i do think, anne, it is full handsomer than yours. come, that i may show it to my mother. i shall name it for you, anne. i have already named it. i shall call it lovely anne nelson. indeed i shall. i never had a gift before." and amanda held the doll tight and smiled happily at anne, as she reached out to draw her into the house that mrs. cary might see the doll. when anne started for home, amanda walked along beside her for a little way. when they neared the spring she put her arm about anne's neck and kissed her on the cheek. "there!" she exclaimed; "now you know how dear you are. i was bad to you, anne nelson, right here at this very spring; and i set amos on to tease you. and now you have given me a gift." "but you gave me the kitten," answered anne, "and i chased you away from the spring with sand and water." "but now we like each other well," said amanda. "you like me now, anne?" "yes," replied the little girl; "i would not give you a gift if i did not like you well," and the two little girls smiled at each other happily and parted, amanda to run home to her doll, while anne went more slowly up the hill, thinking of the trip uncle enos was about to make and wishing that she could go with him. "i could wear my scarlet stockings and new shoes for my father to see," she thought, "and i would be no trouble to uncle enos. there are two bunks in the sloop's cabin, and i would be company for him." the more anne thought about this cruise to boston the more she longed to go. captain enos was late to his supper that night. "i have a fine cargo of fish," he said, "and i shall go out on the morning tide, before you are awake, little maid," with a nod to anne. "next spring you and aunt martha shall go with me and see the fine town of boston, with its shops and great houses. the british soldiers will be gone by that time, and it may be we will have our own government. there will be good days for us all then." "i want to go now," said anne, and captain enos laughed and shook his head. "run away to bed now, child," said aunt martha, as soon as the supper dishes were washed, "and take these stockings up-stairs with you. i toed off the last one while you were at amanda cary's." so anne said good-night, and captain enos gave her a good-bye kiss, telling her to take good care of her aunt martha while he was away, and went slowly up-stairs. but she did not undress and go to bed. she sat down on the little wooden stool, her mind full of a great resolve. she sat there quietly until she heard captain enos and mrs. stoddard go to bed. then she moved softly to the little table under which stood her new shoes. taking these and her scarlet stockings, she crept softly down the stairs. crossing the kitchen gently, she slid back the bolt, and let herself out into the night. there was a fresh wind from the southwest, and the little girl shivered a little as she ran toward the shore. the sloop was anchored some little distance from shore; captain enos would row out in his dory to her. as anne reached the shore and looked out at the sloop she almost lost courage. "i don't see how i can ever get out there without a boat," she exclaimed aloud. "out there?" the voice sounded close at her elbow, and anne gave a jump and looked around. "what do you want to get out to captain enos's boat for?" asked jimmie starkweather. "oh, jimmie!" exclaimed the little girl, "what are you doing down on the shore in the night?" "night! why, it's not much after dark," answered the boy. "father has been out fishing all day, and i have just pulled the dory up, and was going home when i heard you. what do you want to go out to the sloop for?" "jimmie, my father is in boston and i do want to see him," said anne. "captain enos is going to sail early to-morrow morning for boston, and i want to go out and sleep in the cabin to-night. then i will keep as quiet as i can till he is nearly in boston, and then i will tell him all about it, and he will take me to see my father." jimmie shook his head. "doesn't captain enos want you to go?" he asked. "he says i may go next spring," answered anne, "but if you row me out to the sloop, jimmie, 'twould be no harm. you could tell aunt martha to-morrow, and i would soon be home. but 'tis a long time since i saw my father. you see yours every day." there was a little sob in anne's throat and jimmie wondered if she was going to cry. he hoped she wouldn't. "jump into the dory," he said. "i'll get a good lesson from my father, i'll warrant, for this; but jump in. and mind you tell captain enos that i told you to go home, but that you would not." "yes, jimmie," said anne, putting her shoes and stockings into the boat, and then climbing in herself. the boy sprang in after her, pushed off the dory, and in a short time had reached the sloop. "now go straight to the cabin and shut the door," cautioned jimmie, and anne obeyed, creeping into the top bunk and pulling a rough blanket over her. she heard the sound of jimmie's oars, as he pulled toward shore, felt the motion of the tide, as the big sloop rose and fell, and soon was asleep and dreaming that her father and william trull were calling her a brave little maid. jimmie had many misgivings after he reached shore, and made up his mind to go straight to captain stoddard and tell him of anne's plan. then he remembered that anne had trusted him with her secret. "i guess i'll have to let her go," he decided. chapter xiii anne finds her father it was just daybreak when captain enos, carrying a basket of provisions for his cruise, made his way to the shore and pushed off his dory. "not a soul stirring," he said, as he stepped aboard the sloop, fastened the dory, which he intended to tow, and then carried the basket of food to the little cabin. as he pushed open the door anne awoke, but she did not stir, and captain enos did not look in the direction of the upper bunk. she heard him hoisting the big mainsail, then came the rattle of the anchor chain, the sloop swung round, and anne knew that at last she was really on her way to find her father. "i must keep very still," she whispered to herself, "or uncle enos might 'bout ship and sail straight back to province town," so she did not move, though she wished very much that she might be out on deck with captain enos, feeling the salt breeze on her cheeks and enjoying the sail. she knew by the way the sloop tipped that they were going very fast. "seems as if it was sailing right on its side," thought anne; "if it tips much more i do believe i'll slide out of this berth." "a fine wind, a fine wind!" captain enos said with a satisfied nod, as his boat went flying along; "i'll make boston harbor before nightfall at this rate, in time to get my fish ashore by dusk, if i can slide into a landing without the british stopping me. my cargo will be welcome," and captain enos smiled to himself as he thought of the praise he would get from his friends and acquaintance for his brave venture in such troublous times. toward noon anne carefully let herself down from the bunk, and peered out through the door, which captain enos had left open. she could see the low sandy shores of cape cod, and here and there a white-sailed boat. "i guess we must be 'most to boston," she thought; "the sun is way up in the middle of the sky, and i am so hungry." she came a little nearer to the cabin door and put her head out. "uncle enos!" she said softly. but the captain was singing to keep himself company, and did not hear the faint voice. his head was turned a little away from anne, but just as she was about to call again his song came to an end and he turned his glance ahead. "bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "it is i, uncle enos!" said anne, stepping out of the cabin. the captain was almost too surprised to speak. anne clambered along the side of the sloop until she was close beside him, and reaching out took fast hold of his rough coat sleeve, and repeated: "it is i, uncle enos." "where on earth did you come from?" he exclaimed. anne pointed toward the cabin. "how did you get there?" questioned captain enos. "weren't you abed and asleep when i left the house this morning?" "no, uncle enos," said anne, creeping a little closer; "i slept in the top bunk in the sloop." "well, this is a nice affair. i can't take you back now. i'll make boston harbor before dusk with this wind. but how came you in the sloop?" "jimmie starkweather rowed me out last night after you were sound asleep. and he is going to tell aunt martha all about it this morning. he told me to tell you that he didn't want me to go aboard, but that i would," said anne. captain enos's face was very sober, but he did not say any harsh word. "what did you hide in the sloop for, child?" he asked. "to go to boston with you, uncle enos, and find my father," said anne. then the captain's face grew even more sober. "then you do not like living with us?" he said; "but i thought you seemed happy, anne. your aunt martha will miss you, child. but if your heart is so set on being with your father i must do my best to find him for you. how a soldier can manage to care for a small girl like you is more than i can tell," and the captain sighed. "i brought my scarlet stockings and new shoes to show him," said anne. captain enos nodded. "and i can tell him about my kitten and the coral beads, and about going to school." "did you not bring the coral beads?" asked the captain. anne shook her head. "oh, no," she answered. "i heard you tell aunt martha that you would be away but a day or two, and i thought i could tell my father about the beads." "then you mean to go home with me?" asked the captain, a little smile creeping about his mouth. "why, yes," said anne. "i do but want to see my father and tell him all the pleasant things that have befallen me." "well, well," said captain enos, "now i must scold you, anne. your aunt martha will not be pleased at this." "but you are not angry?" asked anne. "i do see little wrinkles about your eyes that mean you will soon smile. and it is long since i have seen my father." "we must make the best of it now," said the captain, "but i do blame the starkweather boy for setting you out to the sloop. he should have sent you straight home, and let me know of your plan." anne looked at captain enos in surprise. "jimmie could not help my coming," she said. "i should have found some way to get to the sloop. and he would not tell a secret." "so you did not mean to run away from us?" said captain enos. "i am glad of that, but how i will manage with you in boston i know not, nor if i can find your father." captain enos's sloop ran safely in among the islands, sailed across boston harbor without being noticed, and made fast at a wharf well known to captain enos, and where he was welcomed by an old acquaintance. before dusk he had sold his cargo of fish at a good price, and anne, wearing her scarlet stockings and new shoes, and holding fast to the captain's hand, walked with him up the street to the house of the man who had been at the wharf when the sloop came in. "they are good people, born in wellfleet," said the captain to anne, as they walked along, "and i shall ask them to keep you over night. i shall sleep in the sloop, and to-morrow we will find out all we can about your father." the freemans, for that was the name of captain enos's friends, gave anne a warm welcome their house seemed very large and grand to the little girl. there was a carpet on the sitting-room floor, the first anne had ever seen, and pictures on the walls, and a high mantel with tall brass candlesticks. the room in which she slept seemed very wonderful to anne. the bed was so high that she had to step up from a footstool to get in it, and then down, down she went in billows of feathers. in the morning one of the freeman girls came in to waken her. she was a girl of about fifteen, with pretty, light, curling hair and blue eyes. she smiled pleasantly at anne, and told her that there was a basin of warm water for her to bathe her face and hands in. "i will brush out your hair for you, if you wish," she said kindly. but anne said she could brush her own hair. rose freeman waited till anne was quite ready for breakfast and went down the broad flight of stairs with her. anne watched her new friend admiringly. "she looks just like her name, just like a rose," she said to herself, and resolved that she would remember and walk just as rose did, and try and speak in the same pleasant way. before breakfast was finished captain enos came up from the wharves. he smiled as he looked at anne's bright face and smooth hair, and nodded approvingly. then he and mr. freeman began to talk about the soldiers, and the best way to find john nelson. "come, rose," said mr. freeman; "the captain and i will walk up near king's chapel and see what we can find out, and you and the little maid can come with us." rose went up-stairs and came down wearing a little brown jacket and a hat of brown silk with a green feather on it. in her hands she brought a blue cape and a blue hat with a broad ribbon bow. "mother says you are to wear these," she said to anne, with a little smile; "'tis a cape and hat that i wore when i was a little girl, and i would like to have you wear them." "i never wore a hat before," said anne. "it is very becoming," said rose, and the little party started out. mr. freeman stopped here and there to ask questions, and anne, holding fast to rose freeman's hand, looked wonderingly at the houses and the people. they went into a shop, and captain enos bought a fine warm brown shawl to take home to mrs. stoddard, and asked rose freeman to help anne select a pretty stuff for a dress. the girls decided upon a small plaid of dark blue and brown, and the stuff was carefully wrapped up and captain enos took the package. "i have news at last," said mr. freeman, who had been talking with a man at the door of the shop. "we will walk up to the common and see if we cannot get sight of your father. he was here yesterday." anne listened eagerly, almost forgetting rose freeman, whose hand she still held tightly, in the thought that her dear father might be very near and that she would soon see him. they walked toward the common, and mr. freeman told the others to stand near the big elm while he went to make inquiries. he was gone but a few moments, when rose freeman felt anne's hand slip from her own, and saw the little girl running swiftly across the grass calling out, "father! father!" john nelson heard the voice and stopped. "anne, anne!" he answered, and in a moment the little girl in scarlet stockings and blue cape and hat was gathered into the close clasp of the dark, slender man. then how much there was to say! how eagerly anne told him all the pleasant news! how warmly captain enos shook his hand, and called him a brave fellow; and john nelson tried to thank the captain for all his kindness to anne. anne held fast to his hand as they walked together to the wharf where the sloop lay. captain enos said that he must start for home the next morning, and there was a great deal for them all to talk about. rose freeman and her father left them at the wharf, after captain enos had promised that he would bring anne to their house in time for supper. "i have a plan, john," said captain enos; "when we have settled with the british, and that must be soon now, you must come to province town and live with us. how would you like that, anne?" anne smiled happily. "best of anything!" she declared. "i need help with my fishing," went on captain enos, "and there's an empty loft next to anne's room, where you can sleep. so think of anne's home as yours, john. you'd not break mistress stoddard's heart by taking away the child?" "it was good fortune led her to your door," said john nelson gratefully. "i can see for myself that she is content and happy. and i'll be a fortunate man to come into your house, enos stoddard." "how soon will you come, father?" asked anne, hopefully. "i think 'twill not be longer than another spring before the british leave us in peace," replied her father. "but we need more soldiers to let them know we are ready for war." captain enos nodded. "there's a half dozen good province town men ready to come, and as many more from truro, if a dozen would help," he found a chance to whisper. "we'll talk of this later," said anne's father. "i only hope you'll get safe back to province town harbor from this trip." "no fear," laughed captain enos. "general gage is doing his best to starve boston out. maybe we province town men can do the cause of liberty good service if we can bring in loads of fish for the people." "it's hard to have british troops quartered on us," replied nelson. "general gage is taking rough measures with everybody who opposes him. dr. joseph warren tried to stop the fortifications on boston neck, but 'twas no use. and word is being sent to settlements to be ready to furnish men. we've got supplies in concord, and americans have been drilling for some time. we'll be ready for war if war comes. i've a message for the newburyport men to be ready to join us, but i see no way of getting out of boston. you're a brave man, captain stoddard, to come into harbor." captain enos's face brightened as he listened to john nelson. "i'd find no trouble in slipping down the coast to newburyport," he said eagerly. "maybe," responded nelson, "tho' there's no need for my telling you that there's british craft cruising all about, and a man caught with a message to 'rebels,' as they call us, stands no chance." "i'd keep my message to myself," answered captain enos. "so you could, a message by word of mouth; but this is written, and has a drawing as well. i have it under the lining of my coat. but there's no way for me to get out of the town. i'm well known by many of the english." "let me take it." captain stoddard's voice was eager. "'tis ill-luck that we province town men are to have no part in this affair. i'll get the paper safe to newburyport. tell me to whom i am to give it." but john nelson shook his head. "you'd be caught, and maybe sent to england," he answered. "i'll not be caught. and if they catch me they'd not find the papers," he promised, and before they parted nelson had agreed to deliver the package that day. "i'll give it to anne," he promised. "it will not do for me to meet you again. there are too many eyes about. let anne walk along, with that tall girl yonder, about sunset toward the south meeting house, and i'll give it to her." captain stoddard nodded, and walked away. "anne," he said when they met in the freemans' sitting-room just before dinner, "you can be of great help to your father and to me. but you must be wise and silent. when you walk with rose this afternoon your father will meet you and hand you a flat package. thrust it inside your frock, and say nothing of it to rose, or to any one, and bring it safe to me." "yes, indeed, uncle enos," the little girl answered. "am i to ask rose to walk with me?" "yes, toward the south meeting house," answered captain enos, "about an hour before sunset." "if i keep silent and bring the package safely, will you forgive me for hiding in the boat?" pleaded anne. "indeed i will, child, and take you for a brave girl as well," he replied. anne was joyful at the thought of another word from her father, and rose was quite ready to go for another walk. they had just turned into king street when john nelson met them. anne wore the pretty cape rose had given her and her father slipped the packet into her hand without rose seeing it. she grasped it tightly, and held it under the cape. "be a good child, anne, and do whatever captain stoddard may bid thee," her father said as he bade her good-bye. chapter xiv a candy party the next morning proved warm and pleasant with only a light breeze, but captain enos had his sloop ready at an early hour, and when anne, with mr. freeman and rose, came down to the wharf he was anxious to start at once. anne still wore the blue cape, which mrs. freeman had insisted on giving her, and the hat was in a round pasteboard box, which anne carried carefully, and which was put away in the cabin with aunt martha's new shawl and the cloth for anne's new dress. as the sloop sailed away from the wharf anne waved her hand to rose freeman until she could no longer see her. captain enos watched the little girl anxiously; he was half afraid that anne might be disappointed because she could not stay with her father, but her face was bright and smiling. "where is the packet your father handed you?" captain enos questioned eagerly, as soon as his sloop was clear of the wharf. "i have it pinned safe inside my frock," she answered. "shall i give it to you now, uncle enos?" "maybe 'tis safer with you, anne," replied the captain. "it may be that some british boat will overhaul us, and question us. i'm doing an errand, anne, for your father. if this boat is taken and i am made a prisoner, you are to say that you want to go to newburyport. that and no more. mayhap they'll set you ashore there. then make your way to squire coffin's house as best you may. give him the packet. tell him the story, and he'll find a way to reach your father. do you understand?" "yes, uncle enos," said anne very soberly. "repeat what i have told you, that i may be sure," said captain enos, and anne obeyed. "but i do not want to be set ashore in a strange place," she said soberly. "how should i get back to province town?" "you will be taken care of, never fear," responded captain enos, "and you'll be doing a good service to the cause of liberty, anne, if you carry the papers safely. your aunt martha will indeed be proud of you. remember what i have told you. but i hope to slip in behind plum island and make a landing without being seen. the wind is favoring us. you have had a fine visit, anne?" "yes, indeed!" agreed the little girl, "and i have a present for aunt martha," she said, as the sloop ran out among the islands. "see, my father gave me this for her," and she held up a gold coin. "will she not be pleased?" "but she will be better pleased to have you safe home again," said captain enos. "what do you think amanda cary will say when she hears of your voyage to boston and of all the fine things you have seen there? 'tis not many of the children in province town have ever taken such a journey." "she will think it a better voyage than the one we took to house point island," answered anne. "i have something for amanda, too. rose freeman gave me a package of barley sugar, and i said to myself i would take it home to amanda." captain enos kept a watchful eye for suspicious looking craft. but his course lay well inshore, and he was apparently not noticed by any of the vessels. before noon he was cruising along the ipswich shore, and made his landing at newburyport without having been spoken. "the worst part of the business is before us," he said to anne, as he made the boat fast. "if i leave the boat here, i may come back and find no trace of her, but leave her i must, or squire coffin will wait in vain for the papers." "but i can carry them," said anne. "tell me where to go, and i'll come straight back and say no word of my errand." "'tis the best possible way. did i not say that you were a wise child!" declared captain enos, his face beaming with delight. "put on your pretty hat and cape, and follow that lane up to the main road. then ask for squire coffin's house of the first person you meet." in a few moments anne was ready to start. as she walked up the lane captain enos's eyes followed her anxiously. "i can see no danger in it for the child," he said aloud, and then, sailor fashion, set about putting his boat in order. "'twill be a cold night, but the cabin will be snug and warm," he thought. "i'll get out of here before sunset and maybe make province town by daybreak." anne walked up the pleasant lane. her feet sank deep in the leaves from the overarching trees, and made a cheerful, crackling sound. she could see the roofs of houses not far away, and as she turned from the lane into a road she met two girls not much larger than herself. they looked at her curiously, and when anne stopped they smiled in a friendly way. "would you please to tell me where i can find squire coffin?" anne asked, feeling very brave and a little important. "squire coffin is my uncle," the larger of the two girls replied. "i'm going there now." "i have an errand," anne explained. "oh!" responded both the little girls, but anne could see that they wondered who this strange little girl could be, and what her errand was. "you may come with us if you want to," squire coffin's niece said, and anne was very glad to walk with these silent little girls, for neither of them spoke again until they stopped in front of a tall, square white house very near the street. as anne looked up at it she thought that she had never seen so many windows before in one house. "that's uncle coffin on the porch," explained his niece. "thank you," said anne, and as the two little girls politely curtseyed she endeavored to imitate them, and with apparent success. then she went up the stone steps toward the dignified looking gentleman who stood in the doorway. she held the packet under her cape, and as she came near him she whispered, as captain enos had told her to do, "this is from boston." "great george!" he exclaimed grabbing the package, in what seemed a very rude manner to anne, and putting it quickly in his pocket, "and how came you by it?" but anne remembered her promise to keep quiet, and she also remembered that the squire's niece had made the queer little curtsey on saying good-bye. so anne bobbed very prettily to the squire, and said "good-bye," and ran down the steps, leaving the squire standing amazed. it was many weeks before he learned the name of the little maid, and that her home was in province town. [illustration: "this is from boston"] it was an easy matter to find her way back to the lane. there was an orchard just at the corner of the road, and a man was gathering apples. "want an apple?" he called. "yes, sir," answered anne, and now, being rather proud of her new accomplishment, she curtseyed very politely. "well, well, you are a young lady, miss. come up to the fence and i'll hand you the apples." anne obeyed, and the good-natured man gave her two big red-cheeked apples. they seemed very wonderful to the little girl from the sandy shore village, where apples were not often to be seen, and she thanked him delightedly. captain enos was watching for her, and as soon as she was on board he swung the sloop clear of the wharf, ran up his mainsail and headed toward the outer channel. as they looked back at the little wharf they saw a tall man come running down the lane. "i reckon that's the squire," chuckled captain enos. "yes, it is," said anne. "well, now for province town. i guess we've helped a little bit, anne. at least you have." anne was eating one of the big red apples, and thinking about squire coffin's big house and small niece. "we'll tell aunt martha all that's happened," went on captain enos, "but do not speak to any one else of it, anne. 'twould make trouble for your father and for me if our trip to newburyport was known." "i'll not speak of it," anne promised. "it has been a good trip," said captain enos. "mr. freeman paid me well for the fish. i have a keg of molasses in the cabin, which will be welcome news for martha." as they came into harbor at sunrise next morning and captain enos dropped anchor and lowered the big mainsail, anne looked eagerly toward the shore. she could see jimmie starkweather and his father watching them. after captain enos had lowered the keg of molasses into the dory, and put in the box that held anne's hat, and the other packages, he helped anne over the side of the sloop to a seat in the bow of the dory. as soon as the boat touched the shore jimmie and his father ran down to help draw it up on the beach. jimmie looked at captain enos as if he half expected a scolding, but as soon as captain enos landed he patted the boy's shoulder kindly, and said: "the little maid has told me all about it. you were not greatly to blame, jimmie. and the trip turned out all right." "i saw my father," said anne, and then ran away toward home, leaving captain enos to tell of the visit to boston. aunt martha had seen the sloop come to anchor, and was waiting at the door to welcome anne. "uncle enos and i have a secret with my father," anne whispered to mrs. stoddard, "and we have been to newburyport." and then the story of the wonderful trip was told, and anne showed mrs. stoddard how she had curtseyed to the squire. "well! well!" exclaimed the good woman in amazement. "it does seem as if you had all sorts of adventures, anne. to think of enos undertaking such a thing. i'm proud of you both. 'twill be a fine story to tell your grandchildren, anne. how you carried news from boston patriots to newburyport. but do not speak of it till we are through with all these troublous days." and again anne promised to keep silent. "to think you should run off like that, child," continued aunt martha. "when jimmie starkweather came up and told me you were gone i could scarce believe him till i had climbed the stairs to the loft and found no trace of you. but i am right glad you wore your shoes and stockings. where did the blue cape come from?" by this time they were in the kitchen, and anne had put down the box that held her hat. "mrs. freeman gave it to me," she replied, "and see! i have a new hat!" and she opened the box and took out the pretty hat. "i thought thy uncle would take thee straight to mistress freeman," said mrs. stoddard. "and we found my father," went on anne happily, "and he sent thee this," and she drew the gold piece from her pocket and gave it to mrs. stoddard. "well, well," said aunt martha, "'tis a fine piece of money, and your father is kind to send it. i will use it well." "and uncle enos has fetched you a fine shawl and a keg of molasses," said anne. "you do not think there was great harm in my hiding in the sloop, aunt martha?" the little girl's face was so troubled that aunt martha gave her another kiss, and said: "it has turned out well, but thee must never do so again. suppose a great storm had come up and swept the sloop from her moorings that night?" "rose freeman looks just like a rose," said anne, feeling quite sure that aunt martha was not displeased; "and she walks so softly that you can hardly hear her, and she speaks softly, too. i am going to walk and speak just as she does." "that is right," agreed mrs. stoddard. "i am sure that she is a well-spoken girl." when captain enos came up the hill toward home anne had already put her blue cape and hat carefully away, and was sitting near the fire with the white kitten curled up in her lap. "the freemans do not eat in their kitchen," said anne, as they sat down to supper; "they eat in a square room with a shining floor, and where there is a high mantel-shelf with china images." "'tis a fine house," agreed captain enos, "well built of brick. 'twas a great thing for anne to see it." "'tis not so pleasant a house as this," said anne. "i could not see the harbor from any window, and the shore is not smooth and sandy like the shores of our harbor." captain enos smiled and nodded. "that's right, anne," he said; "boston houses may do for town people, but we sailor-folk like our own best." "yes, indeed!" replied anne, "and i do not believe a beach-plum grows on their shore. and nothing i tasted there was so good as aunt martha's meal bread." the next morning anne started for school, wearing the new shoes and scarlet stockings and the little plaid shawl. the children were all anxious to hear about what she saw in boston, and she told them of the soldiers on the common, and of the shops, and of the houses made of brick and stone, and she showed amanda how to make the wonderful curtsey. but elder haven soon called them to take their seats, and it was not until the noon recess that she found a chance to speak alone with amanda. the two little girls sat down on the front door-step of elder haven's house, and anne told of the wonderful sail to boston, and had just begun to describe rose freeman when the teacher's voice was heard calling them in. as soon as school closed for the day, amanda said that she could walk home with anne and see the new cape and hat, and hear more about rose freeman. "would you like better to live in boston than here?" asked amanda, as they walked along. anne looked at her in surprise. "why, amanda!" she said; "of course i wouldn't. it is not seemly there to go out-of-doors without a hat; and rose freeman said that she had never been barefooted in her life. she has fine white stockings knit of cotton yarn for summer, and low shiny shoes that she called 'slippers.'" "'twould be hard to wear shoes all the year," agreed amanda, looking down at her own stout leather shoes, "but i like them well now." "i brought you a present from boston," said anne just as they reached the stoddards' door. "rose freeman gave it to me, and i saved it for you." "well, amanda," said mrs. stoddard, as the two girls came into the kitchen, "are you not glad to have anne safe home again? 'twas quite a journey to take." "she likes province town better than boston," answered amanda smilingly. "to be sure she does, and why not?" replied mrs. stoddard. "there are few places where there is so much salt water to be seen as here, and no better place for fishing. now, anne, i have a little surprise for you. i have asked mr. and mrs. starkweather and their six boys to come up this evening, and your father and mother, amanda, and you and amos. the evenings are getting fine and long now and we must begin to be neighborly." "then i mustn't stay long now," said amanda; "it will be pleasant to come up here again in the evening." amanda tried on anne's blue cape and hat, looked admiringly at mrs. stoddard's shining gold piece and brown shawl, and then anne handed her the package of barley sugar. "i will keep it," said amanda, gratefully; "'twould seem ungrateful to eat a present." mrs. stoddard nodded. "keep it until sunday, amanda," she said, "but then it will be well to eat a part of it." "but can she not taste it now?" asked anne. "i am sure it is good. it came out of a big glass jar in a shop." "i see i must tell you two little girls a secret," said mrs. stoddard, "but amanda must not tell amos." "no, indeed," said amanda quickly. "it is about this evening," said mrs. stoddard; "i am going to make a fine dish of molasses candy!" "oh, aunt martha!" "oh, mistress stoddard!" exclaimed the little girls together. "it has been years since i tasted any myself," went on mrs. stoddard, "but i remember well how it is made; and i do not believe one of you children has ever tasted it." "my mother has told us about it," said amanda, "and said that when times were better she would make us some." "we all need cheering up," said mrs. stoddard, "and i am glad i can give you children a treat to remember. now, amanda, you see why it will be best not to eat your barley sugar until sunday." "i have good times every day since i gave you the white kitten," said amanda, as she bade anne good-bye, and started for home. "we must bring all our chairs into the kitchen to-night, anne," said aunt martha, as soon as supper was finished, "for even then i doubt if there be seats enough for our company." "i had best bring in my long bench from the shed," said captain enos; "'twill be just the thing to put a row of starkweather boys on." "the youngest is but two years old," said mrs. stoddard; "'tis like he will find our bed a good resting place." mr. and mrs. cary with amos and amanda were the first to arrive, and as they came in captain enos put two big pieces of pitch pine on the fire. in a moment it blazed up making the kitchen as light as day. the starkweathers, climbing up the sandy hill, saw the bright light shining through the windows of the little house, and mrs. starkweather exclaimed: "does it not look cheerful? to think of us all coming to a merrymaking! it was surely a kind thought of mistress stoddard's." "shall we play games?" asked daniel, the boy next younger than jimmie. "it may be," answered his mother, "and you boys must be quiet and not rough in your play. remember there is a little girl in the house." the youngest starkweather boy, carried carefully by his father, was sound asleep when they reached the stoddards', and was put comfortably down on mrs. stoddard's big bed, while the others gathered around the fire. "sit you here, boys," directed captain enos, pointing to the long bench, "and you girls can bring your stools beside me. i have a fine game for you to play. do you see this shining brass button? 'twas given me in boston, and came from the coat of a british soldier. now we will play 'button' with it," and the captain, with a few whispered words to jimmie starkweather, slid the shining button into his hand, and "button, button! who's got the button?" was soon being laughingly asked from one to another as the brass button went from jimmie to amos, passed into anne's hand and swiftly on to amanda, and back to jimmie before captain enos could locate it. "look!" exclaimed one of the younger starkweather boys. "mistress stoddard is pouring syrup into a kettle!" "yes, my boy," said captain enos laughingly, "and now you will all be glad that i had a good trip to boston, for i brought home a keg of fine molasses, and now you will have some first-class candy!" there were many exclamations of surprise and pleasure, even the older members of the party declaring that it would indeed be a fine treat; and mrs. starkweather said that it reminded her of the times when she was a little girl like anne, and her mother made candy for her. the molasses boiled and bubbled in the big kettle hung over the fire, and mrs. stoddard and mrs. cary took turns in stirring it. the children brought dippers of cold water for spoonfuls of the hot molasses to be dropped in to see if it had begun to candy; and when amanda lifted a stringy bit from her tin cup and held it up for mrs. stoddard to see, it was decided that it was cooked enough, and the kettle was lifted from the fire and the steaming, fragrant mass turned into carefully buttered pans. "we must set these out-of-doors to cool," said mrs. stoddard; so jimmie, amos and daniel were each entrusted with a pan to carry out on the broad step. "when it is cool we will all work it," said mrs. stoddard; "that means pull and twist it into sticks." it did not take long for the candy to cool, and then under mrs. stoddard's directions each child was given a piece to work into shape. but the candy proved too tempting to work over, and in a few minutes the long bench was filled with a row of boys, each one happily chewing away upon a clumsy piece of molasses candy. chapter xv a spring picnic before the six weeks of school came to an end anne could read, and could write well enough to begin a letter to her father, although there seemed no chance of sending it. she thought often of her visit to newburyport, and wondered if she would ever see squire coffin's little niece again. and she remembered william trull, and his little daughters of whom he had told her. but no news had come to province town of how boston was faring. a few weeks after captain enos's trip to boston another province town fisherman had started out with a cargo of fish, hoping for equal good fortune. but weeks passed and he did not return, and no tidings were heard of him, and his family and neighbors now feared that the british had captured his boat and taken him prisoner. no word came to anne from her father, and as the ice formed along the shore and over the brooks, the cold winds came sweeping in from sea with now and then a fall of snow that whitened the marshes and the woods, the little settlement on the end of cape cod was entirely shut off from news from boston, and they knew not what the british were doing. captain enos and the men of the port went fishing in the harbor, and the women and children kept snug at home in the little houses. captain enos had finished the cedar chair for anne's doll, and amos had made one as near like it as possible for amanda's "lovely anne." both the little girls could now knit nearly as smoothly as mrs. stoddard herself, and almost every day amanda came up to mrs. stoddard's, for she and anne were reading "pilgrim's progress" together. now and then mrs. stoddard would read several pages aloud of the adventures of christian, while the two little girls knit. anne had a warm hood of gray and scarlet yarn which she had knit herself, and mittens to match, so that she could go to church on sundays, and run down to mrs. starkweather's or to see amanda without being chilled by the cold. it was a mild day late in february when jimmie starkweather brought home a pink blossom from the woods. "see, mother! the first mayflower," he exclaimed. "i found it half under the snow. does it not smell sweet?" "it does indeed, son," replied mrs. starkweather; "bring me your grandmother's pink china cup from the cupboard, fill it with cool water, and we will put the blossom on the table for thy father to see. spring is indeed close at hand." on the same day that jimmie found the arbutus bloom, captain enos came in from fishing with news to tell. a boston schooner outward bound had come near to where he was fishing, and in response to his hail and call of "what news?" had answered that a battle was now expected at any day between the british and americans. "if it be so," said captain enos, "'twill not be long before the british ships will be homeward bound, and they'll not stop to trouble us much on their way." "we must keep a lookout for them," said captain starkweather. "i wish we could get more news. 'tis like enough all will be settled before we know aught of it." all through march, with its high winds and heavy rains the people watched the harbor for a sight of the big white-winged ships, knowing that if the english ships were homeward bound it would mean that the americans had won, and that the colonies would be free from paying the heavy taxes which england had fixed upon them, and that they could go about their work in peace and quiet. april brought warm, sunny days, and anne no longer wore the knit hood and mittens, and had once more set her playhouse under the pine trees in order, and now amanda with her doll often came to play with her. "'tis nearly a year ago since my father was captured by the british," said anne one day as she and amanda, followed by the white kitten, went out under the pine trees. "anne!" exclaimed amanda, "i did not know what 'spy' and 'traitor' meant when i called those words at you." anne looked at her playmate smilingly. "you would not say them now, amanda, would you?" she answered. "say them now!" repeated amanda. "why, anne, you are my best friend, and your father a soldier. 'twas but yesterday my father said that there was but one thing that province town had to be proud of in this war, and that was john nelson, your father, because he is the only soldier from the settlement." anne's cheeks flushed happily. "'twas hard not to have my father," she said, "but he may come back any day now; uncle enos says so. and he is to live with us, and help uncle enos with the fishing. and then, amanda, i shall be the happiest little girl in the settlement." "to-morrow my mother is going to the marshes to gather young pine tips, and arrowroot, and young spruce tips and the roots of thoroughwort to brew beer with," said amanda; "amos and i are to go with her, and if your aunt martha be willing you can go with us. she plans to take something to eat and be away till past noon." "i am sure i may go," replied anne eagerly, "and we can bring home mayflowers. there are many all along near the pine trees." "yes," said amanda, "and will it not be fine to eat our dinner out-of-doors? amos plans to start a fire and cook a fish for us, over it, this time, not under sand as he did when we were on the island." mrs. stoddard gave her consent for anne to go next day with the carys. "i will bake you a molasses cake to carry," she said; "if it were a few weeks later you could call it a may party. in england, and i know it is now a custom in many of our towns, all the children gather and put flowers on their heads, and have a may-pole wreathed with flowers, and dance around it. and they choose a little girl for queen of the may." "can we not do that, aunt martha, when may is really here?" asked anne. "perhaps," replied aunt martha, "if the minister sees no objection, and if we get good news before that time, why, a may-day party would be a pretty thing. the boys could put up the may-pole near the spring, and there will be all sorts of wild things in blossom by that time." when they started off for the marshes anne told amanda what her aunt martha had said, and mrs. cary and amos were greatly interested. amos said that he knew where he could get a fine pole, and mrs. cary said that the little girls could gather flowers and fasten them to the pole with vines and strings before it was set up. "and there must be a big wreath fastened on top of the pole," said mrs. cary, "and by rights there should be long bright streamers coming down from the top for each to hold and twist in and out as they dance around it." "can we not take long strings and fasten flowers about them?" asked anne. "why, yes, indeed!" replied mrs. cary. "'twill be better than any bright ribbons. now we must surely have a may-day party. near the spring will be the very place." as they searched for thoroughwort, and picked the tender spruce and pine tips, they all talked of the coming may-day, but amos soon began to look about for a good place to make his fire. he had brought the fish in a covered basket, and said that he knew he could cook it as well as if he had a kettle to boil it in. he made a fire at a little distance from the woods, and then busied himself in putting up two crotched sticks, one on each side of the fire; a third stick rested across these two, and from it hung the fish, directly over the blaze. amos watched his fire very carefully, and kept a brisk blaze until the fish began to grow brown and steam. then he declared that it was nearly cooked, and so let his fire die down until only a bed of smouldering coals remained. they all thought the fish tasted as good as if it had been cooked in a pan or kettle, and mrs. cary had a fine cake of indian meal, and with anne's molasses cake they all said that it was the best dinner any one could have. the april sky was soft and blue, the sun warm, and amos was sure that in a few days he could go in swimming. "and it's only the nineteenth of april," said anne. afterward these children always remembered the nineteenth of april, and would say, "that was the day we had our picnic at the marshes," and on that day the minutemen were gathered at lexington and earl percy was urging his tired men to meet them, and the great battle which did so much to settle the fate of the americans was fought. but the people at province town did not know of this until long afterward. if anne had known on the day when she was so happy, thinking of the may-day to come, and watching amos cook the fish over the fire, that her dear father with other brave men was at cambridge on guard waiting for the british, who were determined to make a stand in their flight from the minutemen, and that on that very day her good friends, the freemans, were hurrying away toward watertown to escape the dangers of war which now centered about boston, she would not have cared so much about the may-day plans. "it would be well to ask all the grown people as well as the children to the may party," said mrs. cary, as the little party made its way toward home that afternoon. "i do not think there has ever been a may-day party before in the town, and it will be good for all of us to try and be cheerful." anne and amanda looked at her wonderingly. the world seemed a very cheerful and happy place to both the little girls, and they could not know how anxious the older people were that the trouble with england might soon come to an end. chapter xvi the may party "a may-day party, eh?" said elder haven, when anne and amanda told him of the plan. "why, i think it an excellent idea. it will surely be a pleasant sight to see the children dance about the may-pole, and i shall like well to come." after elder haven had approved the parents could find nothing wrong in the idea, and all the children went maying for arbutus and trailing evergreens to wind about the pole. early on the morning of may-day amos and jimmie were at the spring with a long smooth pole. the other children soon followed them, and mrs. starkweather came to show them how to fasten the wreath at the top and the long strings covered with vines and blossoms which anne and amanda, with the help of mrs. stoddard and the starkweather boys, had made ready the day before. "we used often to dance about a may-pole when i was a girl in barnstable," said mrs. starkweather. "to be sure it is an old english custom, and just now england does not seem our friend, but 'tis a pleasant custom that we do well to follow. i know a little song that we all used to sing as we took hold of the bright streamers." "i know that song," said dannie; "you call it 'may song.'" "why, yes," said mrs. starkweather, "i'm sure all my boys know it. i've sung them all to sleep by it; and 'tis one i sing about my work, for 'tis a cheerful and a merry lilt." "it goes this way," said dannie, and began to sing: "birds in the tree; humming of bees, wind singing over the sea; happy may-days, now do we praise, as we dance gladly round the may tree." as dannie sang his mother and brothers joined in with him, and the other children listened in delight. "can you not sing it when we do 'dance round the may tree,' aunt starkweather?" asked anne; "and if dannie will sing it over to us a few times i am sure that we can all sing it, and then elder haven can hear us." dannie liked to sing, and he sang the little verse over and over again until all the children knew it, and until his mother said that they must all run home and make themselves tidy, and then come back, as the dance around the may-pole was to be at two o'clock. "i do wish that uncle enos could see it," said anne, as she put on her new white pinafore over her plaid dress, and fastened the coral beads around her neck; "i know well he would like to hear the song." "the boats went out early and may get in in good time," said aunt martha. "mrs. starkweather says that there is always a queen of the may--a little girl whom the other children choose to wear a wreath on her head, and whatever the queen tells them to do they must do all may-day," said anne, as she and mrs. stoddard walked toward the spring, "but i do think the other children have forgotten all about it." "what makes the children want to choose one to obey, i wonder," said mrs. stoddard, smiling down at anne. "it must be because 'tis a little girl whom they all like, and who is always kind and pleasant to the other children," said anne. "if 'twas a king of the may we would all want jimmie starkweather; but there are not so many girls as boys." the other children were all at the spring with bunches and wreaths of flowers, and anne was surprised to see that a mound of sand had been heaped up and covered with pine boughs. "what is that for?" she asked. "that's a throne for the queen," said dannie starkweather. mrs. cary and mrs. starkweather were talking with the children, and as anne came near they formed into a little circle round her, joining hands and singing: "our may-queen, queen of the may, we're ready to serve you all this bright day." then willie starkweather, who was only four years old, took anne's hand and led her to the "throne" and said, "you mutht thit down, anne," for willie lisped, "and i'll put the crown on." so anne sat down on the pine-covered sand-heap, and willie put a wreath of fragrant arbutus on her head. captain enos, hurrying up from the shore, thought it the prettiest sight he had ever seen. the tall pole, covered with green vines and bright blossoms, the children forming in a circle round anne, and the pleasant may skies over all, seemed to the sailor to make a picture worth remembering. then came the dance round the may-pole and the song. by this time, the other men had come up from the shore; elder haven was there, and every one in the little settlement had gathered at the spring. it was a circle of happy faces, and when the time came for them all to start for their homes, each one said that province town had never seen so pretty a sight. "'tis something we shall like to think about," said elder haven to jimmie starkweather, as the two walked toward the elder's house. anne was sure that it was the happiest day in her life. "i wish my father could have seen me, aunt martha," she said, as they walked toward home. "'twould please him well to know the children like me. 'tis only a year since they did scorn me at the spring." "you must forget about that, anne," said aunt martha. "they chose you for queen because you have been a pleasant child. you see, it matters not what they said before they knew you." "aunt martha!" exclaimed anne, suddenly looking up toward the harbor, "see! there are two big ships coming down the bay." "we are not to be in peace long," said mrs. stoddard. "they are coming straight to anchorage." every one soon knew that the "somerset" was back again, and now the english sailors took no trouble to be civil. they laid hands on provisions of all sorts, but nevertheless they brought good news. william trull found a chance to tell captain enos that the americans had won the battle at lexington. "we'll be in harbor here but a day or two," he added; "we must be back to watch the americans at charlestown." and, sure enough, the next morning the big ships had sailed away again, taking with them many things that the little settlement could ill spare. as the summer days lengthened, anne longed more and more for some news of her father. the battle of bunker hill had brought another triumph to the americans, but the english vessels still cruised about the coast, making the fishermen careful about going far from shore. "uncle enos, could we not go to boston again and find my father?" anne would ask, and captain enos would grow serious and shake his head, and say it would be too great a risk to undertake. so anne helped aunt martha with the work of the house, played with her doll under the pine trees, and wandered about the shore with amanda, but always thinking of her absent father, and wishing that she might go and find him. "i am past nine years old. if i was a boy, i could sail a boat to boston," she said to amanda one day, as they went down to the beach to watch the fishing-boats come in. "yes," agreed amanda; "i guess that amos could sail a boat to boston before he was nine." "then he could sail one there now," exclaimed anne. "oh, amanda, wouldn't amos sail us to boston to find my father? uncle enos will not; he says 'tis not safe. but surely the english would not hurt two little girls and a boy. would amos be afraid?" "afraid of what?" amos had come up beside them, and the sound of his voice made them jump. "afraid to sail a boat to boston," explained anne. "that would be easy enough," declared the boy, "and i would like well to get the chance to sail father's 'peggy' to boston." "will you, amos? and take amanda and me with you to find my father? i will take all the blame, indeed i will. and if we find him and bring him back, they will all think you a brave boy, amos." "they will not let us start," said amos. "we'd have to put off in the night. but i'll do it. you girls must bring along something to eat, and we'll start at midnight." "when?" asked anne. "to-night," answered the boy. "why, 'twill be a greater adventure than any boy of this settlement ever had. if we make boston, i may be made prisoner by the british," and amos looked as happy over the prospect as anne did at the thought of finding her father. "mistress stoddard will not be pleased," cautioned amanda. "she did not greatly blame me before," said anne. "she knows i want much to see my father, and uncle enos does not want to go. if we sail safely there and home, it will save uncle enos trouble. he will not have to go himself." "should we see rose freeman?" asked amanda. "it may be," said anne. "i would like well to go, if we could see her," amanda said thoughtfully. amos was now full of plans for the trip. there would be a favoring tide at midnight, and he was sure they could sail out of the harbor and be well on their way by morning; and, giving the girls many cautions about being on the shore at the right time, he went happily off to look over the sloop "peggy," and to wonder what jimmie starkweather would say if he knew that he, amos, was going to sail a boat straight up to boston! chapter xvii the sloop, "peggy" the sloop, "peggy," was becalmed. anne, amanda and amos looked over the smooth stretch of water, but there was not a ripple to be seen. since sunrise, the boat had not moved. they had made the start at midnight, as they had planned, and had sailed away under a fair wind; but before the sun rose the wind had died away, and the mainsail now swung back and forth and the boat drifted slowly with the current. none of the children had thought of bringing a jug of fresh water, and the salt fish and corn bread which they had brought along for food made them very thirsty. "we're off barnstable now," said amos. "i've a mind to let the boat drift in nearer shore and anchor, and then row ashore in the tender and get some water." [illustration: the boat began to tip] "how far is barnstable from boston?" asked anne. "miles and miles," answered amos. "'tis only about half-way up the cape from province town." "then we could not walk to boston from there?" "no," said amos; "why should we walk? there'll be a good breeze come sunset. all we need is a good drink of water, and there's a water-jug in the cabin. i can take it ashore and fill it at some spring." as the children talked, the current had carried the boat steadily toward shore, but now it did not move. "she's stuck on a sand-bar," exclaimed amos, "and the tide's turning. perhaps i can walk ashore." it was not long before the boat began to tip to one side, and as the tide went out, they found themselves on a sand-bar, a full half mile from shore. the water seemed to flow in little channels, like wide brooks, here and there, between the boat and the land, and amos wondered if he could either jump or wade those channels. the hot july sun beat down upon them, they were very thirsty and uncomfortable, and amanda began to wish herself at home. "we ought not to have started," she said, ready to cry. "i know my mother won't like it, and mistress stoddard will not like it, either." anne was very quiet. she was thirsty, hot and uncomfortable, and being run aground on a sand-bar near a strange shore was a very different thing from her other prosperous voyage with captain enos. what if they should never reach boston at all? "they will all think that we have run away this time," said amos, who had stepped over the side of the boat onto the sand-bar. "oh, no, they won't," said anne. "i wrote on a smooth chip, 'amanda and amos and i have gone to boston to find my father,' and put it on the kitchen table." "i believe i could get across those channels some way," declared amos, "and i am so thirsty that i'm going to try it." amanda brought him the small stone jug from the cabin, and telling the girls not even to step out of the boat until he came back, amos started for the shore. they saw him wade the first channel, run across a long stretch of wet sand, cross the other channel and reach the shore safely. "goody!" exclaimed amanda; "now he will find a spring, fill the jug and hurry back, and we can have a good drink of water," and she turned smilingly to anne. but anne was looking very sober. she had been thinking over her other trip, and now remembered what mrs. stoddard had said when she returned from boston. "oh, amanda!" she said, looking ready to cry, "when i ran off before with uncle enos, aunt martha did tell me that i must never do so again. now i have disobeyed her, and perhaps she will not want me to live with her any more." "then you can live with your father," answered amanda cheerfully. "but my father was to live with us," said anne. "he was to have the big, pleasant loft that looks toward the water, and was to help uncle enos with the fishing. perhaps they will not want either of us since i have been so unruly and disobedient." amanda longed to tell anne that she should have a home with her, but she remembered that the white kitten had to be given away because they could not afford to keep it, and so kept silent. "i hope amos will not linger," she said, after a little silence. "he forgets that we are as thirsty as he is." the little girls watched the shore anxiously, expecting every minute to see amos hurrying back with a jug full of fresh water, but time passed and he did not come. "i think the tide has turned," said amanda. "see, the channels are widening every minute. if amos does not come soon the water will be too deep. oh, dear! i am afraid something has befallen him." "what could befall him?" questioned anne. "'tis a smooth and pleasant shore, with much taller trees than grow about province town. he is just playing about and has forgotten us." anne was nearly right, for after amos had found a fine boiling spring and had drunk all he wanted and then filled his jug, he had sat down to rest under a wide-spreading oak tree. the day was hot, he was very tired and sleepy, having been awake all the night before, and without forgetting the "peggy" or her crew, he dropped gently off to sleep. the tide came in, lifted the "peggy" from the sand-bar and a gentle breeze carried her steadily out from shore, and amos slept on, knowing nothing of what had happened. the sun was very low in the western sky when he awoke. he sat up, rubbed his eyes, snatched up the jug and ran to the shore, but there was no boat to be seen. amos was now thoroughly frightened. he ran up and down the quiet shore, calling the name of his boat and shouting, "amanda!" "anne!" at the top of his voice. the shadows of the summer night deepened, a little haze rose over the water, and amos, crouching down near the water's edge, waited for night to come. "i know i shall never sleep any more," he whispered to himself, hardly daring to think of what might happen to the little girls. he wished that he had lowered the mainsail before coming ashore. "i ought to have dropped anchor, anyway," he said aloud, and almost forgot to be hungry in his anxiety. the shadows grew deeper, night settled down on land and sea and amos went fast asleep again, with his bare feet almost within reach of the waves that rolled so softly up over the smooth sand. anne and amanda watched the tide come in about the "peggy," and soon felt the boat move under them. then the mainsail filled and swung out, as the breeze came up. "try and steer ashore, amanda," exclaimed anne. "i dare not touch the rudder," said amanda. "whenever i have been in a boat, my father has told me to sit still; and i do think it is the best thing we can do now, anne." "mayhap the wind will take us home again," said anne, "and then your father will come back and find amos." "more like 'twill take us straight out to sea," said amanda. "'tis all my fault," said anne; "i did prevail on you and amos to come." "we both liked well to come," answered amanda stoutly. "amos should have known better, for he is older. but he likes a risk over well, and now he can play shipwrecked to his heart's desire." "my eyes are heavy with sleep," said anne. "let us say the small prayer that elder haven taught us and sleep a little. 'tis dark and foggy; we can see nothing." amanda reached out her sunburned little hand and clasped anne's, and they repeated aloud the prayer, asking for help and protection, which elder haven had taught them; then, curling themselves up in the bottom of the boat, they went fast asleep. but the "peggy" did not sail far. the wind died away, and the boat drifted with the tide. when the little girls awoke it was bright sunshine, and a big ship was coming slowly down upon them. "'tis a britisher!" amanda exclaimed; "like as not she's bound for england and will carry us straight off," and amanda began crying bitterly. before anne could answer there came a hail from the ship, and anne and amanda called back, "sloop 'peggy'! sloop 'peggy'!" as loudly as they could, as they had heard province town captains do in answer to hails from harbor boats. it was not long before the big vessel was near enough for the sailors to distinguish that there were only two little girls on board the drifting sloop, and a man was ready with a stout boat-hook, which he grappled about the "peggy's" mast, and a big man with reddish hair and blue eyes slid down a rope and swung himself on board the sloop. "zounds!" exclaimed the sailor, "if 'tis not the little province town maid again! and adrift like this. i'll have to take you to england and let betsey and harriet take care of you!" before he had finished both anne and amanda had begun to cry. they were sure now that they should never see home again, and william trull had some trouble in convincing them that he did not mean to take them to england. but the captain had small patience with the delay, and called out that 'twas best to sink the sloop rather than lose a fair wind out of harbor. "i cannot be leaving two helpless maids adrift," william trull called back. "they are from the province town settlement." "take them back to it, if you like, and find your way across the atlantic as best you may," retorted the english captain angrily. "we can't stand by for such folly." poor william trull looked at the little girls in dismay. to be left stranded on american territory was the last thing he desired. "can't you tow our boat down to province town?" pleaded anne. "we won't hurt you." "ha! ha!" laughed the captain, and even william trull joined in the laughter of the crew, while anne and amanda wondered why the sailors laughed. "well," and the captain's voice was more friendly as he leaned over his ship's railing and gazed down at the little girls, "if you won't run us down we'll take you along that far. you can stay on the sloop, trull, till we get near the tip of the cape. 'tis plain american children are not easily frighted." the sloop was now taken in tow, and although the little girls pleaded that a boat be sent to find amos, william trull shook his head. "'twill not do," he declared, "to ask it of the captain; and if the boy be a smart boy he'll make his way home, never fear." it was some comfort to amanda to declare that amos was the smartest boy in the settlement; that he could make fire as indians did, and that he knew many ways of snaring birds and fish. "never fear for a boy like that," said the sailor. anne was eager to ask him if he knew anything of her father, and william trull owned that he did. "'twas your father who some way got word to newburyport and portsmouth men to be ready to fight," he said. "'twas cleverly done, they tell me, but no one has found out how." "i know," said anne, "because i helped." then remembering captain stoddard's caution, she put her hand over her mouth. "i must not tell," she said. the sailor looked at her in astonishment. "even the children are 'rebels,'" he declared, "and helping when chance comes. 'tis a great country. i'll not question you, child, but i'll tell my little girls about you, and that you helped to send the english home. your own father will soon be telling you how the americans drove the english; but you must keep a kind thought for me." "oh, i do wish you would stay and be an american, mr. william trull, and bring your little girls to live in province town," said anne. "who knows?" said the sailor. "it may be i'll be coming back with my family. i like this country well. your father will be coming to province town soon, never fear," he added, "for now boston port is open to all, and the fishermen are going in and out as they please." amanda had not been much interested in what the sailor had to say. she was thinking that amos must be very hungry; and when william trull climbed aboard the big vessel and the sloop dropped behind near the province town shore, she was greatly rejoiced. it was not long that the "peggy" was alone. men on shore had been watching and were quick to recognize the sloop, and a boat was sent out. amanda recognized that her father was in it, as well as captain enos and jimmie starkweather, and called out in delight. there was an anxious crowd on the beach, and mrs. stoddard and amanda's mother ran eagerly forward to greet the little girls, and to ask what had become of amos. it was soon evident that jimmie starkweather and the other boys were inclined to be envious of amos's good fortune; and when mr. cary made his own boat ready to sail for barnstable to bring amos home jimmie was very proud to be selected to accompany him. "how shall we ever feel safe about thee, child?" said mrs. stoddard, as she and anne walked toward home. "are you always to be seeking your father without telling us? if you had but waited you would have saved us all this worry, and amos would now be safe at home." "but i have news, aunt martha," pleaded anne. "mr. william trull told me my father might soon be with us. i will not leave you again, unless, indeed, you no longer want me." "of course we want you, anne. but i have better news than the english sailor gave you. look! here comes some one whom you will be glad to see," but before she had finished speaking anne had sprung forward with an exclamation of delight, for her father was coming down the path to the shore. "i came down in one of mr. freeman's fishing-boats," he explained, as, hand in hand, he and anne walked back to join mrs. stoddard. anne danced along happily, and mrs. stoddard smiled as she looked at the little girl. "and now i hope for peace," declared the good woman. "anne will not let you go again, john nelson. you will have to be content to stay in province town." the next day elder haven came to see john nelson to hear more about the great triumphs of the americans; and when anne's father told him of captain stoddard's trip to newburyport, with anne carrying the important message for the newburyport patriots, the good clergyman held up his hands in wonder. "she is a brave little maid," he said. "it should be put on record that a maid of province town helped the americans to win their just cause against king george. indeed it should." "she is a brave child," agreed captain enos. "i was sure of it when i heard her defend her father at the spring," and the good captain chuckled at the remembrance of anne's battle with the cary children, who were now her staunchest friends. "amos is safe home, and proud enough; he is lording it well over his mates," said elder haven. "you must not run away again, anne," he added more gravely, resting a gentle hand on the dark head. "no, oh, no!" replied anne, "not unless my father and aunt martha and uncle enos go with me." note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 40525-h.htm or 40525-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40525/40525-h/40525-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40525/40525-h.zip) kathie's soldiers by amanda m. douglas * * * * * books by amanda m. douglas * * * * * the helen grant books new popular edition. nine volumes. illustrated price per volume, $.60 helen grant's school-days helen grant's friends helen grant at aldred house helen grant in college helen grant, senior helen grant, graduate helen grant, teacher helen grant's decision helen grant's harvest year * * * * * little red house series illustrated. price per volume, net $1.00; postpaid $1.10 the children in the little old red house the red house children at grafton the red house children's vacation the red house children's year the red house children growing up * * * * * almost as good as a boy. illustrated _net_ $1.25 heroes of the crusades. fifty full-page illustrations from gustave dore _net_ 1.35 larry (the $2000 prize story) _net_ 1.00 the kathie stories. six volumes. illustrated. per volume .50 the douglas novels. twenty-four volumes. per volume .60 * * * * * lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston * * * * * [illustration: "i wish you and i could go out with the gifts."--_page 99._] kathie's soldiers by amanda m. douglas author of "helen grant books," "little red house series," etc. frontispiece by c. howard [illustration] boston lothrop, lee & shepard co. entered, according to act of congress, in the year 1871, by lee and shepard, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. copyright, 1899, by amanda m. douglas. all rights reserved. kathie's soldiers. contents. chapter i. page enlisting in the grand army 9 chapter ii. drafted 27 chapter iii. true to one's colors 42 chapter iv. little steps by the way 60 chapter v. one of the small deeds 80 chapter vi. giving and receiving 98 chapter vii. a visit 116 chapter viii. comfort in need 135 chapter ix. thorns in the path 151 chapter x. under fire 172 chapter xi. in another's stead 192 chapter xii. home again 208 chapter xiii. good news 223 chapter xiv. put to the test 241 chapter i. enlisting in the grand army. "hurrah!" exclaimed robert alston, swinging his hat in the air, as he came up the path; "hurrah! there's going to be a draft at brookside! won't it be jolly?" the group assembled glanced up at him,--a fair, fresh, rosy boy, without any cowardly blood in his veins, as you could easily tell, but given, as such natures often are, to underrating the silent bravery of others. "what will there be so jolly about it, rob?" asked his uncle, with a peculiar light in his eye. "why,--the whole thing,"--and rob made a little pause to think, though it did not seem half so funny now as out on the street with a crowd of boys, who had been singing at the top of their lungs, "john brown's body," and "my johnny has gone for a soldier,"--"the surprise, uncle robert, when some of the fellows who have been skulking back and afraid to go find themselves compelled." "so you think it rather funny to be forced to do what you would not choose of your free-will?" and uncle robert gave a queer little smile. "but--" and rob looked around considerably perplexed at not finding his argument at hand, and overwhelming. "o, you know what i mean!" throwing himself down upon the grass. "if men haven't patriotism enough to volunteer when their country needs them, why, i think they ought--i just wish i was old enough! i'd go in a moment. i'd like the fun of 'marching on'!" "there is something beside marching," said kathie, in her soft voice, thinking in a vague way of general mackenzie. "well, i'd like all of it!" "the being drafted as well?" it was uncle robert who spoke. "no, i'd never be drafted!" and rob's fair face flushed with a boy's impulsive indignation; "i'd go at once,--at the first call." "but if you were a man and had a wife, as well as bairnies, three or four, or half a dozen, and were compelled to leave them to poverty?" "there is the bounty, and the pay." "neither of which would be as much as a man could earn in a year at home. and if he never came back--" "but, uncle robert, don't you think it right for a man to be patriotic?" asked his nephew, in a little amaze. "yes. one can never approve of cowardice in any act of life. still, i fancy there may be a great many brave and good men who have not volunteered, and who, if they are drafted, will do their country loyal service. it may not look quite so heroic, but god, who can see all sides of the question, will judge differently." "the soldiers don't feel so, uncle robert. it seems to me that the men who volunteer _do_ deserve a good deal of credit." "a great many of them do; but still numbers go for the novelty, or, as you say, the fun. they like a rambling, restless life, and care little for danger, little for death; but is it an intelligent courage,--the highest and noblest kind? does not the man who says, 'if my country in her sorest strait needs me, i will go and do my duty to the utmost,' deserve some credit, especially if he gives up what most men hold most dear?" "i believe i didn't look at it in that light altogether. it seemed to me that it was only the cowards and the selfish men who waited to be drafted." "then you think i ought to volunteer?" said uncle robert, with a dry but good-natured smile. there was a very general exclamation. "you!" exclaimed rob, aghast at the unlooked-for application. "i have neither wife nor children. i am young, strong, in good health, and though i do not fancy a military life above all others, i still think i could endure the hardships like a good soldier, and if i stood in the front ranks to face the enemy i do not believe that i should run away." he rose as he said this, and, folding his arms across his chest, leaned against the vine-covered column of the porch, looking every inch a soldier without the uniform. it would break his mother's heart to have uncle robert go, and there was aunt ruth, and kathie, and freddy; but--what a handsome soldier he would make! major alston, or colonel alston,--how grand it would sound! so you see rob was quite taken with military glory. kathie came and slipped her hand within uncle robert's. "we could not spare you," she whispered, softly. "but if i were drafted?" "well," exclaimed rob, stubbornly clinging to his point, "the boys over in the village think it will make some fun. there's a queer little recruiting shanty on the green, and a fifer and a drummer. if our quota isn't filled by next wednesday,--and they all say it won't be,--the draft is to commence. i'm glad i'm not going away until the first of october. i only wish--" "i wish you were, if that will do you any good," answered mr. meredith, glancing up from his book which he had been pretending to read. "i'd rather enlist than go to school." "maybe enlisting in the home-guard will prove a wise step for the first one." "home-guard?" and rob looked a bit perplexed. "yes. we all do considerable soldiering in our lives unconsciously; and if it comes hard to obey our captains here, i am not sure that we should always find it so easy out on the field. there are some things that take more courage than to march down to the valley of death as did the 'six hundred.'" "o," said rob, fired again with a boy's enthusiasm, "that's just the grandest thing that ever was written! i don't like poetry as a general thing, it always sounds so girlish to me; but marco bozzaris and that are so fine, especially the lines,- 'theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.'" "after all, dying is not the grandest thing," said aunt ruth, quietly; "and the detached instances of heroism in one's life have not always required the most courage." "no, indeed," answered mr. meredith, warmly. "i know men who have acquitted themselves bravely under fire, who at home possessed so small an amount of moral courage that they really could not resist temptations which were to their mental and physical detriment." "but it is the fighting that interests me," said robert. "one may be a brave soldier with purely physical courage, but to be a good soldier one needs moral courage as well." just then ada meredith came down on the porch. she was kathie's little new york friend, and her uncle had brought her to cedarwood for a few days. she was growing tall rapidly, and considered herself quite a young lady, especially as she had been to saratoga with her mother. so this made a little break in the conversation. rob somehow didn't get on very well with her; but then he admitted that he didn't like girls anyhow, except miss jessie. he was rather glad, therefore, to see dick grayson coming up the path, taking it for an excuse to get away. ada looked after them with secret mortification. dick was quite a young man in her estimation, and only that morning he had been very gallant. she hated to have rob take him off to the lake or any other haunt, so she bethought herself of a little stratagem. "you promised me a game of croquet," she said to kathie, with great earnestness. kathie glanced up in surprise. when she had proposed it that morning ada declared it stupid, and said she had grown tired of it. uncle robert, knowing nothing of this, answered for her. "of course," he said; "there are the boys. rob, don't go away, you are wanted." rob made an impatient gesture with his hand, as if he would wave them all out of sight. uncle robert walked down to the boys. "ada would like to play croquet," he remarked, pleasantly. "i'm just in the humor for a game myself," answered dick; but rob's brow knit itself into a little frown. "come, girls!" mr. meredith accompanied them. "we will be umpires," he declared. ada chose dick for a partner. rob thought it wasn't much fun playing with kathie. he was rather careless, and in the first game they were badly beaten, which made rob altogether out of humor. why couldn't the girls have stayed on the balcony and talked? "i can't play!" he said, throwing down his mallet. uncle edward picked it up. "now, kathie, let us beat them all to ribbons and fragments!" he exclaimed, gayly, taking her brother's place. rob fell out of the ranks to where his uncle stood in the shade of a great tulip-tree. "soldiers!" he said, in a low, half-laughing tone. rob colored. "i didn't want to play a bit! i wish girls--" "but a brave soldier goes off of the field after a defeat in good order. if he has done his best, that is all that is required of him." rob knew that he had not done his best at all, although he was angry with the mortification of losing the game. "theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die," said uncle robert, using his quotation against him. "but that doesn't mean paltry little matters like this!"--with all a boy's disdain in his voice. "it means everything when one is right. as mr. meredith said a few moments ago, there is a good deal of soldiering in life which must be all voluntary. that ought to suit your ideas. and i think the great captain is often very patient with us, rob. he bought us all with a price, you know, whether we serve him or not." "but it is so hard for me to be"--rob made a great effort and said, frankly--"good-tempered." "i do not think that is it altogether." "what then?" and rob looked up in a little astonishment. "we will put it on a military basis,--shirking one's duty because it is not pleasant." "there was no particular duty about playing croquet!"--in the same surprised tone. "why did you do it at all then?" "because--" "courtesy to a guest becomes a duty in a host." "but there was kathie. dick and i were going down to take a row." "i have a fancy dick likes the croqueting as well as he would have liked the rowing." dick grayson's pleasant laugh floated over to them as he said, "not so bad a beat, after all, mr. meredith." "the life soldiering is not quite so arbitrary. a good deal of it is left to conscience. but if a sentinel at some outpost followed his own devices and let a spy pass the line--" "he would be shot, of course." "it seems hard, doesn't it, just for one little thing? yet if one or two men escaped punishment the army would soon be in a state of insubordination. then when a captain came to lead them in battle each man might consider his way and opinion best. would it answer?" "no, it wouldn't," replied the boy. "but, uncle robert, if god had made us--stronger." "he offers us his strength daily." "but it is so--i mean you never can think of it at the right moment." "that is the secret of our duty to him,--to think of his wishes at the right time. he means, in this life, that we shall not seek to please ourselves altogether; but there is no guard-house, no bread-and-water rations, only a still, small voice to remind us." rob was silent for some moments, watching the players, and wondering why everything fretted him so easily. were all the rest of the world to have their own way and pleasures, and he never? "uncle robert," he began, presently, "don't you think it fair that i should follow out my own wishes _sometimes_? is it not unjust to ask me to give up always?" "are you asked to give up always?"--and the elder smiled. "well--" rob grew rather red and confused. "which would give you the most satisfaction,--to know that you had made two or three people happy, or to enjoy some pleasure alone by yourself? this is the chief thing the captain asks of us voluntary soldiers; and did not a wise man say that 'he who ruleth his own spirit is greater than he who taketh a city'?" "there is more in volunteering than i thought," rob said, gravely, after a long pause; "i am afraid, after all, that i am one of the kind waiting for a draft." "and, if you wait for that, you may be left out altogether. rob, it is not very easy work to march and countermarch, to dig trenches, throw up earthworks, keep your eyes open and your senses keen through dreary night-watches and the many other duties that fill up a soldier's life. it is harder for some men to keep faithful to these than to go into battle and die covered with glory. but on the other side there will be a few questions asked. what was the man's life? i often think of what the saviour said,--not be faithful _in_ death, but be 'faithful _unto_ death.' there, we have had quite a sermon. next month you will be a new recruit, you know." "two games!" exclaimed dick, as they advanced. "each party has won one." "and i am tired," said ada, languidly. "just one more," pleaded dick; "i know that i shall have better luck." "i can't," ada replied. rob's first impulse was to say, "i'll take her place"; but he felt that would leave ada to her own resources again. he did not care anything about ada's noticing him,--indeed, she rather ignored him when dick was around; but he had a fancy that dick was _his_ friend, and did not belong so exclusively to the girls. "rob, i'll try you," mr. meredith exclaimed, remarking the wistful face. so ada and dick had a ramble about the grounds, as kathie, feeling she was not very earnestly desired, lingered to watch the players. it was a pretty sharp game, but robert beat. "though i do not think you played your best at the last," the boy said. uncle edward gave a queer little smile that set rob to musing. what if people sometimes acted a little differently, for the sake of sparing his unlucky temper! "i shall have to fight giants," he confessed to himself, understanding, as he never had before, how serious a warfare life really is. dick could not be persuaded to remain to supper, though ada made herself very charming. but they passed a pleasant evening without him. indeed, it seemed to rob that there was some new element in their enjoyment. was it because ada was more gracious than usual? uncle robert could have told the secret easily. "don't you get dreadfully dull sometimes?" ada asked as they were alone in their room, for ada had chosen to share kathie's. "dull!" and kathie gave her pleasant little laugh. "when there is no company? for it is not quite like the city, where one can have calls and evening amusements." "i hardly ever think of it. you know i was not here last winter, and the summer has been so very delightful!" kathie's cheeks glowed at the remembrance. "but your brother will be away this coming winter." "yes." it would make some difference, to be sure, but kathie fancied that she should not be entirely miserable. "if i were you, i should want to go to boarding-school. where there is a crowd of girls they always manage to have a nice time." "but i have nice times at home. i do not want to go away." "what a queer girl you are, kathie!" it was not the first time she had been called queer. but she said, rather gayly, "in what respect?" "i shouldn't like to do as you have to. why, there are five servants in our house, and only one in this great place! and we have only four children, while your mother has three. it is hardly fair for you to be compelled to do so much work when there is no necessity." "mamma thinks it best," kathie answered. "if you expected to be very poor--or would have to do housework--" "i might," returned kathie, pleasantly. "people are sick sometimes, and servants go away." "isn't your uncle willing that you should have a chambermaid?" "i suppose he would be if mamma desired it." "so you have to keep your own room in order, and dust the parlor, and do all manner of little odds and ends. i believe i saw you wiping some dishes in the kitchen this morning." "and it did not injure me," returned kathie, laughingly. "but all this work makes your hands hard and red. mine are as soft as satin. i believe no money would tempt me to sweep a room!" ada uttered this in a very lofty fashion. "mamma thinks it best for me to learn to do everything. she was brought up in a good deal of luxury, but met with reverses afterward." kathie smiled inwardly at the picture she remembered of the little room where her mother used to sit and sew, and how _she_ did errands, swept, washed dishes, and sometimes even scrubbed floors. her hands were not large or coarse, for all the work they had done. "i think it would be hard enough if one was compelled to do it. i am thankful that i have no taste for such menial employments. i do not believe that i could even toast a piece of bread"; and ada leaned back in the low rocker, the very picture of complacency. kathie was silent, revolving several matters in her mind "all in a jumble," as she would have said. she knew it would be useless to undertake to explain to ada the great difference between their lives. mamma, aunt ruth, and uncle robert believed in the great responsibility of existence. weeks, months, and years were not given to be squandered away in frivolous amusement. to do for each other was one of the first conditions, not merely the small family circle, but all the wide world outside who needed help or sympathy. and if one did not know how to do anything-"but when you go to school you cannot do so much," pursued ada. "there will be all your lessons. i suppose you will study french and italian. you cannot think how i was complimented on my singing while i was at saratoga. several gentlemen said my pronunciation was wonderful in one so young. i hope i shall be able to come out next summer." "come out!" repeated kathie, bewildered. "yes, be regularly introduced to society. i am past fifteen, and growing tall rapidly. i hope i shall have an elegant figure. i want to be a belle. don't you suppose you shall ever go to saratoga?" "i don't know,"--dubiously. "it would be a shame for you to grow up here where there is no society. you would surely be an old maid, like your aunt ruth." "she isn't so very old," returned kathie, warmly. "but every woman over twenty-five is an old maid. i mean to be married when i am eighteen." kathie brushed out her hair, hung up her clothes, and waited for ada to get into bed so that she might say her prayers in peace. ada had outgrown "our father which art in heaven," and "had no knack of making up prayers," she said. but it seemed to kathie that there were always so many things for which to give thanks, so many fresh blessings to ask. she almost wondered a little, sometimes, if god didn't get tired of listening. chapter ii. drafted. miss jessie smiled a little at ada's assumption of womanhood when the two girls came over to drink tea. "ah," said grandmother darrell, wiping her glasses, "she's no such a girl as kathie! the child's worth half a dozen of her. after all, there's no place like the country to bring up boys and girls." for grandmother darrell, like a good many other people, fancied everything that came from the city must be more or less contaminated. "i think miss darrell _would_ make your uncle a very nice wife," ada said, graciously. "do you suppose there is anything in it?" kathie flushed scarlet, remembering the pain and trouble of last winter. "i don't want to talk about it," she answered, in a low tone. ada nodded her head sagaciously. it was quite evident that she had hit upon the truth. some of the brookside girls thought ada "so splendid," lottie thorne among them, who now treated kathie in a very amiable manner, and always took pains to speak with her as they came out of church. of course, lottie was growing older and a little more sensible, as well as worldly wise. they took ada to all the pleasant haunts, rowed over the lake, made two or three visits, and mrs. alston invited some girls, or rather young ladies, to tea; but ada showed a decided preference for the young gentlemen. even unsuspicious kathie remarked how soon her headaches disappeared, and how ready she was to sing if some of the boys would stand at the piano and turn her music. "a budding coquette," said aunt ruth, with a quiet smile. "what a pity that girls should be reared to such idle, frivolous lives, and have their minds so filled with vanity and selfishness!" mrs. alston replied. "can such blossoming bring forth good, wholesome fruit?" mr. meredith felt a little annoyed. the visit was not quite the success he had hoped, and he saw more clearly than ever the difference between the two girls; but ah, how unlike their mothers were! was he growing more serious, clearer-eyed? what was there about this family that charmed so insensibly? the higher motives, the worthier lives, with a more generous outlook for neighbor and friend! kathie was ashamed to confess it even to herself, but she said good by at the station with a sense of relief. for days a horrible thought had been haunting her,--suppose uncle robert _should_ be drafted! the abruptly terminated conversation had not been renewed; indeed, there had been so many pleasures at cedarwood that one hardly wanted to bring in such a subject. but if it did happen, kathie felt she should want no stranger eyes to witness her grief. for when the question came directly home, she felt that she could not give him up; yet how brave she had been last winter! if general mackenzie could look into her heart, he would find that she hardly deserved all his praise. but all brookside was much excited over the prospect. business was very dull and bounties tempting; so numbers enlisted. "uncle robert," kathie said, as they were riding homeward, "could a drafted man offer a substitute just the same?" "why, yes, to be sure." he uttered the words in such a light-hearted manner that she felt quite relieved, but lacked courage to pursue the subject further. a little quiver would keep rising from her heart to her throat, interfering with the steadiness of her voice. by monday night seventy men were still needed to complete the quota. that gave brookside about forty. kathie wondered how they could all go on with their usual routine. aunt ruth, even, sat by the window and sang "bonnie doon," as she sewed upon rob's outfit. his uncle had decided upon a school about sixty miles distant, a flourishing collegiate institution, in a healthy locality,--a quaint, quiet, old-fashioned town, with a river where the boys could have boating and swimming. "it is so far!" mrs. alston had said at first. "not too far, though. of course we do not expect him to come home every few weeks. that always unsettles a boy." so she made no further demur. the principal, dr. goldthwaite, was a truly religious man, and the place was held in high esteem. perhaps this took their thoughts a little from the subject that was so absorbing to kathie. rob went over to the hall and hung about all the morning. he did find a good deal of amusement in it. the crowd was disposed to be rather jolly, and several of the men took their luck with great good-humor. it was as his uncle had said. while they would not willingly leave their homes and families, still, if the country had need of them in her imminent peril, they would go. others, sure of a substitute, took the news with unconcern. only a few exhibited any anger, or declared loudly what they would and what they would not do. at three o'clock the printed list was complete, and the notices were being made up. "so your uncle's in for it, rob!" exclaimed a voice at his side. "no, you're mistaken. i listened to every name." "here it is,--robert conover!" rob followed the grimy finger down the list. sure enough! his heart stood still for a moment. "he will get a sub, though! he'd be a fool to go when he's rich enough to stay at home!" "yes, that's it!" and a burly fellow turned, facing them with a savage frown. "it's the poor man this 'ere thing comes hard on! rich men are all cowards! they kin stay to hum and nuss themselves in the chimbly-corner. i say they're cowards!" rob's heart swelled within him for a twofold reason. first, the shock. he had not been able to believe that the draft would touch them, and the surprise was very great. then to have his uncle called a coward! all the boy's hot, unreasoning indignation was ablaze. "he is not!" he answered, fiercely. "say that agin and i'll knock you over!" rob was not to be dared or to be bullied into silence. he stood his ground manfully. "i say that my uncle is no coward, whether he gets a substitute or not!" the fellow squared off. it was kit kent, as he was commonly called, a blacksmith of notoriously unsteady habits. "none of that!" and a form was interposed between bob and his assailant. "hit a fellow of your size, kent, not a boy like that." "let the youngster hold his tongue then! much he knows!" rob did not stir, but his lips turned blue and almost cold with the pressure. if he had been a little larger, it seemed to him that he could not have let kent alone. "there's a chance for you to make some money," exclaimed a voice in the crowd. "six or seven hundred dollars, and you're grumbling about being out of work! it's a golden opportunity, and you'll never find another like it." that turned the laugh upon kent. rob walked off presently. turning into a quiet street, he nearly ran over two men who stood talking. "the trouble is that you can hardly find a substitute. most of the able-bodied men who will go have enlisted or been drafted. the look is mighty poor!" that startled rob again. he began to feel pretty sober now. what if-kathie and aunt ruth had gone out into the garden, and were taking up some flowers for winter. "o rob!" exclaimed kathie, with a cry, "is there any news? it's the worst, i know," answering her own question, her breath almost strangling her. "yes, it is the worst!" "uncle robert has been drafted!" kathie dropped her trowel and flew to her mother. "but he won't go," she sobbed; "do you think he will? how can we spare him?" "it would be no worse for us than for hundreds of others," replied her mother. "kathie, my darling, be brave until we know, at least." "where is he?" "he went to connor's point with mr. langdon. hush, dear, don't cry." kathie wiped away her tears. "it is very hard," she said. "i never realized before how hard it was." but the flowers lost their charm. kathie put away her implements, laid off her garden-dress, as she called it,--a warm woollen sack and skirt,--and sat down, disconsolately enough, to practise her music. next week she was going to school. she heard uncle robert's voice on the porch at the side entrance. rob was talking in great earnest; but somehow she couldn't have gone out, or trusted the voice still so full of tears. he came in at length. "you have heard the news, kitty?" she rose and went to his arms, hid her face upon his shoulder. "o uncle robert!" "what ought i to do, little one?" it was such a solemn question that she could not answer it readily, selfishly. "rob came very near getting into a row on my behalf. it was rather funny. poor boy! i believe he would go willingly in my stead." the story interested kathie a good deal, and turned the current of her feelings somewhat. then one or two of the neighbors came in, and they had no more quiet until they gathered round the supper-table. freddy thought it a great honor to be drafted. "is it true that there is a scarcity of substitutes?" asked rob of his uncle. "i believe it is. mr. langdon put in one about a month ago, and paid a thousand dollars." "but you could afford that," said rob, decisively. "what about the cowardice of the proceeding?" rob colored. the matter appeared so different to him now. "o uncle robert!"--in a most deprecating tone. "i will not perplex you, nor keep you in suspense," he said, gravely. "if your father was alive i think i should not hesitate a moment. the country is at her sorest need, and calls upon her loyal children for assistance. it is the duty of every man who can be spared to answer the call, to swell the list so that the struggle may be brief. it seems to me that another year will certainly see our war ended, now that we have such brave and able generals in the field, but if the stress should be any greater, i _must_ respond. now, however, i shall do my best to procure a substitute." they all drew a relieved breath. kathie looked up with a tender light in her eyes. "i am so glad!" she said afterward, nestling beside him upon the sofa. "did it surprise you when you heard that you were drafted?" "i must confess that it did. i had a presentiment that i should escape, so it seems such things are not always to be depended upon." kathie was silent for some time, her eyes engrossed with a figure in the carpet. "well, miss thoughtful, what is it now? are you not satisfied to have me stay, or am i less of a hero in your eyes?" "no, uncle robert. i was only thinking of the men who were compelled to go and did not want to, who had families to leave--" "my darling, it is not necessary to lay the cares of others so deeply to heart. instead, we must do all we can for those who are left behind." "i don't think a draft quite a fair thing, after all," declared rob, coming out of a brown study. mrs. alston entered the room. "mr. morrison is over here and wishes to see you,--ethel's father." uncle robert rose and went out. in the mean while aunt ruth and rob had quite a warm discussion concerning the draft. kathie somehow felt very tender-hearted, and was silent. presently they heard steps in the hall and the door opened. "i have brought mr. morrison in to see you all," mr. conover said, "and to explain to you that he desires to go in my stead, a willing substitute." there was something very solemn and withal sweet in uncle robert's voice. rob winked away a tear, kathie walked over to mr. morrison and laid her hand in his,--a pretty white hand if she did dust the rooms and do gardening with it. "it is so very kind and generous in you," she began, falteringly, thinking of another love and another substitute. "no, miss kathie, it isn't all pure generosity, so don't praise me too soon. if i'd been real lucky about getting work, maybe i shouldn't have taken the idea so strongly into my mind, or if poor ethel's mother had lived. but times are unsettled, and business of all kinds is so very dull that i'd half made up my mind to 'list and get the bounty. that would be something for my little girl in case she didn't have me. then when i heard talk of the draft i thought to myself, 'if mr. conover gets taken i'll offer to go in his place'; and so i waited. being an englishman, i am not liable, you know." "and that makes it the more noble," returned kathie, softly. "it was so good to--to think of him"; and her voice sank to a whisper. "you have all been so kind to my poor old mother, and to me, for that matter, as well. i seem to owe some sort of duty to you first." "did you mean to enlist any way?" asked kathie. "yes, miss, it would have come to that; for, said i, 'here is a country and a government battling in a good cause, begging for men, and willing to provide for the little ones they may leave behind.' though i should be no skulk, nor eye-server, miss kathie, if i did go for the money." "we should never think that of you," returned uncle robert, warmly. "so i'll be glad to go in your place, sir, if it's any favor; and if you'll look after ethel a little, if anything should happen to me. if i'm too bold in asking--" "no," said aunt ruth; "it will be a sacred duty, and a pleasure as well; but we shall count upon your return." "life is uncertain with us all," was the grave reply. with that he rose and bowed. uncle robert left the room with him, for he had much more to say. "i couldn't have uttered a word," exclaimed rob, his voice still a little tremulous. "why, it's just like a dream! there are noble and heroic men who may go to war even for the money, though i think they are a good deal sneered at,--subs, as the boys call them; but i shall never ridicule them again,--never, although bad men may do the same thing." "it is not quite the same," subjoined kathie. "no, the motive makes a great difference." uncle robert returned and took his seat between the children. he appeared to be invested with a new virtue in their eyes, as if he had just escaped an imminent and deadly peril. and there is something in the simplest act of chivalry that touches one's soul. "it was so good in mr. morrison to think of you," rob said, after a while. "yes; going farther back, i don't know but we owe it all to kathie. if she had not thought of our trusty and efficient gardener, we should never have known his brother. the lodge has made a charming home for them, and they feel deeply grateful." "it is worse to go away to war than i imagined," rob continued, gravely following out his own musings. "you have been looking at the glory and listening to the music, my boy; but there is quite another side to it. it is one thing to go out as a mounted officer, in glittering uniform, with a servant to wait upon you, and if you fall in battle to have whole cities weep your loss, and quite another to tramp as a common soldier, often weary and footsore, to be subject to the caprice of those in authority, to work night and day sometimes, to stand in the front rank and be swept down by a terrific charge, be trampled under foot and thrown into a nameless grave, perhaps forever lost to your kindred. it is no light matter, rob, and requires a good deal of courage when a man does it intelligently." "you wouldn't have gone out as a private, though!" a grave smile crossed uncle robert's face "i should not have gone for the glory, but the duty. yes, rob, i should have taken my place in the ranks, and if the great captain of all had said, 'friend, come up higher,' i should have trusted through his grace to be ready for the promotion. but one goes in my stead." kathie thought of the one who had gone in the place of us all, been mocked, derided, spit upon, and put to a cruel death. maybe the rest remembered it too, for there was no more talking. their hearts were too full. chapter iii. true to one's colors. there was a week of great excitement at brookside. head-quarters were established on the confines of the town to render it accessible to taunton and the adjacent places. hundreds thronged the camp daily; uniforms were sent down, and drilling commenced in good earnest. kathie began school on monday morning. a large, pleasant room had been obtained, and mrs. wilder opened with ten young ladies, though nearly as many more had been enrolled. "i feel as if i were drafted," she declared to uncle robert. "i know it is my duty to go and do the best that i can, but i would so much rather have remained at home." "you find, then, that no one is quite exempt from the warfare?" and he smiled. "still, i think i can trust you to be a good soldier." "i am second in the regiment," she said. "mr. morrison must always stand first." it seemed very quiet and lonesome in that large room, where you were put upon your honor not to speak, and the silence was broken only by the recitations, or some remark of mrs. wilder. a long, dull day, though the session closed at two, there being no intermission. lottie thorne was the only girl kathie was well acquainted with. that ambitious young lady had pleaded very hard for boarding-school, and, being disappointed, was rather captious and critical. emma lauriston sat next to her, and kathie fancied she might like her very much. she had met her in the summer at the rowing-matches. but she was glad enough to get home. rob had his head full of camp schuyler, and freddy had arrayed himself in gorgeous regimentals and sat out on a post drumming fearfully. "i want a little more talk about this substitute business," said uncle robert, at the table. "mr. morrison offered to go for seven hundred dollars. he has three hundred of his own. now what do you think we ought to give him?" he addressed the question more particularly to rob and kathie. rob considered. in his boy's way of thinking he supposed what any one asked was enough. "would a thousand dollars be too much?" kathie ventured, timidly. "it doesn't seem to me that any money could make up to ethel for--" there kathie stopped. "he will come back," exclaimed rob. "we were talking over ethel's future this morning. mr. morrison would like to have her educated for a teacher. i am to be appointed her guardian in case of any misfortune." "it ought not to be less than a thousand," said aunt ruth. "i thought so myself. and i believe i shall pledge my word to provide a home for ethel in case of any change at her uncle's." kathie's deep, soft eyes thanked him. the next day the bargain was concluded. mr. morrison handed his small sum over to mr. conover for safe-keeping, and the whole amount, thirteen hundred dollars, was placed at interest. then he reported himself at camp schuyler for duty. kathie tried bravely to like her school, but home was so much dearer and sweeter. it was quite hard after her desultory life, and spasmodic studying made so very entertaining by uncle robert's explanations, to come down to methodical habits and details. she meant to be a good soldier, even if it did prove difficult in the early marches. but this week was one of events. on thursday afternoon mr. meredith surprised them all again. it seemed to kathie that there was something unusual in his face. uncle robert was absent on important business, and at first he appeared rather disappointed. "it is such a glorious afternoon, kitty, that i think you will have to invite me out to drive, by way of comfort. are the ponies in good order?" "yes, and at home. how fortunate that rob did not take them!" kathie ordered them at once. "you have had great doings here. so you came near losing your dear uncle, my child?" kathie winked away a tear. there would always be a tender little spot in her heart concerning the matter. "it is best under the circumstances," was mr. meredith's grave comment. "i should not want him to go." they took their seats in the phaeton. "where shall we drive?" kathie asked. "to--" breaking off her sentence with a little blush. "miss darrell is away from home. it is owing to that circumstance that you are called upon to entertain me"; and he laughed a little, but less gayly than usual. it was a soft, lovely autumn day, full of whisperings of oaks and pines and cedars, fragmentary chirps of birds, and distant river music, kathie drew a few long breaths of perfect content, then with her usual consideration for others she stole a shy glance to see if mr. meredith was enjoying it as well, he was so very quiet. "i am afraid something troubles you," she said, softly; and her voice sounded as if it might have been a rustle of maple branches close at hand. "is it about uncle robert?" "no, child," in a grave, reflective tone; "it is--about myself." she did not like to question him as she would have done with uncle robert. "kitten," he began, presently, "i have been thinking this good while, and thinking slowly. a great many things puzzle me, and all my perplexities have culminated at last in one grand step; but whether i am quite prepared for it--" the sentence was a labyrinth to kathie, and she was not quite sure that she held the clew. "i am going to enlist--at least, i am going out for three months--with my regiment. they have volunteered, most of them." "and what troubles you?" in her sweet, tender voice, and glancing up with an expression that no other eyes save kathie alston's could have had. "child," he asked, "how did you stand fire last winter when you were so suddenly brought to the front? about the singing, i mean." she understood. he referred to the sunday evening at mrs. meredith's when she had refused to join ada in singing songs. the remembered pain still made her shiver. "there _is_ something about you, kathie, just a little different from other children,--other girls. you often carry it in your face; and for the life of me i cannot help thinking how the wise virgins must have been illuminated with their tiny lamps while the others stood in darkness. is it a natural gift or grace?" she knew now what he meant. she was called upon to give testimony here, and it was almost as hard as in mrs. meredith's grand drawing-room. she felt the warm blood throbbing through every pulse. "you did a brave thing that night, little girl. i shall never forget it--never. _can_ you answer my question? what _is_ it?" she could only think of one thing, one sentence, amid the whirl and confusion of ideas and the girlish shrinking back,--"the love of christ constraineth us." "it wasn't merely your regard for your mother or uncle robert?" "it was _all_,"--in her simple, earnest fashion. "i'm going out there, kathie," nodding his head southward, "to stand some pretty hard fire, doubtless. i am not afraid of physical pain, nor the dropping out of life, though existence never was sweeter than now; but if, in the other country, the record of my useless years rises sharp against me, what shall i answer? i have never tried to do anything for the glory of god! child, you shame all our paltry lives!" "o, don't!" with a suggestion of pain in her voice; "what i can do is such a very little." she would never know how the simple acts of her life, springing from the hidden centre that was deeper even than her every-day thought, was to bear fruit on wide-spread branches. "and yet we--i--do nothing. i should have to go empty-handed." she cast about for some words of comfort. as girl or woman kathie alston would never be able to realize all the frivolousness, to say nothing of vanity, selfishness, and deeper sins, crowded into this man's life, which still looked so fair by outward comparison with others. "ever since mr. morrison offered to go in uncle robert's place this verse has been lingering in my mind: 'greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' it seems to me that it doesn't mean physical life altogether, but all the times and places when we take something precious out of our own lives and put it into that of others. and every man who goes now may be called upon to suffer in some other's stead. if he do it bravely, is it not a little of the good fruit? i can't explain all i mean, only just as the saviour loved us we ought to love every one else." edward meredith had listened to many an eloquent sermon, and dissected it in a purely intellectual fashion, his heart never warming with any inward grace, or hungering after the true bread. but he understood now the secret of this little girl's life. not doctrine, not so much creed, or form, or rule, "but the taking something precious out of her daily existence and noiselessly placing it in that of others." and the same love which enabled her to do this rendered her brave, pure, and sweet. a child's religion, that a year or two ago he would have sneered at, and now he had come to learn of her because he was too proud to ask others, and perhaps ashamed. "but you had a substitute!" she said, presently, bethinking herself. "yes. he has served his time out honorably, has had the good fortune to come home without harm of any kind. you remember how mackenzie bantered me last winter, though he was in dead earnest. but the country is at her extremest need now; if grant, sherman, and our other generals, are strengthened by good reinforcements, it seems to me that in six months we might have peace. i have done a good deal of holiday soldiering in my life, but this is to be sober earnest." he looked as if it might be. "when will you go?" "we start for washington on saturday morning." "so soon! does--miss jessie know?" kathie could not help but ask it, though the lids trembled over her shy, downcast eyes. "she should have received my note this morning. i suppose she did not, or she would have been at home. kathie, i ought to thank you for your rare delicacy in keeping our secret. there are some matters that one does not like to have talked about." what would miss jessie say? of course she loved mr. meredith very much. kathie's heart ached a little in silence, but this was one of the burdens that could not be borne by another. on they went through lovely scenery, now and then catching a glimpse of the river that wound around like a silver cord through its bed of green. here in the stillness they heard the chatter of squirrels and the sound of dropping nuts, or an autumn-tinted leaf went floating on the air like some gorgeous bird with his wings all aflame. golden-rod and great clumps of purple michaelmas daisies starred the roadside, with frequent clusters of scarlet sumach, pendent bitter-sweet berries with the still glossy green leaves, and the dark tint of spruce and fir. kathie began to realize how her heart and intellect had expanded. she was no longer a little girl. how she had grown within and without was a great mystery, as well as how her soul had enriched itself with drawing near to others, and going forth again with the sweet, half-comprehending sympathies of girlhood. "i have been a dull companion," mr. meredith said, at length. "but, kathie, i shall never forget the happy days i have spent at cedarwood. to have known you is one of the bright events in my life." they were coming up the avenue, and saw uncle robert standing on the broad porch. she might never have another opportunity to speak, and he had been so peculiarly serious this afternoon. "o mr. meredith, you won't forget--when you are out there--that there is another service, and another captain--" "pray for me, kathie, that i may be one of his faithful soldiers to my life's end." she ran up stairs afterward, and the two gentlemen had a long talk in the library. after supper mr. meredith said good by, as he expected to leave the darrells' to take the early morning train. "i do believe everybody is going to war!" exclaimed rob, rather ruefully. "i wonder if we shall ever have such good times again." rob spent the next forenoon in packing. "how all these things are to be gotten into one trunk i cannot imagine!" he exclaimed, in despair. "i fancy that you had better put the clothes in first, and leave the 'things,' as you call them, until the last," said aunt ruth, with a quiet smile. "but i shall want them all, i'm sure." "not your whole tool-chest!" "some of the articles would come in so handy." "to assist you in learning your lessons?" asked his mother. "o, you know what i mean. now, mother, you won't let freddy meddle with them while i am gone,--will you? he always does manage to get into everything." "the best way will be to put all that you can in the closet of your play-room, and give uncle robert the key. lock all your drawers as well." one would have fancied that rob was going to europe, to say the very least. after he had tumbled the articles in and out about twenty times, he concluded that he would go down to the stable to see about some trifle. so his mother soon had the trunk in order, though she quietly restored half the "traps" to their place in the play-room, and i doubt if rob ever missed them. saturday was another very busy time with him. he had to take a farewell glimpse of camp schuyler, to visit hosts of the boys, to take a last row, a last ride, a last game of ball, and one might have imagined from all these preparations that he was about to enter a dungeon and leave the cheerful ways of life behind. but rob was beginning to have quite serious moods occasionally; and the last sunday at home was one of them. he did not feel nor understand the transition state as keenly as kathie, he was such a thorough, careless, rollicking boy. he would play until the last gasp,--"until whiskers began to sprout," he said,--and he would make one of the men to whom recollections of boyish fun would always be sweet. the sermon in the morning touched him a little, and then the talk with charlie darrell. the darrells felt very badly over the present loss of their dear friend; and kathie just pressed miss jessie's fingers, but spoke no word. "i do mean to _try_," rob said, that evening, to kathie. "it seems almost as if i were really going to war, as well as the rest of them." "yes," she answered, gravely; "you will find enough fighting to do,--foes without and within." "i have learned some things, though,"--with a confident nod,--"and i shall never forget about the giants. what odd times we have had, kathie, from first to last!" "i wonder if you will be homesick?" "pshaw! no. a great boy like me! no doubt there'll be lots of fun." "but i hope you will not get into any troubles or scrapes. o rob! it is real difficult to always do just what is right, when oftentimes wrong things seem so much pleasanter." "i wonder why it is, kathie? it always looked rather hard to me. why didn't god make the wrong so that you could see it plainly?" "if we see it, that is sufficient. maybe if we kept looking at it steadily it would grow larger; but you know we often turn to the pleasant side when we should be watching the danger." "i don't believe that i can ever be real good; but i'll never tell a lie, nor be mean, nor shirk, nor cheat! i want to be a real splendid man like mr. meredith!" rob would never outgrow that boyish admiration. edward meredith would have felt a good deal humbled if he had known how this boy magnified some of his easy-going ways into virtues. they had a sweet, sad time singing in the evening. kathie had begun to play very nicely, with a great deal of expression and tenderness; and to-night all the breaks, all the farewells, and the loneliness to come, seemed to be struggling in her soul. she was glad that no one saw her face, for now and then a tear dropped unbidden. rob and his mother had their last talk at bed-time. her heart was sad enough at the thought of the nine months' absence, for at westbury there were no short vacations. true, she would have the privilege of visiting him, but such interviews must, of necessity, be brief. he lay awake a long while, thinking and resolving. how many times he had "tried to be good." why couldn't he remember? what was it that helped his mother, and uncle robert, and kathie? the grace of god; but then how was one to get this grace? wandering off into the fields of theology, rob fell asleep, and never had another thought until the breakfast-bell rang. then, as he recalled his perplexity, he said slowly to himself, "i don't believe religion comes natural to boys." the parting was sad, after all. a thousand thoughts rushed into his mind. what if he should be homesick? here was the roomy playhouse, with its store of tools, books in abundance, the ponies, the lake, the boys,--o, everything! and rob's fast-coming breath was one great sob. "a good soldier," kathie whispered, as his arms were round her neck. uncle robert did not return until the next day. the accounts were very encouraging. clifton hall had taken rob's fancy at once. the boys were coming in on monday; so there was little done beside fraternizing and being classified and shown to their dormitories. he had written a little scrap of a note stating that "everything was lovely." they missed him very much. kathie began to wonder if _her_ winter wouldn't be lonesome. no gay mr. meredith to drop in upon them now and then; no noisy, merry boys such as had haunted the grounds all summer. she began to feel sadly disconsolate. but she rallied presently. "i must fight as well as my soldiers," she said to herself. the next event was mr. morrison's departure. uncle robert took both families over the day they "broke camp." mr. morrison wrung uncle robert's hand warmly. "it will be all right, whatever comes," he said. "if i had not gone for you i should have done it for some one else, so never give yourself an anxious thought about it. i know my little lass is in good hands." he kissed ethel many, many times, and she clung to him with an almost breaking heart. kathie's quick eyes saw a duty here. chapter iv. little steps by the way. but kathie found that the regiment's marching off to virginia had not taken all the interest of life. they had left the woods behind, glowing with rich autumnal coloring, the glorious blue heavens, the ripening fruits, and the changeful scenes, that opened afresh every day. her afternoons were quite a delight. uncle robert always held himself in readiness, and they had either a ride or a ramble. there were new collections of ferns to make, and with these she often had an entertaining lesson in botany. october was very pleasant indeed. there was no frost to mention until the middle of the month, and by that time the flowers were safely housed. hugh morrison had built a conservatory against the south side of the barn, and promised kathie bouquets all winter. kathie began to look up her old friends as well, and she joined the girls in several nutting expeditions, at which they had rare fun. withal she had a brief note from ada, who wondered if she approved the foolish step uncle edward had taken. papa was positively angry about it! and then the idea of going out as a private, even if it was in a "crack" regiment. however, they really didn't mean to fight, and that was some comfort. he would be at home by the first of january. but general grant evinced no desire to go into winter quarters, while at the south and west there was unusual activity. "it looks as if there might be considerable fighting before christmas!" declared uncle robert. for the few who chose to find them there were duties enough. brookside, as well as other places, began to feel the effects of the war. there were soldiers' widows and orphans, the sick and the wounded who were sent home to make room for newer cases. then the churches at brookside decided to give a grand fair and festival for this benevolent object, to be held thanksgiving week. kathie found her hands quite full. still she found time to dust the parlor every morning and take care of her own room, and often managed to get half an hour for her music practice. to be sure, she did not dawdle over her dressing, neither was there a waterfall wonderfully constructed, and adorned with puffs and braids. "i mean to keep my little girl simple in her tastes as long as i can," mrs. alston replied to the dressmaker. "nothing can be prettier than her hair as it is, and i do not feel justified in dressing her expensively when there are so many children suffering with cold and hunger." "but young girls feel so sensitive on these matters," was the reply. "they all want to look like their companions." "i hope there are some sensible mothers left," returned mrs. alston with a smile. kathie was very much interested in getting contributions and making fancy articles, though hers tended rather to the useful. and aunt ruth, to her great amusement, made up a dozen stout gingham kitchen aprons with bibs, a stack of kettle-holders, and knitted some dishcloths out of soft cotton. in the mean while kathie was delighted with a letter from mr. meredith. he was in the gayest spirits and related a host of comical episodes. he had been in several skirmishes, but no regular battle, was well and hearty, and brown as a berry already. just at the last he said, "i have not forgotten our pleasant ride, and the other fighting we talked about." mr. morrison was doing very well also. kathie began to think that it was not such a terrible thing to go to war, after all. as for rob, his record was pretty fair. he did confess to being a little homesick at first. the latin was "awful tough work," and some of the rules "rather hard on a fellow who was new to them." but they had a "jolly set of boys," and he liked it first-rate. so kathie had no need to worry about her soldiers. she said a little prayer for them night and morning, and thought of them often. but she was so busy and so happy that she was little inclined to look upon the dark side. the fair was a decided success. it was held at mason's hall and opened on monday evening. emma lauriston, and a number of the larger girls, were in attendance upon the tables. the band came up from connor's point and discoursed patriotic music. the hall was large, well lighted, and presented a very gay appearance. but the most amusement was created by a "dutch kitchen." several ladies had transformed a small ante-room into a very attractive place of resort. there were great brown rafters overhead, from which depended hams, flitches of bacon, strings of onions, bunches of herbs, and at the edge were stowed away miscellaneous articles. a great eight-day clock, chairs, and an old brass-handled dresser that might have come over in the mayflower, while four pretty young girls, in the quaint old costume of their grand-mothers, waited upon the table with all grace and ease. this was crowned with an immense dish of beans and pork, and a stout, rosy dutch woman was baking waffles. altogether this was the place for fun. kathie had been in and out half a dozen times. her fortunatus's purse was full to repletion, and every time she passed the door she saw some children standing there with wistful eyes. it was such a delightful thing to make any one happy. sauntering round, she came to a rather oddly arranged table,--miss weston's. she was the primmest and queerest of old maids,--a little body with weak eyes and flaxen hair, who always looked at you sharply through gold-bowed spectacles. "o dear!" she exclaimed, "how you young things do go flyin' round! as for me, i'm that tired i'm just ready to drop. i've been here ever sence two o'clock and never set down a minnit. i fixed all my table myself, and i made nigh onto all the things. cousin hitty, she sent me them there child's aperns; but land! what a sight of folly it is to do all that braidin' and nonsense! i never had no sech thing when i was little! been in the dutch kitchen?" "o yes, time and again." "i'd like to go, i'm sure. i've been standin' stiddy on my feet sence two o'clock. if some one would come along and take my table!" "couldn't i?" asked kathie. "o, you're so flighty! all gals are nowadays. why, when i was no older 'n you i had seven bed-quilts pieced, and had begun to lay by sheets and pillow-slips, and had a dozen pairs of as han'some hum-knit stockings as you'd find in a day's walk!" miss weston really did look tired. kathie was debating whether she should not insist, though this was an out-of-the-way corner, and rather dull. "well, i guess i'll go. you won't be likely to sell anything; nothing much sells the first night, and i hain't no nonsense and flummery. good useful articles, but nobody can see their virtue nowadays. it's the way of the world!"--a little spitefully. "all the prices are marked in plain figgers, and i won't have a thing undersold. o dear, i am a'most beat out." "i'll do my best," said kathie, sweetly. after giving about a dozen more orders miss weston moved slowly away, though, truth to tell, she was more anxious to go than she appeared; and whom should she meet just at the entrance but mr. denslow, who paid the ten cents' admittance fee. mr. denslow, moreover, was a widower, and miss weston had not quite given up the hope that the bed-quilts and the stores of linen might some day be called into use. kathie took her place behind the table, and, when the moments began to hang heavy, ventured upon a few improvements. the passers-by just gave the place a glance, and preferred to go where there were some pretty girls or some fun. kathie found it exceedingly dull. at last mary cox spied her out. charlie darrell was escorting her round. "why, miss weston," he said, softly, "where's your specs? and why isn't your hair done up in queer little puffs?" "what an ugly table!" exclaimed mary. "how did you come to take it?" "miss weston was so tired." "she is in the dutch kitchen, desperately sweet upon mr. denslow. it's so seldom that she gets a beau that you needn't expect her for the next hour. what a lovely time you will have waiting!" charlie would have been very well satisfied to stay and talk to kathie, but mary wanted the amusement of rambling round and laughing with every one; and though kathie said, beseechingly, "don't go!" mary replied, "o, we must!" and the child was left alone again. down at the end of the hall they were having a merry time. she saw grave emma lauriston laughing, and aunt ruth was talking and smiling. why didn't some one think of her? "how much fur these caliker aperns?" asked a country woman. kathie roused a little at the question, and took her eyes from the entertaining circle. "half a dollar!" "half a dollar!"--in the utmost surprise. "why, they ain't wuth it! ain't more 'n two yards of caliker in 'em, and i kin buy jest sich for fifteen cents a yard." "but the making," suggested kathie. "o, that was throwed in! always is in char'table objects. tell you what i'll do,--give three shillin's apiece for two of 'em. it's a good object." now kathie knew that the calico could not be bought for less than eighteen cents a yard, which would give just one cent profit; besides, miss weston had charged her particularly not to undersell. "the table is not mine," she answered; "i am keeping it for a friend." perhaps the woman considered there was a better chance of bargain-making; at all events she lingered and haggled until kathie grew nervous, and wished miss weston would come. "well, you're dreadful dear,--that's all i've got to say"; and the woman flounced off angrily. "it's just the way at these fairs and things; but you can't cheat me out of my eyes, char'ty or not." then kathie was left alone again. presently harry cox ran over. "we're having such fun, and charlie sent me for you. there's no one here, so why can't you shut up shop?" kathie longed to very much. she might keep an eye on the table and have a little fun besides; but it would be deserting her post. no true soldier would do that. "i'm obliged to you, but i think i had better stay; miss weston will soon be here." "she's an old humbug!" the sights and sounds were so tantalizing! what _was_ miss weston doing in the dutch kitchen all this while? at last a bit of good-fortune befell kathie. mr. and mrs. adams and mr. langdon came along. mr. langdon had been away from brookside for several weeks, and had a host of questions to ask. "but what are you doing over here? you look as if you had quarrelled with your neighbors, and gone off in disdain." kathie explained that it was not her table. "have you sold anything?" "not a penny's worth!" "then i must patronize you a little," declared mrs. adams. she found a number of useful articles, and some that she could give away to her poor parishioners. kathie was quite proud of the four dollars in the small cash-box. at last she was relieved, and gave a great breath of thankfulness. "is that _all_ you've taken in?" asked miss weston, rather sharply. "are you sure you've been here all the time? but you never can find any one who will do for you as you do yourself." "i did not have but one customer," returned kathie, in justification; and she felt that mrs. adams had made her purchases from a sense of personal friendship. "i might better 'a' stayed with my table," was the ungracious answer; and that was all the thanks kathie received for her kind deed and the discomfort. but she solaced herself with the consciousness that a great many good deeds meet with no reward in this world. miss weston must certainly have had some pleasure, or she would not have stayed so long. kathie was glad to get back to her mother and aunt ruth. the great source of amusement over here was the confectionery table with packages of "gift" candy, each parcel of which contained a present, and some of them were exceedingly comical. "we have had such fun!" exclaimed mary. "you don't know what you have missed!" but charlie glanced up and met kathie's eyes with a look that seemed to understand it all; and miss jessie said afterward, "i think you were very good to keep miss weston's table such a long while. i didn't know but she meant to spend the whole evening in the kitchen." at ten o'clock they began to put everything in order for closing up. the evening had been a wonderful success, considering that it was the first. kathie was full of delight and excitement, and declared that she did not feel a bit sleepy, though it was after eleven when she went to her room. the sleepiness came the next morning. lessons were rather dull work, and she counted the moments eagerly until school closed. at first she had half a mind to run over to the hall to see how matters were progressing. "but then it will be so much gayer this evening," she thought to herself, "and i must study my lessons a little." she had sufficient courage to refuse all entreaties, and walked home by herself, trying to recall several subjects on which she had not been very perfect to-day. mrs. wilder was a little indulgent, for she knew how much the fair had engrossed their attention. the house was very quiet, so kathie studied and had a good long music practice before mamma and aunt ruth returned. but as they were planning at the supper-table mrs. alston said, "i would rather not have you go to-night, kathie." "o mamma, why?"--with a touch of entreaty in her voice. "you were up late last night, and you will want to be there again on wednesday evening. you certainly need a little rest between." "but last evening was like--lost time to me, or pretty nearly. i stayed at miss weston's table in that dull corner for more than an hour, while the other girls were enjoying themselves." "was it really lost time?" and a half-smile crossed mrs. alston's face. kathie bethought herself. "i suppose it ought not to have been, but it was very dull." "are you sorry that you did it?" "why, no,"--in a tone of faint surprise. "and yet she did not seem very much obliged to me. not that i cared so much for the thanks,"--rather hastily. "i was glad to see you willing to give up that much of your pleasure. miss weston is peculiar, but she was very ready to help everybody all the afternoon, and had her pins, scissors, strings, tacks, and hammer always ready. she did a great deal of work." "but what a pity she cannot be--" "well," said uncle robert, filling the long pause. "a little more gracious, i believe i was going to say, or not quite so 'queer.'" "it is unfortunate, when miss weston is so good-hearted in the main. but then she always talks about the trouble she has taken, the hard work she has done, and really dims the grace of her kind deeds." "i came very near doing it myself," admitted kathie, quite soberly. "i do not believe kathie desired any extra indulgence to-night because she gave up hers last evening," exclaimed uncle robert, with that namelessly appreciative light in his eyes. "o no, do not think that of me, mamma, only i should like to go to-night. all the girls are to be there." "three nights' dissipation in succession is rather too much for a little girl, unless there was an urgent necessity. you will enjoy wednesday evening all the better for having had a rest." kathie entreated no further, but it was a great disappointment, the more so because it had come so unexpectedly. and it seemed to her that she felt rested and bright enough to keep awake until midnight. she had studied all her lessons too. however, she kissed her mother cheerfully. aunt ruth was tired, and did not mean to go either. "you might put me to bed," exclaimed freddy, lingering in the sitting-room. kathie somehow could not feel generous all at once. the idea of nursing her disappointment awhile looked rather tempting. "why, i never do it now," she answered. "no, you don't,"--considerably aggrieved. "nor ever tell me stories, either! and it's so lonesome since rob went to school." kathie had a faint consciousness that _not_ to think of herself would be the best thing she could do. "and you never told me about the fair, either!" "well, run up to bed, and i will come presently," she said, in her bright, pleasant way. freddy kissed aunt ruth and went off in high feather. it was quite like old times to sit beside him and talk, and kathie was not a little amused by his questions, some of which were very wise for a little head, and others utterly absurd. then came some very slow, wandering sentences, and kathie knew then that dusky-robed sleep was hovering about the wondering brain until it could wonder no more. "good night,"--with a soft kiss. aunt ruth was lying on the lounge, so she ran down to the drawing-room and had half an hour's study over some "accidentals," that had tried her patience sorely in the afternoon. delightful and all as music was, how much hard labor and persistence it required! but by and by she could play the troublesome part with her eyes shut, counting the time to every note. "mr. lawrence cannot find any fault with that!" she commented inwardly. so she went back to aunt ruth in a very sweet humor, and, drawing an ottoman to the side of the lounge, sat down with aunt ruth's arm around her neck. the room looked so lovely in its soft light. the shadowy flowers and baskets of trailing vines in the great bay-window, the dusky pictures on the wall, and the crimson tint given by the furniture. it was so sweet and restful that kathie felt like having a good talk, so she drew a long breath by way of inspiration. "aunt ruth," she said, in a little perplexity, "why is it that a person is not always willing to try to do right first of all? one wishes to and does not in the same breath." "i suppose that is the result of our imperfect natures; but it is good to have the desire even." "yet when one means to try--is trying--will it never come easy?" "do you not find it easier than you did two years ago?" "but i am older, and have more judgment." "and a stronger will on the wrong side as well as on the right, beside many more temptations." "you conquer some of them, though." "yet with every new state of life others spring up. life is a continual warfare." "and you never get perfect!" "never in this life." "it is discouraging,--isn't it, aunt ruth?" "is it discouraging to eat when you are hungry?" "why, no!"--with a little laugh. "it seems to me the conditions of spiritual life are not so very unlike the conditions of physical life. it is step by step in both. the food and the grace are sufficient for the day, but they will not last to-morrow, or for a month to come." "yet the grace was to be sufficient always," kathie said, with some hesitation. "and have you proved it otherwise?" the voice was very sweet, and aunt ruth's tone almost insensibly lured to confidence. "but what troubles me is--that little things--" and kathie's voice seemed to get tangled up with emotion, "should be such a trial sometimes. now i can understand how any great sacrifice may call for a great effort; but after we have been used to doing these little things over and over again--" "one becomes rather tired of making the effort; and it is just here where so many people who mean to be good go astray. they leave the small matters to take care of themselves, and aspire to something greater; so, without being really aware of it, they are impatient, selfish, thoughtless for others, and fall into many careless ways. would one really grand action make amends for all?" "no, it would not," kathie answered, reflectively. "so we have to keep a watch every moment, be fed every day and hour, or we shall hunger." kathie sighed a little. why had it not been as easy to be good and pleasant to-night as some other times when mamma did not think a coveted indulgence necessary? yet her perplexity appeared so trivial that she hardly had the courage to confess it even to this kind listener. "you took the right step to-night, kathie," said aunt ruth, presently. "i was glad to see you do it. brooding over any real or fancied burden never lightens it. and though it seems a rather sharp remedy in the midst of one's pain to think of or help some other person, it works the speediest cure." she saw that. so little a thing as entertaining freddy had soothed her own disappointment. "but i ought not--" and kathie's voice trembled. "stoicism is not the highest courage, little one. and god doesn't take away our natural feelings when he forgives sin. there is a good deal of sifting and winnowing left for us to do. and i believe god is better pleased with us when we have seen the danger, and struggled against it, than if it had not touched us at all. the rustle of the leaves seems to give promise of fruit." "i think i see," kathie answered, slowly. "there is some marching as well as all battle." "yes"; and aunt ruth kissed the tremulous scarlet lips. kathie was so soundly asleep that she did not hear mamma and uncle robert come home. but she was bright and winsome as a bird the next morning. chapter v. one of the small deeds. kathie's lessons, even to her music, were perfect the next day. indeed, mr. lawrence quite complimented her. mrs. alston said, "kathie, if you would like to come over after school and relieve me a little while, i should be very glad." so kathie went straight from school there was quite a crowd already. whole families had come in from the country, farmers with their wives and little ones. "what taste you do see displayed!" lottie remarked, sauntering to kathie's vicinity. "look at that woman's shawl with a yellow centre. isn't it hideously ugly? and that purple bonnet with red flowers! why didn't she put blue, by way of contrast?" the wearer of the purple bonnet glanced at the two girls with a flushed and rather indignant face,--a hard-featured countrywoman, neither young nor pretty. "o don't," whispered kathie. "she heard you." "as if i cared! any person who outrages taste in that manner is a fit subject for criticism. how horridly that gored skirt hangs! home-made to the last thread. if i couldn't have a dressmaker i would not have any new dresses." kathie was feeling quite distressed. she disliked to have lottie to stand here and make remarks on every one who passed by. "how do you make them 'ere things?" inquired a coarse but fresh young voice at her side. lottie tittered, and put her handkerchief to her face. "what?" asked kathie, in great confusion. "these 'ere," pointing to some very pretty moss and lichen brackets. "the moss is fastened to a piece of wood just the right shape,--like this"; and she turned the bracket round. "pasted on?" "you could use paste or glue,--anything that adheres quickly." "adheres?"--with a kind of wondering stare. "sticks!" exclaimed lottie, in a peculiar tone. "i wasn't talking to you," said the girl, rather gruffly. lottie tossed her head with a world of scorn, and moved a little lower down to speak to some stylish friends that she saw coming. "thinks she's dre'dful fine!" continued the girl. "you find them things in the woods. i have lots of 'em, but i never thought o' puttin' them up anywheres. i've some a good deal bigger 'n any you have here." she was referring to the lichens now. "they must be very fine," said kathie. "some of 'em are pinky, and all streaked, in rows like this. don't you s'pose i could put 'em up? and i know jim'd make me some fine things to stick the moss on. he's powerful handy with tools. means to be a carpenter." she was a nice, wholesome-looking girl of fifteen or thereabout. kathie wished that she dared to correct her words and sentences a little. "you might make your parlor or your own room look very pretty with some of these adornments," she remarked, with quiet interest. "the youngsters would soon smash 'em up in my room," she said, with rough good-nature; "but ma'am will let me fix up the parlor, i know. and if you'd only tell me--" the girl wriggled around with painful hesitation. "well?" kathie went on, encouragingly. "about them 'ere frames that look like straw." "they are straw." "there, i was sure of it! ain't they han'some! do you know how to make 'em?" "yes." "s'pose you wouldn't like to tell me?"--bashfully. "why, yes," answered kathie, smiling. "first, you find some nice, long pieces of straw that are smooth and round, and, holding them together this way,--four or five or six, as wide as you want your frame,--sew them backwards and forwards with a fine needle and cotton. when you have made your four pieces cross them so, and fasten them through on the pictures at the corner. then you tie a little bow over the sewing." "well, now, it isn't hard, after all! i mean to make some. what's the price of that?" "fifty cents." "i mean to have one of 'em. i'll hunt up mother and come back." with that the girl dashed into the crowd. "profitable customer!" sneered lottie. just then there was a rush to the table, and kathie was kept very busy for ten minutes or so, while lottie went over to mrs. wilder's table and began to "take off" kathie's young woman, as she called her. it sounded very funny to the group of girls, exaggerated a little by lottie's love of a good story. half an hour afterwards, when kathie had almost forgotten, the girl came dragging her mother rather unwillingly up to the table. "here she is! i've made her come, though she said fust she wouldn't. but you was so real sweet to me that i couldn't give it up." kathie recognized the identical purple bonnet and dull red roses, and she flushed a little at the woman's sharp scrutiny. "you ain't the one that laughed awhile ago," she said, the features relaxing a little. "city gals may think themselves a heap finer than country folk, but i can see bad manners as quick as the next one." "i was very sorry for it," exclaimed kathie, in a low tone. "then my gal wouldn't give me any peace till i come back"--apparently much mollified. "now, sary ann, where's the picter you want?" "o, they're all so _bew_-tiful!" exclaimed the girl. "and i know i can make the frames after i go home. look at this 'ere cross and this basket of flowers, and these roses! o dear!"--in despair. "she's so fond o' flowers,--is sary ann. she's had the beautifullest garden this summer that you ever see. well, sary ann? i'd take the basket of flowers." "but the cross!" exclaimed the girl, longingly. they looked them over while kathie went to wait upon another customer. "i've concluded to get 'em both for her," announced the woman. "sary ann's a real good girl, and a powerful sight o' help to me. there's six younger 'n she, and jim older; but boys can't do much about a house." kathie did up the pictures with a little sensation of triumph. "o mother, look what a pretty baby's cap! wouldn't it be sweet for lily, and you promised to buy her one the fust time you went to town." "she would have the baby called lily," said the woman, as if in apology. "what's the price of this?" "two dollars and a half." "o, that's too dear." "we have cheaper ones." "but this is such a beauty," said sary ann. "i crocheted it myself," kathie returned, quietly. "o mother, i'd like to have something she's done her own very self! did you make the frames?" "no, my aunt did those, but i know how,"--with a sweet smile. after a good deal of talking they concluded to take the cap; then sary ann wanted a pretty white apron for the "patron" of it, she declared. "nonsense!" said her mother. but sary ann carried the day, and afterward she found something else. altogether the bill amounted to seven dollars and sixty-four cents. not so bad, after all. the woman paid it without a bit of grumbling. "it's a good cause," she said. "i often think of the poor fellows out there," nodding her head; "and sence the lord gives 'em strength and courage to go, we ought to do something besides prayin' for 'em. my old man he put up a lot of turkeys an' chickens, an' apples and onions, an' sez he, 'though we ain't any children out there, we've neighbors and friends, and every chap among the lot deserves a thanksgiving dinner.'" kathie forgot all about the red and purple, thinking of the red, white, and blue, and of the tender place in this woman's heart. "i want to give you a little picture to frame," she said to "sary ann"; "it will help you to remember me, as well as the cause." it was a pretty colored photograph of two children,--"the reconciliation." the girl was so delighted that the quick tears sprang to her eyes. "there's no fear of my forgetting you," she declared, warmly. "i've had a splendid time!" kathie opened her portmonnaie and dropped the quarter in the drawer. her mother had taught her to be scrupulously honest about such matters, and she wanted the gift to be altogether hers. it was getting quite dusky now. uncle robert had brought mrs. alston over in the pony-carriage, and was to take kathie back, "to smooth her ruffled plumes," the child said; for the knot of girls around emma lauriston had been discussing what they would wear. "there'll be a great jam here to-night," said one. "everybody will turn out, and i want to look as pretty as possible." kathie had begun to have some rather troublesome thoughts on the subject of dress. the larger girls at school talked considerably of the fashions. she realized her own position much better than she had a year ago, and knew that a certain style was expected of her. she hated to be considered mean or shabby, or, worst of all, deficient in taste; yet how much of it was right? need it occupy all one's time and one's desires? she felt very strongly inclined to make herself "gorgeous" to-night, as rob would have phrased it; yet the only ornament she indulged in was a little cluster of flowers at her throat. a jam it was, sure enough. everybody had to look half a dozen ways at once. the hum of the laughing and talking almost drowned the music. by nine o'clock some of the tables began to wear a rather forlorn aspect, and two or three "shut up shop," having been entirely sold out. miss weston's luck appeared less brilliant than that of many others. "i wish you could take some one there who would buy ever so many things," kathie said to uncle robert; "i am afraid she is feeling a good deal discouraged." he smiled at the thoughtfulness, but made no immediate reply. only kathie noticed his standing there a considerable length of time. when he came back to her he said, softly, "kathie, will you not come and keep her table for a little while? i want to take her to the supper-room for some refreshments." kathie gave him a rather beseeching look. "i'll be sure and not let her spend more than fifteen minutes. after that we will have a gay promenade." was it selfish not to want to stay here? yet kathie put on her most attractive smiles and actually sold several articles while miss weston was gone. then, hunting up emma lauriston, they set out on a tour, uncle robert said. they went to the dutch kitchen, where miss jessie was one of the "young ladies" to-night; and very pretty she looked, though uncle robert insisted that she could not talk a word of dutch. they had cream afterward, candy, nuts, and fruit, until it appeared to kathie that she had eaten enough to last a week. there had been a discussion at first about continuing the fair on thanksgiving day, but, as the articles were so nearly sold out, it was decided to have an auction. that made great fun indeed. by eleven o'clock the tables were emptied, and the refreshments reduced to a rather fragmentary state. the crowd, too, began to thin out. such a hunting for baskets and hampers and boxes of every description, such a hurrying and scurrying and confusion of voices, was seldom witnessed in quiet brookside. in the crowd kathie ran over lottie. "o dear!" the latter exclaimed, fretfully, "aren't you half tired to death, kathie alston? i've ruined my dress too,--this lovely blue silk! i am sure i don't know what ma will say. some one trod on it, as i was sitting down, and tore off the trimming, and that clumsy harry cox spilled lemonade on me. children ought not to be allowed in such places, especially boys who do not know how to behave!" and she uttered this with a great deal of emphasis. "and i've lost one of my new kid gloves. they were such a lovely shade. there is nothing in brookside like them! "she ought to have known better than to dress in such state, as if she was going to a party," whispered emma lauriston. "i am cream and pie and cake-crumbs, and goodness only knows what, and devoutly thankful that i shall not have to go to school to-morrow. but it _has_ been a success. mrs. wilder made one hundred and forty dollars at her table,--our table," with a laugh. "and mamma has made nearly two hundred." "i long to hear the aggregate." "it will not be less than two thousand," exclaimed uncle robert, trying to open a path for the girls. kathie was very tired when she reached home, and with a good-night kiss ran off to her own room, where she fell asleep with a strange jumble of ideas in her head. two thousand three hundred and twenty dollars for the widows and orphans when all expenses were paid. everybody felt very well satisfied, and, after a good thanksgiving dinner, affairs at brookside rolled on as calmly as before. except, perhaps, that there were more anxious hearts. general sherman was sweeping on to the sea, and brave sheridan was carrying consternation to the heart of the enemy by his daring raids. grant was drawing nearer and nearer to richmond, but there would be some pretty hard work at the last, every one thought. some days afterward kathie finished a letter to mr. meredith, giving him a glowing account of their labors at home. "if he could come back to keep christmas with us!" kathie said, longingly. "and dear rob--and o, the hundreds more who are away from pleasant firesides!" uncle robert decided to pay rob a christmas visit, and they concluded to pack a small box to send. he was so fond of "goodies" that kathie tried her hand at some of the fair recipes and had excellent success. a few new articles were needed for every-day use, but these comprised only a very small share. "he will have quite a feast," kathie said, delightedly. "and there is not much fear of rob being like harry in the story." uncle robert would be back by christmas. they had planned to have a tree again, but kathie declared that she could not think of a single thing she needed. she was quite busy with various other little matters, however, that required strict seclusion in her own room. how different it was from last year! she and aunt ruth talked it over,--the waiting, the disappointment, and the sacrifice that after all had ended so happily. "it seemed as if everything must have happened then, and that there would be nothing left for this year," she said. uncle robert brought most satisfactory accounts from his nephew. rob was well, contented and happy, and growing tall in an astonishing manner. he sent oceans of love and thanks to everybody, and wished that he could come home and see them. "and here is a letter for you," said kathie, taking it from the rack on his desk. "it is from mr. meredith. see if he is not going to surprise us. the ninety days will soon be ended." uncle robert sat before the grate fire, sunning himself in the cheerful glow, but kathie remarked that his face grew very grave. "what is it?" she asked, anxiously. "he is not sick, or--" "he is well. you may read this." he folded down a little slip at the top and handed the letter to the child, who read:-"tell kathie that i have seen general mackenzie, her hero of last winter, and that he was delighted to have some tidings of her. and that during the last fortnight my ideas and sphere of duty seem to have enlarged. i think she will approve of my decision,--my brave little captain who stood by her colors so nobly last winter, and preferred to minister to her suffering aunt rather than share the most tempting pleasures. so i shall give up my own comfort and idleness awhile longer, and stand by the dear country that needs every man in this last great struggle." "oh!" with a tender little cry. "he is not coming home!" "no. he has resolved to stay and see the war through," was the grave reply. kathie looked into the glowing fire. it was very brave and noble in him for he did _not_ like military life under the auspices in which he was seeing it. "there is a little more," uncle robert said. the "little more" brought the tears to her eyes. she stooped and laid her head on uncle robert's shoulder, nestling her face in the corner by his curly beard. "he thinks--it will be--all right with him," she whispered, tremulously, a little sob quivering in her voice. "living or dying," returned uncle robert, solemnly. "my darling, i am very grateful for your share in the work. it seems to me that mr. meredith is capable of something really grand if he can once be roused to a sense of the responsibility and preciousness of life. there is so much for every one to do." "but it doesn't seem as if i did anything." "no act is without some result, my dear child, when we think that it must all bear fruit, and that we shall see the result in the other country, whether it be brambles or leaves or fruit; and we cannot bear fruit except we abide in the master." it seemed to kathie, child as she was, that she had a blessed glimpse of the light and the work, the interest and sympathy, the prayers and earnest endeavor, which were to go side by side with the master's. a warm, vivifying glow sped through every pulse. was this the love of god,--the grace which was promised to well-doing? she hardly dared believe, it was so solemnly sweet and comforting,--too good for her, she almost thought. "you see, little one, that _he_ puts work for us everywhere, that his love and presence is beside it always. we may wait a long while for the result, yet it is sure. and we need not be sparing of our seed; the heavenly storehouse is forever open to us. he is always more ready to give than we to receive." "o uncle robert! i am so glad for--for mr. meredith. it seems as if i couldn't take it all in at once!" and both of kathie's arms were around his neck, her soft, rosy cheek, wet with tears, pressed against his. "it is something to think of for all time, my darling." "uncle robert," she said, after a long, thoughtful pause, in which she appeared to have glimpses of the life stretching out before her, and leading to the gate of the other country, "i used to wish that i could have--religion--myself, like mamma and aunt ruth--" "my little kathie, the 'kingdom of heaven' is within you. we have only to do _his_ will, and we shall know of the doctrine. that is the grand secret of it all." chapter vi. giving and receiving. kathie had begged, instead of having anything grand herself, that she might be allowed to play santa claus. to be sure, there were gifts to the morrisons, to lucy and annie gardiner, and several of her olden schoolmates, but that was not quite it. "i mean the highways and byways," she said to her mother; "some of the poor people who really have no christmas." they made out quite a list,--three or four widows with little children, some old women, and several homes in which there was sickness. aunt ruth fashioned some garments,--kathie buying the material out of her fortunatus's purse; two or three good warm shawls had been provided, and different packages of provisions, some positive luxuries. they stood in a great pile at the lower end of the hall, all ready for distribution. "if you were not too tired--" kathie said, after supper. "i am not utterly worn out," and uncle robert smiled a little. "what is it?" "i wish you and i could go out with the gifts, instead of mr. morrison." "why not, to be sure?" reading the wistful glance in the soft eyes. "it would be so delightful. and as we are not to have our christmas until to-morrow--" "bundle up then, for it is pretty sharp out. i will go and order the horses." it was so easy to ride around and dispense benefits that kathie almost wondered if there was any real merit in it. "my little girl," uncle robert said, "you must not begin to think that there can be no religion without sacrifice. god gives us all things richly to enjoy, and it would be ungrateful if we did not accept the good, the joy." all things. as they hurried softly on, the roads being covered with a light fall of snow, she drank in the beauty around her,--a glimmer of silvery moonlight flooding the open spaces, the shadowy thickets of evergreens, whose crisp clustering spines were stirred dreamily with the slow wind, making a dim and heavenly music, as if even now it might lead kings and shepherds to the place where the christ child had been born, the myriad of stars overhead in that blue, spacious vault, and the heaven above it all. and thinking of the distant plains of judã¦a brought her to the plains nearer home,--the broad fields of virginia dotted with its camps and tents, and bristling with forts. thousands of men were there, keeping christmas eve, and among them mr. meredith. how many beside him saw the star and came to worship the saviour! she felt the living presence in the awe of this hush and beauty. her child's soul was hovering on the point of girlhood, to open into something rare and precious, perhaps, having greater opportunities than many others. she was not so fearful or doubting as she had been an hour ago, for it seemed to her now that she had only to go forward. they paused first at a little tumble-down cottage. there were seven people housed in it,--the old folks, mrs. maybin, whose husband had gone to the war, and four children. mrs. maybin went out washing and house-cleaning. jane, the eldest daughter, thirteen, worked in the paper-mill. uncle robert looked at the label by moonlight. "i'll just put it down on the door-step and knock," he said. "you hold the ponies." the knock made kathie's own heart beat. uncle robert ran back to the carriage, which stood in the shade of a great black-walnut tree. kathie leaned over. jane maybin came to the door, lamp in hand, and looked around wonderingly. then, spying the great bundle, she cried, loudly, "o mother, come here, quick!" the ponies wore no bells to-night, so they drove off noiselessly, a peculiar smile illuminating kathie's face. if the maybins thought their good fortune rained down from heaven, so much the better. the child was always a little shy of her good deeds, a rare and exquisite humility being one of her virtues. and though any little act of ingratitude touched her to the quick, she never went about seeking praise. a dozen homes made glad by unexpected gifts, and three times that number of hearts. in several instances they had difficult work to escape detection, but that added to the fun and interest of it, kathie declared; and she came home in a bright, beautiful glow, her cheeks glowing with a winter-rose tint, and her pretty mouth smiling in a more regal scarlet than the holly berries nodding their wise little heads above picture-frames. aunt ruth kissed her quietly. it seemed as if she understood the steps in the new life which the child was taking, and knew by experience that silent ways were sometimes the most pleasant. of all kathie's christmas remembrances--and even dr. markham sent her a beautiful gift--there was one so unexpected and so touching that it brought the tears to her eyes. she was running through the hall just before church-time, when the door-bell rang; the alstons did not consider it necessary that hannah should always be summoned from her duties to attend the call, so kathie opened the door. a stout, country-looking lad, just merging into awkward young-manhood, with a great shock of curly, chestnut-colored hair, and a very wide mouth, stood with a parcel in his hand. "i want to see miss kathie alston," he said, blushing as red as a peony. "i am the person," she answered, simply. he stared in surprise, opening his mouth until there seemed nothing but two rows of white, strong teeth. "miss--kathie--alston?" in a kind of astonished deliberation. "yes." "i was to give this to you. she," nodding to some imaginary person, "told me to be sure to put it into your hands for fear. she thought you'd like it." "who is _she_?" and kathie could not forbear smiling. "she writ a letter so's you'd know. that's all she said, only to ask if you were well; but you look jest like--a picter." the compliment was so honest and so involuntary that kathie bowed, her bright face flushing. he ran down the steps and sprang into a common country sleigh, driving off in a great hurry. there was a letter attached to the parcel. she tore off the wrapping of the package first, however, and found that it had been done up with great care. inside of all, the largest and most beautiful lichen she had ever seen,--a perfect bracket in itself. the rings of coloring were exquisite. the soft woody browns, the bright sienna, the silvery drab and pink, like the inside of a sea-shell. the vegetation was so rank that it resembled the pile of velvet. like a flash a consciousness came over her, and although she heard aunt ruth's voice, she could not resist the desire to look at her letter. a coarse, irregular hand, with several erasures and blotted words, but the name at the bottom--sarah ann strong--made it all plain. the sary ann of the soldiers' fair. kathie's heart gave a great bound. "come!" exclaimed uncle robert; "are you ready?" there was no time for explanations. she laid the letter and parcel in her drawer in the great bookcase, thrust her ungloved hands into her muff, and ran out to aunt ruth, who stood on the step, waiting to be assisted into the carriage. "was it some more christmas?" asked uncle robert, "or is it a secret?" "it is no secret, but a very odd circumstance, and has quite a story connected with it. i think i will wait until we get home," she continued, slowly, remembering how short the distance was to church, and that a break in the narrative would spoil it. but she had very hard work to keep her mind from wandering during the service, she wondered so what sarah had to say, and how she came to remember the simple talk about the brackets. and was sarah having a bright christmas? afterward she told her small audience, beginning with the unlucky remarks about the purple bonnet. uncle robert admired the lichen very much, and aunt ruth declared that she had never seen its equal. then came sarah's letter. what pains and trouble and copying it had cost the poor girl kathie would never know. "to miss kathie alston," it began. "i take my pen in hand to let you know that"--here were two or three words crossed out--"i want to send you a cristmas present. i haint forgot about the fair, and how good you was to me, i made some straw frames and they're real hansum, and i put the picture you give me in one and it hangs up in the parlor, and i've got some brackets, but jim found this splendid one, and i want to send it to you for cristmas, for i don't think you have forgotten all about me. i've been going to school a little this winter again, for martha is big enough to help mother and i only stay home to wash. i always remember how beautiful you talked and my teacher says its grammar which i'm studying, but i cant make head nor tail of it, but he told me never to say this ere, and i don't any more, but i never could be such a lady as you are. i spose you've got beautiful long curls yet. i do love curls so and my hair's straight as a stick. mother says i must tell you if you ever come to middleville to stop and see us, we live on the back road, jotham strong, and we'll all be glad to see you. i hope you'll like the bracket, and i wish you merry cristmas a thousand times. jim went to town one day and found out who you was--he seen you the night of the fair too. excuse all mistakes. i aint had much chance for schooling, but i'm going to try now. i spose you are a lady and very rich, and don't have to do housework, but you're real sweet and not stuck up, and so you'll forgive the boldness of my writing this poor letter. "yours respectfully, "sarah ann strong." kathie had been leaning her arm on uncle robert's knee as she read aloud. "not such a bad letter," he said. "i have known some quite stylish ladies 'who didn't have to do housework' to make worse mistakes than this girl, who evidently has had very little chance. and then country people do not always understand the advantages of education." "i wanted to ask her that evening not to say 'this 'ere,' or 'that 'ere' so much, but i was afraid of wounding her feelings. i thought there was something nice about her, and her mother was very generous in buying. but to think that she should have remembered me all this while--" "'a cup of cold water,'" repeated aunt ruth, softly. "it was such a very little thing." "one of the steps." yes. it was the little things, the steps, that filled the long, long path. a warm glow suffused kathie's face. she was thinking far back,--an age ago it appeared, yet it was only two years,--that her mother had said the fairies were not all dead. if puck and peas-blossom and cobweb and titania no longer danced in cool, green hollows, to the music of lily bells, there were faith and love and earnest endeavor, and many another, to run to and fro with sweet messages and pleasant deeds. "i am very glad and thankful that you were polite and entertaining," uncle robert remarked, presently. "we never know what a kind word or a little pains, rightly taken, may do. it is the grand secret of a useful life,--sowing the seed." "i must answer her letter, and express my thanks. but o, isn't it funny that she thinks me such a great lady!" "suppose we should drive out to see her on some saturday? where is middleville?" "north of here," returned aunt ruth, "in a little sort of hollow between the mountains, about seven or eight miles, i should think." "how delightful it would be!" exclaimed kathie. "we will try it some day. i am very fond of plain, social country people, whose manners may be unpolished, but whose lives are earnest and honest nevertheless. we cannot all be moss-roses, with a fine enclosing grace," said uncle robert. kathie read her letter over again to herself, feeling quite sure that sarah had made some improvement since the evening of the fair. "do you want to put the lichen up in your room?" asked uncle robert. "not particularly,--why?" "it is such a rare and beautiful specimen that i feel inclined to confiscate it for the library." "i will give it up with pleasure," answered kathie, readily, "since it remains mine all the same." the alstons had a quiet christmas dinner by themselves. uncle robert gave the last touches to the tree, and just at dusk the small people who had been invited began to flock thither. kathie had not asked any of her new friends or the older girls. she possessed by nature that simple tact, so essential to fine and true womanhood, of observing the distinctions of society without appearing to notice the different position of individuals. ethel morrison came with the rest. she was beginning to feel quite at home in the great house, and yielded to kathie's peculiar influence, which was becoming a kind of fascination, a power that might have proved a dangerous gift but for her exceeding truth and simplicity. the tree was very brilliant and beautiful. if the gifts were not so expensive, they appeared to be just what every one wanted. kathie was delighted with the compliment to her discernment. charlie darrell made his appearance quite late in the evening, with dick grayson. the tapers were just burning their last. "farewell to thee, o christmas tree!" sang dick. "was santa claus good to you, miss kathie?" "very generous indeed." "but o, didn't you miss rob?" kathie had to tell them about uncle robert's visit. "and then, you know, i wasn't home last year"--in answer to their question. "true. there was a gay time here at cedarwood. when rob sets out, he is about as funny as any boy i know. don't you suppose he is just aching to be at home?" "i expect to get off next year," said dick, "to yale. but i shall be dreadfully homesick at first." "so should i," responded charlie; "but rob is such a jolly, happy-go-lucky fellow." "has he been in any scrapes yet, miss kathie?" "not that i have heard," said kathie, laughing. a group around the piano were clamoring for kathie to play. she had promised them some carols. dick and charlie joined. a happy time they had, singing everything they knew. kathie had become a very fair musician already. while the little ones were hunting up their wraps, kathie lingered a moment beside charlie. "how is miss jessie to-night?" she asked. "quite well." then, looking into her eyes, "you have heard--" "about mr. meredith? yes." "it is too bad,--isn't it? and he has had a substitute in the war. i think he ought to have come back." kathie was silent. how much duty did a man or a woman owe to these great life questions? and was there not something grander and finer in this last act of heroism than many people were capable of? if she could have chosen for him, like charlie, she would have desired his return; but if every wife and every mother felt so about their soldiers? she kissed ethel with a peculiar sympathy when she bade her good night. mr. morrison was well and satisfied with the new life,--liked it, indeed. for the next fortnight it seemed to kathie that nothing happened,--school life and home life, and she a little pendulum vibrating between the two, waiting for some hour to strike. she answered sarah's letter, and promised that she and her uncle would drive up when there came a pleasant saturday with the roads in comfortable order. there had been quite an accession to the school on the first of january. mrs. wilder had twenty-one pupils now. mr. lawrence came in to give them lessons in music, french, and penmanship. kathie felt quite small, there were so many young ladies. several new families had moved into brookside the preceding summer, and the alstons' acquaintance had slowly widened among the better class. kathie remembered how grand she had once considered miss jessie, and now she was really beyond that herself. at twelve the girls had fifteen minutes' intermission. sometimes they took a little run through the long covered walk, but oftener gathered around the stove or visited at one another's desks. there was always a vein of school-girlish gossip on dress, or amusements, or parties, or perhaps the books they were reading. this generally took in the circle just above kathie, yet she used occasionally to listen, and it always brought a thought of ada to her mind. she sat puzzling over some french verbs one rainy day, while emma brought out her cathedral that she was doing in india-ink. the talk from the group before them floated to their hearing. it was styles and trimming, velvet and laces that were "real," and gloves with two buttons. emma glanced up with an odd smile. kathie, seeing it, smiled too. "let us take a turn in the walk," emma said. she was so much taller that she put her arm around kathie with an odd, elder-sisterly feeling. "they seem never to get tired of it," she began. "i wonder if there isn't something better to this life than the clothes one wears?" "yes," kathie answered, in a slow, clear tone, though she shrank a little from giving her opinion. she had a shy desire to escape these small responsibilities, yet the consciousness of "bearing witness" always brought her back. "what is it?" the blunt question startled her, and a faint color stole into her face. "i watch you sometimes when i suppose you are not dreaming of it. we have been sitting here together for three months, we were at the fair,--and there is something different about you from what i find in most girls. i wonder if it is your taste or your nature." "we are none of us alike," said kathie, with a peculiar half-smile. "it is not that specific difference which we all have. you appear to be thinking of others, you never answer crossly, you often give up your own ease and comfort, and there is a little light in your eyes as if something out of your soul was shining through them. and all this talk about dressing and what one is going to do by and by never touches you at all. i suppose you could have everything you want! lottie thorne says your uncle idolizes you, and--he is rich, i know." "i have all that is necessary, and many luxuries," kathie answered, slowly. "but what makes you--what keeps you in such a heaven of content? o, i can't explain what i mean! i wonder if you have religion, kathie alston." do her best, kathie could not keep the tears out of her eyes. what was there to cry about? but somehow she felt so strange and shy, and full of tender pain. "i think we ought all to try," she answered, with a sweet seriousness in her voice. "even if we cannot take but one step--" "i wish i knew _what_ it was!" kathie's heart was in her throat. she only understood part of the steps herself. how could she direct another? so they took two or three turns in silence, then the bell rang. "there! i had so much to say, and maybe i shall never feel in the mood again. about dress, too. some of it troubles me sadly." she stooped suddenly and kissed kathie on the forehead, gave her hand a sudden, earnest pressure, and then was her olden grave self. and kathie wondered a little if she had not shirked a duty! it seemed now as if it would be very easy to say, "i have enlisted in that greater army of the lord, and will do what service i can." why had it been so hard a moment ago? had she been challenged at the outpost and found without a countersign? chapter vii. a visit. "do you think we could go to middleville to-day?" kathie asked, one bright saturday morning. it was a sharp, keen winter's day, but the roads had been worn tolerably smooth with the sleighing, and it was by far too cold for alternate freezing and thawing; but the sky was of a clear, steely blue, and the sun as brilliant as a midwinter's sun could be. "if you did not mind the cold. what is your opinion, dora?"--turning to mrs. alston. "i suppose you could stand it if you were wrapped up good and warm." "would you take the buggy?" asked aunt ruth. "o yes!" answered kathie, eagerly; "i cannot bear to be shut up in a close prison, as if i was being taken off somewhere for my misdeeds." "it will be a good deal colder." uncle robert laughed as he met kathie's mirthful eyes. "i shall not freeze, auntie. i like the sensation of this strong, fresh wind blowing square into my face; it takes the cobwebs out of my brains." so the ponies had orders, and pricked up their ears as if they were rather interested in trying the bracing wind as well. kathie bundled herself up quite to mamma's liking. she slipped a little parcel under the seat,--two books that she had read time and again, and which she fancied might interest sarah, and a few other little matters, the giving of which depended upon circumstances. they said good by, and were off. "up in the mountains" was always spoken of rather sneeringly by the brookside community. they really were not mountains, but a succession of rough, rocky hills, where the vegetation was neither lovely nor abundant. several different species of cedar, scrubby oaks, and stunted hemlocks, were the principal variety, with a matted growth of underbrush; and as there were many finer "woods" around brookside, these were seldom haunted by pleasure-lovers or wonder-seekers. the dwellers therein were of the oldest-fashioned kind. you could always tell them when they came to shop at brookside by their queer bonnets and out-of-date garments, as well as by the wonderful contrast of colors. but the small settlements enjoyed their own manner of living and their own social pleasures as thoroughly as their more refined neighbors. for quite a stretch the road was level and good, then the ascent began, the houses were wider apart, and with an air of indifference as to paint and repairs, while fences seemed to be vainly trying to hold each other up. the ponies were fresh and frisky, and did not mind the tug. kathie was silent for the most part, her brain in a kind of floating confusion, not at all unpleasant, but rather restful. "now, which is the back road, i wonder?" said uncle robert, slowly, checking the horses a trifle. both roads were exceedingly dreary-looking, but they decided to take the one farther north, and before they had gone a quarter of a mile they met a team, driven by a young lad. "is this middleville?" asked uncle robert. "yes." "which is the back road?" "keep straight along. you're right." "where does mr. jotham strong live?" "over there in that yaller house," the boy answered, nodding his head. the place began to take on quite a village look. there was a brown, weather-beaten meeting-house, a small country store, and houses scattered around at intervals. some were quite tidy-looking, but the most had a kind of dilapidated air. mr. strong's was large and roomy on the ground-floor, as numerous additions had been made on three sides of the building. there was a door-yard in front, where in summer they must have an abundance of roses, and two wide flower-beds down the path. such signs went to kathie's heart at once. uncle robert sprang out and knocked at the door. the hard-featured face that kathie remembered so well in connection with the purple bonnet peered through the kitchen window. the child would have laughed at the commotion inside, if she could have seen it,--how sary ann dragged the floating ends of her hair into a knot, caught up a towel and wiped her face, making it redder than before, jerked down her sleeves, which, having neither hooks nor buttons, hung round her wrists. she stared as she opened the door to a strange man, but glanced past him to the carriage. "i have brought miss kathie alston up to see you," mr. conover announced, in his warm, cheerful voice, for he recognized sarah from kathie's graphic description. "o my! and i'm all in a heap; but i'm so glad!" and she ran out to the wagon, but stopped at the gate with a sudden sensation of bashfulness, and a wonder if she ought not to have said something more to the gentleman. "how do you do, sarah?" kathie's voice was like the softest of silver bells pealing on the frosty air. "o, i'm so glad! i didn't hardly believe you'd come. i looked last sat'day. your letter was so nice. i'm glad you liked the lichen. jim and me hunted over hundreds of 'em, and found the very biggest. do get out and come in the house; you must be perished! is that the uncle you wrote about in your letter?" "yes." uncle robert had come down the path by this time. "my uncle, mr. conover," kathie said, gracefully, "and miss sarah strong." sarah made a dash at her hair again as if she was afraid of its tumbling down, and courtesied to uncle robert so in the style of a country school-girl that he smiled inwardly. "o, coax her to get out!" she exclaimed, appealingly. "i've got a fire all ready to light in the best room, and i want you to see my pictures,"--with a very long emphasis on the last syllable. "mother 'xpects you to stay to dinner, and my sat'day's work is 'most done. come in,--do." by this time mrs. strong had made herself tidy and appeared at the hall door. "come in," she exclaimed, cordially,--"come in. sary ann, show the gentleman how to drive right down to the barn. jim's there thrashin' and he'll see to the hosses!" kathie was handed out. sarah turned the horses to face the path to the barn. "down there," she said. "steve, come here!" steve, thirteen or thereabout, sheepishly obeyed, and took the rest of his sister's order in silence. "don't you go," said mrs. strong to mr. conover. "there's boys enough to the barn, and they know all about hosses. come in an' get warm. you must be about froze! i'm right glad to see you, child." kathie introduced uncle robert again. they were marshalled into a large, uncarpeted kitchen, full of youngsters, with a great red-hot stove in their midst. "get out of the way, childern! sary ann, run light the fire in the parlor while they're gettin' warm." "it is not worth while to take that trouble," returned uncle robert. "we came up for a call, but judged it best to take the pleasantest part of such a cold day. so do not let us interfere with your usual arrangements." "you ain't a goin' to stir a step until after dinner. sary'll be awful disapp'inted. we've plenty of everything, and you won't put us out a bit. we've been looking for you, like, ever sence sary ann had her letter. take off your things, child! ain't your feet half froze?" "o no." there was no resisting, however. mrs. strong talked and worked, tumbled over the children, picked them up and set them on chairs, bidding them keep out of the way, insisted that kathie should sit beside the roasting stove, and presently sarah returned. she had brushed her hair into a more respectable shape, and tied a most unnecessary scarlet ribbon in it, seeing that the hair was of a sandy reddish color. but her clean calico dress certainly did improve her. yet as she entered the room she was seized with a fit of awkward bashfulness. "i believe i will go out and look at the ponies," remarked mr. conover. "mind they're put out. you're not going to stir a step till you've had your dinner. marthy, you peel them taters; quick now." this to a rather pretty girl of ten, who had been writing with a pin on the steamed window-pane. "come in the other room," said sarah to kathie. the child followed. it was not very warm yet, but there was a great crackling, blazing fire upon the hearth, which was a delightful picture in itself. sarah stood and viewed her guest wonderingly. the long golden curls, the clear, fine complexion, the neat-fitting dress, the small white hands, and the dainty kid boots, were all marvels to her. "you're very rich," she said, presently, in a peculiar manner, as if she could almost find it in her heart to envy kathie and grow discontented with herself. kathie's fine sense and tact detected it. she stretched out her hand and took sarah's,--a little rough, but soft and plump. "my uncle is," she answered; "he is very good to us children. my father died when i was a tiny little girl." "did he?" sarah knelt down, and began to wind the silken curls over her finger. "but you are so--so different. you don't have to work,--do you?" "a little," and kathie smiled. "what! a lady like you? don't you keep servants? for jim said the place was like a palace!" "we keep one servant only, and a gardener. mamma thinks it right that every one should learn to be useful." "but if i was rich i wouldn't do a thing! i actually wouldn't." "i am afraid you would soon get tired of idleness." "o, i'd have books, and read, and paint pictures, and a pianny--" "piano," corrected kathie, gravely, as if she had been a teacher with her class. sarah turned scarlet, then gave a little embarrassed laugh. "i never can get the words all right. they do plague me so; but i haven't been to school for two years. mother wanted me home, for martha was so little. that's why i'd like to be a lady, and know just what was right to do and say. i thought you was so elegant that night!" "there are a great many 'ladies,' as you call them, much poorer than you; and some rich people who are coarse and ignorant." "there ain't only two or three men in middleville any richer than father. he owns sights of land and timber, but he thinks that if you can read and write and cipher a little it is enough. i don't suppose i could ever be as nice as you are, though,"--with a sadness in her tone and a longing in her eyes. "in what respect?" kathie smiled encouragingly. "well--to talk as you do. i thought that night at the fair that it was just like a story-book or music. i know i'm always makin' mistakes." "then you must try to be careful. does not your teacher correct you?" "well, i am learning a little; but it seems to be such hard work. how did you do it?" "i have always been sent to school, and then my mother has taken a good deal of pains with me. it seems unfortunate that people should fall into such careless habits of pronouncing, and oftentimes of spelling." "was my letter all right?" sarah asked, with quick apprehension. "i tried so hard, and wrote it over ever so many times." "i let my uncle read it, and he said he had seen letters from older women that would hardly bear comparison. there were very few mistakes in it." kathie's honesty impelled her to say this, though under some circumstances she would have uttered no comment. "tell me what they were. i think i could do better now." "do you really wish me to?" "yes, i do," with a good deal of rising color. "your pronoun i, when you speak of yourself, must always be a capital,--never a small i, and dotted." "but how can you tell?" "it is a personal pronoun, and is never used in any other way. a single i must always be a capital." "always! i'll be sure to remember that," sarah answered, with great earnestness; "and what else?" "christmas wasn't quite right. that begins with a capital, because it is a proper name, and the first syllable is spelled just like christ." "is it? why, i never thought! and i've seen it so many times too. what other mistakes were there?" "i really cannot remember," said kathie, laughing; and she spoke the truth. "the lichen was so lovely, uncle robert put it up in the library. where do you find such beautiful specimens?" "over in the swamp, about a mile south of here. there are so many pretty things. do you know indian pipe?" "yes!" exclaimed kathie, with a touch of enthusiasm. "isn't it lovely?--just as if it was cut out of white wax. i like to go rambling round to find all manner of odd things; but i never thought of putting them up anywhere, or making frames. o, come see mine!" both girls rose, and kathie really took her first survey of the parlor. there was a dull-colored ingrain carpet on the floor, the flowers of which ran all over it; a square, stiff-backed sofa, studded with brass nails; some rush-bottomed chairs, two old family portraits, and a pair of high brass candlesticks on the mantelpiece. but above this sarah had hung her two pictures, and put up the lichen brackets. "i couldn't make my frame as pretty as yours," she said; "and i broke ever so many straws." "but you succeeded very well, i think." "and i made this. i took the picture out of a book." it was a moss frame, very neatly manufactured, but the picture was a rather coarsely colored fashion-plate. "i do love pictures so! i wish i had a whole houseful! and if i could only make 'em myself,--them, i mean," coloring, and correcting her speech. "i have brought you two more--o, they were left in the wagon!--and some books." sarah's eyes sparkled. "would you mind running out? the boys have some rabbits down to the barn, and there's a great swing,--o, and loads of nuts! do you ever go chestnutting?" "i have been, but there are not a great many trees around brookside." "here's a shawl; just wrap yourself head and ears in it. we're going down to the barn, mother." they found uncle robert entertaining jim and steve, the latter of whom sat in wide-eyed astonishment; but the entrance of the girls broke up the conclave. sarah took, kathie all round, showed her whitefoot and jenny, both of whom whinnied gratefully. then there was the beautiful little durham heifer that jim was raising, hens of every variety, the rabbits, the loft strewn with corn, nuts, and strings, and packages of seeds. then kathie must swing. steve pushed her until the dainty kid boots touched the beam, and she experienced the sensation of standing upon her head. in the midst of this a shrill blast from a horn reached their ears. kathie started. "that's for dinner. father's gone to mill to-day with mr. ketcham, and he won't be home." the three younger ones took the lead, while uncle robert and jim lingered behind, discussing ways and means of making money at farming. such a table full of youngsters looked strange to kathie's eyes. on the whole they behaved very well, a little awed, perhaps, by the presence of strangers. sarah paused now and then to watch kathie, whose quiet manners were "so like a lady." she made no clatter with her knife and fork, did not undertake to talk with her mouth full, and said "thank you" to everything that was handed to her. "i never can be like that!" she thought with a despairing sigh, and yet unconsciously her manners took tone from this unobtrusive example. uncle robert and kathie made themselves at ease with truest politeness. mrs. strong talked over the fair, and how much she enjoyed it, and told kathie that the children were delighted with their gifts. then followed some conversation on the war. the strongs were very patriotic, to say the least. sarah was excused from helping to wash the dishes, so she and kathie went to the parlor again, and the package was opened. a very pretty story-book, one of kathie's favorites, and a copy of longfellow's evangeline, illustrated. she had also brought two colored photographs,--the sad-eyed evangeline, and the "children," companion pictures. "i don't know whether you like poetry or not, but it always seems to me that it is pleasant to know the story of anything that interests you." "i like--some verses--" sarah returned, rather hesitatingly, "and the book is beautiful. but--i can't say anything at all--" the tears were so near to her voice that it rendered her almost ungracious. "you will enjoy them better by and by," kathie went on, softly. "some day you may be able to make pretty frames for the pictures. and i brought you a set of crochet-needles. can you crochet?" "only to make a chain. i can do that with my fingers. i wish i did know how. and if i could ever knit a cap like the baby's!" "we will sit down here and talk, and i can show you one or two patterns of edgings that are simple and pretty." "how good you are!" sarah was no dullard, after all. though her fingers appeared rather clumsy at first, she soon managed to conquer the intricate loops, turnings, and stitches. "why, i wouldn't have believed it!"--in great joy. "i've done a whole scallop by myself." kathie laughed in answer. "now, if you'll only tell me something more about grammar, and putting the right word in--the place where it belongs. you see all the big girls at school know so much more than i do--" kathie understood. she explained several matters that had been great mountains to her in the beginning. now and then a bright light illumined the clear hazel eye, and a pleased smile played around the lips. "how good you are to take so much trouble!" she exclaimed, gratefully. by and by mrs. strong came in to have a little visit with their guests. sarah displayed the books and pictures, and the three inches of rather soiled crocheted edging. "sary ann's a curis girl," explained her mother; "she has a great notion of larnin', and all that, but her father hasn't much faith in it. he thinks gals and wimmen were a good deal better when they didn't know so much; and then you begin to want--everything. there's so much dressin' and foolin' goin' on nowadays." "it is rather the lack of education, i should imagine. true knowledge expands one's soul as well as one's mind," said uncle robert. "well, mebbe, if it's the right sort; but this gettin' their heads so full of dress--" "which is a sign that something better should be in them," was the pleasant response. "and then they're ashamed of their homes, and their parents as slaved to bring them up, and make fun of everything that isn't right according to their thinking. i've seen it more'n once." kathie blushed, remembering lottie thome's criticism. mrs. strong certainly did look prettier in this clean calico gown and white collar than in her purple bonnet with red roses. "yes," he answered; "it does happen, i know. but it seems to me that any daughter or sister who acquired with her other knowledge true views of her duty towards god and those around her could hardly fail to be benefited by an enlargement of her narrow sphere of thought. our first duty is at home, but we do not stop there." "few people think of duties of any kind nowadays." "does not god leave a little to us? we who know them ought to make them attractive to others." "it's so much easier to be bad; and i often wonder at it," whispered sarah, through kathie's shimmering curls. "but if some one would make all that is right and good attractive, as your uncle says--i wish i could live with you awhile. i don't believe you ever have anything to worry you!" "yes, i do," answered kathie; "i have to try pretty hard sometimes." sarah studied her in surprise. "but if i were to try i never could be half so good." "will you try?" kathie uttered it with unconscious earnestness, and the light that so often shone about her came out in her face. but uncle robert, looking at his watch, declared that it was time for them to go. mrs. strong was so sorry not to have "father" see them, and begged them to come again. "it's been such a beautiful visit," exclaimed sarah, with a tremble in her voice. "i'll try to remember everything you have told me!" steve brought a bag of nuts to put in the wagon, and jim shook hands rather sadly with uncle robert. "he is one of the right kind"; and with that he went back to the barn, whistling thoughtfully. chapter viii. comfort in need. "well, kathie, was the visit a success?" they had ridden a long way before uncle robert asked this question. he had been remarking the changes that passed over kathie's face like light drifts of summer clouds. "i am very glad that we went." "what perplexes you then, kitty?" "a good many things, uncle robert. some grave questions that i cannot understand," in a half-hesitating way. "can i help you?" the tone was gravely sweet. "you always do,"--smiling. "something mrs. strong said troubled me. sarah _is_ ambitious, she has a desire for education, and a longing for refinement,"--with deliberation in her slow tones. "but what if--she _should_ be ashamed of her home, after all? it is not so very attractive,--pretty, i mean. why, the only lovely thing in that great parlor was the bright blazing fire." "if sarah takes hold of the right end of life, she will try to make her home more pleasant for the others as well as herself." "but, uncle robert, it is so hard to see when you are right in the midst of a thing,--a sort of muddle. a person standing on the outside would be likely to discover the best paths. and i thought--what if i should be the means of making her discontented instead of happy." "so you are not quite convinced that it is wisest to sow beside all waters?"--with his peculiar smile. "if i was certain i had the right seed." "the seed is all alike,--love, faith, patience. yes, i can catch your meaning,"--as the little face grew very sober. "you do not want to rouse her to a sense of and love for beauty to which she can never attain." "that is it." "i do not imagine you need begin to feel anxious immediately. her crude attempts at beautifying will be very good exercise for her awakening brain, and she has so much of the practical to learn that she will be less likely to run into vanity, at least no more than one would naturally expect. if you choose, kathie, you might help her in a very good work." "i do choose." "when you find that you have too much on your small hands, you must pass the heaviest over to me. remember that i shall always stand ready. and doing these bits of girl-work for girls will make the woman-work plainer by and by. it is taking up the little opportunities as they come, not waiting for a great deed to be shaped to your hand presently." "i think i must always do little deeds. they seem so much safer to me than the large ones." "i heard sarah ask if she might write to you; what did you answer?" "i said that i should be glad to hear. and i shall want to know how she likes her books. you do not think mamma would object?" "o no. it is the best and wisest act that you could do for her. there was something so sweet and grateful in her sending you the lichen that i have a good deal of faith in her capabilities. it will be good ground in which to sow seed. sarah's whole life may be the better for the chance friendship." "but if she should become refined and--" "that is looking to the flavor of the fruit, my dear. god means that we shall not see it any faster than it can grow." she smiled, satisfied. the air was very keen indeed now. a bitterly cold night it would be. the tender heart went out to the thousands on "tented field," and prayed for peace, that they might return to warm, pleasant firesides. aunt ruth ran down stairs as she saw them coming. "let freddy take the horses," she said. "a telegram has come for you, and it may be important." freddy was elated with the permission. he was indulged now and then with short drives, but, being rather anxious to display his skill, he was sometimes quite venturesome. kathie drew a long, anxious breath. as was natural, her first thought was for rob. an expression serious almost to pain crossed uncle robert's face. "sad tidings for the close of our happy day," he said. "i am summoned to alexandria immediately. mr. meredith--" then he handed the slip of paper to kathie. mr. meredith had been severely wounded, and sent to the hospital at alexandria, whether fatally or not the message did not state. "the express train goes through at six," uncle robert said, "and in this case there is no time to be lost." they all felt that when mr. meredith sent, the summons must be urgent indeed. mr. conover had more than an hour to make the few preparations he would require. but there were two or three letters to answer, so he went to the library, while mrs. alston hurried the tea. kathie stood by the window in a mood of peculiar silence. somehow, though she had known the danger all along, with the confidence of love she could hardly believe that any evil would betide her soldiers. numbers of men had served their three years without any serious mishap, and it seemed as if god would watch over these two among the many thousands. "aunt ruth, do you suppose--" "my darling, we can suppose nothing, only hope for the best." "but it is so terrible to think of him--in any great peril." so gay and laughing always, so full of vivacity with all his gentlemanly indolence, so strong and buoyant! in fancy she saw him stretched upon a hospital pallet, very white, like aunt ruth, last winter, or perhaps having undergone some fearful operation. and then there came to kathie a remembrance of the last drive together, of the few lines in the letter. it was so precious to know that, living or dying, all was well with him. kathie clung to that comfort with all her fond, trembling heart. was it god's love and grace that brought human souls so near together and made them one great family? "i have one request to make," exclaimed uncle robert, entering the room; "if you should see any of the darrells do not mention this circumstance, unless they may have heard. i will telegraph home as soon as i reach the hospital, and write at my earliest convenience. kathie, will you run over to the lodge and ask mr. morrison to drive me to the station by six?" kathie wrapped up head and ears in a blanket-shawl, and ran down the drive. when she came back supper was ready and uncle robert's portmanteau packed. they bade him a tender good-by, and kathie whispered a fond and precious message. afterward they went to aunt ruth's sitting-room. kathie felt rather drowsy and indolent with her ride through the keen air, and took possession of aunt ruth's lounge; for she was in no mood to read or sew, or even to take up her fancy crocheting. "did you have a nice visit?" asked her mother, at length. that roused kathie. "it was very peculiar, mamma, and i enjoyed it a good deal. i like sarah, although she is not--" "not much cultivated, i suppose," said aunt ruth. "mamma, why did not we, when we were very poor, grow careless? i don't know as i can explain just what i mean," kathie raised her face, perplexed and rosy. "i think i understand. it is not the result of a few years, or even of poverty, but the lack of culture. often a whole village or settlement, where there is no particular ambition for education, will fall into careless and rough habits of action and speech. every one does the same, and it is hardly remarked." "but i suppose there has always been a school at middleville,--and it is so near brookside and other towns." "many of these old country settlers are very sensitive. they think their way as good as any one's, and, if a few families are particularly refined, accuse them of holding themselves in high esteem, and being above their neighbors. it often proves difficult to overcome old habits of pronunciation and the manners and customs to which one has always been used. it was different in our case. aunt ruth and i were brought up in a city, and had the best advantages. i was not very likely to forget what i had learned as a girl." it _did_ make some difference, then, whether a person was rich or poor; and if one could not help his or her position-"mamma, wasn't it very hard to lose your fortune?" "yes, dear," mrs. alston answered, simply. "but we might have been poorer still. there are all the maybins--and the allens--and we had a very comfortable home." "yes. we owned our cottage, and had an income of just seventy dollars a year. it was a great deal better than nothing, though many a stitch had to be taken to provide for the rest of our needs." kathie remembered,--staying in the house to sew long simple seams for mamma, doing errands, washing dishes, sweeping rooms, and wearing dresses that were faded, shoes a little shabby, and never having more than a few pennies to spend. how great the change was! and it did not end with personal comforts merely. nearly all the rich people in the neighborhood came to visit them. every one nodded to her as she drove out in her pony-carriage. yet, if she lost her fortune, would they let her drop out of sight and out of mind? ah, how very cruel it would be! "it is a very delightful thing to have an abundance," mrs. alston went on, as if she held the key to her daughter's thoughts. "not that it ever makes a person better, socially or morally, though the world, society, generally gives the precedence to money. it affords you leisure for cultivation; it frees you from a great many harassing cares, though it may bring others in their stead, for no life is exempt. and it certainly does add many new duties." "it is right to have the cultivation, the pretty houses, the beautiful furniture and pictures and--dresses?" kathie asked her question with a sort of hurried abruptness, as if a definite answer was of the utmost importance to her, as if, indeed, she longed for a fuller understanding of the subject. "yes," answered her mother, slowly. "all these things were given to us to enjoy, to use, yet not abuse. but when we seek them selfishly, when we think of nothing beyond our own personal needs, and of ministering to our vanity and self-love, they do become a great snare and temptation." "if one could tell just where the dividing line ought to be," kathie said, shyly. "it is quite easily found if one searches in earnest: to think of others rather than of one's self; to give as well as to receive, not merely money or clothes, but sympathy, love, tender thoughts, little acts of pleasure; to minister to the poor in spirit as well as the poor in purse." "and that brings me back to sarah, mamma. her father may be as rich as--we are," rather hesitatingly. "at all events mrs. strong spent a good deal at our table at the fair, and never seemed to mind it a bit. but their house has such a barren look. they have very few books or pictures or pretty articles of any kind, yet i do believe sarah would be very fond of them. she has not been to school for nearly two years, so she has had very little chance to improve. her father is afraid that if she should learn a great deal she will be ashamed of her home, and all that. i do not see how she could like it very much, because there is so little in it to please." "some old-fashioned people seem to be afraid of education, but i believe it is from a lack of true appreciation of it. whether rightly or not, civilization has made our wants extend beyond the mere necessities of life. we need some food for the soul as well as for the body." "but if education should make sarah discontented and unhappy?" "we cannot always see what the result will be, but we are exhorted to work, nevertheless." "she asked me to write to her again, mamma. you do not think it will be--" kathie could hardly get hold of the right word to use. "injudicious, i suppose you mean? no, i do not. you may learn something as well." kathie was glad that her mother looked upon it in that light, and yet she smiled a little to herself, not exactly discerning her own lesson in the matter. "our saviour said, 'freely ye have received, freely give'; and, my little girl, it seems to me that we have received very generously. when i was prosperous before, i am afraid that i did not think much of the needs of those around me; but in my poverty i saw so often where a little would have been of great assistance to me. i feel now as if god had placed a great treasure in my hands to be accounted for to the uttermost farthing at the last day. it will be good then to have other lips speak for us." kathie understood. "yes, it will, mamma." then she lapsed into silence. how all these things crowded upon one as the years went by! fourteen now; in three years she would be quite a young lady. looking at it caused her to shrink back to the cloisters of girlhood. afterward her heart wandered out with uncle robert on his lonesome night-journey, and to the other face pictured still and white before her. all she could do in this case was to pray. they went to church on sunday, and saw miss jessie, bright and smiling as usual. then she did not know! it actually startled kathie a little. "where is your uncle?" charlie asked, as they were standing together. "he was called away upon some business," mrs. alston answered for kathie. the telegram came on monday. "arrived safely," it said. "no change in mr. meredith. look for a letter to-morrow." so they could still tell nothing about him. kathie had grown so very anxious that it appeared as if she could not wait. the day was a little cloudy, and she made that an excuse for not driving out. even her music failed to interest. she just wanted to sit and wonder, never coming to any definite conclusion. the tuesday letter was long, written at intervals, and contained the whole story. mr. meredith was out with a scouting-party early in the week before, when they were surprised by the enemy and made a desperate resistance. but for his coolness and bravery none of them would have escaped. two or three were killed and several wounded,--he very seriously indeed; and he had been sent immediately to alexandria. the journey had doubtless aggravated the injury. he was in a high fever now; and though he had recognized mr. conover at first, he soon lapsed into forgetfulness again. mr. george meredith had been on, and was unable to remain; but uncle robert had decided that this was his post of duty for the present. he had also written to miss jessie, he said. "we must give him up willingly, therefore," mrs. alston remarked. yes; kathie least of all felt inclined to grudge another the cheerful, comforting presence. "but it is terrible!" she said; "it did not seem to me as if mr. meredith _could_ die." "he may not. if they can succeed in keeping the fever under control there will be hope. the wound itself is quite manageable, uncle robert believes." but by the end of the week miss jessie and her father had been summoned. there was very little if any hope. one of ada's occasional letters reached kathie about this time. "isn't it dreadful?" she wrote. "mamma says that she can hardly forgive uncle edward for going in the first place, when there really was no need, and he was crazy to enlist afterward; and it puts everything out so! i must tell you that mamma intended to give a grand party. the cards had been printed, and some of the arrangements made, but when papa came home he would not hear a word about it. i have been out quite a good deal this winter, and have several elegant party dresses. i was to have a beautiful new pink silk for this, but mamma wouldn't buy it when she heard the worst news. it's _too_ bad; and if uncle edward should be lame or crippled-o, i cannot bear to think of it! if he had been an officer there would have been a great fuss made about it. i really felt ashamed to see just 'edward meredith, wounded,' as if he were john jones, or any common fellow! but i hope he will not die. death is always so gloomy, and mamma would have to wear black; so there would be an end to gayeties all the rest of the winter." kathie felt rather shocked over this, it sounded so heartless. was death only an interruption to pleasure? as for her, she carried the thought in her heart day and night, and began to feel what the saviour meant when he said, "pray without ceasing." how easy it seemed to go to him in any great sorrow! "but o, isn't it lonely?" she said to her mother. "if uncle robert had been compelled to go, how could we have endured it?--and rob away too,--dear rob!" that reminded her that she owed him a letter. it was such an effort nowadays to rouse herself to any work of choice or duty. "which is not marching steadily onward," she thought to herself. "i can only pray for mr. meredith, but i may work for others. rouse thee, little kathie!" chapter ix. thorns in the path. it appeared to kathie that she had never known so long a fortnight as the first two weeks of uncle robert's absence; yet everything had gone on just the same, none of the duties were changed, only the absence and the dreadful suspense. yet something else had happened, or was working itself out slowly day by day. among the new scholars were several quite stylish and fashionable girls, who felt inclined to draw a line, or make some kind of a social distinction. foremost among these was isabel hadden, a tall, showy girl, who prided herself upon her figure and style. her father had made a fortune as an army contractor, and was now in washington. he had purchased a very pretty country residence at brookside, and installed his family there, though mrs. hadden frequently joined him for weeks at a time. belle had been at a second-rate boarding-school for a year before the family had attained their present grandeur. now a distant connection filled the position of governess to the host of younger children; but belle considered herself too large to come in with "that crowd," as she rather disdainfully termed them. she was sent to school every morning in the carriage, and it not infrequently came for her in the afternoon. rather distant and haughty at first, she had not made friends very easily. mrs. thorne happened to meet mrs. hadden at an evening party, and it was followed by a mutual acquaintance. thereupon isabel and lottie became friends, though the latter was somewhat younger. lottie's mother was very ambitious for her, and since mr. thorne would not consent to the expense of a boarding-school, she sent lottie to mrs. wilder, as it was so much more genteel. belle became the leader of the small clique who discussed fashions habitually. she criticised the dresses, cuffs, collars, and laces for the edification of her youthful hearers, until emma lauriston said one day, "miss hadden is as good as a fashion-magazine. i don't know but she would be invaluable in a fancy goods' store." lottie still kept to her old habit of calling upon kathie for assistance when lessons were puzzling. for several days in succession she had occupied kathie's short intermission, and mrs. wilder found that she began to depend too much upon this kindly help. "miss kathie," her teacher said at length, "i have a request or a command in my mind,--you can consider it as which ever is easiest to obey," and mrs. wilder smiled. kathie smiled as well, in her pleasant fashion. "i am sorry to find fault with any generous deed that school-girls do for one another, but i think lottie thorne has come to depend altogether too much upon you. it is hardly fair to occupy your few moments of recreation when by a little closer application she could solve her own problems and translations. this is really necessary for her own good." "i did not like to be disobliging," kathie answered, by way of excuse. "your generosity is carried almost to a fault at times. you must learn to say 'no' occasionally." kathie's soft eyes were downcast. it _would_ be very hard to refuse. "lottie has as much time to study her lessons at home as you have, and i am always ready to explain any difficulty. that is one of my duties towards my pupils. i am in a measure answerable for her improvement; and if she slips through upon the assistance of others she will be the loser in the end. you understand what i mean?--that while i do not wish to discourage a helpful feeling among the girls, i desire that each one should study for herself." "yes," kathie said, in a low tone. "and, my little friend, it is necessary that one should learn to be just as well as generous." kathie felt the force of the remark. uncle robert had explained this occasionally to her in connection with rob, who was rather fond of making her extensively useful. then she always hated to say no to others. it was easier to sacrifice her own pleasures or desires. to smooth the matter for her, mrs. wilder announced that morning that she wished each girl's translations to be exclusively her own work, and if there was any great difficulty she would be glad to have them apply to her. kathie left the school-room the instant recess began. lottie was still puzzling over her algebra, and, having finished that, she took up her imperfect french, meaning to go in search of her little helper. two or three girls were discussing a party. "i helped hattie norman make out her list last night," said belle hadden. "it is to be very select. her mother insisted that all the brookside rabble should not be invited." hattie norman was one of the new-comers. lottie's heart beat a little faster as she wondered whether she would be classed among the rabble. "the norman boys are elegant," pursued belle. "they have all been to dancing-school; and there will be two of hattie's cousins from the city,--five young gentlemen of one's own." "you might tell us who the lucky ones are," pleaded a voice. "that is _my_ secret. the invitations are to be sent out to-day. i wouldn't miss it for anything. mamma brought me an elegant tarlatan overskirt the last time she came from new york. it is just a mass of fluted ruffling. i shall wear it over my blue silk, i think; blue is so becoming to me." lottie lingered, talking and listening, and before she imagined the moments were half gone the bell on mrs. wilder's table rang. "o kathie, just stop an instant!" she cried; but the girls were hurrying in, and somehow kathie passed on with them. fifteen minutes after, the french class was summoned. "you must write your translation over for to-morrow, miss thorne; and yours, miss hadden, is not very perfect; a little revision would improve it." much as she disdained the patient governess at home, belle found her very useful. kathie kept out of lottie's way. it looked rather mean to her, but it was better than an open refusal. the trial came the next day, however. to lottie's great delight, she was invited to the party, and her head had been so full of it that all the lessons suffered. she was casting about in her mind what she could have new, or what could be altered to look like new. "o kathie!" she exclaimed at recess, "just help me out with these few lines. i made so many blunders yesterday, and i was so busy last evening." "you remember what mrs. wilder said on tuesday." kathie's heart beat rapidly with the effort, and she felt quite inclined to run away like a little coward. "what?--o, about asking _her_! but then she never tells one anything. you might, i am sure; or if you will just let me read over your translation." "it would not be quite fair." kathie's tone was rather slow and hesitating. "you needn't be so afraid! i should not copy," was the sharp answer. "just tell me this case." one answer surely would not be a crime. "and this line; i can't make beginning nor end of it." "i am sorry, lottie; but mrs. wilder said the girls were not to help each other so much,--that each one was to get her own translation--" "well, i mean to get my own; i just asked you a question. you are very short and hateful about it!" "o lottie, i do not want to disobey mrs. wilder! i would help you if i could--if it was right." kathie uttered the words hurriedly, as if after a moment she should not have the courage to say them at all. "you are setting up for a saint, we all know; and it is very convenient to talk about right when one means to be cross and disobliging! i would do anything _i_ could for a friend, i am sure." kathie was silent. she knew by experience that lottie had a habit of teasing until she accomplished her purpose. "so you really won't do that little favor?" "miss alston!" called one of the girls; and kathie was glad to go. lottie dropped two or three tears of mortification and disappointment. she had come to depend a great deal upon kathie, and it was hard doing without the help. "she is a hateful little thing, after all," was her internal comment. belle hadden let her look over her translation "just a moment." lottie had a quick eye and a good memory; but the lesson was not so perfect that it could escape mrs. wilder's attention. "please take a little more pains, miss thorne," she said; "i shall have to mark you for both days." coming out of school, they paused, in girl fashion, to say a few last words. a rather rusty-looking rockaway wagon passed by, in which were two females, one of whom was driving. the other leaned out suddenly, with a cry of joy: "o miss kathie! mother, stop,--do!" kathie colored a little. there was the identical purple bonnet and red roses, and sarah ann had two long rooster-feathers stuck in her jockey hat, which certainly were waving in the breeze rather ungracefully; but the child went straight up to the wagon, thrusting aside the cowardly shame. "i'm so glad to see you! do you go to school there? o my! what a lot of--young ladies!" and sarah blushed. "there's the one that laughed at mother when we were at the fair! do you like her?" "we are all schoolmates, you know," said kathie, in a peculiar, but gentle tone. "are you well? this is quite a surprise!" "you are a good, sensible gal," remarked mrs. strong, with a meaning look, which showed kathie that she was not so deficient in perception, after all. "o yes! how is your uncle? jim thinks he's just splendid! we did have such a nice time that day! i've commenced a long letter to you, and i've read both books aloud. we liked the story so much! and i cried over the evangeline,--i couldn't help it. i'm so glad to have the picture! wasn't it sad?" and the ready tears came into sarah's eyes. "it's a real pleasure to meet you"; and mrs. strong's face softened to a motherly glow. "i've come down to get a cousin whose husband was killed in tennessee fightin', and the poor thing's a'most begged her way back with one little child, so i want her to come up and make a good visit while she's gettin' over the worst. sez i to father, 'we ain't suffered any from the war, and gettin' good prices all the time for farmin' truck, and it's a pity if we can't make it a little easier for them who have.' she was such a nice young gal, and used to teach school there at middleville; but she's seen sights o' trouble sence. and then sary ann begged to come, 'cause her father give her money to buy a new gown." "and i coaxed mother to go to your house, but she wouldn't," said sarah, shyly. "i wanted to hear something about you so much! i'm so glad!" "and so am i," returned kathie, warmly. plain and unrefined as mrs. strong was, she had a good, generous heart. "we must not keep miss kathie standin' here in the cold," she said. "which way you goin'?" "straight on to crosby street." "i wish you'd jump in and ride." "o do!" pleaded sarah. the girls had pretty well dispersed. even emma lauriston was walking slowly down the street. kathie declined at first, but they urged so strongly that finally she acceded; and, driving slowly, they had quite a nice talk, though mrs. strong insisted upon taking her nearly home, as their shopping was all done. but the episode had not been suffered to pass unremarked. "what an elegant turnout!" sneered belle hadden. "some of kathie alston's country relations, i suppose." "no," answered lottie, "it is some people she met at the fair." "what horrid taste,--and what coarse, uncouth creatures! who _is_ kathie alston, anyhow? a decided _parvenu_, to my thinking. are they really rich,--the alstons?" "no, it is kathie's uncle, mr. conover. he made a fortune off in australia, i believe. they were poor enough before!" lottie uttered this rather spitefully. kathie's refusal to assist her that noon still rankled in her mind. "did they live here then?" "o yes! in one of a row of little cottages; and mrs. alston had to sew for a living." the murder was out. lottie had a misgiving that this was decidedly mean and treacherous; and yet, she said to herself, it was every word true. why should the alstons be ashamed of it? only it did seem mortifying. "this is just about what i thought. kathie alston hasn't a bit of style or dignity; and how they _do_ dress her! there was some common linen edging on that ruffle she wore to-day, and i don't believe she ever has more than two dresses at the same time. plebeian blood will tell. hattie norman asked me about them, but i told her kathie was only a little chit that she wouldn't care to invite. i don't suppose they let her go to parties, or that she knows how to dance. what is the inside of their house like?" "it is very beautiful." "tawdry and cheap, i fancy. such people have no taste. there is a great deal in birth. my mother was one of the van cortlands, of new york,--real old blue blood; and i can always tell commoners. i wish there could be some distinction here." "mrs. alston is considered very ladylike," said lottie, with a touch of remorse. "by people who are no judges, i suppose. and mrs. wilder treats kathie as if she were the greatest lady in the land! i think we ought to put her down. where i went to boarding-school we had two parties,--patricians and plebeians,--and the plebeians were made to keep their places. there ought to be just such a distinction here. the idea of being intimate with a girl whose mother has worked for a living! why, we shouldn't think of recognizing our dressmaker in society!" this sounded quite grand to foolish lottie. that _she_ was considered good enough to go to the normans' to a party was a great thing. and then lottie remembered about some great-grandmother of hers, who had belonged to the french nobility, and escaped during one of the revolutions. didn't that make her blood a little blue? if it would only make the french exercises come easy as well! lottie scarcely noticed kathie the next day. it was rainy, and the "patricians" lingered about the stove, discussing the norman party. eight or ten played blind-man's-buff in the walk, and had a gay time, bringing the roses to their cheeks. two or three of them had bantered kathie a little about her "friends," but she accepted it in a very good-natured way. a day or two after, emma lauriston took her drawing over to the window where it was lighter, and still lingered at the table when school closed. afterward they all fell into a pleasant talk. "so you have come over to our side," exclaimed miss hadden. "your side?"--with a look of surprise. "yes, the patricians." emma lauriston had always been called proud, and it was well known that she was to be quite an heiress by and by, her grandmother having left her a considerable fortune. "i think there can be no question about my tastes or sympathies," she said, rather haughtily. "refinement, truth, and honor make my nobility." "refinement is absolutely necessary to me," remarked belle, with an elegant air. "sometimes i am teased about it, but all kinds of coarseness and vulgarity are odious to me, whether it is in dress or behavior. and loud voices or loud manners are equally my detestation." emma did not dissent. one or two thoughts of her own took up her attention, and the rest of the talk seemed to float around her like the waves of a distant sea. kathie remarked the change very quickly, for she was keenly sensitive. that lottie should be vexed with her she did not so much wonder at, but why should the other girls shun her? she certainly had done nothing to them. and it gave her a pang to see some small circle fall apart when she joined it, each girl giving knowing glances to the others. then, too, she was left out of the plays and talks, and though they did nothing absolutely rude, she seemed to understand that there was a kind of social ostracism, and she was being pushed over to the side she did not admire,--to the half-dozen rather coarse girls. belle was not slow in spreading abroad the report. the alstons were mushroom aristocracy. nobody knew _how_ the uncle had made his fortune. people did everything in australia,--robbed, cheated, even murdered. and mrs. alston had actually sewed for a living! yet it must be confessed that these very girls fairly envied her the pony phaeton and the elegant house. "uncle robert is coming home," said her mother, one afternoon. "we have received a good long letter from him, and some news that will surprise you." kathie's face was aglow with interest. "you may read it all yourself. he had not time to write any more than one letter." kathie sat down to her treasure. "o mamma! and miss jessie is married to--mr. meredith! what will ada say? but o, will he never get well? it would be harder than ever to have him die. how strange it seems! dear miss jessie!" the doctors had conquered the fever, but there were some serious complications with his wound, and he was so reduced that it appeared almost impossible for him to rally. kathie could see that uncle robert had very little hope. "still he is very happy and resigned," the letter said. "since his marriage he seems to have not a wish left ungratified. mr. and mrs. george meredith were present, and the lady was considerably surprised by this unlooked-for termination; still, she was very gracious to jessie. but the best of all is his perfect peace and trust. a precious hope the saviour's love has been, and in his mind his whole brief religious life seems connected with our darling little kathie. every day he speaks of her. it is true that god has ordained praise out of the mouths of babes." the loving messages brought the tears to kathie's eyes. and most delightful of all was the hope of seeing dear uncle robert again. so for two days satirical school shafts fell harmless. rob had a flying visit first of all, but the joy at cedarwood was delightful. uncle robert reached home just at dusk, and kathie could do nothing all the evening but watch him and talk. all the story had to be told over again, and with it many incidents that could not be written,--the heroic bravery, the patient endurance and sweet faith. "then he is not sorry that he re-enlisted?" kathie asked, anxiously. "no, my darling. he thinks that his country needed him, and his last act was to procure some very valuable information. he would like to live if it is god's will, but it will be well with him either way." uncle robert held the little hand in his and gave it a fond pressure. kathie knew what it said, but her heart felt very humble. the next morning she had to tell him about sarah strong. "and how kind it is in mrs. strong to take home this poor cousin!" kathie said. "i liked her manner of speaking of it so much. but i think--" kathie made a long pause. "a remarkable thought it must be!" said her uncle, smiling. fred ran in to have his pencil sharpened, and also to announce that one of the cunning little guinea-pigs was dead. so kathie's school discomfort passed out of her mind. but it met her on the threshold again. she was rather early at school, as uncle robert wished to drive about the village to do several errands. half a dozen girls were discussing tableaux. kathie joined them with a face full of interest. "o," she exclaimed, "i do love to hear about tableaux! are you really going to have them?" there was a coolness and silence in the small circle. "it was a little matter of our own that we were discussing," said belle hadden, loftily. kathie turned. she had been in such a happy mood that she was ready for anything. and the two or three experiences in tableaux had left such a delightful memory that she was fain to try it again. she went to her seat quietly. the voices floated dimly over to her. "it is mean not to ask her!" "girls, i know mrs. wilder will notice it, and speak of it." "you can all do as you like, but if you want tom, dick, and harry, and everybody in them, i beg leave to be excused," said a rather sharp, haughty voice. "but kathie alston isn't--" "i would as soon have mary carson, or any one of that class. they are all alike." mary carson's father had made a fortune in buying and selling iron. she was as coarse as sarah strong, without her ambition or good, tender heart. somehow kathie rebelled at being placed in the same category. she took up her book and tried to study, but her heart was swelling with a sense of injustice. what had she done to these girls? she was not coarse, or vulgar, or mean. "plebeian and patrician," some one said with a laugh, as they dispersed at mrs. wilder's entrance. kathie heard of the plan through the course of the day. some of the larger girls had proposed that they should give a little entertainment for the benefit of the wife and children of a captain duncan who had been killed in one of the recent battles. mrs. duncan was staying at brookside, quite prostrated by her misfortunes. thirteen of the school-girls had been asked. mrs. coleman, mrs. duncan's warmest friend, had offered her parlor and dining-room. sue coleman was hand and glove with belle hadden. now and then kathie glanced over to mary carson. vulgarity was written in every line of her broad, freckled face. something beside plainness,--snub nose, wiry brown hair, and the irregular teeth, which looked as if they were never brushed,--an air of self-sufficiency, as if she considered herself as good as the best. she was continually talking of what they had at home, and made the most absurd blunders, which mrs. wilder patiently corrected. the small satires of the other girls never pierced the armor of her complacency. "and they think me like her!" kathie mused, with a sad, sore heart. "i suppose because our fortune came so suddenly; and yet mamma always was a lady. however, i must bear it patiently." uncle robert, seeing her so grave, fancied that it was on account of mr. meredith; and he was so busy that for a few days they had no confidential talks. it was very hard to feel so entirely alone. even emma lauriston was at home sick with a sore throat. chapter x. under fire. emma lauriston was absent from school three days, and then took her place, looking somewhat pale and languid; but several of the girls were rather impatient to see her. "have you heard bad news?" she asked of kathie. "my cousin said your uncle had returned." "yes," in a grave tone, rather unlike the sunshiny kathie. "that was quite a romance about your friend miss darrell. do they think mr. meredith will--never get well?" "they are afraid." the little bell sounded to call them to order, and then began the usual lessons. kathie's were always perfect, and yet, oddly enough, it seemed to emma that her whole heart was not in them. she had fallen into the habit of watching kathie very narrowly. the "something different from other girls" was still a puzzle to her; and when the doctor had said, a few days ago, "you just missed having a severe attack of diphtheria," it startled emma a good deal. she knew several who had died of diphtheria; and if she were to die-of course she wanted to live. she was young, and full of hope; and there would be the fortune by and by,--one of those odd bequests of which she reaped little benefit now, as it was to go on accumulating until she was twenty-one; but then she would be able to do a great many delightful things with it. that was not all, however. there was something very terrible in the idea of death. "o miss lauriston, we have ever so much to tell you and to talk about!" exclaimed sue coleman. "we are going to have some tableaux for a charitable object, and we want you to stand in several of them. you will make such a lovely sister of charity in consolation." with that the ball was fairly opened. emma was pleased and interested at once. "you are all to come over to my house after school. belle hadden has planned everything. she is a host in herself." kathie had been walking up and down with two or three girls that she did not care much about, only they had joined her, and were, perhaps, better company than her lonely thoughts. "you are going over to mrs. coleman's,--are you not?" asked emma, in surprise. "don't you like tableaux?" "very much, but--good by"; and kathie made a feint of kissing her hand. "girls, haven't you asked kathie alston?" exclaimed emma, in the first lull, for the talk had been very energetic; "she would make up lovely in ever so many characters." there was a silence, and the girls glanced at each other with determination in their faces. "what is the matter? has she offended you? i noticed something a little peculiar in school to-day." "kathie alston is well enough--in her place." emma colored. "her place is as good as any of ours, i suppose," she made answer, slowly. "well, i don't quite think it is"; and belle took up the glove. "there are some social distinctions--" the rest of the sentence was rather troublesome. "i am sure the alstons are rich, if that is what you mean." "that is not altogether what i mean"; yet belle was a trifle embarrassed at being forced to meet the issue so squarely, though every girl felt in her secret soul that emma was undeniably aristocratic. "if we are to take up everybody who becomes suddenly rich, there is mary carson and several others; and i've never been used to it. mamma _is_ particular about my associates." "but the alstons are educated, refined, and were always wealthy until they met with a reverse of fortune when mr. alston died." "and mrs. alston used to sew for the whole neighborhood, i've heard. fancy being compelled to meet your seamstress as an--an equal! mrs. wilder ought to be more exclusive about her scholars. mamma said so herself. and only a few days ago some horrid country clowns stopped right in front of the school, and she went off to take a ride in their forlorn old wagon. our cook is actually related to these people! their name is strong,--a coarse, vulgar set, i know." belle talked very rapidly, and her face flushed with excitement. for several moments emma hesitated. the distinction appeared paltry and mean to her. then she really _did_ like kathie. "girls," she began, at length, "i think you are unjust. i have been at cedarwood, and met all the family. they are refined, intelligent, have a lovely home, and are--truly noble and christian people." emma uttered the last in spite of herself. "well, every one can do as she likes"; and belle gave her head a haughty toss. "i don't think because a man digs up a nugget of gold in australia he is entitled to a king's position at once. there are some girls at school that i should not associate with under _any_ circumstances." emma had a feeling that this was really absurd; yet most of the girls had ranged themselves on this side, and it did require a good deal of courage to go against the opinions of her mates and friends. still, when she came to think of it, mrs. grayson visited the alstons, the darrells were their firm friends, and that rich and elegant mr. meredith! but kathie _was_ rather inclined to be hand and glove with people beneath her. "and kathie alston _does_ take up everybody," said one of the girls. "every few days you see her having some common thing in that pony-phaeton of hers. she hasn't a bit of pride or good taste, and it seems to me that is next of kin to refinement." "let us go on with the tableaux." emma listened to the arrangements in silence. this made such a beautiful scene,--that was so brilliant, or so pathetic, and must not be left out. and before they were aware the dusky evening dropped down about them. "girls," she said at length, in a soft, low voice, "i have decided that i will not take part in the tableaux. kathie alston and i have been friends, and i shall do nothing that i am quite sure to be ashamed of afterward. you have been very kind to ask me, and i am not angry with any of the opinions i have heard expressed, though they may not please me. good night." "let her go over to the plebeians!" said some one, with a laugh. at home kathie had two pleasant surprises. first, a letter from miss jessie all to herself, in which they hoped, very faintly indeed, that mr. meredith had taken a turn for the better. if the good news should prove true, they meant, as soon as it would be safe, to remove to a private house. and then she said, "my darling little kathie, we often feel that we would give half the world to see you." the other was from sarah,--a decided improvement upon her christmas epistle,--not a word misspelled, and the sentences very fairly constructed. the last part was filled with cousin ellen and her little boy. sarah told the whole story in her innocence, without the least intention of boasting. mr. and mrs. strong had offered these poor wayfarers a home until they could do better. "it is very good of them,--isn't it?" said kathie. "if the strongs are not polished, they have generous hearts." "it certainly is most kind; and i am wonderfully pleased with the improvement in sarah." "uncle robert, would it be rude to send sarah a pretty blue hair-ribbon, and tell her a little about contrasting colors? i wish she would not wear so much scarlet. is it wrong for everybody to look as pretty as he or she can?" "no, my dear; and sometimes a delicate hint proves very useful. sarah has entirely too much color for scarlet; she needs something to tone her down." kathie had been casting about for some time how to manage this matter nicely, and her present idea appeared both delicate and feasible to her. looking over her store, she found a fresh, pretty ribbon, and forgot all about the school trouble. the tableaux progressed rapidly. a number of the academy boys were invited to join. mr. coleman had some tickets printed, which sold rapidly, and the affair promised to be successful. but one evening dick grayson said, "emma lauriston would look prettier in consolation, and make the best evangeline, of any girl in brookside. why haven't you asked her and kathie alston?" "emma declined," was the almost abrupt answer. "but kathie is the sweetest little girl i ever saw. she is always ready for everything." there was no response. belle hadden had gone quite too far to admit that _her_ line of distinction had been wrongly drawn. lottie thorne felt both sorry and ashamed; but there was no going back without a rather humiliating admission. and yet if she only had _not_ spoken that day! but emma and kathie drew nearer together in a quiet way through these troubled times. there were some petty slights to endure, and many unkindnesses. friends and companions can wound each other so often in a noiseless manner,--pain and sting without the buzzing of a wasp, so patent to all the world,--and i often think these unseen hurts are the hardest to bear. the evening at mrs. coleman's was both delightful and profitable. the brookside standard contained quite a glowing account of the entertainment, and praised the young ladies for their labor in so good a cause. the sum received, with several donations, amounted to eighty-seven dollars. "why did you not speak of it, kathie?" asked uncle robert. "we would all have gone." now, there had not been even a ticket offered to kathie. indeed, the space being limited, sue and belle had made out a list of guests beforehand. kathie colored violently, and uncle robert looked quite astonished. seeing that she was expected to answer, she summoned her courage. "it was a--a party affair of the larger girls in school. they did not ask every one." "but we might have sent a gift, the object was so very worthy." kathie made no reply to that. uncle robert studied the grave face, and decided that something had gone wrong. dick grayson dropped in that evening. "i was so disappointed about your not being there," he said. "you would just have fitted in two or three of the tableaux." but kathie did not appear to be disposed to converse on the subject, so they wandered off into a talk about rob, and then mr. meredith claimed their attention. the patricians flourished in grand style. it would have been really laughable to sensible people to see how one after another copied belle hadden's airs and graces, and how the gulf widened in school. several of the girls asked to have their seats changed, until the plebeians were left quite to themselves. and yet the matter worked out a very odd and rather mortifying retaliation. one afternoon dick grayson overtook emma lauriston walking homeward. he had that day received a letter from her brother fred, and repeated some of the contents. "are you going to belle hadden's party?" he asked, presently. "i have not had any invitation." emma's tone was rather curt. "no?" in the utmost surprise. "what has happened among you girls? you and kathie were not at the tableaux. is there a standing quarrel?" dick and emma were excellent friends in boy-and-girl fashion. "there is something very mean and foolish. i wish somebody could look at it with clear eyes and give belle hadden a lesson!" emma's usually soft voice was indignant, and her face crimsoned with excitement. "but how did kathie alston come to get mixed up with it. it seems to me that she is the last one to quarrel." "there was no quarrel, at least no words. there are some very aristocratic girls in school, and belle is forever talking about her mother's family. so they have divided the girls into patricians and plebeians." "but mr. conover is a gentleman, and the alstons are all refined. the idea of putting kathie on the plebeian side is absurd! and you too--" "i went over there," she said, sharply. "i would not take part in the tableaux on that account. kathie had done nothing to them. it was because her mother used to sew, i believe, and then kathie herself is not a bit proud. i suppose if they made a great show and parade like the haddens--" "i did not think belle was that small! and you are a splendid champion, emma. but kathie is worthy of the best friendship in the world. she is never mean or envious, or looking out for the best places, and mr. conover is just royal. the idea of the haddens setting themselves up! why, mrs. alston used to sew for my mother, and mother is one of her warmest friends. isn't there something very unjust about girls,--some girls, i mean?" blushing as he corrected himself. "and why does not mrs. wilder interfere, or is she on the patrician side?" "mrs. wilder really doesn't know anything about it. the little hateful acts are done on the sly, just looks and tones, or some sentence that no one can take hold of. it would seem silly to complain of not being noticed. but it takes away the pleasant feeling that used to exist." "and how does kathie bear it?" "like a little angel. it hurts her cruelly too. about the time this first began, some very common-looking people spoke to kathie in the street, and the girls have laughed and sneered at that. indeed, nothing that she does escapes them. i almost wish that i wasn't a girl!" "boys don't badger a fellow that way, if they did there would be some thrashing! but i know just how to come up with belle hadden, and i'll do it!" with that dick laughed. emma was so much exasperated that the thought rather delighted her. "what will you do?" "i can't tell you until afterward. don't i wish rob alston was home, though! he would enjoy the fun." they separated at emma's gate. she was not altogether sure that she was right in her desire, but she determined not to worry herself on that score. belle's party was to be quite a grand affair. a number of the academy boys were invited, those who were rich and stylish; belle did not come to school the next day, and the girls were rather indiscreet without their leader. the rooms were beautiful, the supper elegant, the music fine, but--there were so _few_ young gentlemen! not dick grayson, nor walter dorrance, nor charlie darrell, nor--ever so many others that had been counted upon sure. emma guessed as she heard the floating talk. "i do suppose belle hadden was as deeply mortified last night as she could be," emma said to kathie. "if ever i have another cause that i want righted i will place it in dick grayson's hand. he is equal to arthur's knights." "what did he do?" "he said he had a plan. i know now that it must have been to keep the nicest boys away from the party. belle likes dick so much too. it must have been worth seeing,--their disappointment. a host of wall-flowers with no one to lead them out to dance!" "you didn't ask him to do it?" kathie's face was full of pain and regret. "no, not exactly. indeed, i did not know what he meant to do, only i was telling him about belle hadden's meanness, and he thought of a way to pay her back." "i am so sorry it was--that way." "kathie!" "o emma dear, don't think me ungrateful! you have stood by me of your own accord, i know," and kathie clasped her hand. "i am so much obliged to you. they had nothing against you at first, and they were very sorry not to have you at the tableaux. but it always troubles me to know that other people have suffered--" "not when they deserve it, surely!" "always--if it can be helped." "and you would not have done this? you think it was not right for me to tell?" what could kathie say,--blame her brave comrade? "no, you do not think it right. i can see that in your face! kathie, how _can_ you bear everything so patiently?" "god makes it all right at last. he asks us to wait his time. and though it is very hard--" kathie's lip quivered and her voice grew unsteady. "it seems to me this has been the meanest thing i ever knew. you cannot guess what gave it the first start." "yes. it was while you were sick that the girls--took a dislike to me. i spoke to some people one day, some friends," correcting herself, "and belle laughed at them. then the girls talked about--mamma." "it was shameful!" "we _were_ poor, and we had to work. mamma could not help all that. and then uncle robert came, and we have been so very happy ever since. thinking of it all, i don't mind this little trouble much. all that belle says cannot make us coarse and vulgar and ignorant, and i have been trying all the time to look on the best and brightest side." emma put her arm suddenly around kathie. "what is it," she asked, in a husky voice,--"what is it that makes you sweet and patient and tender and forgiving, always ready to minister to others and to the poor, even if you are laughed at and teased? maybe it's the same grace that takes away the fear of death! o, i wish i knew! i wish i had it! i am sometimes so miserable, kathie. do you believe that your god _could_ love and pity me a little?" "'him that cometh to me i will in no wise cast out.'" it was all that kathie could think of to say as emma stopped short in her walk, trembling, excited, and tearful. "but how to come?" kathie hesitated. it seemed that she knew so little herself, how then could she direct another? she remembered the other time when she failed to bear witness, and though her shy, delicate nature shrank from anything like a parade of her most sacred feelings, strength was given her when she asked for it. "i do not know how it is always--" in her sweet, faltering voice, "but when i first wanted to try--to be good,--to follow him even a little, it was just as if i reached out my hand and prayed him to take it, and kept close to him by endeavoring to do what he wishes--" "and you did not have--any great light--" "i had only a love and a desire to obey him. and it seemed as if everybody helped me,--mamma, aunt ruth, and uncle robert. but there is always something to overcome, some battle to fight." "and i am a poor, raw recruit. do you think he will accept me, kathie?" "every one--to the uttermost." they walked to the corner, where their paths diverged. "i wish you would come and see me," kathie said, with her ready grace. "fred was there occasionally last summer, and uncle robert liked him so much!" "and you will forgive that--revenge? perhaps i ought to have waited." kathie's look was sufficient, though she could not have spoken. but the child went home in a gravely sweet frame of mind. she was in a mood to tell uncle robert the whole story that evening; but there were several guests, so there could be no confidences. the next morning, after school was opened, mrs. wilder rose and told them she had a few words to say upon a subject that had been a source of much disquiet for several days; and then she very kindly but wisely took up the matter that had so divided and agitated the girls, and severely condemned the folly of which some of them had been guilty. "they would find as they grew older," she said, "that with people of culture and refinement social distinctions did not depend so much on a little more or a little less money, but nobleness of soul, thought, and feeling,--deeds that could brave and endure the scrutiny of clear eyes, and not those which must always slink away and hide themselves behind whispered insinuations." it seemed, after all, as if, in some mysterious way, mrs. wilder had learned all the particulars. she mentioned no names, and did not in the least seek to exalt kathie; but the child knew by the kiss and the lingering glance bestowed upon her that afternoon that all her silence and pain had been appreciated. if belle needed anything further to lower her self-esteem, she had it on her return home. mr. conover, mrs. alston, and mrs. grayson had met at the house of a mutual friend when mrs. hadden happened to call. "belle," she began, sharply, "how could you have committed such a blunder as to omit that pretty little miss alston from your party-list? her mother and her uncle are very charming people, and they have a host of elegant friends in new york. mrs. havens was here last summer to visit them, and those aristocratic merediths are warm friends of theirs. i am so sorry it should have happened!" "miss alston is a regular little methodist,--too good to go to parties," returned belle, rather crossly. and so ended the reign of the patricians. belle somehow lost prestige at school. even lottie began to be pleasant again with kathie, secretly hoping that belle would never repeat her unlucky remark. dick grayson and charlie had to tell kathie one evening how they spoiled a good deal of the fun at belle hadden's party. "i felt so sorry," kathie said, gravely. "well, you are the queerest girl i ever saw," was charlie's comment; yet something inside told him she was a noble one as well. but the sweetest of all was the talk with uncle robert. chapter xi. in another's stead. closer pressed the ranks of brave men who were to strike a final blow for the good cause, nearer, nearer, marching on with a steady, crushing step. the nation rejoiced over victories, but firesides, from palace to hovel, missed and mourned some dear, familiar face, some cheerful voice that would never speak again. kathie used to watch daily. the campaign was growing more exciting as it approached the end. her heart used to beat chokingly as she glanced down the lists. and this was what she saw one day: "missing, william morrison." "o mamma!" with a quick cry, "did you read this?" mrs. alston looked. "oh!" she exclaimed, with sudden pain. "uncle robert and mr. morrison have gone to the nursery to select a few more fruit-trees. they will doubtless hear of it at the village." "you do not think--he has been--killed!" kathie's face was very pale and her sweet voice faltered. "hardly," returned mrs. alston. "but one can never be quite certain what becomes of the missing." kathie put on her shawl and hood presently, and walked slowly down the winding drive. she had not sufficient courage to enter the cottage, though through the window she saw ethel and jamie having a game of romps. the child's cheeks were like roses, and now and then a careless laugh floated out to kathie, who shivered with something more than cold. presently the wagon approached slowly. when uncle robert caught sight of his little niece he sprang out and greeted her warmly. "i have some good news for you, kitty," he said, in his bright, breezy tone. "mr. meredith is really better. they hope to bring him home before long. why--isn't it delightful?" seeing that she made no answer. "yes, i am very, very thankful." "but, kathie--what has happened, little one?" "our other soldier--" "mr. morrison--o child, what tidings of him?" "there has been another battle, and he is--missing." "the news might be worse then. there is a little hope, so do not despair at once." kathie grasped his arm tighter, and they walked nearly to the house in silence. then he said, "of what are you thinking, my darling?" there were tears in her soft, violet eyes. "uncle robert, what a strange and solemn thing it is to have any one die for you,--in your stead." "yes. i wonder if we do not sometimes forget the one who died eighteen hundred years ago? but this brings it home to you and me in a manner that we shall always remember." "and, looking at that, all our little trials and burdens seem as nothing. i thought it quite hard to be treated so unjustly at school, but what was it compared with giving up one's life?" "it is something, my darling, when we bear reviling from that highest of all motives,--his sake. even the little steps are precious in his sight. we are not all called upon to walk the sorrowful way he trod." "but poor little ethel!" "we promised, you know, to make all the amends in our power to her." "but it seems to me that nothing could comfort me if you were gone." he took the cold little face in his hands, as they were standing on the broad porch now, at the very door. "do you love me so well, my child? but we must not forget that those who stay at home are sometimes called from the earthly ranks. god asks of us that his will and pleasure shall be ours as well." "yes, i know "; but her voice was quite faint as he kissed her. it was dusk, and as he opened the door the cheerful light and warmth of the hall were most grateful. kathie gave a shiver as if she were shaking off the wintry cold. "do not anticipate the worst," he said, pleasantly. "to-morrow's news may be different." she smiled faintly. "i am not a very good soldier, after all," she returned, with a little faltering in her tones. "my darling, when our captain calls us out to fight, he always gives us grace and strength. but we must never look away from him; that is part of the promise." she hung up her hood, smoothed her hair, that had been blown about by the wind, and went in to supper. they all talked a little about mr. morrison, but it appeared to kathie that they were wonderfully hopeful. indeed, the news from mr. meredith was so very encouraging that it seemed to dim the force of the other. afterward mr. conover went down to the cottage. freddy brought his solitaire-board to kathie. "i've forgotten how it is done," he said, "and i want you to show me. let me take them out, and you just tell me when i go wrong." it really seemed that fred had a marvellous faculty for going wrong. kathie felt very much as if she did not care to be bothered. she was restless and nervous, and wanted to curl herself up on aunt ruth's lounge and think a little. "greater love hath no man--" the words kept running through her mind. but the love began in little things, even the love which suffered at last upon the cross. so she roused herself to patience and interest. uncle robert looked quite grave when he returned. the morrisons had heard the tidings, and were very anxious. "i must write to mr. morrison's captain to-morrow," he said. "we must make every effort to find him. he may have been wounded and carried off of the field unnoticed." kathie prayed fervently for mr. morrison's safety. uncle robert made immediate inquiries, and they waited in half fear, half hope. in the mean while events in virginia had the stirring ring of near victories. all was breathless excitement throughout the land. sorties, surprises, battles, sherman coming up from his march to the sea, sheridan brave and dashing as ever, and grant going slowly with his men, like some ponderous machine that was to crush at last. and then the telegraph flashed the news far and wide: "lee has surrendered!" "richmond has been taken!" it seemed so odd to kathie to be going on in her quiet, uneventful fashion. school lessons, music practices, home duties,--nothing grand or heroic. mrs. wilder's lecture to the girls had been productive of a little good, beside breaking the foolish cabal; for in it she had touched upon dress and parties, and tried to set before them the urgency of paying some attention to their studies. so there were fewer bows, a plainer arrangement of hair, and less talk of fashion. "i think it was mean to crowd kathie alston out," declared sue coleman. "mamma says the alstons are people one might be proud of anywhere; and they are extremely well connected. she met them one evening at mrs. adams's, and that elegant mr. langdon thinks mr. conover about perfect. mamma is so sorry that we did not have her in the tableaux. every one noticed it. that was your fault, belle!" "of course you are all quite at liberty to choose your own friends," belle answered, loftily; "i'm sure you agreed to it. you did not want mary carson and all that rabble." "mary and kathie are not friends in our acceptation of the term. she is polite to mary, and i am not sure but that a ladylike courtesy is more effectual in keeping people at a distance than absolute rudeness. i believe kathie and emma lauriston are the only two girls in the school who have not indulged in rudeness in some form or other." "if she is not hand and glove with mary carson, she has another friend who is no better, whom she visits and sends pictures to, and i don't know what all. it's a second or third cousin of our cook. of course these strongs are rich; so it is not the breeding as much as the money. but, as i said, you can all do as you like. it seems to me that half of the town has gone crazy on the subject of kathie alston." emma was a little troubled with these talks about sarah strong. she had a certain delicacy which held her aloof from any such associations. "kathie," she said at length, "i wish you would tell me how you came to take a fancy to those people who were at--the fair, i believe." kathie colored a little. "i don't know as you would understand it," she answered, slowly. "i am beginning to comprehend some things," her eyes drooping a little, and glancing past kathie. "i noticed them at the fair--because--something was said to hurt their feelings--" "o, i know! lottie thorne came over to our table and made fun of the woman. but--do you not think--such people always take advantage of a little notice?--and then it leads to mortifying embarrassments." "maybe that is just one of the things god puts in the daily warfare to make us good soldiers. it is like being a private in the army. sometimes people sneer at the hard, rough work the soldiers have to do, and yet it often helps the officers to gain the victory." "and the officers have the credit. that looks rather unjust, doesn't it?" "it would seem hard if god did not remember it all." "but how did you come to visit the strongs?" kathie told the whole story. "i cannot explain these things to you just as uncle robert does," she went on, with a rather perplexed smile. "always when i am in any doubt or trouble i go to him. he thinks when people are anxious for mental or social improvement a helping hand does them so much good. persons in their own station cannot give it, as a general thing. and the saviour said, 'inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these--'" "yes, i see. but it is harder to do your good in that way, kathie." "digging in the trenches"; and kathie smiled. "ah, you have gone out as a private in the ranks; and i am afraid, after all, that very few of us like to be privates," emma returned. "but it certainly did show a good deal of delicate feeling and remembrance when sarah strong sent you the lichen." "i thought so. and our visit was very pleasant." "only, if she had not spoken to you that day in the street, it would have saved you a good deal of pain and trouble," returned emma. "maybe it was just what i needed. life is so pleasant and lovely to me that i might forget who gives it all if every once in a while something did not bring me back to him. and it is so good, when others misunderstand and blame, to know that god sees all, and never makes a mistake in his judgment." emma was silent. it was the keeping near to him that rendered kathie meek, patient, and full of love. and it seemed to emma as if she strayed continually. was it because kathie always had some good work in hand? but amid all the rejoicing, and the certainty that mr. meredith would recover, the other shadow seemed to be growing deeper. three weeks, and not a word of mr. morrison yet. his captain remembered the man, and could only account for the disappearance by supposing that he had been buried among the rebel dead. twice since the battle they had exchanged prisoners, and he had not been returned among the well or wounded; and now every one was flocking to the union lines. "mr. darrell went to washington to-day," uncle robert announced to kathie. "he is to bring jessie and mr. meredith home." "here,--to brookside?" "yes," with a smile. "he needs the quiet and the country air, and i fancy there are two or three people here whom he is longing to see." kathie's heart beat with a great bound. by and by she found herself rambling slowly toward the cottage. hugh was busy with some spring preparations, pruning trees and vines. he nodded to her, but did not seem inclined to stop and talk, and jamie caught hold of her dress, begging her to come in. grandmother took off her spectacles and wiped them; she often did this now, for her eyes grew dim many times a day. "so you have had good news," she said, after the first greeting. "i am glad there is a little joy saved out of the great wreck. such a handsome young man as mr. meredith was too; but there's many a bonny lad sleeping under the sod, who was fair enough to his mother." kathie slipped her hand within the one so wrinkled and trembling. "it is such a sorrow to us all," she said, in her soft, comforting tone. "i keep thinking of it day and night. it was so noble in him to go--to suffer--" "it is the one thing, miss kathie, that gives me a little resignation. i shall always feel thankful that he went in your dear uncle's stead, not for the money merely. and if it has saved him--if it has kept you all together; but this is too sad a talk for you, dear child." the tears were dropping from kathie's long bronze lashes. "dear grandmother, there has not been a morning nor night but that i have remembered him and his generous deed. i know his life was as precious to you as uncle robert's was to us, and now poor little ethel is an orphan--for my sake. how strange that the whole world keeps doing for one another, and that, after all, no one really stands alone in it!" "we are nearer than we think for--rich and poor, when one takes god's word aright. we can't any of us do without the other unless there comes a sense of loss and something that is not quite right. you and yours see further into it than most folk. i'm glad to have the precious comfort of knowing that william went safely, and that in the other country he has met his dear wife. i shall soon go to them, and i know well that little ethel will never lack for friends. william felt it with great certainty." another duty was laid upon kathie. this orphan was to be more to her than any chance friend. what could she do of her own self? only to show her now how truly she appreciated the sacrifice and loss, and to put a few simple pleasures in her life, to give her tenderness and affection that might make some slight amends. she thought of something else that evening. "uncle robert," she said, "do you believe there is any hope that mr. morrison may still be alive?" "it is very slight now," he answered. "and yet i can hardly be reconciled to the loss amid this general rejoicing. it seems so much harder to have him dead now that the war is over and many of the soldiers will soon return home." "i feel so sorry that he had to die out there alone. if some one could have given him only a cup of cold water--" "perhaps they did." "but if it had been you!" kathie clung closely to him as if there might be danger yet. "it was not, my darling. god seems to hold me in the hollow of his hand, and while he takes such care of me i feel more than ever the need of doing his work. and now little ethel has been added to us." "uncle robert, i think i ought to take a special share in it, since god has left me the delight of your love." "as ethel grows older, there will be many things that you can do." "but i have thought of this one now. the interest on ethel's little fortune amounts to almost one hundred dollars." "a little more than that. i put it in bonds." "and if it could be saved for her,--since she will want but very little. she will have her home with her aunt, and need only her clothes. i'd like to buy those for her as a kind of thank-offering." "but, my darling, in a few years more you will be a young lady, and there will come parties, journeys, and pleasures of different kinds, where it may be necessary for you to be dressed in something besides the simple garments of childhood. perhaps you will want more money yourself!" "i never have to give up anything needful, but i was thinking that i should like now and then to make a real sacrifice, relinquish some article that i wanted very much, and use it for her instead. it would help me to remember what her father had done for me." uncle robert stooped and kissed her, touched to the heart by her simple act of self-denial. "it shall be as you wish," he replied, tenderly. "and, my dear child, i am glad to see you willing to take your share in the great work there is to be done in the world." "it is so little, after all, and so many blessings come to me." ah, was it not true that god restored fourfold? after many days the bread we have cast upon the waters comes floating back to us. well for us then if we are not shamed by niggardly crumbs and crusts flung out impatiently to some wayside beggar while we ourselves feasted. for god's work and love go together, and there is always something for the willing hand. chapter xii. home again. the pony phaeton stood before the school-house. jasper and hero nodding their heads impatiently in the april sunshine. the prettiest striped lap-robe imaginable was thrown over the empty seat, the plating of the harness made a silvery glitter, and altogether it was a turnout that one might be rather proud of, if one's self-complacency was nurtured upon such things. and the driver thereof was not to be despised. the girls, as they trooped down stairs, thought kathie alston "so lucky!" no one in brookside had a father or uncle or brother so devoted,--not old, by any means, and certainly good-looking, but, best of all, showing his affection in a manner that made her envied of others. sue coleman had met him several times through the course of the winter, and pronounced him "magnificent," in her enthusiastic fashion. indeed, he was the kind of man to be very attractive to young girls. she bowed now in her most gracious manner. belle bit her lip angrily. if she had taken up kathie instead of that insignificant little gossiping lottie thorne! her mother had been to call at cedarwood, but it wasn't at all likely that she would be invited within its charmed precincts. of course she said she did not care; but there was a gnawing jealousy at her heart. uncle robert was so in the habit of coming for kathie that she sprang in, nodded a gay farewell to the group, and went on for some distance before she thought it anything more than a pleasure drive. suddenly her heart gave a quick bound. "you are going to the darrells'?" she said. "yes." disguise it as he might, there was a glow in the half-averted eyes. "o, mr. meredith hasn't--come home!" "hasn't he? are you quite sure?"--with a little smile. "o uncle robert!" "they came at twelve. i was in there half an hour, when he insisted that i should drive over for you." it was very flattering to be remembered first of all; and yet there was something connected with it which made kathie's heart beat in an unwonted manner, and a quiver came into her throat almost as if she wanted to cry. six months ago!--how much had happened since then! he fastened the horses, and entered the hall with kathie, who seemed strangely shy. "they took him right up to miss jessie's room," said her uncle. thither they went, though there was a sound of joyous voices in grandmother's room, just across the hall. the two halted a moment, then uncle robert pushed the door a little wider open. "have you brought her?" the dear, well-known voice, sounding a bit husky and tremulous, and with something in it which brought the tears to kathie's eyes. what with the flood of sunshine, the white bed and pillows a little tumbled, and a gray travelling-wrap thrown partly over somebody, she seemed to see nothing but confusion at first; then a thin white hand was stretched out. "i am so tired that i cannot rise. dear kathie! dear child!" they were both crying then, and neither felt ashamed. just a miracle that he was here at all; and if he had gone to the other country, the golden key opening the gates set with jasper and pearl must have been kathie's precious words. "my dear kathie, i've lost all the little sense i ever did have. i sent jessie away for fear she might indulge in a scene, and here i am crying like a baby! but there are so many things to think of, and it is so delightful to see familiar faces once more!" then kathie took a look at him. he was very thin and pale, the hair and beard cropped quite close, the eyes sunken, yet with the old bright glow she had watched so many times; and, oddest of all, the once plump hands looking, as hannah would have said, like "chickens' claws." "well, should you know me?" "yes, but you are changed." "and if you had seen me a month ago! the doctors have cut me open, turned me inside out, and run up and down my body with lodestone in search of a stray rebel ball. when they had me nearly killed, they would leave off a little while; but as soon as they saw signs of coming to life they went at it again. it's a kind of gymnastics that a man can't get fat on, try his best." "i should think not"; and kathie couldn't help laughing. "but it's through now. i feel like saying, with joe gargery, 'and now, pip, old chap,' (pip, in this instance, standing for country) 'we've done our duty by one another.' school is out, and uncle sam is sending us home as fast as possible. i've nothing to do now but to be gloriously lazy, and have every one wait upon me." "o, i am so glad, so thankful," and kathie pressed the thin hands in her own, so soft and warm, "to have you back here, when we were afraid--" "it has been a hard struggle, little kathie. i shall never see a blue coat again without thinking of what many a brave fellow has had to suffer. i seem to have been feasted upon roses; but hundreds of them had no such luck." "and to come to peace at last,--to know there will be no more calls!" "it certainly is good tidings of great joy. and though i couldn't be in at the last, losing all the triumph and glory, i feel that i did a little good work, and shall never regret the rest." her soft eyes answered him. "and there is something else. i want to tell you that your precious words bore good fruit after many days. my dear child," drawing her closer to him until the silken curls swept his cheek, "i owe you more than i can ever express, ever pay. it was your sweet, simple daily life, and your unconscious heroism that first led me to think. i have heard hundreds of sermons, and had hosts of religious friends, but nothing ever touched me like your gentle firmness that night so long ago at my brother's, and your rare modesty afterward, and all your straightforward course, even when it involved pain and sacrifice. i can't exactly tell you how the truth and the peace came to me, enabling me to do my duty to god and man; but when i was ill and helpless, and hovering on the verge of death, i want you to know that _his_ love was infinitely precious to me. it took away all perplexity, all care and trouble, and gave me rest in the dreariest of nights. and as he suffered for us, so ought we to be willing to suffer for one another. i never realized before what a great and grand thing life was when obedience to god crowns it first of all and even out there it seemed as if i was always taking lessons of you, remembering what you had said and done." "o no, no!" she cried, with her utmost sweet humility. "i am not worthy of so much." "my darling friend, i think you are one of god's own messengers. through you i have found him, come to see him as he is, a tender, loving father." she hardly dared to taste the rich ripe fruit gathered here to her hand. it was such a sacred work to have guided another soul ever so little, and she could scarcely believe that it had come through her. "are you going to keep kathie all the afternoon?" asked a soft, pleading voice. both started. for many minutes they had been silently thinking of the little steps that reached to god, made so much more simple and easy by the tender spirit-leading than all the learned philosophy of the world. "o miss jessie!" "mrs. meredith, if you please," he exclaimed with a little laugh in his tone. "there, you have kissed enough. come, sit down and look at me. i am afraid you will forget about my being one of our country's noble sons." jessie might have been a little thinner with all her anxiety and watching, but she was the same dear, sweet friend, and kathie thought prettier than ever, with her half shy, tender grace. "he has grown very exacting," the young wife said, with a smile. kathie blushed. "it seems so odd for you to--be--" "married," exclaimed mr. meredith. "why, what else could i do? when i was a poor, helpless log, unable to stir hand or foot, some one had to take pity upon me. she was very good, i assure you." "as if i had not known it long before!" and a host of old memories rushed over kathie. "isn't it odd," mr. meredith said, in a lower tone, taking his wife's hand, "that it was through kathie we came to know each other? i can just see the picture she made in the great hall of the hotel, like a little wild-flower blown astray by a gust of wind." jessie thought of something else,--how she and charlie were sitting by the cheerful fire one winter night, when he had expressed a desire to make her happy in some way, because she was always studying the pleasure of others. but for that she might never have known the alstons so intimately, and of course-there she had to stop with a dainty blush. it was very odd, kathie decided, in her simple child's way. "and we have to thank kathie for a good deal of delicacy in keeping our secret," mr. meredith said. "circumstances gave it into her hands long ago." she smiled a little. "what did ada say?" she asked, rather shyly. "i have not been favored with ada's opinion, but she and her mother are to pay me a short visit presently. george wanted me to come immediately to new york, but i fancied jessie must be a trifle homesick; and, to confess the truth, i was longing for a glimpse of brookside. have you begun gardening yet, kathie? and tell me the story of the whole winter. i'm just famishing for gossip." uncle robert proposed returning presently, but they would not listen to his taking kathie. mr. meredith begged her and jessie to have tea up in the room, where he could look at them. his side was still very weak, and his journey had fatigued him too much to admit of his sitting up. "but i shall soon be about with a crutch," he announced, gayly. passing the lodge cottage again that evening, kathie gave a tender thought to its inmates, and the childish longing for fairy power came back to her. no wand, nothing but a fortunatus's purse with one piece of gold in it, and that could not do everything. kathie was up betimes the next morning. there were lessons to study, an exercise to write, and a music practice to be sandwiched in somewhere, for mr. lawrence was to come that afternoon. and her head was still so full of mr. meredith and dear jessie. "it will not do," she said, presently, to herself, when she found that she was listening to every bird, and watching the cloud of motes in the sunshine; so with that she set to work in good earnest. belle hadden was loftier than ever on this day, and seemed to hold herself quite apart. "a new kink of grandeur," emma lauriston said. lottie thorne always had the earliest news. now she made sundry mysterious confidences, prefaced with, "would you have believed it?" "what is that, lottie?" asked one of the girls. "o, haven't you heard?" the face aglow with a sense of importance. "papa told us last night, though i suppose it is all over. poor belle! why, it would kill me!" "but what _is_ it?" "about mr. hadden. he has been embezzling, or making false returns, or something, and charged the government with a great deal more than he supplied. why, i believe it is almost a million! and he is in prison!" "not so bad as that," subjoined sue coleman, quietly. "but he _is_ in prison." "yes, there is some trouble, but maybe it will not amount to much." "i should think she would be ashamed to show her face!" "how can _she_ help it?" said the softest and sweetest of voices. "it is very hard to punish her or make her answerable for her father's faults." "what should you do, kathie alston, if you had been intimate with her?" it was sue coleman who spoke, and there was a husky strand in her voice. "i should keep on just the same. it will be very painful for her to bear anyhow. suppose it was one of us!" "you don't know what hateful things she said about your uncle ever so long ago," pursued lottie. "but if they were false, her merely saying them could not make them true, you know." it was a bit of philosophy quite new to the girls, though each one might have thought of it long before, and was one of the things that had been a great comfort to kathie many a time. "but this _is_ true." "it will be bitter enough to bear, then, without our adding to the burden"; and a tremulous color flitted over kathie's fair face, not so much at what she had been saying as the fact that these girls were grouped around listening for her verdict. "i don't believe she will come to-morrow," two or three voices decided. they never knew how hard her coming was, how she had begged and entreated her mother to let her stay at home, and finally threatened _not_ to go, when mrs. hadden had taken her in the carriage. there was no pride in her soul as she stepped out of it, only a bitter, haughty hatred. "don't act like a fool!" was her mother's parting advice. "the matter will soon blow over." for mrs. hadden felt that she should not be utterly crushed. the deed of the house was in her name, and the furniture bills had been made out in the same manner, consequently that much was secure. mr. hadden had probably not done more than hundreds of others, and she felt confident that he would get out of it somehow. they had plenty of money, and could start afresh in a new place, but the people here should see that she was able to hold her head as high as the best of them. there was a little bouquet on belle's desk. no one knew who put it there. they would have suspected kathie alston, of course, if they had not seen her come in empty-handed, but no one guessed it was her second coming that morning. the brookside standard copied the report, stating also that mr. hadden had asked a suspension of public opinion for the present. "do you suppose it is really true?" inquired kathie of uncle robert. "i believe mr. hadden's reputation does not stand very high, at the best. i can forgive a man who is tempted to retrieve himself by some desperate step, when on the brink of ruin; but the men who wronged our poor brave boys with clothing that was but half made, and food of the poorest kind, enriching themselves while the country was at her sorest need, do deserve punishment. still, it would be hardly kind to begin by meting it out to his children." "how terrible it must be, uncle robert, to know that some one you held dear was guilty of such a crime!" "yes, i think it would be worse than taking up poor and uncultivated people"; and a peculiar smile crossed his face. "you will have an opportunity to show your blue blood, kathie. i believe i never knew a conover who struck a fallen foe." "yes," she answered, wondering if it would be foolish to tell him about the flowers; but just then freddy ran in, full of tribulation as usual. mr. meredith improved rapidly. kathie had to take him in her way some time during the day, or there was a most heart-rending complaint. "it is so delightful to have them all love him so well!" she said to aunt ruth. "charlie has a hero of his own now." they received a long and characteristic letter from rob, who wished he was a bombshell and could be dropped down into brookside. the war was actually ended, and "johnny was marching home," and everything had happened about right. "only i am awful sorry about mr. morrison. i can't seem to believe but that he will come to light somewhere yet. it gave me such a strange feeling,--thinking, for a moment, if it _had_ been uncle robert. we will try all our lives to make it up to ethel. i will never tease her again, at any rate." which was all the resolve in rob's power at present. chapter xiii. good news. it seemed to kathie in these days as if she had her hands very full. the weeks were hardly long enough. yet what could be left out? the daily call at the darrells', or the morrisons', for now ethel looked to see her every day, and used to confide to her the sums that bothered, the thoughts that puzzled, and the many things which come to trouble little girls; and if sometimes kathie considered them tiresome or foolish, she remembered how patient dear aunt ruth used to be with her in the old times,--and now she had uncle robert saved to her by ethel's loss. no, neither of those could be given up, nor the school-lessons, nor the music, nor even sarah, who _was_ improving. the blue ribbon had delighted her exceedingly. kathie said, very gently indeed,--that is, prefacing and ending it with something pleasant,--"i think it will be much prettier for your hair than any other color." that started sarah upon a new tack. "i wish you would tell me something about colors," she begged in her next letter. "i always remember how lovely you looked that night at the fair, and some of the ladies too. i can't be pretty, i know, but i'd like to look nice, so that people wouldn't laugh at me. now that i have begun, there are so many things that i want to know. cousin ellen helps me a good deal, and she is such a rest to mother. she has the pleasantest way of managing the children, and does such a deal of sewing. father said i might raise all the chickens i wanted to this summer, and i think i'll buy a nice rocking-chair for the parlor. o, i have crocheted two beautiful tidies, and one of them is about as good as sold for two dollars and a half. if it isn't too much trouble, i would like to send the money to you, and let you buy me some books. you know what is pretty and interesting. and if you would only tell me what would be nice for summer dresses and a hat." the ice being once broken, discussions upon dress followed quite frequently. when kathie was in any doubt she referred the subject to aunt ruth. it was plain that sarah was emerging from her crude and barbaric state, yet she showed no disposition thus far to drift over into the frothy waves of vanity. with her other knowledge seemed to come shrewd, practical self-knowledge. jim too had been made the happy recipient of some useful books. he seemed to have a great taste for wood-working,--"conjuring," his father said,--and talked a little of going to the city to learn a trade, but mr. strong had no fancy for giving him up now, when he was such a help. "the farm is plenty large enough for two," mr. strong said, "and there's no life so independent." but mr. conover felt that it ought to be rendered interesting as well. so he asked jim to come down to cedarwood and take a look around, which delighted the youth greatly, and gave him some new ideas. the rumors concerning belle hadden's father proved too true. it was an aggravated case, and each day brought new circumstances to light. it was useless to think of holding their position in brookside. acquaintances began to make ceremonious calls, or bow coldly. a few of the girls in school openly rejoiced. "thank the lord my father never stole nor cheated," said mary carson. "i'd rather be a plebeian than a thief." the mortification was too much. belle begged and prayed that she might be allowed to leave brookside, and finally a visit to an aunt was determined upon. she was a queen to the last moment, though, and said her good-bys to the few with a haughty grace. "thus endeth the reign of the patricians," commented emma lauriston. there was a grave, perplexed light in sue coleman's eyes. "belle was real fascinating," she said; "but i wonder that we--that some of us hadn't more sense last winter. we all went to persecuting and ruling out kathie alston, who bore it all like a saint. belle had courage and pride, but there was something nobler in kathie." yet sue knit her brows in silent perplexity. "but there is another view of it that puzzles me, after all," she said, breaking her long silence. "where _do_ people make a distinction? now suppose kathie alston invited this _protã©gã©e_ of hers to her house, and you or i should drop in--it would look ill-bred to take kathie away from her guest, and yet it is not likely her talk would interest us much. then as kathie grows larger--well, it is all of a muddle in my brain. i dare say these strongs are good, honest, respectable people, and--there is no use in smoothing it over--mr. hadden was dreadfully dishonest. all their grandeur and fine clothes belong by right to some one else. and yet they are allowed to go into the best society. is it _quite_ right?" "not the _very_ best, perhaps," returned emma, slowly. "a good many people do insist upon worth, virtue, honesty, and all that." "and then, as kathie said, belle was not to blame for her father's sins." "it seems to me now that belle's mistake was in trying to decide who should be greatest, and pushing down all who did not exactly suit her. she had no right to be the judge." "who of us has? and here is another question. you remember mrs. duncan? she went to the city about a fortnight ago, and had a business offer. first, i must tell you that she was very elegantly brought up, but her father died, and somehow the fortune melted into thin air. she went to visit an aunt, and met mr. duncan, who was cashier in a bank. they have always lived very nicely,--stylishly, belle would say,--but now they have nothing, and mrs. duncan has no friends who can take care of her. she has forgotten a good deal of her french and her other accomplishments, and teachers' situations are hard to get. well, a mrs. marsh in the city has offered mrs. duncan eight hundred dollars a year to take a position in her millinery establishment. she has a marvellous faculty for trimming,--equal to any french woman. and why wouldn't she be just as good and just as much of a lady if she did take it? will it make her coarse and vulgar?" "no," answered emma, decisively. "yet i dare say the hadden children would not be allowed to associate with the duncan girls. i cannot seem to get at the wrong, nor where it comes in." "i believe, after all, kathie alston has the secret,--the little leaven which leavens the whole lump." "only some of us object to being leavened"; and sue finished with a laugh. but though kathie had not heard the talk, there was a secret uneasiness in her soul as well. sarah strong was begging her to come up to middleville again, and uncle robert believed the relaxation would do her good. "mamma," she said, thoughtfully, "there are one or two puzzles that i cannot make quite clear to my own mind." "what is the matter now? any new gift for sarah?" "not a gift exactly, but--a great pleasure. when i was with them in the wagon that day, and they were both so cordial and warm-hearted, it appeared rude, or at least impolite, not to ask them to call here. mrs. strong said, 'sarah wouldn't look well among your grand people'; but there was such a sad, wistful look in sarah's eyes, as if somehow she felt that she was shut out." "and you would like to have her come?" returned mrs. alston, with a smile. "i was thinking how happy it would make her, mamma. i don't believe she ever saw so many pretty things together in her life,--and she is so fond of them." "and what puzzles you?" "whether it would be quite--i don't mean that i am too proud," catching herself with a quick breath, while a scarlet flush quivered from brow to chin. "whether it would be proper,--is that what you mean?" asked her mother. "yes"; and kathie began to twist the fringe of the nearest tidy. "miss jessie asked you to her house, you know. we lived very plainly then, and you had to wear a cheap delaine for best dress all winter." "then you think i may?" she exclaimed, joyously, while her soft eyes brightened. "it all depends upon the manner of the asking. i think she might come some saturday when you were alone and have a very pleasant visit. it is not likely she would enjoy meeting several of the girls here." "o mamma, i should ask no one!" "not because we should be so ashamed of sarah, but on account of her feelings. it is best for little girls to exercise tact, as well as grown-up people; and sometimes it proves awkward work trying to make different kinds or sets harmonize. by observing a few simple rules, and studying the comfort of both parties, you may be able to give all greater happiness." "then, when i go up, i shall invite sarah in so cordial a manner that her mother will see that i mean every word." "yes; for the unkindest invitation of all is to ask people purely out of compliment." the smooth brow was slightly shadowed again. "mamma," she said, in a low tone, "can people--grown-up ladies, i mean--get along without saying or doing things that they really do not mean to have taken in earnest?" "they had better not say them. a christian woman will be truthful first of all; but it is not necessary to make candor a cloak for the indulgence of unkind or heartless remarks. religion, it seems to me, holds the essence of true politeness,--to do unto others as you would have them do unto you." the next day kathie was quite late in getting home, having stopped at the darrells'. uncle robert and mamma were up in aunt ruth's room. "what will you give me for a letter with a grand seal as if it came from the very commander-in-chief or the president? look! to 'miss kathie alston.' what correspondent have you in washington, we would all like to know?" uncle robert held the letter above her head. a bold, peculiar handwriting that she had never seen before. whose could it be? "i am sure i don't know," coloring with interest and excitement. "i have a gold piece in my purse." "i will not be quite so mercenary as that. you shall tell us whom it is from." kathie took the letter and broke it open so as not to destroy the seal, saw the beginning,--"my dear little friend,"--ran her eye over the two pages without taking in anything, and looked at the signature. "o," with a cry of surprise, "it is from general mackenzie! why,"--and then she began to read in good earnest,--"mr. morrison is alive, safe! general mackenzie found him. o uncle robert!" she could not finish the rest, but buried her head on uncle robert's shoulder to have a good little cry out of pure joy and thankfulness. "shall i read it aloud?" she placed the letter in his hand. "my dear little friend,--i dare say you will be surprised at receiving a letter from a busy old soldier like me, but i met with an incident a few days ago with which you are so intimately connected that i cannot resist the good excuse. of course all the glorious news and rejoicing has reached you, but we here on the spot are hearing new things daily, some joyful, but many sad. we went up the james river one morning to a small settlement originally negro quarters, where we heard a number of wounded prisoners had been taken. we found thirty poor fellows in all, who had suffered terribly from neglect, for though the negroes were well-meaning and very warm-hearted, they were miserably poor and ignorant. half a dozen of the soldiers had been very ill from fevers, and upon questioning them i found one was--whom do you think?--your uncle's substitute, a william morrison. that took me back to last winter at once, and to my little friend, so do not wonder if we had a good long talk about you and the beautiful cedarwood of which i have heard so much. i believe it did the poor fellow a world of good. he was wounded and taken prisoner, and brought up here by the negroes, as far as i can learn. in those few days of our final successes the small events were overlooked in the glory of the grander ones. his wound was not very severe, but fever set in, and for three weeks he was delirious. about ten days ago he wrote home, but he was not sure that his messenger was reliable. he was much better, and we despatched those who could travel to head-quarters at once. i fancy that he will be mustered out as soon as possible. if his friends should not have heard, will you please inform them? he holds you all in such warm and grateful remembrance that it was delightful to talk to him. i rejoice with you that he is safe, and i do not question but that he has done a soldier's whole duty, i thought i discerned in him the spirit of another little soldier, who i dare say finds some battles to fight. give my regards to your family, and do not feel surprised when i tell you that you may expect me at cedarwood some day before long. "truly yours, "w. mackenzie, u. s. a." "it hardly seems possible!" kathie said, with a sob. "but they have not heard, and they will be so glad!" uncle robert began to pace the room, much moved. of late death had appeared such a certainty, and though he knew the life had been freely given for his, his first emotions were those of devout gratitude to god that this sacrifice had not been required. then he paused before kathie. "my little darling," he said, "it is _your_ good news. and though the morrisons may hear it in a day or two from other sources, we owe it to them immediately. will you go?" kathie wanted to very much, but o, how was she ever to get through with it! her voice seemed to be all a quiver of tears. "would you like me to accompany you? "if you will." so kathie bathed her face and tried to rub the little throbs out of her temples. in a few moments she was ready, and the two walked down the avenue. "there _cannot_ be any mistake?" she exclaimed, pausing at the door. "o no." grandmother was holding the baby, who had a slight cold and fever. ethel sat at the window, hemming some breadths of ruffling. she sprang up and brought out chairs for them, and after one or two little inquiries went back to her work. oddly enough the conversation ceased for a few moments, and in the silence kathie fancied that she heard her heart beat, it was in such a tumult. "i believe kathie has some news for you," announced mr. conover, gravely. kathie rose and twined her arms around ethel's neck. "it is this," she said, all in a tremble,--"i cannot tell it as i ought, but your dear father is alive, ethel, and is coming home soon." "not william! miss kathie!" and grandmother almost let the baby fall. "yes," replied mr. conover; "we heard to-day. i have brought the letter." "the lord be praised!" then grandmother came over to kathie, but she and ethel were crying softly in each other's arms. "child, are you one of god's own--heaven-sent? for you bring us joy continually." "but it was sent to me," kathie said, over a great break and falter. "if i could have made it so in the beginning,--but i couldn't, and god kept him safely. we all waited and prayed." "and i despaired! i am worse than doubting thomas! ah, how good god is to us all!" mrs. morrison entered with a pail of milk "o," she exclaimed, "you have had news! have they found his body?" "his body and soul. he will be back shortly. the tidings came through a friend of kathie." "dear ethel, little one, it is blessed news! you would never have wanted for love and kindness while hugh and i were alive; but there's no love quite like a parent's. how hugh will rejoice! he never could give him up altogether." "mr. conover has a letter to read," said grandmother. little did general mackenzie imagine that his words would bring so great a joy. they all listened breathlessly, and then wanted it read over again to lengthen out the good news. and when at dusk uncle robert declared they must go, they all begged for kathie to stay and drink tea, and would take no refusal. "but i must return," said uncle robert, "or the table will be kept for us both." mrs. morrison made some biscuits, and brought out her china, as well as a damask table-cloth. hugh, coming in, wondered at the feast; but ethel's first word told him all. she, poor child, was brimful of joy. it did one good to look at the roses on her cheeks, and hear the little laughs that came for joy, and yet were so near to tears. when kathie reached home she was absolutely tired with all the excitement, and mamma said there must be no lessons that night; so they took the lounge in the shaded half-light of the library, and kathie laid her head in uncle robert's lap, for it almost ached. and there they had a tender talk. "but we shall never forget it," she said. "it seems as if it would help me to remember all the pains and sorrows and burdens that we can try to bear for one another." "it is what god means us to learn and to do. 'for no man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself.'" "and we are all so oddly linked in with one another,--such a little thing brought the morrisons here, and then my meeting general mackenzie gave him an interest. the news would have come in a day or two, i suppose; but, uncle robert, it seemed so good, since he risked his life in your place, that we should be the first to take the joyful tidings to them. i haven't anything in the world to ask." "yes, my darling, i am so glad that general mackenzie did find him; and more than glad that our brave soldiers can return to their own pleasant firesides." "neither of _our_ soldiers was very grand in the world's estimation, that is, as to position, but they have both suffered a good deal for the cause. it is so sweet to think that, though the world knows nothing about it, god remembers." "and that no act of self-denial or heroism goes without its reward there. it is hard sometimes to see it passed so unnoticed in this world, but i suppose that is where patience needs to have her perfect work." kathie wrote a little note to rob the next morning, beside getting her lessons; and before the day ended they had a letter from mr. morrison himself, announcing that he was to be sent home on a furlough. "i shall have a dangerous rival," exclaimed mr. meredith, in his teasing tone, "and when general mackenzie comes i expect to be quite overshadowed. no stars nor bars nor shoulder-straps,--nothing but a poor unknown private! what good could he do?" "he followed his captain and did his duty." "good!" exclaimed charlie, who was standing beside his brother-in-law. "you will never find kathie being caught by the glitter and show." the old smile twinkled in mr. meredith's eyes. "well, i will promise not to be _very_ jealous. only you know you sent me off to war, so you ought to allow me some special indulgence." "i!" exclaimed kathie, coloring violently. "yes, you cannot disown me; i am one of your soldiers. dear little kathie, i hope always to be true to my colors." the last was uttered in a low tone, but it brought a more vivid flush than the preceding sentence. though now her eyes were downcast, yet in her heart of hearts she understood. "it seems as if rob ought to come home in the general returning. how glad i shall be to see the dear old fellow!" was rob fighting the good fight? chapter xiv. put to the test. the days were so long and pleasant now that uncle robert thought they would not start for middleville until after dinner, especially as there would be a bright moon in the evening. kathie had written a little note to sarah, and now the two started in high satisfaction. for since the good news about mr. morrison kathie seemed full of happiness and content. the place looked less dreary than in winter, though the houses appeared rather more shabby by contrast. one or two were being painted, which would shame the rest sadly. but the hillsides were taking on an emerald tint, and groups of cows were wandering about as if patiently waiting for the grass to grow into nibbling length. sarah was standing by the gate, watching for them. a very decided change _had_ come over her. she was taller and looked less stout, her complexion was not so rough and red, her dress, a striped green and white gingham, fitted nicely, and was finished at the throat by a linen collar. she had eschewed waterfalls and rolls, though she laughingly admitted to kathie afterwards that it was because she couldn't get her hair up to look like anything. but the great thick coil was really beautiful, and the green ribbon very becoming. she had changed somewhat in manners as well, being less boisterous and effusive. indeed, kathie thought her very lady-like as she ushered them into the house. "is your brother anywhere about?" asked uncle robert. "if so, i will go and find him while you girls have a talk." "he is up in the lot. steve will show you, or, better yet, call him." then she led kathie into the parlor. there were green paper shades at the windows, which softened the light in the room, and kathie's first glance took in a world of improvements. sarah colored with a little conscious pride as she led her to a veritable modern sofa, instead of the old stiff one, worn at the edges. "take off your hat and sack," she said, with a touch of bashfulness. kathie complied. "i am so glad to see you. i have such a host of things to tell you." "and you have been out gathering violets. how pretty and spring-like they are!" "yes, jim helped me. we thought you would like them so much. and i have been trying to--to get fixed up a little. it cannot be anything like your house, but somehow i want it as nice as i can make it. jim is so good too, and cousin nelly; and i am so happy sometimes that i really wonder if i be i, like the old woman." "i am very glad"; and kathie gave the hand a squeeze in her own tender little fashion. "i want to tell you all before any one comes in. isn't it delightful to have this sofa? i made father half a dozen shirts all by myself, and he was so pleased,--you can hardly think! he gave me twelve dollars to spend just as i pleased; but i told mother i would rather let it go towards a new sofa than to buy the finest dress. nelly said it would be so much more comfortable than that hard, shabby thing, that looked as if it might have come out of noah's ark. so mother gave me fifteen,--she has all the money for the milk and butter and eggs,--and when father heard of it he added three more. i was afraid he would think i wanted to be too fine, but he only laughed a little. mother and nelly went to the city and bought it. i was so glad that i could have cried for joy, and i know father is very proud of it, though he does not say it in so many words." "it is a very nice one, and furnishes the room quite prettily, beside the comfort of it." "jim made me this table, and cousin nelly and i covered it with paper and then varnished it over, and we have a pretty chintz one up stairs. nelly and i have a room together now. i can keep everything so much more tidy than when the children pulled all the rubbish about. and look at my two new pictures!" they were large colored engravings,--one, "the wood-gatherers," and the other the interior of a german peasant's cottage, where the mother was putting a babe to sleep in its odd wicker cradle. "jim bought them at a newspaper-stand one day, and only paid twelve cents apiece for them. he's powerful--no, i mean very fond of them. i am trying to leave off all those old-fashioned words and expressions. then he made the frames, and nelly and i covered them with pine-cones." they certainly were very creditable. "but how industrious you must be!" exclaimed kathie. "you still go to school?" "yes. i wouldn't give that up for half the world. you see cousin nelly helps mother a good deal, and she helps me too. i have been telling her ever so much about you, how good and lovely you were. but o, wasn't i a clown and an ignoramus when you first saw me! i don't wonder that girl laughed, though it was hateful in her; but i shall never, never forget how kind you were. o miss kathie, it seems to me if the real nice people in the world _would_ only help the others a bit, we should get along so much faster. i feel as if i'd had it in me all the time,--a great hungry longing for something,--and i find now that it is beauty and order and knowledge." sarah's face was in a glow, and her steady, ardent eyes held in them a soft and tender light. it seemed to kathie that she was really pretty, or something more than that,--electrified with soul beauty. "father pretends that he is afraid i shall get too proud and not be good for anything, though he was ever so much pleased when he saw the parlor in such nice order. and he thought the shirts a wonder. i shall not be sixteen until november, and there are girls older than i who could not do it. in vacation i am going to make jim a whole new set of nice ones with linen bosoms." it seemed to kathie that there was very little danger of sarah's being spoiled by acquiring knowledge. "you deserve the utmost credit," she returned, in her simple manner, that had in it no shade of patronage or condescension. "i ought to do something for the pains and trouble you have taken." "it is a pleasure too." "miss kathie, you are so different from some rich people. i wonder what makes it?" a soft color stole up into her face. she would fain have kept silence, but she saw that sarah was waiting for an answer. "i think it is because mamma and uncle robert believe that wealth was not given for purely personal or selfish purposes. it is god's treasure, and we are to put it out at usury, like the parable of the talents, and the usury means making other people happy if we can." "then i suppose i ought to try and make some one happy?" "do you not?" asked kathie, simply. "yes, i do occasionally when it is quite a trouble. the children beg me to read to them,--they are so fond of stories; and now father always wants me to read our paper to him. it comes on saturday and he is always so tired that night. still, that isn't--" and sarah paused as if she despaired of rendering her meaning clear to her young listener. "i think uncle robert would say that _is_ it surely. once in a while we can do larger things; but isn't it the little deeds that require the most patience? it is the steps that make up the whole path." "so it is. i never thought of it before"; and she smiled, relieved. "you believe, miss kathie, that what we do at home is just as good in god's eyes as if we did it for a stranger? it almost seemed to me as if i ought to go out and look for some poor ignorant person instead." "both are doing good in different ways. maybe it is best to learn to do the good at home first"; and kathie remembered her early efforts in assisting her mother. "i want father to see that all my knowledge and my queer likes, as he calls them, will not really spoil me. grandmother strong has just such old-fashioned notions. she thinks my going to school perfectly absurd. but cousin ellen says the world has changed a good deal since grandmother was young." "and i have brought your books," said kathie, when there was a pause of sufficient length. "the three are half of a pretty set; some time you may like to get the others." "you are so kind. i hated to bother you, but i knew you could make the best choice." "it was no trouble at all,--uncle robert did it, and he bought them for half a dollar less than their usual price." "i am so much obliged!" and sarah's face was in a grateful glow. kathie had wanted very much to supply the other three. "if sarah were poor," replied uncle robert, "i should not object; but when such a person asks you to do a favor, it is best to keep simply to the letter of the request. if you gave her so much more, she would hesitate about asking you to do such a thing a second time, that is, if she possessed any real delicacy." kathie saw the force of the reasoning. presently cousin ellen came down. she was a neat, commonplace-looking woman of about thirty, but with a good deal of shrewd sense in her dark gray eyes. her black calico dress was the perfection of tidiness, and the merest little ruff of book-muslin edged it round the neck. kathie liked her very much. she had been in the midst of the war operations for the last three years, and to please sarah she related numberless incidents that interested kathie exceedingly. then she had to go up stairs and see their room, take a tour around, and have all the flower-beds explained to her, to go to the barn and inspect several new articles jim was making. uncle robert and the boys joined them here, and kathie was introduced to mr. strong. "don't you have a little too much in-doors and study?" he asked, pleasantly. "i shouldn't like to see one of my gals look as white as you do." "o, she is always white, father," said sarah, admiringly. "and she has plenty of roses too, for the most part," explained uncle robert, "only for the last few weeks she has been rather overtaxed, i think. we have had a returned soldier, a very dear friend, ill, and been in great anxiety about another." "thank the lord for all who've come home safe," said mr. strong, in his clear, forcible tone, and every one of them felt like adding an "amen" to it. martha ran out to call them to tea. there was the great table spread, and all the children around it, even to fatherless willie, who would never need a friend while jotham strong lived. it was a very enjoyable supper. the new influence was perceptible even in sturdy mrs. strong, who took a little pains that she might not shame sarah before her company. kathie asked mrs. strong to let sarah come down some saturday and make her a visit. "i can't exactly explain, miss kathie, and i hate to be ungrateful for your kindness, but i feel as if you and your friends were above sarah. folks ain't all alike, and i s'pose the lord didn't mean 'em to be, but i don't want sarah laughed at, and i don't want any one to think she's trying to crowd in we're plain, old-fashioned people"-mrs. strong paused, very red in the face. "no one will think that at cedarwood," answered kathie, softly. so presently the promise was given. in a fortnight cousin ellen and sarah were to go down to brookside to do some shopping. ellen wanted to call on several of the relatives, but sarah might go at once to cedarwood. "i expect it will be like a little bit of heaven," the girl whispered. "i never was in a real elegant house in all my life." kathie described her visit to aunt ruth in glowing terms. "i think it _is_ delightful to be rich, after all," she said, contentedly. "you can make so many people happy." "and while you study the happiness of others and your duty towards them the riches will hardly prove a snare," returned aunt ruth. before another week had ended they had a new joy for which to be very thankful,--the return of mr. morrison. he still looked a little pale and thin, but had improved wonderfully since the day when general mackenzie found him in the forlorn negro quarters. glad enough he was to get home to his little ethel, who hardly let him go out of her sight. nothing would do but that the whole family must come down to the cottage and drink tea. "i must express my obligations once more to you," said uncle robert, in the evening; "and i am most grateful to god for your return, and that he did not require so costly a sacrifice at my hands." "he knows that i am glad enough to come back; but if you'll believe me, sir, it was a great comfort, when i thought myself dying, that it was in your stead, and that your life, so much more valuable than mine, had been spared. i believe you would have sorrowed for me truly,--and miss kathie here,--as well as my own." kathie took his hand. "i've been thinking of this ever since the night you offered to go: 'greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'" the sweet voice trembled a little. it would always have a tender strand in it when it came to that verse. "ah, miss kathie, those precious words were for the saviour of us all. what can we ever do to merit them?" and the soldier drew the back of his hand across his eyes. "god gives the grace to weak human nature," uncle robert said, with solemn sweetness. walking home, kathie started from her revery. "now if rob could only come back," she exclaimed, "our soldiers would all be together. you remember the day he was so elated about the draft?" "yes. dear rob! i hope he has done good service. i am very anxious to see him again." then kathie began to count on the promised visit. "it is not because i am so proud of cedarwood, or the handsome things in it," she explained to uncle robert, "though i do think them all very lovely; but it will be such a pleasure to her,--just as my going to miss jessie's when we were so poor." "i understand"; and he smiled. there had been quite a discussion about having a second girl. uncle robert fancied that kathie's further knowledge of household details had better be postponed until she had less upon her hands. jane maybin, who had been a good deal out of health lately, and unable to work in the factory, as the dust irritated her lungs and made her cough, was quite anxious to take the situation. what with company and increasing social duties, mrs. alston found her time much interrupted. hannah did all the sweeping on friday, but it was a heavy tax; so kathie only dusted awhile on saturday morning, cut fresh flowers and arranged them, and busied herself about little odds and ends. mrs. alston decided to have jane, and aunt ruth took a walk over to the cottage. kathie waited in a peculiar state of anxiety, lucy and annie gardiner had proposed to come over that very afternoon, but she preferred to have sarah quite alone, that she might feel free to enjoy everything. it was almost twelve when she reached cedarwood. kathie was haunting the cottage, where she could have a good look down the street, but she hardly recognized the figure at first. it seemed as if sarah grew every week. she looked quite like a young lady, kathie thought. her light gray dress was trimmed with several rows of blue ribbon, and the sack, matching it, made a very neat suit. her white straw hat was trimmed with blue, and a cluster of crisp, fresh flowers, that looked almost good enough to be natural. there was nothing in that outfit to be ashamed of. "o," she exclaimed, with a long breath, "it's like going into the garden of eden! the house and the trees, and that lovely lake! i should want to be out of doors forever." "uncle robert has promised to row us around the lake this afternoon. a month later it will be much more beautiful. did you finish your shopping?" "o yes, though we were bothered a good deal, and that made me later. nelly wanted me to go to dinner at cousin rachel's." "i am glad that you did not." sarah could not be hurried into the house. she wanted to view the fountain, the groups of evergreens, the broad porch, and fancy just how the roses and honeysuckle would look. but presently they entered. kathie led her up stairs to her room, to lay aside her hat. "o, i don't wonder jim said it was a palace!" she exclaimed, with breathless delight. "what a lovely room! why, it's pretty enough for any one's parlor!" kathie smiled a little, remembering the day on which she had thought it wonderful as well. sarah was hardly satisfied with her inspection when the bell rang for dinner. in the hall they met aunt ruth, and in the dining-room kathie introduced sarah to her mother. a girl with less natural adaptation or ambition might have been very awkward. but sarah had watched kathie to some purpose, and now gave herself courage with the thought that she could not go far astray if she copied kathie. to be sure she blushed and hesitated a little, and, as she afterward confessed at home, "trembled all over"; but she did acquit herself very creditably. "i can scarcely realize that it is the same girl who wrote you the christmas letter," whispered mrs. alston in a soft aside, and kathie smiled gratefully at her mother's commendation. then the two girls began a regular tour about the house. the pictures, the statues, the furniture, aunt ruth's beautiful bay-window still full of vines and flowers, and the abundance of books, were so many marvels to sarah. and here, in the midst of all this beauty, hung her lichen. the tears of delight came to her eyes, in spite of her strong effort at repression. "now if you would only play and sing for me," she pleaded, bashfully. "you're so good that i hate to ask anything." "with pleasure." it seemed as if sarah could never get enough music. she listened as if she was entranced, the new spiritual light coming into her eyes, showing the strong and earnest capabilities of her soul. uncle robert looked in upon them. "i think you had better go out on the lake now," he said. "the air is so delightfully soft." sarah sighed. "i cannot imagine which is the best, everything is such a pleasure." "we will have some music when we return. you will like the sail, i know." they found their hats and ran down the broad steps. quite a party were coming up the drive. charlie and dick, mr. and mrs. meredith, and o, joy! this tall, soldierly man could be no other than general mackenzie! "my dear, dear young friend"; and, stooping, he kissed the forehead in his grave, tender fashion. "so you see i have surprised you this time," laughed mr. meredith. "where were you going gypsy fashion?" "to the lake, but it doesn't matter." there was no uncle robert to help her, so she turned to where sarah stood blushing and abashed, drew her kindly forward, and gave her an introduction to each one. dick connected her with the party and belle hadden at once. "kathie was right to stand up for her," was his mental verdict. "there are plenty of worse-looking and worse-behaved girls in the world." at this junction uncle robert joined them. the whole party entered the parlor. kathie seated sarah by herself, and general mackenzie joined them. mrs. alston and aunt ruth were summoned, and the conversation became most genial. and when sarah ventured a remark, frightened half to death the moment afterward, general mackenzie smiled and answered her. dick grayson, anxious to see "what kind of stuff she was made of," came round to the back of the _tãªte-ã -tãªte_, and joined the talk. but the wonders had not all come to an end. the door-bell sounded again, and hannah ushered two young ladies into the hall. kathie caught a glimpse of the faces,--sue coleman and emma lauriston. they saw dick and charlie and the grand soldier beside this plain-looking girl,--some of the darrells, maybe,--and, accepting kathie's cordial invitation, joined the group. "miss strong," kathie said, with sweet, gracious simplicity; and sue for a moment was abashed. something in dick's face announced the truth. general mackenzie did not seem to think her beneath him. just now she was speaking of her cousin's husband and their having mrs. gilbert and willie at home. "miss strong," he said, gravely, "i honor your parents for the act. there will be so many widows and orphans for whom the scanty pension will be as nothing. but the generous-hearted men and women who open their houses to these poor unfortunates pay our dead soldiers a higher compliment, and evince a truer appreciation of their gallant heroism, than if they made grand processions and built marble monuments." sarah blushed with embarrassment, and some deep, delicate feeling that she could not have expressed. she had not done it boastingly; indeed, until this moment, she had hardly thought of any special kindliness in the deed. actually complimented by general mackenzie! lottie thorne would have died of envy. somehow the time ran away very fast. they went out on the lawn in the sunshine, when sue and emma discovered that they must go, and the two boys walked with them. then it came sarah's turn, as she had promised to be at cousin rachel's by five. "i've had such a lovely, lovely time, miss kathie, though i felt dreadfully frightened when your grand company came; but they were all so--so nice that i quite forgot about being an awkward country girl. and isn't general mackenzie plain and charming?--yes, that is the very word. i don't believe general grant is a bit nicer. i shall tell mother just what he said. it will help to make up for the girls laughing about her bonnet." kathie had a simple gift to send to baby lily. then the girls said a lingering good-by to each other, and kathie went back to her hero. "i must take the night return train," he declared, "on account of important business in washington; but if you will allow me to visit you in the summer, and bring my son, i will accept it as a great favor." uncle robert gave him a most cordial invitation. "and, my little friend, i must congratulate you that your soldiers did their duty without flinching, even in the most trying moments. it is not our lives only, but our wills, our comforts and pleasures, that we are required to give up. and i am thankful that god watched over them every hour, and sent them back safely at last." "i think they were braver than i, sometimes," kathie answered, in a low tone. "after all, i have done so little; i do not deserve the praise." her voice seemed to lose itself in a tender humility. "my dear child, i know what you thought of the other warfare. it is a soldier's duty to bring in all the recruits that he can. god will clothe them in his righteousness, and make the path plain before them as they go to do battle with the arch-enemy. he only asks us to lead them to him. you are doing this in a brave, steady manner." there were tears in kathie's downcast eyes; but mr. meredith's hand stole over her shoulder, and their fingers met with a clasp that was more expressive than words. "people often look too far off for duties," continued the old soldier. "we are to take up the task that lies before us, even if it does not seem to wear the grace of the heroic. god knows when and where to add the golden fruit. some day, my little girl, we will have a long talk about these matters." the soft spring-twilight was falling as they said good-by to general mackenzie. the grave, kindly eyes rested last of all on the child's simple, earnest face. mr. and mrs. meredith went also when uncle robert drove the general to the station. kathie sat by the window, peering out into the darkness, long after the sound of the wheels had ceased. one star came out presently. shining on and on. the old, old lesson, the child's purpose growing stronger with the passing years, and kathie prayed that as her soldiers had been faithful, she also might be faithful unto the end. little red house series by amanda m. douglas illustrated by louise wyman 12mo cloth price, net, $1.00 each postpaid, $1.10 the children in the little old red house the very title of this book gives promise of a good story, and when we know that there are _eight_ of these children, as loving as they are lively, there can be no doubt of the good things in store for the reader. their efforts to help the dearest of mothers, their merriment, which no poverty can subdue, and the great and well-deserved good fortune which comes to them, move us in rapid succession to sympathy, amusement, and delight. [illustration] "it is a sunshiny story of the best things in life. men and women today need such stories quite as much as the children. it is as quaint as the "pepper books" for little folks, but carries a deeper treasure for older people."--_universalist leader._ the red house children at grafton eight bright children, with a kind and loving mother, make up the red house family, and the change to better circumstances through a new father, and a good one, does not in the least "spoil" them. there is some doubt on the part of a few of their new neighbors as to whether these numerous brothers and sisters will be good to know, but all who meet them are speedily won to friendship. fun and frolic in plenty are a part of their wholesome development, and the story does not drag for a moment. [illustration] "it is filled with fun and frolic, and yet has a tendency to carry the children's minds to higher and better things."--_buffalo commercial._ _for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers_ lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston helen grant series by amanda m. douglas illustrated by amy brooks. cloth. price per volume $.60 helen grant's schooldays helen grant's friends helen grant at aldred house helen grant in college helen grant, senior helen grant, graduate helen grant, teacher helen grant's decision helen grant's harvest year [illustration] helen grant and her friends represent the best type of college girls, those of the highest aims and ideals, and she herself develops to admiration in each successive phase of her career.--_milwaukee free press._ helen grant is a lovable and capable american girl, and the young people who follow her experiences as depicted by miss douglas are sure to be the better for it.--_herald and presbyter._ miss douglas has had long experience in writing books for girls. into her stories she puts the influence of high ideals, remembering all the time that girls are not to be deprived of their good times, but that play and earnest endeavor contribute each a share to the making of womanly character.--_christian register._ in "helen grant," miss douglas has created a splendid type of american girlhood, strong, energetic, intelligent, and winsome. her progress under difficulties, and her unusual power to win and keep friends, have delighted her readers.--_chicago advance._ [illustration] for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston fifty flower friends with familiar faces by edith dunham a field book for boys and girls with twelve full-page colored plates, decorations and fifty text illustrations from nature by w. i. beecroft $1.35 _net_ children cannot too soon begin to know the wild flowers, and here they are told in a charming way where and when to look for each of fifty widely distributed common flowering plants; also how they get their names, and how to know them from the remarkably accurate drawings of mr. beecroft, a skilled botanist and superior artist. each of the fifty flowers has a page of accurate botanical description in addition to its story. thus the book is suited for varying ages. [illustration] "the greatest praise can be bestowed upon and every mother and father should have one and by it better educate their children in nature, which will prove not only an enjoyable study, but an instructive one."--_providence news._ "good brief descriptions, good clear pictures, portraits almost, of each flower friend, a beautiful cover, convenient arrangement, and fine large print, make a perfect book to own, or to give to any one, especially a child."--_universalist leader._ "if the children do not learn something new about flowers this summer it may be because their unkind parents have not bought them miss edith dunham's fifty flower friends."--_new york times._ "the boy or girl into whose hands this book is placed can hardly fail to acquire a real and lasting interest in our every-day wild flowers."--_the dial._ "it has no rival in books of its kind, either in text or illustration."--_boston budget._ _for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers_ lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston dorothy brown by nina rhoades illustrated by elizabeth withington large 12mo cloth $1.35 _net_ this is considerably longer than the other books by this favorite writer, and with a more elaborate plot, but it has the same winsome quality throughout. it introduces the heroine in new york as a little girl of eight, but soon passes over six years and finds her at a select family boarding school in connecticut. an important part of the story also takes place at the profile house in the white mountains. the charm of school-girl friendship is finely brought out, and the kindness of heart, good sense and good taste which find constant expression in the books by miss rhoades do not lack for characters to show these best of qualities by their lives. other less admirable persons of course appear to furnish the alluring mystery, which is not all cleared up until the very last. [illustration] "there will be no better book than this to put into the hands of a girl in her teens and none that will be better appreciated by her."--_kennebec journal._ marion's vacation by nina rhoades illustrated by bertha g. davidson 12mo $1.25 _net_ this book is for the older girls, marion being thirteen. she has for ten years enjoyed a luxurious home in new york with the kind lady who feels that the time has now come for this aristocratic though lovable little miss to know her own nearest kindred, who are humble but most excellent farming people in a pretty vermont village. thither marion is sent for a summer, which proves to be a most important one to her in all its lessons. [illustration] "more wholesome reading for half grown girls it would be hard to find; some of the same lessons that proved so helpful in that classic of the last generation 'an old fashioned girl' are brought home to the youthful readers of this sweet and sensible story."--_milwaukee free press._ _for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers_ lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston brave heart series by adele e. thompson illustrated 12mo cloth _net_ $1.25 each betty seldon, patriot a book that is at the same time fascinating and noble. historical events are accurately traced leading up to the surrender of cornwallis at yorktown, with reunion and happiness for all who deserve it. brave heart elizabeth it is a story of the making of the ohio frontier, much of it taken from life, and the heroine one of the famous zane family after which zanesville, o., takes its name. an accurate, pleasing, and yet at times intensely thrilling picture of the stirring period of border settlement. a lassie of the isles this is the romantic story of flora macdonald, the lassie of skye, who aided in the escape of charles stuart, otherwise known as the "young pretender." polly of the pines the events of the story occur in the years 1775-82. polly was an orphan living with her mother's family, who were scotch highlanders, and for the most part intensely loyal to the crown. polly finds the glamor of royal adherence hard to resist, but her heart turns towards the patriots and she does much to aid and encourage them. american patty a story of 1812 patty is a brave, winsome girl of sixteen whose family have settled across the canadian border and are living in peace and prosperity, and on the best of terms with the neighbors and friendly indians. all this is suddenly and entirely changed by the breaking out of war, and unwillingness on the part of her father and brother to serve against their native land brings distress and deadly peril. [illustration] _for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers_ lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston home entertaining what to do, and how to do it edited by william e. chenery 12mo cloth price, net, $.75 postpaid, $.85 this book is the product of years of study and the practical trying-out of every conceivable form of indoor entertainment. all the games, tricks, puzzles, and rainy-day and social-evening diversions have been practised by the editor; many are original with him, and many that are of course not original have been greatly improved by his intelligence. all are told in the plainest possible way, and with excellent taste. the book is well arranged and finely printed. at a low price it places within the reach of all the very best of bright and jolly means of making home what it ought to be--the best place for a good time by those of all ages. [illustration] "the book is bright and up to date, full of cheer and sunshine. a good holiday book." _religious telescope, dayton, ohio._ "for those who want new games for the home this book supplies the very best--good, clean, hearty games, full of fun and the spirit of laughter."--_n. y. times._ "altogether the book is a perfect treasure-house for the young people's rainy day or social evening."--_new bedford standard._ "the arrangement is excellent and the instructions so simple that a child may follow them. a book like this is just the thing for social evenings."--_christian endeavor world._ "a book giving the best, cleanest and brightest games and tricks for home entertaining."--_syracuse herald._ "the book is clearly written and should prove of value to every young man who aspires to be the life of the party."--_baltimore sun._ "only good, bright, clean games and tricks appeal to mr. chenery, and he has told in the simplest and most comprehensive manner how to get up 'amusements for every one.'"--_hartford courant._ _for sale by all booksellers or sent on receipt of postpaid price by the publishers_ lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston four gordons by edna a. brown illustrated large 12mo decorated cover $1.35 _net_ louise and her three brothers are the "four gordons," and the story relates their experiences at home and school during the absence of their parents for a winter in italy. there is plenty of fun and frolic, with skating, coasting, dancing, and a jolly christmas visit. the conversation is bright and natural, the book presents no improbable situations, its atmosphere is one of refinement, and it has the merit of depicting simple and wholesome comradeship between boys and girls. "the story and its telling are worthy of miss alcott. young folks of both sexes will enjoy it."--_n. y. sun._ "it is a hearty, wholesome story of youthful life in which the morals are never explained but simply illustrated by logical results."--_christian register._ uncle david's boys by edna a. brown illustrated by john goss 12mo cloth price $1.35 _net_ this tells how some young people whom circumstances brought together in a little mountain village spent a summer vacation, full of good times, but with some unexpected and rather mysterious occurrences. in the end, more than one head was required to find out exactly what was going on. the story is a wholesome one with a pleasant, well-bred atmosphere, and though it holds the interest, it never approaches the sensational nor passes the bounds of the probable. "a story which will hold the attention of youthful readers from cover to cover and prove not without its interest for older readers."--_evening wisconsin._ "for those young people who like a lively story with some unmistakably old fashioned characteristics, 'uncle david's boys,' will have a strong appeal."--_churchman._ * * * * * _for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers_ lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston. jean cabot series by gertrude fisher scott illustrated by arthur o. scott 12mo cloth price, net, $1.25 each jean cabot at ashton here is the "real thing" in a girl's college story. older authors can invent situations and supply excellently written general delineations of character, but all lack the vital touch of this work of a bright young recent graduate of a well-known college for women, who has lost none of the enthusiasm felt as a student. every activity of a popular girl's first year is woven into a narrative, photographic in its description of a life that calls into play most attractive qualities, while at the same time severely testing both character and ability. jean cabot in the british isles this is a college story, although dealing with a summer vacation, and full of college spirit. it begins with a yale-harvard boat race at new london, but soon jean and her room-mate sail for great britain under the chaperonage of miss hooper, a favorite member of the faculty at ashton college. their trip is full of the delight that comes to the traveler first seeing the countries forming "our old home." jean cabot in cap and gown jean cabot is a superb young woman, physically and mentally, but thoroughly human and thus favored with many warm friendships. her final year at ashton college is the culmination of a course in which study, sport and exercise, and social matters have been well balanced. jean cabot at the house with the blue shutters such a group as jean and her most intimate friends could not scatter at once, as do most college companions after graduation, and six of them under the chaperonage of a married older graduate and member of the same sorority spend a most eventful summer in a historic farm-house in maine. * * * * * for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers lothrop, lee & shepard co. boston american heroes and heroines by pauline carrington bouvã� illustrated 12mo cloth $1.25 _net_ this book, which will tend directly toward the making of patriotism in young americans, contains some twenty brief, clever and attractive sketches of famous men and women in american history, among them father marquette, anne hutchinson, israel putnam, molly pitcher, paul jones, dolly madison, daniel boone, etc. mrs. bouvã© is well known as a writer both of fiction and history, and her work in this case is admirable. "the style of the book for simplicity and clearness of expression could hardly be excelled."--_boston budget._ the scarlet patch the story of a patriot boy in the mohawk valley by mary e. q. brush illustrated $1.25 _net_ "the scarlet patch" was the badge of a tory organization, and a loyal patriot boy, donald bastien, is dismayed at learning that his uncle, with whom he is a "bound boy," is secretly connected with this treacherous band. thrilling scenes follow in which a faithful indian figures prominently, and there is a vivid presentation of the school and home life as well as the public affairs of those times. "a book that will be most valuable to the library of the young boy."--_providence news._ stories of brave old times some pen pictures of scenes which took place previous to, or connected with, the american revolution by helen m. cleveland profusely illustrated large 12mo cloth $1.25 _net_ it is a book for every library, a book for adults, and a book for the young. perhaps no other book yet written sets the great cost of freedom so clearly before the young, consequently is such a spur to patriotism. "it can unqualifiedly be commended as a book for youthful readers; its great wealth of illustrations adding to its value."--_chicago news._ * * * * * for sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston _the randy books_ _by amy brooks_ 12mo cloth artistic cover design in gold and colors illustrated by the author price, _net_, $1.00 each the progress of the "randy books" has been one continual triumph over the hearts of girls of all ages, for dear little fun-loving sister prue is almost as much a central figure as randy, growing toward womanhood with each book. the sterling good sense and simple naturalness of randy, and the total absence of slang and viciousness, make these books in the highest degree commendable, while abundant life is supplied by the doings of merry friends, and there is rich humor in the droll rural characters. randy's summer randy's good times randy's winter randy's luck randy and her friends randy's loyalty randy and prue randy's prince "the randy books are among the very choicest books for young people to make a beginning with."--_boston courier._ "the randy books of amy brooks have had a deserved popularity among young girls. they are wholesome and moral without being goody-goody."--_chicago post._ * * * * * lothrop, lee & shepard co., boston * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious punctuation errors were corrected. page 41, "commom" changed to "common" (a common soldier) facing the flag by jules verne [redactor's note: _facing the flag_ {number v044 in the t&m listing of verne's works} is an anonymous translation of _face au drapeau_ (1896) first published in the u.s. by f. tennyson neely in 1897, and later (circa 1903) republished from the same plates by hurst and f.m. lupton (federal book co.). this is a different translation from the one published by sampson & low in england entitled _for the flag_ (1897) translated by mrs. cashel hoey.] -----------------------------------------------------------------------facing the flag by j u l e s v e r n e author of "around the world in eighty days"; "twenty thousand leagues under the sea"; "from the earth to the moon," etc. new york the f. m. lupton publishing company publishers -----------------------------------------------------------------------1897 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- contents chap i. healthful house ii. count d'artigas iii. kidnapped iv. the schooner "ebba" v. where am i.--(notes by simon hart, the engineer.) vi. on deck vii. two days at sea viii. back cup ix. inside back cup x. ker karraje xi. five weeks in back cup xii. engineer serko's advice xiii. god be with it xiv. battle between the "sword" and the tug xv. expectation xvi. only a few more hours xvii. one against five xviii. on board the "tonnant" -----------------------------------------------------------------------facing the flag. chapter i. healthful house. the _carte de visite_ received that day, june 15, 189-, by the director of the establishment of healthful house was a very neat one, and simply bore, without escutcheon or coronet, the name: count d'artigas. below this name, in a corner of the card, the following address was written in lead pencil: "on board the schooner _ebba_, anchored off new-berne, pamlico sound." the capital of north carolina--one of the forty-four states of the union at this epoch--is the rather important town of raleigh, which is about one hundred and fifty miles in the interior of the province. it is owing to its central position that this city has become the seat of the state legislature, for there are others that equal and even surpass it in industrial and commercial importance, such as wilmington, charlotte, fayetteville, edenton, washington, salisbury, tarborough, halifax, and new-berne. the latter town is situated on estuary of the neuse river, which empties itself into pamlico sound, a sort of vast maritime lake protected by a natural dyke formed by the isles and islets of the carolina coast. the director of healthful house could never have imagined why the card should have been sent to him, had it not been accompanied by a note from the count d'artigas soliciting permission to visit the establishment. the personage in question hoped that the director would grant his request, and announced that he would present himself in the afternoon, accompanied by captain spade, commander of the schooner _ebba_. this desire to penetrate to the interior of the celebrated sanitarium, then in great request by the wealthy invalids of the united states, was natural enough on the part of a foreigner. others who did not bear such a high-sounding name as the count d'artigas had visited it, and had been unstinting in their compliments to the director. the latter therefore hastened to accord the authorization demanded, and added that he would be honored to open the doors of the establishment to the count d'artigas. healthful house, which contained a select _personnel_, and was assured of the co-operation of the most celebrated doctors in the country, was a private enterprise. independent of hospitals and almshouses, but subjected to the surveillance of the state, it comprised all the conditions of comfort and salubrity essential to establishments of this description designed to receive an opulent _clientele_. it would have been difficult to find a more agreeable situation than that of healthful house. on the landward slope of a hill extended a park of two hundred acres planted with the magnificent vegetation that grows so luxuriantly in that part of north america, which is equal in latitude to the canary and madeira islands. at the furthermost limit of the park lay the wide estuary of the neuse, swept by the cool breezes of pamlico sound and by the winds that blew from the ocean beyond the narrow _lido_ of the coast. healthful house, where rich invalids were cared for under such excellent hygienic conditions, was more generally reserved for the treatment of chronic complaints; but the management did not decline to admit patients affected by mental troubles, when the latter were not of an incurable nature. it thus happened--a circumstance that was bound to attract a good deal of attention to healthful house, and which perhaps was the motive for the visit of the count d'artigas--that a person of world-wide notoriety had for eighteen months been under special observation there. this person was a frenchman named thomas roch, forty-five years of age. he was, beyond question, suffering from some mental malady, but expert alienists admitted that he had not entirely lost the use of his reasoning faculties. it was only too evident that he had lost all notion of things as far as the ordinary acts of life were concerned; but in regard to subjects demanding the exercise of his genius, his sanity was unimpaired and unassailable--a fact which demonstrates how true is the _dictum_ that genius and madness are often closely allied! otherwise his condition manifested itself by complete loss of memory;--the impossibility of concentrating his attention upon anything, lack of judgment, delirium and incoherence. he no longer even possessed the natural animal instinct of self-preservation, and had to be watched like an infant whom one never permits out of one's sight. therefore a warder was detailed to keep close watch over him by day and by night in pavilion no. 17, at the end of healthful house park, which had been specially set apart for him. ordinary insanity, when it is not incurable, can only be cured by moral means. medicine and therapeutics are powerless, and their inefficacy has long been recognized by specialists. were these moral means applicable to the case of thomas roch? one may be permitted to doubt it, even amid the tranquil and salubrious surroundings of healthful house. as a matter of fact the very symptoms of uneasiness, changes of temper, irritability, queer traits of character, melancholy, apathy, and a repugnance for serious occupations were distinctly apparent; no treatment seemed capable of curing or even alleviating these symptoms. this was patent to all his medical attendants. it has been justly remarked that madness is an excess of subjectivity; that is to say, a state in which the mind accords too much to mental labor and not enough to outward impressions. in the case of thomas roch this indifference was practically absolute. he lived but within himself, so to speak, a prey to a fixed idea which had brought him to the condition in which we find him. could any circumstance occur to counteract it--to "exteriorize" him, as it were? the thing was improbable, but it was not impossible. it is now necessary to explain how this frenchman came to quit france, what motive attracted him to the united states, why the federal government had judged it prudent and necessary to intern him in this sanitarium, where every utterance that unconsciously escaped him during his crises were noted and recorded with the minutest care. eighteen months previously the secretary of the navy at washington, had received a demand for an audience in regard to a communication that thomas roch desired to make to him. as soon as he glanced at the name, the secretary perfectly understood the nature of the communication and the terms which would accompany it, and an immediate audience was unhesitatingly accorded. thomas roch's notoriety was indeed such that, out of solicitude for the interests confided to his keeping, and which he was bound to safeguard, he could not hesitate to receive the petitioner and listen to the proposals which the latter desired personally to submit to him. thomas roch was an inventor--an inventor of genius. several important discoveries had brought him prominently to the notice of the world. thanks to him, problems that had previously remained purely theoretical had received practical application. he occupied a conspicuous place in the front rank of the army of science. it will be seen how worry, deceptions, mortification, and the outrages with which he was overwhelmed by the cynical wits of the press combined to drive him to that degree of madness which necessitated his internment in healthful house. his latest invention in war-engines bore the name of roch's fulgurator. this apparatus possessed, if he was to be believed, such superiority over all others, that the state which acquired it would become absolute master of earth and ocean. the deplorable difficulties inventors encounter in connection with their inventions are only too well known, especially when they endeavor to get them adopted by governmental commissions. several of the most celebrated examples are still fresh in everybody's memory. it is useless to insist upon this point, because there are sometimes circumstances underlying affairs of this kind upon which it is difficult to obtain any light. in regard to thomas roch, however, it is only fair to say that, as in the case of the majority of his predecessors, his pretensions were excessive. he placed such an exorbitant price upon his new engine that it was practicably impossible to treat with him. this was due to the fact--and it should not be lost sight of--that in respect of previous inventions which had been most fruitful in result, he had been imposed upon with the greatest audacity. being unable to obtain therefrom the profits which he had a right to expect, his temper had become soured. he became suspicious, would give up nothing without knowing just what he was doing, impose conditions that were perhaps unacceptable, wanted his mere assertions accepted as sufficient guarantee, and in any case asked for such a large sum of money on account before condescending to furnish the test of practical experiment that his overtures could not be entertained. in the first place he had offered the fulgurator to france, and made known the nature of it to the commission appointed to pass upon his proposition. the fulgurator was a sort of auto-propulsive engine, of peculiar construction, charged with an explosive composed of new substances and which only produced its effect under the action of a deflagrator that was also new. when this engine, no matter in what way it was launched, exploded, not on striking the object aimed at, but several hundred yards from it, its action upon the atmospheric strata was so terrific that any construction, warship or floating battery, within a zone of twelve thousand square yards, would be blown to atoms. this was the principle of the shell launched by the zalinski pneumatic gun with which experiments had already been made at that epoch, but its results were multiplied at least a hundred-fold. if, therefore, thomas roch's invention possessed this power, it assured the offensive and defensive superiority of his native country. but might not the inventor be exaggerating, notwithstanding that the tests of other engines he had conceived had proved incontestably that they were all he had claimed them to be? this, experiment could alone show, and it was precisely here where the rub came in. roch would not agree to experiment until the millions at which he valued his fulgurator had first been paid to him. it is certain that a sort of disequilibrium had then occurred in his mental faculties. it was felt that he was developing a condition of mind that would gradually lead to definite madness. no government could possibly condescend to treat with him under the conditions he imposed. the french commission was compelled to break off all negotiations with him, and the newspapers, even those of the radical opposition, had to admit that it was difficult to follow up the affair. in view of the excess of subjectivity which was unceasingly augmenting in the profoundly disturbed mind of thomas roch, no one will be surprised at the fact that the cord of patriotism gradually relaxed until it ceased to vibrate. for the honor of human nature be it said that thomas roch was by this time irresponsible for his actions. he preserved his whole consciousness only in so far as subjects bearing directly upon his invention were concerned. in this particular he had lost nothing of his mental power. but in all that related to the most ordinary details of existence his moral decrepitude increased daily and deprived him of complete responsibility for his acts. thomas roch's invention having been refused by the commission, steps ought to have been taken to prevent him from offering it elsewhere. nothing of the kind was done, and there a great mistake was made. the inevitable was bound to happen, and it did. under a growing irritability the sentiment of patriotism, which is the very essence of the citizen--who before belonging to himself belongs to his country-became extinct in the soul of the disappointed inventor. his thoughts turned towards other nations. he crossed the frontier, and forgetting the ineffaceable past, offered the fulgurator to germany. there, as soon as his exorbitant demands were made known, the government refused to receive his communication. besides, it so happened that the military authorities were just then absorbed by the construction of a new ballistic engine, and imagined they could afford to ignore that of the french inventor. as the result of this second rebuff roch's anger became coupled with hatred--an instinctive hatred of humanity--especially after his _pourparlers_ with the british admiralty came to naught. the english being practical people, did not at first repulse thomas roch. they sounded him and tried to get round him; but roch would listen to nothing. his secret was worth millions, and these millions he would have, or they would not have his secret. the admiralty at last declined to have anything more to do with him. it was in these conditions, when his intellectual trouble was growing daily worse, that he made a last effort by approaching the american government. that was about eighteen months before this story opens. the americans, being even more practical than the english, did not attempt to bargain for roch's fulgurator, to which, in view of the french chemist's reputation, they attached exceptional importance. they rightly esteemed him a man of genius, and took the measures justified by his condition, prepared to indemnify him equitably later. as thomas roch gave only too visible proofs of mental alienation, the administration, in the very interest of his invention, judged it prudent to sequestrate him. as is already known, he was not confined in a lunatic asylum, but was conveyed to healthful house, which offered every guarantee for the proper treatment of his malady. yet, though the most careful attention had been devoted to him, no improvement had manifested itself. thomas roch, let it be again remarked--this point cannot be too often insisted upon--incapable though he was of comprehending and performing the ordinary acts and duties of life, recovered all his powers when the field of his discoveries was touched upon. he became animated, and spoke with the assurance of a man who knows whereof he is descanting, and an authority that carried conviction with it. in the heat of his eloquence he would describe the marvellous qualities of his fulgurator and the truly extraordinary effects it caused. as to the nature of the explosive and of the deflagrator, the elements of which the latter was composed, their manufacture, and the way in which they were employed, he preserved complete silence, and all attempts to worm the secret out of him remained ineffectual. once or twice, during the height of the paroxysms to which he was occasionally subject, there had been reason to believe that his secret would escape him, and every precaution had been taken to note his slightest utterance. but thomas roch had each time disappointed his watchers. if he no longer preserved the sentiment of self-preservation, he at least knew how to preserve the secret of his discovery. pavilion no. 17 was situated in the middle of a garden that was surrounded by hedges, and here roch was accustomed to take exercise under the surveillance of his guardian. this guardian lived in the same pavilion, slept in the same room with him, and kept constant watch upon him, never leaving him for an hour. he hung upon the lightest words uttered by the patient in the course of his hallucinations, which generally occurred in the intermediary state between sleeping and waking--watched and listened while he dreamed. this guardian was known as gaydon. shortly after the sequestration of thomas roch, having learned that an attendant speaking french fluently was wanted, he had applied at healthful house for the place, and had been engaged to look after the new inmate. in reality the alleged gaydon was a french engineer named simon hart, who for several years past had been connected with a manufactory of chemical products in new jersey. simon hart was forty years of age. his high forehead was furrowed with the wrinkle that denoted the thinker, and his resolute bearing denoted energy combined with tenacity. extremely well versed in the various questions relating to the perfecting of modern armaments, hart knew everything that had been invented in the shape of explosives, of which there were over eleven hundred at that time, and was fully able to appreciate such a man as thomas roch. he firmly believed in the power of the latter's fulgurator, and had no doubt whatever that the inventor had conceived an engine that was capable of revolutionizing the condition of both offensive and defensive warfare on land and sea. he was aware that the demon of insanity had respected the man of science, and that in roch's partially diseased brain the flame of genius still burned brightly. then it occurred to him that if, during roch's crises, his secret was revealed, this invention of a frenchman would be seized upon by some other country to the detriment of france. impelled by a spirit of patriotism, he made up his mind to offer himself as thomas roch's guardian, by passing himself off as an american thoroughly conversant with the french language, in order that if the inventor did at any time disclose his secret, france alone should benefit thereby. on pretext of returning to europe, he resigned his position at the new jersey manufactory, and changed his name so that none should know what had become of him. thus it came to pass that simon hart, alias gaydon, had been an attendant at healthful house for fifteen months. it required no little courage on the part of a man of his position and education to perform the menial and exacting duties of an insane man's attendant; but, as has been before remarked, he was actuated by a spirit of the purest and noblest patriotism. the idea of depriving roch of the legitimate benefits due to the inventor, if he succeeded in learning his secret, never for an instant entered his mind. he had kept the patient under the closest possible observation for fifteen months yet had not been able to learn anything from him, or worm out of him a single reply to his questions that was of the slightest value. but he had become more convinced than ever of the importance of thomas roch's discovery, and was extremely apprehensive lest the partial madness of the inventor should become general, or lest he should die during one of his paroxysms and carry his secret with him to the grave. this was simon hart's position, and this the mission to which he had wholly devoted himself in the interest of his native country. however, notwithstanding his deceptions and troubles, thomas roch's physical health, thanks to his vigorous constitution, was not particularly affected. a man of medium height, with a large head, high, wide forehead, strongly-cut features, iron-gray hair and moustache, eyes generally haggard, but which became piercing and imperious when illuminated by his dominant idea, thin lips closely compressed, as though to prevent the escape of a word that could betray his secret--such was the inventor confined in one of the pavilions of healthful house, probably unconscious of his sequestration, and confided to the surveillance of simon hart the engineer, become gaydon the warder. chapter ii. count d'artigas. just who was this count d'artigas? a spaniard? so his name would appear to indicate. yet on the stern of his schooner, in letters of gold, was the name _ebba_, which is of pure norwegian origin. and had you asked him the name of the captain of the _ebba_, he would have replied, spade, and would doubtless have added that that of the boatswain was effrondat, and that of the ship's cook, helim--all singularly dissimilar and indicating very different nationalities. could any plausible hypothesis be deducted from the type presented by count d'artigas? not easily. if the color of his skin, his black hair, and the easy grace of his attitude denoted a spanish origin, the _ensemble_ of his person showed none of the racial characteristics peculiar to the natives of the iberian peninsula. he was a man of about forty-five years of age, about the average height, and robustly constituted. with his calm and haughty demeanor he resembled an hindoo lord in whose blood might mingle that of some superb type of malay. if he was not naturally of a cold temperament, he at least, with his imperious gestures and brevity of speech, endeavored to make it appear that he was. as to the language usually spoken by him and his crew, it was one of those idioms current in the islands of the indian ocean and the adjacent seas. yet when his maritime excursions brought him to the coasts of the old or new world he spoke english with remarkable facility, and with so slight an accent as to scarcely betray his foreign origin. none could have told anything about his past, nor even about his present life, nor from what source he derived his fortune,--obviously a large one, inasmuch as he was able to gratify his every whim and lived in the greatest luxury whenever he visited america,--nor where he resided when at home, nor where was the port from which his schooner hailed, and none would have ventured to question him upon any of these points so little disposed was he to be communicative. he was not the kind of man to give anything away or compromise himself in the slightest degree, even when interviewed by american reporters. all that was known about him was what was published in the papers when the arrival of the _ebba_ was reported in some port, and particularly in the ports of the east coast of the united states, where the schooner was accustomed to put in at regular periods to lay in provisions and stores for a lengthy voyage. she would take on board not only flour, biscuits, preserves, fresh and dried meat, live stock, wines, beers, and spirits, but also clothing, household utensils, and objects of luxury--all of the finest quality and highest price, and which were paid for either in dollars, guineas, or other coins of various countries and denominations. consequently, if no one knew anything about the private life of count d'artigas, he was nevertheless very well known in the various ports of the united states from the florida peninsula to new england. it is therefore in no way surprising that the director of healthful house should have felt greatly flattered by the count's visit, and have received him with every mark of honor and respect. it was the first time that the schooner _ebba_ had dropped anchor in the port of new-berne, and no doubt a mere whim of her owner had brought him to the mouth of the neuse. otherwise why should he have come to such a place? certainly not to lay in stores, for pamlico sound offered neither the resources nor facilities to be found in such ports as boston, new york, dover, savannah, wilmington in north carolina, and charleston in south carolina. what could he have procured with his piastres and bank-notes in the small markets of new-berne? this chief town of craven county contained barely six thousand inhabitants. its commerce consisted principally in the exportation of grain, pigs, furniture, and naval munitions. besides, a few weeks previously, the schooner had loaded up for some destination which, as usual, was unknown. had this enigmatical personage then come solely for the purpose of visiting healthful house? very likely. there would have been nothing surprising in the fact, seeing that the establishment enjoyed a high and well-merited reputation. or perhaps the count had been inspired by curiosity to meet thomas roch? this curiosity would have been legitimate and natural enough in view of the universal renown of the french inventor. fancy--a mad genius who claimed that his discoveries were destined to revolutionize the methods of modern military art! as he had notified the director he would do, the count d'artigas presented himself in the afternoon at the door of healthful house, accompanied by captain spade, the commander of the _ebba_. in conformity with orders given, both were admitted and conducted to the office of the director. the latter received his distinguished visitor with _empressement_, placed himself at his disposal, and intimated his intention of personally conducting him over the establishment, not being willing to concede to anybody else the honor of being his _cicerone_. the count on his part was profuse in the expression of his thanks for the considerations extended to him. they went over the common rooms and private habitations of the establishment, the director prattling unceasingly about the care with which the patients were tended--much better care, if he was to be believed, than they could possibly have had in the bosoms of their families--and priding himself upon the results achieved, and which had earned for the place its well-merited success. the count d'artigas listened to his ceaseless chatter with apparent interest, probably in order the better to dissemble the real motive of his visit. however, after going the rounds for an hour he ventured to remark: "have you not among your patients, sir, one anent whom there was a great deal of talk some time ago, and whose presence here contributed in no small measure to attract public attention to healthful house?" "you refer to thomas roch, i presume, count?" queried the director. "precisely--that frenchman--that inventor--whose mental condition is said to be very precarious." "very precarious, count, and happily so, perhaps! in my opinion humanity has nothing to gain by his discoveries, the application of which would increase the already too numerous means of destruction." "you speak wisely, sir, and i entirely agree with you. real progress does not lie in that direction, and i regard as inimical to society all those who seek to follow it. but has this inventor entirely lost the use of his intellectual faculties?" "entirely, no; save as regards the ordinary things of life. in this respect he no longer possesses either comprehension or responsibility. his genius as an inventor, however, remains intact; it has survived his moral degeneracy, and, had his insensate demands been complied with, i have no doubt he would have produced a new war engine--which the world can get along very well without." "very well without, as you say, sir," re-echoed the count d'artigas, and captain spade nodded approval. "but you will be able to judge for yourself, count, for here is the pavilion occupied by thomas roch. if his confinement is well justified from the point of view of public security he is none the less treated with all the consideration due to him and the attention which his condition necessitates. besides, healthful house is beyond the reach of indiscreet persons who might...." the director completed the phrase with a significant motion of his head--which brought an imperceptible smile to the lips of the stranger. "but," asked the count, "is thomas roch never left alone?" "never, count, never. he has a permanent attendant in whom we have implicit confidence, who speaks his language and keeps the closest possible watch upon him. if in some way or other some indication relative to his discovery were to escape him, it would be immediately noted down and its value would be passed upon by those competent to judge." here the count d'artigas stole a rapid and meaning glance at captain spade, who responded with a gesture which said plainly enough: "i understand." and had any one observed the captain during the visit, they could not have failed to remark that he examined with the greatest minuteness that portion of the park surrounding pavilion no. 17, and the different paths leading to the latter--probably in view of some prearranged scheme. the garden of the pavilion was near the high wall surrounding the property, from the foot of which on the other side the hill sloped gently to the right bank of the neuse. the pavilion itself was a one-story building surmounted by a terrace in the italian style. it contained two rooms and an ante-room with strongly-barred windows. on each side and in rear of the habitation were clusters of fine trees, which were then in full leaf. in front was a cool, green velvety lawn, ornamented with shrubs and brilliantly tinted flowers. the whole garden extended over about half an acre, and was reserved exclusively for the use of thomas roch, who was free to wander about it at pleasure under the surveillance of his guardian. when the count d'artigas, captain spade, and the director entered the garden, the first person they saw was the warder gaydon, standing at the door of the pavilion. unnoticed by the director the count d'artigas eyed the attendant with singular persistence. it was not the first time that strangers had come to see the occupant of pavilion no. 17, for the french inventor was justly regarded as the most interesting inmate of healthful house. nevertheless, gaydon's attention was attracted by the originality of the type presented by the two visitors, of whose nationality he was ignorant. if the name of the count d'artigas was not unfamiliar to him, he had never had occasion to meet that wealthy gentleman during the latter's sojourn in the eastern ports. he therefore had no idea as to who the count was. neither was he aware that the schooner _ebba_ was then anchored at the entrance to the neuse, at the foot of the hill upon which healthful house was situated. "gaydon," demanded the director, "where is thomas roch?" "yonder," replied the warder, pointing to a man who was walking meditatively under the trees in rear of the pavilion. "the count d'artigas has been authorized to visit healthful house," the director explained; "and does not wish to go away without having seen thomas roch, who was lately the subject of a good deal too much discussion." "and who would be talked about a great deal more," added the count, "had the federal government not taken the precaution to confine him in this establishment." "a necessary precaution, count." "necessary, as you observe, mr. director. it is better for the peace of the world that his secret should die with him." after having glanced at the count d'artigas, gaydon had not uttered a word; but preceding the two strangers he walked towards the clump of trees where the inventor was pacing back and forth. thomas roch paid no attention to them. he appeared to be oblivious of their presence. meanwhile, captain spade, while being careful not to excite suspicion, had been minutely examining the immediate surroundings of the pavilion and the end of the park in which it was situated. from the top of the sloping alleys he could easily distinguish the peak of a mast which showed above the wall of the park. he recognized the peak at a glance as being that of the _ebba_, and knew therefore that the wall at this part skirted the right bank of the neuse. the count d'artigas' whole attention was concentrated upon the french inventor. the latter's health appeared to have suffered in no way from his eighteen months' confinement; but his queer attitude, his incoherent gestures, his haggard eye, and his indifference to what was passing around him testified only too plainly to the degeneration of his mental faculties. at length thomas roch dropped into a seat and with the end of a switch traced in the sand of the alley the outline of a fortification. then kneeling down he made a number of little mounds that were evidently intended to represent bastions. he next plucked some leaves from a neighboring tree and stuck them in the mounds like so many tiny flags. all this was done with the utmost seriousness and without any attention whatever being paid to the onlookers. it was the amusement of a child, but a child would have lacked this characteristic gravity. "is he then absolutely mad?" demanded the count d'artigas, who in spite of his habitual impassibility appeared to be somewhat disappointed. "i warned you, count, that nothing could be obtained from him." "couldn't he at least pay some attention to us?" "it would perhaps be difficult to induce him to do so." then turning to the attendant: "speak to him, gaydon. perhaps he will answer you." "oh! he'll answer me right enough, sir, never fear," replied gaydon. he went up to the inventor and touching him on the shoulder, said gently: "thomas roch!" the latter raised his head, and of the persons present he doubtless saw but his keeper, though captain spade had come up and all formed a circle about him. "thomas roch," continued gaydon, speaking in english, "here are some visitors to see you. they are interested in your health--in your work." the last word alone seemed to rouse him from his indifference. "my work?" he replied, also in english, which he spoke like a native. then taking a pebble between his index finger and bent thumb, as a boy plays at marbles, he projected it against one of the little sand-heaps. it scattered, and he jumped for joy. "blown to pieces! the bastion is blown to pieces! my explosive has destroyed everything at one blow!" he shouted, the light of triumph flashing in his eyes. "you see," said the director, addressing the count d'artigas. "the idea of his invention never leaves him." "and it will die with him," affirmed the attendant. "couldn't you, gaydon, get him to talk about his fulgurator?" asked his chief. "i will try, if you order me to do so, sir." "well, i do order you, for i think it might interest the count d'artigas." "certainly," assented the count, whose physiognomy betrayed no sign of the sentiments which were agitating him. "i ought to warn you that i risk bringing on another fit," observed gaydon. "you can drop the conversation when you consider it prudent. tell thomas roch that a foreigner wishes to negotiate with him for the purchase of his fulgurator." "but are you not afraid he may give his secret away?" questioned the count. he spoke with such vivacity that gaydon could not restrain a glance of distrust, which, however, did not appear to disturb the equanimity of that impenetrable nobleman. "no fear of that," said the warder. "no promise would induce him to divulge his secret. until the millions he demands are counted into his hand he will remain as mute as a stone." "i don't happen to be carrying those millions about me," remarked the count quietly. gaydon again touched roch on the shoulder and repeated: "thomas roch, here are some foreigners who are anxious to acquire your invention." the madman started. "my invention?" he cried. "my deflagrator?" and his growing animation plainly indicated the imminence of the fit that gaydon had been apprehensive about, and which questions of this character invariably brought on. "how much will you give me for it--how much?" continued roch. "how much--how much?" "ten million dollars," replied gaydon. "ten millions! ten millions! a fulgurator ten million times more powerful than anything hitherto invented! ten millions for an autopropulsive projectile which, when it explodes, destroys everything in sight within a radius of over twelve thousand square yards! ten millions for the only deflagrator that can provoke its explosion! why, all the wealth of the world wouldn't suffice to purchase the secret of my engine, and rather than sell it at such a price i would cut my tongue in half with my teeth. ten millions, when it is worth a billion--a billion--a billion!" it was clear that roch had lost all notion of things, and had gaydon offered him ten billions the madman would have replied in exactly the same manner. the count d'artigas and captain spade had not taken their eyes off him. the count was impassible as usual, though his brow had darkened, but the captain shook his head in a manner that implied plainly: "decidedly there is nothing to hope from this poor devil!" after his outburst roch fled across the garden crying hoarsely: "billions! billions!" gaydon turned to the director and remarked: "i told you how it would be." then he rushed after his patient, caught him by the arm, and led him, without any attempt at resistance, into the pavilion and closed the door. the count d'artigas remained alone with the director, captain spade having strolled off again in the direction of the wall at the bottom of the park. "you see i was not guilty of exaggeration, count," said the director. "it is obvious to every one that thomas roch is becoming daily worse. in my opinion his case is a hopeless one. if all the money he asks for were offered to him, nothing could be got from him." "very likely," replied the count, "still, if his pecuniary demands are supremely absurd, he has none the less invented an engine the power of which is infinite, one might say." "that is the opinion expressed by competent persons, count. but what he has discovered will ere long be lost with himself in one of these fits which are becoming more frequent and intense. very soon even the motive of interest, the only sentiment that appears to have survived in his mind, will become extinct." "mayhap the sentiment of hatred will remain, though," muttered the count, as spade joined them at the garden gate. chapter iii. kidnapped. half an hour later the count d'artigas and captain spade were following the beech-lined road that separated the healthful house estate from the right bank of the neuse. both had taken leave of the director, the latter declaring himself greatly honored by their visit, and the former thanking him warmly for his courteous reception. a hundred-dollar bill left as a tip for the staff of the establishment had certainly not belied the count's reputation for generosity. he was--there could be no doubt about it--a foreigner of the highest distinction, if distinction be measured by generosity. issuing by the gate at the main entrance to healthful house, they had skirted the wall that surrounded the property, and which was high enough to preclude the possibility of climbing it. not a word passed between them for some time; the count was deep in thought and captain spade was not in the habit of addressing him without being first spoken to. at last when they stood beneath the rear wall behind which, though it was not visible, the count knew pavilion no. 17 was situated, he said: "you managed, i presume, to thoroughly explore the place, and are acquainted with every detail of it?" "certainly, _count_" replied captain spade, emphasizing the title. "you are perfectly sure about it?" "perfectly. i could go through the park with my eyes shut. if you still persist in carrying out your scheme the pavilion can be easily reached." "i do persist, spade." "notwithstanding thomas roch's mental condition?" "notwithstanding his condition; and if we succeed in carrying him off----" "that is my affair. when night comes on i undertake to enter the park of healthful house, and then the pavilion garden without being seen by anybody." "by the entrance gate?" "no, on this side." "yes, but on this side there is the wall, and if you succeed in climbing it, how are you going to get over it again with thomas roch? what if the madman cries out--what if he should resist--what if his keeper gives the alarm?" "don't worry yourself in the least about that. we have only got to go in and come out by this door." captain spade pointed to a narrow door let into the wall a few paces distant, and which was doubtless used by the staff of the establishment when they had occasion to go out by the river. "that is the way i propose to go in. it's much easier than scaling the wall with a ladder." "but the door is closed." "it will open." "has it no bolts?" "yes, but i shot them back while we were strolling about, and the director didn't notice what i had done." "how are you going to open it?" queried the count, going to the door. "here is the key," replied spade, producing it. he had withdrawn it from the lock, where it happened to be, when he had unbolted the door. "capital!" exclaimed the count. "it couldn't be better. the business will be easier than i expected. let us get back to the schooner. at eight o'clock one of the boats will put you ashore with five men." "yes, five men will do," said captain spade. "there will be enough of them to effect our object even if the keeper is aroused and it becomes necessary to put him out of the way." "put him out of the way--well, if it becomes absolutely necessary of course you must, but it would be better to seize him too and bring him aboard the _ebba_ who knows but what he has already learned a part of roch's secret?" "true." "besides, thomas roch is used to him, and i don't propose to make him change his habitudes in any way." this observation was accompanied by such a significant smile that captain spade could entertain no doubt as to the rã´le reserved for the warder of healthful house. the plan to kidnap them both was thus settled, and appeared to have every chance of being successful; unless during the couple of hours of daylight that yet remained it was noticed that the key of the door had been stolen and the bolts drawn back, captain spade and his men could at least count upon being able to enter the park, and the rest, the captain affirmed, would be easy enough. thomas roch was the only patient in the establishment isolated and kept under special surveillance. all the other invalids lived in the main building, or occupied pavilions in the front of the park. the plan was to try and seize roch and gaydon separately and bind and gag them before they could cry out. the count d'artigas and his companion wended their way to a creek where one of the _ebba's_ boats awaited them. the schooner was anchored two cable lengths from the shore, her sails neatly rolled upon her yards, which were squared as neatly as those of a pleasure yacht or of a man-of-war. at the peak of the mainmast a narrow red pennant was gently swayed by the wind, which came in fitful puffs from the east. the count and the captain jumped into the boat and a few strokes of the four oars brought them alongside of the schooner. they climbed on deck and going forward to the jib-boom, leaned over the starboard bulwark and gazed at an object that floated on the water a few strokes ahead of the vessel. it was a small buoy that was rocked by the ripple of the ebbing tide. twilight gradually set in, and the outline of new-berne on the left bank of the sinuous neuse became more and more indistinct until it disappeared in the deepening shades of night. a mist set in from the sea, but though it obscured the moon it brought no sign of rain. the lights gleamed out one by one in the houses of the town. the fishing smacks came slowly up the river to their anchorage, impelled by the oars of their crews which struck the water with sharp, rhythmical strokes, and with their sails distended on the chance of catching an occasional puff of the dropping wind to help them along. a couple of steamers passed, sending up volumes of black smoke and myriads of sparks from their double stacks, and lashing the water into foam with their powerful paddles. at eight o'clock the count d'artigas appeared on the schooner's deck accompanied by a man about fifty years of age, to whom he remarked: "it is time to go, serko." "very well, i will tell spade," replied serko. at that moment the captain joined them. "you had better get ready to go," said the count. "all is ready." "be careful to prevent any alarm being given, and arrange matters so that no one will for a minute suspect that thomas roch and his keeper have been brought on board the _ebba_." "they wouldn't find them if they came to look for them," observed serko, shrugging his shoulders and laughing heartily as though he had perpetrated a huge joke. "nevertheless, it is better not to arouse their suspicion," said d'artigas. the boat was lowered, and captain spade and five sailors took their places in it. four of the latter got out the oars. the boatswain, effrondat, who was to remain in charge of the boat, went to the stern beside captain spade and took the tiller. "good luck, spade," said serko with a smile, "and don't make more noise about it than if you were a gallant carrying off his lady-love." "i won't--unless that gaydon chap--" "we must have both roch and gaydon," insisted the count d'artigas. "that is understood," replied spade. the boat pushed off, and the sailors on the deck of the schooner watched it till it was lost to sight in the darkness. pending its return, no preparations for the _ebba's_ departure were made. perhaps there was no intention of quitting the port after the men had been kidnapped. besides, how could the vessel have reached the open sea? not a breath of air was now stirring, and in half an hour the tide would be setting in again, and rising strongly and rapidly for several miles above new-berne. anchored, as has already been said, a couple of cable-lengths from the shore, the _ebba_ might have been brought much nearer to it, for the water was deep enough, and this would have facilitated the task of the kidnappers when they returned from their expedition. if, however, the count d'artigas preferred to let the vessel stay where she was, he probably had his reasons. not a soul was in sight on the bank, and the road, with its borders of beech trees that skirted the wall of healthful house estate, was equally deserted. the boat was made fast to the shore. then captain spade and his four sailors landed, leaving the boatswain in charge, and disappeared amid the trees. when they reached the wall captain spade stopped and the sailors drew up on each side of the doorway. the captain had only to turn the key in the lock and push the door, unless one of the servants, noticing that the door was not secured as usual, had bolted it. in this event their task would be an extremely difficult one, even if they succeeded in scaling the high wall. the captain put his ear to the key-hole and listened. not a sound was to be heard in the park. not even a leaf was rustling in the branches of the beeches under which they were standing. the surrounding country was wrapt in the profoundest silence. captain spade drew the key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock and turned it noiselessly. then he cautiously pushed the door, which opened inward. things were, then, just as he had left them, and no one had noticed the theft of the key. after assuring himself that nobody happened to be in the neighborhood of the pavilion the captain entered, followed by his men. the door was left wide open, so that they could beat a hurried and uninterrupted retreat in case of necessity. the trees and bushes in this shady part of the park were very thick, and it was so dark that it would not have been easy to distinguish the pavilion had not a light shone brightly in one of the windows. no doubt this was the window of the room occupied by roch and his guardian, gaydon, seeing that the latter never left the patient placed in his charge either by night or day. captain spade had expected to find him there. the party approached cautiously, taking the utmost precaution to avoid kicking a pebble or stepping on a twig, the noise of which might have revealed their presence. in this way they reached the door of the pavilion near which was the curtained window of the room in which the light was burning. but if the door was locked, how were they going to get in? captain spade must have asked himself. he had no key, and to attempt to effect an entrance through the window would be hazardous, for, unless gaydon could be prevented from giving the alarm, he would rouse the whole establishment. there was no help for it, however. the essential was to get possession of roch. if they could kidnap gaydon, too, in conformity with the intentions of the count d'artigas, so much the better. if not-captain spade crept stealthily to the window, and standing on tiptoe, looked in. through an aperture in the curtain he could see all over the room. gaydon was standing beside thomas roch, who had not yet recovered from the fit with which he had been attacked during the count d'artigas' visit. his condition necessitated special attention, and the warder was ministering to the patient under the direction of a third person. the latter was one of the doctors attached to healthful house, and had been at once sent to the pavilion by the director when roch's paroxysm came on. his presence of course rendered the situation more complicated and the work of the kidnappers more difficult. roch, fully dressed, was extended upon a sofa. he was now fairly calm. the paroxysm, which was abating, would be followed by several hours of torpor and exhaustion. just as captain spade peeped through the window the doctor was making preparations to leave. the captain heard him say to gaydon that his (the doctor's) presence was not likely to be required any more that night, and that there was nothing to be done beyond following the instructions he had given. the doctor then walked towards the door, which, it will be remembered, was close to the window in front of which spade and his men were standing. if they remained where they were they could not fail to be seen, not only by the doctor, but by the warder, who was accompanying him to the door. before they made their appearance, however, the sailors, at a sign from their chief, had dispersed and hidden themselves behind the bushes, while spade himself crouched in the shadow beneath the window. luckily gaydon had not brought the lamp with him, so that the captain was in no danger of being seen. as he was about to take leave of gaydon, the doctor stopped on the step and remarked: "this is one of the worst attacks our patient has had. one or two more like that and he will lose the little reason he still possesses." "just so," said gaydon. "i wonder that the director doesn't prohibit all visitors from entering the pavilion. roch owes his present attack to a count d'artigas, for whose amusement harmful questions were put to him." "i will call the director's attention to the matter," responded the doctor. he then descended the steps and gaydon, leaving the door of the pavilion ajar, accompanied him to the end of the path. when they had gone captain spade stood up, and his men rejoined him. had they not better profit by the chance thus unexpectedly afforded them to enter the room and secure roch, who was in a semi-comatose condition, and then await gaydon's return, and seize the warder as he entered? this would have involved considerable risk. gaydon, at a glance, would perceive that his patient was missing and raise an alarm; the doctor would come running back; the whole staff of healthful house would turn out, and spade would not have time to escape with his precious prisoner and lock the door in the wall after him. he did not have much chance to deliberate about it, for the warder was heard returning along the gravel path. spade decided that the best thing to be done was to spring upon him as he passed and stifle his cries and overpower him before he could attempt to offer any resistance. the carrying off of the mad inventor would be easy enough, inasmuch as he was unconscious, and could not raise a finger to help himself. gaydon came round a clump of bushes and approached the entrance to the pavilion. as he raised his foot to mount the steps the four sailors sprang upon him, bore him backwards to the ground, and had gagged him, securely bound him hand and foot, and bandaged his eyes before he began to realize what had happened. two of the men then kept guard over him, while captain spade and the others entered the house. as the captain had surmised, thomas roch had sunk into such a torpor that he could have heard nothing of what had been going on outside. reclining at full length, with his eyes closed, he might have been taken for a dead man but for his heavy breathing. there was no need either to bind or gag him. one man took him by the head and another by the feet and started off with him to the schooner. captain spade was the last to quit the house after extinguishing the lamp and closing the door behind him. in this way there was no reason to suppose that the inmates would be missed before morning. gaydon was carried off in the same way as thomas roch had been. the two remaining sailors lifted him and bore him quietly but rapidly down the path to the door in the wall. the park was pitch dark. not even a glimmer of the lights in the windows of healthful house could be seen through the thick foliage. arrived at the wall, spade, who had led the way, stepped aside to allow the sailors with their burdens to pass through, then followed and closed and locked the door. he put the key in his pocket, intending to throw it into the neuse as soon as they were safely on board the schooner. there was no one on the road, nor on the bank of the river. the party made for the boat, and found that effrondat, the boatswain, had made all ready to receive them. thomas roch and gaydon were laid in the bottom of the boat, and the sailors again took their places at the oars. "hurry up, effrondat, and cast off the painter," ordered the captain. the boatswain obeyed, and pushed the boat off with his foot as he scrambled in. the men bent to their oars and rowed rapidly to the schooner, which was easily distinguishable, having hung out a light at her mizzenmast head. in two minutes they were alongside. the count d'artigas was leaning on the bulwarks by the gangway. "all right, spade?" he questioned. "yes, sir, all right!" "both of them?" "both the madman and his keeper." "doesn't anybody know about it up at healthful house? "not a soul." it was not likely that gaydon, whose eyes and ears were bandaged, but who preserved all his sang-froid, could have recognized the voices of the count d'artigas and captain spade. nor did he have the chance to. no attempt was immediately made to hoist him on board. he had been lying in the bottom of the boat alongside the schooner for fully half an hour, he calculated, before he felt himself lifted, and then lowered, doubtless to the bottom of the hold. the kidnapping having been accomplished it would seem that it only remained for the _ebba_ to weigh anchor, descend the estuary and make her way out to sea through pamlico sound. yet no preparations for departure were made. was it not dangerous to stay where they were after their daring raid? had the count d'artigas hidden his prisoners so securely as to preclude the possibility of their being discovered if the _ebba_, whose presence in proximity to healthful house could not fail to excite suspicion, received a visit from the new-berne police? however this might have been, an hour after the return of the expedition, every soul on board save the watch--the count d'artigas, serko, and captain spade in their respective cabins, and the crew in the fore-castle, were sound asleep. chapter iv. the schooner ebba. it was not till the next morning, and then very leisurely, that the _ebba_ began to make preparations for her departure. from the extremity of new-berne quay the crew might have been seen holystoning the deck, after which they loosened the reef lines, under the direction of effrondat, the boatswain, hoisted in the boats and cleared the halyards. at eight o'clock the count d'artigas had not yet appeared on deck. his companion, serko the engineer, as he was called on board, had not quitted his cabin. captain spade was strolling quietly about giving orders. the _ebba_ would have made a splendid racing yacht, though she had never participated in any of the yacht races either on the north american or british coasts. the height of her masts, the extent of the canvas she carried, her shapely, raking hull, denoted her to be a craft of great speed, and her general lines showed that she was also built to weather the roughest gales at sea. in a favorable wind she would probably make twelve knots an hour. notwithstanding these advantages, however, she must in a dead calm necessarily suffer from the same disadvantages as other sailing vessels, and it might have been supposed that the count d'artigas would have preferred a steam-yacht with which he could have gone anywhere, at any time, in any weather. but apparently he was satisfied to stick to the old method, even when he made his long trips across the atlantic. on this particular morning the wind was blowing gently from the west, which was very favorable to the _ebba_, and would enable her to stand straight out of the neuse, across pamlico sound, and through one of the inlets that led to the open sea. at ten o'clock the _ebba_ was still rocking lazily at anchor, her stem up stream and her cable tautened by the rapidly ebbing tide. the small buoy that on the previous evening had been moored near the schooner was no longer to be seen, and had doubtless been hoisted in. suddenly a gun boomed out and a slight wreath of white smoke arose from the battery. it was answered by other reports from the guns on the chain of islands along the coast. at this moment the count d'artigas and engineer serko appeared on deck. captain spade went to meet them. "guns barking," he said laconically. "we expected it," replied serko, shrugging his shoulders. "they are signals to close the passes." "what has that to do with us?" asked the count d'artigas quietly. "nothing at all," said the engineer. they all, of course, knew that the alarm-guns indicated that the disappearance of thomas roch and the warder gaydon from healthful house had been discovered. at daybreak the doctor had gone to pavilion no. 17 to see how his patient had passed the night, and had found no one there. he immediately notified the director, who had the grounds thoroughly searched. it was then discovered that the door in rear of the park was unbolted, and that, though locked, the key had been taken away. it was evident that roch and his attendant had been carried out that way. but who were the kidnappers? no one could possibly imagine. all that could be ascertained was that at half-past seven on the previous night one of the doctors had attended thomas roch, who was suffering from one of his fits, and that when the medical man had left him the invalid was in an unconscious condition. what had happened after the doctor took leave of gaydon at the end of the garden-path could not even be conjectured. the news of the disappearance was telegraphed to new berne, and thence to raleigh. on receipt of it the governor had instantly wired orders that no vessel was to be allowed to quit pamlico sound without having been first subjected to a most rigorous search. another dispatch ordered the cruiser _falcon_, which was stationed in the port, to carry out the governor's instructions in this respect. at the same time measures were taken to keep a strict lookout in every town and village in the state. the count d'artigas could see the _falcon_, which was a couple of miles away to the east in the estuary, getting steam up and making hurried preparations to carry out her mission. it would take at least an hour before the warship could be got ready to steam out, and the schooner might by that time have gained a good start. "shall i weigh anchor?" demanded captain spade. "yes, as we have a fair wind; but you can take your time about it," replied the count d'artigas. "the passes of pamlico sound will be under observation," observed engineer serko, "and no vessel will be able to get out without receiving a visit from gentlemen as inquisitive as they will be indiscreet." "never mind, get under way all the same," ordered the count. "when the officers of the cruiser or the custom-house officers have been over the _ebba_ the embargo will be raised. i shall be indeed surprised if we are not allowed to go about our business." "with a thousand pardons for the liberty taken, and best wishes for a good voyage and speedy return," chuckled engineer serko, following the phrase with a loud and prolonged laugh. when the news was received at new-berne, the authorities at first were puzzled to know whether the missing inventor and his keeper had fled or been carried off. as, however, roch's flight could not have taken place without the connivance of gaydon, this supposition was speedily abandoned. in the opinion of the director and management of healthful house the warder was absolutely above suspicion. they must both, then, have been kidnapped. it can easily be imagined what a sensation the news caused in the town. what! the french inventor who had been so closely guarded had disappeared, and with him the secret of the wonderful fulgurator that nobody had been able to worm out of him? might not the most serious consequences follow? might not the discovery of the new engine be lost to america forever? if the daring act had been perpetrated on behalf of another nation, might not that nation, having thomas roch in its power, be eventually able to extract from him what the federal government had vainly endeavored to obtain? and was it reasonable, was it permissible, to suppose for an instant that he had been carried off for the benefit of a private individual? certainly not, was the emphatic reply to the latter question, which was too ridiculous to be entertained. therefore the whole power of the state was employed in an effort to recover the inventor. in every county of north carolina a special surveillance was organized on every road and at every railroad station, and every house in town and country was searched. every port from wilmington to norfolk was closed, and no craft of any description could leave without being thoroughly overhauled. not only the cruiser _falcon_, but every available cutter and launch was sent out with orders to patrol pamlico sound and board yachts, merchant vessels and fishing smacks indiscriminately whether anchored or not and search them down to the keelson. still the crew of the _ebba_ prepared calmly to weigh anchor, and the count d'artigas did not appear to be in the least concerned at the orders of the authorities and at the consequences that would ensue, if thomas roch and his keeper, gaydon, were found on board. at last all was ready, the crew manned the capstan bars, the sails were hoisted, and the schooner glided gracefully through the water towards the sound. twenty miles from new-berne the estuary curves abruptly and shoots off towards the northwest for about the same distance, gradually widening until it empties itself into pamlico sound. the latter is a vast expanse about seventy miles across from sivan island to roanoke. on the seaward side stretches a chain of long and narrow islands, forming a natural breakwater north and south from cape lookout to cape hatteras and from the latter to cape henry, near norfolk city, in virginia. numerous beacons on the islands and islets form an easy guide for vessels at night seeking refuge from the atlantic gales, and once inside the chain they are certain of finding plenty of good anchoring grounds. several passes afford an outlet from the sound to the sea. beyond sivan island lighthouse is ocracoke inlet, and next is the inlet of hatteras. there are also three others known as logger head inlet, new inlet, and oregon inlet. the ocracoke was the one nearest the _ebba_, and she could make it without tacking, but the _falcon_ was searching all vessels that passed through. this did not, however, make any particular difference, for by this time all the passes, upon which the guns of the forts had been trained, were guarded by government vessels. the _ebba_, therefore, kept on her way, neither trying to avoid nor offering to approach the searchers. she seemed to be merely a pleasure-yacht out for a morning sail. no attempt had up to that time been made to accost her. was she, then, specially privileged, and to be spared the bother of being searched? was the count d'artigas considered too high and mighty a personage to be thus molested, and delayed even for an hour? it was unlikely, for though he was regarded as a distinguished foreigner who lived the life of luxury enjoyed by the favored of fortune, no one, as a matter of fact, knew who he was, nor whence he came, nor whither he was going. the schooner sped gracefully over the calm waters of the sound, her flag--a gold crescent in the angle of a red field--streaming proudly in the breeze. count d'artigas was cosily ensconced in a basket-work chair on the after-deck, conversing with engineer serko and captain spade. "they don't seem in a hurry to board us," remarked serko. "they can come whenever they think proper," said the count in a tone of supreme indifference. "no doubt they are waiting for us at the entrance to the inlet," suggested captain spade. "let them wait," grunted the wealthy nobleman. then he relapsed into his customary unconcerned impassibility. captain spade's hypothesis was doubtless correct. the _falcon_ had as yet made no move towards the schooner, but would almost certainly do so as soon as the latter reached the inlet, and the count would have to submit to a search of his vessel if he wished to reach the open sea. how was it then that he manifested such extraordinary unconcern? were thomas roch and gaydon so safely hidden that their hiding-place could not possibly be discovered? the thing was possible, but perhaps the count d'artigas would not have been quite so confident had he been aware that the _ebba_ had been specially signalled to the warship and revenue cutters as a suspect. the count's visit to healthful house on the previous day had now attracted particular attention to him and his schooner. evidently, at the time, the director could have had no reason to suspect the motive of his visit. but a few hours later, thomas roch and his keeper had been carried off. no one else from outside had been near the pavilion that day. it was admitted that it would have been an easy matter for the count's companion, while the former distracted the director's attention, to push back the bolts of the door in the wall and steal the key. then the fact that the _ebba_ was anchored in rear of, and only a few hundred yards from, the estate, was in itself suspicious. nothing would have been easier for the desperadoes than to enter by the door, surprise their victims, and carry them off to the schooner. these suspicions, neither the director nor the _personnel_ of the establishment had at first liked to give expression to, but when the _ebba_ was seen to weigh anchor and head for the open sea, they appeared to be confirmed. they were communicated to the authorities of new-berne, who immediately ordered the commander of the _falcon_ to intercept the schooner, to search her minutely high and low, and from stem to stern, and on no account to let her proceed, unless he was absolutely certain that roch and gaydon were not on board. assuredly the count d'artigas could have had no idea that his vessel was the object of such stringent orders; but even if he had, it is questionable whether this superbly haughty and disdainful nobleman would have manifested any particular anxiety. towards three o'clock, the warship which was cruising before the inlet, after having sent search parties aboard a few fishing-smacks, suddenly manoeuvred to the entrance of the pass, and awaited the approaching schooner. the latter surely did not imagine that she could force a passage in spite of the cruiser, or escape from a vessel propelled by steam. besides, had she attempted such a foolhardy trick, a couple of shots from the _falcon's_ guns would speedily have constrained her to lay to. presently a boat, manned by two officers and ten sailors, put off from the cruiser and rowed towards the _ebba_. when they were only about half a cable's length off, one of the men rose and waved a flag. "that's a signal to stop," said engineer serko. "precisely," remarked the count d'artigas. "we shall have to lay to." "then lay to." captain spade went forward and gave the necessary orders, and in a few minutes the vessel slackened speed, and was soon merely drifting with the tide. the _falcon's_ boat pulled alongside, and a man in the bows held on to her with a boat-hook. the gangway was lowered by a couple of hands on the schooner, and the two officers, followed by eight of their men, climbed on deck. they found the crew of the _ebba_ drawn up in line on the forecastle. the officer in command of the boarding-party--a first lieutenant--advanced towards the owner of the schooner, and the following questions and answers were exchanged: "this schooner belongs to the count d'artigas, to whom, i presume, i have the honor of speaking?" "yes, sir." "what is her name?" "the _ebba_." "she is commanded by?--" "captain spade." "what is his nationality?" "hindo-malay." the officer scrutinized the schooner's flag, while the count d'artigas added: "will you be good enough to tell me, sir, to what circumstance i owe the pleasure of your visit on board my vessel?" "orders have been received," replied the officer, "to search every vessel now anchored in pamlico sound, or which attempts to leave it." he did not deem it necessary to insist upon this point since the _ebba_, above every other, was to be subjected to the bother of a rigorous examination. "you, of course, sir, have no intention of refusing me permission to go over your schooner?" "assuredly not, sir. my vessel is at your disposal from peaks to bilges. only i should like to know why all the vessels which happen to be in pamlico sound to-day are being subjected to this formality." "i see no reason why you should not be informed, monsieur the count," replied the officer. "the governor of north carolina has been apprised that healthful house has been broken into and two persons kidnapped, and the authorities merely wish to satisfy themselves that the persons carried off have not been embarked during the night." "is it possible?" exclaimed the count, feigning surprise. "and who are the persons who have thus disappeared from healthful house?" "an inventor--a madman--and his keeper." "a madman, sir? do you, may i ask, refer to the frenchman, thomas roch?" "the same." "the thomas roch whom i saw yesterday during my visit to the establishment--whom i questioned in presence of the director--who was seized with a violent paroxysm just as captain spade and i were leaving?" the officer observed the stranger with the keenest attention, in an effort to surprise anything suspicious in his attitude or remarks. "it is incredible!" added the count, as though he had just heard about the outrage for the first time. "i can easily understand, sir, how uneasy the authorities must be," he went on, "in view of thomas roch's personality, and i cannot but approve of the measures taken. i need hardly say that neither the french inventor nor his keeper is on board the _ebba_. however, you can assure yourself of the fact by examining the schooner as minutely as you desire. captain spade, show these gentlemen over the vessel." then saluting the lieutenant of the _falcon_ coldly, the count d'artigas sank into his deck-chair again and replaced his cigar between his lips, while the two officers and eight sailors, conducted by captain spade, began their search. in the first place they descended the main hatchway to the after saloon--a luxuriously-appointed place, filled with art objects of great value, hung with rich tapestries and hangings, and wainscotted with costly woods. it goes without saying that this and the adjoining cabins were searched with a care that could not have been surpassed by the most experienced detectives. moreover, captain spade assisted them by every means in his power, obviously anxious that they should not preserve the slightest suspicion of the _ebba's_ owner. after the grand saloon and cabins, the elegant dining-saloon was visited. then the cook's galley, captain spade's cabin, and the quarters of the crew in the forecastle were overhauled, but no sign of thomas roch or gaydon was to be seen. next, every inch of the hold, etc., was examined, with the aid of a couple of lanterns. water-kegs, wine, brandy, whisky and beer barrels, biscuit-boxes, in fact, all the provision boxes and everything the hold contained, including the stock of coal, was moved and probed, and even the bilges were scrutinized, but all in vain. evidently the suspicion that the count d'artigas had carried off the missing men was unfounded and unjust. even a rat could not have escaped the notice of the vigilant searchers, leave alone two men. when they returned on deck, however, the officers, as a matter of precaution looked into the boats hanging on the davits, and punched the lowered sails, with the same result. it only remained for them, therefore, to take leave of the count d'artigas. "you must pardon us for having disturbed you, monsieur the count," said the lieutenant. "you were compelled to obey your orders, gentlemen." "it was merely a formality, of course," ventured the officer. by a slight inclination of the head the count signified that he was quite willing to accept this euphemism. "i assure you, gentlemen, that i have had no hand in this kidnapping." "we can no longer believe so, monsieur the count, and will withdraw." "as you please. is the _ebba_ now free to proceed?" "certainly." "then _au revoir_, gentlemen, _au revoir_, for i am an _habituã©_ of this coast and shall soon be back again. i hope that ere my return you will have discovered the author of the outrage, and have thomas roch safely back in healthful house. it is a consummation devoutly to be wished in the interest of the united states--i might even say of the whole world." the two officers courteously saluted the count, who responded with a nod. captain spade accompanied them to the gangway, and they were soon making for the cruiser, which had steamed near to pick them up. meanwhile the breeze had freshened considerably, and when, at a sign from d'artigas, captain spade set sail again, the _ebba_ skimmed swiftly through the inlet, and half an hour after was standing out to sea. for an hour she continued steering east-northeast, and then, the wind, being merely a land breeze, dropped, and the schooner lay becalmed, her sails limp, and her flag drooping like a wet rag. it seemed that it would be impossible for the vessel to continue her voyage that night unless a breeze sprang up, and of this there was no sign. since the schooner had cleared the inlet captain spade had stood in the bows gazing into the water, now to port, now to starboard, as if on the lookout for something. presently he shouted in a stentorian voice: "furl sail!" the sailors rushed to their posts, and in an instant the sails came rattling down and were furled. was it count d'artigas' intention to wait there till daybreak brought a breeze with it? presumably, or the sails would have remained hoisted to catch the faintest puff. a boat was lowered and captain spade jumped into it, accompanied by a sailor, who paddled it towards an object that was floating on the water a few yards away. this object was a small buoy, similar to that which had floated on the bosom of the neuse when the _ebba_ lay off healthful house. the buoy, with a towline affixed to it, was lifted into the boat that was then paddled to the bow of the _ebba_, from the deck of which another hawser was cast to the captain, who made it fast to the towline of the buoy. having dropped the latter overboard again, the captain and the sailor returned to the ship and the boat was hoisted in. almost immediately the hawser tautened, and the _ebba_, though not a stitch of canvas had been set, sped off in an easterly direction at a speed that could not have been less than ten knots an hour. night was falling fast, and soon the rapidly receding lights along the american coast were lost in the mist on the horizon. chapter v. where am i? (notes by simon hart, the engineer.) where am i? what has happened since the sudden aggression of which i was the victim near the pavilion? i had just quitted the doctor, and was about to mount the steps, close the door and resume my post beside thomas roch when several men sprang upon me and knocked me down. who are they? my eyes having been bandaged i was unable to recognize them. i could not cry for help, having been gagged. i could make no resistance, for they had bound me hand and foot. thus powerless, i felt myself lifted and carried about one hundred paces, then hoisted, then lowered, then laid down. where? where? and thomas roch, what has become of him? it must have been he rather than i they were after. i was but gaydon, the warder. none suspected that i was simon hart, the engineer, nor could they have suspected my nationality. why, therefore, should they have desired to kidnap a mere hospital attendant? there can consequently be no doubt that the french inventor has been carried off; and if he was snatched from healthful house it must have been in the hope of forcing his secret from him. but i am reasoning on the supposition that thomas roch was carried off with me. is it so? yes--it must be--it is. i can entertain no doubt whatever about it. i have not fallen into the hands of malefactors whose only intention is robbery. they would not have acted in this way. after rendering it impossible for me to cry out, after having thrown me into a clump of bushes in the corner of the garden, after having kidnapped thomas roch they would not have shut me up--where i now am. where? this is the question which i have been asking myself for hours without being able to answer it. however, one thing is certain, and that is that i have embarked upon an extraordinary adventure, that will end?--in what manner i know not--i dare not even imagine what the upshot of it will be. anyhow, it is my intention to commit to memory, minute by minute, the least circumstance, and then, if it be possible, to jot down my daily impressions. who knows what the future has in store for me? and who knows but what, in my new position, i may finally discover the secret of roth's fulgurator? if i am to be delivered one day, this secret must be made known, as well as who is the author, or who are the authors, of this criminal outrage, which may be attended with such serious consequences. i continually revert to this question, hoping that some incident will occur to enlighten me: where am i? let me begin from the beginning. after having been carried by the head and feet from healthful house, i felt that i was laid, without any brutality, i must admit, upon the stretchers of a row-boat of small dimensions. the rocking caused by the weight of my body was succeeded shortly afterwards by a further rocking--which i attribute to the embarking of a second person. can there be room for doubt that it was thomas roch? as far as he was concerned they would not have had to take the precaution of gagging him, or of bandaging his eyes, or of binding him. he must still have been in a state of prostration which precluded the possibility of his making any resistance, or even of being conscious of what was being done. the proof that i am not deceiving myself is that i could smell the unmistakable odor of ether. now, yesterday, before taking leave of us, the doctor administered a few drops of ether to the invalid and--i remember distinctly--a little of this extremely volatile substance fell upon his clothing while he was struggling in his fit. there is therefore nothing astonishing in the fact that this odor should have clung to him, nor that i should have distinguished it, even beneath the bandages that covered my face. yes, thomas roch was extended near me in the boat. and to think that had i not returned to the pavilion when i did, had i delayed a few minutes longer, i should have found him gone! let me think. what could have inspired that count d'artigas with the unfortunate curiosity to visit healthful house? if he had not been allowed to see my patient nothing of the kind would have happened. talking to thomas roch about his inventions brought on a fit of exceptional violence. the director is primarily to blame for not heeding my warning. had he listened to me the doctor would not have been called upon to attend him, the door of the pavilion would have been locked, and the attempt of the band would have been frustrated. as to the interest there could have been in carrying off thomas roch, either on behalf of a private person or of one of the states of the old world, it is so evident that there is no need to dwell upon it. however, i can be perfectly easy about the result. no one can possibly succeed in learning what for fifteen months i have been unable to ascertain. in the condition of intellectual collapse into which my fellow-countryman has fallen, all attempts to force his secret from him will be futile. moreover, he is bound to go from bad to worse until he is hopelessly insane, even as regards those points upon which he has hitherto preserved his reason intact. after all, however, it is less about thomas roch than myself that i must think just now, and this is what i have experienced, to resume the thread of my adventure where i dropped it: after more rocking caused by our captors jumping into it, the boat is rowed off. the distance must be very short, for a minute after we bumped against something. i surmise that this something must be the hull of a ship, and that we have run alongside. there is some scurrying and excitement. indistinctly through my bandages i can hear orders being given and a confused murmur of voices that lasts for about five minutes, but i cannot distinguish a word that is said. the only thought that occurs to me now is that they will hoist me on board and lower me to the bottom of the hold and keep me there till the vessel is far out at sea. obviously they will not allow either thomas roch or his keeper to appear on deck as long as she remains in pamlico sound. my conjecture is correct. still gagged and bound i am at last lifted by the legs and shoulders. my impression, however, is that i am not being raised over a ship's bulwark, but on the contrary am being lowered. are they going to drop me overboard to drown like a rat, so as to get rid of a dangerous witness? this thought flashes into my brain, and a quiver of anguish passes through my body from head to foot. instinctively i draw a long breath, and my lungs are filled with the precious air they will speedily lack. no, there is no immediate cause for alarm. i am laid with comparative gentleness upon a hard floor, which gives me the sensation of metallic coldness. i am lying at full length. to my extreme surprise, i find that the ropes with which i was bound have been untied and loosened. the tramping about around me has ceased. the next instant i hear a door closed with a bang. where am i? and, in the first place, am i alone? i tear the gag from my mouth, and the bandages from my head. it is dark--pitch dark. not a ray of light, not even the vague perception of light that the eyes preserve when the lids are tightly closed. i shout--i shout repeatedly. no response. my voice is smothered. the air i breathe is hot, heavy, thick, and the working of my lungs will become difficult, impossible, unless the store of air is renewed. i extend my arms and feel about me, and this is what i conclude: i am in a compartment with sheet-iron walls, which cannot measure more than four cubic yards. i can feel that the walls are of bolted plates, like the sides of a ship's water-tight compartment. i can feel that the entrance to it is by a door on one side, for the hinges protrude somewhat. this door must open inwards, and it is through here, no doubt, that i was carried in. i place my ear to the door, but not a sound can be heard. the silence is as profound as the obscurity--a strange silence that is only broken by the sonorousness of the metallic floor when i move about. none of the dull noises usually to be heard on board a ship is perceptible, not even the rippling of the water along the hull. nor is there the slightest movement to be felt; yet, in the estuary of the neuse, the current is always strong enough, to cause a marked oscillation to any vessel. but does the compartment in which i am confined, really belong to a ship? how do i know that i am afloat on the neuse, though i was conveyed a short distance in a boat? might not the latter, instead of heading for a ship in waiting for it, opposite healthful house, have been rowed to a point further down the river? in this case is it not possible that i was carried into the cellar of a house? this would explain the complete immobility of the compartment. it is true that the walls are of bolted plates, and that there is a vague smell of salt water, that odor _sui generis_ which generally pervades the interior of a ship, and which there is no mistaking. an interval, which i estimate at about four hours, must have passed since my incarceration. it must therefore be near midnight. shall i be left here in this way till morning? luckily, i dined at six o'clock, which is the regular dinner-hour at healthful house. i am not suffering from hunger. in fact i feel more inclined to sleep than to eat. still, i hope i shall have energy enough to resist the inclination. i will not give way to it. i must try and find out what is going on outside. but neither sound nor light can penetrate this iron box. wait a minute, though; perhaps by listening intently i may hear some sound, however feeble. therefore i concentrate all my vital power in my sense of hearing. moreover, i try--in case i should really not be on _terra firma_--to distinguish some movement, some oscillation of my prison. admitting that the ship is still at anchor, it cannot be long before it will start--otherwise i shall have to give up imagining why thomas roch and i have been carried off. at last--it is no illusion--a slight rolling proves to me, beyond a doubt, that i am not on land. we are evidently moving, but the motion is scarcely perceptible. it is not a jerky, but rather a gliding movement, as though we were skimming through the water without effort, on an even keel. let me consider the matter calmly. i am on board a vessel that was anchored in the neuse, waiting under sail or steam, for the result of the expedition. a boat brought me aboard, but, i repeat, i did not feel that i was lifted over her bulwarks. was i passed through a porthole? but after all, what does it matter? whether i was lowered into the hold or not, i am certainly upon something that is floating and moving. no doubt i shall soon be let out, together with thomas roch, supposing them to have locked him up as carefully as they have me. by being let out, i mean being accorded permission to go on deck. it will not be for some hours to come, however, that is certain, for they won't want us to be seen, so that there is no chance of getting a whiff of fresh air till we are well out at sea. if it is a sailing vessel, she must have waited for a breeze--for the breeze that freshens off shore at daybreak, and is favorable to ships navigating pamlico sound. it certainly cannot be a steamer. i could not have failed to smell the oil and other odors of the engine-room. and then i should feel the trembling of the machinery, the jerks of the pistons, and the movements of the screws or paddles. the best thing to do is to wait patiently. i shan't be taken out of this hole until to-morrow, anyway. moreover, if i am not released, somebody will surely bring me something to eat. there is no reason to suppose that they intend to starve me to death. they wouldn't have taken the trouble to bring me aboard, but would have dropped me to the bottom of the river had they been desirous of getting rid of me. once we are out at sea, what will they have to fear from me? no one could hear my shouts. as to demanding an explanation and making a fuss, it would be useless. besides, what am i to the men who have carried us off? a mere hospital attendant--one gaydon, who is of no consequence. it is thomas roch they were after. i was taken along too because i happened to return to the pavilion at the critical moment. at any rate, no matter what happens, no matter who our kidnappers may be, no matter where we are taken, i shall stick to this resolution: i will continue to play my role of warder. no one, no! none, can suspect that gaydon is simon hart, the engineer. there are two advantages in this: in the first place, they will take no notice of a poor devil of a warder, and in the second, i may be able to solve the mystery surrounding this plot and turn my knowledge to profit, if i succeed in making my escape. but whither are my thoughts wandering? i must perforce wait till we arrive at our destination before thinking of escaping. it will be time enough to bother about that when the occasion presents itself. until then the essential is that they remain ignorant as to my identity, and they cannot, and shall not, know who i am. i am now certain that we are going through the water. but there is one thing that puzzles me. it is not a sailing vessel, neither can it be a steamer. yet it is incontestably propelled by some powerful machine. there are none of the noises, nor is there the trembling that accompanies the working of steam engines. the movement of the vessel is more continuous and regular, it is a sort of direct rotation that is communicated by the motor, whatever the latter may be. no mistake is possible: the ship is propelled by some special mechanism. but what is it? is it one of those turbines that have been spoken of lately, which, fitted into a submerged tube, are destined to replace the ordinary screw, it being claimed that they utilize the resistance of the water better than the latter and give increased speed to a ship? in a few hours' time i shall doubtless know all about this means of locomotion. meanwhile there is another thing that equally puzzles me. there is not the slightest rolling or pitching. how is it that pamlico sound is so extraordinarily calm? the varying currents continuously ruffle the surface of the sound, even if nothing else does. it is true the tide may be out, and i remember that last night the wind had fallen altogether. still, no matter, the thing is inexplicable, for a ship propelled by machinery, no matter at what speed she may be going, always oscillates more or less, and i cannot perceive the slightest rocking. such are the thoughts with which my mind is persistently filled. despite an almost overpowering desire to sleep, despite the torpor that is coming upon me in this suffocating atmosphere, i am resolved not to close my eyes. i will keep awake till daylight, and there will be no daylight for me till it is let into my prison from the outside. perhaps even if the door were open it would not penetrate to this black hole, and i shall probably not see it again until i am taken on deck. i am squatting in a corner of my prison, for i have no stool or anything to sit upon, but as my eyelids are heavy and i feel somnolent in spite of myself, i get up and walk about. then i wax wrathful, anger fills my soul, i beat upon the iron walls with my fists, and shout for help. in vain! i hurt my hands against the bolts of the plates, and no one answers my cries. such conduct is unworthy of me. i flattered myself that i would remain calm under all circumstances and here i am acting like a child. the absence of any rolling or lurching movement at least proves that we are not yet at sea. instead of crossing pamlico sound, may we not be going in the opposite direction, up the river neuse? no! what would they go further inland for? if thomas roch has been carried off from healthful house, his captors obviously mean to take him out of the united states--probably to a distant island in the atlantic, or to some point on the european continent. it is, therefore, not up the neuse that our maritime machine, whatever it may be, is going, but across pamlico sound, which must be as calm as a mirror. very well, then, when we get to sea i shall soon, know, for the vessel will rock right enough in the swell off shore, even though there be no wind,--unless i am aboard a battleship, or big cruiser, and this i fancy can hardly be! but hark! if i mistake not--no, it was not imagination--i hear footsteps. some one is approaching the side of the compartment where the door is. one of the crew no doubt. are they going to let me out at last? i can now hear voices. a conversation is going on outside the door, but it is carried on in a language that i do not understand. i shout to them--i shout again, but no answer is vouchsafed. there is nothing to do, then, but wait, wait, wait! i keep repeating the word and it rings in my ears like a bell. let me try to calculate how long i have been here. the ship must have been under way for at least four or five hours. i reckon it must be past midnight, but i cannot tell, for unfortunately my watch is of no use to me in this cimmerian darkness. now, if we have been going for five hours, we must have cleared pamlico sound, whether we issued by ocracoke or hatteras inlet, and must be off the coast a good mile, at least. yet i haven't felt any motion from the swell of the sea. it is inexplicable, incredible! come now, have i made a mistake? am i the dupe of an illusion? am i not imprisoned in the hold of a ship under way? another hour has passed and the movement of the ship suddenly ceases; i realize perfectly that she is stationary. has she reached her destination? in this event we can only be in one of the coast ports to the north or south of pamlico sound. but why should thomas roch be landed again? the abduction must soon have been discovered, and our kidnappers would run the greatest risk of falling into the hands of the authorities if they attempted to disembark. however this may be, if the vessel is coming to anchor i shall hear the noise of the chain as it is paid out, and feel the jerk as the ship is brought up. i know that sound and that jerk well from experience, and i am bound to hear and feel them in a minute or two. i wait--i listen. a dead and disquieting silence reigns on board. i begin to wonder whether i am not the only living being in the ship. now i feel an irresistible torpor coming over me. the air is vitiated. i cannot breathe. my chest is bursting. i try to resist, but it is impossible to do so. the temperature rises to such a degree that i am compelled to divest myself of part of my clothing. then i lie me down in a corner. my heavy eyelids close, and i sink into a prostration that eventually forces me into heavy slumber. how long have i been asleep? i cannot say. is it night? is it day? i know not. i remark, however, that i breathe more easily, and that the air is no longer poisoned carbonic acid. was the air renewed while i slept? has the door been opened? has anybody been in here? yes, here is the proof of it! in feeling about, my hand has come in contact with a mug filled with a liquid that exhales an inviting odor. i raise it to my lips, which, are burning, for i am suffering such an agony of thirst that i would even drink brackish water. it is ale--an ale of excellent quality--which refreshes and comforts me, and i drain the pint to the last drop. but if they have not condemned me to die of thirst, neither have they condemned me to die of hunger, i suppose? no, for in one of the corners i find a basket, and this basket contains some bread and cold meat. i fall to, eating greedily, and my strength little by little returns. decidedly, i am not so abandoned as i thought i was. some one entered this obscure hole, and the open door admitted a little of the oxygen from the outside, without which i should have been suffocated. then the wherewithal to quench my thirst and appease the pangs of hunger was placed within my reach. how much longer will this incarceration last? days? months? i cannot estimate the hours that have elapsed since i fell asleep, nor have i any idea as to what time of the day or night it may be. i was careful to wind up my watch, though, and perhaps by feeling the hands--yes, i think the little hand marks eight o'clock--in the morning, no doubt. what i do know, however, is that the ship is not in motion. there is not the slightest quiver. hours and hours, weary, interminable hours go by, and i wonder whether they are again waiting till night comes on to renew my stock of air and provisions. yes, they are waiting to take advantage of my slumbers. but this time i am resolved to resist. i will feign to be asleep--and i shall know how to force an answer from whoever enters! chapter vi. on deck. here i am in the open air, breathing freely once more. i have at last been hauled out of that stifling box and taken on deck. i gaze around me in every direction and see no sign of land. on every hand is that circular line which defines earth and sky. no, there is not even a speck of land to be seen to the west, where the coast of north america extends for thousands of miles. the setting sun now throws but slanting rays upon the bosom of the ocean. it must be about six o'clock in the evening. i take out my watch and it marks thirteen minutes past six. as i have already mentioned, i waited for the door of my prison to open, thoroughly resolved not to fall asleep again, but to spring upon the first person who entered and force him to answer my questions. i was not aware then that it was day, but it was, and hour after hour passed and no one came. i began to suffer again from hunger and thirst, for i had not preserved either bite or sup. as soon as i awoke i felt that the ship was in motion again, after having, i calculated, remained stationary since the previous day--no doubt in some lonely creek, since i had not heard or felt her come to anchor. a few minutes ago--it must therefore have been six o'clock--i again heard footsteps on the other side of the iron wall of my compartment. was anybody coming to my cell? yes, for i heard the creaking of the bolts as they were drawn back, and then the door opened, and the darkness in which i had been plunged since the first hour of my captivity was illumined by the light of a lantern. two men, whom i had no time to look at, entered and seized me by the arms. a thick cloth was thrown over my head, which was enveloped in such a manner that i could see absolutely nothing. what did it all mean? what were they going to do with me? i struggled, but they held me in an iron grasp. i questioned them, but they made no reply. the men spoke to each other in a language that i could not understand, and had never heard before. they stood upon no ceremony with me. it is true i was only a madhouse warder, and they probably did not consider it necessary to do so; but i question very much whether simon hart, the engineer, would have received any more courtesy at their hands. this time, however, no attempt was made to gag me nor to bind either my arms or legs. i was simply restrained by main force from breaking away from them. in a moment i was dragged out of the compartment and pushed along a narrow passage. next, the steps of a metallic stairway resounded under our feet. then the fresh air blew in my face and i inhaled it with avidity. finally they took their hands from off me, and i found myself free. i immediately tore the cloth off my head and gazed about me. i am on board a schooner which is ripping through the water at a great rate and leaving a long white trail behind her. i had to clutch at one of the stays for support, dazzled as i was by the light after my forty-eight hours' imprisonment in complete obscurity. on the deck a dozen men with rough, weather-beaten faces come and go--very dissimilar types of men, to whom it would be impossible to attribute any particular nationality. they scarcely take any notice of me. as to the schooner, i estimate that she registers from two hundred and fifty to three hundred tons. she has a fairly wide beam, her masts are strong and lofty, and her large spread of canvas must carry her along at a spanking rate in a good breeze. aft, a grizzly-faced man is at the wheel, and he is keeping her head to the sea that is running pretty high. i try to find out the name of the vessel, but it is not to be seen anywhere, even on the life-buoys. i walk up to one of the sailors and inquire: "what is the name of this ship?" no answer, and i fancy the man does not understand me. "where is the captain?" i continue. but the sailor pays no more heed to this than he did to the previous question. i turn on my heel and go forward. above the forward hatchway a bell is suspended. maybe the name of the schooner is engraved upon it. i examine it, but can find no name upon it. i then return to the stern and address the man at the wheel. he gazes at me sourly, shrugs his shoulders, and bending, grasps the spokes of the wheel solidly, and brings the schooner, which had been headed off by a large wave from port, stem on to sea again. seeing that nothing is to be got from that quarter, i turn away and look about to see if i can find thomas roch, but i do not perceive him anywhere. is he not on board? he must be. they could have had no reason for carrying me off alone. no one could have had any idea that i was simon hart, the engineer, and even had they known it what interest could they have had in me, and what could they expect of me? therefore, as roch is not on deck, i conclude that he is locked in one of the cabins, and trust he has met with better treatment than his ex-guardian. but what is this--and how on earth could i have failed to notice it before? how is this schooner moving? her sails are furled--there is not an inch of canvas set--the wind has fallen, and the few puffs that occasionally come from the east are unfavorable, in view of the fact that we are going in that very direction. and yet the schooner speeds through the sea, her bows down, throwing off clouds of foam, and leaving a long, milky, undulating trail in her wake. is she a steam-yacht? no--there is not a smokestack about her. is she propelled by electricity--by a battery of accumulators, or by piles of great power that work her screw and send her along at this rate? i can come to no other conclusion. in any case she must be fitted with a screw, and by leaning over the stern i shall be able to see it, and can find out what sets it working afterwards. the man at the wheel watches me ironically as i approach, but makes no effort to prevent me from looking over. i gaze long and earnestly, but there is no foaming and seething of the water such as is invariably caused by the revolutions of the screw--naught but the long white furrow that a sailing vessel leaves behind is discernible in the schooner's wake. then, what kind of a machine is it that imparts such a marvellous speed to the vessel? as i have already said, the wind is against her, and there is a heavy swell on. i must--i will know. no one pays the slightest attention, and i again go forward. as i approach the forecastle i find myself face to face with a man who is leaning nonchalantly on the raised hatchway and who is watching me. he seems to be waiting for me to speak to him. i recognize him instantly. he is the person who accompanied the count d'artigas during the latter's visit to healthful house. there can be no mistake--it is he right enough. it was, then, that rich foreigner who abducted thomas roch, and i am on board the _ebba_ his schooner-yacht which is so well known on the american coast! the man before me will enlighten me about what i want to know. i remember that he and the count spoke english together. i take him to be the captain of the schooner. "captain," i say, "you are the person i saw at healthful house. you remember me, of course?" he looks me up and down but does not condescend to reply. "i am warder gaydon, the attendant of thomas roch," i continue, "and i want to know why you have carried me off and placed me on board this schooner?" the captain interrupts me with a sign. it is not made to me, however, but to some sailors standing near. they catch me by the arms, and taking no notice of the angry movement that i cannot restrain, bundle me down the hatchway. the hatchway stair in reality, i remark, is a perpendicular iron ladder, at the bottom of which, to right and left, are some cabins, and forward, the men's quarters. are they going to put me back in my dark prison at the bottom of the hold? no. they turn to the left and push me into a cabin. it is lighted by a port-hole, which is open, and through which the fresh air comes in gusts from the briny. the furniture consists of a bunk, a chair, a chest of drawers, a wash-hand-stand and a table. the latter is spread for dinner, and i sit down. then the cook's mate comes in with two or three dishes. he is a colored lad, and as he is about to withdraw, i try to question him, but he, too, vouchsafes no reply. perhaps he doesn't understand me. the door is closed, and i fall to and eat with an excellent appetite, with the intention of putting off all further questioning till some future occasion when i shall stand a chance of getting answered. it is true i am a prisoner, but this time i am comfortable enough, and i hope i shall be permitted to occupy this cabin for the remainder of the voyage, and not be lowered into that black hole again. i now give myself up to my thoughts, the first of which is that it was the count d'artigas who planned the abduction; that it was he who is responsible for the kidnapping of thomas roch, and that consequently the french inventor must be just as comfortably installed somewhere on board the schooner. but who is this count d'artigas? where does he hail from? if he has seized thomas roch, is it not because he is determined to secure the secret of the fulgurator at no matter what cost? very likely, and i must therefore be careful not to betray my identity, for if they knew the truth, i should never be afforded a chance to get away. but what a lot of mysteries to clear up, how many inexplicable things to explain--the origin of this d'artigas, his intentions as to the future, whither we are bound, the port to which the schooner belongs, and this mysterious progress through the water without sails and without screws, at a speed of at least ten knots an hour! the air becoming keener as night deepens, i close and secure the port-hole, and as my cabin is bolted on the outside, the best thing i can do is to get into my bunk and let myself be gently rocked to sleep by the broad atlantic in this mysterious cradle, the _ebba_. the next morning i rise at daybreak, and having performed my ablutions, dress myself and wait. presently the idea of trying the door occurs to me. i find that it has been unbolted, and pushing it open, climb the iron ladder and emerge on deck. the crew are washing down the deck, and standing aft and conversing are two men, one of whom is the captain. the latter manifests no surprise at seeing me, and indicates my presence to his companion by a nod. this other man, whom i have never before seen, is an individual of about fifty years of age, whose dark hair is streaked with gray. his features are delicately chiselled, his eyes are bright, and his expression is intelligent and not at all displeasing. he is somewhat of the grecian type, and i have no doubt that he is of hellenic origin when i hear him called serko--engineer serko--by the captain of the _ebba_. as to the latter, he is called spade--captain spade--and this name has an italian twang about it. thus there is a greek, an italian, and a crew recruited from every corner of the earth to man a schooner with a norwegian name! this mixture strikes me as being suspicious. and that count d'artigas, with his spanish name and asiatic type, where does he come from? captain spade and engineer serko continue to converse in a low tone of voice. the former is keeping a sharp eye on the man at the wheel, who does not appear to pay any particular attention to the compass in front of him. he seems to pay more heed to the gestures of one of the sailors stationed forward, and who signals to him to put the helm to port or to starboard. thomas roch is near them, gazing vacantly out upon the vast expanse which is not limited on the horizon by a single speck of land. two sailors watch his every movement. it is evidently feared that the madman may possibly attempt to jump overboard. i wonder whether i shall be permitted to communicate with my ward. i walk towards him, and captain spade and engineer serko watch me. thomas roch doesn't see me coming, and i stand beside him. still he takes no notice of me, and makes no movement. his eyes, which sparkle brightly, wander over the ocean, and he draws in deep breaths of the salt, vivifying atmosphere. added to the air surcharged with oxygen is a magnificent sunset in a cloudless sky. does he perceive the change in his situation? has he already forgotten about healthful house, the pavilion in which he was a prisoner, and gaydon, his keeper? it is highly probable. the past has presumably been effaced from his memory and he lives solely in the present. in my opinion, even on the deck of the _ebba_, in the middle of the sea, thomas roch is still the helpless, irresponsible man whom i tended for fifteen months. his intellectual condition has undergone no change, and his reason will return only when he is spoken to about his inventions. the count d'artigas is perfectly aware of this mental disposition, having had a proof of it during his visit, and he evidently relies thereon to surprise sooner or later the inventor's secret. but with what object? "thomas roch!" i exclaim. my voice seems to strike him, and after gazing at me fixedly for an instant he averts his eyes quickly. i take his hand and press it. he withdraws it brusquely and walks away, without having recognized me, in the direction of captain spade and engineer serko. does he think of speaking to one or other of these men, and if they speak to him will he be more reasonable than he was with me, and reply to them? at this moment his physiognomy lights up with a gleam of intelligence. his attention, obviously, has been attracted by the queer progress of the schooner. he gazes at the masts and the furled sails. then he turns back and stops at the place where, if the _ebba_ were a steamer, the funnel ought to be, and which in this case ought to be belching forth a cloud of black smoke. what appeared so strange to me evidently strikes thomas roch as being strange, too. he cannot explain what i found inexplicable, and, as i did, he walks aft to see if there is a screw. on the flanks of the _ebba_ a shoal of porpoises are sporting. swift as is the schooner's course they easily pass her, leaping and gambolling in their native element with surprising grace and agility. thomas roch pays no attention to them, but leans over the stern. engineer serko and captain spade, fearful lest he should fall overboard, hurry to him and drag him gently, but firmly, away. i observe from long experience that roch is a prey to violent excitement. he turns about and gesticulates, uttering incoherent phrases the while. it is plain to me that another fit is coming on, similar to the one he had in the pavilion of healthful house on the night we were abducted. he will have to be seized and carried down to his cabin, and i shall perhaps be summoned to attend to him. meanwhile engineer serko and captain spade do not lose sight of him for a moment. they are evidently curious to see what he will do. after walking towards the mainmast and assuring himself that the sails are not set, he goes up to it and flinging his arms around it, tries with all his might to shake it, as though seeking to pull it down. finding his efforts futile, he quits it and goes to the foremast, where the same performance is gone through. he waxes more and more excited. his vague utterances are followed by inarticulate cries. suddenly he rushes to the port stays and clings to them, and i begin to fear that he will leap into the rigging and climb to the cross-tree, where he might be precipitated into the sea by a lurch of the ship. on a sign from captain spade, some sailors run up and try to make him relinquish his grasp of the stays, but are unable to do so. i know that during his fits he is endowed with the strength of ten men, and many a time i have been compelled to summon assistance in order to overpower him. other members of the crew, however, come up, and the unhappy madman is borne to the deck, where two big sailors hold him down, despite his extraordinary strength. the only thing to do is to convey him to his cabin, and let him lie there till he gets over his fit. this is what will be done in conformity with orders given by a new-comer whose voice seems familiar to me. i turn and recognize him. he is the count d'artigas, with a frown on his face and an imperious manner, just as i had seen him at healthful house. i at once advance toward him. i want an explanation and mean to have it. "by what right, sir?"--i begin. "by the right of might," replies the count. then he turns on his heel, and thomas roch is carried below. chapter vii. two days at sea. perhaps--should circumstances render it necessary--i may be induced to tell the count d'artigas that i am simon hart, the engineer. who knows but what i may receive more consideration than if i remain warder gaydon? this measure, however, demands reflection. i have always been dominated by the thought that if the owner of the _ebba_ kidnapped the french inventor, it was in the hope of getting possession of roch's fulgurator, for which, neither the old nor new continent would pay the impossible price demanded. in that case the best thing i can do is to remain warder gaydon, on the chance that i may be allowed to continue in attendance upon him. in this way, if thomas roch should ever divulge his secret, i may learn what it was impossible to do at healthful house, and can act accordingly. meanwhile, where is the _ebba_ bound?--first question. who and what is the count d'artigas?--second question. the first will be answered in a few days' time, no doubt, in view of the rapidity with which we are ripping through the water, under the action of a means of propulsion that i shall end by finding out all about. as regards the second, i am by no means so sure that my curiosity will ever be gratified. in my opinion this enigmatical personage has an all important reason for hiding his origin, and i am afraid there is no indication by which i can gauge his nationality. if the count d'artigas speaks english fluently--and i was able to assure myself of that fact during his visit to pavilion no. 17,--he pronounces it with a harsh, vibrating accent, which is not to be found among the peoples of northern latitudes. i do not remember ever to have heard anything like it in the course of my travels either in the old or new world--unless it be the harshness characteristic of the idioms in use among the malays. and, in truth, with his olive, verging on copper-tinted skin, his jet-black, crinkly hair, his piercing, deep-set, restless eyes, his square shoulders and marked muscular development, it is by no means unlikely that he belongs to one of the extreme eastern races. i believe this name of d'artigas is an assumed one, and his title of count likewise. if his schooner bears a norwegian name, he at any rate is not of scandinavian origin. he has nothing of the races of northern europe about him. but whoever and whatever he may be, this man abducted thomas roch--and me with him--with no good intention, i'll be bound. but what i should like to know is, has he acted as the agent of a foreign power, or on his own account? does he wish to profit alone by thomas roch's invention, and is he in the position to dispose of it profitably? that is another question that i cannot yet answer. maybe i shall be able to find out from what i hear and see ere i make my escape, if escape be possible. the _ebba_ continues on her way in the same mysterious manner. i am free to walk about the deck, without, however, being able to go beyond the fore hatchway. once i attempted to go as far as the bows where i could, by leaning over, perceive the schooner's stem as it cut through the water, but acting, it was plain, on orders received, the watch on deck turned me back, and one of them, addressing me brusquely in harsh, grating english, said: "go back! go back! you are interfering with the working of the ship!" with the working of the ship! there was no working. did they realize that i was trying to discover by what means the schooner was propelled? very likely, and captain spade, who had looked on, must have known it, too. even a hospital attendant could not fail to be astonished at the fact that a vessel without either screw or sails was going along at such a speed. however this may be, for some reason or other, the bows of the _ebba_ are barred to me. toward ten o'clock a breeze springs up--a northwest wind and very favorable--and captain spade gives an order to the boatswain. the latter immediately pipes all hands on deck, and the mainsail, the foresail, staysail and jibs are hoisted. the work could not have been executed with greater regularity and discipline on board a man-of-war. the _ebba_ now has a slight list to port, and her speed is notably increased. but the motor continues to push her along, as is evident from the fact that the sails are not always as full as they ought to be if the schooner were bowling along solely under their action. however, they continue to render yeoman's service, for the breeze has set in steadily. the sky is clear, for the clouds in the west disappear as soon as they attain the horizon, and the sunlight dances on the water. my preoccupation now is to find out as near as possible where we are bound for. i am a good-enough sailor to be able to estimate the approximate speed of a ship. in my opinion the _ebba_ has been travelling at the rate of from ten to eleven knots an hour. as to the direction we have been going in, it is always the same, and i have been able to verify this by casual glances at the binnacle. if the fore part of the vessel is barred to warder gaydon he has been allowed a free run of the remainder of it. time and again i have glanced at the compass, and noticed that the needle invariably pointed to the east, or to be exact, east-southeast. these are the conditions in which we are navigating this part of the atlantic ocean, which is bounded on the west by the coast of the united states of america. i appeal to my memory. what are the islands or groups of islands to be found in the direction we are going, ere the continent of the old world is reached? north carolina, which the schooner quitted forty-eight hours ago, is traversed by the thirty-fifth parallel of latitude, and this parallel, extending eastward, must, if i mistake not, cut the african coast at morocco. but along the line, about three thousand miles from america, are the azores. is it presumable that the _ebba_ is heading for this archipelago, that the port to which she belongs is somewhere in these islands which constitute one of portugal's insular domains? i cannot admit such an hypothesis. besides, before the azores, on the line of the thirty-fifth parallel, is the bermuda group, which belongs to england. it seems to me to be a good deal less hypothetical that, if the count d'artigas was entrusted with the abduction of thomas roch by a european power at all, it was by the united kingdom of great britain and ireland. the possibility, however, remains that he may be acting solely in his own interest. three or four times during the day count d'artigas has come aft and remained for some time scanning the surrounding horizon attentively. when a sail or the smoke from a steamer heaves in sight he examines the passing vessel for a considerable time with a powerful telescope. i may add that he has not once condescended to notice my presence on deck. now and then captain spade joins him and both exchange a few words in a language that i can neither understand nor recognize. it is with engineer serko, however, that the owner of the _ebba_ converses more readily than with anybody else, and the latter appears to be very intimate with him. the engineer is a good deal more free, more loquacious and less surly than his companions, and i wonder what position he occupies on the schooner. is he a personal friend of the count d'artigas? does he scour the seas with him, sharing the enviable life enjoyed by the rich yachtsman? he is the only man of the lot who seems to manifest, if not sympathy with, at least some interest in me. i have not seen thomas roch all day. he must be shut in his cabin, still under the influence of the fit that came upon him last night. i feel certain that this is so, when about three o'clock in the afternoon, just as he is about to go below, the count beckons me to approach. i do not know what he wishes to say to me, this count d'artigas, but i do know what i will say to him. "do these fits to which thomas roch is subject last long?" he asks me in english. "sometimes forty-eight hours," i reply. "what is to be done?" "nothing at all. let him alone until he falls asleep. after a night's sleep the fit will be over and thomas roch will be his own helpless self again." "very well, warder gaydon, you will continue to attend him as you did at healthful house, if it be necessary." "to attend to him!" "yes--on board the schooner--pending our arrival." "where?" "where we shall be to-morrow afternoon," replies the count. to-morrow, i say to myself. then we are not bound for the coast of africa, nor even the azores. there only remains the hypothesis that we are making for the bermudas. count d'artigas is about to go down the hatchway when i interrogate him in my turn: "sir," i exclaim, "i desire to know, i have the right to know, where i am going, and----" "here, warder gaydon," he interrupted, "you have no rights. all you have to do is to answer when you are spoken to." "i protest!" "protest, then," replies this haughty and imperious personage, glancing at me menacingly. then he disappears down the hatchway, leaving me face to face with engineer serko. "if i were you, warder gaydon, i would resign myself to the inevitable," remarks the latter with a smile. "when one is caught in a trap----" "one can cry out, i suppose?" "what is the use when no one is near to hear you?" "i shall be heard some day, sir." "some day--that's a long way off. however, shout as much as you please." and with this ironical advice, engineer serko leaves me to my own reflections. towards four o'clock a big ship is reported about six miles off to the east, coming in our direction. she is moving rapidly and grows perceptibly larger. black clouds of smoke pour out of her two funnels. she is a warship, for a narrow pennant floats from her main-mast, and though she is not flying any flag i take her to be an american cruiser. i wonder whether the _ebba_ will render her the customary salute as she passes. no; for the schooner suddenly changes her course with the evident intention of avoiding her. this proceeding on the part of such a suspicious yacht does not astonish me greatly. but what does cause me extreme surprise is captain spade's way of manoeuvring. he runs forward to a signalling apparatus in the bows, similar to that by which orders are transmitted to the engine room of a steamer. as soon as he presses one of the buttons of this apparatus the _ebba_ veers off a point to the south-west. evidently an order of "some kind" has been transmitted to the driver of the machine of "some kind" which causes this inexplicable movement of the schooner by the action of a motor of "some kind" the principle of which i cannot guess at. the result of this manoeuvre is that the _ebba_ slants away from the cruiser, whose course does not vary. why should this warship cause a pleasure-yacht to turn out of its way? i have no idea. but the _ebba_ behaves in a very different manner when about six o'clock in the evening a second ship comes in sight on the port bow. this time, instead of seeking to avoid her, captain spade signals an order by means of the apparatus above referred to, and resumes his course to the east--which will bring him close to the said ship. an hour later, the two vessels are only about four miles from each other. the wind has dropped completely. the strange ship, which is a three-masted merchantman, is taking in her top-gallant sails. it is useless to expect the wind to spring up again during the night, and she will lay becalmed till morning. the _ebba_, however, propelled by her mysterious motor, continues to approach her. it goes without saying, that captain spade has also begun to take in sail, and the work, under the direction of the boatswain effrondat, is executed with the same precision and promptness that struck me before. when the twilight deepens into darkness, only a mile and a half separates the vessels. captain spade then comes up to me--i am standing on the starboard side--and unceremoniously orders me to go below. i can but obey. i remark, however, ere i go, that the boatswain has not lighted the head-lamps, whereas the lamps of the three-master shine brightly--green to starboard, and red to port. i entertain no doubt that the schooner intends to pass her without being seen; for though she has slackened speed somewhat, her direction has not been in any way modified. i enter my cabin under the impression of a vague foreboding. my supper is on the table, but uneasy, i know not why, i hardly touch it, and lie down to wait for sleep that does not come. i remain in this condition for two hours. the silence is unbroken save by the water that ripples along the vessel's sides. my mind is full of the events of the past two days, and other thoughts crowd thickly upon me. to-morrow afternoon we shall reach our destination. to-morrow, i shall resume, on land, my attendance upon thomas roch, "if it be necessary," said the count d'artigas. if, when i was thrown into that black hole at the bottom of the hold, i was able to perceive when the schooner started off across pamlico sound, i now feel that she has come to a stop. it must be about ten o'clock. why has she stopped? when captain spade ordered me below, there was no land in sight. in this direction, there is no island until the bermuda group is reached--at least there is none on the map--and we shall have to go another fifty or sixty miles before the bermudas can be sighted by the lookout men. not only has the _ebba_ stopped, but her immobility is almost complete. there is not a breath of wind, and scarcely any swell, and her slight, regular rocking is hardly perceptible. then my thoughts turn to the merchantman, which was only a mile and a half off, on our bow, when i came below. if the schooner continued her course towards her, she must be almost alongside now. we certainly cannot be lying more than one or two cables' length from her. the three-master, which was becalmed at sundown, could not have gone west. she must be close by, and if the night is clear, i shall be able to see her through the porthole. it occurs to me, that perhaps a chance of escape presents itself. why should i not attempt it, since no hope of being restored to liberty is held out to me? it is true i cannot swim, but if i seize a life buoy and jump overboard, i may be able to reach the ship, if i am not observed by the watch on deck. i must quit my cabin and go up by the forward hatchway. i listen. i hear no noise, either in the men's quarters, or on deck. the sailors must all be asleep at this hour. here goes. i try to open the door, and find it is bolted on the outside, as i might have expected. i must give up the attempt, which, after all, had small chance of success. the best thing i can do, is to go to sleep, for i am weary of mind, if not of body. i am restless and racked by conflicting thoughts, and apprehensions of i know not what. oh! if i could but sink into the blessed oblivion of slumber! i must have managed to fall asleep, for i have just been awakened by a noise--an unusual noise, such as i have not hitherto heard on board the schooner. day begins to peer through the glass of my port-hole, which is turned towards the east. i look at my watch. it is half-past four. the first thing i wonder is, whether the _ebba_ has resumed her voyage. no, i am certain she has not, either by sail, or by her motor. the sea is as calm at sunrise as it was at sunset. if the _ebba_ has been going ahead while i slept, she is at any rate, stationary now. the noise to which i referred, is caused by men hurrying to and fro on deck--by men heavily laden. i fancy i can also hear a similar noise in the hold beneath my cabin floor, the entrance to which is situated abaft the foremast. i also feel that something is scraping against the schooner's hull. have boats come alongside? are the crew engaged in loading or unloading merchandise? and yet we cannot possibly have reached our journey's end. the count d'artigas said that we should not reach our destination till this afternoon. now, i repeat, she was, last night, fully fifty or sixty miles from the nearest land, the group of the bermudas. that she could have returned westward, and can be in proximity to the american coast, is inadmissible, in view of the distance. moreover, i have reason to believe that the _ebba_ has remained stationary all night. before i fell asleep, i know she had stopped, and i now know that she is not moving. however, i shall see when i am allowed to go on deck. my cabin door is still bolted, i find on trying it; but i do not think they are likely to keep me here when broad daylight is on. an hour goes by, and it gradually gets lighter. i look out of my porthole. the ocean is covered by a mist, which the first rays of the sun will speedily disperse. i can, however, see for a half a mile, and if the three-masted merchantman is not visible, it is probably because she is lying off the other, or port, side of the _ebba_. presently i hear a key turned in my door, and the bolts drawn. i push the door open and clamber up the iron ladder to the deck, just as the men are battening down the cover of the hold. i look for the count d'artigas, but do not see him. he has not yet left his cabin. aft, captain spade and engineer serko are superintending the stowing of some bales, which have doubtless been hoisted from the hold. this explains the noisy operations that were going on when i was awakened. obviously, if the crew are getting out the cargo, we are approaching the end of our voyage. we are not far from port, and perhaps in a few hours, the schooner will drop anchor. but what about the sailing ship that was to port of us? she ought to be in the same place, seeing that there has been and is no wind. i look for her, but she is nowhere to be seen. there is not a sail, not a speck on the horizon either east, west, north or south. after cogitating upon the circumstance i can only arrive at the following conclusion, which, however, can only be accepted under reserve: although i did not notice it, the _ebba_ resumed her voyage while i slept, leaving the three-master becalmed behind her, and this is why the merchantman is no longer visible. i am careful not to question captain spade about it, nor even engineer serko, as i should certainly receive no answer. besides, at this moment captain spade goes to the signalling apparatus and presses one of the buttons on the upper disk. almost immediately the _ebba_ gives a jerk, then with her sails still furled, she starts off eastward again. two hours later the count d'artigas comes up through the main hatchway and takes his customary place aft. serko and captain spade at once approach and engage in conversation with him. all three raise their telescopes and sweep the horizon from southeast to northeast. no one will be surprised to learn that i gaze intently in the same direction; but having no telescope i cannot distinguish anything. the midday meal over we all return on deck--all with the exception of thomas roch, who has not quitted his cabin. towards one o'clock land is sighted by the lookout man on the foretop cross-tree. inasmuch as the _ebba_ is bowling along at great speed i shall soon be able to make out the coast line. in effect, two hours later a vague semicircular line that curves outward is discernible about eight miles off. as the schooner approaches it becomes more distinct. it is a mountain, or at all events very high ground, and from its summit a cloud of smoke ascends. what! a volcano in these parts? it must then be---chapter viii. back cup. in my opinion the _ebba_ could have struck no other group of islands but the bermudas in this part of the atlantic. this is clear from the distance covered from the american coast and the direction sailed in since we issued from pamlico sound. this direction has constantly been south-southeast, and the distance, judging from the _ebba's_ rate of speed, which has scarcely varied, is approximately seven hundred and fifty miles. still, the schooner does not slacken speed. the count d'artigas and engineer serko remain aft, by the man at the wheel. captain spade has gone forward. are we not going to leave this island, which appears to be isolated, to the west? it does not seem likely, since it is still broad daylight, and the hour at which the _ebba_ was timed to arrive. all the sailors are drawn up on deck, awaiting orders, and boatswain effrondat is making preparations to anchor. ere a couple of hours have passed i shall know all about it. it will be the first answer to one of the many questions that have perplexed me since the schooner put to sea. and yet it is most unlikely that the port to which the _ebba_ belongs is situated on one of the bermuda islands, in the middle of an english archipelago--unless the count d'artigas has kidnapped thomas roch for the british government, which i cannot believe. i become aware that this extraordinary man is gazing at me with singular persistence. although he can have no suspicion that i am simon hart, the engineer, he must be asking himself what i think of this adventure. if warder gaydon is but a poor devil, this poor devil will manifest as much unconcern as to what is in store for him as any gentleman could--even though he were the proprietor of this queer pleasure yacht. still i am a little uneasy under his gaze. i dare say that if the count d'artigas could guess how certain things have suddenly become clear to me, he would not hesitate to have me thrown overboard. prudence therefore commands me to be more circumspect than ever. without giving rise to any suspicion--even in the mind of engineer serko--i have succeeded in raising a corner of the mysterious veil, and i begin to see ahead a bit. as the _ebba_ draws nearer, the island, or rather islet, towards which she is speeding shows more sharply against the blue background of the sky. the sun which has passed the zenith, shines full upon the western side. the islet is isolated, or at any rate i cannot see any others of the group to which it belongs, either to north or south. this islet, of curious contexture, resembles as near as possible a cup turned upside down, from which a fuliginous vapor arises. its summit--the bottom of the cup, if you like--is about three hundred feet above the level of the sea, and its flanks, which are steep and regular, are as bare as the sea-washed rocks at its base. there is another peculiarity about it which must render the islet easily recognizable by mariners approaching it from the west, and this is a rock which forms a natural arch at the base of the mountain--the handle of the cup, so to speak--and through which the waves wash as freely as the sunshine passes. seen this way the islet fully justifies the name of back cup given to it. well, i know and recognize this islet! it is situated at the extremity of the archipelago of the bermudas. it is the "reversed cup" that i had occasion to visit a few years ago--no, i am not mistaken. i then climbed over the calcareous and crooked rocks at its base on the east side. yes, it is back cup, sure enough! had i been less self-possessed i might have uttered an exclamation of surprise--and satisfaction--which, with good reason, would have excited the attention and suspicion of the count d'artigas. these are the circumstances under which i came to explore back cup while on a visit to bermuda. this archipelago, which is situated about seven hundred and fifty miles from north carolina is composed of several hundred islands or islets. its centre is crossed by the sixty-fourth meridian and the thirty-second parallel. since the englishman lomer was shipwrecked and cast up there in 1609, the bermudas have belonged to the united kingdom, and in consequence the colonial population has increased to ten thousand inhabitants. it was not for its productions of cotton, coffee, indigo, and arrowroot that england annexed the group--seized it, one might say; but because it formed a splendid maritime station in that part of the ocean, and in proximity to the united states of america. possession was taken of it without any protest on the part of other powers, and bermuda is now administered by a british governor with the addition of a council and a general assembly. the principal islands of the archipelago are called st. david, somerset, hamilton, and st. george. the latter has a free port, and the town of the same name is also the capital of the group. the largest of these isles is not more than seventeen miles long and five wide. leaving out the medium-sized ones, there remains but an agglomeration of islets and reefs scattered over an area of twelve square leagues. although the climate of bermuda is very healthy, very salubrious, the isles are nevertheless frightfully beaten by the heavy winter tempests of the atlantic, and their approach by navigators presents certain difficulties. what the archipelago especially lacks are rivers and rios. however, as abundant rains fall frequently, this drawback is got over by the inhabitants, who treasure up the heaven-sent water for household and agricultural purposes. this has necessitated the construction of vast cisterns which the downfalls keep filled. these works of engineering skill justly merit the admiration they receive and do honor to the genius of man. it was in connection with the setting up of these cisterns that i made the trip, as well as out of curiosity to inspect the fine works. i obtained from the company of which i was the engineer in new jersey a vacation of several weeks, and embarked at new york for the bermudas. while i was staying on hamilton island, in the vast port of southampton, an event occurred of great interest to geologists. one day a whole flotilla of fishers, men, women and children, entered southampton harbor. for fifty years these families had lived on the east coast of back cup, where they had erected log-cabins and houses of stone. their position for carrying on their industry was an exceptionally favorable one, for the waters teem with fish all the year round, and in march and april whales abound. nothing had hitherto occurred to disturb their tranquil existence. they were quite contented with their rough lot, which was rendered less onerous by the facility of communication with hamilton and st. george. their solid barks took cargoes of fish there, which they exchanged for the necessities of life. why had they thus abandoned the islet with the intention, as it pretty soon appeared, of never returning to it? the reason turned out to be that they no longer considered themselves in safety there. a couple of months previously they had been at first surprised, then alarmed, by several distinct detonations that appeared to have taken place in the interior of the mountain. at the same time smoke and flames issued from the summit--or the bottom of the reversed cup, if you like. now no one had ever suspected that the islet was of volcanic origin, or that there was a crater at the top, no one having been able to climb its sides. now, however, there could be no possible doubt that the mountain was an ancient volcano that had suddenly become active again and threatened the village with destruction. during the ensuing two months internal rumblings and explosions continued to be heard, which were accompanied by bursts of flame from the top--especially at night. the island was shaken by the explosions--the shocks could be distinctly felt. all these phenomena were indicative of an imminent eruption, and there was no spot at the base of the mountain that could afford any protection from the rivers of lava that would inevitably pour down its smooth, steep slopes and overwhelm the village in their boiling flood. besides, the very mountain might be destroyed in the eruption. there was nothing for the population exposed to such a dire catastrophe to do but leave. this they did. their humble lares and penates, in fact all their belongings, were loaded into the fishing-smacks, and the entire colony sought refuge in southhampton harbor. the news that a volcano, that had presumably been smouldering for centuries at the western extremity of the group, showed signs of breaking out again, caused a sensation throughout the bermudas. but while some were terrified, the curiosity of others was aroused, mine included. the phenomenon was worth investigation, even if the simple fisher-folk had exaggerated. back cup, which, as already stated, lies at the western extremity of the archipelago, is connected therewith by a chain of small islets and reefs, which cannot be approached from the east. being only three hundred feet in altitude, it cannot be seen either from st. george or hamilton. i joined a party of explorers and we embarked in a cutter that landed us on the island, and made our way to the abandoned village of the bermudan fishers. the internal crackings and detonations could be plainly heard, and a sheaf of smoke was swayed by the wind at the summit. beyond a peradventure the ancient volcano had been started again by the subterranean fire, and an eruption at any moment was to be apprehended. in vain we attempted to climb to the mouth of the crater. the mountain sheered down at an angle of from seventy-five to eighty degrees, and its smooth, slippery sides afforded absolutely no foothold. anything more barren than this rocky freak of nature it would be difficult to conceive. only a few tufts of wild herbs were to be seen upon the whole island, and these seemed to have no _raison d'ãªtre_. our explorations were therefore necessarily limited, and in view of the active symptoms of danger that manifested themselves, we could but approve the action of the villagers in abandoning the place; for we entertained no doubt that its destruction was imminent. these were the circumstances in which i was led to visit back cup, and no one will consequently be surprised at the fact that i recognized it immediately we hove in sight of the queer structure. no, i repeat, the count d'artigas would probably not be overpleased if he were aware that warder gaydon is perfectly acquainted with this islet, even if the _ebba_ was to anchor there--which, as there is no port, is, to say the least, extremely improbable. as we draw nearer, i attentively examine back cup. not one of its former inhabitants has been induced to return, and, as it is absolutely deserted, i cannot imagine why the schooner should visit the place. perhaps, however, the count d'artigas and his companions have no intention of landing there. even though the _ebba_ should find temporary shelter between the rocky sides of a narrow creek there is nothing to give ground to the supposition that a wealthy yachtsman would have the remotest idea of fixing upon as his residence an arid cone exposed to all the terrible tempests of the western atlantic. to live here is all very well for rustic fishermen, but not for the count d'artigas, engineer serko, captain spade and his crew. back cup is now only half a mile off, and the seaweed thrown up on its rocky base is plainly discernible. the only living things upon it are the sea-gulls and other birds that circle in clouds around the smoking crater. when she is only two cable's lengths off, the schooner slackens speed, and then stops at the entrance of a sort of natural canal formed by a couple of reefs that barely rise above the water. i wonder whether the _ebba_ will venture to try the dangerous feat of passing through it. i do not think so. she will probably lay where she is--though why she should do so i do not know--for a few hours, and then continue her voyage towards the east. however this may be i see no preparations in progress for dropping anchor. the anchors are suspended in their usual places, the cables have not been cleared, and no motion has been made to lower a single boat. at this moment count d'artigas, engineer serko and captain spade go forward and perform some manoeuvre that is inexplicable to me. i walk along the port side of the deck until i am near the foremast, and then i can see a small buoy that the sailors are hoisting in. almost immediately the water, at the same spot becomes dark and i observe a black mass rising to the surface. is it a big whale rising for air, and is the _ebba_ in danger of being shattered by a blow from the monster's tail? now i understand! at last the mystery is solved. i know what was the motor that caused the schooner to go at such an extraordinary speed without sails and without a screw. her indefatigable motor is emerging from the sea, after having towed her from the coast of america to the archipelago of the bermudas. there it is, floating alongside--a submersible boat, a submarine tug, worked by a screw set in motion by the current from a battery of accumulators or powerful electric piles. on the upper part of the long cigar-shaped iron tug is a platform in the middle of which is the "lid" by which an entrance is effected. in the fore part of the platform projects a periscope, or lookout, formed by port-holes or lenses through which an electric searchlight can throw its gleam for some distance under water in front of and on each side of the tug. now relieved of its ballast of water the boat has risen to the surface. its lid will open and fresh air will penetrate it to every part. in all probability, if it remained submerged during the day it rose at night and towed the _ebba_ on the surface. but if the mechanical power of the tug is produced by electricity the latter must be furnished by some manufactory where it is stored, and the means of procuring the batteries is not to be found on back cup, i suppose. and then, why does the _ebba_ have recourse to this submarine towing system? why is she not provided with her own means of propulsion, like other pleasure-boats? these are things, however, upon which i have at present no leisure to ruminate. the lid of the tug opens and several men issue on to the platform. they are the crew of this submarine boat, and captain spade has been able to communicate with them and transmit his orders as to the direction to be taken by means of electric signals connected with the tug by a wire that passes along the stem of the schooner. engineer serko approaches me and says, pointing to the boat: "get in." "get in!" i exclaim. "yes, in the tug, and look sharp about it." as usual there is nothing for it but to obey. i hasten to comply with the order and clamber over the side. at the same time thomas roch appears on deck accompanied by one of the crew. he appears to be very calm, and very indifferent too, and makes no resistance when he is lifted over and lowered into the tug. when he has been taken in, count d'artigas and engineer serko follow. captain spade and the crew of the _ebba_ remain behind, with the exception of four men who man the dinghy, which has been lowered. they have hold of a long hawser, with which the schooner is probably to be towed through the reef. is there then a creek in the middle of the rocks where the vessel is secure from the breakers? is this the port to which she belongs? they row off with the hawser and make the end fast to a ring in the reef. then the crew on board haul on it and in five minutes the schooner is so completely lost to sight among the rocks that even the tip of her mast could not be seen from the sea. who in bermuda imagines that a vessel is accustomed to lay up in this secret creek? who in america would have any idea that the rich yachtsman so well known in all the eastern ports abides in the solitude of back cup mountain? twenty minutes later the dinghy returns with the four men towards the tug which was evidently waiting for them before proceeding--where? they climb on board, the little boat is made fast astern, a movement is felt, the screw revolves rapidly and the tug skims along the surface to back cup, skirting the reefs to the south. three cable's lengths further on, another tortuous canal is seen that leads to the island. into this the tug enters. when it gets close inshore, an order is given to two men who jump out and haul the dinghy up on a narrow sandy beach out of the reach of wave or weed, and where it will be easily get-at-able when wanted. this done the sailors return to the tug and engineer serko signs to me to go below. a short iron ladder leads into a central cabin where various bales and packages are stored, and for which no doubt there was not room in the hold of the schooner. i am pushed into a side cabin, the door is shut upon me, and here i am once more a prisoner in profound darkness. i recognize the cabin the moment i enter it. it is the place in which i spent so many long hours after our abduction from healthful house, and in which i was confined until well out at sea off pamlico sound. it is evident that thomas roch has been placed in a similar compartment. a loud noise is heard, the banging of the lid as it closes, and the tug begins to sink as the water is admitted to the tanks. this movement is succeeded by another--a movement that impels the boat through the water. three minutes later it stops, and i feel that we are rising to the surface again. another noise made by the lid being raised. the door of my cabin opens, and i rush out and clamber on to the platform. i look around and find that the tug has penetrated to the interior of back cup mountain. this is the mysterious retreat where count d'artigas lives with his companions--out of the world, so to speak. chapter ix. inside back cup. the next morning i am able to make a first inspection of the vast cavern of back cup. no one seeks to prevent me. what a night i have passed! what strange visions i have seen! with what impatience i waited for morning! i was conducted to a grotto about a hundred paces from the edge of the lake where the tug stopped. the grotto, twelve feet by ten, was lighted by an incandescent lamp, and fitted with an entrance door that was closed upon me. i am not surprised that electricity is employed in lighting the interior of the cavern, as it is also used in the submarine boat. but where is it generated? where does it come from? is there a manufactory installed somewhere or other in this vast crypt, with machinery, dynamos and accumulators? my cell is neatly furnished with a table on which provisions are spread, a bunk with bedding, a basket chair, a wash-hand-stand with toilet set, and a closet containing linen and various suits of clothes. in a drawer of the table i find paper, ink and pens. my dinner consists of fresh fish, preserved meat, bread of excellent quality, ale and whisky; but i am so excited that i scarcely touch it. yet i feel that i ought to fortify myself and recover my calmness of mind. i must and will solve the mystery surrounding the handful of men who burrow in the bowels of this island. so it is under the carapace of back cup that count d'artigas has established himself! this cavity, the existence of which is not even suspected, is his home when he is not sailing in the _ebba_ along the coasts of the new world or the old. this is the unknown retreat he has discovered, to which access is obtained by a submarine passage twelve or fifteen feet below the surface of the ocean. why has he severed himself from the world? what has been his past? if, as i suspect, this name of d'artigas and this title of count are assumed, what motive has he for hiding his identity? has he been banished, is he an outcast of society that he should have selected this place above all others? am i not in the power of an evildoer anxious to ensure impunity for his crimes and to defy the law by seeking refuge in this undiscoverable burrow? i have the right of supposing anything in the case of this suspicious foreigner, and i exercise it. then the question to which i have never been able to suggest a satisfactory answer once more surges into my mind. why was thomas roch abducted from healthful house in the manner already fully described? does the count d'artigas hope to force from him the secret of his fulgurator with a view to utilizing it for the defence of back cup in case his retreat should by chance be discovered? hardly. it would be easy enough to starve the gang out of back cup, by preventing the tug from supplying them with provisions. on the other hand, the schooner could never break through the investing lines, and if she did her description would be known in every port. in this event, of what possible use would thomas roch's invention be to the count d'artigas decidedly, i cannot understand it! about seven o'clock in the morning i jump out of bed. if i am a prisoner in the cavern i am at least not imprisoned in my grotto cell. the door yields when i turn the handle and push against it, and i walk out. thirty yards in front of me is a rocky plane, forming a sort of quay that extends to right and left. several sailors of the _ebba_ are engaged in landing bales and stores from the interior of the tug, which lays alongside a little stone jetty. a dim light to which my eyes soon grow accustomed envelops the cavern and comes from a hole in the centre of the roof, through which the blue sky can be seen. "it is from that hole that the smoke which can be seen for such a distance issues," i say to myself, and this discovery suggests a whole series of reflections. back cup, then, is not a volcano, as was supposed--as i supposed myself. the flames that were seen a few years ago, and the columns of smoke that still rise were and are produced artificially. the detonations and rumblings that so alarmed the bermudan fishers were not caused by the internal workings of nature. these various phenomena were fictitious. they manifested themselves at the mere will of the owner of the island, who wanted to scare away the inhabitants who resided on the coast. he succeeded, this count d'artigas, and remains the sole and undisputed monarch of the mountain. by exploding gunpowder, and burning seaweed swept up in inexhaustible quantities by the ocean, he has been able to simulate a volcano upon the point of eruption and effectually scare would-be settlers away! the light becomes stronger as the sun rises higher, the daylight streams through the fictitious crater, and i shall soon be able to estimate the cavern's dimensions. this is how i calculate: exteriorly the island of back cup, which is as nearly as possible circular, measures two hundred and fifty yards in circumference, and presents an interior superficies of about six acres. the sides of the mountain at its base vary in thickness from thirty to a hundred yards. it therefore follows that this excavation practically occupies the whole of that part of back cup island which appears above water. as to the length of the submarine tunnel by which communication is obtained with the outside, and through which the tug passed, i estimate that it is fifty yards in length. the size of the cavern can be judged from these approximate figures. but vast as it is, i remember that there are caverns of larger dimensions both in the old and new worlds. for instance in carniole, northumberland, derbyshire, piedmont, the balearics, hungary and california are larger grottoes than back cup, and those at han-sur-lesse in belgium, and the mammoth caves in kentucky, are also more extensive. the latter contain no fewer than two hundred and twenty-six domes, seven rivers, eight cataracts, thirty two wells of unknown depth, and an immense lake which extends over six or seven leagues, the limit of which has never been reached by explorers. i know these kentucky grottoes, having visited them, as many thousands of tourists have done. the principal one will serve as a comparison to back cup. the roof of the former, like that of the latter, is supported by pillars of various lengths, which give it the appearance of a gothic cathedral, with naves and aisles, though it lacks the architectural regularity of a religious edifice. the only difference is that whereas the roof of the kentucky grotto is over four hundred feet high, that of back cup is not above two hundred and twenty at that part of it where the round hole through which issue the smoke and flames is situated. another peculiarity, and a very important one, that requires to be pointed out, is that whereas the majority of the grottoes referred to are easily accessible, and were therefore bound to be discovered some time or other, the same remark does not apply to back cup. although it is marked on the map as an island forming part of the bermuda group, how could any one imagine that it is hollow, that its rocky sides are only the walls of an enormous cavern? in order to make such a discovery it would be necessary to get inside, and to get inside a submarine apparatus similar to that of the count d'artigas would be necessary. in my opinion this strange yachtsman's discovery of the tunnel by which he has been able to found this disquieting colony of back cup must have been due to pure chance. now i turn my attention to the lake and observe that it is a very small one, measuring not more than four hundred yards in circumference. it is, properly speaking, a lagoon, the rocky sides of which are perpendicular. it is large enough for the tug to work about in it, and holds enough water too, for it must be one hundred and twenty-five feet deep. it goes without saying that this crypt, given its position and structure, belongs to the category of those which are due to the encroachments of the sea. it is at once of neptunian and plutonian origin, like the grottoes of crozon and morgate in the bay of douarnenez in france, of bonifacio on the corsican coast, thorgatten in norway, the height of which is estimated at over three hundred feet, the catavaults of greece, the grottoes of gibraltar in spain, and tourana in cochin china, whose carapace indicates that they are all the product of this dual geological labor. the islet of back cup is in great part formed of calcareous rocks, which slope upwards gently from the lagoon towards the sides and are separated from each other by narrow beaches of fine sand. thick layers of seaweed that have been swept through the tunnel by the tide and thrown up around the lake have been piled into heaps, some of which are dry and some still wet, but all of which exhale the strong odor of the briny ocean. this, however, is not the only combustible employed by the inhabitants of back cup, for i see an enormous store of coal that must have been brought by the schooner and the tug. but it is the incineration of masses of dried seaweed that causes the smoke vomited forth by the crater of the mountain. continuing my walk i perceive on the northern side of the lagoon the habitations of this colony of troglodytes--do they not merit the appellation? this part of the cavern, which is known as the beehive, fully justifies its name, for it is honeycombed by cells excavated in the limestone rock and in which these human bees--or perhaps they should rather be called wasps--reside. the lay of the cavern to the east is very different. here hundreds of pillars of all shapes rise to the dome, and form a veritable forest of stone trees through the sinuous avenues of which one can thread one's way to the extreme limit of the place. by counting the cells of the beehive i calculate that count d'artigas' companions number from eighty to one hundred. as my eye wanders over the place i notice that the count is standing in front of one of the cells, which is isolated from the others, and talking to engineer serko and captain spade. after a while they stroll down to the jetty alongside which the tug is lying. a dozen men have been emptying the merchandise out of the tug and transporting the goods in boats to the other side, where great cellars have been excavated in the rocks and form the storehouses of the band. the orifice of the tunnel is not visible in the waters of the lagoon, and i remember that when i was brought here i felt the tug sink several feet before it entered. in this respect therefore back cup does not resemble either the grottoes of staffa or morgate, entrance to which is always open, even at high tide. there may be another passage communicating with the coast, either natural or artificial, and this i shall have to make my business to find out. the island well merits its name of back cup. it is indeed a gigantic cup turned upside down, not only to outward appearance, but inwardly, too, though people are ignorant of the fact. i have already remarked that the beehive is situated to the north of the lagoon, that is to say to the left on entering by the tunnel. on the opposite side are the storerooms filled with provisions of all kinds, bales of merchandise, barrels of wine, beer, and spirits and various packets bearing different marks and labels that show that they came from all parts of the world. one would think that the cargoes of a score of ships had been landed here. a little farther on is a large wooden shed the nature of which is easily distinguishable. from a pole above it a network of thick copper wires extends which conducts the current to the powerful electric lights suspended from the roof or dome, and to the incandescent lamps in each of the cells of the hive. a large number of lamps are also installed among the stone pillars and light up the avenues to their extremities. "shall i be permitted to roam about wherever i please?" i ask myself. i hope so. i cannot for the life of me see why the count d'artigas should prohibit me from doing so, for i cannot get farther than the surrounding walls of his mysterious domain. i question whether there is any other issue than the tunnel, and how on earth could i get through that? besides, admitting that i am able to get through it, i cannot get off the island. my disappearance would be soon noticed, and the tug would take out a dozen men who would explore every nook and cranny. i should inevitably be recaptured, brought back to the beehive, and deprived of my liberty for good. i must therefore give up all idea of making my escape, unless i can see that it has some chance of being successful, and if ever an opportunity does present itself i shall not be slow to take advantage of it. on strolling round by the rows of cells i am able to observe a few of these companions of the count d'artigas who are content to pass their monotonous existence in the depths of back cup. as i said before, calculating from the number of cells in the beehive, there must be between eighty and a hundred of them. they pay no attention whatever to me as i pass, and on examining them closely it seems to me that they must have been recruited from every country. i do not distinguish any community of origin among them, not even a similarity by which they might be classed as north americans, europeans or asiatics. the color of their skin shades from white to yellow and black--the black peculiar to australia rather than to africa. to sum up, they appear for the most part to pertain to the malay races. i may add that the count d'artigas certainly belongs to that particular race which peoples the dutch isles in the west pacific, while engineer serko must be levantine and captain spade of italian origin. but if the inhabitants of back cup are not bound to each other by ties of race, they certainly are by instinct and inclination. what forbidding, savage-looking faces they have, to be sure! they are men of violent character who have probably never placed any restraint upon their passions, nor hesitated at anything, and it occurs to me that in all likelihood they have sought refuge in this cavern, where they fancy they can continue to defy the law with impunity, after a long series of crimes--robbery, murder, arson, and excesses of all descriptions committed together. in this case back cup is nothing but a lair of pirates, the count d'artigas is the leader of the band and serko and spade are his lieutenants. i cannot get this idea out of my head, and the more i consider the more convinced i am that i am right, especially as everything i see during my stroll about the cavern seems to confirm my opinion. however this may be, and whatever may be the circumstances that have brought them together in this place, count d'artigas' companions appear to accept his all-powerful domination without question. on the other hand, if he keeps them under his iron heel by enforcing the severest discipline, certain advantages, some compensation, must accrue from the servitude to which they bow. what can this compensation be? having turned that part of the bank under which the tunnel passes, i find myself on the opposite side of the lagoon, where are situated the storerooms containing the merchandise brought by the _ebba_ on each trip, and which contain a great quantity of bales. beyond is the manufactory of electric energy. i gaze in at the windows as i pass and notice that it contains machines of the latest invention and highest attained perfection, which take up little space. not one steam engine, with its more or less complicated mechanism and need of fuel, is to be seen in the place. as i had surmised, piles of extraordinary power supply the current to the lamps in the cavern, as well as to the dynamos of the tug. no doubt the current is also utilized for domestic purposes, such as warming the beehive and cooking food, i can see that in a neighboring cavity it is applied to the alembics used to produce fresh water. at any rate the colonists of back cup are not reduced to catching the rain water that falls so abundantly upon the exterior of the mountain. a few paces from the electric power house is a large cistern that, save in the matter of proportions, is the counterpart of those i visited in bermuda. in the latter place the cisterns have to supply the needs of over ten thousand people, this one of a hundred--what? i am not sure yet what to call them. that their chief had serious reasons for choosing the bowels of this island for his abiding place is obvious. but what were those reasons? i can understand monks shutting themselves behind their monastery walls with the intention of separating themselves from the world, but these subjects of the count d'artigas have nothing of the monk about them, and would not be mistaken for such by the most simple-minded of mortals. i continue my way through the pillars to the extremity of the cavern. no one has sought to stop me, no one has spoken to me, not a soul apparently has taken the very slightest notice of me. this portion of back cup is extremely curious, and comparable to the most marvellous of the grottoes of kentucky or the balearics. i need hardly say that nowhere is the labor of man apparent. all this is the handiwork of nature, and it is not without wonder, mingled with awe, that i reflect upon the telluric forces capable of engendering such prodigious substructions. the daylight from the crater in the centre only strikes this part of the cavern obliquely, so that it is very imperfectly lighted, but at night, when illuminated by the electric lamps, its aspect must be positively fantastic. i have examined the walls everywhere with minute attention, but have been unable to discover any means of communicating with the outside. quite a colony of birds--gulls, sea-swallows and other feathery denizens of the bermudan beaches have made their home in the cavern. they have apparently never been hunted, for they are in no way disturbed by the presence of man. but besides sea-birds, which are free to come and go as they please by the orifice in the dome, there is a whole farmyard of domestic poultry, and cows and pigs. the food supply is therefore no less assured than it is varied, when the fish of all kinds that abound in the lagoon and around the island are taken into consideration. moreover, a mere glance at the colonists of back cup amply suffices to show that they are not accustomed to fare scantily. they are all vigorous, robust seafaring men, weatherbeaten and seasoned in the burning beat of tropical latitudes, whose rich blood is surcharged with oxygen by the breezes of the ocean. there is not a youth nor an old man among them. they are all in their prime, their ages ranging from thirty to fifty. but why do they submit to such an existence? do they never leave their rocky retreat? perhaps i shall find out ere i am much older. chapter x. ker karraje. the cell in which i reside is about a hundred paces from the habitation of the count d'artigas, which is one of the end ones of this row of the beehive. if i am not to share it with thomas roch, i presume the latter's cell is not far off, for in order that warder gaydon may continue to care for the ex-patient of healthful house, their respective apartments will have to be contiguous. however, i suppose i shall soon be enlightened on this point. captain spade and engineer serko reside separately in proximity to d'artigas' mansion. mansion? yes, why not dignify it with the title since this habitation has been arranged with a certain art? skillful hands have carved an ornamental faã§ade in the rock. a large door affords access to it. colored glass windows in wooden frames let into the limestone walls admit the light. the interior comprises several chambers, a dining-room and a drawing-room lighted by a stained-glass window, the whole being perfectly ventilated. the furniture is of various styles and shapes and of french, english and american make. the kitchen, larder, etc., are in adjoining cells in rear of the beehive. in the afternoon, just as i issue from my cell with the firm intention of "obtaining an audience" of the count d'artigas, i catch sight of him coming along the shore of the lagoon towards the hive. either he does not see me, or wishes to avoid me, for he quickens his steps and i am unable to catch him. "well, he will have to receive me, anyhow!" i mutter to myself. i hurry up to the door through which he has just disappeared and which has closed behind him. it is guarded by a gigantic, dark-skinned malay, who orders me away in no amiable tone of voice. i decline to comply with his injunction, and repeat to him twice the following request in my very best english: "tell the count d'artigas that i desire to be received immediately." i might just as well have addressed myself to the surrounding rock. this savage, no doubt, does not understand a word of english, for he scowls at me and orders me away again with a menacing cry. i have a good mind to attempt to force the door and shout so that the count d'artigas cannot fail to hear me, but in all probability i shall only succeed in rousing the wrath of the malay, who appears to be endowed with herculean strength. i therefore judge discretion to be the better part of valor, and put off the explanation that is owing to me--and which, sooner or later, i will have--to a more propitious occasion. i meander off in front of the beehive towards the east, and my thoughts revert to thomas roch. i am surprised that i have not seen him yet. can he be in the throes of a fresh paroxysm? this hypothesis is hardly admissible, for if the count d'artigas is to be believed, he would in this event have summoned me to attend to the inventor. a little farther on i encounter engineer serko. with his inviting manner and usual good-humor this ironical individual smiles when he perceives me, and does not seek to avoid me. if he knew i was a colleague, an engineer--providing he himself really is one--perhaps he might receive me with more cordiality than i have yet encountered, but i am not going to be such a fool as to tell him who and what i am. he stops, with laughing eyes and mocking mouth, and accompanies a "good day, how do you do?" with a gracious gesture of salutation. i respond coldly to his politeness--a fact which he affects not to notice. "may saint jonathan protect you, mr. gaydon!" he continues in his clear, ringing voice. "you are not, i presume, disposed to regret the fortunate circumstance by which you were permitted to visit this surpassingly marvellous cavern--and it really is one of the finest, although the least known on this spheroid." this word of a scientific language used in conversation with a simple hospital attendant surprises me, i admit, and i merely reply: "i should have no reason to complain, mr. serko, if, after having had the pleasure of visiting this cavern, i were at liberty to quit it." "what! already thinking of leaving us, mr. gaydon,--of returning to your dismal pavilion at healthful house? why, you have scarcely had time to explore our magnificent domain, or to admire the incomparable beauty with which nature has endowed it." "what i have seen suffices," i answer; "and should you perchance be talking seriously i will assure you seriously that i do not want to see any more of it." "come, now, mr. gaydon, permit me to point out that you have not yet had the opportunity of appreciating the advantages of an existence passed in such unrivalled surroundings. it is a quiet life, exempt from care, with an assured future, material conditions such as are not to be met with anywhere, an even climate and no more to fear from the tempests which desolate the coasts in this part of the atlantic than from the cold of winter, or the heat of summer. this temperate and salubrious atmosphere is scarcely affected by changes of season. here we have no need to apprehend the wrath of either pluto or neptune." "sir," i reply, "it is impossible that this climate can suit you, that you can appreciate living in this grotto of----" i was on the point of pronouncing the name of back cup. fortunately i restrained myself in time. what would happen if they suspected that i am aware of the name of their island, and, consequently, of its position at the extremity of the bermuda group? "however," i continue, "if this climate does not suit me, i have, i presume, the right to make a change." "the right, of course." "i understand from your remark that i shall be furnished with the means of returning to america when i want to go?" "i have no reason for opposing your desires, mr. gaydon," engineer serko replies, "and i regard your presumption as a very natural one. observe, however, that we live here in a noble and superb independence, that we acknowledge the authority of no foreign power, that we are subject to no outside authority, that we are the colonists of no state, either of the old or new world. this is worth consideration by whomsoever has a sense of pride and independence. besides, what memories are evoked in a cultivated mind by these grottoes which seem to have been chiselled by the hands of the gods and in which they were wont to render their oracles by the mouth of trophonius." decidedly, engineer serko is fond of citing mythology! trophonius after pluto and neptune? does he imagine that warder gaydon ever heard of trophonius? it is clear this mocker continues to mock, and i have to exercise the greatest patience in order not to reply in the same tone. "a moment ago," i continue shortly, "i wanted to enter yon habitation, which, if i mistake not, is that of the count d'artigas, but i was prevented." "by whom, mr. gaydon?" "by a man in the count's employ." "he probably had received strict orders about it." "possibly, yet whether he likes it or not, count d'artigas will have to see me and listen to me." "maybe it would be difficult, and even impossible to get him to do so," says engineer serko with a smile. "why so?" "because there is no such person as count d'artigas here." "you are jesting, i presume; i have just seen him." "it was not the count d'artigas whom you saw, mr. gaydon." "who was it then, may i ask?" "the pirate ker karraje." this name was thrown at me in a hard tone of voice, and engineer serko walked off before i had presence of mind enough to detain him. the pirate ker karraje! yes, this name is a revelation to me. i know it well, and what memories it evokes! it by itself explains what has hitherto been inexplicable to me. i now know into whose hands i have fallen. with what i already knew, with what i have learned since my arrival in back cup from engineer serko, this is what i am able to tell about the past and present of ker karraje: eight or nine years ago, the west pacific was infested by pirates who acted with the greatest audacity. a band of criminals of various origins, composed of escaped convicts, military and naval deserters, etc., operated with incredible audacity under the orders of a redoubtable chief. the nucleus of the band had been formed by men pertaining to the scum of europe who had been attracted to new south wales, in australia, by the discovery of gold there. among these gold-diggers, were captain spade and engineer serko, two outcasts, whom a certain community of ideas and character soon bound together in close friendship. these intelligent, well educated, resolute men would most assuredly have succeeded in any career. but being without conscience or scruples, and determined to get rich at no matter what cost, deriving from gambling and speculation what they might have earned by patient and steady work, they engaged in all sorts of impossible adventures. one day they were rich, the next day poor, like most of the questionable individuals who had hurried to the gold-fields in search of fortune. among the diggers in new south wales was a man of incomparable audacity, one of those men who stick at nothing--not even at crime--and whose influence upon bad and violent natures is irresistible. that man's name was ker karraje. the origin or nationality or antecedents of this pirate were never established by the investigations ordered in regard to him. he eluded all pursuit, and his name--or at least the name he gave himself--was known all over the world, and inspired horror and terror everywhere, as being that of a legendary personage, a bogey, invisible and unseizable. i have now reason to believe that ker karraje is a malay. however, it is of little consequence, after all. what is certain is that he was with reason regarded as a formidable and dangerous villain who had many crimes, committed in distant seas, to answer for. after spending a few years on the australian goldfields, where he made the acquaintance of engineer serko and captain spade, ker karraje managed to seize a ship in the port of melbourne, in the province of victoria. he was joined by about thirty rascals whose number was speedily tripled. in that part of the pacific ocean where piracy is still carried on with great facility, and i may say, profit, the number of ships pillaged, crews massacred, and raids committed in certain western islands which the colonists were unable to defend, cannot be estimated. although the whereabouts of ker karraje's vessel, commanded by captain spade, was several times made known to the authorities, all attempts to capture it proved futile. the marauder would disappear among the innumerable islands of which he knew every cove and creek, and it was impossible to come across him. he maintained a perfect reign of terror. england, france, germany, russia and america vainly dispatched warships in pursuit of the phantom vessel which disappeared, no one knew whither, after robberies and murders that could not be prevented or punished had been committed by her crew. one day this series of crimes came to an end, and no more was heard of ker karraje. had he abandoned the pacific for other seas? would this pirate break out in a fresh place? it was argued that notwithstanding what they must have spent in orgies and debauchery the pirate and his companions must still have an enormous amount of wealth hidden in some place known only to themselves, and that they were enjoying their ill-gotten gains. where had the band hidden themselves since they had ceased their depredations? this was a question which everybody asked and none was able to answer. all attempts to run them to earth were vain. terror and uneasiness having ceased with the danger, ker karraje's exploits soon began to be forgotten, even in the west pacific. this is what had happened--and what will never be known unless i succeed in escaping from back cup: these wretches were, as a matter of fact, possessed of great wealth when they abandoned the southern seas. having destroyed their ship they dispersed in different directions after having arranged to meet on the american continent. engineer serko, who was well versed in his profession, and was a clever mechanic to boot, and who had made a special study of submarine craft, proposed to ker karraje that they should construct one of these boats in order to continue their criminal exploits with greater secrecy and effectiveness. ker karraje at once saw the practical nature of the proposition, and as they had no lack of money the idea was soon carried out. while the so-called count d'artigas ordered the construction of the schooner _ebba_ at the shipyards of gotteborg, in sweden, he gave to the cramps of philadelphia, in america, the plans of a submarine boat whose construction excited no suspicion. besides, as will be seen, it soon disappeared and was never heard of again. the boat was constructed from a model and under the personal supervision of engineer serko, and fitted with all the known appliances of nautical science. the screw was worked with electric piles of recent invention which imparted enormous propulsive power to the motor. it goes without saying that no one imagined that count d'artigas was none other than ker karraje, the former pirate of the pacific, and that engineer serko was the most formidable and resolute of his accomplices. the former was regarded as a foreigner of noble birth and great fortune, who for several months had been frequenting the ports of the united states, the _ebba_ having been launched long before the tug was ready. work upon the latter occupied fully eighteen months, and when the boat was finished it excited the admiration of all those interested in these engines of submarine navigation. by its external form, its interior arrangements, its air-supply system, the rapidity with which it could be immersed, the facility with which it could be handled and controlled, and its extraordinary speed, it was conceded to be far superior to the _goubet,_ the _gymnote_, the _zede_, and other similar boats which had made great strides towards perfection. after several extremely successful experiments a public test was given in the open sea, four miles off charleston, in presence of several american and foreign warships, merchant vessels, and pleasure boats invited for the occasion. of course the _ebba_ was among them, with the count d'artigas, engineer serko, and captain spade on board, and the old crew as well, save half a dozen men who manned the submarine machine, which was worked by a mechanical engineer named gibson, a bold and very clever englishman. the programme of this definite experiment comprised various evolutions on the surface of the water, which were to be followed by an immersion to last several hours, the boat being ordered not to rise again until a certain buoy stationed many miles out at sea had been attained. at the appointed time the lid was closed and the boat at first manoeuvred on the surface. her speed and the ease with which she turned and twisted were loudly praised by all the technical spectators. then at a signal given on board the _ebba_ the tug sank slowly out of sight, and several vessels started for the buoy where she was to reappear. three hours went by, but there was no sign of the boat. no one could suppose that in accordance with instructions received from the count d'artigas and engineer serko this submarine machine, which was destined to act as the invisible tug of the schooner, would not emerge till it had gone several miles beyond the rendezvous. therefore, with the exception of those who were in the secret, no one entertained any doubt that the boat and all inside her had perished as the result of an accident either to her metallic covering or machinery. on board the _ebba_ consternation was admirably simulated. on board the other vessels it was real. drags were used and divers sent down along the course the boat was supposed to have taken, but it could not be found, and it was agreed that it had been swallowed up in the depths of the atlantic. two days later the count d'artigas put to sea again, and in forty-eight hours came up with the tug at the place appointed. this is how ker karraje became possessed of the admirable vessel which was to perform the double function of towing the schooner and attacking ships. with this terrible engine of destruction, whose very existence was ignored, the count d'artigas was able to recommence his career of piracy with security and impunity. these details i have learned from engineer serko, who is very proud of his handiwork,--and also very positive that the prisoner of back cup will never be able to disclose the secret. it will easily be realized how powerful was the offensive weapon ker karraje now possessed. during the night the tug would rush at a merchant vessel, and bore a hole in her with its powerful ram. at the same time the schooner which could not possibly have excited any suspicion, would run alongside and her horde of cutthroats would pour on to the doomed vessel's deck and massacre the helpless crew, after which they would hurriedly transfer that part of the cargo that was worth taking to the _ebba_. thus it happened that ship after ship was added to the long list of those that never reached port and were classed as having gone down with all on board. for a year after the odious comedy in the bay of charleston ker karraje operated in the atlantic, and his wealth increased to enormous proportions. the merchandise for which he had no use was disposed of in distant markets in exchange for gold and silver. but what was sadly needed was a place where the profits could be safely hidden pending the time when they were to be finally divided. chance came to their aid. while exploring the bottom of the sea in the neighborhood of the bermudas, engineer serko and driver gibson discovered at the base of back cup island the tunnel which led to the interior of the mountain. would it have been possible for ker karraje to have found a more admirable refuge than this, absolutely safe as it was from any possible chance of discovery? thus it came to pass that one of the islands of the archipelago of bermuda, erstwhile the haunt of buccaneers, became the lair of another gang a good deal more to be dreaded. this retreat having been definitely adopted, count d'artigas and his companions set about getting their place in order. engineer serko installed an electric power house, without having recourse to machines whose construction abroad might have aroused suspicion, simply employing piles that could be easily mounted and required but metal plates and chemical substances that the _ebba_ procured during her visits to the american coast. what happened on the night of the 19th inst. can easily be divined. if the three-masted merchantman which lay becalmed was not visible at break of day it was because she had been scuttled by the tug, boarded by the cut-throat band on the _ebba_, and sunk with all on board after being pillaged. the bales and things that i had seen on the schooner were a part of her cargo, and all unknown to me the gallant ship was lying at the bottom of the broad atlantic! how will this adventure end? shall i ever be able to escape from back cup, denounce the false count d'artigas and rid the seas of ker karraje's pirates? and if ker karraje is terrible as it is, how much more so will he become if he ever obtains possession of roch's fulgurator! his power will be increased a hundred-fold! if he were able to employ this new engine of destruction no merchantman could resist him, no warship escape total destruction. i remain for some time absorbed and oppressed by the reflections with which the revelation of ker karraje's name inspires me. all that i have ever heard about this famous pirate recurs to me--his existence when he skimmed the southern seas, the useless expeditions organized by the maritime powers to hunt him down. the unaccountable loss of so many vessels in the atlantic during the past few years is attributable to him. he had merely changed the scene of his exploits. it was supposed that he had been got rid of, whereas he is continuing his piratical practices in the most frequented ocean on the globe, by means of the tug which is believed to be lying at the bottom of charleston bay. "now," i say to myself, "i know his real name and that of his lair--ker karraje and back cup;" and i surmise that if engineer serko has let me into the secret he must have been authorized to do so. am i not meant to understand from this that i must give up all hope of ever recovering my liberty? engineer serko had manifestly remarked the impression created upon me by this revelation. i remember that on leaving me he went towards ker karraje's habitation, no doubt with the intention of apprising him of what had passed. after a rather long walk around the lagoon i am about to return to my cell, when i hear footsteps behind me. i turn and find myself face to face with the count d'artigas, who is accompanied by captain spade. he glances at me sharply, and in a burst of irritation that i cannot suppress, i exclaim: "you are keeping me here, sir, against all right. if it was to wait upon thomas roch that you carried me off from healthful house, i refuse to attend to him, and insist upon being sent back." the pirate chief makes a gesture, but does not reply. then my temper gets the better of me altogether. "answer me, count d'artigas--or rather, for i know who you are--answer me, ker karraje!" i shout. "the count d'artigas is ker karraje," he coolly replies, "just as warder gaydon is engineer simon hart; and ker karraje will never restore to liberty engineer simon hart, who knows his secrets." chapter xi. five weeks in back cup. the situation is plain. ker karraje knows who i am. he knew who i was when he kidnapped thomas roch and his attendant. how did this man manage to find out what i was able to keep from the staff of healthful house? how comes it that he knew that a french engineer was performing the duties of attendant to thomas roch? i do not know how he discovered it, but the fact remains that he did. evidently he had means of information which must have been costly, but from which he has derived considerable profit. besides, men of his kidney do not count the cost when they wish to attain an end they have in view. henceforward ker karraje, or rather engineer serko, will replace me as attendant upon thomas roch. will he succeed better than i did? god grant that he may not, that the civilized world may be spared such a misfortune! i did not reply to ker karraje's parthian shot, for i was stricken dumb. i did not, however, collapse, as the alleged count d'artigas perhaps expected i would. no! i looked him straight in the eyes, which glittered angrily, and crossed my arms defiantly, as he had done. and yet he held my life in his hands! at a sign a bullet would have laid me dead at his feet. then my body, cast into the lagoon, would have been borne out to sea through the tunnel and there would have been an end of me. after this scene i am left at liberty, just as before. no measure is taken against me, i can walk among the pillars to the very end of the cavern, which--it is only too clear--possesses no other issue except the tunnel. when i return to my cell, at the extremity of the beehive, a prey to a thousand thoughts suggested by my situation, i say to myself: "if ker karraje knows i am simon hart, the engineer, he must at any rate never know that i am aware of the position of back cup island." as to the plan of confiding thomas roch to my care, i do not think he ever seriously entertained it, seeing that my identity had been revealed to him. i regret this, inasmuch as the inventor will indubitably be the object of pressing solicitations, and as engineer serko will employ every means in his power to obtain the composition of the explosive and deflagrator, of which he will make such detestable use during future piratical exploits. yes, it would have been far better if i could have remained thomas roch's keeper here, as in healthful house. for fifteen days i see nothing of my late charge. no one, i repeat, has placed any obstacles in the way of my daily peregrinations. i have no need to occupy myself about the material part of my existence. my meals are brought to me regularly, direct from the kitchen of the count d'artigas--i cannot accustom myself to calling him by any other name. the food leaves nothing to be desired, thanks to the provisions that the _ebba_ brings on her return from each voyage. it is very fortunate, too, that i have been supplied with all the writing materials i require, for during my long hours of idleness i have been able to jot down in my notebook the slightest incidents that have occurred since i was abducted from healthful house, and to keep a diary day by day. as long as i am permitted to use a pen i shall continue my notes. mayhap some day, they will help to clear up the mysteries of back cup. _from july 5 to july 25._--a fortnight has passed, and all my attempts to get near thomas roch have been frustrated. orders have evidently been given to keep him away from my influence, inefficacious though the latter has hitherto been. my only hope is that the count d'artigas, engineer serko, and captain spade will waste their time trying to get at the inventor's secrets. three or four times to my knowledge, at least, thomas roch and engineer serko have walked together around the lagoon. as far as i have been able to judge, the former listened with some attention to what the other was saying to him. serko has conducted him over the whole cavern, shown him the electric power house and the mechanism of the tug. thomas roch's mental condition has visibly improved since his departure from healthful house. thomas roch lives in a private room in ker karraje's "mansion." i have no doubt that he is daily sounded in regard to his discoveries, especially by engineer serko. will he be able to resist the temptation if they offer him the exorbitant price that he demands? has he any idea of the value of money? these wretches may dazzle him with the gold that they have accumulated by years of rapine. in the present state of his mind may he not be induced to disclose the composition of his fulgurator? they would then only have to fetch the necessary substances and thomas roch would have plenty of time in back cup to devote to his chemical combinations. as to the war-engines themselves nothing would be easier than to have them made in sections in different parts of the american continent. my hair stands on end when i think what they could and would do with them if once they gained possession of them. these intolerable apprehensions no longer leave me a minute's peace; they are wearing me out and my health is suffering in consequence. although the air in the interior of back cup is pure, i become subject to attacks of suffocation, and i feel as though my prison walls were falling upon me and crushing me under their weight. i am, besides, oppressed by the feeling that i am cut off from the world, as effectually as though i were no longer upon our planet,--for i know nothing of what is going on outside. ah! if it were only possible to escape through that submarine tunnel, or through the hole in the dome and slide to the base of the mountain! on the morning of the 25th i at last encounter thomas roch. he is alone on the other side of the lagoon, and i wonder, inasmuch as i have not seen them since the previous day, whether ker karraje, engineer serko, and captain spade have not gone off on some expedition. i walk round towards thomas roch, and before he can see me i examine him attentively. his serious, thoughtful physiognomy is no longer that of a madman. he walks slowly, with his eyes bent on the ground, and under his arm a drawing-board upon which is stretched a sheet of paper covered with designs. suddenly he raises his head, advances a step and recognizes me. "ah! gaydon, it is you, is it?" he cries, "i have then escaped from you! i am free!" he can, indeed, regard himself as being free--a good deal more at liberty in back cup than he was in healthful house. but maybe my presence evokes unpleasant memories, and will bring on another fit, for he continues with extraordinary animation: "yes, i know you, gaydon.--do not approach me! stand off! stand off! you would like to get me back in your clutches, incarcerate me again in your dungeon! never! i have friends here who will protect me. they are powerful, they are rich. the count d'artigas is my backer and engineer serko is my partner. we are going to exploit my invention! we are going to make my fulgurator! hence! get you gone!" thomas roch is in a perfect fury. he raises his voice, agitates his arms, and finally pulls from his pockets many rolls of dollar bills and banknotes, and handfuls of english, french, american and german gold coins, which slip through his fingers and roll about the cavern. how could he get all this money except from ker karraje, and as the price of his secret? the noise he makes attracts a number of men to the scene. they watch us for a moment, then seize thomas roch and drag him away. as soon as i am out of his sight he ceases-to struggle and becomes calm again. _july 27._--two hours after meeting with thomas roch, i went down to the lagoon and walked out to the edge of the stone jetty. the tug is not moored in its accustomed place, nor can i see it anywhere about the lake. ker karraje and engineer serko had not gone yesterday, as i supposed, for i saw them in the evening. to-day, however, i have reason to believe that they really have gone away in the tug with captain spade and the crew of the _ebba_, and that the latter must be sailing away. have they set out on a piracy expedition? very likely. it is equally likely that ker karraje, become once more the count d'artigas, travelling for pleasure on board his yacht, intends to put into some port on the american coast to procure the substances necessary to the preparation of roch's fulgurator. ah! if it had only been possible for me to hide in the tug, to slip into the _ebba's_ hold, and stow myself away there until the schooner arrived in port! then perchance i might have escaped and delivered the world from this band of pirates. it will be seen how tenaciously i cling to the thought of escape--of fleeing--fleeing at any cost from this lair. but flight is impossible, except through the tunnel, by means of a submarine boat. is it not folly to think of such a thing? sheer folly, and yet what other way is there of getting out of back cup? while i give myself up to these reflections the water of the lagoon opens a few yards from me and the tug appears. the lid is raised and gibson, the engineer, and the men issue on to the platform. other men come up and catch the line that is thrown to them. they haul upon it, and the tug is soon moored in its accustomed place. this time, therefore, at any rate, the schooner is not being towed, and the tug merely went out to put ker karraje and his companions aboard the _ebba_. this only confirms my impression that the sole object of their trip is to reach an american port where the count d'artigas can procure the materials for making the explosive, and order the machines in some foundry. on the day fixed for their return the tug will go out through the tunnel again to meet the schooner and ker karraje will return to back cup. decidedly, this evildoer is carrying out his designs and has succeeded sooner than i thought would be possible. _august 3._--an incident occurred to-day of which the lagoon was the theatre--a very curious incident that must be exceedingly rare. towards three o'clock in the afternoon there was a prodigious bubbling in the water, which ceased for a minute or two and then recommenced in the centre of the lagoon. about fifteen pirates, whose attention had been attracted by this unaccountable phenomenon, hurried down to the bank manifesting signs of astonishment not unmingled with fear--at least i thought so. the agitation of the water was not caused by the tug, as the latter was lying alongside the jetty, and the idea that some other submarine boat had found its way through the tunnel was highly improbable. almost at the same instant cries were heard on the opposite bank. the newcomers shouted something in a hoarse voice to the men on the side where i was standing, and these immediately rushed off towards the beehive. i conjectured that they had caught sight of some sea-monster that had found its way in, and was floundering in the lagoon, and that they had rushed off to fetch arms and harpoons to try and capture it. i was right, for they speedily returned with the latter weapons and rifles loaded with explosive bullets. the monster in question was a whale, of the species that is common enough in bermudan waters, which after swimming through the tunnel was plunging about in the narrow limits of the lake. as it was constrained to take refuge in back cup i concluded that it must have been hard pressed by whalers. some minutes elapsed before the monster rose to the surface. then the green shiny mass appeared spouting furiously and darting to and fro as though fighting with some formidable enemy. "if it was driven in here by whalers," i said to myself, "there must be a vessel in proximity to back cup--peradventure within a stone's throw of it. her boats must have entered the western passes to the very foot of the mountain. and to think i am unable to communicate with them! but even if i could, i fail to see how i could go to them through these massive walls." i soon found, however, that it was not fishers, but sharks that had driven the whale through the tunnel, and which infest these waters in great numbers. i could see them plainly as they darted about, turning upon their backs and displaying their enormous mouths which were bristling with their cruel teeth. there were five or six of the monsters, and they attacked the whale with great viciousness. the latter's only means of defence was its tail, with which it lashed at them with terrific force and rapidity. but the whale had received several wounds and the water was tinged with its life-blood; for plunge and lash as it would, it could not escape the bites of its enemies. however, the voracious sharks were not permitted to vanquish their prey, for man, far more powerful with his instruments of death, was about to take a hand and snatch it from them. gathered around the lagoon were the companions of ker karraje, every whit as ferocious as the sharks themselves, and well deserving the same name, for what else are they? standing amid a group, at the extremity of the jetty, and armed with a harpoon, was the big malay who had prevented me from entering ker karraje's house. when the whale got within shot, he hurled the harpoon with great force and skill, and it sank into the leviathan's flesh just under the left fin. the whale plunged immediately, followed by the relentless sharks. the rope attached to the weapon ran out for about sixty yards, and then slackened. the men at once began to haul on it, and the monster rose to the surface again near the end of the tunnel, struggling desperately in its death agony, and spurting great columns of water tinged with blood. one blow of its tail struck a shark, and hurled it clean out of water against the rocky side, where it dropped in again, badly, if not fatally injured. the harpoon was torn from the flesh by the jerk, and the whale went under. it came up again for the last time, and lashed the water so that it washed up from the tunnel end, disclosing the top of the orifice. then the sharks again rushed on their prey, but were scared off by a hail of the explosive bullets. two men then jumped into a boat and attached a line to the dead monster. the latter was hauled into the jetty, and the malays started to cut it up with a dexterity that showed they were no novices at the work. no more sharks were to be seen, but i concluded that it would be as well to refrain from taking a bath in the lagoon for some days to come. i now know exactly where the entrance to the tunnel is situated. the orifice on this side is only ten feet below the edge of the western bank. but of what use is this knowledge to me? _august 7_.--twelve days have elapsed since the count d'artigas, engineer serko, and captain spade put to sea. there is nothing to indicate that their return is expected, though the tug is always kept in readiness for immediate departure by gibson, the engine-driver. if the _ebba_ is not afraid to enter the ports of the united states by day, i rather fancy she prefers to enter the rocky channel of back cup at nightfall. i also fancy, somehow, that ker karraje and his companions will return to-night. _august 10_.--at ten o'clock last night, as i anticipated, the tug went under and out, just in time to meet the _ebba_ and tow her through the channel to her creek, after which she returned with ker karraje and the others. when i look out this morning, i see thomas roch and engineer serko walking down to the lagoon, and talking. what they are talking about i can easily guess. i go forward and take a good look at my ex-patient. he is asking questions of engineer serko with great animation. his eyes gleam, his face is flushed, and he is all eagerness to reach the jetty. engineer serko can hardly keep up with him. the crew of the tug are unloading her, and they have just brought ashore ten medium-sized boxes. these boxes bear a peculiar red mark, which thomas roch examines closely. engineer serko orders the men to transport them to the storehouses on the left bank, and the boxes are forthwith loaded on a boat and rowed over. in my opinion, these boxes contain the substances by the combination or mixture of which, the fulgurator and deflagrator are to be made. the engines, doubtless, are being made in an american foundry, and when they are ready, the schooner will fetch them and bring them to back cup. for once in a while, anyhow, the _ebba_ has not returned with any stolen merchandise. she went out and has returned with a clear bill. but with what terrible power ker karraje will be armed for both offensive and defensive operations at sea! if thomas roch is to be credited, this fulgurator could shatter the terrestrial spheroid at one blow. and who knows but what one day, he will try the experiment? chapter xii. engineer serko's advice. thomas roch has started work and spends hours and hours in a wooden shed on the left bank of the lagoon that has been set apart as his laboratory and workshop. no one enters it except himself. does he insist upon preparing the explosive in secret and does he intend to keep the formula thereof to himself? i should not wonder. the manner of employing roch's fulgurator is, i believe, very simple indeed. the projectile in which it is used requires neither gun nor mortar to launch it, nor pneumatic tube like the zalinski shell. it is autopropulsive, it projects itself, and no ship within a certain zone when the engine explodes could escape utter destruction. with such a weapon as this at his command ker karraje would be invincible. _from august 11 to august 17_.--during the past week thomas roch has been working without intermission. every morning the inventor goes to his laboratory and does not issue therefrom till night. i have made no attempt to stop him or speak to him, knowing that it would be useless to do so. although he is still indifferent to everything that does not touch upon his work he appears to be perfectly self-possessed. why should he not have recovered his reason? has he not obtained what he has so long sought for? is he not at last able to carry out the plans he formed years and years ago? _august 18_.--at one o'clock this morning i was roused by several detonations. "has back cup been attacked?" was my first thought. "has the schooner excited suspicion, and been chased to the entrance to the passes? is the island being bombarded with a view to its destruction? has justice at last overtaken these evil-doers ere thomas roch has been able to complete the manufacture of his explosive, and before the autopropulsive engine could be fetched from the continent?" the detonations, which are very violent, continue, succeeding each other at regular intervals, and it occurs to me that if the schooner has been destroyed, all communication with the bases of supply being impossible, back cup cannot be provisioned. it is true the tug would be able to land the count d'artigas somewhere on the american coast where, money being no object, he could easily buy or order another vessel. but no matter. if back cup is only destroyed before ker karraje has roch's fulgurator at his disposal i shall render thanks to heaven. a few hours later, at the usual time, i quit my cell. all is quiet at the beehive. the men are going about their business as usual. the tug is moored near the jetty. thomas roch is going to his laboratory, and ker karraje and engineer serko are tranquilly pacing backwards and forwards by the lake and chatting. the island therefore could not have been attacked during the night. yet i was awakened by the report of cannon, this i will swear. at this moment ker karraje goes off towards his abode and engineer serko, smilingly ironical, as usual, advances to meet me. "well, mr. simon hart," he says, "are you getting accustomed to your tranquil existence? do you appreciate at their just merit the advantages of this enchanted grotto? have you given up all hope of recovering your liberty some day or other?" what is the use of waxing wroth with this jester? i reply calmly: "no, sir. i have not given up hope, and i still expect that i shall be released." "what! mr. hart, separate ourselves from a man whom we all esteem--and i from a colleague who perhaps, in the course of thomas roch's fits of delirium, has learned some of his secrets? you are not serious!" so this is why they are keeping me a prisoner in back cup! they suppose that i am in part familiar with roch's invention, and they hope to force me to tell what i know if thomas roch refuses to give up his secret. this is the reason why i was kidnapped with him, and why i have not been accommodated with an involuntary plunge in the lagoon with a stone fastened to my neck. i see it all now, and it is just as well to know it. "very serious," i affirm, in response to the last remark of my interlocutor. "well," he continues, "if i had the honor to be simon hart, the engineer, i should reason as follows: 'given, on the one hand, the personality of ker karraje, the reasons which incited him to select such a mysterious retreat as this cavern, the necessity of the said cavern being kept from any attempt to discover it, not only in the interest of the count d'artigas, but in that of his companions--'" "of his accomplices, if you please." "'of his accomplices,' then--'and on the other hand, given the fact that i know the real name of the count d'artigas and in what mysterious safe he keeps his riches--'" "riches stolen, and stained with blood, mr. serko." "'riches stolen and stained with blood,' if you like--'i ought to understand that this question of liberty cannot be settled in accordance with my desires.'" it is useless to argue the point under these conditions, and i switch the conversation on to another line. "may i ask," i continue, "how you came to find out that gaydon, the warder, was simon hart, the engineer?" "i see no reason for keeping you in ignorance on the subject, my dear colleague. it was largely by hazard. we had certain relations with the manufactory in new jersey with which you were connected, and which you quitted suddenly one day under somewhat singular circumstances. well, during a visit i made to healthful house some months before the count d'artigas went there, i saw and recognized you." "you?" "my very self, and from that moment i promised myself the pleasure of having you for a fellow-passenger on board the _ebba_." i do not recall ever having seen this serko at healthful house, but what he says is very likely true. "i hope your whim of having me for a companion will cost you dear, some day or other," i say to myself. then, abruptly, i go on: "if i am not mistaken, you have succeeded in inducing thomas roch to disclose the secret of his fulgurator?" "yes, mr. hart. we paid millions for it. but millions, you know, are nothing to us. we have only the trouble of taking them! therefore we filled all his pockets--covered him with millions!" "of what use are these millions to him if he is not allowed to enjoy them outside?" "that, mr. hart, is a matter that does not trouble him a little bit! this man of genius thinks nothing of the future: he lives but in the present. while engines are being constructed from his plans over yonder in america, he is preparing his explosive with chemical substances with which he has been abundantly supplied. he! he! what an invention it is, this autopropulsive engine, which flies through the air of its own power and accelerates its speed till the goal is reached, thanks to the properties of a certain powder of progressive combustion! here we have an invention that will bring about a radical change in the art of war." "defensive war, mr. serko." "and offensive war, mr. hart." "naturally," i answer. then pumping him still more closely, i go on: "so, what no one else has been able to obtain from thomas roch--" "we obtained without much difficulty." "by paying him." "by paying him an incredible price--and, moreover, by causing to vibrate what in him is a very sensitive chord." "what chord?" "that of vengeance!" "vengeance?--against whom?" "against all those who have made themselves his enemies by discouraging him, by spurning him, expelling him, by constraining him to go a-begging from country to country with an invention of incontestable superiority! now all notion of patriotism is extinct in his soul. he has now but one thought, one ferocious desire: to avenge himself upon those who have denied him--and even upon all mankind! really, mr. hart, your governments of europe and america committed a stupendous blunder in refusing to pay roch the price his fulgurator is worth!" and engineer serko describes enthusiastically the various advantages of the new explosive which, he says, is incontestably superior to any yet invented. "and what a destructive effect it has," he adds. "it is analogous to that of the zalinski shell, but is a hundred times more powerful, and requires no machine for firing it, as it flies through the air on its own wings, so to speak." i listen in the hope that engineer serko will give away a part of the secret, but in vain. he is careful not to say more than he wants to. "has thomas roch," i ask, "made you acquainted with the composition of his explosive?" "yes, mr. hart--if it is all the same to you--and we shall shortly have considerable quantities of it stored in a safe place." "but will there not be a great and ever-impending danger in accumulating large quantities of it? if an accident were to happen it would be all up with the island of----!" once more the name of back cup was on the point of escaping me. they might consider me too well-informed if they were aware that in addition to being acquainted with the count d'artigas' real name i also know where his stronghold is situated. luckily engineer serko has not remarked my reticence, and he replies: "there will be no cause for alarm. thomas roch's explosive will not burn unless subjected to a special deflagrator. neither fire nor shock will explode it." "and has thomas roch also sold you the secret of his deflagrator?" "not yet, mr. hart, but it will not be long before the bargain is concluded. therefore, i repeat, no danger is to be apprehended, and you need not keep awake of nights on that account. a thousand devils, sir! we have no desire to be blown up with our cavern and treasures! a few more years of good business and we shall divide the profits, which will be large enough to enable each one of us to live as he thinks proper and enjoy life to the top of his bent--after the dissolution of the firm of ker karraje and co. i may add that though there is no danger of an explosion, we have everything to fear from a denunciation--which you are in the position to make, mr. hart. therefore, if you take my advice, you will, like a sensible man, resign yourself to the inevitable until the disbanding of the company. we shall then see what in the interest of our security is best to be done with you!" it will be admitted that these words are not exactly calculated to reassure me. however, a lot of things may happen ere then. i have learned one good thing from this conversation, and that is that if thomas roch has sold his explosive to ker karraje and co., he has at any rate, kept the secret of his deflagrator, without which the explosive is of no more value than the dust of the highway. but before terminating the interview i think i ought to make a very natural observation to mr. serko. "sir," i say, "you are now acquainted with the composition of thomas roch's explosive. does it really possess the destructive power that the inventor attributes to it? has it ever been tried? may you not have purchased a composition as inert as a pinch of snuff?" "you are doubtless better informed upon this point than you pretend, mr. hart. nevertheless, i thank you for the interest you manifest in our affairs, and am able to reassure you. the other night we made a series of decisive experiments. with only a few grains of this substance great blocks of rock were reduced to impalpable dust!" this explanation evidently applies to the detonation i heard. "thus, my dear colleague," continues engineer serko, "i can assure you that our expectations have been answered. the effects of the explosive surpass anything that could have been imagined. a few thousand tons of it would burst our spheroid and scatter the fragments into space. you can be absolutely certain that it is capable of destroying no matter what vessel at a distance considerably greater than that attained by present projectiles and within a zone of at least a mile. the weak point in the invention is that rather too much time has to be expended in regulating the firing." engineer serko stops short, as though reluctant to give any further information, but finally adds: "therefore, i end as i began, mr. hart. resign yourself to the inevitable. accept your new existence without reserve. give yourself up to the tranquil delights of this subterranean life. if one is in good health, one preserves it; if one has lost one's health, one recovers it here. that is what is happening to your fellow countryman. yes, the best thing you can do is to resign yourself to your lot." thereupon this giver of good advice leaves me, after saluting me with a friendly gesture, like a man whose good intentions merit appreciation. but what irony there is in his words, in his glance, in his attitude. shall i ever be able to get even with him? i now know that at any rate it is not easy to regulate the aim of roch's auto-propulsive engine. it is probable that it always bursts at the same distance, and that beyond the zone in which the effects of the fulgurator are so terrible, and once it has been passed, a ship is safe from its effects. if i could only inform the world of this vital fact! _august 20_.--for two days no incident worth recording has occurred. i have explored back cup to its extreme limits. at night when the long perspective of arched columns are illuminated by the electric lamps, i am almost religiously impressed when i gaze upon the natural wonders of this cavern, which has become my prison. i have never given up hope of finding somewhere in the walls a fissure of some kind of which the pirates are ignorant and through which i could make my escape. it is true that once outside i should have to wait till a passing ship hove in sight. my evasion would speedily be known at the beehive, and i should soon be recaptured, unless--a happy thought strikes me--unless i could get at the _ebba's_ boat that was drawn up high and dry on the little sandy beach in the creek. in this i might be able to make my way to st. george or hamilton. this evening--it was about nine o'clock--i stretched myself on a bed of sand at the foot of one of the columns, about one hundred yards to the east of the lagoon. shortly afterwards i heard footsteps, then voices. hiding myself as best i could behind the rocky base of the pillar, i listened with all my ears. i recognized the voices as those of ker karraje and engineer serko. the two men stopped close to where i was lying, and continued their conversation in english--which is the language generally used in back cup. i was therefore able to understand all that they said. they were talking about thomas roch, or rather his fulgurator. "in a week's time," said ker karraje, "i shall put to sea in the _ebba_, and fetch the sections of the engines that are being cast in that virginian foundry." "and when they are here," observed engineer serko, "i will piece them together and fix up the frames for firing them. but beforehand, there is a job to be done which it seems to me is indispensable." "what is that?" "to cut a tunnel through the wall of the cavern." "through the wall of the cavern?" "oh! nothing but a narrow passage through which only one man at a time could squeeze, a hole easy enough to block, and the outside end of which would be hidden among the rocks." "of what use could it be to us, serko?" "i have often thought about the utility of having some other way of getting out besides the submarine tunnel. we never know what the future may have in store for us." "but the walls are so thick and hard," objected ker karraje. "oh, with a few grains of roch's explosive i undertake to reduce the rock to such fine powder that we shall be able to blow it away with our breath," serko replied. it can easily be imagined with what interest and eagerness i listened to this. here was a ray of hope. it. was proposed to open up communication with the outside by a tunnel in the wall, and this held out the possibility of escape. as this thought flashed through my mind, ker karraje said: "very well, serko, and if it becomes necessary some day to defend back cup and prevent any ship from approaching it----. it is true," he went on, without finishing the reflection, "our retreat would have to have been discovered by accident--or by denunciation." "we have nothing to fear either from accident or denunciation," affirmed serko. "by one of our band, no, of course not, but by simon hart, perhaps." "hart!" exclaimed serko. "he would have to escape first and no one can escape from back cup. i am, by the bye, interested in this hart. he is a colleague, after all, and i have always suspected that he knows more about roch's invention than he pretends. i will get round him so that we shall soon be discussing physics, mechanics, and matters ballistic like a couple of friends." "no matter," replied the generous and sensible count d'artigas, "when we are in full possession of the secret we had better get rid of the fellow." "we have plenty of time to do that, ker karraje." "if god permits you to, you wretches," i muttered to myself, while my heart thumped against my ribs. and yet, without the intervention of providence, what hope is there for me? the conversation then took another direction. "now that we know the composition of the explosive, serko," said ker karraje, "we must, at all cost, get that of the deflagrator from thomas roch." "yes," replied engineer serko, "that is what i am trying to do. unfortunately, however, roch positively refuses to discuss it. still he has already made a few drops of it with which those experiments were made, and he will furnish as with some more to blow a hole through the wall." "but what about our expeditions at sea?" queried ker karraje. "patience! we shall end by getting roch's thunderbolts entirely in our own hand, and then----" "are you sure, serko?" "quite sure,--by paying the price, ker karraje." the conversation dropped at this point, and they strolled off without having seen me--very luckily for me, i guess. if engineer serko spoke up somewhat in defence of a colleague, ker karraje is apparently animated with much less benevolent sentiments in regard to me. on the least suspicion they would throw me into the lake, and if i ever got through the tunnel, it would only be as a corpse carried out by the ebbing tide. _august 21_.--engineer serko has been prospecting with a view to piercing the proposed passage through the wall, in such a way that its existence will never be dreamed of outside. after a minute examination he decided to tunnel through the northern end of the cavern about sixty feet from the first cells of the beehive. i am anxious for the passage to be made, for who knows but what it may be the way to freedom for me? ah! if i only knew how to swim, perhaps i should have attempted to escape through the submarine tunnel, as since it was disclosed by the lashing back of the waters by the whale in its death-struggle, i know exactly where the orifice is situated. it seems to me that at the time of the great tides, this orifice must be partly uncovered. at the full and new moon, when the sea attains its maximum depression below the normal level, it is possible that--i must satisfy myself about this. i do not know how the fact will help me in any way, even if the entrance to the tunnel is partly uncovered, but i cannot afford to miss any detail that may possibly aid in my escape from back cup. _august 29_.--this morning i am witnessing the departure of the tug. the count d'artigas is, no doubt, going off in the _ebba_ to fetch the sections of thomas roch's engines. before embarking, the count converses long and earnestly with engineer serko, who, apparently, is not going to accompany him on this trip, and is evidently giving him some recommendations, of which i may be the object. then, having stepped on to the platform, he goes below, the lid shuts with a bang, and the tug sinks out of sight, leaving a trail of bubbles behind it. the hours go by, night is coming on, yet the tug does not return. i conclude that it has gone to tow the schooner, and perhaps to destroy any merchant vessels that may come in their way. it cannot, however, be absent very long, as the trip to america and back will not take more than a week. besides, if i can judge from the calm atmosphere in the interior of the cavern, the _ebba_ must be favored with beautiful weather. this is, in fact, the fine season in this part of the world. ah! if only i could break out of my prison! chapter xiii. god be with it. _from august 29 to september 10_.--thirteen days have gone by and the _ebba_ has not returned. did she then not make straight for the american coast? has she been delayed by a buccaneering cruise in the neighborhood of back cup? it seems to me that ker karraje's only desire would be to get back with the sections of roch's engines as soon as possible. maybe the virginian foundry had not quite finished them. engineer serko does not display the least anxiety or impatience. he continues to greet me with his accustomed ironical cordiality, and with a kindly air that i distrust--with good reason. he affects to be solicitous as to my health, urges me to make the best of a bad job, calls me ali baba, assures me that there is not, in the whole world, such an enchanting spot as this arabian nights cavern, observes that i am fed, warmed, lodged, and clothed, that i have no taxes to pay, and that even the inhabitants of the favored principality of monaco do not enjoy an existence more free from care. sometimes this ironical verbiage brings the blood to my face, and i am tempted to seize this cynical banterer by the throat and choke the life out of him. they would kill me afterwards. still, what would that matter! would it not be better to end in this way than to spend years and years amid these infernal and infamous surroundings? however, while there is life there is hope, i reflect, and this thought restrains me. i have scarcely set eyes upon thomas roch since the _ebba_ went away. he shuts himself up in his laboratory and works unceasingly. if he utilizes all the substances placed at his disposition there will be enough to blow up back cup and the whole bermudan archipelago with it! i cling to the hope that he will never consent to give up the secret of his deflagrator, and that engineer serko's efforts to acquire it will remain futile. _september 3_.--to-day i have been able to witness with my own eyes the power of roch's explosive, and also the manner in which the fulgurator is employed. during the morning the men began to pierce the passage through the wall of the cavern at the spot fixed upon by engineer serko, who superintended the work in person. the work began at the base, where the rock is as hard as granite. to have continued it with pickaxes would have entailed long and arduous labor, inasmuch as the wall at this place is not less than from twenty to thirty yards in thickness, but thanks to roch's fulgurator the passage will be completed easily and rapidly. i may well be astonished at what i have seen. the pickaxes hardly made any impression on the rock, but its disaggregation was effected with really remarkable facility by means of the fulgurator. a few grains of this explosive shattered the rocky mass and reduced it to almost impalpable powder that one's breath could disperse as easily as vapor. the explosion produced an excavation measuring fully a cubic yard. it was accompanied by a sharp detonation that may be compared to the report of a cannon. the first charge used, although a very small one, a mere pinch, blew the men in every direction, and two of them were seriously injured. engineer serko himself was projected several yards, and sustained some rather severe contusions. here is how this substance, whose bursting force surpasses anything hitherto conceived, is employed. a small hole about an inch and a half in length is pierced obliquely in the rock. a few grains of the explosive are then inserted, but no wad is used. then thomas roch steps forward. in his hand is a little glass phial containing a bluish, oily liquid that congeals almost as soon as it comes in contact with the air. he pours one drop on the entrance of the hole, and draws back, but not with undue haste. it takes a certain time--about thirty-five seconds, i reckon--before the combination of the fulgurator and deflagrator is effected. but when the explosion does take place its power of disaggregation is such--i repeat--that it may be regarded as unlimited. it is at any rate a thousand times superior to that of any known explosive. under these circumstances it will probably not take more than a week to complete the tunnel. _september 19_.--for some time past i have observed that the tide rises and falls twice every twenty-four hours, and that the ebb and flow produce a rather swift current through the submarine tunnel. it is pretty certain therefore that a floating object thrown into the lagoon when the top of the orifice is uncovered would be carried out by the receding tide. it is just possible that during the lowest equinoctial tides the top of the orifice is uncovered. this i shall be able to ascertain, as this is precisely the time they occur. to-day, september 19, i could almost distinguish the summit of the hole under the water. the day after to-morrow, if ever, it will be uncovered. very well then, if i cannot myself attempt to get through, may be a bottle thrown into the lagoon might be carried out during the last few minutes of the ebb. and might not this bottle by chance--an ultra-providential chance, i must avow--be picked up by a ship passing near back cup? perhaps even it might be borne away by a friendly current and cast upon one of the bermudan beaches. what if that bottle contained a letter? i cannot get this thought out of my mind, and it works me up into a great state of excitement. then objections crop up--this one among others: the bottle might be swept against the rocks and smashed ere ever it could get out of the tunnel. very true, but what if, instead of a bottle a diminutive, tightly closed keg were used? it would not run any danger of being smashed and would besides stand a much better chance of reaching the open sea. _september 20_.--this evening, i, unperceived, entered one of the store houses containing the booty pillaged from various ships and procured a keg very suitable for my experiment. i hid the keg under my coat, and returned to the beehive and my cell. then without losing an instant i set to work. paper, pen, ink, nothing was wanting, as will be supposed from the fact that for three months i have been making notes and dotting down my impressions daily. i indite the following message: "on june 15 last thomas roch and his keeper gaydon, or rather simon hart, the french engineer who occupied pavilion no. 17, at healthful house, near new-berne, north carolina, united states of america, were kidnapped and carried on board the schooner _ebba_, belonging to the count d'artigas. both are now confined in the interior of a cavern which serves as a lair for the said count d'artigas--who is really ker karraje, the pirate who some time ago carried on his depredations in the west pacific--and for about a hundred men of which his band is composed. "when he has obtained possession of roch's fulgurator whose power is, so to speak, without limit, ker karraje will be in a position to carry on his crimes with complete impunity. "it is therefore urgent that the states interested should destroy his lair without delay. "the cavern in which the pirate ker karraje has taken refuge is in the interior of the islet of back cup, which is wrongly regarded as an active volcano. it is situated at the western extremity of the archipelago of bermuda, and on the east is bounded by a range of reefs, but on the north, south, and west is open. "communication with the inside of the mountain is only possible through a tunnel a few yards under water in a narrow pass on the west. a submarine apparatus therefore is necessary to effect an entrance, at any rate until a tunnel they are boring through the northwestern wall of the cavern is completed. "the pirate ker karraje employs an apparatus of this kind--the submarine boat that the count d'artigas ordered of the cramps and which was supposed to have been lost during the public experiment with it in charleston bay. this boat is used not only for the purpose of entering and issuing from back cup, but also to tow the schooner and attack merchant vessels in bermudan waters. "this schooner _ebba_, so well known on the american coast, is kept in a small creek on the western side of the island, behind a mass of rocks, and is invisible from the sea. "the best place to land is on the west coast formerly occupied by the colony of bermudan fishers; but it would first be advisable to effect a breach in the side of the cavern by means of the most powerful melinite shells. "the fact that ker karraje may be in the position to use roch's fulgurator for the defence of the island must also be taken into consideration. let it be well borne in mind that if its destructive power surpasses anything ever conceived or dreamed of, it extends over a zone not exceeding a mile in extent. the distance of this dangerous zone is variable, but once the engines have been set, the modification of the distance occupies some time, and a warship that succeeds in passing the zone has nothing further to fear. "this document is written on the twentieth day of september at eight o'clock in the evening and is signed with my name "thomas hart, engineer." the above is the text of the statement i have just drawn up. it says all that is necessary about the island, whose exact situation is marked on all modern charts and maps, and points out the expediency of acting without delay, and what to do in case ker karraje is in the position to employ roch's fulgurator. i add a plan of the cavern showing its internal configuration, the situation of the lagoon, the lay of the beehive, ker karraje's habitation, my cell, and thomas roch's laboratory. i wrap the document in a piece of tarpaulin and insert the package in the little keg, which measures six inches by three and a half. it is perfectly watertight and will stand any amount of knocking about against the rocks. there is one danger, however, and that is, that it may be swept back by the returning tide, cast up on the island, and fall into the hands of the crew of the _ebba_ when the schooner is hauled into her creek. if ker karraje ever gets hold of it, it will be all up with me. it will be readily conceived with what anxiety i have awaited the moment to make the attempt: i am in a perfect fever of excitement, for it is a matter of life or death to me. i calculate from previous observations that the tide will be very low at about a quarter to nine. the top of the tunnel ought then to be a foot and a half above water, which is more than enough to permit of the keg passing through it. it will be another half hour at least before the flow sets in again, and by that time the keg may be far enough away to escape being thrown back on the coast. i peer out of my cell. there is no one about, and i advance to the side of the lagoon, where by the light of a nearby lamp, i perceive the arch of the tunnel, towards which the current seems to be setting pretty swiftly. i go down to the very edge, and cast in the keg which contains the precious document and all my hopes. "god be with it!" i fervently exclaim. "god be with it!" for a minute or two the little barrel remains stationary, and then floats back to the side again. i throw it out once more with all my strength. this time it is in the track of the current, which to my great joy sweeps it along and in twenty seconds, it has disappeared in the tunnel. yes, god be with it! may heaven guide thee, little barrel! may it protect all those whom ker karraje menaces and grant that this band of pirates may not escape from the justice of man! chapter xiv. battle between the "sword" and the tug. through all this sleepless night i have followed the keg in fancy. how many times i seem to see it swept against the rocks in the tunnel into a creek, or some excavation. i am in a cold perspiration from head to foot. then i imagine that it has been carried out to sea. heavens! if the returning tide should sweep it back to the entrance and then through the tunnel into the lagoon! i must be on the lookout for it. i rise before the sun and saunter down to the lagoon. not a single object is floating on its calm surface. the work on the tunnel through the side of the cavern goes on, and at four o'clock in the afternoon on september 23, engineer serko blows away the last rock obstructing the issue, and communication with the outer world is established. it is only a very narrow hole, and one has to stoop to go through it. the exterior orifice is lost among the crannies of the rocky coast, and it would be easy to obstruct it, if such a measure became necessary. it goes without saying that the passage will be strictly guarded. no one without special authorization will be able either to go out or come in, therefore there is little hope of escape in that direction. _september 25._--this morning the tug rose from the depth of the lagoon to the surface, and has now run alongside the jetty. the count d'artigas and captain spade disembark, and the crew set to work to land the provisions--boxes of canned meat, preserves, barrels of wine and spirits, and other things brought by the _ebba,_ among which are several packages destined for thomas roch. the men also land the various sections of roch's engines which are discoid in shape. the inventor watches their operations, and his eyes glisten with eagerness. he seizes one of the sections, examines it, and nods approval. i notice that his joy no longer finds expression in incoherent utterances, that he is completely transformed from what he was while a patient at healthful house. so much is this the case that i begin to ask myself whether his madness which was asserted to be incurable, has not been radically cured. at last thomas roch embarks in the boat used for crossing the lake and is rowed over to his laboratory. engineer serko accompanies him. in an hour's time the tug's cargo has all been taken out and transported to the storehouses. ker karraje exchanges a word or two with engineer serko and then enters his mansion. later, in the afternoon, i see them walking up and down in front of the beehive and talking earnestly together. then they enter the new tunnel, followed by captain spade. if i could but follow them! if i could but breathe for awhile the bracing air of the atlantic, of which the interior of back cup only receives attenuated puffs, so to speak. _from september 26 to october 10_.--fifteen days have elapsed. under the directions of engineer serko and thomas roch the sections of the engines have been fitted together. then the construction of their supports is begun. these supports are simple trestles, fitted with transverse troughs or grooves of various degrees of inclination, and which could be easily installed on the deck of the _ebba_, or even on the platform of the tug, which can be kept on a level with the surface. thus ker karraje, will be ruler of the seas, with his yacht. no warship, however big, however powerful, will be able to cross the zone of danger, whereas the _ebba_ will be out of range of its guns. if only my notice were found! if only the existence of this lair of back cup were known! means would soon be found, if not of destroying the place, at least of starving the band into submission! _october 20_.--to my extreme surprise i find this morning that the tug has gone away again. i recall that yesterday the elements of the piles were renewed, but i thought it was only to keep them in order. in view of the fact that the outside can now be reached through the new tunnel, and that thomas roch has everything he requires, i can only conclude that the tug has gone off on another marauding expedition. yet this is the season of the equinoctial gales, and the bermudan waters are swept by frequent tempests. this is evident from the violent gusts that drive back the smoke through the crater and the heavy rain that accompanies it, as well as by the water in the lagoon, which swells and washes over the brown rocks on its shores. but it is by no means sure that the _ebba_ has quitted her cove. however staunch she may be, she is, it seems to me, of too light a build to face such tempests as now rage, even with the help of the tug. on the other hand, although the tug has nothing to fear from the heavy seas, as it would be in calm water a few yards below the surface, it is hardly likely that it has gone on a trip unless to accompany the schooner. i do not know to what its departure can be attributed, but its absence is likely to be prolonged, for it has not yet returned. engineer serko has remained behind, but ker karraje, captain spade, and the crew of the schooner, i find, have left. life in the cavern goes on with its usual dispiriting monotony. i pass hour after hour in my cell, meditating, hoping, despairing, following in fancy the voyage of my little barrel, tossed about at the mercy of the currents and whose chances of being picked up, i fear, are becoming fainter each day, and killing time by writing my diary, which will probably not survive me. thomas roch is constantly occupied in his laboratory manufacturing his deflagrator. i still entertain the conviction that nothing will ever induce him to give up the secret of the liquid's composition; but i am perfectly aware that he will not hesitate to place his invention at ker karraje's service. i often meet engineer serko when my strolls take me in the direction of the beehive. he always shows himself disposed to chat with me, though, it is true, he does so in a tone of impertinent frivolity. we converse upon all sorts of subjects, but rarely of my position. recrimination thereanent is useless and only subjects me to renewed bantering. _october 22_.--to-day i asked engineer serko whether the _ebba_ had put to sea again with the tug. "yes, mr. simon hart," he replied, "and though the clouds gather and loud the tempest roars, be in no uneasiness in regard to our dear _ebba_." "will she be gone long?" "we expect her back within forty-eight hours. it is the last voyage count d'artigas proposes to make before the winter gales render navigation in these parts impracticable." "is her voyage one of business or pleasure?" "of business, mr. hart, of business," answered engineer serko with a smile. "our engines are now completed, and when the fine weather returns we shall resume offensive operations." "against unfortunate merchantmen." "as unfortunate as they are richly laden." "acts of piracy, whose impunity will, i trust, not always be assured," i cried.. "calm yourself, dear colleague, be calm! be calm! no one, you know, can ever discover our retreat, and none can ever disclose the secret! besides, with these engines, which are so easily handled and are of such terrible power, it would be easy for us to blow to pieces any ship that attempted to get within a certain radius of the island." "providing," i said, "that thomas roch has sold you the composition of his deflagrator as he has sold you that of his fulgurator." "that he has done, mr. hart, and it behooves me to set your mind at rest upon that point." from this categorical response i ought to have concluded that the misfortune had been consummated, but a certain hesitation in the intonation of his voice warned me that implicit reliance was not to be placed upon engineer serko's assertions. _october 25_.--what a frightful adventure i have just been mixed up in, and what a wonder i did not lose my life! it is only by a miracle that i am able to resume these notes, which have been interrupted for forty-eight hours. with a little luck, i should have been delivered! i should now be in one of the bermudan ports--st. george or hamilton. the mysteries of back cup would have been cleared up. the description of the schooner would have been wired all over the world, and she would not dare to put into any port. the provisioning of back cup would be impossible, and ker karraje's bandits would be condemned to starve to death! this is what occurred: at eight o'clock in the evening on october 23, i quitted my cell in an indefinable state of nervousness, and with a presentiment that a serious event was imminent. in vain i had tried to seek calmness in sleep. it was impossible to do so, and i rose and went out. outside back cup the weather must have been very rough. violent gusts of wind swept in through the crater and agitated the water of the lagoon. i walked along the shore on the beehive side. no one was about. it was rather cold, and the air was damp. the pirates were all snugly ensconced in their cells, with the exception of one man, who stood guard over the new passage, notwithstanding that the outer entrance had been blocked. from where he was this man could not see the lagoon, moreover there were only two lamps alight, one on each side of the lake, and the forest of pillars was wrapt in the profoundest obscurity. i was walking about in the shadow, when some one passed me. i saw that he was thomas roch. he was walking slowly, absorbed by his thoughts, his brain at work, as usual. was this not a favorable opportunity to talk to him, to enlighten him about what he was probably ignorant, namely, the character of the people into whose hands he had fallen? "he cannot," i argued, "know that the count d'artigas is none other than ker karraje, the pirate. he cannot be aware that he has given up a part of his invention to such a bandit. i must open his eyes to the fact that he will never be able to enjoy his millions, that he is a prisoner in back cup, and will never be allowed to leave it, any more than i shall. yes, i will make an appeal to his sentiments of humanity, and point out to him what frightful misfortunes he will be responsible for if he does not keep the secret of his deflagrator." all this i had said to myself, and was preparing to carry out my resolution, when i suddenly felt myself seized from behind. two men held me by the arms, and another appeared in front of me. before i had time to cry out the man exclaimed in english: "hush! not a word! are you not simon hart?" "yes, how did you know?" "i saw you come out of your cell." "who are you, then?" "lieutenant davon, of the british navy, of h.m.s. _standard_, which is stationed at the bermudas." emotion choked me so that it was impossible for me to utter a word. "we have come to rescue you from ker karraje, and also propose to carry off thomas roch," he added. "thomas roch?" i stammered. "yes, the document signed by you was found on the beach at st. george----" "in a keg, lieutenant davon, which i committed to the waters of the lagoon." "and which contained," went on the officer, "the notice by which we were apprised that the island of back cup served as a refuge for ker karraje and his band--ker karraje, this false count d'artigas, the author of the double abduction from healthful house." "ah! lieutenant davon----" "now we have not a moment to spare, we must profit by the obscurity." "one word, lieutenant davon, how did you penetrate to the interior of back cup?" "by means of the submarine boat _sword_, with which we have been making experiments at st. george for six months past." "a submarine boat!" "yes, it awaits us at the foot of the rocks. and now, mr. hart, where is ker karraje's tug?" "it has been away for three weeks." "ker karraje is not here, then?" "no, but we expect him back every day--every hour, i might say." "it matters little," replied lieutenant davon. "it is not after ker karraje, but thomas roch, we have come--and you also, mr. hart. the _sword_ will not leave the lagoon till you are both on board. if she does not turn up at st. george again, they will know that i have failed--and they will try again." "where is the _sword_, lieutenant?" "on this side, in the shadow of the bank, where it cannot be seen. thanks to your directions, i and my crew were able to locate the tunnel. we came through all right, and ten minutes ago rose to the surface of the lake. two men landed with me. i saw you issue from the cell marked on your plan. do you know where thomas roch is?" "a few paces off. he has just passed me, on his way to his laboratory." "god be praised, mr. hart!" "amen, lieutenant davon." the lieutenant, the two men and i took the path around the lagoon. we had not gone far when we perceived thomas roch in front of us. to throw ourselves upon him, gag him before he could utter a cry, bind him before he could offer any resistance, and bear him off to the place where the _sword_ was moored was the work of a minute. the _sword_ was a submersible boat of only twelve tons, and consequently much inferior to the tug, both in respect of dimensions and power. her screw was worked by a couple of dynamos fitted with accumulators that had been charged twelve hours previously in the port of st. george. however, the _sword_ would suffice to take us out of this prison, to restore us to liberty--that liberty of which i had given up all hope. thomas roch was at last to be rescued from the clutches of ker karraje and engineer serko. the rascals would not be able to utilize his invention, and nothing could prevent the warships from landing a storming party on the island, who would force the tunnel in the wall and secure the pirates! we saw no one while the two men were conveying thomas roch to the _sword_, and all got on board without incident. the lid was shut and secured, the water compartments filled, and the _sword_ sank out of sight. we were saved! the _sword_ was divided into three water-tight compartments. the after one contained the accumulators and machinery. the middle one, occupied by the pilot, was surmounted by a periscope fitted with lenticular portholes, through which an electric search-lamp lighted the way through the water. forward, in the other compartment, thomas roch and i were shut in. my companion, though the gag which was choking him had been removed, was still bound, and, i thought, knew what was going on. but we were in a hurry to be off, and hoped to reach st. george that very night if no obstacle was encountered. i pushed open the door of the compartment and rejoined lieutenant davon, who was standing by the man at the wheel. in the after compartment three other men, including the engineer, awaited the lieutenant's orders to set the machinery in motion. "lieutenant davon," i said, "i do not think there is any particular reason why i should stay in there with roch. if i can help you to get through the tunnel, pray command me." "yes, i shall be glad to have you by me, mr. hart." it was then exactly thirty-seven minutes past eight. the search-lamp threw a vague light through the water ahead of the _sword_. from where we were, we had to cross the lagoon through its entire length to get to the tunnel. it would be pretty difficult to fetch it, we knew, but, if necessary, we could hug the sides of the lake until we located it. once outside the tunnel the _sword_ would rise to the surface and make for st. george at full speed. "at what depth are we now?" i asked the lieutenant. "about a fathom." "it is not necessary to go any lower," i said. "from what i was able to observe during the equinoctial tides, i should think that we are in the axis of the tunnel." "all right," he replied. yes, it was all right, and i felt that providence was speaking by the mouth of the officer. certainly providence could not have chosen a better agent to work its will. in the light of the lamp i examined him. he was about thirty years of age, cool, phlegmatic, with resolute physiognomy--the english officer in all his native impassibility--no more disturbed than if he had been on board the _standard_, operating with extraordinary _sang-froid,_ i might even say, with the precision of a machine. "on coming through the tunnel i estimated its length at about fifty yards," he remarked. "yes, lieutenant, about fifty yards from one extremity to the other." this calculation must have been pretty exact, since the new tunnel cut on a level with the coast is thirty-five feet in length. the order was given to go ahead, and the _sword_ moved forward very slowly for fear of colliding against the rocky side. sometimes we came near enough to it to distinguish a black mass ahead of it, but a turn of the wheel put us in the right direction again. navigating a submarine boat in the open sea is difficult enough. how much more so in the confines of a lagoon! after five minutes' manoeuvring, the _sword_, which was kept at about a fathom below the surface, had not succeeded in sighting the orifice. "perhaps it would be better to return to the surface, lieutenant," i said. "we should then be able to see where we are." "i think you are right, mr. hart, if you can point out just about where the tunnel is located." "i think i can." "very well, then." as a precaution the light was turned off. the engineer set the pumps in motion, and, lightened of its water ballast, the boat slowly rose in the darkness to the surface. i remained at my post so that i could peer through the lookouts. at last the ascensional movement of the _sword_ stopped, and the periscope emerged about a foot. on one side of me, lighted by the lamp by the shore, i could see the beehive. "what is your opinion?" demanded the lieutenant. "we are too far north. the orifice is in the west side of the cavern." "is anybody about?" "not a soul." "capital, mr. hart. then we will keep on a level with the surface, and when we are in front of the tunnel, and you give the signal, we will sink." it was the best thing to be done. we moved off again and the pilot kept her head towards the tunnel. when we were about twelve yards off i gave the signal to stop. as soon as the current was turned off the _sword_ stopped, opened her water tanks and slowly sank again. then the light in the lookout was turned on again, and there in front of us was a black circle that did not reflect the lamp's rays. "there it is, there is the tunnel!" i cried. was it not the door by which i was going to escape from my prison? was not liberty awaiting me on the other side? gently the _sword_ moved towards the orifice. oh! the horrible mischance! how have i survived it? how is it that my heart is not broken? a dim light appeared in the depth of the tunnel, about twenty-five yards in front of us. the advancing light could be none other than that, projected through the lookout of ker karraje's submarine boat. "the tug! the tug!" i exclaimed. "lieutenant, here is the tug returning to back cup!" "full speed astern," ordered the officer, and the _sword_ drew back just as she was about to enter the tunnel. one chance remained. the lieutenant had swiftly turned off the light, and it was just possible that we had not been seen by the people in the tug. perhaps, in the dark waters of the lagoon, we should escape notice, and when the oncoming boat had risen and moored to the jetty, we should be able to slip out unperceived. we had backed close in to the south side and the _sword_ was about to stop, but alas, for our hopes! captain spade had seen that another submarine boat was about to issue through the tunnel, and he was making preparations to chase us. how could a frail craft like the _sword_ defend itself against the attacks of ker karraje's powerful machine? lieutenant davon turned to me and said: "go back to the compartment where thomas roch is and shut yourself in. i will close the after-door. there is just a chance that if the tug rams us the water-tight compartments will keep us up." after shaking hands with the lieutenant, who was as cool as though we were in no danger, i went forward and rejoined thomas roch. i closed the door and awaited the issue in profound darkness. then i could feel the desperate efforts made by the _sword_ to escape from or ram her enemy. i could feel her rushing, gyrating and plunging. now she would twist to avoid a collision. now she would rise to the surface, then sink to the bottom of the lagoon. can any one conceive such a struggle as that in which, like two marine monsters, these machines were engaged in beneath the troubled waters of this inland lake? a few minutes elapsed, and i began to think that the _sword_ had eluded the tug and was rushing through the tunnel. suddenly there was a collision. the shock was not, it seemed to me, very violent, but i could be under no illusion: the _sword_ had been struck on her starboard quarter. perhaps her plates had resisted, and if not, the water would only invade one of her compartments, i thought. almost immediately after, however, there was another shock that pushed the _sword_ with extreme violence. she was raised by the ram of the tug which sawed and ripped its way into her side. then i could feel her heel over and sink straight down, stern foremost. thomas roch and i were tumbled over violently by. this movement. there was another bump, another ripping sound, and the _sword_ lay still. just what happened after that i am unable to say, for i lost consciousness. i have since learned that all this occurred many hours ago. i however distinctly remember that my last thought was: "if i am to die, at any rate thomas roch and his secret perish with me--and the pirates of back cup will not escape punishment for their crimes." chapter xv. expectation. as soon as i recover my senses i find myself lying on my bed in my cell, where it appears i have been lying for thirty-six hours. i am not alone. engineer serko is near me. he has attended to me himself, not because he regards me as a friend, i surmise, but as a man from whom indispensable explanations are awaited, and who afterwards can be done away with if necessary. i am still so weak that i could not walk a step. a little more and i should have been asphyxiated in that narrow compartment of the _sword_ at the bottom of the lagoon. am i in condition to reply to the questions that engineer serko is dying to put to me? yes--but i shall maintain the utmost reserve. in the first place i wonder what has become of lieutenant davon and the crew of the _sword_. did those brave englishmen perish in the collision? are they safe and sound like us--for i suppose that thomas roch has also survived? the first question that engineer serko puts to me is this: "will you explain to me what happened, mr. hart?" instead of replying it occurs to me to question him myself. "and thomas roch?" i inquire. "in good health, mr. hart." then he adds in an imperious tone: "tell me what occurred!" "in the first place, tell me what became of the others." "what others?" replies serko, glancing at me savagely. "why, those men who threw themselves upon thomas roch and me, who gagged, bound, and carried us off and shut us up, i know not where?" on reflection i had come to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to pretend that i had been surprised before i knew where i was or who my aggressors were. "you will know what became of them later. but first, tell me how, the thing was done." by the threatening tone of his voice, as he for the third time puts this question, i understand the nature of the suspicions entertained of me. yet to be in the position to accuse me of having had relations with the outside he would have had to get possession of my keg. this he could not have done, seeing that it is in the hands of the bermudan authorities. the pirates cannot, i am convinced, have a single proof to back up their suspicions. i therefore recount how about eight o'clock on the previous evening i was walking along the edge of the lagoon, after thomas roch had passed me, going towards his laboratory, when i felt myself seized from behind; how having been gagged, bound, and blindfolded, i felt myself carried off and lowered into a hole with another person whom i thought i recognized from his groans as thomas roch; how i soon felt that i was on board a boat of some description and naturally concluded that it was the tug; how i felt it sink; how i felt a shock that threw me violently against the side, and how i felt myself suffocating and lost consciousness, since i remember nothing further. engineer serko listens with profound attention, a stern look in his eyes and a frown on his brow; and yet he can have no reason that authorizes him to doubt my word. "you claim that three men threw themselves upon you?" he asks. "yes. i thought they were some of your people, for i did not see them coming. who were they?" "strangers, as you must have known from their language." "they did not utter a word!" "have you no idea as to their nationality?" "not the remotest." do you know what were their intentions in entering the cavern?" "i do not." "what is your opinion about it?" "my opinion, mr. serko? i repeat i thought they were two or three of your pirates who had come to throw me into the lagoon by the count d'artigas' orders, and that they were going to do the same thing to thomas roch. i supposed that having obtained his secrets--as you informed me was the case--you had no further use for him and were about to get rid of us both." "is it possible, mr. hart, that you could have thought such a thing!" continued serko in his sarcastic way. "i did, until having been able to remove the bandage from my eyes, i perceived that i was in the tug." "it was not the tug, but a boat of the same kind that had got through the tunnel." "a submarine boat?" i ejaculate. "yes, and manned by persons whose mission was to kidnap you and thomas roch." "kidnap us?" i echo, continuing to feign surprise. "and," adds engineer serko, "i want to know what you think about the matter." "what i think about it? well, it appears to me that there is only one plausible explanation possible. if the secret of your retreat has not been betrayed--and i cannot conceive how you could have been betrayed or what imprudence you or yours could have committed--my opinion is that this submarine boat was exploring the bottom of the sea in this neighborhood, that she must have found her way into the tunnel, that she rose to the surface of the lagoon, that her crew, greatly surprised to find themselves inside an inhabited cavern, seized hold of the first persons they came across, thomas roch and myself, and others as well perhaps, for of course i do not know----" engineer serko has become serious again. does he realize the inanity of the hypothesis i try to pass off on him? does he think i know more than i will say? however this may be, he accepts my professed view, and says: "in effect, mr. hart, it must have happened as you suggest, and when the stranger tried to make her way out through the tunnel just as the tug was entering, there was a collision--a collision of which she was the victim. but we are not the kind of people to allow our fellow-men to perish before our eyes. moreover, the disappearance of thomas roch and yourself was almost immediately discovered. two such valuable lives had to be saved at all hazards. we set to work. there are many expert divers among our men. they hastily donned their suits and descended to the bottom of the lagoon. they passed lines around the hull of the _sword_----" "the _sword_?" i exclaim. "that is the name we saw painted on the bow of the vessel when we raised her to the surface. what satisfaction we experienced when we recovered you--unconscious, it is true, but still breathing--and were able to bring you back to life! unfortunately all our attentions to the officer who commanded the _sword_, and to his crew were useless. the shock had torn open the after and middle compartments, and they paid with their lives the misfortune--due to chance, as you observe--of having discovered our mysterious retreat." on learning that lieutenant davon and his companions are dead, my heart is filled with anguish; but to keep up my role--as they were persons with whom, presumably, i was not acquainted, and had never seen--i am careful not to display any emotion. i must, on no account, afford ground for the suspicion that there was any connivance between the commander of the _sword_ and me. for aught i know, engineer serko may have reason to be very skeptical about the discovery of the tunnel being accidental. what, however, i am most concerned about is that the unlooked-for occasion to recover my liberty was lost. shall i ever be afforded another chance? however this may be, my notice reached the english authorities of the archipelago, and they now know where ker karraje is to be found. when it is seen that the _sword_ does not return to bermuda, there can be no doubt that another attempt will be made to get inside back cup, in which, had it not been for the inopportune return of the tug, i should no longer be a prisoner. i have resumed my usual existence, and having allayed all mistrust, am permitted to wander freely about the cavern, as usual. it is patent that the adventure has had no ill effect upon thomas roch. intelligent nursing brought him around, as it did me. in full possession of his mental faculties he has returned to work, and spends the entire day in his laboratory. the _ebba_ brought back from her last trip bales, boxes, and a quantity of objects of varied origin, and i conclude that a number of ships must have been pillaged during this marauding expedition. the work on the trestles for roch's engine goes steadily forward, and there are now no fewer than fifty engines. if ker karraje and engineer serko are under the necessity of defending back cup, three or four will be sufficient to render the island unapproachable, as they will cover a zone which no vessel could enter without being blown to pieces. and it occurs to me that they intend to put back cup in a state of defence after having argued as follows: "if the appearance of the _sword_ in the lagoon was due to chance the situation remains unchanged, and no power, not even england, will think of seeking for the _sword_ inside the cavern. if, on the other hand, as the result of an incomprehensible revelation, it has been learned that back cup is become the retreat of ker karraje, if the expedition of the _sword_ was a first effort against the island, another of a different kind--either a bombardment from a distance, or an attack by a landing party--is to be expected. therefore, ere we can quit back cup and carry away our plunder, we shall have to defend ourselves by means of roch's fulgurator." in my opinion the rascals must have gone on to reason still further in this wise: "is there any connection between the disclosure of our secret--if it was, and however it may have been made--and the double abduction from healthful house? is it known that thomas roch and his keeper are confined in back cup? is it known that the abduction was effected in the interest of ker karraje? have americans, english, french, germans, and russians reason to fear that an attack in force against the island would be doomed to failure?" ker karraje must know very well that these powers would not hesitate to attack him, however great the danger might be. the destruction of his lair is an urgent duty in the interest of public security and of humanity. after sweeping the west pacific the pirate and his companions are infesting the west atlantic, and must be wiped out at all costs. in any case, it is imperative that the inhabitants of back cup should be on their guard. this fact is realized, and, from the day on which the _sword_ was destroyed, strict watch has been kept. thanks to the new passage, they are able to hide among the rocks without having recourse to the submarine tunnel to get there, and day and night a dozen sentries are posted about the island. the moment a ship appears in sight the fact is at once made known inside the cavern. nothing occurs for some days, and the latter succeed each other with dreadful monotony. the pirates, however, feel that back cup no longer enjoys its former security. every moment an alarm from the sentries posted outside is expected. the situation is no longer the same since the advent of the _sword_. gallant lieutenant davon, gallant crew, may england, may the civilized nations, never forget that you have sacrificed your lives in the cause of humanity! it is evident that now, however powerful may be their means of defence, even more powerful than a network of torpedoes, engineer serko and captain spade are filled with an anxiety that they vainly essay to dissemble. they hold frequent conferences together. maybe they discuss the advisability of quitting back cup with their wealth, for they are aware that if the existence of the cavern is known means will be found to reduce it, even if the inmates have to be starved out. this is, of course, mere conjecture on my part. what is essential to me is that they do not suspect me of having launched the keg that was so providentially picked up at bermuda. never, i must say, has engineer serko ever made any allusion to any such probability. no, i am not even suspected. if the contrary were the case i am sufficiently acquainted with ker karraje to know that he would long ago have sent me to rejoin lieutenant davon and the _sword_ at the bottom of the lagoon. the winter tempests have set in with a vengeance. the wind howls though the hole in the roof, and rude gusts sweep through the forest of pillars producing sonorous sounds, so sonorous, so deep, that one might sometimes almost fancy they were produced by the firing of the guns of a squadron. flocks of seabirds take refuge in the cavern from the gale, and at intervals, when it lulls, almost deafen us with their screaming. it is to be presumed that in such weather the schooner will make no attempt to put to sea, for the stock of provisions is ample enough to last all the season. moreover, i imagine the count d'artigas will not be so eager in future to show his _ebba_ along the american coast, where he risks being received, not, as hitherto, with the consideration due to a wealthy yachtsman, but in the manner ker karraje so richly merits. it occurs to me that if the apparition of the _sword_ was the commencement of a campaign against the island, a question of great moment relative to the future of back cup arises. therefore, one day, prudently, so as not to excite any suspicion, i ventured to pump engineer serko about it. we were in the neighborhood of thomas roch's laboratory, and had been conversing for some time, when engineer serko touched upon the extraordinary apparition of an english submarine boat in the lagoon. on this occasion he seemed to incline to the view that it might have been a premeditated expedition against ker karraje. "that is not my opinion," i replied, in order to bring him to the question that i wanted to put to him. "why?" he demanded. "because if your retreat were known a fresh attempt, if not to penetrate to the cavern, at least to destroy back cup, would ere this have been made." "destroy it!" cried serko. "it would be a dangerous undertaking, in view of the means of defence of which we now dispose." "they can know nothing about this matter, mr. serko. it is not imagined, either in the new world or the old, that the abduction from healthful house was effected for your especial benefit, or that you have succeeded in coming to terms with thomas roch for his invention." engineer serko made no response to this observation, which, for that matter, was unanswerable. i continued: "therefore a squadron sent by the maritime powers who have an interest in breaking up this island would not hesitate to approach and shell it. now, i argue from this that as this squadron has not yet appeared, it is not likely to come at all, and that nothing is known as to ker karraje's whereabouts, and you must admit that this hypothesis is the most cheerful one, as far as you are concerned." "that may be," engineer serko replied, "but what is, is. whether they are aware of the fact or no, if warships approach within five or six miles of this island they will be sunk before they have had time to fire a single shot!" "well, and what then?" "what then? why the probability is that no others would care to repeat the experiment." "that, again, may be. but these warships would invest you beyond the dangerous zone, and the _ebba_ would not be able to put in to the ports she previously visited with the count d'artigas. in this event, how would you be able to provision the island?" engineer serko remained silent. this argument, which he must already have brooded over, was too logical to be refuted or dismissed, and i have an idea that the pirates contemplate abandoning back cup. nevertheless, not relishing being cornered, he continued: "we should still have the tug, and what the _ebba_ could not do, this would." "the tug?" i cried. "but if ker karraje's secrets are known, do you suppose the powers are not also aware of the existence of the count d'artigas' submarine boat?" engineer serko looked at me suspiciously. "mr. hart," he said, "you appear to me to carry your deductions rather far." "i, mr. serko?" "yes, and i think you talk about all this like a man who knows more than he ought to." this remark brought me up abruptly. it was evident that my arguments might give rise to the suspicion that i was not altogether irresponsible for the recent incident. engineer serko scrutinized me sharply as though he would read my innermost thoughts. "mr. serko," i observed, "by profession, as well as by inclination, i am accustomed to reason upon everything. this is why i communicated to you the result of my reasoning, which you can take into consideration or not, as you like." thereupon we separate. but i fancy my lack of reserve may have excited suspicions which may not be easy to allay. from this interview, however, i gleaned a precious bit of information, namely, that the dangerous zone of roch's fulgurator is between five and six miles off. perhaps, during the next equinoctial tides, another notice to this effect in another keg may also reach a safe destination. but how many weary months to wait before the orifice of the tunnel will again be uncovered! the rough weather continues, and the squalls are more violent than ever. is it the state of the sea that delays another campaign against back cup? lieutenant davon certainly assured me that if his expedition failed, if the _sword_ did not return to st. george, another attempt under different conditions would be made with a view to breaking up this bandits' lair. sooner or later the work of justice must be done, and back cup be destroyed, even though i may not survive its destruction. ah! why can i not go and breathe, if only for a single instant, the vivifying air outside? why am i not permitted to cast one glance over the ocean towards the distant horizon of the bermudas? my whole life is concentrated in one desire: to get through the tunnel in the wall and hide myself among the rocks. perchance i might be the first to catch sight of the smoke of a squadron heading for the island. this project, alas! is unrealizable, as sentries are posted day and night at each extremity of the passage. no one can enter it without engineer serko's authorization. were i to attempt it, i should risk being deprived of my liberty to walk about the cavern, and even worse might happen to me. since our last conversation, engineer serko's attitude towards me has undergone a change. his gaze has lost its old-time sarcasm and is distrustful, suspicious, searching and as stern as ker karraje's. _november 17_.--this afternoon there was a great commotion in the beehive, and the men rushed out of their cells with loud cries. i was reclining on my bed, but immediately rose and hurried out. all the pirates were making for the passage, in front of which were ker karraje, engineer serko, captain spade, boatswain effrondat, engine-driver gibson and the count d'artigas' big malay attendant. i soon learn the reason for the tumult, for the sentries rush in with shouts of alarm. several vessels have been sighted to the northwest--warships steaming at full speed in the direction of back cup. chapter xvi. only a few more hours. what effect this news has upon me, and what emotion it awakens within my soul! the end, i feel, is at hand. may it be such as civilization and humanity are entitled to. up to the present i have indited my notes day by day. henceforward it is imperative that i should inscribe them hour by hour, minute by minute. who knows but what thomas roch's last secret may be revealed to me and that i shall have time to commit it to paper! should i die during the attack god grant that the account of the five months i have passed in back cup may be found upon my body! at first ker karraje, engineer serko, captain spade, and several of their companions took up position on the exterior base of the island. what would i not give to be able follow to them, and in the friendly shelter of a rook watch the on-coming warships! an hour later they return after having left a score of men to keep watch. as the days at this season of the year are very short there is nothing to fear before the morrow. it is not likely that the ships will attempt a night attack and land a storming party, for they must imagine that the place is in a thorough condition of defence. all night long the pirates work, installing the trestles at different points of the coast. six have been taken through the passage to places selected in advance. this done, engineer serko joins thomas roch in his laboratory. is he going to tell him what is passing, that a squadron is in view of back cup, and that his fulgurator will be employed to defend the island? what is certain is that half a hundred engines, each charged with several pounds of the explosive and of the substance that ensures a trajectory superior to that of any other projectile, are ready for their work of destruction. as to the deflagrator liquid, thomas roch has a certain number of phials of it, and--i know only too well--will not refuse to help ker karraje's pirates with it. during these preparations night has come on. only the lamps of the beehive are lighted and a semi-obscurity reigns in the cavern. i return to my cell. it is to my interest to keep out of the way as much as possible, for engineer serko's suspicions might be revived now that the squadron is approaching back cup. but will the vessels sighted continue on their course in this direction? may they not be merely passing on their way to bermuda? for an instant this doubt enters my mind. no, no, it cannot be! besides, i have just heard captain spade declare that they are lying to in view of the island. to what nation do they belong? have the english, desirous of avenging the destruction of the _sword_, alone undertaken the expedition? may not cruisers of other nations be with them? i know not, and it is impossible to ascertain. and what does it matter, after all, so long as this haunt is destroyed, even though i should perish in the ruins like the heroic lieutenant davon and his brave crew? preparations for defence continue with coolness and method under engineer serko's superintendence. these pirates are obviously certain that they will be able to annihilate their assailants as soon as the latter enter the dangerous zone. their confidence in roch's fulgurator is absolute. absorbed by the idea that these warship are powerless against them, they think neither of the difficulties nor menaces held out by the future. i surmise that the trestles have been set up on the northwest coast with the grooves turned to send the engines to the north, west, and south. on the east, as already stated, the island is defended by the chain of reefs that stretches away to the bermudas. about nine o'clock i venture out of my cell. they will pay little attention to me, and perhaps i may escape notice in the obscurity. ah! if i could get through that passage and hide behind some rock, so that i could witness what goes on at daybreak! and why should i not succeed now that ker karraje, engineer serko, captain spade, and the pirates have taken their posts outside? the shores of the lake are deserted, but the entrance to the passage is kept by count d'artigas' malay. i saunter, without any fixed idea, towards thomas roch's laboratory. this reminds me of my compatriot. i am, on reflection, disposed to think that he knows nothing about the presence of a squadron off back cup. probably not until the last moment will engineer serko apprise him of its proximity, not till he brusquely points out to him the vengeance he can accomplish. then i conceive the idea of enlightening thomas roch, myself, of the responsibility he is incurring and of revealing to him in this supreme hour the character of the men who want him to co-operate in their criminal projects. yes, i will, attempt it, and may i succeed in fanning into a flame any spark of patriotism that may still linger in his rebellious soul! roch is shut up in his laboratory. he must be alone, for never does he allow any one to enter while he is preparing his deflagrator. as i pass the jetty i notice that the tug is moored in its accustomed place. here i judge it prudent to walk behind the first row of pillars and approach the laboratory laterally--which will enable me to see whether anybody is with him. when i have gone a short distance along the sombre avenue i see a bright light on the opposite side of the lagoon. it is the electric light in roch's laboratory as seen through a narrow window in the front. except in that particular spot, the southern shore of the lake is in darkness, whereas, in the opposite direction, the beehive is lit up to its extremity at the northern wall. through the opening in the dome, over the lake i can see the stars shining. the sky is clear, the tempest has abated, and the squalls no longer penetrate to the interior of back cup. when near the laboratory, i creep along the wall and peep in at the window. thomas roch is there alone. the light shines full on his face. if it is somewhat drawn, and the lines on the forehead are more pronounced, his physiognomy, at least, denotes perfect calmness and self-possession. no, he is no longer the inmate of pavilion no. 17, the madman of healthful house, and i ask myself whether he is not radically cured, whether there is no further danger of his reason collapsing in a final paroxysm. he has just laid two glass phials upon the table, and holds a third in his hand. he holds it up to the light, and observes the limpidity of the liquid it contains. i have half a mind to rush in, seize the tubes and smash them, but i reflect that he would have time to make some more of the stuff. better stick to my first plan. i push the door open and enter. "thomas roch!" i exclaim. he has not heard, nor has he seen me. "thomas roch!" i repeat. he raises his head, turns and gazes at me. "ah! it is you, simon hart!" he replies calmly, even indifferently. he knows my name. engineer serko must have informed him that it was simon hart, and not keeper gaydon who was watching over him at healthful house. "you know who i am?" i say. "yes, as i know what your object was in undertaking such a position. you lived in hopes of surprising a secret that they would not pay for at its just value!" thomas roch knows everything, and perhaps it is just as well, in view of what i am going to say. "well, you did not succeed, simon hart, and as far as this is concerned," he added, flourishing the phial, "no one else has succeeded, or ever will succeed." as i conjectured, he has not, then, made known the composition of his deflagrator. looking him straight in the face, i reply: "you know who i am, thomas roch, but do you know in whose place you are?" "in my own place!" he cries. that is what ker karraje has permitted him to believe. the inventor thinks he is at home in back cup, that the riches accumulated in this cavern are his, and that if an attack is made upon the place, it will be with the object of stealing what belongs to him! and he will defend it under the impression that he has the right to do so! "thomas roch," i continue, "listen to me." "what do you want to say to me, simon hart?" "this cavern into which we have been dragged, is occupied by a band of pirates, and--" roch does not give me time to complete the sentence--i doubt even whether he has understood me. "i repeat," he interrupts vehemently, "that the treasures stored here are the price of my invention. they have paid me what i asked for my fulgurator--what i was everywhere else refused--even in my own country--which is also yours--and i will not allow myself to be despoiled!" what can i reply to such insensate assertions? i, however, go on: "thomas roch, do you remember healthful house?" "healthful house, where i was sequestrated after warder gaydon had been entrusted with the mission of spying upon me in order to rob me of my secret? i do, indeed." "i never dreamed of depriving you of the benefit of your secret, thomas roch. i would never have accepted such a mission. but you were ill, your reason was affected, and your invention was too valuable to be lost. yes, had you disclosed the secret during one of your fits you would have preserved all the benefit and all the honor of it." "really, simon hart!" roch replies disdainfully. "honor and benefit! your assurances come somewhat late in the day. you forget that on the pretext of insanity, i was thrown into a dungeon. yes, it was a pretext; for my reason has never left me, even for an hour, as you can see from what i have accomplished since i am free." "free! do you imagine you are free, thomas roch? are you not more closely confined within the walls of this cavern than you ever were at healthful house?" "a man who is in his own home," he replies angrily, "goes out as he likes and when he likes. i have only to say the word and all the doors will open before me. this place is mine. count d'artigas gave it to me with everything it contains. woe to those who attempt to attack it. i have here the wherewithal to annihilate them, simon hart!" the inventor waves the phial feverishly as he speaks." "the count d'artigas has deceived you," i cry, "as he has deceived so many others. under this name is dissembled one of the most formidable monsters who ever scoured the pacific and atlantic oceans. he is a bandit steeped in crime--he is the odious ker karraje!" "ker karraje!" echoes thomas roch. and i wonder if this name has not impressed him, if he remembers who the man is who bears it. if it did impress him, it was only momentarily. "i do not know this ker karraje," he says, pointing towards the door to order me out. "i only know the count d'artigas." "thomas roch," i persist, in a final effort, "the count d'artigas and ker karraje are one and the same person. if this man has purchased your secret, it is with the intention of ensuring impunity for his crimes and facilities for committing fresh ones. he is the chief of these pirates." "pirates!" cries roch, whose irritation increases the more i press him. "the real pirates are those who dare to menace me even in this retreat, who tried it on with the _sword_--for serko has told me everything--who sought to steal in my own home what belongs to me, what is but the just price of my discovery." "no, thomas roch, the pirates are those who have imprisoned you in this cavern of back cup, who will utilize your genius to defend it, and who will get rid of you when they are in entire possession of your secrets!" thomas roch here interrupts me. he does not appear to listen to what i say. he has a fixed idea, that of vengeance, which has been skilfully worked upon by engineer serko, and in which his hatred is concentrated to the exclusion of everything else. "the bandits," he hisses, "are those who spurned me without a hearing, who heaped injustice and ignominy upon me, who drove me from country to country, whereas i offered them superiority, invincibleness, omnipotence!" it is the eternal story of the unappreciated inventor, to whom the indifferent or envious refuse the means of testing his inventions, to pay him the value he sets upon them. i know it well--and also know all the exaggeration that has been written upon this subject. it is clearly no time for reasoning with thomas roch. my arguments are entirely lost upon the hapless dupe of ker karraje and his accomplices. in revealing to him the real name of the count d'artigas, and denouncing to him this band and their chief i had hoped to wean him from their influence and make him realize the criminal end they have in view. my hope was vain. he does not believe me. and then what does he care whether the brigand's name is count 'd'artigas or ker karraje? is not he, thomas roch, master of back cup? is he not the owner of these riches accumulated by twenty years of murder and rapine? disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how i can touch his ulcerated, irresponsible heart, i turn towards the door. it only remains for me to withdraw. what is to be, will be, since it is out of my power to prevent the frightful _dã©nouement_ that will occur in a few hours. thomas roch takes no more notice of me. he seems to have forgotten that i am here. he has resumed his manipulations without realizing that he is not alone. there is only one means of preventing the imminent catastrophe. throw myself upon roch, place him beyond the power of doing harm--strike him--kill him--yes, kill him! it is my right--it is my duty! i have no arms, but on a near-by shelf i see some tools--a chisel and a hammer. what is to prevent me from knocking his brains out? once he is dead i have but to smash the phials and his invention dies with him. the warships can approach, land their men upon the island, demolish back cup with their shells. ker karraje and his band will be killed to a man. can i hesitate at a murder that will bring about the chastisement of so many crimes? i advance to the shelf and stretch forth my hand to seize the chisel. as i do so, thomas roch turns round. it is too late to strike. a struggle would ensue. the noise and his cries would be heard, for there are still some pirates not far off, i can even now hear some one approaching, and have only just time to fly if i would not be seen. nevertheless, i make one last attempt to awaken the sentiment of patriotism within him. "thomas roch," i say, "warships are in sight. they have come to destroy this lair. maybe one of them flies the french flag!" he gazes at me. he was not aware that back cup is going to be attacked, and i have just apprised him of the fact. his brow darkens and his eyes flash. "thomas roch, would you dare to fire upon your country's flag--the tricolor flag?" he raises his head, shakes it nervously, and with a disdainful gesture: "what do you mean by 'your country?' i no longer have any country, simon hart. the inventor spurned no longer has a country. where he finds an asylum, there is his fatherland! they seek to take what is mine. i will defend it, and woe, woe to those who dare to attack me!" then rushing to the door of the laboratory and throwing it violently open he shouts so loudly that he must be heard at the beehive: "go! get you gone!" i have not a second to lose, and i dash out. chapter xvii. one against five. for a whole hour i wander about among back cup's dark vaults, amid the stone trees, to the extreme limit of the cavern. it is here that i have so often sought an issue, a crevice, a crack through which i might squeeze to the shore of the island. my search has been futile. in my present condition, a prey to indefinable hallucinations it seems to me that these walls are thicker than ever, that they are gradually closing in upon and will crush me. how long this mental trouble lasts i cannot say. but i afterwards find myself on the beehive side, opposite the cell in which i cannot hope for either repose or sleep. sleep, when my brain is in a whirl of excitement? sleep, when i am near the end of a situation that threatened to be prolonged for years and years? what will the end be as far as i am personally concerned? what am i to expect from the attack upon back cup, the success of which i have been unable to assure by placing thomas roch beyond the possibility of doing harm? his engines are ready to be launched, and as soon as the vessels have reached the dangerous zone they will be blown to atoms. however this may be, i am condemned to pass the remaining hours of the night in my cell. the time has come for me to go in. at daybreak i shall see what is best for me to do. meanwhile, for aught i know i may hear the thunder of roch's fulgurator as it destroys the ships approaching to make a night attack. i take a last look round. on the opposite side a light, a single light, is burning. it is the lamp in roch's laboratory and it casts its reflection upon the waters of the lake. no one is about, and it occurs to me that the pirates must have taken up their lighting positions outside and that the beehive is empty. then, impelled by an irresistible instinct, instead of returning to my cell, i creep along the wall, listening, spying, ready to hide if i hear voices or footsteps. i at length reach the passage. god in heaven! no one is on guard there--the passage is free! without giving myself time to reflect i dart into the dark hole, and grope my way along it. soon i feel a fresher air--the salt, vivifying air of the sea, that i have not breathed for five months. i inspire it with avidity, with all the power of my lungs. the outer extremity of the passage appears against the star-studded sky. there is not even a shadow in the way. perhaps i shall be able to get outside. i lay down, and crawl along noiselessly to the orifice and peer out. not a soul is in sight! by skirting the rocks towards the east, to the side which cannot be approached from the sea on account of the reefs and which is not likely to be watched, i reach a narrow excavation about two hundred and twenty-five yards from where the point of the coast extends towards the northwest. at last i am out of the cavern. i am not free, but it is the beginning of freedom. on the point the forms of a few sentries stand out against the clear sky, so motionless that they might be mistaken for pieces of the rock. on the horizon to the west the position lights of the warship show in a luminous line. from a few gray patches discernable in the east, i calculate that it must be about five o'clock in the morning. _november 18_.--it is now light enough for me to be able to complete my notes relating the details of my visit to thomas roch's laboratory--the last lines my hand will trace, perhaps. i have begun to write, and shall dot down the incidents of the attack as they occur. the light damp mist that hangs over the water soon lifts under the influence of the breeze, and at last i can distinguish the warships. there are five of them, and they are lying in a line about six miles off, and consequently beyond the range of roch's engines. my fear that after passing in sight of the bermudas the squadron would continue on its way to the antilles or mexico was therefore unfounded. no, there it is, awaiting broad daylight in order to attack back cup. there is a movement on the coast. three or four pirates emerge from the rocks, the sentries are recalled and draw in, and the entire band is soon assembled. they do not seek shelter inside the cavern, knowing full well that the ships can never get near enough for the shells of the big guns to reach, the island. i run no risk of being discovered, for only my head protrudes above the hole in the rock and no one is likely to come this way. the only thing that worries me is that serko, or somebody else may take it into his head to see if i am in my cell, and if necessary to lock me in, though what they have to fear from me i cannot conceive. at twenty-five minutes past seven: ker karraje, engineer serko and captain spade advance to the extremity of the point, where they sweep the north-western horizon with their telescopes. behind them the six trestles are installed, in the grooves of which are roch's autopropulsive engines. thirty-five minutes past seven: smoke arises from the stacks of the warships, which are getting under way and will soon be within range of the engines. horrible cries of joy, salvos of hurrahs--howls of wild beasts i might more appropriately say--arise from the pirate horde. at this moment engineer serko quits ker karraje, whom he leaves with captain spade, and enters the cavern, no doubt to fetch thomas roch. when ker karraje orders the latter to launch his engines against the ships will he remember what i told him? will not his crime appear to him in all its horror? will he refuse to obey? no, i am only too convinced of the contrary. it is useless to entertain any illusion on the subject. the inventor believes he is on his own property. they are going to attack it. he will defend it. the five warships slowly advance, making for the point. perhaps they imagine on board that thomas roch has not given up his last and greatest secret to the pirates--and, as a matter of fact, he had not done so when i threw the keg into the lagoon. if the commanders propose to land storming parties and the ships advance into the zone of danger there will soon be nothing left of them but bits of shapeless floating wreckage. here comes thomas roch accompanied by engineer serko. on issuing from the passage both go to the trestle that is pointing towards the leading warship. ker karraje and captain spade are awaiting them. as far as i am able to judge, roch is calm. he knows what he is going to do. no hesitation troubles the soul of the hapless man whom hatred has led astray. between his fingers shines the glass phial containing the deflagrator liquid. he then gazes towards the nearest ship, which is about five miles' distant. she is a cruiser of about two thousand five hundred tons--not more. she flies no flag, but from her build i take her to belong to a nation for which no frenchman can entertain any particular regard. the four other warships remain behind. it is this cruiser which is to begin the attack. let her use her guns, then, since the pirates allow her to approach, and may the first of her projectiles strike thomas roch! while engineer serko is estimating the distance, roch places himself behind the trestle. three engines are resting on it, charged with the explosive, and which are assured a long trajectory by the fusing matter without it being necessary to impart a gyratory movement to them--as in the case of inventor turpin's gyroscopic projectiles. besides, if they drop within a few hundred yards of the vessel, they will be quite near enough to utterly destroy it. the time has come. "thomas roch!" engineer serko cries, and points to the cruiser. the latter is steaming slowly towards the northwestern point of the island and is between four and five miles off. roch nods assent, and waves them back from the trestle. ker karraje, captain spade and the others draw back about fifty paces. thomas roch then takes the stopper from the phial which he holds in his right hand, and successively pours into a hole in the rear-end of each engine a few drops of the liquid, which mixes with the fusing matter. forty-five seconds elapse--the time necessary for the combination to be effected--forty-five seconds during which it seems to me that my heart ceases to beat. a frightful whistling is then heard, and the three engines tear through the air, describing a prolonged curve at a height of three hundred feet, and pass the cruiser. have they missed it? is the danger over? no! the engines, after the manner of artillery captain chapel's discoid projectile, return towards the doomed vessel like an australian boomerang. the next instant the air is shaken with a violence comparable to that which would be caused by the explosion of a magazine of melinite or dynamite, back cup island trembles to its very foundations. the cruiser has disappeared,--blown to pieces. the effect is that of the zalinski shell, but centupled by the infinite power of roch's fulgurator. what shouts the bandits raise as they rush towards the extremity of the point! ker karraje, engineer serko, and captain spade remain rooted to the spot, hardly able to credit the evidence of their own eyes. as to thomas roch, he stands with folded arms, and flashing eyes, his face radiant with pride and triumph. i understand, while i abhor his feelings. if the other warships approach they will share the same fate as the cruiser. they will inevitably be destroyed. oh! if they would but give up the struggle and withdraw to safety, even though my last hope would go with them! the nations can consult and arrive at some other plan for destroying the island. they can surround the place with a belt of ships that the pirates cannot break through and starve them to death like so many rats in a hole. but i know that the warships will not retire, even though they know they are going to certain death. one after the other they will all make the attempt. and i am right. signals are exchanged between them. almost immediately clouds of black smoke arise and the vessels again advance. one of them, under forced draught, distances the others in her anxiety to bring her big guns quickly into action. at all risks i issue from my hole, and gaze at the on-coming warship with feverish eyes, awaiting, without being able to prevent it, another catastrophe. this vessel, which visibly grows larger as it comes nearer, is a cruiser of about the same tonnage as the one that preceded her. no flag is flying and i cannot guess her nationality. she continues steaming at full speed in an effort to pass the zone of danger before other engines can be launched. but how can she escape them since they will swoop back upon her? thomas roch places himself behind the second trestle as the cruiser passes on to the surface of the abysm in which she will in turn soon be swallowed up. no sound disturbs the stillness. suddenly the rolling of drums and the blare of bugles is heard on board the warship. i know those bugle calls: they are french bugles! great god! she is one of the ships of my own country's navy and a french inventor is about to destroy her! no! it shall not be. i will rush towards thomas roch--shout to him that she is a french ship. he does not, cannot, know it. at a sign from engineer serko the inventor has raised the phial. the bugles sound louder and more strident. it is the salute to the flag. a flag unfurls to the breeze--the tricolor, whose blue, white and red sections stand out luminously against the sky. ah! what is this? i understand! thomas roch is fascinated at the sight of his national emblem. slowly he lowers his arm as the flag flutters up to the mast-head. then he draws back and covers his eyes with his hand. heavens above! all sentiment of patriotism is not then dead in his ulcerated heart, seeing that it beats at the sight of his country's flag! my emotion is not less than his. at the risk of being seen--and what do i now care if i am seen?--i creep over the rocks. i will be there to sustain thomas roch and prevent him from weakening. if i pay for it with my life i will once more adjure him in the name of his country. i will cry to him: "frenchman, it is the tricolor that flies on yonder ship! frenchman, it is a very part of france that is approaching you! frenchman, would you be so criminal as to strike it?" but my intervention will not be necessary. thomas roch is not a prey to one of the fits to which he was formerly subject. he is perfectly sane. when he found himself facing the flag he understood--and drew back. a few pirates approach to lead him to the trestle again. he struggles and pushes them from him. ker karraje and engineer serko run up. they point to the rapidly advancing ship. they order him to launch his engines. thomas roch refuses. captain spade and the others, mad with rage, menace him--curse him--strike him--try to wrest the phial from him. roch throws it on the ground and crushes it under foot. then panic seizes upon the crowd of wretches. the cruiser has passed the zone and they cannot return her fire. shells begin to rain all over the island, bursting the rocks in every direction. but where is thomas roch? has he been killed by one of the projectiles? no, i see him for the last time as he dashes into the passage. ker karraje, engineer serko and the others follow him to seek shelter inside of back cup. i will not return to the cavern at any price, even if i get killed by staying where i am. i will jot down my final notes and when the french sailors land on the point i will go-end of engineer simon hart's notes. chapter xviii. on board the "tonnant." after the failure of lieutenant davon's mission with the _sword_, the english authorities waited in vain for the expedition to return, and the conviction at length gained ground that the bold sailors had perished; but whether the _sword_ had been lost by striking against a rock or had been destroyed by ker karraje's pirates, could not, of course, be ascertained. the object of the expedition, based upon the indications of the document found in the keg that was thrown up on the shore at st. george, was to carry off thomas roch ere his engines were completed. the french inventor having been recovered--without forgetting engineer simon hart--he was to be handed over to the care of the bermudan authorities. that done, there would be nothing to fear from his fulgurator when the island was attacked. when, however, the _sword_ had been given up for lost, another expedition of a different kind, was decided upon. the time that had elapsed--nearly eight weeks--from the date of the document found in the keg, had to be taken into consideration. it was thought that during the interval, ker karraje might have gained possession of roch's secrets. an _entente_ concluded between the maritime powers, resulted in the sending of five warships to bermudan waters. as there was a vast cavern inside back cup mountain, it was decided to attempt to bring the latter down like the walls of a bastion, by bombarding it with powerful modern artillery. the squadron assembled at the entrance to the chesapeake, in virginia, and sailed for the archipelago, which was sighted on the evening of november 17. the next morning the vessel selected for the first attack, steamed forward. it was about four and a half miles from the island, when three engines, after passing the vessel, swerved round and exploded about sixty yards from her. she sank immediately. the effect of the explosion, which was superior to any previously obtained by new explosives, was instantaneous. even at the distance they were from the spot where it occurred, the four remaining ships felt the shock severely. two things were to be deduced from this sudden catastrophe: 1.--the pirate ker karraje was in possession of roch's fulgurator. 2.--the new engine possessed the destructive power attributed to it by its inventor. after the disappearance of the unfortunate cruiser, the other vessels lowered boats to pick up a few survivors who were clinging to the floating wreckage. then it was that the signals were exchanged and the warships started towards the island. the swiftest of them, the _tonnant_, a french cruiser, forged ahead while the others forced their draught in an effort to catch up with her. the _tonnant_, at the risk of being blown to pieces in turn, penetrated the danger zone half a mile, and then ran up her flag while manoeuvring to bring her heavy guns into action. from the bridge the officers could see ker karraje's band scattered on the rocks of the island. the occasion was an excellent one for getting a shot at them before the bombardment of their retreat was begun, and fire was opened with the result that the pirates made a rush to get into the cavern. a few minutes later there was a shock terrific enough to shake the sky down. where the mountain had been, naught but a heap of smoking, crumbling rocks was to be seen. back cup had become a group of jagged reefs against which the sea, that had been thrown back like a gigantic tidal wave, was beating and frothing. what was the cause of the explosion? had it been voluntarily caused by the pirates when they realized that escape was impossible? the _tonnant_ had not been seriously damaged by the flying rocks. her boats were lowered and made towards all that was left of back cup. the landing parties explored the ruins, and found a few horribly mangled corpses. not a vestige of the cavern was to be seen. one body, and one only, was found intact. it was lying on the northeast side of the reefs. in one hand, tightly clasped, was a note-book, the last line of which was incomplete. a close examination showed that the man was still breathing. he was conveyed on board the _tonnant_, where it was learned from the note-book that he was simon hart. for some time his life was despaired of, but he was eventually brought round, and from the answers made to the questions addressed to him the following conclusion was reached: moved to his very soul at the sight of the tricolor flag, being at last conscious of the crime of _lã¨se-patrie_ he was about to commit, thomas roch rushed through the passage to the magazine where a considerable quantity of his explosive was stored. then, before he could be prevented, brought about the terrible explosion which destroyed the island of back cup. and now ker karraje and his pirates have disappeared--and with them thomas roch and the secret of his invention. the end. end of the voyage extraordinaire through three campaigns: a story of chitral, tirah and ashanti by g. a. henty. illustrated by wal paget. contents preface. chapter 1: an expedition. chapter 2: the start. chapter 3: the first fight. chapter 4: in the passes chapter 5: promoted. chapter 6: unfair play. chapter 7: tales of war. chapter 8: the dargai pass. chapter 9: captured. chapter 10: through the mohmund country. chapter 11: an arduous march. chapter 12: a tribal fight. chapter 13: the v.c. chapter 14: forest fighting. chapter 15: a narrow escape. chapter 16: the relief of coomassie. chapter 17: stockades and war camps. chapter 18: a night surprise. chapter 19: lost in the forest. chapter 20: at home. illustrations map illustrating the chitral campaign. lisle gives the alarm. he carefully aimed and fired. they charged the attacking force from end to end. map illustrating the tirah campaign. a party of afridis rushed down upon him. it was the dead body of an afridi. "my horse must carry two, sir," lisle replied. map illustrating the ashanti campaign. two of them fell before lisle's revolver. they saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road. preface. our little wars attract far less attention among the people of this country than they deserve. they are frequently carried out in circumstances of the most adverse kind. our enemies, although ignorant of military discipline are, as a rule, extremely brave; and are thoroughly capable of using the natural advantages of their country. our men are called upon to bear enormous fatigue, and endure extremes in climate. the fighting is incessant, the peril constant. nevertheless, they show a magnificent contempt for danger and difficulty; and fight with a valour and determination worthy of the highest praise. i have chosen, as an illustration of this, three campaigns; namely, the relief of chitral, the tirah campaign, and the relief of coomassie. the first two were conducted in a mountainous country, affording every advantage to the enemy; where passes had to be scaled, torrents to be forded, and deep snow to be crossed. in the other, the country was a combination of morass and thick forest, frequently intersected by wide and deep rivers. the work, moreover, had to be done in a tropical climate, during the rainy season. the conditions, therefore, were much more trying than in the case of former expeditions which had crossed the same ground and, in addition, the enemy were vastly more numerous and more determined; and had, in recent years, mastered the art of building extremely formidable stockades. the country has a right to be proud, indeed, of the prowess both of our own troops and of our native regiments. boys who wish to obtain fuller details of these campaigns i would refer to sir george robertson's chitral; h. c. thomson's chitral campaign; lieutenant beynon's with kelly to chitral; colonel hutchison's campaign in tirah; viscount fincastle and p. c. eliott lockhart's a frontier campaign; and captain harold c. j. biss's the relief of kumasi, from which i have principally drawn the historical portion of my story. g. a. henty. chapter 1: an expedition. "well, lisle, my boy, the time is drawing very near when you will have to go home. my brother john will look after you, and choose some good crammer to push you on. you are nearly sixteen, now, and it is high time you buckled to." "but you have always taught me, father!" "yes, that is all very well, but i could not devote three hours a day to you. i think i may say that you are thoroughly well grounded--i hope as well as most public-school boys of your own age--but i can go no further with you. you have no idea what cramming is necessary, now, for a young fellow to pass into the army. still i think that, by hard work with some man who prepares students for the army, you may be able to rub through. i have always saved up money for this, for my brother is by no means a rich man, and crammers are very expensive; so the next time i see a chance of sending you down to calcutta, down you go. my agents there will see you on board a ship, and do everything that is necessary." "of course, father, if i must go, i must; but it will be beastly, after the jolly time i have spent in the regiment, to set to and do nothing but grind, for the next three years." "we all have to do a good many unpleasant things, lisle; and as we have decided that you shall enter the army, you must make up your mind to do the necessary work, even though it be disagreeable." "all right, father! i know what depends upon it, and i will set to." "i have no doubt you will, lisle, for you have plenty of common sense, though you are a little inclined to mischief--not that you are altogether to blame for that, for the officers encourage you in it." this conversation took place between captain bullen, of the 32nd pioneers, and his son. the regiment was in cantonments near the northern frontier of india. the captain had lost his wife some years before and, as their two youngest children had also died, he had not been able to bring himself to send the remaining boy home. the climate was excellent, and the boy enjoyed as good health as if he had been in england. captain bullen had taken a great deal of pains with his son's education but, as he said, he had now taught the boy all that he knew; and felt that he ought to go to england, and be regularly coached for the army. next day the captain entered his quarters, hurriedly. "i am off," he said. "those rascally afridis have come down and looted several villages; and i am to go up, in command of a couple of companies, to give them a lesson." "they are not very strong, are they, father?" "no, i don't suppose they can put a couple of hundred men in the field. we shall take the two mountain guns with us, and batter holes in their fortresses, and then attack and carry them easily. there is no sign of movement among the other tribes, so we need not expect any serious opposition." a week later, the little detachment entered the valley in which the afridi villages lay. the work had been fatiguing, for the country was very rough; and the mules that carried the guns met with such difficulties that the infantry had to turn to, and improve the paths--if paths they could be called, for they were often little better than undefined tracks. as the expedition moved up the valley, the tribesmen opened on them a distant fire; but scattered after a few shells from the mountain guns were thrown among them. the fortified houses, however, were stubbornly held; and indeed, were only carried after the guns had broken in the doors, or made a breach in the walls. during the attack on the last house, a shot struck captain bullen in the chest, and he instantly fell. when they saw this, the pioneers dashed forward with a howl of rage, carried the fort, and bayoneted its defenders. the doctor of the party at once examined the wound, and saw that it would probably be fatal. "patch me up, lloyd, so that i may get back to camp and see my boy again," the wounded man whispered. "i will do my best," the doctor said, "but i doubt whether you will be able to stand the journey." the pioneers, after setting fire to all the houses in the valley, started at once for home. captain bullen was placed on a stretcher, and four men at a time carried him down, taking the utmost pains not to jolt or shake him. his face was covered with light boughs, to keep off the flies; and everything that was possible was done to conduce to his comfort. the doctor watched him anxiously. his condition became more serious, every day. as they neared the camp, a messenger was sent down with a report from the native officer of what had happened; and the pioneers all came out to see their favourite officer brought in; and stood, mournful and silent, as he was carried to his bungalow. "don't come in yet, lad," the surgeon said, to lisle. "your father, at present, is incapable of speaking; and he must have a little rest before you see him, for the slightest excitement would probably cause a gush of blood to the wound, which would be fatal." lisle's grief was unbounded. he could not listen to the kind words with which the officers tried to soothe him, but wandered away out of camp and, throwing himself down, wept unrestrainedly for an hour. then he roused himself, and walked slowly back. by a mighty effort he had composed himself, for he knew that he must be calm when he saw his father. half an hour later, the doctor beckoned him in. "he is conscious now," he said, "and has whispered that he wishes to see you. he has been very calm, all the way down, and has spoken of you often." "i will do my best," lisle muttered, keeping down his tears with a tremendous effort; and then went into his father's room. he could not trust himself to speak a word but, walking up, took his father's hand and, kneeling down, pressed it to his lips, his whole form shaking with agitation. "i am glad i have held out until i got back," his father said, in a low voice. "it is all up with me, my boy, and i have only a few hours to live, at most. i am sorry, now, that you did not start for england before this happened; but i have no doubt that it is all for the best. i shall die, as i should wish to die, doing my duty and, except for leaving you, i shall feel small regret." "must you leave me, father?" lisle sobbed. "yes, my boy, i have known it from the first. it is only my intense desire to see you again that has kept me up. the doctor said he did not expect that i should last more than two or three days, at most. "you will bear in mind what i said to you, the day before we started. i have no fear about you, lisle; i am sure you will make an honest gentleman and a brave soldier, and will do credit to our name. i should stay here a few weeks longer, if i were you, until some others are going down. the officers are all fond of you, and it would be better for you to have company, than to make the long journey to the coast alone. "my voice is failing me, lad, and i can say no more, now; but you can sit here with me, till the end comes. it will not be long. when you have completed your training, the fact that i have died in this way will give you a good claim to a commission." lisle sat with his father for some hours. occasionally the dying man moved and, leaning over him, he could catch the words "god bless you!" before midnight the brave spirit had passed away, and lisle went out and cried like a child, till morning. the funeral took place next day. after it was over, the colonel sent for lisle; who had now, after a hard struggle, recovered his composure. "did your father give you any instructions, lisle? you may be sure that whatever he said we will carry out." "he said that he thought it would be best for me to stay here for a few weeks as, among so many kind friends, i should be able to bear it better than if i went down at once." "quite right, lad! we shall all be very glad to have you with us. you can remain in the bungalow as long as you like. it is not likely to be wanted, for some months. your father's butler and one or two servants will be enough to look after you; and you will, of course, remain a member of the mess. in this way, i hope you will have recovered some of your cheerfulness before you start." it was a hard time for lisle for the next week or two, for everything reminded him of his father. the risaldar major and the other native officers, with all of whom he was familiar, grasped him by the hand when they met, in token of their sympathy; and the sepoys stood at attention, with mournful faces, when he passed them. he spent the heat of the day with his books, and only stirred out in the early morning and evening, meals being considerately sent down to him from the mess. at the end of a fortnight he made a great effort and joined the mess, and the kindness with which the officers spoke to him gradually cheered him. then there came an excitement which cheered him further. there were rumours of disaffection among the hill tribes, and the chances of a campaign were discussed with animation, both among officers and soldiers. the regiment was a very fine one, composed of sturdy punjabis; and all agreed that, if there were an expedition, they would probably form part of it. lisle entered fully into the general feeling, and his eyes glistened as he listened to the sepoys talking of the expeditions in which they had taken part. "it would be splendid to go," he said to himself, "but i don't see how the colonel could take me. i shall certainly ask him, when the time comes; but i feel sure that he will refuse. of course, i ought to be starting before long for calcutta; but the expedition will probably not last many weeks and, if i were to go with it, the excitement would keep me from thinking, and do me a lot of good. besides, a few weeks could make no difference in my working up for the examination." the more he thought of it, the more he felt determined to go with the column. he felt sure that he could disguise himself so that no one would suspect who he was. he had been so long associated with the regiment that he talked punjabi as well as english. his father had now been dead two months and, as the rumours from across the frontier grew more and more serious, he was filled with fear lest an opportunity should occur to send him down country before the regiment marched; in which case all his plans would be upset. day after day passed, however, without his hearing anything about it, till one day the colonel sent for him. "the time has come, lad, when we must part. we shall all be very sorry to lose you, but it cannot be helped. i have received orders, this morning, to go up to chitral; and am sending down some sick, at once. you must start with them. when you reach the railway, you will be able to get a through ticket to calcutta. "as long as it was likely that we should be going down ourselves, i was glad to keep you here; but now that we have got orders to go off and have a talk with these tribes in the north, it is clearly impossible for us to keep you any longer. i am very sorry, my boy, for you know we all like you, for your own sake and for your good father's." "i am awfully obliged to you all, colonel. you have been very good to me, since my father was killed. i feel that i have had no right to stop here so long; but i quite understand that, now you are moving up into the hills, you cannot keep me. "i suppose i could not go as a volunteer, colonel?" he asked, wistfully. "quite impossible," the colonel said, decidedly. "even if you had been older, i could not have taken you. every mouth will have to be fed, and the difficulties of transport will be great. there is no possibility, whatever, of our smuggling a lad of your age up with us. "besides, you know that you ought to go to england, without further delay. you want to gain a commission, and to do that you must pass a very stiff examination, indeed. so for your own sake, it is advisable that you should get to work without any unnecessary delay. "a party of invalids will be going down tomorrow, and you can go with them as far as peshawar. there, of course, you will take train either to calcutta or bombay. i know that you have plenty of funds for your journey to england. i think you said that it was an uncle to whom you were going. mind you impress upon him the fact that it is absolutely necessary that you should go to a first-rate school or, better still, to a private crammer, if you are to have a chance of getting into the service by a competitive examination." "very well, colonel. i am sure that i am very grateful to you, and all the officers of the regiment, for the kindness you have shown me, especially since my father's death. i shall always remember it." "that is all right, lisle. it has been a pleasure to have you with us. i am sure we shall all be sorry to lose you, but i hope that some day we shall meet again, when you are an officer in one of our regiments." lisle returned to the bungalow and called the butler, the only servant he had retained. "look here, robah, the colonel says that i must go down with a sick party, tomorrow. as i have told you, i am determined to go up country with the troops. of course, i must be in disguise. how do you think that i had better go?" the man shook his head. "the young sahib had better join his friends in england." "it is useless to talk about that," lisle said. "i have told you i mean to go up, and go up i will. there ought to be no difficulty about it. i speak three or four of these frontier languages, as well as i speak english. i have at least learnt that. i have picked them up by talking to the natives, and partly from the moonshee i have had, for four years. my dear father always impressed upon me the utility of these to an officer; and said that, if i could take up native languages in my examinations, it would go a long way towards making up for other deficiencies. so i am all right, so far as language is concerned. "it seems to me that my best plan will be to go up as a mule driver." "it is as the sahib wills," the old man said. "his servant will do all he can to help him." "well, robah, i want you in the first place to get me a disguise. you may as well get two suits. i am sure to get wet, sometimes, and shall require a change. i shall take a couple of my own vests and drawers, to wear under them; for we shall probably experience very cold weather in the mountains." "they are serving out clothes to the carriers, sahib." "yes, i forgot that. well, i want you to go into their camp, and arrange with one of the headmen to let me take the place of one of the drivers. some of the men will be willing enough to get off the job, and a tip of forty rupees would completely settle the matter with him. of course, i shall start with the sick escort but, as there will be several waggons going down with them, they will not travel far; and at the first halting place i can slip away, and come back here. you will be waiting for me on the road outside the camp, early in the morning, and take me to the headman. "by the way, i shall want you to make up a bottle of stain for my hands and feet; for of course i shall go in the native sandals." "i will do these things, sahib. how about your luggage?" "before i leave the camp tonight i shall put fresh labels on them, directing them to be taken to the store of messieurs parfit, who were my father's agents; and to be left there until i send for them. i shall give the sergeant, who goes down with the sick, money to pay for their carriage to calcutta. "and about yourself, robah?" "i shall stay here at the bungalow till another regiment comes up to take your place. perhaps you will give me a chit, saying that i have been in your father's service fourteen years, and that you have found me faithful and useful. if i cannot find employment, i shall go home. i have saved enough money." an hour later, robah again entered the room. "i have been thinking, sahib, of a better plan. you wish to see fighting, do you not?" "certainly i do." "well, sahib, if you go in the baggage train you might be miles away, and see nothing of it. now, it seems to me that it would be almost as easy for you to go as a soldier in the regiment, as in the transport train." "do you think so, robah?" lisle exclaimed excitedly. "i think so, sahib. you see, you know all the native officers, and your father was a great favourite among them. if you were dressed in uniform, and took your place in the ranks, it is very unlikely that any of the english officers would notice you. these matters are left in the hands of the native officers. "yesterday a young private died, who had but just passed the recruit stage, and had been only once or twice on parade. you might take his name. it is most unlikely that any of the white officers will notice that your face is a fresh one and, if they did ask the question, the native officer would give that name. the english officer would not be at all likely to notice that this was the name of a man who had died. deaths are not uncommon and, as the regiment is just moving, the matter would receive no attention. the book of this man would be handed to you, and it would all seem regular." "that is a splendid idea, robah. which officer do you think i had better speak to?" "i should speak to risaldar gholam singh. he was the chief native officer in your father's wing of the regiment. if he consents, he would order all the native officers under him to hold their tongues and, as you are a favourite with them all, your secret would be kept." "it is a grand idea, and i certainly don't see why it should not work out properly." "i have no doubt that the risaldar major will do all he can for you." "do you think so, robah?" "i am sure he will. he was very much attached to your father, and felt his loss as much as anyone. indeed, i think that every one of the native officers will do all he can for you." "that would make it very easy for me," lisle said. "till you suggested it, the idea of going as a soldier never occurred to me but, with their assistance, it will not be difficult." "shall i go and fetch the risaldar here, sahib?" "do so. i shall be on thorns until i see him." in a few minutes the officer, a tall and stately punjabi, entered. "risaldar," lisle said, "i know you were very much attached to my father." "i was, sahib." "well, i want you to do something for me." "it would be a pleasure for me to do so, and you have only to ask for me to grant it, if it is in my power." "i think it is in your power," lisle said. "i will tell you what i want. i have made up my mind to go with this expedition. i thought of disguising myself, and going as a baggage coolie; but in that case i should be always in the rear and see none of the fighting, and i have made up my mind to go as a private in the ranks." "as a private, sahib?" the officer exclaimed, in astonishment. "surely that would be impossible. you would be detected at the first halt. besides, how could the son of our dear captain go as a private?" "i do not object to go as a private, risaldar. of course i should stain myself and, in uniform, it is not likely that any of the white officers would notice a strange face." "but you would have to eat with the others, to mix with them as one of themselves, to suffer all sorts of hardships." "all that is nothing," lisle said. "i have been with the regiment so long that i know all the ways of the men, and i don't think that i should be likely to make any mistake that would attract their attention. as to the language, i know it perfectly." "i hardly dare do such a thing, sahib. if you were discovered on the march, the colonel and officers would be very angry with me." "even if i were discovered, it need not be known that you had assisted me, risaldar. you may be sure that i should never tell. if you were questioned, you could declare that you had taken me for an ordinary recruit. if i deceived everyone else, i might very well deceive you." the risaldar stood thoughtful for some time. "it might possibly be managed," he said at last. "i would do much for captain bullen's son, even risk the anger of the colonel." "i understand that a sepoy died yesterday. he was quite a young recruit, and the white officers had not come to know his face. i might say that i am a relation of his, and am very anxious to take his place." "you could take his place in the ranks under his name." "that would certainly be a good plan, if it could be carried out. i should only be asked a few questions by the sepoys of my company. it would seem to them natural that i should take my cousin's place; and that, as the regiment was moving, and there was no time to teach me drill, i should be expected to pick up what i could on the way. but indeed, i have watched the regiment so often that i think i know all the commands and movements, and could go through them without hesitation. besides, there won't be much drilling on the march. there will probably be a good deal of skirmishing, and perhaps some rough fighting." "but if you were to be killed, sahib, what then?" "i don't mean to be killed if i can help it," lisle said; "but if i am, i shall be buried as one of the sepoys. the officers will all believe that i have gone home and, though they may wonder a little that i never write to them, they will think it is because i am too busy. it will be a long time, indeed, before any of my friends write to ask about me; and then it will be supposed that i have been accidentally killed or drowned. "at any rate, i should have the satisfaction of being killed in the queen's service. all the men are delighted at going, and they will run the same risk as i do." "well, sahib," the risaldar said, "i will do it. i would very much prefer that you had never asked me, but i cannot say 'no' to you. i will think it over; and tell you, tomorrow morning, what seems to me the best plan. i don't see, at present, how you are to disappear and join the regiment." "that is easy enough," lisle said. "i am going to start tomorrow with the sick convoy; but shall slip away from them, after i have gone a short distance. robah will meet me with my uniform and rifle; and i shall come into the camp again, in uniform, after it is dark." "you appear to have thought it all out," the officer said, "and if your scheme can be carried out, there should be no difficulty, after the first day or two. you are more likely to pass unnoticed, on a march, than you would be if you were staying here. the men will have other things to think about, and you will only have three men marching with you in the column to ask questions. indeed, there is very little talking on the line of march. "well, i will think it over, and see you in the morning." this was as good as consent, and lisle was highly delighted. in the morning, the risaldar called again. "i have spoken," the risaldar said, "to the three officers of the company to which the soldier mutteh ghar belonged; and they all agreed, willingly, to help you to carry out your scheme, and think that there is very little probability of the fact that you are a new recruit being noticed. the general discipline of the regiment is in our hands. the british officers direct, but we carry out their orders. as the man was only on parade twice and, on neither of these occasions, came under general inspection of the white officers, it is probable that they do not know his face. it is certainly best that you should take mutteh ghar's name, as the soldiers will see nothing strange in our placing a young recruit in the ranks, after his cousin had died in the regiment. we are all of opinion, therefore, that you can take your place without difficulty; and that the chance of the change being detected by the british officers is extremely slight. we think, however, that it will be next to impossible for you always to keep up your character, and believe that you will find it so hard to live under the same conditions as the others that you yourself will tire of it." "i can assure you that there is no fear of that," lisle said earnestly. "i want to take part in the expedition, and am quite prepared to share in the habits and hardships of the men, whatever they may be. you know, if i were discovered i should be sent off at once, even if a fight were imminent. i think i can say that, when i undertake a thing, i will carry it through. "i cannot tell you how grateful i feel to you all, for aiding me to carry out my wish. will you kindly convey my thanks to the officers of the company, and particularly urge upon them that they must show me no favour, and pay no more attention to me than to the other men? anything of that sort would certainly give rise to comment and suspicion." "i have already told them that," the officer said, "and i think they thoroughly understand how they must act. "the sick party are to start tomorrow morning. how do you wish the uniform of your supposed cousin to be sent to you?" "if you hand it over to robah, he will bring it out to me. the rifle, of course, should be handed quietly to me when i return to camp. i cannot march in with it. i shall not come in till after dark. then the havildar must take me to one of the sepoy tents, and mention to the men there that i am mutteh ghar's cousin; and that, as a great favour, i am to be allowed to accompany the regiment." "of course, you will take with you the usual underclothes to put on, when you lay aside your uniform; and especially the loincloth, and light linen jacket, which the men use in undress." "i will see to all that, risaldar. i can assure you that, so far from finding it a trouble to act as a native, i shall really enjoy it; and shall make very light of any hardships that i may have to undergo. when it comes to fighting i am, as you know, a very good shot; and should certainly be able to do my part, with credit." "i will tell the havildar to be on the lookout for you, when you come into camp, and to bring you straight to me. i will then see that your uniforms and belts are properly put on, before i send you off under his charge. i hope the matter may turn out well. if it does not, you must remember that i have done my part because you urged it upon me, and prayed me to assist you for your father's sake." "i shall never forget that, gholam singh, and shall always feel deeply indebted to you." when the risaldar had left, lisle called robah in. "all is arranged, robah; and now it remains only to carry out the details. in the first place, you must get me the stain; in the second, you must go into the bazaar and buy me a loincloth and light jacket, such as the soldiers wear when they lay aside their uniforms. as to the uniform, that is already arranged for; and i shall, of course, have one of the sheepskin greatcoats that have just been served out, and which i expect i shall find indispensable. put in my kit bag one pair of my thickest woollen vests and drawers. i cannot carry more, for i mean to take one suit of my own clothes to put on in case, by any accident, i should be discovered and sent back. i can get that carried on the baggage waggon. "tomorrow we shall start at five o'clock in the morning and, at the first halt, i shall leave the party quietly. i have no doubt that gholam singh will give orders, to the native officer in charge, that i am to be permitted to do so without remark. as soon as i leave the convoy you must join me with my uniform and, above all, with the stain. you can bring out a bag with some provisions for the day, for i shall not return to camp until after dark." when robah went away to make the necessary purchases, lisle packed up his baggage and labelled it. his father's effects had all been sold, a few days after his death; as it would not have paid to send them home. they had fetched good prices, and had been gladly bought up by the other officers; some as mementoes of their late comrade, and some because they were useful. several of the officers came in and chatted with him while he was packing, all expressing regret that he was leaving. at mess that evening they drank his health, and a pleasant journey; and he gravely returned thanks. when the mess broke up he returned to the bungalow, and packed a small canvas bag with the suit he was going to take with him. then he examined and tried on the uniform of the dead sepoy; which robah had, that evening, received from the risaldar. it fitted him fairly well. in addition to the regular uniform there was a posteen, or sheepskin coat; loose boots made of soft skin, so that the feet could be wrapped up in cloth before they were put on; and putties, or leggings, consisting of a very long strip of cloth terminating with a shorter strip of leather. these things had been served out that day to the troops, and were to be put on over the usual leg wrappings when they came to snow-covered country. they were to be carried with the men's kits till required. for ordinary wear there were the regular boots, which were strapped on like sandals. "well, i think i ought to be able to stand anything in the way of cold, with this sheepskin coat and the leggings, together with my own warm underclothing." "you are sure," robah said, "that you understand the proper folding of your turban?" "i think so, robah. i have seen them done up hundreds of times but, nevertheless, you shall give me a lesson when you join me tomorrow. we shall have plenty of time for it. "now, can you think of anything else that would be useful? if so, you can buy it tomorrow before you come out to meet me." "no, sahib. there are the warm mittens that have been served out for mountain work; and you might take a pair of your own gloves to wear under them for, from all i hear, you will want them when you are standing out all night on picket work, among the hills." "no, i won't take the gloves, robah. with two pairs on, my fingers would be so muffled that i should not be able to do good shooting." "well, it will be cold work, for it is very late in the season and, you know, goggles have been served out to all the men to save them from snow blindness, from which they would otherwise suffer severely. i have been on expeditions in which a third of the men were quite blind, when they returned to camp." "it must look very rum to see a whole regiment marching in goggles," lisle laughed; "still, anything is better than being blinded." "i shall see you sometimes, sahib; for the major engaged me, this morning, to go with him as his personal servant, as his own man is in feeble health and, though i am now getting on in years, i am still strong enough to travel with the regiment." "i am delighted, indeed, to hear that, robah. i shall be very glad to steal away sometimes, and have a chat with you. it will be a great pleasure to have someone i can talk to, who knows me. of course, the native officer in command of my company will not be able to show me any favour, nor should i wish him to do so. it seems like keeping one friend, while i am cut off from all others; though i dare say i shall make some new ones among the sepoys. i have no doubt you will be very comfortable with the major." "yes, sahib, i am sure that he is a kind master. i shall be able, i hope, sometimes to give you a small quantity of whisky, to mix with the water in your bottle." "no, no, robah, when the baggage is cut down there will be very little of that taken and, however much there might be, i could not accept any that you had taken from the major's store. i must fare just the same as the others." "well, sahib, i hope that, at any rate, you will carry a small flask of it under your uniform. you may not want it but, if you were wounded and lying in the snow, it would be very valuable to you for, mixed with the water in your bottle, and taken from time to time, it would sustain you until you could be carried down to camp." "that is a very good idea, robah, and i will certainly adopt it. i will carry half a pint about with me, for emergencies such as you describe. if i do not want it, myself, it may turn out useful to keep up some wounded comrade. it will not add much to the load that i shall have to carry, and which i expect i shall feel, when we first march. as i am now, i think i could keep up with the best marcher in the regiment but, with the weight of the clothes and pouches, a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition, and my rifle, it will be a very different thing; and i shall be desperately tired, by the time we get to the end of the day's march. "now it is twelve o'clock, and time to turn in, for we march at five." the next morning, when the sick convoy started, the white officers came up to say goodbye to lisle; and all expressed their regret that he could not accompany the regiment. the butler had gone on ahead and, as soon as lisle slipped away, he came up to him and assisted him to make his toilet. he stained him from head to foot, dyed his hair, and fastened in it some long bunches of black horse hair, which he would wear in the punjabi fashion on the top of his head. with the same dye he darkened his eyelashes and, when he had put on his uniform, he said: "as far as looks go, sahib, it is certain that no one would suspect that you were not a native. there is a large bottle of stain. you will only have to do yourself over, afresh, about once in ten days. a little of this mixed with three times the amount of water will be sufficient for, if you were to put it on by itself, it would make you a great deal too dark." they spent the day in a grove and, when evening approached, returned to camp. "and now, goodbye, sahib! the regiment will march tomorrow morning, at daybreak. i may not have an opportunity of seeing you again, before we start. i hope i have done right, in aiding you in your desire to accompany the expedition; but i have done it for the best, and you must not blame me if harm comes of it." "that you may be sure i will not, and i am greatly obliged to you. now, for the present, goodbye!" chapter 2: the start. the havildar was on the lookout for lisle when he entered the camp; but he did not know him, in his changed attire and stained face, until the lad spoke to him. "you are well disguised, indeed, sahib," he said. "i had no idea that it was you. now, my instructions are to take you to gholam singh's tent." here lisle found the risaldar and the other two native officers. he saluted as he entered. the risaldar examined him carefully, before speaking. "good!" he said; "i did not think that a white sahib could ever disguise himself to pass as a native, though i know that it has been done before now. certainly i have no fear of any of the white officers finding that you are not what you seem to be. i am more afraid, however, of the men. still, even if they guessed who you are, they would not, i am sure, betray you. "here are your rifle and bayonet. these complete your outfit. i see that you have brought your kit with you. it is rather more bulky than usual, but will pass with the rest. "the subadar will take you down to the men's lines. i have arranged that you shall be on the baggage guard, at first, so that you will gradually begin to know a few men of your company. they will report to the rest the story you tell them, and you will soon be received as one of themselves. "i will see that that sack of yours goes with the rest of the kits in the baggage waggon. these officers of your company all understand that you are to be treated like the rest of the men, and not to be shown any favour. at the same time, when in camp, if there is anything that you desire, or any complaint you have to make, you can talk quietly to one of them; and he will report it to me, in which case you may be sure that i shall set the matter right, if possible." "i don't think there is any fear of that, risaldar. i am pretty well able to take care of myself. my father gave me many lessons in boxing; and i fancy that, although most of the men are a great deal bigger and stronger than i am, i shall be able to hold my own." "i hope so, bullen," the havildar said gravely, "but i trust that there will be no occasion to show your skill. we punjabis are a quiet race of men; and though, of course, quarrels occasionally occur among us, they generally end in abuse, and very seldom come to blows. the greater portion of the regiment has been with us for some years. they know each other well, and are not given to quarrelling. they will scarcely even permit their juniors to go to extremes, and i need not say that the officers of the company would interfere, at once, if they saw any signs of a disturbance. "i have had a meal cooked, which i hope you will eat with us. it is the last you are likely to be able to enjoy, for some time. we shall feel honoured if you will sit down with us." an excellent repast was served, and lisle did it full justice. then the officers all shook him by the hand, and he started with the subadar for the men's lines, with hearty thanks to the others. when they arrived at the huts, the subadar led the way in. "here is a new comrade," he said, as some of the men roused themselves from the ground on his entrance. "he is a cousin of mutteh ghar, and bears the same name. it seems that he has served in another regiment, for a short time; but was discharged, owing to sickness. he has now perfectly recovered health, and has come to join his cousin; who, on his arrival, he finds to be dead. he is very anxious to accompany the regiment and, as he understands his work, the risaldar has consented to let him go, instead of remaining behind at the depot. "he is, of course, much affected by the loss of his cousin; and hopes that he will not be worried by questions. he will be on baggage guard tomorrow, and so will be left alone, until he recovers somewhat from his disappointment and grief." "i will see to it, subadar," one of the sergeants said. "mutteh ghar was a nice young fellow, and we shall all welcome his cousin among us, if he is at all like him." "thank you, sergeant! i am sure you will all like him, when you come to know him; for he is a well-spoken young fellow, and i hope that he will make as good a soldier. good night!" so saying, he turned and left the tent. half an hour later, lisle was on parade. there were but eight british officers; including the colonel, major, and adjutant, and one company officer to each two companies. the inspection was a brief one. the company officer walked along the line, paying but little attention to the men; but carefully scrutinizing their arms, to see that they were in perfect order. the regiment was put through a few simple manoeuvres; and then dismissed, as work in earnest would begin on the following morning. four men in each company were then told off to pack the baggage in the carts. lisle was one of those furnished by his company. there was little talk while they were at work. in two hours the carts were packed. then, as they returned to the lines, his three comrades entered into conversation with him. "you are lucky to be taken," one said, "being only a recruit. i suppose it was done so that you might fill the place of your cousin?" "yes, that was it. they said that i had a claim; so that, if i chose, i could send money home to his family." "they are good men, the white officers," another said. "they are like fathers to us, and we will follow them anywhere. we lately lost one of them, and miss him sorely. however, they are all good. "we are all glad to be going on service. it is dull work in cantonments." on arriving at the lines of the company, one of them said: "the risaldar said that you will take your cousin's place. he slept in the same hut as i. you will soon find yourself at home with us." he introduced lisle to the other occupants of the hut, eighteen in number. lisle then proceeded to follow the example of the others, by taking off his uniform and stripping to the loincloth, and a little calico jacket. he felt very strange at first, accustomed though he was to see the soldiers return to their native costume. "your rations are there, and those of our new comrade," one of the party said. several fires were burning, and lisle followed the example of his comrade, and took the lota which formed part of his equipment, filled it with water, and put it in the ashes; adding, as soon as it boiled, the handful of rice, some ghee, and a tiny portion of meat. in an hour the meal was cooked and, taking it from the fire, he sat down in a place apart; as is usual among the native troops, who generally have an objection to eat before others. "those who have money," his comrade said, "can buy herbs and condiments of the little traders, and greatly improve their mess." this lisle knew well. "i have a few pice," he said, "but must be careful till i get my pay." as soon as night fell all turned in, as they were to start at daylight. "here is room for you at my side, comrade," the sergeant said. "you had better get to sleep, as soon as you can. of course, you have your blanket with you?" "yes, sergeant." lisle rolled himself in his blanket and lay down, covering his face, as is the habit of all natives of india. it was some time before he went to sleep. the events of the day had been exciting, and he was overjoyed at finding that his plan had so far succeeded. he was now one of the regiment and, unless something altogether unexpected happened, he was certain to take part in a stirring campaign. while it was still dark, he was aroused by the sound of a bugle. "the men told off to the baggage guard will at once proceed to pack the waggons," the sergeant said. lisle at once got up and put on his uniform, as did three other men in the tent. the kits and baggage had already been packed, the night before; and the men of the guard, consisting of a half company, proceeded to the waggons. half an hour afterwards, another bugle roused the remainder of the regiment, and they soon fell in. it was broad daylight when they started, the baggage followed a little later. the havildar who was in charge of them was, fortunately, one of those of lisle's company. there was but little talk at the hurried start. two men accompanied each of the twelve company waggons. half the remainder marched in front, and the others behind. lisle had been told off to the first waggon. it was a long march, two ordinary stages being done in one. as the animals were fresh, the transport arrived at the camping ground within an hour of the main column. accustomed though he was to exercise, lisle found the weight of his rifle, pouches, and ammunition tell terribly upon him. he was not used to the boots and, before half the journey was completed, began to limp. the havildar, noticing this, ordered him to take his place on the top of the baggage on his waggon. "it is natural that you should feel it, at first, mutteh ghar," he said. "you will find it easy enough to keep up with them, after a few days' rest." lisle was thankful, indeed, for he had begun to feel that he should never be able to hold on to the end of the march. he remained on the baggage for a couple of hours, and then again took his place by the side of the waggon; receiving an approving nod from the havildar, as he did so. when the halt was called, the men at once crowded round the waggons. the kits were distributed and, in a few minutes, the regiment had the appearance of a concourse of peaceable peasants. no tents had been taken with them. waterproof sheets had been provided and, with these, little shelters had been erected, each accommodating three men. the sergeant told lisle off to share one of these shelters with two other men. a party meanwhile had gone to collect firewood and, in half an hour, the men were cooking their rice. "well, how did you like the march?" one of them said to lisle. "i found it very hard work," lisle said, "but the havildar let me ride on the top of one of the waggons for a couple of hours and, after that, i was able to march in with the rest." "it was a rough march for a recruit," the other said, "but you will soon get used to that. grease your feet well before you put on your bandages. you will find that that will ease them very much, and that you will not get sore feet, as you would if you marched without preparation." lisle took the advice, and devoted a portion of his rations for the purpose, the last thing at night; and found that it abated the heat in his feet, and he was able to get about in comfort. each soldier carried a little cooking pot. although the regiment was composed principally of punjabis, many of the men were of different nationalities and, although the punjabis are much less particular about caste than the people of southern india, every man prepared his meal separately. the rations consisted of rice, ghee, a little curry powder, and a portion of mutton. from these lisle managed to concoct a savoury mess, as he had often watched the men cooking their meals. the sergeant had evidently chosen two good men to share the tent with lisle. they were both old soldiers, not given to much talking; and were kind to their young comrade, giving him hints about cooking and making himself comfortable, and abstaining from asking many questions. they were easily satisfied with his answers and, after the meal was eaten, sat down with him and talked of the coming campaign. neither of them had ever been to chitral, but they knew by hearsay the nature of the road, and discussed the probability of the point at which serious opposition would begin; both agreeing that the difficulties of crossing the passes, now that these would be covered with snow, would be far greater than any stand the tribesmen might make. "they are tough fighters, no doubt," one of them said; "and we shall have more difficulty, with them, than we have ever had before; for they say that a great many of them are armed with good rifles, and will therefore be able to annoy us at a distance, when their old matchlocks would have been useless." "and they are good shots, too." "there is no doubt about that; quite as good as we are, i should say. there will be a tremendous lot of flanking work to keep them at a distance but, when it comes to anything like regular fighting, we shall sweep them before us. "from what i hear, however, we shall only have three or four guns with us. that is a pity for, though the tribesmen can stand against a heavy rifle fire, they have a profound respect for guns. i expect, therefore, that we shall have some stiff fighting. "how do you like the prospect, mutteh ghar?" "i don't suppose i shall mind it when i get accustomed to it," lisle said. "it was because i heard that the regiment was about to advance that i hurried up to join. i don't think i should have enlisted, had it been going to stay in the cantonment." "that is the right spirit," the other said approvingly. "it is the same with all of us. there is no difficulty in getting recruits, when there is fighting to be done. it is the dull life in camp that prevents men from joining. we have enlisted twice as many men, in the past three months, as in three years before." so they talked till night fell and then turned in; putting lisle between them, that being the warmest position. in the morning the march was resumed in the same order, lisle again taking his place with the baggage guard. the march this time was only a single one; but it was long, nevertheless. lisle was able to keep his place till the end, feeling great benefit from the ghee which he had rubbed on his feet. the havildar, at starting, said a few cheering words to him; and told him that, when he felt tired, he could put his rifle and pouch in the waggon, as there was no possibility of their being wanted. his two comrades, when they heard that he had accomplished the march without falling out, praised him highly. "you have showed good courage in holding on," one of them said. "the march was nothing to us seasoned men, but it must have been trying to you, especially as your feet cannot have recovered from yesterday. i see that you will make a good soldier, and one who will not shirk his work. another week, and you will march as well as the best of us." "i hope so," lisle said. "i have always been considered a good walker. as soon as i get accustomed to the weight of the rifle and pouch, i have no doubt that i shall get on well enough." "i am sure you will," the other said cordially, "and i think we are as good marchers as any in india. we certainly have that reputation and, no doubt, it was for that reason we were chosen for the expedition, although there are several other regiments nearer to the spot. "from what i hear, colonel kelly will be the commanding officer of the column, and we could not wish for a better. i hear that there is another column, and a much stronger one, going from peshawar. that will put us all on our mettle, and i will warrant that we shall be the first to arrive there; not only because we are good marchers, but because the larger the column, the more trouble it has with its baggage. "baggage is the curse of these expeditions. what has to be considered is not how far the troops can go, but how far the baggage animals can keep up with them. some of the animals are no doubt good, but many of them are altogether unfitted for the work. when these break down they block a whole line; and often, even if the march is a short one, it is very late at night before the last of the baggage comes in; which means that we get neither kit, blankets, nor food, and think ourselves lucky if we get them the next morning. "the government is, we all think, much to blame in these matters. instead of procuring strong animals, and paying a fair price for them; they buy animals that are not fit to do one good day's march. of course, in the end this stinginess costs them more in money, and lives, than if they had provided suitable animals at the outset." lisle had had a great deal of practice with the rifle, and had carried away several prizes shot for by the officers; but he was unaccustomed to carry one for so many hours, and he felt grateful, indeed, when a halt was sounded. fires were lighted, and food cooked; and then all lay down, or sat in groups in the shade of a grove. the sense of the strangeness of his condition had begun to wear off, and he laughed and talked with the others, without restraint. up to the time when he joined the regiment, lisle had heard a good deal of the state of affairs at chitral; and his impression of the natives was that they were as savage and treacherous a race as was to be found in afghanistan and kashmir. beyond that, he had not interested himself in the matter; but now, from the talk of his companions, he gained a pretty clear idea of the situation. illustration: map illustrating the chitral campaign. old aman-ul-mulk had died in august, 1892. he had reigned long; and had, by various conquests and judicious marriages, raised chitral to a position of importance. the chitralis are an aryan race, and not pathans; and have a deep-rooted hatred of the afghans. in 1878 aman placed chitral under the nominal suzerainty of the maharajah of kashmir and, kashmir being one of the tributary states of the indian empire, this brought them into direct communication with the government of india; and aman received with great cordiality two missions sent to him. when he died, his eldest son nizam was away from chitral; and the government was seized by his second son, afzul; who, however, was murdered by his uncle, sher afzul. nizam at once hurried to chitral; and sher afzul fled to cabul, nizam becoming the head of the state or, as it was called, mehtar. being weak, he asked for a political officer to reside in his territory; and captain younghusband, with an escort of sikhs, was accordingly sent to mastuj, a fort in upper chitral. however, in november nizam was also murdered, by a younger brother, amir. amir hurried to chitral, and demanded recognition from lieutenant gurdon; who was, at the time, acting as assistant british agent. he replied that he had no power to grant recognition, until he was instructed by the government in india. amir thereupon stopped his letters, and for a long time he was in imminent danger, as he had only an escort of eight sikhs. on the 8th of january, fifty men of the 14th sikhs marched down from mastuj and, on the 1st of february, mr. robertson, the british agent, arrived from gilgit. he had with him an escort of two hundred and eighty men of the 4th kashmir rifles, and thirty-three sikhs; and was accompanied by three european officers. when he arrived he heard that umra khan had, at the invitation of amir, marched into chitral; but that his progress had been barred by the strong fort of drosh. as the chitralis hate the pathans, they were not inclined to yield to the orders of amir to surrender the fort, and were consequently attacked. the place, however, was surrendered by the treachery of the governor. amir then advanced, and was joined by sher afzul. mr. robertson wrote to amir khan, saying that he must leave the chitral territory. amir paid no attention to the order, and mr. robertson reported this to the government of india. they issued, in march, 1895, a proclamation warning the chitralis to abstain from giving assistance to amir khan, and intimating that a force sufficient to overcome all resistance was being assembled; but that as soon as it had attained its object, it would be withdrawn. the chitralis, who now preferred sher afzul to amir, made common cause with the former. mr. robertson learned that men were already at work, breaking up the road between chitral and mastuj; and accordingly moved from the house he had occupied to the fort, which was large enough to receive the force with him. on the 1st of march, all communications between mr. robertson and mastuj had ceased; and troops were at once ordered to assemble, to march to his relief. it was clearly impossible for our agent to retire as, in order to do so, he would have to negotiate several terrible passes, where a mere handful of men could destroy a regiment. thus it was that the pioneers had been ordered to break up their cantonment, and advance with all speed to gilgit. hostilities had already begun. a native officer had started, with forty men and sixty boxes of ammunition, for chitral; and had reached buni, when he received information that his advance was likely to be opposed. he accordingly halted and wrote to lieutenant moberley, special duty officer with the kashmir troops in mastuj. the local men reported to moberley that no hostile attack upon the troops was at all likely but, as there was a spirit of unrest in the air, he wrote to captain ross, who was with lieutenant jones, and requested him to make a double march into mastuj. this captain ross did and, on the evening of the 4th of march, started to reinforce the little body of men that was blocked at buni. on the same day a party of sappers and miners, under lieutenants fowler and edwards, also marched forward to mastuj. when captain ross arrived at buni he found that all was quiet, and he therefore returned to mastuj, with news to that effect. the party of sappers were to march, the next morning, with the ammunition escort. on the evening of that day a note was received from lieutenant edwards, dated from a small village two miles beyond buni, saying that he heard that he was to be attacked in a defile, a short distance away. he started with a force of ninety-six men, in all. they carried with them nine days' rations, and one hundred and forty rounds of ammunition. captain ross at once marched for buni, and arrived there the same evening. here he left a young native officer and thirty-three rank and file while, with lieutenant jones and the rest of his little force, he marched for reshun, where lieutenant edwards' party were detained. they halted in the middle of the day; and arrived, at one o'clock, at a hamlet halfway to reshun. shortly after starting, they were attacked. lieutenant jones, one of the few survivors of the party, handed in the following report of this bad business. "half a mile after leaving koragh the road enters a narrow defile. the hills on the left bank consist of a succession of large stone shoots, with precipitous spurs in between. the road at the entrance to the defile, for about one hundred yards, runs quite close to the river; after that it lies along a narrow maidan, some thirty or forty yards in width, and is on the top of the river bank, which is here a cliff. this continues for about half a mile, then it ascends a steep spur. "when the advanced party reached about halfway up this spur, it was fired on from a sangar which had been built across the road and, at the same time, men appeared on all the mountain tops and ridges, and stones were rolled down all the shoots. captain ross, who was with the advanced guard, fell back on the main body. all the coolies dropped their loads and bolted, as soon as the first shot was fired. captain ross, after looking at the enemy's position, decided to fall back upon koragh; as it would have been useless to go on to reshun, leaving an enemy in such a position behind us." captain ross ordered lieutenant jones to fall back with ten men, seize the lower end of the defile, and cover the retreat. no fewer than eight of his men were wounded, as he fell back. captain ross, on hearing this, ordered him to return, and the whole party took refuge in two caves, it being the intention of their commander to wait there until the moon rose, and then try to force his way out. but when they started, they were assailed from above with such a torrent of rocks that they again retired to the caves. they then made an attempt to get to the top of the mountain, but their way was barred by a precipice; and they once more went back to the cave, where they remained all the next day. it was then decided to make an attempt to cut their way out. they started at two in the morning. the enemy at once opened fire, and many were killed, among them captain ross himself. lieutenant jones with seventeen men reached the little maidan, and there remained for some minutes, keeping up a heavy fire on the enemy on both banks of the river, in order to help more men to get through. twice the enemy attempted to charge, but each time retired with heavy loss. lieutenant jones then again fell back, two of his party having been killed and one mortally wounded, and the lieutenant and nine sepoys wounded. when they reached buni they prepared a house for defence, and remained there for seven days until reinforcements came up. in the meantime the 20th bengal sappers and miners, and the 42nd kashmir infantry had gone on, beyond the point where captain ross's detachment had been all but annihilated, and reached reshun; and lieutenants edwards and fowler, with the bengal sappers and ten kashmir infantry, went on to repair a break in the road, a few miles beyond that place. they took every precaution to guard against surprise. lieutenant fowler was sent to scale the heights on the left bank, so as to be able to look down into some sangars on the opposite side. with some difficulty, he found a way up the hillside. when he was examining the opposite cliff a shot was fired, and about two hundred men rushed out from the village and entered the sangars. as fowler was well above them, he kept up a heavy fire, and did great execution. the enemy, however, began to ascend the hills, and some appeared above him and began rolling down stones and firing into his party. fowler himself was wounded in the back, a corporal was killed, and two other men wounded. he managed, however, to effect his retreat, and joined the main body. as the enemy were now swarming on the hills, the party began to fall back to reshun, which was two miles distant. they had an open plain to cross and a spur, a thousand feet high, to climb. during this part of the retreat an officer and several men were wounded but, on reaching the crest, the party halted and opened a steady fire upon the enemy; whom they thus managed to keep at a distance till they reached reshun, which they did without further loss. the force here were occupying a sangar they had formed, but so heavy a fire was opened, from the surrounding hills, that it was found impossible to hold the position. they therefore retired to some houses, where firewood and other supplies were found. the only drawback to this place was that it was more than a hundred yards from the river, and there was consequently great danger of their being cut off from the water. as soon as they reached the houses they began to fortify them. the roofs were flat and, by piling stones along the edges, they converted them into sangars. the walls were loopholed, the entrances blocked up, and passages of communication opened between the houses. a party of kashmir volunteers then went down to the other sangar and brought the wounded in, under a heavy fire. at sunset the enemy's fire ceased, as it was the month of ramzam, during which mahomedans have to fast all day between sunrise and sunset. as night came on the little party took their places on the roofs, and remained there till daylight. by this time all were greatly exhausted for, during their terrible experiences of the previous day, they had had no food and little water. when day dawned half the men were withdrawn from their posts, and a meal was cooked from the flour that had been found in the houses. a small ration of meat was also served out. during the day the enemy kept up a continuous fire but, as they showed no intention of attacking, the men were allowed to sleep by turns. after dark lieutenant fowler and some volunteers started for the river, to bring in water. they made two trips, and filled up all the storage vessels at the disposal of the garrison. the night passed quietly but, just before dawn, the enemy charged down through the surrounding houses. lieutenant edwards and his party at once opened fire, at about twenty yards' range. tom-toms were beaten furiously, to encourage the assailants; but the tribesmen could not pluck up courage to make a charge and, at nine o'clock, they all retired. during the attack four of the sepoys were killed, and six wounded. next night another effort was made to obtain water. two sangars were stormed, and most of their occupants killed. the way to the water was now opened but, at this moment, heavy firing broke out at the fort; and lieutenant fowler, who was in command, recalled his men and returned to assist the garrison. on the following day a white flag was hoisted, and an emissary from sher afzul said that all fighting had ceased. an armistice was accordingly arranged. all this, however, was but a snare for, a few days later, when the two british officers went out to witness a polo match, they were seized, bound with ropes, and carried off. at the same moment a fierce attack was made on a party of sepoys who had also come out. these fought stoutly, but were overpowered, most of them being killed. the garrison of the post, however, under the command of lieutenant gurdon, continued to hold the little fort; and refused all invitation to come out to parley, after the treachery that had been shown to their comrades. the two officers were taken to chitral, where they were received with kindness by amir khan. the news of this disaster was carried to peshawar by a native mussulman officer, who had been liberated, where it created great excitement. as all communication with chitral had ceased, the assistant british agent at gilgit called up the pioneers; who marched into gilgit, four hundred strong, on the 20th of march. on the 21st news was received of the cutting up of ross's party, and it was naturally supposed that that of edwards was also destroyed. colonel kelly of the pioneers now commanded the troops, and all civil powers; and major borradale commanded the pioneers. the available force consisted of the four hundred pioneers, and the guides. lieutenant stewart joined them with two guns of the kashmir battery. two hundred pioneers and the guides started on the 23rd. the gazetteer states that it never rains in gilgit, but it rained when the detachment started, and continued to pour for two days. the men had marched without tents. colonel kelly, the doctor, leward, and a staff officer followed in the afternoon, and overtook the main body that evening. the troops had made up little tents with their waterproof sheets. colonel kelly had a small tent, and the other officers turned in to a cow shed. the force was so small that the pioneers asked the others to mess with them, each man providing himself with his own knife, fork, and spoon, and the pots being all collected for the cooking. the next march was long and, in some places, severe. they were well received by the natives, whose chiefs always came out to greet them and, on the third day, reached gupis, where a fort had been built by the kashmir troops. at this point the horses and mules were all left behind, as the passes were said to be impassable for animals; and native coolies were hired to carry the baggage. lisle had enjoyed the march, and the strange life that he was leading. he was now quite at home with his company and, by the time they reached gupis, had become a general favourite. at the end of the day, when a meal had been cooked and eaten, he would join in their songs round the fire and, as he had picked up several he had heard them sing, and had a fair voice, he was often called upon for a contribution. his vivacity and good spirits surprised the sepoys who, as a whole, were grave men, though they bore their hardships uncomplainingly. he had soon got over the feeling of discomfort of going about with naked legs, and was as glad as the soldiers, themselves, to lay aside his uniform and get into native attire. the sepoys had now regular rations of meat. it was always mutton, as beef was unobtainable; but it was much relished by the men, who cut it up into slices and broiled it over a fire. not for one moment did lisle regret the step he had taken. young and active, he thoroughly enjoyed the life; and looked forward eagerly to the time when they should meet the enemy, for no doubt whatever was now felt that they would meet with a desperate resistance on their march to chitral. fears were entertained, however, that when they got there, they would find that the garrison had been overpowered; for it was certain that against this force the chief attack of the enemy would be directed. the overthrow of ross and his party showed that the enemy were sturdy fighters; and they were known to be armed with breech-loading rifles, of as good a quality as those carried by the troops. in the open field all felt that, however numerous the tribesmen might be, they would stand no chance whatever; but the passes afforded them immense advantage, and rendered drill and discipline of little avail. chapter 3: the first fight. and yet, though he kept up a cheerful appearance, lisle's heart was often very heavy. the sight of the british officers continually recalled his father to his memory. but a short time back he had been with him, and now he was gone for ever. at times it seemed almost impossible that it could be so. he had been his constant companion when off duty; had devoted much time to helping him forward in his studies; had never, so far as he could remember, spoken a harsh word to him. it seemed like a dream, those last hours he had passed by his father's bedside. many times he lay awake in the night, his face wet with tears. but with reveille he would be up, laughing and joking with the soldiers, and raising a smile even on the face of the gravest. it had taken him but a very short time to make himself at home in the regiment. the men sometimes looked at him with surprise, he was so different from themselves. they bore their hardships well, but it was with stern faces and grim determination; while this young soldier made a joke of them. sometimes he was questioned closely, but he always turned the questions off with a laugh. he had learned the place where his supposed cousin came from and, while sticking to this, he said that a good fairy must have presided over his birth; information that was much more gravely received than given, for the natives have their superstitions, and believe, as firmly as the inhabitants of these british islands did, two or three hundred years ago, in the existence of supernatural beings, good and bad. "if you have been blessed by a fairy," one of the elder men suggested, "doubtless you will go through this campaign without harm. they are very powerful, some of these good people, and can bestow long life as well as other gifts." "i don't know whether she will do that. she certainly gave me high spirits. i used to believe that what my mother said happened to her, the night after i was born, was not true, but only a dream. she solemnly declared that it was not, but i have always been famous for good spirits; and she may have been right, after all." there was nothing lisle liked better than being on night picket duty. other men shirked it, but to him there was something delightful to stand there almost alone, rifle in hand, watching the expanse of snow for a moving figure. there was a charm in the dead silence. he liked to think quietly of the past and, somehow, he could do so far better, while engaged on this duty, than when lying awake in his little tent. the expanse and stillness calmed him, and agreed far more with his mood than the camp. his sight was keen, even when his thoughts were farthest away and, three times, he sent a bullet through a lurking pathan who was crawling up towards him, astonishing his comrades by the accuracy of his aim. "i suppose," he said, when congratulated upon the third occasion on which he had laid one of the enemy low, "that the good fairy must have given me a quick eye, as well as good spirits." "it is indeed extraordinary that you, a young recruit, should not only make out a man whom none of us saw; but that you should, each time, fetch him down at a distance of three or four hundred yards." "i used to practice with my father's rifle," he said. "he was very fond of shikari, and i often went out with him. it needs a keener sight to put a bullet between the eyes of a tiger, than to hit a lurking pathan." so noted did he become for the accuracy of his aim that one of the native officers asked him, privately, if he would like to be always put on night duty. "i should like it every other night," he said. "by resting every alternate night, and by snatching a couple of hours' sleep before going on duty, when we arrive at the end of a day's march in good time, i can manage very well." "i will arrange that for you," the officer said. "certainly, no one would grudge you the duty." one night, when there had been but little opposition during the day, lisle was posted on a hill where the picket consisted of ten men; five of whom were on the crest, while the other five lay down in the snow. the day had been a hard one, and lisle was less watchful than usual. it seemed to him that he had not closed his eyes for a minute, as he leant on his rifle; but it must have been much longer, for he suddenly started with a feeling that something was wrong, and saw a number of dark figures advancing along the crest towards him. he at once fired a shot, and fell back upon the next sentry. dropping behind rocks, they answered the fire which the enemy had already opened upon them. the whole picket quickly gathered and, for a time, checked the advance of the enemy; but these were too numerous to be kept at a distance, and parties of them pressed forward on each flank. "we must retire till we can find better shelter," the sub-officer in command said. "we shall soon have reinforcements up from the camp, when it is seen that we are seriously engaged. fall back, men, steadily. take advantage of every bit of cover, but keep as well together as possible, without risk." firing steadily, they made their way down the hill, and finally took up a position among a clump of rocks. two had been shot dead, and two others were wounded; and it was because these could not be left behind that the stand was made. the two wounded men, though partially disabled and unable to crawl, could still use their rifles; and the little party kept up so hot a fire that, though the enemy were massed from twenty to thirty yards away, they could not be brought to unite in a general attack; not even by the shouts and yells of their comrades behind, and a furious beating of tom-toms. illustration: lisle gives the alarm. the defenders were all lying down, each of them having chosen a position where he could see through a crevice between the rocks. lisle was lying next to the sergeant. presently the latter gave an exclamation, fired his rifle, and shifted his position behind the rock. "mutteh ghar," he said, "i have seen you bring down three of the skulking ruffians. do you see those two there close together, about forty yards away? there is a man behind them who has just carried off two of my fingers. "keep your eye on those rocks. just above where they touch each other there is an opening, through which you can see the snow behind. that is where he fired from. oblige me by putting a ball in his head, when he raises it." a couple of minutes passed. lisle was lying with his rifle on the spot. presently the opening was obscured, and he fired at once. "thank you!" the sergeant said. "you got him, sure enough. the head did not disappear to one side or to the other, but went straight back. i fancy that you must have hit him between the eyes." presently the enemy's fire became still more furious and, several times, some of them rose and ran two paces forward, but only to fall prone under the defenders' fire. "i expect they see help coming up," lisle said, "and are making a last effort to wipe us out before they arrive. "i think they will try a rush," he continued, in a louder voice; "see that your magazines are filled up, lads, and don't waste a shot if they come at us." a minute later there was a shrill and prolonged cry and, at once, twenty dark figures burst from their shelter and rushed forward. the defenders also sprang to their feet, and their rifles flashed out with a stream of fire. but the vacancies thus caused in the enemy's ranks were immediately filled. "now with your bayonets," the sergeant shouted. "keep in a close body, and do you two wounded men cover us with a constant fire." then, with a cheer, the six men and the sergeant rushed forward. much as the afridis feared the bayonet, confident in their strength they withstood the charge. they had, fortunately, emptied their rifles before rushing forward but, drawing their knives, they fought fiercely. these, however, were no match for the bayonets and, consequently, they suffered heavily. three of the pioneers received severe gashes. the group were brought to a standstill, and they stood in a little circle while the attack continued. one sepoy was stabbed to the heart by a fanatic, who rushed at his bayonet and, pushing himself along, fell dead as he struck his fatal blow. things were looking very bad. scarce one had escaped without a wound, and the sergeant had dropped, bleeding profusely; when, to their delight, a volley burst from within fifty yards of them and, in an instant, their assailants turned and bolted. after the sergeant had dropped, lisle had somehow taken his place, cheering the men on and lending his aid to those most severely pressed. once or twice he managed, after despatching an assailant, to slip a couple of cartridges into his rifle, and so added to the execution. indeed, it was in no small account due to his exertions, after the sergeant fell, that the resistance was maintained. a minute later, the active little ghoorkhas rushed forward; and those who first arrived passed the little knot of defenders with a cheer, and set off in pursuit of the enemy. presently, however, one of their officers came up. "you have had a stiff fight, lads," he said, "and by the look of the ground round about, you must have defended yourselves gallantly; for there are a dozen dead bodies lying near you, and i can see many more, a little way up the hill. what have been your losses?" the sergeant raised himself on his elbow. "we had two killed, as we came down," he said, "and two others wounded. i believe one has fallen here, and i think most of us are wounded with knife thrusts." "well, you have done splendidly, sergeant. i will detach men to help to carry you and the wounded men down to the camp. the others can accompany them. we shall take up the work, now; but i am afraid we sha'n't have any fighting, though we may shoot down a few as they make off. i fancy, however, that the lesson you have given the beggars has taken all fight out of them." when half down the hill, they met a party of the pioneers coming out. the ghoorkhas at once handed the wounded over to them, and started up the hill again. the sergeant had fainted from loss of blood, and no questions were asked till the injured men were all placed in little hospital tents, and their wounds attended to. two of them had bullet wounds, and three had received knife wounds on the shoulder or arm. only lisle and one other escaped unhurt. as soon as the wounds had been attended to all, except the sergeant, and two more seriously wounded than the others, were sent off to their tents. one of these was lisle's tent fellow. he said: "mutteh ghar, i don't know what to say to you. you seem but a lad, and a light-hearted one; but you have proved yourself the best of us all. i was lying next to you, and i will swear that you brought down eight of them with your rifle, before they charged. even while i was fighting i always heard your voice, like a trumpet; and after the sergeant had fallen you seemed to take command, as if it was your right. you saved my life when you bayoneted two of the three who were grappling with me, and you seemed to be everywhere." "i did what little i could," lisle said. "i certainly did not intend to take the command, when the sergeant fell; but somehow i could not help shouting and, as our circle had closed in so, i slipped out of my place and fought wherever the pressure was greatest." "there is no doubt," the soldier said seriously, "that your mother's statement was a true one, and that a fairy did promise her to look after you. out of the eleven of us, only one besides yourself has escaped without a wound; and yet none of us exposed himself more than you did. i shall not forget that i owe my life to you. we must find some other name for you. you can't be called 'the boy' any longer." in the morning, one of the colonel's orderlies was told to fetch lisle. "the colonel wishes to see you, mutteh ghar." lisle put on his uniform with some uneasiness. he was conscious that, in the excitement of the fight of the night before, he had frequently shouted in english; and he feared that the sergeant had reported this. however, he marched to the spot where the colonel and a group of officers were standing, and then stood at attention. "mutteh ghar," the colonel said, "the sergeant this morning made his report; and he states that, though all his men behaved admirably, you distinguished yourself in a singular manner. he says that before the final attack began you had killed eight or ten of the pathans, that you were fighting beside him when he was wounded, and that you then seemed to take the command. although lying on the ground, he was able to see what was going on; and he says that but for your cheers, and for the manner in which you went to the assistance of men hard pressed, he is convinced that the whole detachment would have been killed before the ghoorkhas arrived." "i had no idea of assuming the command, sir; but my tongue always runs fast, and i dare say i did shout, almost unconsciously. i think the sergeant has made more of my doings than i deserved." "i don't think it likely. it is no small thing for so young a soldier to so distinguish himself. the sergeant will not be able to resume his duties for some time, and i therefore appoint you a corporal; and shall put your name in orders, today, for very distinguished service. how long is it since you joined the regiment?" "a short time before we marched." "well, you have done honour to the corps and, in the name of myself and my officers, i thank you." lisle saluted, and returned to the lines. "the colonel has made me a corporal," he answered, as the others gathered round and questioned him. a cheer burst from them, for his tent companion, and the other men who had returned, had all spoken in the highest terms of his conduct. lisle was quite confused by the heartiness of their reception. "he is a wonderfully young fellow," the colonel said, as he left them. "the sergeant said that he was young, but really he looks little more than a boy. curiously, his face reminds me of someone, though i cannot say whom; and yet, if he only joined a short time before we marched, it is not likely that i should have noticed him before." "it was the same thing with me, colonel," the major said. "i have noticed him several times on the march and, while the rest of the regiment were plodding on in silence, he always seemed the centre of a merry group. i have often said, to myself, i wished we had a few more men in the regiment who could take the hardships they had to undergo as lightly and as merrily as he does. his face has also struck me as being somehow familiar. "i was speaking to the sergeant about him, and he said that he was the most popular man in his company, and a general favourite. his temperament is altogether different from that of the majority of our soldiers, which is earnest and quiet." two or three of the other officers also spoke of noticing the cheerful influence he seemed to have on the men. "i must have a talk with him," the colonel said, "after the campaign is over, and find out something about it. it is quite evident that his pluck is as great as his cheerfulness, and it is certainly very extraordinary that a young and recently-joined soldier should have such an influence with men many years older than himself. if i am not mistaken, we shall find him in the ranks of the native officers, before long. considering his age, and what he has already done, he may well hope some day, if he escapes being killed, to be risaldar major of the regiment. "i should almost fancy that he must be the son of some native of good family, but without influence to secure him a post as officer; and that he has run away to endeavour to fight his way up to a commission." henceforth lisle stood in high regard among his comrades, and was known as the 'fighting boy' in the regiment. he himself was always ready to answer to any name by which he was addressed. he had no desire to push himself forward to any prominence among them, or of thinking himself any way above his comrades; but naturally he was pleased at finding himself generally liked. he had come to see the fighting, and take part in it, and had no thought of distinguishing himself especially; as he intended to leave the regiment as soon as the campaign was over, and carry out the plan which his father had formed for him. he feared to excite the jealousy of his comrades and, though there were no signs of this, he felt that his promotion caused some difference in the manner of other men towards him. this was so marked, indeed, that he could not help thinking that the men by whose side he had fought had reported to their comrades that, in the heat of the fight, he had several times shouted in english; and that there were general suspicions as to his identity. as long as this was not communicated to the officers it did not matter; and indeed this was not likely for, if the feeling was noticed by the native officers, it would soon come to the ears of gholam singh, who would at once order the men to keep silence concerning it. gradually his nickname changed, and he became known among the sepoys of the regiment as the "young sahib." he protested against it, but in vain. it was not, however, without its advantages. at the end of a long march, the men who had brought in firewood always handed him some. men would offer to clean his rifle, cook his dinner, and do other little offices for him. he would, however, never accept these kind offers. "why do they call you sahib?" one of the english officers asked him, when he heard him so addressed. "i do not know," he answered. "it is a silly joke of the men. i have protested against it, without success. if they chose to call me 'colonel,' i could not help it. i suppose it is because they see that i am, like the white officers, always cheerful and good tempered. there is certainly no other reason that i know of." "the regiment have taken to call mutteh ghar 'the young sahib,'" the officer reported, at mess that day. "i asked him about it, and he says no doubt it is because he is, like us, always good tempered and cheerful." "he is certainly very unlike the others," the major said. "i have no doubt the men consider it a great compliment, to him, to call him so." "do you know, colonel," one of the subalterns said, "the idea has struck me that he may be young bullen, who may have joined the regiment surreptitiously, instead of going down to calcutta." there was silence among the others. "it can hardly be that, macdonald," the colonel said, "though it is certainly curious that we seemed to feel that we knew his face, when he came up before us. the young scamp could never have played such an audacious trick upon us." "i don't know, colonel," the major said, "he is just the sort of lad that would try such a scheme. i know i have twice seen him talking with my butler; who was, as you know, captain bullen's servant." "well, it may possibly be so," the colonel said, "but at any rate it is only suspicion, and we had better leave the matter as it stands. if it is young bullen, i don't know that he has done a bad thing for himself. if he goes on as he has begun, his experience will go a long way towards getting him a commission; and he will be a great deal better off than if he were grinding up for two years in england. such a strong recommendation as i could give him would be of great value to him and, moreover, he has a claim on the ground that his father was killed on service. "at any rate, we must take no action, whatever, at present. it is no slight thing he has done; that is, if it be he. few of us would care to go through this campaign as sepoys--their work is terribly hard, poor fellows--to say nothing of the unpleasantness of having to live among the natives. i certainly shall consider that he has well earned a commission, if he comes through the campaign." "but he is too young for one," the major said. "i should not think it necessary to mention his age, in recommending him," the colonel said. "we know that he is doing a man's work, manfully. he has earned, as you say, the general liking of the men; and is a deal better fitted for a commission than half the fellows they send out to us. "well, we may all be mistaken, and he may only be a brave young fellow of good ancestry; so we will think no more of it, at present, and we will wait to see how things turn out, before showing any signs of our suspicions." now, however, that the idea had been mooted, the officers, as they went up and down the line, looked closer at lisle than they had hitherto done; and all agreed that, in spite of his uniform and his colour, he was captain bullen's son. ignorant of their suspicions, lisle carried out his work, as usual, as a sub-officer. he shared the shelter tents of the men, and performed his duties regularly. he still carried a rifle; and indeed, if this had not been the rule he would not have accepted his promotion, as he preferred fighting with a weapon to which he was accustomed. his work during the day was but little changed. when the regiment was marching in a column, four abreast, he had his appointed place by the side of it and, when they arrived in camp, it was part of his duty to see that the little tents were all pitched, rations distributed, kits handed over, and the men made as comfortable as possible. no sub-officer was obeyed with greater alacrity and, when he returned from his picket in the early morning, he always found his ration ready cooked for him. it was impossible for him to help feeling pleased at these signs of the liking of the men, and he redoubled his efforts to cheer them on the line of march; and to aid any men who seemed unable to climb up through the snow, by carrying their rifles and ammunition pouches for them. he had long since grown accustomed to carrying weights, and was able to keep up with the most seasoned marchers. on two or three occasions gholam singh was able to report favourably of his conduct, in thus relieving men of their arms. the colonel always took these communications in the ordinary way. "there is no doubt," he said, when the conversation turned on the subject, "that gholam singh must have been an accessory to young bullen's plot. i have been looking up the list of the deceased sepoys, and i find that a recruit of the same name died, two days before we marched. in some way young bullen, if it is really the boy, contrived to take the dead man's place and name. this could have been very well done, without any of us knowing. none of us were familiar with the dead man's appearance, and gholam singh, and some of the other native officers, must have arranged that he should take his place. if this has been the case i shall, of course, be obliged to speak sharply to the risaldar major; but in reality i shall not be very angry with him, for he will certainly have done young bullen a good turn." "i am sure it is bullen," one of the officers said, "for when i came up suddenly behind him, today, i heard him whistling an english tune. of course, it may have been played by the band when we were in camp, but whistling is not a common punjabi accomplishment, and i don't know that i ever heard native boys whistle before. he stopped directly i came up, but i could make no mistake about the tune; for i hung behind a little, and was amused at seeing the men marching by him trying to keep step, while they were over their knees in snow. i caught a grin on their faces at their failure, though they looked as grave as usual when they saw me." "well, we must let things go on as they are," the colonel said, "until we get to chitral. then we will have him up, and get to the bottom of the affair. if it turns out to be bullen, he must at once leave the ranks and join us again. i shall then have to ask for a commission for him, and give him temporary rank as junior lieutenant, until an answer to my recommendation arrives. even if it is not bullen, it may be--unlikely as it seems--some other englishman; but in any case, we could not allow an englishman to be in the ranks." "i don't think there is any doubt about it, colonel," the major said. "i have had a good look at him, several times, and could almost swear to his identity, well as he is got up." lisle pursued the regular course of his work, in happy unconsciousness that any suspicion as to his identity entered the minds of his officers. his spirits were now not forced; the fatiguing marches, the night pickets, and the pressure of his duty so occupied his thoughts that he had little time to dwell upon his loss. it was now three months since his father had died, and yet it seemed to him in the far distance, so much had happened since. occasionally he thought with disgust that, when this was all over, he must return to england to the uncle he had never seen, and become a schoolboy, spending his days in study; and perhaps, in the end, fail to pass his examination. he would be a stranger amongst strangers. he could not expect that his uncle should feel any particular interest in a lad he had never before seen, and he drew pictures to himself of the long, friendless interval before, even at the best, he could again don a uniform. but upon such thoughts he did not allow himself to dwell. it had to be done, and he would, he supposed, get through it all right. he might find friends among the fellows at the same crammer's. at any rate, three years would soon pass, and he must make the best of it. "i suppose the crammer will be in london," he said. "everything there will be new to me and, no doubt, i shall find it very interesting. they say that it is an immense place, to which even the biggest indian city is but a mere trifle. it will be curious to see everyone in dark clothes, with none of the gay colouring of india. "father often said that the pleasantest time of his life was the years he spent in england, while he was cramming for his exam. there were theatres, and all sorts of other places of amusement. he had the best of companions and, after they had finished their work, they were at liberty to do pretty nearly whatever they liked. "i think i shall get my uncle to send me to the same crammer as father went to, if he is still alive. i put down his address once, in my pocketbook, and shall be able to find it again when i get down to calcutta, and recover my traps. "well, i need not worry myself by thinking of it, now. it will all come some day, and i dare say i shall find it pleasant enough, when i once get accustomed to it." such thoughts often passed through his mind at night for, during the day, he had not a minute to himself. he was almost sure, now, that the men had discovered his identity, by the many little marks of kindness they had shown him, and by the manner in which his fellow sub-officers always spoke to him with a certain air of respect. this, however, did not worry him. he felt certain that they would keep the secret; and at the end of the campaign he must, of course, disclose himself and obtain his discharge. until then, no one would have time to think much of the matter, still less find any opportunity of reporting it to colonel kelly. he wondered how the colonel would take it, when he went up to say who he was. he did not think he would be very seriously angry, though probably he would wig him sharply. at any rate he had not done badly, and had brought no discredit to the regiment. he had unconsciously adopted the regimental belief that he was a lucky man, and should get through the campaign unhurt. he was particularly anxious that he should do so as, were he confined in hospital for a few days, he would have no opportunity of renewing his stain; in which case he would undoubtedly be detected. they had advanced so far now, however, that even if he were discovered, they could hardly send him back before he got to chitral. he might, of course, be detained at reshun, which would be a horrible nuisance. one night his camp mate said to him: "you ought to be with the officers, bullen sahib. it is not right for you to be working as we do." "why do you call me bullen sahib, pertusal?" "everyone knows it, sahib. little by little we nave found you out. we had some suspicions from the first, but now we are sure of it. only your father's son would have fought as you did on the hill and, when we came to look very closely at you, we all recognized you, in spite of your dye." "then i wish i hadn't fought quite so hard, pertusal, for i had hoped that i had altogether escaped recognition. i thought that i could have gone through the campaign without anyone suspecting who i was." "we did not suspect at first, sahib. we quite took you for one of ourselves. no, the cheerfulness with which you bore your hardships, and your readiness to assist anyone, surprised us. you were so different from us all that we could not help wondering who you were; but i don't think any of us really suspected that you were captain bullen's son, till that fight. i know that when i was busy fighting, sorely pushed as we were, i wondered when i heard you shout in english; and i had heard you call out so often, when you were playing cricket with the officers, that i recognized your voice at once. "then the wonder that we felt about you ceased. it seemed for a moment impossible, for i had seen you go off with the sick convoy. then it seemed to me that it was just the thing that captain bullen's son might be expected to do. you would naturally want to see fighting, but i did wonder how you managed to come back and get enlisted into the regiment. i remember, now, that i wondered a little the first night you joined. you were in uniform and, as a rule, recruits don't go into uniform for some time after they have joined. it was therefore remarkable that you should turn up in uniform, rifle and all." "it was the uniform of the original mutteh ghar," lisle said. "my servant had managed to get it; and the story that i was the man's cousin, and was therefore permitted to take his place, was natural enough to pass." "but some of our officers must have helped you, sahib?" "well, i won't say anything about that. i did manage to join in the way i wanted, and you and your comrade were both very kind to me." "that was natural enough, sahib. you were a young recruit, and we understood that you were put with us two old soldiers in order that we might teach you your duty. it was not long, however, before we found that there was very little teaching necessary for, at the end of a week, you knew your work as well as any man in the regiment. we thought you a wonder, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves. "now that we know who you are, all the regiment is proud that your father's son has come among us, and shared our lot down to the smallest detail. i noticed that you were rather clumsy with your cooking, but even in that respect you soon learned how things should be done. "i suppose, sahib, we shall lose you at the end of the campaign?" "yes; i shall have to start for england, at once; for in order to gain a commission, i must study hard for two or three years. of course, i shall then have to declare myself to the officers, in order to get my discharge. i am afraid that the colonel will be very angry, but i cannot help that. i am quite sure, however, that he will let me go, as soon as he knows who i am. it will be rather fun to see the surprise of the officers." "i don't think the colonel will be angry, sahib. he might have been, if you had not done so well; but as it is, he cannot but be pleased that captain bullen's son should have so distinguished himself, even in the 32nd pioneers, who have the reputation of being one of the best fighting regiments in all india." "well, i hope so, pertusal. at any rate, i am extremely glad i came. i have seen what fighting is, and that under the most severe conditions. i have proved to myself that i can bear hardships without flinching; and i shall certainly be proud, all my life, that i have been one in the column for the relief of chitral--that is to say, if we are the first." "we shall be the first," the soldier said, positively. "it is hard work enough getting our baggage over the passes; but it will be harder still for the peshawar force, encumbered with such a train as they will have to take with them. "ah! sahib, if only our food were so condensed that we could carry a supply for twelve days about us, what would we not be able to do? we could rout the fiercest tribe on the frontier, without difficulty. we could march about fifteen or twenty miles a day, and more than that, if necessary. we could do wonders, indeed." "i am afraid we shall never discover that," lisle said. "the german soldiers do indeed carry condensed meat in sausages, and can take three or four days' supplies with them; but we have not yet discovered anything like food of which men could carry twelve days' supply. we may some day be able to do it but, even if it weighed but a pound a day, it would add heavily to the load to be carried." "no one would mind that," pertusal said. "think what a comfort it would be, if we could make our breakfast before starting, eat a little in the middle of the day, and be sure of supper directly we got into camp; instead of having to wait hours and hours, and perhaps till the next morning, before the baggage train arrived. i would willingly carry double my present load, if i felt sure that i would gain that advantage. i know that the officers have tins of condensed milk, one of which can make more than a gallon; and that they carry cocoa, and other things, of which a little goes a long way. now, if they could condense rice and ghee like that, we should be able to carry all that is necessary with us for twelve days. mutton we could always get on a campaign, for the enemy's flocks are at our disposal; and it must be a bare place, indeed, where we could not find enough meat to keep us going. it is against our religion to eat beef, but few of us would hesitate to do so, on a campaign; and oxen are even more common than sheep. "it is very little baggage we should have to take with us, then. twenty ponies would carry sufficient for the regiment; and if government did but buy us good mules, we could always rely upon getting them into camp before dark. see what an advantage that would be! ten men would do for the escort; whereas, at present, a hundred is not sufficient." "well, i wish it could be so," lisle said. "but although some articles of food might be compressed, i don't think we should ever be able to compress rice or ghee. a handful of rice, when it is boiled, makes enough for a meal; and i don't imagine that it could possibly be condensed more than that." "well, it is getting late, and we march at daylight. fortunately we have not to undress, but have only to turn in as we are." chapter 4: in the passes the march after leaving dahimol was a short one. here they were met by the governor of the upper parts of the valley, and he gave them very useful details of the state of parties in chitral, and of the roads they would have to follow. he accompanied the force on the next day's march, and billeted all the troops in the villages; for which they were thankful enough, for they were now getting pretty high up in the hills, and the nights were decidedly cold. they were now crossing a serious pass, and had reached the snow line; and the troops put on the goggles they had brought with them to protect their eyes from the dazzling glare of the snow. at two o'clock they reached the post at ghizr, which was held by a body of kashmir sappers and miners. the place had been fortified, and surrounded by a strong zereba. the troops were billeted in the neighbouring houses, and they halted for a day, in order to allow the second detachment of the pioneers and the guns to come up. here, also, they were joined by a hundred men of the native levies. when they prepared for the start, the next morning, they found that a hundred of the coolies had bolted during the night. two officers were despatched to find and fetch them back. fifty were fortunately discovered, in a village not far off, and with these and some country ponies the force started. they passed up the valley and came upon a narrow plain. here the snow was waist deep, and the men were forced to move in single file, the leaders changing places every hundred yards or so. at last they came to a stop. the gun mules sank to their girths in the snow and, even then, were unable to obtain a footing. men were sent out to try the depth of the snow on both sides of the valley, but they found no improvement. obviously it was absolutely impossible for the mules and ponies to get farther over the snow, in its present state. it was already three o'clock in the afternoon, and only eight miles had been covered. the force therefore retired to the last village in the valley. two hundred pioneers under borradaile, the sappers, and the hunza levies were left here, with all the coolie transport. borradaile's orders were to force his way across the pass, next day; and entrench himself at laspur, the first village on the other side. he was then to send back the coolies, in order that the remainder of the force might follow. with immense trouble and difficulty, the kits of the party that were to proceed were sorted out from the rest, the ammunition was divided and, at seven o'clock, the troops who were to return to ghizr started on their cold march. they reached their destination after having been on foot some fifteen hours. lisle was with the advance party. they were all told off to houses in the little village. fires were lighted and the weary men cooked their food and, huddling close together, and keeping the fires alight, slept in some sort of comfort. next morning at daybreak they turned out and found, to their disgust, that the snow was coming down heavily, and that the difficulties would be even greater than on the previous day. borradaile therefore sent back one of the levies, with a letter saying that it was impossible to advance; but that if the sky cleared, he would start on the following morning. the kashmir troops at ghizr volunteered to go forward, and make a rush through the snow; and stewart and his lieutenant, gough, set out with fifty of them, taking with them half a dozen sledges that had been made out of boxes. on arriving at tern, stewart found fodder enough for the mules, and begged that the guns might be sent up. borradaile had started early; and stewart with the fifty kashmir troops followed, staggering along dragging the guns and ammunition. the snow had ceased, but there was a bitter wind, and the glare from the newly-fallen snow was terrible. the guns, wheels, and ammunition had been told off to different squads, who were relieved every fifty yards. in spite of the cold, the men were pouring with perspiration. at one point in the march a stream had to be crossed. this was done only with great difficulty, and the rear guard did not reach the camping ground, at the mouth of the shandur pass, until eleven at night; and even then the guns had to be left a mile behind. then the weary men had to cut fuel to light fires. many of them were too exhausted to attempt to cook food, and at once went to sleep round the fires. early the next morning, the pioneers and levies started to cross the pass. the kashmir men brought up the guns into camp but, though the distance was short, the work took them the best part of the day. the march was not more than ten miles; but borradaile's party, though they left langar at daylight, did not reach laspur till seven o'clock at night. the slope over the pass was a gradual one, and it was the depth of the snow, alone, that caused so much delay. the men suffered greatly from thirst, but refused to eat the snow, having a fixed belief that, if they did so, it would bring on violent illness. on arriving at the top of the pass, the hunza levies skirmished ahead. so unexpected was their arrival that the inhabitants of the village were all caught and, naturally, they expressed their extreme delight at this visit, and said that they would be glad to help us in any way. they were taken at their word, and sent back to bring up the guns. their surprise was not feigned, for the chitralis were convinced that it would be impossible to cross the pass, and letters were found stating that the british force was lying at ghizr. the feat, indeed, was a splendid one. some two hundred and fifty men, hindoos and mussulmans had, at the worst time of the year, brought two mountain guns, with their carriages and ammunition, across a pass which was blocked for some twenty miles by deep, soft snow; at the same time carrying their own rifles, eighty rounds of ammunition, and heavy sheepskin coats. they had slept for two nights on the snow and, from dawn till dark, had been at work to the waist at every step, suffering acutely from the blinding glare and the bitter wind. stewart and gough had both taken their turns in carrying the guns, and both gave their snow glasses to sepoys who were without them. borradaile's first step was to put the place in a state of defence, and collect supplies and coolies. in the evening the guns were brought in by the kashmir troops, who were loudly cheered by the pioneers. lisle had borne his share in the hardships and had done so bravely, making light of the difficulties and cheering his comrades by his jokes. he had escaped the thirst which had been felt by so many, and was one of those who volunteered to assist in erecting defences, on the evening of their arrival at laspur. at two o'clock the next day, the rest of the force came into camp. a reconnoitring party went out and, three miles ahead, came upon the campfires of the enemy. they were seen, three miles farther down the valley, engaged in building sangars; but as the force consisted of only one hundred and fifty men, it was not thought advisable to attack, and the troops consequently returned to camp. the next day was spent in making all the arrangements for the advance. messengers were sent out to all the villages, calling on the men to come in and make their submission. this they did, at the same time bringing in supplies and, by night, a sufficient number of native coolies had been secured to carry all the baggage, including ammunition and guns. a native chief came in with a levy of ninety native coolies. these were found most valuable, both in the work and in obtaining information. from their knowledge of the habits of the people, they were able to discover where the natives had hidden their supplies; which was generally in the most unlikely places. the reconnoitring party had found that, some six miles on, the snow ceased; and all looked forward with delight to the change. a small garrison of about a hundred, principally levies, were left at laspur; with instructions to come on when the second party arrived. the main force started at nine o'clock. at rahman the snow was left behind. here they learned that the enemy would certainly fight, between the next village and mastuj. lieutenant beynon went on with a party of levies and gained a hill, from which he could view the whole of the enemy's position. here he could, with the aid of his glasses, count the men in each sangar, and make out the paths leading up the cliffs from the river. when he had concluded his observations, he returned and reported to colonel kelly; and orders were issued for the attack, the next day. the levies were expected to join the next morning. they were to advance with a guide, and turn out the enemy from the top of a dangerous shoot; from which they would be enabled to hurl down rocks upon the main body, as it advanced. beynon was to start, at six, to work through the hills to the right rear of the enemy's position. the main body were to move forward at nine o'clock. beynon encountered enormous difficulties and, in many places, he and his men had to go on all fours to get along. he succeeded, however, in driving off the enemy; who occupied a number of sangars on the hills, and who could have greatly harassed the main body by rolling down rocks upon them. the enemy's principal position consisted of sangars blocking the roads to the river, up to a fan-shaped alluvial piece of ground. the road led across this ground to the foot of a steep shoot, within five hundred yards of sangars on the opposite side of the river and, as it was totally devoid of any sort of shelter, it could be swept by avalanches of stones, by a few men placed on the heights for the purpose. when the troops arrived within eight hundred yards, volley firing was opened; and the guns threw shells on the sangar on the extreme right of the enemy's position. the enemy were soon seen leaving it, and the fire was then directed on the next place, with the same result. meanwhile beynon had driven down those of the enemy who were posted on the hill; and general panic set in, the guns pouring shrapnel into them until they were beyond range. the action was over in an hour after the firing of the first shot. the losses on our side were only one man severely, and three slightly wounded. after a short rest, the force again proceeded, and halted at a small village a mile and a half in advance. a ford was found, and the column again started. presently they met a portion of the garrison who, finding the besieging force moving away, came out to see the reason. in the meantime, the baggage column was being fiercely attacked; and an officer rode up, with the order that the 4th company were to go back to their assistance. the company was standing in reserve, eager to go forward to join in the fight and, without delay, they now went off at the double. they were badly wanted. the baggage was struggling up the last kotal that the troops had passed, and the rear guard were engaged in a fierce fight with a great number of the enemy; some of whom were posted on a rise, while others came down so boldly that the struggle was sometimes hand to hand. when the 4th company reached the scene, they were at once scattered along the line of baggage. for a time the enemy fell back but, seeing that the reinforcement was not a strong one, they were emboldened to attack again. their assaults were repulsed with loss, but the column suffered severely from the fire on the heights. "we must stop here," the officer in command said, "or we shall not get the baggage through before nightfall; and then they would have us pretty well at their mercy. the punjabis must go up and clear the enemy off the hill, till the baggage has got through." the punjabis were soon gathered and, led by an english officer, they advanced up the hill at a running pace, until they came to a point so precipitous that they were sheltered from the enemy's fire. here they were halted for a couple of minutes to gain breath, and then the order was given to climb the precipitous hill, which was some seventy feet high. it was desperate work, for there were points so steep that the men were obliged to help each other up. happily they were in shelter until they got to within twenty feet of its summit, the intervening distance being a steep slope. at this point they waited until the whole party had come up; and then, with a cheer, dashed up the slope. the effect was instantaneous. the enemy, though outnumbering them by five to one, could not for a moment withstand the line of glittering bayonets; and fled precipitately, receiving volley after volley from the pioneers. as the situation was commanded by still higher slopes, the men were at once ordered to form a breastwork, from the stones that were lying about thickly. after a quarter of an hour's severe work, this was raised to a height of three feet, which was sufficient to enable the men to lie down in safety. by the time the work was done, the enemy were again firing heavily, at a distance of four hundred yards, their bullets pattering against the stones. the punjabis, however, did not return the fire but, turning round, directed their attention to the enemy on the other side of the valley, who were also in considerable force. illustration: he carefully aimed and fired. "here!" the officer said to lisle, "do you think you can pick off that fellow in the white burnoose? he is evidently an important leader, and it is through his efforts that the enemy continues to make such fierce attacks." "i will try, sir," lisle replied in punjabi; "but i take it that the range must be from nine hundred to a thousand yards, which is a long distance for a shot at a single man." lying down at full length, he carefully aimed and fired. the officer was watching through his field glass. "that was a good shot," he said. "you missed the man, but you killed a fellow closely following him. lower your back sight a trifle, and try again." the next shot also missed, but the third was correctly aimed, and the pathan dropped to the ground. some of his men at once carried off his body. his fall created much dismay; and as, at that moment, the whole of the punjabis began to pepper his followers with volley firing, they lost heart and quickly retired up the hill. "put up your sights to twelve hundred yards," the officer said. "you must drive them higher up, if you can; for they do us as much harm, firing from there, as they would lower down. fire independently. don't hurry, but take good aim. "that was a fine shot of yours, mutteh ghar," he said to lisle, by whose side he was still standing; for they had gone so far down the slope that they were sheltered from the fire behind. "but for his fall, the baggage guard would have had to fight hard, for he was evidently inciting his men to make a combined rush. his fall, however, took the steam out of them altogether. how came you to be such a good shot?" "my father was fond of shooting," lisle said, "and i used often to go out with him." "well, you benefited by his teaching, anyhow," the officer said. "i doubt if there is any man in the regiment who could have picked off that fellow, at such a distance, in three shots. that has really been the turning point of the day. "see, the baggage is moving on again. in another hour they will be all through. "now, lads, turn your attention to those fellows on the hill behind. as we have not been firing at them for some time, they will probably think we are short of ammunition. let us show them that our pouches are still pretty full! we must drive them farther away for, if we do not, we shall get it hot when we go down to join the rear guard. begin with a volley, and then continue with independent firing, at four hundred yards." the tribesmen were standing up against the skyline. "now, be careful. at this distance, everyone ought to bring down his man." although that was not accomplished, a number of men were seen to fall, and the rest retired out of sight. presently heads appeared, as the more resolute crawled back to the edge of the crest; and a regular duel now ensued. four hundred yards is a short range with a martini rifle, and it was not long before the punjabis proved that they were at least as good shots as the tribesmen. they had the advantage, too, of the breastwork behind which to load, and had only to lift their heads to fire; whereas the pathans were obliged to load as they lay. presently the firing ceased, but the many black heads dotting the edge of the crest testified to the accurate aim of the troops. the tribesmen, seeing that their friends on the other side of the valley had withdrawn, and finding that their own fire did not avail to drive their assailants back, had at last moved off. for half an hour the pioneers lay, watching the progress of the baggage and, when the last animal was seen to pass, they retired, taking up their position behind the rear guard. the column arrived in camp just as night fell. "that young bullen can shoot," the officer who commanded the company said, that evening, as the officers gathered round their fire. "when, as i told you, we had driven off the fellows on the right of the valley, things were looking bad on the left, where a chief in a white burnoose was working up a strong force to make a rush. i put young bullen on to pick him off. the range was about nine hundred and fifty yards. his first shot went behind the chief. i did not see where the next shot struck, but i have no doubt it was close to him. anyhow, the third rolled him over. i call that splendid shooting, especially as it was from a height, which makes it much more difficult to judge distance. "the chief's fall took all the pluck out of the tribesmen and, as we opened upon them in volleys, they soon went to the right about. we peppered them all the way up the hill and, as i could see from my glasses, killed a good many of them. however, it took all the fight out of them, and they made no fresh attempt to harass the column." "the young fellow was a first-rate shot," the colonel said. "if you remember he carried off several prizes, and certainly shot better than most of us; though there were one or two of the men who were his match. you did not speak to him in english, i hope, villiers?" "no, no, colonel. you said that he was to go on as if we did not know him, till we reached chitral; and of course spoke to him in punjabi. "one thing is certain: if he had not brought down that chief, the enemy would have been among the baggage in a minute or two; so his shot was really the turning point of the fight." "i will make him a present of twenty rupees, in the morning," the colonel said. "that is what i should have given to any sepoy who made so useful a shot, and it will be rather fun to see how he takes it." "you will see he will take it without winking," the major said. "he will know very well that any hesitation would be noticed, and he will take it as calmly as if he were a native." accordingly the next morning, as the regiment fell in, the colonel called lisle out from the ranks. "mutteh ghar," he said, "lieutenant villiers reports that you did great service, yesterday, in picking off the leader of the pathans who were attacking the column from the left. here are twenty rupees, as a token of my satisfaction." lisle did not hesitate for a moment, but took off his turban, and held it out for the colonel to drop the money into it; murmuring his thanks as he did so. then he put on his turban again, saluted, and retired. "i told you he would not hesitate, colonel," the major laughed. "the young beggar was as cool as a cucumber, and i doubt if we should catch him napping, however much we tried." "he is a fine young fellow, major, and will make a splendid officer. i shall be disappointed, indeed, if i fail to get him a commission." "i don't think you are likely to fail, colonel. the young fellow has really distinguished himself greatly. even without that, the fact that he enlisted to go through the campaign, and took his share with the troops both in their fighting and their hardships, would show that he really deserved a commission; even putting aside the fact of his father's death. it would be a thousand pities if such a promising young fellow should have to waste the next three years of his life, cramming up classics and mathematics. it would be like putting a young thoroughbred into a cart." "that is so," the colonel said; "but there is no answering for the war office, or saying what view they may take of any given subject. however, if we get first to chitral, as i feel sure we shall do, i suppose i shall be in high favour; and they won't like to refuse so small a request, backed as it is by the facts of the case." at half-past five the force marched into mastuj, and found the garrison comfortably settled there, and well fed. the fort was a square building, with a tower at each corner and at the gateway. late in the evening the baggage came in. the enemy had made no serious attack upon the place; and moberley, who was in command, had even been able to send a force to buni, whence they brought off jones and the survivors of ross's force. the next day a fatigue party were sent out to destroy the enemy's sangars and, on the same day, the remaining half of the pioneers came up. the day was spent by those in the fort in examining the state of supplies; and despatching messengers to all the villages round ordering them to send in supplies, and coolies to carry the baggage. on the morning of the 1st of april, beynon was sent on to reconnoitre the enemy's position; and returned with the report that it was a strong one. they had got very close to it, and had a fair view of the position. next morning the force started, the levies being ahead. it was a fine, bright morning. they crossed the river on a bridge built by the sappers. when they reached the maidan, they found that it was a gentle, grassy slope. the levies were in advance, with two companies in the firing line, two in support, and the kashmir company in reserve, in this order they pushed on, until they came under the fire of the sangars. stewart brought his guns into action. after a time, the fire of the levies drove the enemy from the nearest sangar; while three of the pioneer companies paid attention to another sangar. beynon was sent on, to find some way down into the valley. he found no path leading to the nullah. the drop from the edge was sheer, for some seventy feet; then came a ledge from which he thought they could scramble down to the edge of the stream, and thence to the opposite side, where he noticed a track. with this information, he went back to report to colonel kelly. the sappers were brought up and, also, a reserve company of kashmir troops. when beynon got back to the nullah, he found the pioneers extended along the edge, and oldham's sappers already at work. these, aided by ropes and scaling ladders, got down to the ledge; and from this point they and oldham slung themselves down to the bed of the stream, by the same means. a few sappers had followed, when a box of dynamite exploded with a violent detonation, and the rest of the company were called back. lisle happened to be stationed at the point where the descent was made, and when the explosion took place he seized the rope and, sliding down, joined the two officers and the eleven sappers who had passed. they scrambled to the opposite side, and saw that the pioneers were moving down the nullah towards the river, while the levies were nearing the sangars. the enemy were seen bolting, and the little party opened fire upon them. the sappers were armed only with carbines, which were uncertain at so long a range; but lisle, with his rifle, brought down an enemy at every shot. "that is a good one," he muttered, as a mounted officer at whom he had aimed fell from his horse. he was startled when the man behind him said: "hillo, young fellow, who on earth are you? "i will tell you after it is done, sir," lisle said. "but i hope you will keep my secret." some of the levies and a few pioneers now came up, and they learned what had been the cause of the explosion. the kashmir company had not followed and, as the sappers were at work, they had laid down cakes of dynamite at the head of the pass. one of the enemy's bullets striking these had ignited them, and the troops there were called upon to retire. the enemy, seeing our men falling back, rushed out of their sangars and opened fire; but were speedily driven in again by volleys from the pioneers. just then the levies showed on the ridge, and the pioneers moved down the nullah, by a goat track they had found. the battle was now over, and a company of pioneers were sent ahead to the next village, while the rest of the force encamped. when all were settled down, lisle saw lieutenant moberley walking along the lines of the regiment, and evidently looking for someone. lisle hesitated a minute. if he remained quiet he might not be recognized by the officer, but in that case the latter might report what he had heard, and an investigation might be made. he therefore went forward to the officer. "ah!" the latter said, "you are the man i heard speak in english." "it was very foolish, sir, but i had no idea that i should be overheard." "well, who are you, and how in the world is it that you are a private in the pioneers?" "my father was captain bullen, who was killed in a native raid. i remained with the regiment for a time, because there was no opportunity of my being sent home. i wanted to see the campaign, so i took the place of a sepoy who had died and, as i speak the language perfectly, it has never been suspected that i was anything but what i seem." "well, lad, i will keep your secret for a time, but when we get to chitral i think it will be my duty to tell the colonel; especially as i shall report that you were with me, and behaved with the greatest coolness, accounting for at least eight of the enemy. the campaign will be over, then, for we know that the peshawar column are also near chitral, so that there will be no chance of further fighting. "i don't suppose you will be sent home. you have shown yourself a man, and i have no doubt that colonel kelly will make some mention in his report of your conduct, and strongly recommend you for a commission. in the circumstances, i should think it would be granted." "thank you indeed, sir! i am very comfortable as i am." "how old are you? "i am nearly sixteen, sir." "well, it won't be necessary to report that, for the people at home would consider you too young. i am sure you deserve a commission for the pluck you showed, in taking your place as a private among the natives. your knowledge of the language, too, will be an argument in your favour. "how was it that you joined our little party?" "i acted on the impulse of the moment. i happened to be at the spot when your party were going down, and i saw that you would soon be in the thick of it, while we were only firing. i was just thinking about it, when there was a great burst of flame behind me. i did not know what it was, but that decided me. i caught hold of the rope and slipped down. "thank you very much for your promise, sir," and, saluting, lisle drew back to his comrades. "what was he saying to you?" one asked. "he was asking how it was that i came to be among his party; and when i explained how it was that i left my place, he seemed perfectly satisfied; so i don't expect i shall hear anything more about it." on the first day's march they came upon a deserted fort, where enough grain was discovered to last the force for months. enough flour was also found to give a shovelful to each of the coolies; who were highly gratified, for most of them were altogether without food. the remainder of the flour was distributed among the sepoys, and as much grain was taken as carriage could be found for. the next day's march was through a cultivated country. six more marches took them to chitral. they met with no opposition whatever, and their greatest trouble was in crossing rivers, the bridges having been destroyed. when within a day's march from chitral, they met a man bearing letters from the town. it was from mr. robertson, saying that sher afzul had fled on the night of the 18th of april; and that on that night the siege was raised. it also contained a list of the casualties, to be forwarded to england; the number being a hundred and four killed and wounded, out of one thousand and seventy combatants. the force marched in at noon, the next day; and were received with great joy by the garrison. they bivouacked round the castle and, on the following day, the kashmir garrison came out and camped with them; rejoicing much at the change from the poisoned atmosphere of the fort. they were mere walking skeletons. some days later the 3rd brigade under general gatacre arrived, followed by general low and the headquarter staff. the day after their arrival at chitral, one of kelly's orderlies came into the line and enquired for mutteh ghar. a short time before, lisle had noticed gholam singh leave the colonel's tent; and guessed that he had been sharply questioned, by the colonel, as to the name he had gone under in the regiment. he at once followed the orderly to the tent. "this is a nice trick you have played us, lisle," the colonel said, as he entered. "to think that while we all thought you on your way down to calcutta, you were acting as a private in the regiment! it was very wrong of gholam singh to consent to your doing so; but i was so pleased to know that you were here that i could not bring it in my heart to blow him up as he deserved. unquestionably, he acted from the respect and affection that he felt for your father. "what put the idea into your head?" "i had quite made up my mind to go with the regiment, sir; and should have come as a mule driver or a coolie, if i had not got into the ranks." "well, it is done and cannot be undone. lieutenant moberley has reported most favourably of your conduct in the last fight, and gholam singh says that your conduct as a private has been excellent. you have become a great favourite with the men, by the cheerfulness with which you bore the hardships of the march; and kept up the spirits of the men by your jokes and example. "but of course, this cannot go on. you must again become one of us and, on the march down, do officer's duty. i shall not fail to report the matter, and shall recommend you for a commission. i feel sure that, as the son of captain bullen, and for the services you have rendered during the campaign, together with your knowledge of the language, my recommendation will be effective. "but i don't know what we can do about clothes. we are all practically in rags, and have only the things that we stand in." "i have brought a suit with me in my kit, sir; and as we have had no inspection of kits, since we marched, they have not been noticed." "very well, lad. put them on, and come back again in an hour. i will have the other officers of the regiment here. they will, i am sure, all be heartily glad to see you again. "i suppose that stain won't get off you, for some time?" "i don't think it will last over a week, sir; for i have had no chance of renewing it since our last fight. it is not so dark as it was, by a good bit; and i had intended to steal away, today, and renew it." "we are all so sun burnt, or rather so snow burnt, that you are not much darker than the rest of us. well, then, i shall expect you in an hour. you will, of course, hand over your uniform, rifle, and accoutrements to the quartermaster sergeant." "yes, sir." lisle went back to the lines and, taking his kit, went some little distance out of camp. here he took off his uniform and put on the clothes he had worn before starting. he folded the uniform up and placed it, with his rifle and accoutrements, in a little heap. then he went to the tent where robah's master lived. he had often spoken to robah during the march and, waiting till he could catch his eye, he beckoned to him to come to him. robah was immensely surprised at seeing him in his civilian dress, and hurried up to him. "i have been found out, robah, and am to join the officers on the march down. i am at present a young gentleman at large. you see that tree up there? at the foot you will find my uniform, rifle, and accoutrements. i want you to carry them to the quartermaster sergeant, and tell him to put them in store, as mutteh ghar has left the regiment. of course, the story will soon be known, but i don't wish it to get about till i have seen the colonel again. i am glad to say that he is not angry with me; and has not reprimanded gholam singh, very severely, for aiding me in the matter." robah at once started on his mission, and lisle then went into the camp, and strolled about until it was time to repair to the colonel's tent. he found the eight officers of the regiment gathered there. "we were not mistaken, gentlemen," the colonel said. "this young scamp, instead of going down to calcutta, left the convoy after it had marched a mile or two. gholam singh was in the secret, and had furnished him with the uniform and rifle of a man who had died, the day before. he put this on and marched boldly in. the other native officers of the company were in the secret, and gave out to the men that this was a new recruit, a cousin of the man we had just lost. "under that title he has passed through the campaign; living with the soldiers, sharing all their hardships; and being, for a time at least, altogether unsuspected of being aught but what he appeared. gholam singh said that his conduct was excellent; that he was a great favourite, with the men, for the good humour with which he bore the hardships. he was with beynon and moberley, and showed great pluck and steadiness in picking off several of the enemy, as they fled. "fortunately, moberley overheard him mutter to himself in english, and so the matter came out. moberley promised to keep silence till we got here and, this morning, he told the whole story. of course, we could not have poor bullen's son remaining a private in the pioneers, and he has joined us under the old conditions. i have given him the rank of lieutenant, and shall recommend him for a commission; which i have no doubt he will get, not only as the son of an officer who had done excellent service, but for the pluck and enterprise he has shown. his perfect knowledge of punjabi will also, of course, count in his favour." the officers all shook hands cordially with him, and congratulated him on the manner in which he had carried out his disguise; and he was at once made a member of the mess. afterwards, two or three of them walked with him down to the lines of his company. the men regarded them with interest, and then burst into a loud cheer. "that is good," the officer said. "it shows that you like him. henceforth he will rank as one of the officers; and i hope you will all like him, in that capacity, as well as you did when he was one of yourselves." they then walked off, leaving the company in a state of excitement. in the afternoon, at mess, lisle learned the whole details of the siege, which had been gathered from the officers of the garrison. on march 2nd, mr. robertson received information that sher afzul had arrived in the valley and, the next day, news came that he was, with a large following, at a small house in a ravine, about a mile and a quarter from the fort. captain campbell, with two hundred of the kashmir rifles, was sent out to make a reconnaissance. he was accompanied by captains townshend and baird, and by surgeon captain whitchurch and lieutenant gurdon. the rest were left in the bazaar, to hold the road. the enemy, one hundred and fifty strong, were seen on the bare spur which forms the right bank of the ravine. to test whether or not they were hostile, a single shot was fired over them. they at once opened a heavy fire on the party and, at the same time, captain townshend became engaged with some of the enemy who were in hiding among rocks--evidently in considerable strength. it was subsequently discovered that, very shortly after captain campbell's party left the fort, and before hostilities began, the enemy had opened fire on the fort, and had crossed the river. captain baird now advanced across the mouth of the ravine, and charged up the spur; the enemy retreating before them, firing as they went. captain baird fell, mortally wounded; and lieutenant gurdon, who had carried a message to him, was left in command. the enemy descended into the ravine and, crossing to the left bank, took gurdon in rear. in the meantime, affairs had not been going well with captain townshend's party. he had advanced within two hundred yards of the hamlet, keeping his men as well as he could under shelter, and firing in volleys. the enemy, however, kept on advancing, and overlapping his force on both flanks. they were well armed and skilful marksmen, and took shelter in such a marvellous way that there was nothing for our men to fire at, except a few puffs of smoke. captain campbell then ordered a charge with the bayonet, to clear the hamlet. it was gallantly led, by captain townshend and two native officers. the ground being perfectly open, and the fire of the enemy being steady and continuous, the two native officers and four sepoys were killed at once. when they got within forty yards of the village, which was concealed in a grove of trees, they found that it was a large place; with a wall, three hundred feet in length, behind which the enemy were posted in perfect cover. there was nothing for it but to retreat. captain campbell was, at this moment, shot in the knee; and captain townshend assumed the command. captain campbell was carried to the rear, and the force retired in alternate parties. the retreat, however, was conducted slowly and deliberately; though the enemy, who came running out, soon overlapped the little column--some even getting behind it, while groups of fanatic swordsmen, from time to time, charged furiously down upon it. from all the hamlets they passed through, a fire was opened upon them by the chitralis, those who were supposed to be friendly having gone over to the other side. so heavy was the fire that, at last, townshend ordered his men to double. this they did with great steadiness; and he was able to rally them, without difficulty, at a small hamlet, where he found mr. robertson encouraging the men he had brought out. a message was sent to the fort for reinforcements, and lieutenant harley led out fifty of the sikhs, and covered the retreat to the fort. in the meantime gurdon, with his detachment and captain baird, were still far away on the steep side of the ravine. dr. whitchurch, who had dressed baird's wound, was sent to take him to the rear; and it was then that townshend's party began to retreat and, after fierce fighting, arrived at the fort, where they found that whitchurch had not arrived. the doctor had with him a handful of sepoys and kashmir rifles, and some stretcher bearers, under the command of a native officer. matters had developed so rapidly that, in a very short time, they were behind townshend's retreating parties, round which the enemy were swarming; and when the retirement became a rapid retreat, they dropped farther behind. small detached parties soon became aware of their position, and attacked them. three men, who were carrying the stretcher, were killed by successive shots and, when the fourth was hit, the stretcher could be no longer carried; so captain baird was partly carried, and partly dragged along the ground. the enemy's fire became so hot that the party were compelled to make for the river bank. they had to charge, and carry, two or three stone walls. once they were completely surrounded, but the gallant kashmirs charged the enemy so furiously with rifle and bayonet that, at last, they made a way through them and reached the fort, where they had been given up for lost. thirteen men, in all, came in; but only seven of these had fought their way through with whitchurch; the other six being fugitives, who had joined him just before he had reached the fort. half of whitchurch's little party were killed, and baird had been, again, twice wounded. whitchurch, himself, marvellously escaped without a wound. no finer action was ever performed than that by this little body. the total casualties of the day were very heavy. of the hundred and fifty men actually engaged, twenty non-commissioned officers and men were killed, and twenty-eight wounded. of the officers, captain campbell was badly wounded, and captain baird died on the following morning. the two native officers were killed. the enemy's strength was computed to be from a thousand to twelve hundred men. of these, five hundred were umra khan's men, who were armed with martinis. many of the others carried sniders. the whole of the chitralis had now joined sher afzul, most of them doubtless being forced to do so, by fear of the consequences that would ensue should they refuse. the little fort thus stood isolated, in the midst of a powerful enemy and a hostile population. the villages stood on higher ground than the fort and, from all of them, a constant fusillade was kept up on the garrison, while they were engaged in the difficult work of putting the fort into a better condition of defence. the first thing to be done was, of course, to take stock of the stores; and the next to estimate how many days it would last. everyone was put upon half rations, and it was calculated that they could hold out two and a half months. it was found that they had two hundred and eighty rounds per man, besides snider ammunition for the kashmir rifles, and three hundred rounds of martini ammunition for the sikhs. when the fort was first occupied, it was found that there was an exposed approach to the river from the water tower, about thirty yards in width; and a covered way was at once built, going right down into the water. all through the siege this covered way was the main object of the enemy's attack; for they knew that, if they could cut off the water, they could easily reduce the garrison. an abutment in the south wall of the fort, overlooking the garden, had been converted into a little bastion. the worst feature of the fort, however, was the large number of little buildings immediately outside the walls. these and the walls of the garden were demolished by moonlight. the stables, which were on the river face near the water tower, were loopholed; and efforts were made to loophole the basement walls of the tower, but these had to be abandoned, as there was a danger of disturbing the foundations. among the various ingenious plans hit upon by the besieged, one proved particularly useful. loopholes were made in the gun tower; a wall was built up in the face of the water gate; and fireplaces were constructed by which the wood, being laid on a slab of stone, was pushed out some feet from the wall, and could be drawn into the fort when it was necessary to replenish the fire, without those attending it being exposed. these fires proved invaluable, when attacks were made upon dark nights. projecting, as they did, seven feet from the wall, they threw it into shadow, so that the enemy could not see what to fire at; and, at the same time, they lit up the ground in front brilliantly, so that the defenders could make out their assailants, and fire with accuracy. the fort was eighty yards in length. the walls were twenty-five feet in height, and the five towers fifty feet. it lay in a hollow in the lowest part of the valley, and was commanded on all sides by hills, on which the enemy erected numerous sangars. as, from these, the men moving about inside the fort were clearly visible to the enemy, barricades of stones had to be erected, along the sides of the yards, to afford cover to the men as they went to and from their posts. on march 5th a letter was received from umra khan, stating that the british troops must leave chitral at once, and that he would guarantee them a safe conduct. the offer was, naturally, refused. next night the enemy, about two hundred strong, made a determined effort to fire the water tower. they brought faggots with them and, in spite of the heavy volleys poured upon them managed, under cover of the darkness, to creep into the tunnel leading to the water, and to light a large fire underneath the tower. they were, however, driven out; and three water carriers went into the tunnel, and put out the fire. they were just in time, for the flames had taken a firm hold of the wooden beams. after this, twenty-five men were always stationed in the tower and, at night, another picket of twenty-five men were placed in the covered way leading to the water. the entrance to this, at the water side, was exposed to the enemy's fire; but a barricade of stones, with interstices to allow the water to go through, was built into the river, and formed an efficient screen to the water bearers. on the night of the 14th, the enemy again made an attack on the water bearers, but were repulsed with loss. the water way was, indeed, a source of constant anxiety. between it, and the trees at the northwest corner of the fort, there was a stretch of seventy yards of sandy beach; lying underneath an overhanging bank, which entirely covered it from the fire of the fort, so that the enemy were able to get right up to the water tunnel without exposing themselves. on the 15th, sher afzul sent in a messenger, to say that a party of sepoys had been defeated at reshun, and that an officer was captive in his camp. the next day a letter was received from lieutenant edwardes. a truce was made for three days and, afterwards, extended to six; but this came to an end on the 23rd of march, and hostilities again began. the prospect was gloomy. the men were beginning to suffer in health from their long confinement, the paucity of their rations, and the terribly insanitary condition of the fort; and they had not heard of the approach of either colonel kelly's force or that under sir robert low. during the truce, a union jack had been made, and this was now hoisted on the flag tower, as a symbol of defiance. this cheered the spirits of the men and depressed those of the enemy, who began to see that the task before them was far more serious than they had hitherto supposed. gradually the attacks of the enemy became more feeble and, although the firing was almost continuous, it seemed as if the assailants trusted rather to famine, to reduce the fort, than to any exertion on their part. on april 6th they were very active, making two large sangars close to the main gate. near these, and only fifty yards away from the gun tower, they were also hard at work, all day, in the summer house to the east of the fort. the garrison, however, now received the news that a relief force had already arrived at mastuj; in consequence of which they were saved from a further diminution of their scanty rations, which was already under discussion. the officers were comparatively well off, as they had plenty of horse flesh; but this the sepoys would not eat. the supply of ghee, which forms so prominent a part in the diet of the natives, had already given out; and the sepoys had nothing but a scanty allowance of flour to maintain life. the news that the relief party had arrived at mastuj greatly cheered the garrison. that relief would come, sooner or later, they had no doubt; but they had not even hoped that it could be so near. while, however, the news thus raised the spirits of the defenders, it at the same time showed their assailants that, unless they obtained a speedy success, the game would be altogether up. before daybreak on the morning of the 7th, a terrific fire was opened upon the walls. the enemy were evidently in great strength. in an instant everyone was at his post, and steady volleys were poured into the darkness, on the garden side of the fort, whence the chief attack seemed to be coming. suddenly a strong light was seen near the gun tower, and it was found that the enemy had heaped faggots against the walls. these, being constructed partly of wood, gradually caught fire. mr. robertson, with some of the levies, horse keepers, and servants, at once set to work to extinguish the flames; but the conflagration was too much for them. the troops in reserve were then sent to aid them. the work was dangerous and difficult, the flames raged fiercely, and the enemy kept up a tremendous fire from behind the walls of the summer house. nevertheless the men worked their hardest, throwing down earth and water on the fire. many were wounded at the work. the fire was so fierce that large holes had to be knocked through the lower stories of the tower, through which to attack the flames; and it was not until ten o'clock that the efforts of the besieged were crowned with success, and all was again quiet. nothing could have exceeded the bravery and devotion shown by the native levies, the non-combatants, officers' servants, water carriers, syces, and even the chitralis. great precautions were taken to prevent similar attempts to fire any of the towers. earth was brought up, and water stored. the water carriers slept with the great leathern bags which they carried, full; and a special fire picket was organized. when, on the evening of the 15th, the enemy again tried to fire the gun tower, they were repulsed without difficulty. on the following night a determined attack in force was made, on all sides of the fort; but was defeated with much loss. the enemy now began to make a great noise, with drums and pipes, in the summer house. this lasted continuously for several days, and one of the natives, who was aware that the enemy had started tunnelling, guessed that this stir might possibly be made to drown the noise of the mining. men were put on to listen and, at midnight, the sentry in the gun tower reported that he heard the noise and, next morning, the sound was distinctly audible within a few feet of the tower. it was evident that there was no time to be lost and, at four o'clock in the afternoon, lieutenant harley and a hundred men issued from the fort, at the garden gate, and rushed at the summer house. it was held by forty of the enemy, who fired a volley, and fled after some sharp hand-to-hand fighting. the head of the mine was found to be in the summer house, and the tunnel was full of chitralis. harley stationed his men in the summer house to repel any attack and, with five sepoys, jumped down into the mine. the chitralis, about thirty in number, came swarming out but, after a fierce fight, they were bayoneted. the mine was then cleared, and gunpowder placed in position. two chitralis, who had lain quiet at the other end of the tunnel, tried to make their escape in the turmoil. one of the sepoys fired, and must have hit a bag of gunpowder; for immediately there was a violent explosion, and the mine was blown up, from end to end. harley was knocked over, and the sikhs who were with him had their hair and clothes singed; but none of the party were otherwise hurt. all this time, the sepoys in the summer house had been subject to a heavy fusillade from a breastwork, close by, and from the loopholed walls in the garden; while from all the distant sangars and hills a continuous fire was opened, the natives evidently believing that the garrison were making a last and desperate sortie. the work done, harley and his men hurried back to the fort, having been out of it an hour and ten minutes. of the hundred that went out twenty-two were hit, nine mortally. in and around the summer house, thirty-five of the enemy were bayoneted, and a dozen more shot. that evening the garrison began to drive a couple of counter mines, to intercept any other mines that the enemy might attempt to make. on the 18th the enemy were very quiet and, in the middle of the night, a man approached the fort and called out that sher afzul had fled, and that the relieving force was near at hand. lieutenant gurdon was sent out to reconnoitre, and he found that the whole place was deserted. the next afternoon, colonel kelly's force arrived. chapter 5: promoted. as he was not now in uniform, lisle kept carefully out of sight when general gatacre's force marched in, which it did very shortly after colonel kelly's arrival. this was probably unnecessary caution for, in addition to mr. robertson, there were two or three other civilians in the garrison; but he was desirous of escaping observation until general low, who would arrive next day, should have heard of his escapade. at mess, however, several officers of general gatacre's force dined with the regiment; who had exerted themselves to the utmost to provide a banquet for their guests. most of these had, at one time or other, been cantoned with the pioneers. two or three of the junior officers were introduced to the newcomers, among them lisle. "this gentleman," the colonel said, "is mr. lisle bullen, son of the late captain bullen; who you have doubtless heard was killed, some little time ago, while storming a hill fort. he is at present acting as temporary lieutenant of my regiment." the officers looked with some surprise at lisle's still darkened face. "i see you are surprised, gentlemen," the colonel said, "but there is a tale that hangs to that colour. i will relate it to you after dinner; but i may say that bullen is not a half caste, as you might think, but of pure english blood." at this moment dinner was announced. a temporary mess tent had been erected. it was open at the sides, and composed of many-coloured cloths. the party sat down under this. there was no cloth, and the dinner was served on a miscellaneous variety of dishes, for the most part of tin. each guest brought his own knife, fork, and stool. it was a merry party and, after the table had been cleared, the colonel said: "in the first place, maneisty, you must give us the story of your doings; of which we have, at the present, heard only the barest outline." "it is rather a long story, colonel." "we have nothing else to talk about, here. we have seen no newspapers for a long time, and know nothing of what is going on outside; and therefore can't argue about it, or express opinions as to whether or not the government have, as usual, blundered. therefore, the more detail you tell us, the better pleased we shall be." "as you know, the first army corps, fourteen thousand strong, were ordered early in march to concentrate; so that when the news came that the garrison of chitral were in serious danger, the manoeuvres were being carried out, but it was not until late in the day that the troops were able to move forward. the brigade marched to jellala without tents, taking with them supplies sufficient for twenty days. the next morning the 2nd and 3rd brigade went on to dargai. the weather was cold and wet, and the roads soft. "it had been given out that the 1st brigade were to go by the shakot pass. this was only a ruse to deceive the enemy, and keep them from concentrating on the malakand. subsequently an officer rode up the shakot pass, and found it to be much more difficult than the malakand, and more strongly fortified. orders were sent, in the middle of the night, for the 1st brigade to proceed at once to dargai. early in the morning a reconnaissance was made by general blood, and a large body of the enemy were seen. it was evident that the passage of the pass was to be disputed. "starting from dargai, the pass went through a gradually narrowing valley for about two miles; then bending to the northeast for a mile and a half, the hills on the west rising precipitously to a great height. on reaching the bend, the pass was strongly held on the west side. "the 4th sikhs went out on the flank. the guides infantry were directed to ascend the highest point of the western hill and, from this, to enfilade the enemy. it was a most arduous task, as they had to ascend the highest peak of the range, some fifteen hundred feet. here several sangars had been erected by the enemy, who hurled down rocks and stones. "in the meantime the main force advanced, and could make out the general position of the enemy. they occupied the whole of the crest of the western hill, having constructed numerous sangars down its side, each commanding the one below it. the greater part of their force was more than halfway down the hill, at the point where it descended precipitously into the valley. it was only at this point that the western side of the pass was held. "three batteries were sent up on this side. these attacked position after position on the eastern slope, and their fire was so accurate that it effectually prevented the enemy on the eastern side from concentrating. "when the advance began, it was evident that little could be done until the guides had secured the position they had been ordered to take. it was soon seen that they were very seriously outnumbered. the gordon highlanders had moved up the crest of the western hill, at the point where it touched the valley. the scottish borderers had hastened up the centre spur; the 60th rifles were ordered up the slope, farther back in the line; while the bedfordshire and 37th dogras rounded the point on which the gordon highlanders began the ascent and, turning to the left, climbed the hill from the northern side. the 15th sikhs were held in reserve. "the brunt of the fighting fell upon the gordon highlanders and the borderers. making as they did a direct attack, they met with a sturdy resistance. several of the sangars were carried by hand-to-hand fighting; indeed, had the advance not been so well covered by the fire of our guns, it is doubtful whether the position could have been captured. "it was one of the finest scenes i ever saw. the hillside was literally covered with fire. we could see the two scotch regiments pushing on, and attacking the sangars by rushes; while above them the shells from the guns and fire from the maxims prevented the holders of the upper sangars from coming down to the assistance of those below. the moment the attacking troops reached the top, the enemy fled down the western slopes. the action began at 8:30 a.m., and concluded at 2 p.m. the enemy's loss was admitted, by themselves, to be about five hundred; ours was only eleven killed, and eight officers and thirty-nine men wounded. "the 1st brigade remained at the top of the pass, while its baggage mules moved up. the path was so bad that only a few mules reached the top that night. it was afterwards found that, if we had taken the path, we should have suffered most severely; as it was discovered that the walls of the sangars had been perforated with lateral slits, commanding every turn. "on the following day the 1st brigade descended into the swat valley. its place on the pass was taken by the 2nd. as soon as the 1st brigade got free of the pass, they were fired upon by the enemy, who had taken up a position on the amandarra. "the mountain battery was at once brought into action, and began shelling the sangars. under its cover the bedfordshires moved forward, and drove the enemy from their position. here they fought with extreme obstinacy. the 37th dogras carried a spur to the left, and sent back news that a great body of the enemy were advancing. a squadron of the guides cavalry charged them, killing about thirty, and putting the rest to flight. "the transport was now being gradually pushed up, and the brigade encamped at khar, at half-past seven. as the enemy were in great force on the surrounding hills, a night attack was expected, and the troops lay down with fixed bayonets. "the capture of these passes spread great consternation through the swat valleys, as the tribes had always believed that they were impregnable, and boasted that an enemy had never entered their territory. they had fought with desperate bravery to defeat us; although we had no quarrel with them, and merely wished to get through their country to reach chitral. curiously enough, they had a strong belief in our magnanimity, and several of their wounded actually came into camp to be attended to by our surgeons. "on the 5th of april the 1st brigade remained all day in camp, the 2nd brigade going on seven or eight miles farther. early on the morning of the 7th, a party went down the river to make a bridge. a heavy fire was opened upon them, and the whole of the 2nd brigade and the 15th sikhs from the 1st brigade went out in support. "while the 11th bengal lancers were searching for a ford, they came under a heavy fire from a village at the foot of a knoll, 600 yards from the river. a mountain battery quickly silenced this fire, and two squadrons of bengal lancers and one of the guides, crossing the ford, pursued the enemy five or six miles, and cut off about a hundred of them. opposite the village they discovered another ford, where two could pass at once and, the next day, the rest of the brigade followed them. the people of the swat valley speedily accommodated themselves to the situation, and brought in sheep, fowls, and other things for sale. "on the 9th, headquarters joined the 2nd brigade at chakdara, and the 3rd brigade encamped on the south side of the river. on the 11th the headquarters and the 2nd brigade arrived at the panjkora river. a bridge had to be built across this but, on the 13th, just as it was finished, a flood came down and washed it away. "a party were sent across at daybreak to burn the villages; which had, during the night, been firing on the advance guard of the 2nd brigade. they accomplished their work but, while engaged upon it, were attacked by a very large force. the carrying away of the bridge rendered the position extremely dangerous, and the force was ordered, by signal, to fall back upon the river; while the brigade covered their retreat from the opposite bank. the retreating column was sorely pressed, although the maxim guns and the mountain battery opened fire upon the enemy. colonel battye was mortally wounded, and so hotly did the afridis follow up their attack that a company of the guides fixed bayonets, and charged them. "as, however, the enemy still persisted in their attack, the force set to work to entrench themselves. this they managed to do, with the aid of a maxim gun of the 11th; which had crossed one of the branches of the river, and got into a position flanking the entrenchments. all night the enemy kept up a heavy fire. in the morning the force were still unable to pass. however, during the day the 4th sikhs came across on rafts, and passed the night with them. the force was much exhausted, for they had been more than forty-eight hours without a meal. "working day and night, in forty-eight hours another bridge was constructed, on the suspension system, with telegraph wires. until it was finished, communication was maintained with the other bank by means of a skin raft, handled by two active boatmen. "we had only one more fight, and that was a slight one. then the news reached us that the position of chitral was serious, and general gatacre was hurried forward with our force." "you had some tough fighting," the colonel said, "but the number of your casualties would seem to show that ours was the stiffer task. at the same time we must admit that, if you hadn't been detained for six or seven days at that river, you would have beaten us in the race." "yes, we were all mad, as you may well imagine, at being detained so long there. our only hope was that your small force would not be able to fight its way through, until our advance took the spirit out of the natives. certainly they fought very pluckily, in their attacks upon the force that had crossed; and that action came very close to being a serious disaster. "the flood that washed away our bridge upset all our calculations. i almost wonder that the natives, when they found that we could not cross the river, did not hurry up to the assistance of the force that was opposing you. if they had done so, it would have been very awkward." "it would have gone very hard with us, for they are splendid skirmishers and, if we had not had guns with us to effectually prevent them from concentrating anywhere, and had had to depend upon rifle fire alone, i have some doubts whether our little force would have been able to make its way through the defiles." "well, it has been a good undertaking, altogether; and i hope that the punishment that has been inflicted will keep the tribes quiet for some years." "they will probably be quiet," the officer said, "till trouble breaks out in some other quarter, and then they will be swarming out like bees." "it is their nature to be troublesome," the colonel said. "they are born fighters, and there is no doubt that the fact that most of them have got rifles has puffed them up with the idea that, while they could before hold their passes against all intruders, it would be now quite impossible for us to force our way in, when they could pick us off at twelve hundred paces. "i wish we could get hold of some of the rascally traders who supply them with rifles of this kind. i would hang them without mercy. of course, a few of the rifles have been stolen; but that would not account in any way for the numbers they have in their hands. a law ought to be passed, making it punishable by death for any trader to sell a musket to a native; not only on the frontier, but throughout india. the custom-house officers should be forced to search for them in every ship that arrives; the arms and ammunition should be confiscated; and the people to whom they are consigned should be fined ten pounds on every rifle, unless it could be proved that the consignment was made to some of the native princes, who had desired them for the troops raised as subsidiary forces to our own." the colonel then related lisle's story in the campaign, which created unbounded surprise among the guests. "it was a marvellous undertaking for a young fellow to plan and carry out," one of them said. "there are few men who could have kept up the character; fewer still who would have attempted it, even to take part in a campaign. i am sure, colonel, that we all hope your application for a commission for him will be granted; for he certainly deserves it, if ever a fellow did." there was a general murmur of assent and, shortly afterwards, the meeting broke up; for it was already a very late hour. the rest of the campaign was uneventful. lisle speedily fell back into the life he had led before the campaign began, except that he now acted as an officer. he already knew so much of the work that he had no difficulty, whatever, in picking up the rest of his duties. he was greatly pleased that the colonel said nothing more to gholam singh, and the native officers of his company and, by the time the regiment marched back to peshawar, he was as efficient as other officers of his rank. he had, after his father's death, written down to his agents at calcutta; and had received a thousand rupees of the sum standing to his account, in their hands. he was therefore able to pay his share of the mess expenses; which were indeed very small for, with the exception of fowls and milk, it was impossible to buy anything to add to the rations given to them. the march down was a pleasant one. there was no longer any occasion for speed. the snow had melted in the passes, the men were in high spirits at the success that had attended their advance, and the fact that they had been the first to arrive to the rescue of the garrison of chitral. a month after they reached peshawar, lisle was sent for by colonel kelly. "i am pleased, indeed, to be able to inform you that my urgent recommendation of you has received attention, and that you have been gazetted as lieutenant, dating from the day of our arrival at chitral. i congratulate you most heartily." "i am indeed most delighted, sir. i certainly owe my promotion entirely to your kindness." "certainly not, lisle; you well deserve it. i am sorry to say that you will have to leave us; for you are gazetted to the 103rd punjabi regiment, who are stationed at rawalpindi." "i am sorry indeed to hear that, sir; though of course, i could hardly have expected to remain with you. i shall be awfully sorry to leave. you have all been so kind to me, and i have known you all so long. still, it is splendid that i have got my commission. i might have waited three or four years, in england; and then been spun at the examination." lisle marched down with the regiment to peshawar. here he had his uniforms made, laid in a stock of requisites, and then, after a hearty farewell from his friends, proceeded to join his regiment, which was lying at rawalpindi. he took with him robah, whom the major relinquished in his favour. on his arrival at the station, he at once reported himself to the colonel. "ah! i saw your name in the gazette, a short time since. you must have lost no time in coming out from england." "i was in india when i was gazetted, sir." "well, i am glad that you have joined so speedily; for i am short of officers, at present. there is a spare tent, which my orderly will show you. we shall have tiffin in half an hour, when i can introduce you to the other officers." when lisle entered the mess tent, he was introduced to the other officers, one of whom asked him when he had arrived from england. "i have never been to england. i was born out here. my father was a captain in the 32nd punjabis, and was killed in an attack on a hill fort. that was some months ago, and i remained with the regiment, whose quarters had always been my home, until there should be an opportunity for my being sent down to calcutta." "well, it is very decent of the war office to give you a commission; though, of course, it is the right thing to do--but it is not often that they do the right thing. your regiment did some sharp fighting on their way up to chitral, but of course you saw nothing of that." "yes; i accompanied the regiment." "the deuce you did!" the colonel said. "i wonder you managed to get up with it, or that colonel kelly gave you leave. i certainly should not, myself, have dreamed of taking a civilian with me on such an expedition." lisle nodded. "the colonel did not give me leave, sir. with the aid of one of the native officers, with whom my father was a favourite, i obtained a native uniform; and went through the campaign as a private." the officers all looked upon him with astonishment. "do you mean to say that you cooked with them, fought with them, and lived with them, as one of themselves?" "that was so, sir; and it was only at the last fight that the truth came out, for then one of the officers heard me make a remark to myself, in english. fortunately, the native officers gave a very good account of my conduct. i was one of a small party that descended a cliff with ropes, and did a good deal towards driving the chitralis out of their position." "but how was it that you were not recognized by the soldiers?" "i speak the language as well as i speak my own," lisle said quietly. "having lived with the regiment all my life, i learned to speak it like a native." "well," the colonel said, "it was a plucky thing for you to do. the idea of disguising yourself in that way was a very happy one; but not many officers would like to go through such a campaign as a private in the pioneers, or any other indian regiment. "well, i congratulate myself in having acquired an officer who must, at any rate, understand a great deal of his work, and who can talk to the men in their own language; instead of, as i expected, a raw lad. "how old are you, mr. bullen? you look very young." "i am only a little past sixteen," lisle said, with a laugh; "but i don't suppose the war office knew that. colonel kelly was kind enough to send in a strong recommendation on my behalf; stating, i believe, the fact, that i had disguised myself as a private in order to go to chitral with the regiment, and that, as he was pleased to say, i distinguished myself. he at once appointed me, temporarily, as an officer; and as such i remained with the corps, until their return to peshawar. he also, of course, mentioned the fact that i am the son of captain bullen, who lost his life in bravely attacking a hill fort. i don't think he thought it necessary to mention my age." "well, you have certainly managed very cleverly, mr. bullen. i am sure you will be an acquisition to the regiment. i think we can say safely that you are the youngest officer in the service. "gentlemen, will you drink to the health of our new comrade, who has already shown that he is of the right sort, and of whom we may be proud?" the next day the colonel received a letter from colonel kelly. it ought to have arrived before lisle himself, but had been delayed by the post. it spoke in very high terms of his conduct, and then said that he was a general favourite in the regiment, and that he was sure that he would do credit to the corps he had joined. the next year and a half passed quietly. lisle was soon as much liked, in his new regiment, as he had been by the pioneers. the men would have done anything for him, for he was always ready to chat with them, to enter into their little grievances, and to do many a kind action. chapter 6: unfair play. five or six of the officers were married men, and had their wives with them. these, when they learned that the young subaltern had disguised himself, and enlisted in the pioneers in order to go up with them to the front, took a lively interest in him, and made quite a pet of him. two other regiments were at the station at the time and, consequently, there was a good deal of gaiety in the way of lawn tennis and croquet parties, small dinners and dances and, after mess, billiards and whist. lisle soon became an expert in the former games, but he never touched either a billiard cue or a card, though he was an interested spectator when others were playing. baccarat was very popular with the faster set. at this game play sometimes ran high, and there was a captain in one of the other regiments who scarcely ever sat down without winning. at the beginning of the evening, when play was low, he generally lost; but was certain to get back his losings, and sometimes a considerable sum over, as the stakes rose higher. one of the lieutenants who was a chum of lisle's was particularly unlucky. he was of an excitable disposition, and played high as the evening went on. lisle noticed that he often paid in chits, instead of money. this was not an unusual custom, as officers are often short of cash, and settle up when they receive their month's pay. lisle frequently remonstrated with his friend on the folly of his proceedings, and the young fellow declared that he would retire from the table, if luck went against him. but the mania was too strong for him. "it is extraordinary what bad luck i have," he said, one day. "i almost always win at the beginning of the evening; and then, when i get thoroughly set, my winnings are swept away." "why don't you get up when you are a winner?" "that would be very bad form, bullen; a fellow who did that would be considered a cad." "i should strongly advise you to give it up, altogether." lisle observed with regret that his friend's spirits fell, and that he became moody and irritable. one day, when he went into his quarters, he found him sitting with a look of misery upon his face. "what is it, gordon?" he asked. "i hope i am not in the way?" "well, it has come to this," the young officer said. "i am at the end of my tether. i shall have to leave the regiment." "nonsense!" lisle replied. "it is true. i owe a lot of money to that fellow sanders. he has bought up all my chits, and this is a note from him, saying that he has waited two or three months, but must now request me to pay up without further delay. besides my pay, i have only eighteen hundred pounds, that was left me by an old aunt; but that will barely cover what i owe. of course i can hold on on my pay; but the loss of so much money will make a lot of difference, and i fear i shall have to transfer. it is hard lines, because i am now pretty high on the list of lieutenants; and shall, of course, have to go to the bottom of the list. "the only alternative would be to enlist in some white regiment that has lately come out. there are plenty of gentlemen in the ranks. i certainly see no other way." "i had no idea it was so bad as that, gordon. surely there must be some other way out of the difficulty. i could lend you a couple of hundred pounds." "thank you, old fellow! but i am so deeply in debt that that would make no difference." "i am not sure that there is not something else to be done," said lisle. "while i sit watching the play, i can see more than the players can; and since i have noticed that sanders persistently wins, directly the stakes get high, i have watched him very closely, and am convinced that he does not play fair. it has struck me that he withdraws the money on his cards when he sees that the dealer has a strong hand, and adds to his stake when he considers that the dealer is weak. "now my testimony as a youngster would go a very little way, if unsupported against his; but if you will give me a solemn promise that you will never play baccarat again, i will get two or three fellows to watch him. then, if we can prove that he plays unfairly, of course you will be able to repudiate payment of the money he has won of you." "good heaven! it would be the saving of me, and i will willingly give you the promise you want. but you must surely be mistaken! sanders certainly has had wonderful luck, but i have never heard a suggestion that he does not play fair. i only know that there is a good deal of shyness about playing with him. you see, it is a frightful thing to accuse a man of cheating." "i admit that it is not pleasant; but if a man cheats, and is found out, it is the duty of every honest man to denounce him, if they detect him. "well, if you don't mind, i will take lindsay, holmes, and tritton into my confidence. they all play occasionally, and you must let me mention that you are altogether in his power; and that, unless he is detected, you will have to leave the regiment. mind, don't you watch him yourself. play even more recklessly than usual; that will make him a bit careless." "well, there is a possibility that you are right, bullen, and if you can but detect him, you will save me from frightful disgrace." "i will try, anyhow." bullen sent a note to the officers he had mentioned, asking them to come to his quarters, as he particularly wished to speak to them. in a quarter of an hour they joined him. "well, what is up, bullen?" tritton said. "what do you want with us?" "it is a serious business, tritton. that fellow sanders owns chits of gordon's to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds." an exclamation of dismay broke from his hearers. "good heavens!" tritton exclaimed, "how could he possibly have lost so much as that? i know that the play has been high; but still, even with the worst luck, a man could hardly lose so much as that." "i fancy that, after the party in the mess room has broken up, several of them used to adjourn to sanders' quarters; and it was there that the great bulk of the money was lost." "what a fool gordon has been!" lindsay said. "what a madman! such a good fellow, too! "well, of course, nothing can be done. if it were only a hundred or two, the money would be subscribed at once; but fifteen hundred is utterly beyond us. what is he thinking of doing?" "well, he has eighteen hundred pounds, and he talked of drawing out the amount and paying up, and then exchanging into some other regiment. the question, however, is, whether he ought to pay." the others looked up at him in surprise. "why, of course he must pay," tritton said; "at least he must pay, or quit the service, a disgraced man." "i think there is an alternative," lisle said, "and that is why i have sent for you." "what alternative can there be?" "well, you know i don't play; but i like sitting watching the game, and i am quite convinced that sanders doesn't play fair." "you don't say so!" tritton said. "that is a very serious accusation to make, you know, bullen!" "i am perfectly aware of that, and i feel that it would be mad for me to make an unsupported accusation against sanders. but i want you three fellows to join me in watching sanders play. my word, unsupported, would be of no avail; but if four of us swore that we saw him cheating, there could be no doubt about the result. "for one thing, sanders would have to leave the army. that would be no loss to the service, for he is an overbearing brute; to say nothing of the fact that several young officers have had to leave the service, owing to their losses at play with him." "i know of two cases," lindsay said. "there was a very strong feeling against him, but no one suspected him of unfair play. it was he who introduced baccarat here, when his regiment first came up. it had never been played here before, and you may notice that very few of his fellow officers ever take a hand. "well, there will be no harm in our watching. it is a thing that one doesn't like doing but, when it comes to a fellow officer being swindled, it is clearly our duty to expose the man who is doing it." "very well, then, this evening two of us will take our stand behind gordon, and the other two behind sanders." "but how did he cheat? it seems a fair game enough." "he does it in this way. he puts five sovereigns under his hand. that is the limit, you know. then he looks at his card, and pushes it out. with his hand still touching it, he watches the dealer and, if he can see by his face that his card is a good one--and you can generally tell that--he withdraws his hand with four of the sovereigns, leaving only one on the card. if, on the other hand, he thinks it is a bad one, he leaves the whole five there. he does the trick cleverly enough; but i am certain that i have, four or five times, seen him do it. "keep your eyes on his hand. you will see that he takes up five sovereigns from the heap before him, and that he has them in his hand when he pushes the card out. you will notice how he fixes his eye upon the dealer, and that he leaves either one or five, as i have said. he does it, at times, all through the evening, especially when gordon is dealing; for i can tell, myself, by gordon's face whether he has a good or a bad card. of course, he can see it, too. "i want you all to nod to me, when you see it done. we shall let him do it two or three times, so that we can all swear to it." all agreed to do so, and lisle then went to gordon's quarter's. "tritton, lindsay, and holmes are going to watch with me tonight. i think the best thing will be for you to answer sanders' note, and tell him that you will require time to draw your money from england to pay him; but that you will play again tonight, to see if luck turns." that evening the four young officers took their places, as arranged. now that their attention had been directed to it, they saw that several times sanders, although he took up five pounds, only left one on the card; and that he kept his hand upon it, up to the last moment. each in turn nodded to lisle. all noticed how intently sanders watched the dealer. generally he left two sovereigns on the card, apparently when the dealer had a moderate card; but when he had a very low or a very high one, the trick was played. after fully satisfying himself that he had good proofs, just as sanders was again withdrawing his hand with four sovereigns in it, lisle threw himself forward, jerked the hand upwards, and showed the four sovereigns lying under it. "i accuse captain sanders of cheating. i have seen him do this trick half a dozen times." sanders shook himself free, and aimed a heavy blow at lisle; who, however, stepped aside and, before he could repeat it, he was seized by the officers standing round. a tremendous hubbub arose, in the midst of which the colonel entered the room. "what is all this about?" he enquired. the din subsided at once, and two or three officers said: "bullen accused captain sanders of cheating." "this is a very serious accusation, bullen," the colonel said sternly, "and unless you can substantiate it, may be of very serious consequences to yourself. will you tell me what you saw?" lisle related the circumstances, and how the fraud was accomplished. "you mean to say that, by watching the dealer's eye, captain sanders leaves one pound or five on his card?" "that is what i said, sir. i have seen him do it on several nights. tonight i determined to expose him, and tritton, lindsay, and holmes have been watching him with me. i was induced to do so by the fact that the man has rooked lieutenant gordon of something like fifteen hundred pounds, for which he holds his chits." "mr. tritton, you hear what mr. bullen says. have you also observed the act of cheating of which he accuses captain sanders?" "yes, sir; i have seen him do it several times this evening. i believe he has done it more, but i am prepared to swear to seven times." the colonel looked at lindsay, who said: "i have seen suspicious movements eleven times, but i should not like to swear to more than four." "and you, mr. holmes?" "i can swear to five times, but i believe he did it much oftener than that." "what have you to say, captain sanders?" "i say it is a conspiracy on the part of these four young officers to ruin me. it is a lie from beginning to end." "i am afraid, captain sanders, that you will find it very difficult to persuade anyone that four officers, who as far as i know have no ill feeling against you, should conspire to bring such a charge. however, i shall report the matter to your colonel, tomorrow, with a written statement from these four officers of what they saw. he will, of course, take such steps in the matter as he thinks fit." without a word, sanders turned on his heel and left the room, followed by the angry glances of all who were present. "mr. bullen, you have behaved with great discretion," the colonel said, "in not making a charge on your first impression, but getting three other officers to watch that man's behaviour. tomorrow i shall hold a court of enquiry, at which the major, the adjutant, and two other officers will sit with me. you will all, of course, be called, and will have to repeat your story in full. "lieutenant gordon, i am shocked to hear that an officer of my regiment should gamble to such an extent as you have done. you will, of course, be called tomorrow. i think that, at the best, you will be advised to change into another regiment. i need not say that, after this exposure, the chits that you have given to captain sanders become null and void. "this room will be closed for the rest of the evening." the officers, however, gathered in the room below, and talked the matter over. there was not a whisper of regret at the disgrace that had fallen upon sanders. his reputation was a bad one. since his regiment had been in india one young officer had shot himself, and three had been obliged to leave the army, and in all cases it was known that these had lost large sums to him; but the matter had been hushed up, as such scandals generally are in the army. still, the truth had been whispered about, and it was because none of the officers in his regiment would play with him that he had come habitually to the mess of the pioneers; by which, his own regiment having been quartered in southern india until six months previously, nothing was known of his antecedents. "we shall all have to be very careful, when you are looking on at our play, bullen," one said, laughing. "i hadn't given you credit for having such sharp eyes; and certainly sanders did not, either, or he would never have tried his games on, while you were standing watching him." "i was not playing, you see," lisle said, "and the players do not trouble about onlookers, but keep their attention directed to the dealer. standing there evening after evening, it was really easy to see what he was doing; for he, too, kept his attention fixed on the dealer, and paid no heed to us who were looking on. he occasionally did look up at us, but evidently he concluded that we were only innocent spectators. when my suspicions were aroused, there was really no difficulty in detecting him." "how was it that you did not interfere before?" "because it was only my word against that of sanders, and it was only after gordon told me how much he was in debt to the man; and that the latter had, that morning, written to him calling upon him to pay up, that i saw that something must be done. so i asked tritton, lindsay, and holmes to watch him closely this evening, along with me." "well, i hope gordon won't have to go," the other said. "he is an awfully good fellow, though he has made an abject ass of himself." "don't you think, prosser, that if we were all to sign a petition to the colonel, to ask him to overlook the matter, as gordon has received a lesson that will certainly last his lifetime, he might do so." "it depends upon how much the matter becomes public. of course, there must be a court of enquiry in the other regiment; and if, as is certain, a report is sent to the commander-in-chief, sanders will be cashiered; and i should fancy that gordon would be called upon to resign. of course, you four and gordon will have to give evidence before the commission. it depends, of course, how his colonel takes it; but it is certain that sanders will have to go, and i fear gordon will, too. i expect our colonel will get a wigging for allowing high play; though, as you say, the greater part of the money was lost in private play, in sanders' room. "anyhow, it will be a somewhat ugly thing for the regiment in general, and we shall get the nickname of 'the gamblers' throughout the army." the next morning, at eight o'clock, the little committee met. the four young officers gave their evidence, which was put on paper in duplicate and signed by them, a copy being sent to the colonel of sanders' regiment. in a short time that officer was seen to go into the colonel's tent and, half an hour later, he came out again and went away. a few minutes after he had left, the four officers were summoned. "i hope," the colonel said, "that we have heard the last of this most unpleasant business. his colonel tells me that this morning, as soon as he turned out, sanders called upon him and said that he had to go to england, on urgent family business; and that, on his arrival there, he should send in his papers and retire. he gave him leave to go at once, and sanders disposed of his horse and traps, and started by the eight o'clock train for calcutta. in these circumstances we have decided, for the credit of both regiments, that the matter shall be held over. if, as is morally certain, he leaves the army, nothing more need be said about it. of course, if he should return, it will be brought up. "i should say, however, that there is no chance whatever of that. i beg of you to impress upon the officers of the regiment; which, indeed, i shall myself do at mess, to make no allusion whatever, outside the regiment, to what has occurred. the less said about it, the better. if it were at all known, and got to the ears of the commander-in-chief--and you know how gossip of this kind spreads--both his colonel and myself would get a severe wigging, for not sending in a report of it. in that case a committee would be appointed to go into the whole matter and, as a result, the regiment would probably be sent to the worst possible cantonment they could find for us, and gordon would be called upon to retire. i will therefore ask you to give me your word that the matter shall not be alluded to, outside the regiment. there is no fear of any of sanders' regiment hearing anything about it, as none of them were present last night. "upon further consideration, i think that it would be better to summon all the officers of the regiment, at once, and to impress upon them the necessity for keeping silence on the matter." five minutes later the officers' call sounded and, when all were assembled in the anteroom, the colonel repeated to them what he had said to lisle and his companions; and obtained an undertaking from them, individually, that they would maintain an absolute silence on the matter. the affair greatly added to the estimation in which lisle was held in the regiment. his quickness in detecting the swindle, and the steps he had taken to obtain proof of his suspicions, showed that he possessed other qualities besides pluck and determination. it is to be feared that some, at least, of the married officers either did not regard the promise of silence as affecting their wives, or had told them what had taken place before they were requested to abstain from alluding to it; for three or four of the ladies made sly allusions, when talking to lisle, which showed that they were cognizant of what had taken place. "well, mr. bullen," one of them said, "i have up till now regarded you as little more than a boy, in spite of your pluck in going up as a native soldier to chitral. now i shall hold you in much higher respect, and shall regard you as a young man with an exceptionally sharp eye, and exceptionally keen discernment." "i don't think i quite understand you, mrs. merritt," lisle said innocently. "it is all very well for you to put on that air of ignorance. you don't suppose that married men can keep matters like this from their wives? i can tell you we all admire, very much, the manner in which you saved lieutenant gordon from having to leave the service. he is a favourite with us all and, though he seems to have made a great fool of himself, we should all be sorry if he had had to leave us." "well, you see, mrs. merritt, i am not a married man--" "i should think not," the lady laughed. "and do not know how much married men feel themselves bound to keep secrets from their wives; and i can therefore neither confess nor deny that i took any part in the incident to which you are referring." "you silly boy! don't you see that i know all about it, and that it is ridiculous for you to pretend to misunderstand me?" "i do not pretend, mrs. merritt. i only know that i have given my promise that i will keep absolute silence on the matter, and that no exception was made as to the ladies of the regiment. that, of course, lies between them and their husbands." "well, whether that is so or not, mr. bullen, i can tell you that the affair has very greatly raised you in our esteem. we all liked you before; but we really did regard you only as a young officer who had proved that he possessed an uncommon amount of pluck and determination. in future, we shall regard you as a gentleman who was ready to take no inconsiderable risk on behalf of a fellow officer." "thank you, mrs. merritt! i can assure you that i do not feel a bit more of a man than i did before; but i feel happy in having gained the good opinion of the ladies of the regiment." after this, lisle came to be regarded as the special pet of the ladies of the regiment. among the officers he became a very general favourite, and his popularity was increased by the fact that he was not only one of the best shots, but one of their best cricketers; and several times did efficient service, by his bowling, in the matches between the regiment and the others cantoned with them. then came the news that the tribes had risen, that the malakand had been attacked, that chakdara, the fortified post on the swat river, was invested, and that the tribes on this side of the panjkora were in revolt. this, however, was soon followed by a report that the post had been relieved, that heavy losses had been inflicted upon the tribesmen, and that the trouble was over. for some time the frontier had been in a state of tension. the mullahs, or priests, had been inciting the tribesmen to insurrection; and one especially, who was called the mad mullah, had gone about from tribe to tribe, stirring the people up. he professed to be a successor of the great akhund of swat, and to have inherited his powers. he claimed to be able to work miracles. the heavenly host were, he said, on his side. his excited appeals, to the fanaticism which exists in every pathan, were responded to in a marvellous manner. the villagers flew to arms. still, it was thought and hoped that, when the first excitement caused by his appeals had died away, matters would calm down again. the hope, however, was short lived for, before long, the startling news came that the mohmunds, a tribe whose territory lay near peshawar, were in revolt; and that shabkadr, a village within our frontier, had been raided and destroyed. within the next few days the samana was invested, and the khyber pass was in the hands of the afridis. the peshawar movable column, of four guns, two squadrons of native horse, and the 20th punjabi regiment, with a few companies of the somersets, were sent out to shabkadr. on arriving there they found that the bazaar had been burnt, and that the enemy had taken up a position facing the fort, about a mile and a half distant. the cavalry skirted the cultivated ground between the force and the plateau, and pushed the enemy backward, with severe loss, into the low hills that skirt the border. next morning the enemy were seen in possession of the lower hill, and the force moved out to attack them. they were found to be in great strength, numbering nearly seven thousand. leaving a strong force to face the column, flanking parties came down concealed by the low hills. illustration: they charged the attacking force from end to end. the infantry retired in two sections, but the artillery came into action. the cavalry made their way up one of the ravines and, when they got within charging distance, they went at the enemy at a gallop. taking the entire length of the plateau, about a mile and a half, they charged the attacking force from end to end; and drove them, demoralized, into the hills. the severity of the morning's fighting may be judged from the fact that sixty percent of the force engaged suffered casualties. from that time, until it was determined to send an expedition into the mohmund country, the force remained as a corps of observation. a force drawn chiefly from the peshawar garrison was speedily got together and, on 11th september, had concentrated at or about shabkadr fort; a general advance having been arranged for, on the 15th of the month. in the meantime, more serious troubles had arisen with the zakka-khels. this tribe was the most powerful of the pathans. they were at all times troublesome, and frequently made raids across the frontier, carrying off large quantities of cattle; and living, indeed, entirely upon plunder. the zakhels and the kukukbels had joined them, as well as several other smaller tribes. they believed that they could do this with impunity, for no englishman had ever visited their wild country, with its tremendous gorges and passes. a large proportion of them were furnished with martini and lee-metford rifles, and many of the others carried sniders. to operate against such formidable enemies, possessing almost impregnable positions, a large force was needed; and time was required to collect the troops. still more, an enormous train of baggage animals would be required, and a vast amount of stores of all kinds. it was clear that the time that would be occupied in the preparations of the campaign would be very considerable; but, while these were being made, it was determined that the expedition from peshawar should move, at once, into the mohmund country, and finish with that tribe before the main operation began; and that the malakand division, and the mohmund field force should carry out the work of punishment, in the stretch of country lying between lalpura and the swat river. it was known that chakdara was holding out, but that it was hardly pressed, and the first step was to relieve the garrison. colonel meiklejohn pushed forward, with a comparatively small force, and arrived at the malakand on the 1st of august. the reinforcement that had reached that garrison had enabled them to take the offensive, and orders were issued for a strong cavalry reconnaissance to the amandara valley, five miles away. they found the enemy in such force that the cavalry were obliged to retire, and they effected their retreat with great difficulty, under a very heavy fire. as the path was narrow, cavalry could only proceed in single file, exposed the while to the fire of the enemy. sir bindon blood arrived, that evening, to take the command. the main body were to move down the road; while a force under colonel goldney advanced up the hill to the right, and turned the enemy's flank. colonel goldney's attack was perfectly successful. the enemy were taken completely unawares, and entirely routed. the march of the main column, therefore, met with no opposition for some distance; then the enemy opened fire, from among the rocks on the hills. a party of the guides and the 45th sikhs were ordered to take the position, at the point of the bayonet. the enemy, however, stuck to their position until they were bayoneted, or driven over the rocks. the 34th and 55th sikhs stormed some sangars on the left and, pushing their way pluckily up the steep slopes, slowly gained the heights, step by step and, in spite of the hot fire and the showers of rocks and stones, drove the enemy out of their strongholds. on this the tribesmen lost heart and fled, hotly pursued by the cavalry, who cut them up in great numbers. during the fighting at the malakand, previous to the arrival of the relief, our casualties were one hundred and seventy-three killed and wounded, including thirteen british officers and seven natives. the siege of the small fort of chakdara had been a severe one. the garrison consisted of two companies of the 45th sikhs, with cavalry. on the evening of the 26th they were attacked, but repulsed their assailants with loss. next morning captain wright, with a company of forty troopers, arrived from the malakand, having run the gauntlet of large parties of the enemy. the whole of the day was spent in repelling rushes of the enemy and, for the next few days, wright's garrison were unable to leave their posts. on the 29th the enemy attacked the tower and endeavoured to burn it down; but were again repulsed, with heavy loss. chapter 7: tales of war. as soon as it became evident that the afridis were up, and that there would be stern fighting, the conversation in the mess room naturally turned on past expeditions against the wild tribesmen. two or three of the officers had exchanged into the regiment, when their own went home. having been two or three years on the frontier, they had many tales of hill fighting to tell; and these were eagerly listened to by all the younger officers, as they felt certain that they too would, ere long, be taking part in such struggles. "a fine instance of defence," one of the junior captains said, "was that of thobal in 1891. as you all know, i am a ranker, and i received my commission for that business. i was with a mere handful of men, thirty ghoorkhas and fifty rifles of the 12th burmah infantry. we were commanded by lieutenant grant. i was with him as quartermaster sergeant, and general assistant. the ghoorkhas had sixty rounds per man for their martini rifles, the burmah men one hundred and sixty rounds per man for their sniders. they were a pretty rough lot, only twenty of them being old soldiers, the rest recruits. "one morning we received news that mr. quintin with four civil officers, and an escort of seven british officers and four hundred and fifty-four ghoorkhas, who had gone up to manipur, had been massacred. happily the news was exaggerated, but a treacherous attack was made upon the party, and mr. quintin and many others killed. grant thought that this was probably the case, and determined to push on with his little force, in the hope of rescuing some survivors. "the distance from tamu to manipur is about fifty-five miles. we started at half-past five, on the morning of the 28th. the difficulties were so great that we only moved at the rate of a mile an hour. at two in the morning we started again, and marched about ten miles; in the course of which we were occasionally fired at by the enemy. the moon rose at eleven, and the advance was continued. "the resistance now became severe. the telegraph wires had been cut, taken down from the poles, and twisted about the road; and trees had also been felled across it. while we were endeavouring to clear away the obstacles, a heavy fire was poured into us. small parties were therefore sent out to disperse the enemy, and this they did most successfully, capturing three guns and a good deal of ammunition. "pushing on, we issued, at six in the morning, on the hills. before us was the village of palel, which was garrisoned by two hundred manipur soldiers. you must remember that manipur had been a sort of subsidiary state, and had a regular army, drilled by europeans. however, grant attacked them at once, and drove them out with loss. "after halting at palel for some hours a start was made, at eleven o'clock at night; and at daybreak we came upon some villages, each house in which was standing alone in a large enclosure, surrounded by a wall, ditch, and hedge. we went at them and carried them, one by one, without any great loss to ourselves. issuing on the other side, we came upon a plain about a thousand yards across. beyond this was a bridge, on fire. the enemy were strongly posted in trenches and behind hedges. "grant decided to attack, and to try and save the bridge. he advanced across the plain with two sections of ten men each, supported by another section of the same strength. the rest of his force, consisting of forty men, he kept in reserve. "i own that it seemed to me a desperately risky thing; for, from what we could see, we judged that the enemy were about a thousand strong. grant himself led the party, and he put me in charge of the reserve. a very heavy fire was opened by the enemy; but grant and his men steadily advanced, and succeeded in getting within a hundred yards of the enemy. here i came up with him; and we dashed into the river, carried the enemy's trenches at the point of the bayonet, and hunted them out, from enclosure to enclosure, till they all drew off. "by the side of the bridge was the village of thobal; and as, with so small a force, it was impossible to advance against the overwhelming numbers that would meet us before we got to manipur, fifteen miles away, grant determined to hold thobal; where he could, he thought, defend himself, and afford refuge to any who had escaped the massacre. as soon as the enemy had retired, we all set to work to prepare a defensive position; by setting fire to the crops, so as to prevent the enemy from creeping up unseen, and by making an abattis. "the night passed off quietly. at six in the morning the enemy were seen advancing in force, but lieutenant grant sent out thirty men to the farthest wall of the village, some four hundred yards in advance of the enclosure; and their fire checked the enemy, and forced them to retire. at three in the afternoon the enemy advanced in great force, their line being over a mile long. grant again occupied the front wall, and held his fire till the enemy reached a point which had been carefully marked as being six hundred yards away. fire was then opened, the muskets being sighted for this known range. the tribesmen fell in great numbers, and drew back under the protection of their artillery, who now opened fire at a range of about a thousand yards. in half an hour they were completely silenced. "they then withdrew to another hill, five hundred yards farther off but, even at this range, we got at them with our martinis, and they soon began firing wildly. the infantry advanced several times, but were always driven back as soon as they reached the six-hundred-yards limit. "it was now becoming dark, and the enemy were working round on our flank. we therefore fell back on the entrenched position and, though the enemy kept up a heavy fire till two in the morning, ammunition was too scanty to allow us to waste a cartridge, and no reply was made. at three we set to work to strengthen the defences, using baskets filled with earth and sacks filled with sand, as well as adding to the abattis. "in the course of the day the enemy sent in a flag of truce, offering to allow us to retreat. this grant refused to do, till all prisoners still in the hands of the manipuris were delivered over to him. in order to deceive the enemy as to his strength, grant put on a colonel's badge and uniform and, in his communications with the enemy, spoke and behaved as if he had the whole regiment under his command in the village. the enemy were undoubtedly misled, and wasted three days in negotiations. "then fighting recommenced and, at daybreak, the enemy made a determined attack upon the advance, with artillery. by eight o'clock they had pushed the attack home, and passed the line of walls and hedges a hundred yards from our position. the situation was growing serious when, leaving me in command, grant went out with ten ghoorkhas, crept along unobserved to the end of one of the walls and, turning this, made a sudden attack upon the enemy from behind. taken wholly by surprise they fled, leaving six or seven dead behind them. "at eleven o'clock they were again pressing hotly and, encouraged by the success of his first sortie, grant determined to make another. this time he took me with him. with six ghoorkhas he had driven the enemy from one hedge, when he discovered a party of about sixty men behind a wall, twenty yards distant. "'now, my lads,' he said, 'we have got to run the gauntlet, but you need not be afraid of their fire. seeing us so close to them, it is sure to be wild.' "then, with a cheer, we dashed across the open. the enemy blazed at us, but their fire was wild and confused; and we were among them before they could reload, killing a dozen, and sending the rest to the right about, many of them wounded. "on returning to the camp, we found that there were only fifty rounds left for the snider rifles, and thirty rounds each for the martinis. strict orders were therefore given that no one was to fire till the enemy were within close range. however, there was no doubt that the fight was all taken out of them, by the spirit with which those two little sorties had been made. they kept up a steady fire till nightfall, but took good care not to show themselves; and they retired, as soon as they could do so, in the darkness. "that was really the end of the fighting. three days passed, and then a letter arrived from the officer in command of the expedition, ordering him to fall back to tamu, whence a detachment had been despatched to meet him. this order had fallen into the hands of the enemy. they no doubt informed themselves of its contents, and were so utterly glad to get rid of us, without further loss, that they gladly sent it in to us. that night there was a heavy thunderstorm, with a tremendous downpour of rain, and under cover of it we withdrew quietly, and before long were met by the relieving force." "that was a splendid resistance." "magnificent! you certainly earned your commission well, towers. "now, major, let us hear the story of the battle of ahmed kheyl, where you met the fanatics in force. i doubt whether the afridis will fight in the same way; but they may and, at any rate, the story will be instructive." "well, it is seventeen years ago, now," the major said, "and i was a junior lieutenant. i was, as you all know, marching from kandahar to kabul under sir donald stewart; and at ahmed kheyl, twenty-three miles south of ghuzni, we met the afghans in force, estimated at fifteen thousand foot and a thousand horse. for several days we had known that they were in the neighbourhood. their cavalry scouts could be seen marching parallel to us, about eight miles away, on the right flank. "on the 19th of april we marched at daybreak. the advance guard consisted of seven hundred rifles, seven hundred and fifty cavalry, and six guns; the main body of somewhat over a thousand rifles, three hundred and forty-nine sabres, and ten guns; then came the trains and hospitals, guarded by strong detachments on each flank; while the rear guard was fourteen hundred infantry, three hundred and sixteen cavalry, and six mountain guns. the length of the column was about six miles. "its head had marched about seven miles, when the cavalry in advance caught sight of the enemy, in position, three miles ahead. preparations were made for receiving an attack and, at eight o'clock, the march was resumed. half a squadron of bengal lancers were sent to cover the left front of the infantry brigade, which was now close to a range of low hills that ran parallel to the line of march for some distance, then made a bend to the east. the enemy were seen in position, covering the point of passage through the hills, and also upon the hills flanking the road by which the division would advance. "when within a mile and a half of the enemy, two batteries moved out and took up positions to shell them in front; while the infantry deployed, the line on the left facing the enemy on the hills. the 2nd punjab cavalry were on the right of the guns, whose escort consisted of a squadron of 19th bengal lancers, and a company of punjab infantry. "it was the general's intention to advance to the attack but, at nine o'clock, before his dispositions were completed, the whole crest of the hills held by the enemy seemed to be swarming with men. scarcely had the guns opened fire, when the enemy swept down from the hills, in successive lines of swordsmen, stretching out far beyond either flank of our force. at the same time a large body of horse rode along the hills, threatening the left flank. "as the swordsmen swept down on the infantry and guns, the afghan horse came out of two ravines, and charged the bengal lancers before they could acquire sufficient speed to meet them fairly. the lancers were forced back, disorganizing the 3rd ghoorkhas, who composed the left battalion of the line. the colonel of the ghoorkhas threw his men into company squares, and they stood their ground; but the lancers could not be rallied until they had swept along almost the whole rear of the infantry. "in the meantime the swordsmen on foot swept down with fanatical fury, and it became necessary to bring up the whole reserve into the fighting line. the two batteries of artillery on the right were now firing grape shot, at close range, into the mass of afghans; but neither this, nor the fire of the infantry supporting them, could check the advance of the enemy. the batteries, having used up all their case shot, were compelled to retire two hundred yards; and the right of the infantry line was also forced back. "the situation at this moment was horribly critical: both our flanks were turned, and the troops were a good deal shaken by the suddenness and fierceness of the attack. the enemy's horsemen, however, pushing round to the left flank, were checked by the firmness of the 3rd ghoorkhas--who stood their ground bravely--and by the fire of the batteries on that flank. on the right the 2nd punjab cavalry charged and drove back the enemy, thus giving time for the two batteries to take up their fresh position, and again come into action. "the infantry on the right also recovered from the confusion into which they had been temporarily thrown, and poured a withering fire into the afghans. in the centre the 2nd sikhs maintained, through out the fight, a steady and unyielding front. the steady and well-directed fire of the whole line, aided by the batteries, was creating terrible havoc among the enemy and, after an hour's gallant and strenuous exertion on both our flanks, their efforts began to slacken and, before long, the whole of them were in flight, leaving a thousand dead and wounded on the ground. "it was calculated that they had at least two thousand casualties, while our own loss amounted to only one hundred and forty-one. they were not pursued, as the cavalry were required to guard the baggage." "it was a grand fight, major," the colonel said; "but you were at maiwand also, were you not?" "yes; and it would be hard to find a greater contrast to the fight i have just described. the two british forces were attacked under almost precisely similar circumstances. one was splendidly commanded; and the other, it must be confessed, was badly led. "there was a good deal against us. the day was in july, and terribly hot and, at every step the troops took, they found the power of the sun increasing, until the heat became intense. a solitary traveller, in such circumstances, would make but poor travelling; and of course it was vastly worse for troops, advancing heavily laden and formed in column. the 66th foot had had tea, and a light breakfast before starting; but the native troops had had nothing to eat since the night before. one regiment, indeed, had no water; but the others had managed to fill their canteens during the halt at half-past nine. "the brigade, at the end of the march, were again ordered to change front. the grenadiers, which was a pivot regiment, did not slacken their pace and, consequently, the centre were greatly exhausted in trying to keep up with it, and were certainly in no condition to take part in the battle at midday. "the whole thing was a hideous mistake. general burrows had brought his line into such a position that behind him lay a great nullah and, during the course of the battle, the enemy were enabled to bring guns up to within five hundred yards on front and flank. it was a ghastly day. both flanks were driven back, and the line became bent into the form of a horseshoe. the two cavalry regiments, whose support should have been invaluable, behaved badly and, early in the fight, left the field. "after the first line gave way, everything went badly. some of the troops stood and died on the ground they held, others soon became a mob of fugitives. the loss, as long as they held their positions, was comparatively slight; but the grand total mounted up, during the retreat. "it was a hideous business, and one that i do not like to recall. men staggered along, overpowered by heat and thirst; falling, in many cases without resistance, under the sabre of the pursuing enemy. had these fought properly, it is probable that not a single man, except the cowardly cavalry, would have reached kandahar to tell the tale." "thank you, major. you were also, i believe, in two or three dashing affairs before maiwand?" "yes, colonel. certainly one of the most successful was that which cavagnari, who was afterwards murdered at kabul, made. it was not much of an affair, but it shows what can be done with dash. "in 1877 we were making a canal, to tap the swat river at a point where it enters british territory. naturally, the swat villagers on the other side of the frontier considered that the operation was a deep-laid plot for injuring them; and it was at the village of sappri that the chief went down, with a number of desperate men, and murdered all the coolies engaged in the work. cavagnari issued orders that the chief must pay a heavy fine, in money and cattle; and that the actual murderers must be tried for their crime. the khan, however, took no notice of the demand. "forty miles southeast of sappri was the british cantonment of murdan, where the corps of guides is permanently quartered. the greater portion of these were, however, absent on another expedition; and there remained available a few squadrons of cavalry, and eleven companies of infantry. "cavagnari kept his plans a profound secret. he did not even give the slightest hint of his intentions to their commanding officer, captain wigram battye. so well, indeed, was the secret kept, that the officers were playing a game at racket when they were called upon to start. the first intimation that the men had of the movement was the serving out of ball cartridge, when the gates of the fort were closed in the evening. the old soldiers were well aware that this meant that fighting was at hand; and they gave a great shout, which was the first intimation to the officers that something was on foot. we were as glad as the men. "mules had been got in readiness, and the small detachment set off on its long night march. the mules were picked animals and in good condition, and were able to keep up with the men. after covering thirty-two miles in seven hours, we halted at the frontier fort of abazai, seven miles south of sappri. "beyond this point the country was impracticable for cavalry; and the force, now consisting of two hundred and twelve men, dismounted and marched forward on foot. after seven miles of severe toil, they arrived in the vicinity of the hostile village; and captain battye placed his men on the surrounding high ground, so as to completely command the place, and cut off all retreat. his disposition had been completed without arousing the enemy and, in a short time, day broke. "cavagnari immediately sent in a demand, to the khan, to surrender the outlaws and pay the fine. the khan refused to comply with the terms. there was a short but desperate fight, in which the guides were victorious, the khan and many of his leading men were killed, and the village captured. the fine was then exacted, and the troops marched back to fort abazai. "this was a fine example of a punitive expedition thoroughly well managed. the movements were made with secrecy and rapidity. horses, men, and mules were all in readiness. the cavalry were, on an emergency, prepared to perform the role of infantry; while the little party of infantry were ready to ride thirty miles, on mules, with the cavalry. in this raid the guides covered forty-eight miles, without a halt; but the perfect success that attended the expedition is not often attained, especially when, as in this case, the force is unprovided with guns. two or three little mountain guns make all the difference in expeditions of this kind for, though the afridis will stand musketry fire pluckily enough, they begin to flinch as soon as guns, however small, open upon them. "there is no more awkward business than an attack upon hill forts that are well held, for some of them are really formidable. i was present at the storming of nilt fort, and the fight near chillas--both of them awkward affairs--and in the fight at malandrai. there had, for some time, been a state of hostilities between malandrai, two miles across the border, and rustam on our side of it. information was received that several of the most important of the enemy's raiders, and a considerable number of cattle would, on a certain night, be at malandrai; and it was arranged that two companies of guides should start in the afternoon for rustam, twenty-five miles distant, which they would reach after dark. at this place they were to take a short rest, and were then to follow the difficult tracks through the hills, and appear on a commanding spur in the rear of the village, at dawn. the frontal attack was to be made by six companies, who were to arrive before the bridge in the small hours of the morning. a squadron of bengal cavalry were to move independently, and to cut off any of the enemy who might escape from the frontal attack. "the turning party arrived after a march of eighteen hours, through a terribly rough country. the main body, unfortunately, miscalculated their distance and, instead of halting in the gorge leading to the village, in which it was known that pickets had been placed, they came suddenly upon the enemy's outposts. these fired a volley, killing the colonel and some of the men. the surprise, therefore, as a surprise failed; but an attack was made in the morning, the village taken, and the turning party extricated from its dangerous position. that is a good example of the difficulty of attacking a hill fort. "another instance is the attack upon nilt fort. the place was one of great natural strength; the fort, which was a large one, faced the junction of three precipitous cliffs, several hundred feet high, where a great ravine runs into the hunza river. owing to the nature of the ground, the fort could not be seen till the force was within three hundred yards of it; and fire could not be properly opened upon it until within two hundred and fifty yards. "the walls of the fort were of solid stone, cemented by mud, and strengthened by strong timbers. they were fourteen feet in height, and eight feet in thickness; and were surmounted by flanking towers and battlements, which afforded the defenders a perfect cover. in front of the main gate was a loopholed wall, completely hiding the gateway; and in front of this again was a very deep ditch, filled with abattis; while a broad band of abattis filled the space between the ditch, and a precipitous spur from the adjacent mountain. this spur was, unfortunately, inaccessible for guns and, though our infantry mounted it, their fire had no effect upon the enemy, sheltered as they were behind their battlements. "it was therefore necessary to make a direct attack, and storm the fort on a front of only sixty yards. after a vain attempt to make some impression on the forts with mountain guns, the order was given to advance; and the ghoorkhas, two hundred strong, and a company of sappers dashed forward into the ravine facing the west wall. a few of them managed to force their way into a weak point of the abattis, under a heavy fire from the fort; and worked round to a gateway. this was soon hacked down, and then they burst into the courtyard. "captain aylmer, r.e., set to work to place a charge of gun cotton against the main entrenchment of the fort. after repeated failures, the fuse was lighted and the gate blown in. captain aylmer was severely wounded, in three places; and several of the men killed. "so far the attack had been so astonishingly bold and quick that the main body were unaware of the success; and colonel duran, thinking the explosion was caused by the bursting of one of the enemy's guns, continued steadily firing at the fort. the position of the twenty men and three officers was precarious, indeed, as they were thus exposed to a heavy fire from behind, as well as in front. with splendid heroism, however, they held on to the advantage they had gained till some reinforcements came up; and then, pressing on through the shattered gate, they captured the fort. "for a fortnight after this the force remained inactive, for no way of ascending the great ravine was known. at last, however, an enterprising sepoy discovered a way, and on the 19th of december a hundred men, under two lieutenants, were ordered to leave nilt fort under cover of darkness, drop silently down into the bed of the ravine, and there await daylight. "the portion of the enemy's position that had been selected for attack was on the extreme left, on the crest of a cliff which rose, without a break, fifteen hundred feet from the bed of the ravine. another force, a hundred and thirty-five men and six british officers, with two guns, was to cover the advance of the storming party. at eight o'clock in the morning, fire was opened upon the enemy, as it was anticipated that the storming party were well up the cliff by this time; but unfortunately, after ascending the precipice halfway, they reached a point where the cliff was absolutely impracticable, and were obliged to descend again into the ravine. "at two o'clock, having discovered a more practicable way, they ascended again, foot by foot; their commander working his way up with admirable judgment, moving from point to point, as opportunity offered, between the showers of stones. the enemy were now fully aware that the precipice was being scaled, and it was only the well-directed fire of the covering party that prevented them from issuing from their defences, and annihilating the party with rocks and boulders. "the summit was reached at half-past eleven, and the first of the enemy's works captured. they rushed sangar after sangar, taking them in rear and driving out the enemy pell mell, killing many and capturing a large number of prisoners. at last the passage of the great ravine was gained, and the british force enabled to move forward again. "the greatest credit was due to lieutenant manners-smith; whose conduct, in storming the height in broad daylight, was simply magnificent; and the result showed the manner in which even young officers can distinguish themselves, and how the native troops will follow them, unhesitatingly, through dangers which would well appal even the bravest. "it is possible, however, to demand too much from our troops; as was shown in the defence of chillas. the post was held, in '93, by three hundred men of the kashmir maharajah's bodyguard, under the command of two british officers, major daniels and lieutenant moberley. for some time, daniels had been warned that he might be attacked on the night of a mohammedan feast. it was understood that this was on the 3rd of march and, when the night passed quietly, it was considered that the alarm had been a false one. during the next night, however, a determined attack was made, by about a thousand men; but was repulsed by steady volleys. "major daniels then determined to take the offensive and attack the enemy, who were swarming in great numbers into a neighbouring village. at half-past three moberley, with thirty-five men, went out to attack the village. after severe fighting, and some loss, he effected a lodgment in an outer line of houses; but being himself badly wounded, and finding the village too strongly held for a small party to make any further progress, he retired with his detachment to the fort. "the enemy continued a heavy fire until half-past eight, when major daniels determined to attack them again; although their numbers were now swollen to between four thousand and five thousand men. he had with him only a hundred and forty available men, a number being required to garrison the fort. dividing his little force, however, he attacked the village on two sides. the fight went on for two hours, during which one of the two attacking parties gained a partial footing in the village; but wounded men began to struggle back to the fort, and reported that major daniels and many men had been killed; and the remnants of the attacking party were brought back, by a native officer, at half-past eleven. the casualties in killed and wounded were very heavy, including the two british officers, four native officers, and forty-six rank and file. fortunately the natives; believing, no doubt, that reinforcements would arrive, scattered to their homes without further action. "here was a case in which the native troops were ordered to perform what verged on the impossible. the houses in these native villages are almost always fortified; and to take a hundred and fifty men, to attack a place held by five thousand, was asking more than the best british soldiers could be expected to achieve. "at any rate, the stories i have told you will give you some idea of the work we have before us. we may quite assume that such a force as is now being collected can be trusted to defeat the afridis, if they venture to meet us in open fight; but if they resort solely to harassing tactics, we shall have our work cut out for us. it must be remembered, too, that the afridis are far better fighters, more warlike, and of far better physique than the men engaged in the fights that i have been speaking of. they are splendid shots, and are almost all armed with breech-loading rifles, sniders and martinis. their country is tremendously hilly and, although it is wholly unknown to us, we do know that there are ravines to be passed where a handful of men could keep an army at bay." "i was with the sikhim expedition, in '88," one of the captains said. "at that time i was in the derbyshires. in this case it was the wildness of the country, rather than the stoutness of the defence of the thibetans, that caused our difficulty. the force consisted of a mountain battery of four guns, two hundred men of our regiment, four hundred of the bengal infantry, and seven hundred men of the 32nd pioneers. the men were all picked and of good physique, as it was known that the campaign would be a most arduous one. in addition to the usual entrenching tools, a hundred and twenty short swords were issued to each regiment, and fifty per cent of the followers were also supplied. these swords were to be used for clearing away jungle. the country was very rugged, and the work had to be done at the altitude of twelve thousand feet, where the mountains are mostly covered with forest trees and undergrowth. "the base from which we started was thirty miles northeast of darjeeling, and the first objective of the expedition was the fort of lingtu, forty miles distant. the advance was made in two columns; the first consisting of two mountain guns, a hundred men of the derbyshires, and three hundred of the 32nd pioneers, which were to make for lingtu; while the rest were to operate towards intchi, where the rajah of sikhim resided, and thus prevent reinforcements from being sent to lingtu. "the latter column met with no opposition and, after accomplishing their work, retired. the first column came across the enemy at jeluk, five miles short of lingtu. here the thibetans had erected a strong stockade, at the top of a very steep ascent; and had barricaded the road with stone breastworks. "the position was attacked, at seven in the morning, by a hundred men of the 32nd pioneers; supported by seventy-eight men of my regiment. the guns had had to be left behind. the advance was slow and, owing to the dense bamboo jungle through which we had to pass, and the steepness of the road, great caution was necessary. "when we had reached a spot within a few hundred yards of the stockade, fire was suddenly opened on the pioneers. these, however, moved on steadily, without replying till, having worked their way close up to the stockade, they fired a volley; and then, with a loud cheer, charged with bayonets fixed. the derbyshire detachment moved up into support, and the position was captured after a sharp struggle. "a small turning party, under captain lumsden, had been detached to the left but, after proceeding a short distance, they found that the road had been cleared to where it passed round a precipice; and that it was defended by a party of the enemy, behind a stone breastwork, at ten yards' range. captain lumsden and several of his men were knocked over, and the party were brought to a complete stand. so thick was the jungle that they did not know what was going on, on either side; and the first intimation they received, of the capture of the fort, was the descent of a party of derbyshires in the rear of the breastworks. "the stockade, when it was examined, turned out to be a most formidable one; about two hundred yards long, both flanks resting on impassable precipices. it was constructed of logs laid horizontally, with a thick abattis of twelve trees. "next morning the advance on lingtu was continued, in a dense mist. information was obtained, from a prisoner, that they would have to cross a spot where there was a stone shoot, down which an avalanche of rocks could be hurled by the defenders. they therefore advanced with great caution, while a party of the pioneers crept along the crest of the ridge, and attacked from the rear the party gathered at the head of the stone shoot. the road was steep and broken, and the partially-melted snow lay two feet deep on it. the pioneers captured the stone shoot without loss, and then pushed on over the hills and, without firing a shot, charged straight at the fort; and burst their way through the main gate, before the astonished thibetans had realized what was happening. "of course, as it was against an enemy of such poor fighting quality as the thibetans, this little affair affords no idea of the resistance that we can expect in the tirah; but it does show what can be accomplished by our men, in the face of immense natural difficulties." chapter 8: the dargai pass. there was the greatest joy among the pioneers, when they received instructions to prepare for an advance to khusalghar. officers and men alike were in the highest spirits, and not the least pleased was lisle, who had begun to tire of the monotony of camp life. the mention of the place at which they were to assemble put an end to the discussion, that had long taken place, as to route to be followed. six days' easy march along a good road would take them to shinawari and, in three or four days more, they would get into the heart of the tirah. illustration: map illustrating the tirah campaign. much would depend on the conduct of the orakzais, a powerful tribe whose country lay between kenmora and that of the zakka-khels. the latter had indeed declared against us, but they were known to be very half hearted; for they felt that, lying as they did close to the british frontier, they would be sure to suffer most if we obtained the upper hand. it was hoped therefore that, after making a show of resistance, they would try to come to terms with us. the regiment was told that it would have to provide its own carriage, and two or three days were spent in buying up all the ponies and mules in the neighbourhood. all the heavy baggage was packed up and left in store, and the regiment marched from the town in light order, with their drums and fifes playing a merry march, and the men in high spirits. "it is worth two years in a dull cantonment, bullen," one of the lieutenants remarked to lisle. "it is glorious," lisle said, "though i expect we shall have some hard fighting; for they say that the zakka-khels and their allies can place fifty thousand in the fighting line and, as our column is reported to be twenty thousand strong, we shall all have our work to do. in the open they would, of course, have no chance with us but, as the fighting will be done in guerrilla fashion, from hills and precipices, our task will be no easy one. the guarding of the tremendous convoy we must take with us will, in itself, be extremely difficult." "yes, i expect we shall get it hot. the loss is almost sure to be heavy, but that will not prevent us from turning them out of their fastnesses." "i wish they would let us all carry rifles, instead of swords," lisle said. "it will be beastly having nothing to do but wave one's sword, while they are potting at us. i don't think i should mind the heaviest fire, if i could reply to it; but to be compelled to stand by idly, while the men are blazing away, would be enough to drive me mad." "i dare say when the fighting begins, bullen, you will soon find that there are plenty of rifles disengaged; and i don't see any reason why an officer should not pick up one of them, and take his share in firing, till he has to lead the men on to an attack." lisle was now nearly eighteen, of medium height, with light active figure, and likely to be able to undergo any hardships. on their arrival at khusalghar, they found that several regiments were already there, with an enormous amount of stores and baggage. the officers lost no time in examining the fort, that had been so nobly held by a party of sikhs who, having for a long time held the enemy in check, had fought to the last when they burst in. one by one the noble fellows fell. one wounded man, lying on a pallet, shot three of the enemy before he was killed; and the last survivor of the little force shut himself up in a little chamber, and killed twenty of his assailants before he was overcome. not a single man escaped, and their defence of the little fort is a splendid example of the fidelity and bravery of our sikh soldiers. after a few days' stay at this place, the regiment marched on to shinawari; and here remained for some little time, until the column was made up. it was known that the zakka-khels and their allies had marched down and taken up their position near the dargai hill; and that the orakzais had, in spite of the pressure brought to bear upon them by the other tribes, determined to remain neutral. this dargai hill must not be confused with the hill, of the same name, at which fierce fighting took place in the expedition to chitral, two years before. at last the welcome news came that the advance was about to take place. general lockhart, with another column, was at fort lockhart, some thirty miles away; but the intermediate ground was so broken, and the force of the enemy watching him so strong, that no assistance could be obtained from him. the force assembled at shinawari was a strong one. the king's own scottish borderers, a battery of royal artillery, the 1st battalion of gordons, 1st dorsets with a mountain battery, the yorkshire regiment, the royal west surrey, and a company of the 4th ghoorkhas were all there. the 3rd sikhs, with two guns, moved to the left in the khuram valley. altogether, something like fifty thousand transport animals accompanied them, with sixty thousand camp followers. the transport presented an extraordinary appearance. it included every class of bullock vehicle, lines of ill-fed camels, mules, ponies, and even tiny donkeys. on october 17th orders were received, from general lockhart, that the division at shinawari was to make a reconnaissance in force towards the khanki valley, as the enemy had been seen moving about on the hills. a force consisting of the 3rd and 4th brigades moved forward. the object of the reconnaissance was the summit of the hill, directly overlooking shinawari, and over two thousand feet high. from the plain the ascent appeared to be simple but, when they started to climb, they found that it was rugged and almost impassable. there was no semblance of road, and the men had to toil up the goat paths and sheep tracks. the dargai ridge was from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet above the spot from which they started. on the near side it was almost a sheer precipice, and the only means of access to the top was up three steep waterways, which converged to the left of the position. it was only two hundred and fifty yards' range from the summit but, as soon as it was crossed, the steepness of the cliff afforded the assailants shelter from the enemy's fire. from this point the path zigzags up, until men in single file can reach the summit. the ridge then dips into the hollow plateau where the village lies, and then runs up two hundred feet to the cliff, making a descent of the better part of a mile. on the far side the hill slopes away to the khanki valley. "we are going to begin with a sharpish climb," lisle said to another officer. "if those fellows on the top of the cliff stick to their work, we shall have a very hot time of it." "i expect the guns will clear them off," the other said. "they may do that for a moment but, as we get up to the top, they will rush forward again; if they have the same pluck as the fellows i fought against, before." as soon as the advance began, the enemy came into action; but the two batteries opened upon them, and their fire slackened somewhat. the climb was a severe one, indeed; the road became worse and worse as they advanced and, at one place, a ridge between two spurs had to be crossed with barely a foot of purchase way, and a sheer drop on both sides. when they were within two hundred yards from the summit, they had to cross an open space. the borderers and ghoorkhas were in front; and the latter were ordered to carry the position, while the borderers covered their advance. the ghoorkhas advanced in a couple of rushes and, as they neared the summit, the enemy bolted. the goorkhas pursued; but they did not go far, as the general, who had been with the advance guard throughout, recalled them. it was found that a village lay in the hollow of the plateau, and that sangars had been built all along the summit, and high up on the hill which covered the crest. general westmacott waited for two hours on the summit and, supposing that general kempster could not make his way up, was about to withdraw his men; as large bodies of the enemy were seen, moving in a direction which threatened the left rear. as they did so, general kempster arrived. he had experienced considerable resistance, and had lost two officers. "that has been hard work, lisle," his companion said, as they returned to camp. "yes, but the hardness consisted more in the climbing than in the fighting. i wonder we are brought back again. we shall probably have a great deal harder work, next time; for all the enemy in the khanki valley will no doubt be up there, waiting for us." that evening, there was much discussion at the mess upon the expediency of evacuating the pass, when it had once been occupied. the general opinion, however, was that it was necessary. general lockhart was at the fort bearing his name, with a regiment of the 4th brigade. the 2nd battalion had remained in camp at shinawari, and the 1st division was still on the march to that place. it was general lockhart's intention to divide the great force known to be in the khanki valley. the reconnaissance had been ordered to ascertain if a road really existed, and if it was passable for baggage. the reasons for the retirement were that a complete brigade would have been required to take the place, that the picketing of the road would have taken half a brigade, and that no commissariat arrangements had been made for the supply of a force on the plateau. further, not a drop of water was available; and lastly, if dargai had been held, the enemy would have massed their whole force against it; whereas, when the force withdrew, the tribesmen would be compelled to divide their force in order to watch the other road. the conclusion arrived at, by the members of the mess, was that the retirement was probably necessary; but that the next advance would assuredly meet with much greater opposition than the first. three days passed; and then, at half-past four in the morning, the advance guard of general yeatman-biggs' column left the camp, under general kempster, and proceeded up the chagru pass. it was a long, weary pull up the hill. the sappers had been working hard on the road, for the past ten days; but it was still very narrow for a whole division, and three mountain batteries. at half-past eight the force reached the summit, and the advance guard sent back news that the crest of the dargai was held, by the enemy, in force. the enemy could be plainly made out. they had with them a black banner, which showed that they were kambar khels. on the far side of the opposite range could be seen great masses of tribesmen, with a dozen standards. the 1st and 2nd ghoorkhas, the dorsets, and the derbys were sent on; while the gordons took up a position to cover the advance, with long-range volleys. as the regiments climbed up, three mountain guns massed on the chagru kotal; and another one, which had come in with the northampton from fort lockhart, opened fire. the enemy replied, at long range, upon the advance guard of the ghoorkhas, as they went up the centre nullah. the little ghoorkhas came steadily on and, at six hundred yards, opened fire in volleys. this and the fire of the guns was too much for the tribesmen, who ceased to show themselves. the dorsets had now joined the ghoorkhas and, after a halt, again made a rush across the open to reach the cover, the derbys firing heavily to assist them. until our men showed in the open, they had no knowledge in what force the position was held. three companies of ghoorkhas managed to reach cover beneath the cliff, but the path was strewn with the dead and dying. captain robinson, after getting across with his men, tried to rejoin the main body, but fell. then the dorsets endeavoured to join the three gallant companies of ghoorkhas. rush after rush was made, but the head of each melted away, as soon as the fatal spot was reached. at last, after three fruitless attempts, the helio flashed back to the general that the position was impregnable, and that further attempts would be but a useless waste of life. matters were looking serious. it was twelve o'clock, and the enemy still held their position. general yeatman-biggs realized that a check would seriously alter the course of the campaign, and he told general kempster that the summit must be taken, at any cost. the latter started at once, taking with him the gordons and 3rd sikhs. it took the fresh troops the best part of an hour to climb up; and when the five regiments of infantry, the highlanders, english, sikhs, and ghoorkhas, stood massed in the nullah, general kempster helioed to the guns, asking three minutes' concentrated fire on the summit. there were two ways to reach the cover where the company of ghoorkhas had been lying, for three hours. the top ridge had been proved to be absolutely a death passage, but there was another path, by which general westmacott had forced his way up, three days before, and which was shorter across the open zone of fire. a fresh regiment was to take the lead. the colonel collected his men at the edge of the nullah, and said: "gordons, the general says that the position must be taken, at all costs. the gordons are to do it!" the signal was given, the batteries at once opened fire, and the cliff was crowned with a circle of bursting shrapnel. then the officers of the gordons dashed over the nullah, the pipes rolled out the charge and, with clenched teeth, the highlanders burst into the open. the length of the exposed zone was swept with the leaden stream. the head of the upper column melted away; but a few struggled on, and others took the places of the fallen. the sikhs, derbys, and ghoorkhas followed in rushes, as the firing slackened, and the cover halfway was won. a moment was allowed for breath, and then the men were up again; another terrible rush, another terrible slaughter, and the three companies of ghoorkhas were reached. when the enemy saw that the space was crossed, they left their sangars and streamed down the reverse slope of the hill. they could not face the men who had passed that terrible passage. forming at the bend of the perpendicular rock, they waited till they had recovered their breath, and then proceeded up the zigzag path leading to the summit of the hill. the fighting was over, but the loss had been great. four officers had been killed and ten wounded, one of them mortally. the total casualties were a hundred and ninety-four killed and wounded. of these thirty were gordons, and the majority of the remainder were dorsets and ghoorkhas. few of those who fell wounded escaped with their lives. their comrades made desperate efforts to carry them off; but the storm of bullets, fired at so short a range, rendered it impossible; while the wounded who attempted to rise and return were riddled with bullets, as soon as they moved. when the fight was over, the whole force encamped on the chagru kotal. the assailants were unable to make out why the enemy did not defend the zigzag path. only two men could climb it abreast, and the advancing files could have been destroyed by a dozen marksmen with breech loaders. the only reasonable supposition was that, having been engaged for five hours, their ammunition was practically exhausted. several acts of heroism were performed in the battle. one of the pipers, lance corporal milne, was shot through both legs; but still continued to play his pipes, in a sitting position. four other pipers played right across the fatal passage, three of them being wounded. lieutenant tillard was the first man across. he was a fast runner, but he stopped to encourage his men, midway. by the 25th, the whole of the two divisions were encamped on the two low hills at the mouth of the kapagh pass; while the stream of transport came gradually up. by that day six thousand four hundred british troops, eleven thousand two hundred and eighty native troops, seventeen thousand followers, and two thousand four hundred camels were gathered there. in the morning a foraging party went out and, when they were returning to camp with supplies, and also with a hundred head of cattle, the enemy lined the neighbouring heights. the mountain battery came into action, and the rearmost regiment covered the retreat by volleys; but the tribesmen had all the advantage of position and, with the utmost determination, they followed. they even opened fire on the camp, causing several casualties, the total losses being over thirty. by this time the troops were all convinced that the campaign would be a most serious one. before them lay a country of which they were absolutely ignorant, into which no englishman had ever penetrated; and defended by an enemy who were, for the most part, armed with first-class rifles, and were marvellous skirmishers. if the tribesmen kept to guerrilla warfare, there was no saying how long the campaign would last. lisle had passed through the fight unhurt. he had been almost bewildered as he crossed the fatal path, running at top speed, with men falling thickly around him. halfway across lieutenant blunt, who was one of his great chums, and had joined just before him, fell. lisle sheathed his sword and threw himself down beside him, pressing him to the ground to prevent him from moving; while he himself remained perfectly still. when the next rush of men came along, he lifted his wounded friend with great effort on to his back, and then ran on. blunt was again twice hit; but lisle escaped, almost by a miracle, and arrived at the foot of the precipice a minute after the last man got in. he was loudly cheered, by the men, as he did so. he had the satisfaction of knowing that blunt's wounds, although serious, were not considered mortal. when the regiment halted on the plateau, lisle was warmly congratulated by the colonel and officers on the feat he had performed; but he disclaimed any particular merit. "when blunt fell," he said, "it was the most natural thing in the world that i should go and pick him up; and i did so almost mechanically. luckily he was a light man but, even if he had been a heavy one, i don't think i should have felt his weight. i was scarcely conscious of the bullets whistling round me. when he fell, i knew that the tribesmen would shoot any wounded man who tried to rise, and that the only chance was to lie perfectly still, until another batch of men came along." "you showed no end of coolness," the colonel said, "and the idea of pressing him down, and yourself lying quietly beside him showed that, in spite of confusion, your brain was clear, and that you had all your senses about you. it was a gallant action, which i shall not forget to mention when i send in my report. you deserve the v.c., but i don't suppose you will get it; so many gallant deeds were done that only a few can get the cross." the two divisions marched on the morning of the 28th. the northamptons and 36th sikhs had been detached to an extremely high hill, to cover the advance. it had already been found that, although the afridis could fight well, so long as they had the advantage of position, they were nevertheless extremely careful of their skins. after the heavy firing into camp, on the night of the return of the reconnaissance, the place had been greatly strengthened; and the positions were changed every night, a fact which so entirely surprised the enemy that, for a time, night attacks ceased altogether. general westmacott's brigade advanced up the khanki nullah to the foot of the sampagha pass. general gazelee's division moved along the hills, and halted at the village of ghandaki. in the afternoon a reconnaissance pushed forward, and returned with the news that the pass appeared to be simple, and the road a good one. tribesmen were seen upon nearly every crest. they were apparently building sangars upon the roadway. general gazelee was to make his attack next morning. general westmacott, general kempster, and general hart, with the batteries of both divisions, were to occupy a knoll at the foot of the pass, to support the advance. the troops moved forward in the following order: the queens, the 2nd and 4th ghoorkhas, yorks, and 3rd sikhs were first; and they were followed by the 30th sikhs, the scottish borderers, and the northamptons. in the dim light of the early morning, the distant crests were marked by the fires of the enemy. some delay was caused by the batteries missing the tracks, but by daybreak they advanced. at half-past six the enemy fired the first shot, and then fell rapidly back. the regiments in the first line moved steadily on and, at half-past seven, the guns opened. a few shells were sufficient for the enemy's advance party, and they scuttled back. when the ghoorkhas and queens reached the first ridge in the pass, the enemy opened fire; but they could not stand the accurate fire of the six batteries. a mountain battery pushed up the pass, and came into action on the enemy's first position. the pass widened out from this point, and the two leading regiments moved forward to the sloping crest of the third position. the queens had advanced on the right, with the ghoorkhas on their flank. the pathway was covered by the fire of the enemy, hidden behind rocks; and this was so accurate that men could hardly show themselves on the path, without being immediately shot down. the sikhs and borderers, however, pushed up the hill and drove the enemy out. the defence of the pass was not so determined as had been expected, after the stand shown at dargai. the reason, no doubt, was that though they were good skirmishers, the enemy did not care to expose themselves, either to artillery fire or close-quarter fighting. when the last crest had been gained, the force proceeded down into the mastura valley. the tribesmen had deserted, and set fire to, their homesteads. the villages were only a few hundred yards apart, and were well built. the valley contained many beautiful groves. there was little food in the camp, and the ghoorkhas set to work to make chupatties, with coarse flour found in the villages. there had been very few casualties during the day, and the men began to hope that, after the lesson taught the enemy at dargai, no other resolute stand would be made. after a day of rest in the valley, orders were issued for the 3rd and 4th brigades to move, at daybreak. the 2nd brigade was to follow, the 1st being left to garrison the camp. the path was across a low ridge connecting higher ones, and offered no great facilities for resistance, and was overcome with the exchange of a few shots, only. from the top of the karanghur pass was seen the valley of maidan, the spot which the afridis were wont to boast no infidel had ever gazed upon. the view was magnificent. from the foot of the slope stretched a valley, broken here and there by ravines and nullahs. every inch of it seemed to be cultivated; and it was one wide expanse of terraced fields, sprinkled with groves and dotted with countless habitations. there was scarce an acre which had not a fortified block house, as each family built a homestead for itself, and fortified itself against all comers. as the column entered the valley, they found that their arrival had not been expected. the livestock had been removed, but every house in the valley was stocked with supplies. indian corn, wheat, barley, and other grain were found in abundance; and there was an ample stock of honey, potatoes, walnuts, and onions. bagh was the tribal centre, the afridi parliament ground. its mosque was situated about four miles farther up the valley. it was at this spot that orders were issued to make war upon the british. it was an insignificant building, with a mud roof supported by twenty-one pillars. the mosque was not interfered with. it was thought that, as such little opposition was offered in the last pass, the enemy had lost all heart; but a foraging party, the next day, found the tribesmen in great force at the other end of the valley, and were compelled to retire. another party of the enemy attempted to rush a picket of the 36th sikhs; and a strong force pounced upon the baggage train, and killed several of the drivers; then, retiring till the main guard had passed, dashed out again and killed three of the guards, and wounded several others. for the present, no damage was done to the homesteads; as it was hoped that the afridis would come in and surrender. next day a foraging party was hotly attacked and, at night, there was severe fighting round the camp. a party of elders came in, to ask what terms would be given; and were told that the tribesmen would have to deliver up their rifles, and pay a heavy fine. it was evident, from their manner, that although they would be ready to pay a fine, they would certainly not deliver up their rifles. the troops had now settled down comfortably. they had ten days' rations in camp, and the camel convoys were coming in daily. the weather was delightful, and the nightly firing into the camp, alone, disturbed them. a small party of foragers was, a few days later, fiercely attacked. captain rowcroft, who was in command, had with him only a subadar and half a dozen sepoys, when a heavy fire was opened upon him. the party could have retired, but one of the men was shot through the thigh, and it took three others to carry him. he was presently left behind, and rowcroft went back to the body, to assure himself that the man was dead. this pause gave the enemy time to close up, and the subadar was shot, as well as the man tending him. a mule was luckily found, and the subadar was sent to the rear. after this two men were hit, one for the second time and, as it was impossible for the four sound men to carry off their wounded, and face the enemy as well, rowcroft chose the best spot, and determined to halt and wait for help. the afridis could not bring themselves to rush the little party, but confined themselves to keeping up a heavy fire. another sikh was wounded; and the dust caused by the bullets almost blinded the others, who could scarcely see to reply. at last, just in the nick of time, a relieving party arrived and carried them off. on the 8th general westmacott started, with his brigade, to punish the zakka-khels for the continued night firing which, our commander had learned from prisoners, was kept up by that tribe. the brigade did its work thoroughly and, by evening, the whole of the eastern valley was in flames. that same evening, however, captain watson, a commissariat officer, was shot dead, as he stood at his own door. a curious fatality seemed to accompany this night firing. out of the many thousands in camp, four officers only had been hit. captain sullivan, of the 36th sikhs, was shot ten minutes after he had arrived in camp, having travelled post haste from england. on the 9th a reconnaissance was ordered to saransur, a lofty peak to the east of the maidan valley. across this is a pass, on one of the roads to peshawar. general westmacott, who was in command, took with him four regiments--two british and two sikhs--two batteries, and a company of madras sappers. the foot of the hill to be scaled was less than three miles from camp, but the intervening ground was extraordinarily broken. it was, in fact, a series of hummocks from seventy to a hundred feet high; which were covered with boulders, and intersected by a river. this main nullah was also broken, on both sides, by smaller nullahs almost every hundred yards. beyond this rugged ground there was a severe ascent. the hill had two spurs; one wooded, especially towards the summit, the other bare. the path wound up the latter, then crossed a ridge beyond, and yet another ridge behind that, with a sheer summit very like the dargai cliff. the force left camp at half-past seven. when they had gone about a mile, desultory shots were fired at them, from a series of well-built sangars facing the termination of the nullah. on reaching the foot of the hillside, general westmacott was much concerned about the dorsets on the left; who were engaged in desultory firing, and were making little progress up the nullah. staff officer after staff officer was despatched, to direct the dorsets to the intended line. a little before ten the northamptons, and sikhs covering them in the rear, began the ascent. it was a stiff climb of a thousand feet. when the first brow was reached general westmacott called a halt, in order that the men might get their breath and fix bayonets. then they climbed to the next top cover, and rushed forward. the enemy evidently knew its range, and advance companies found themselves under magazine fire. nevertheless they pushed on. an open kotal had to be passed. the men crossed it at the double and, although a heavy fire was kept up again, there was no casualty. the advance guard was now at the foot of the sheer cliff. no news had been received of the dorsets, who were in a very rough country, wooded almost to the summit; and the general could only hope that they were working up through this. the force pushed on and, a few minutes past eleven, the whole summit was in our possession, and the last of the visible enemy put to flight. the intelligence officers busied themselves sketching the country. it was evident that the saransur was the retreat of the maidan zakka-khels, for all round were evidences of encampments: fire-stained walls, caves, and bags of grain. it was deserted by the tribesmen, who had been taken by surprise, and had left hurriedly. general westmacott was anxious to be off, as it was probable that the fighting men of the enemy had merely hurried off to place their families under cover, and would return as soon as they had done so. at two o'clock the return march began. a company of the northamptons were placed within range of the wooded slope, which should have been covered by the dorsets, had they come up. they were suddenly fired upon, and the men fell fast. another company came up to help them. the enemy could not be seen, but volleys were fired into the wood. the 36th sikhs went back to reinforce them, and the whole force were withdrawn without further casualty. as the northamptons were retiring across the wooded zone, the first four companies were allowed to pass unmolested; but when the fifth reached the clear ground, they were greeted with a blaze of fire. the carriage of the wounded delayed the retirement, and it was not until dusk that the foot of the hill was reached. the enemy had taken every advantage that their knowledge of the country gave them. they had now begun to creep up the ravines, and their number increased every minute. men were falling fast. each man carrying a wounded comrade became a target. the dorsets also were severely engaged. the northamptons stuck to their work, and slowly withdrew their wounded; but the number of casualties increased alarmingly. then an unfortunate occurrence took place. a party of northamptons, under lieutenant macintyre and lieutenant sergeant luckin, turning a corner, were cut off. it appeared that they sacrificed themselves to their wounded comrades. one of the party was despatched for help, and evidently came across a small group of dorsets. the story was, that the party were surrounded at short range when he left; for, had they left their wounded and followed him, they might have saved themselves. next morning their bodies were found. in every case they had been wounded by bullets, before the pathans came up and gashed them; which showed that they had fought till the last man dropped. lisle was not one of those who returned to camp and, in the confusion that occurred as the result of the late arrival of the troops, his absence was not discovered until the next morning. on enquiries being made, it was found that he was last seen high up in the mountains. he had been sent down, with eight men, to request the guns to direct their fire against the enemy, who were pressing the regiment during the retreat; but as he had not arrived at the guns, a strong party was at once sent out, to search for his body and those of the men with him. lisle had, in fact, pushed down halfway to the spot where the guns were placed, and had dismounted at the top of a nullah; when a large party of the enemy opened fire upon him. one of the sepoys at once fell dead, and another was wounded. it was impossible for him to fight his way through this force. twilight was already falling and, owing to the rugged nature of the ground, he was by no means sure of his position. while the men returned the enemy's fire, he looked round for some vantage ground. fifty yards away there was a small blockhouse and, when he saw this, he at once determined to shelter in it. he and one of the men therefore lifted their wounded comrade, and lisle shouted to the others: "use your magazines, and then make a rush for the hut, keeping well together." the little party charged, meanwhile keeping up so heavy a fire, with their magazines, that the afridis who stood between them and the house cleared off, leaving a dozen of their dead on the ground. before they reached the block house, two more of the men were wounded but, fortunately, not severely enough to prevent them from keeping up with the others. the place was untenanted, and they rushed in and at once began to pile its contents against the door. lisle ordered the unwounded men to take their places at the loopholes, which served for windows in the afridi buildings, while he himself attended to the wounds of the others. he warned the men who were firing to withdraw quickly after every shot, for the afridis were such admirable marksmen that their bullets frequently entered the loopholes. chapter 9: captured. when he had completed the dressing of the wounds, lisle mounted to the upper story, which was a feature of every house in the valley. while the lower part was of stone; the upper one was built of wicker work, thickly plastered with mud, and quite useless as a protection against rifle bullets. he set to work to cut a dozen small loopholes, a few inches above the floor. from these he commanded a view all round. then he called up the two wounded men, who were still able to use their rifles, and ordered them to lie down, one at each of the side walls; while he himself took his place over the doorway, with the rifle of the disabled man. from here he picked off several of the enemy. his fire was returned but, as he took care to lie well back, the bullets all went over his head. when darkness fell, he went down and directed the sepoys to man only the loopholes in the front wall. this released three men, whom he brought upstairs and posted above the door. the afridis continued to riddle the upper wall and the door with bullets. several times they attempted a rush, but were unable to withstand the heavy magazine fire which met them, when within twenty yards of the house. twice they attempted to pile faggots at the side of the door, but the defence was so strong that many of the bearers were killed, and the survivors fled. knowing that the afridis were in the habit of hiding their store of grain, lisle prodded the floor in all directions with his bayonet and, at last, found a good supply in one corner of the room. unfortunately, however, there was only one vessel, half full of water. it would not have done to light a fire to cook the grain, as any illumination within the house would have shown the exact place of the loopholes to the enemy. lisle therefore served out some grain to each of the soldiers, to eat raw. he gave some of the water to the three wounded men, and served out a mouthful to each of the others; telling them that they might not be relieved for some time, and that the little supply must be made to last as long as possible. the enemy still kept up a heavy fire but, after the lessons they had received, there was but small chance that they would attempt another hand-to-hand attack. lisle therefore told all the men to lie down and sleep, while he himself took up his place at the loophole nearest the door, and kept watch. no attempt was made until daybreak was approaching; when, with wild yells, the afridis again rushed forward. the men were instantly on their feet, and eight rifles flashed out. "magazine firing!" lisle shouted, "but don't fire unless you see a man, and make sure of bringing him down. we must husband our ammunition." quietly and steadily, the men kept up their fire. this time the enemy reached the door, and lisle was compelled to call down the two men from above. the afridis gathered thickly round the door, tried to push it in with their heavy knives, and battered it with the butt ends of their rifles. gradually, in spite of the fire of the defenders, they splintered it; but the barricade behind still held and, from this, the besieged poured through the broken door so galling a fire--one half emptying their magazines, and then falling back to reload while the others took their places--till at last, after suffering a loss of some thirty men, the enemy retired again, and were soon hidden in the darkness. as soon as they had gone, the garrison brought down all available material from the upper floor to strengthen the barricade. "i don't think they will try again, lads," lisle said. the numbers of the besieged were, unfortunately, dwindling. one had been shot through the head, two others had been wounded, and lisle himself had received a bullet in his shoulder. there were now but two unwounded men; but the other four were all capable of using their rifles, at a pinch. it was a relief, indeed, when day fairly broke; for then they could see their foes at a distance and, by a steady fire, force them to take to shelter. when they got into cover, the tribesmen continued to fire upon the block house; but the besieged did not reply, for they had only twenty rounds per man left. another mouthful of water was now served to all and, the two unwounded men having been placed in the upper story to keep watch, the others sat down under the loopholes, in readiness to leap to their feet and fire, if an alarm was given. at length, about eleven o'clock, the fire of the enemy suddenly ceased and, a few minutes later, a relief party marched up. the men cheered lustily as the barricade was removed, and lisle and the six men came out. the officers ran forward and warmly greeted lisle, shaking hands with him and the men of his little party. "thank god we have found you alive, bullen! we hadn't even a hope that you had survived; for we found poor macintyre and his party, all killed and cut up. we started this morning, as soon as your absence was discovered, and have been searching ever since; but i doubt if we should ever have found you, had we not heard firing going on up here. i don't think men were ever so pleased as ours, when we heard it; for it showed that you, or some of your party, were still holding out. "you must have had desperate fighting, for there are some forty bodies lying near the door; and we know that the enemy always carry off their dead, when they can. you must have accounted for a good many more, who have been taken away in the darkness." "we have done our best, you may be sure," lisle said. "we have lost two men killed, and four out of the others are wounded. i myself have got a rifle ball in my shoulder; at least, it is not there now, for it went right through. fortunately it missed the bone, so i shall be all right again, in a day or two." "how many were you attacked by?" "i should say there must have been two hundred. that was about the number, when they first attacked." "you must have been exposed to a tremendous fire. the walls are everywhere pitted with bullet marks, and the upper story seems perfectly riddled with balls; but of course none of you were up there." "yes, we used it as a lookout. as you see, i made four loopholes in each side and, as we lay well back, their bullets passed over our heads. "what we want now is water. we drank the last drop, when we saw you coming. we had scarcely a mouthful each, and we have not had much more during the siege." flasks were instantly produced, and each man drank his fill. "and now we had better be off," the officer in command of the relief party said. "likely enough the afridis will be down upon us, as soon as we move." they were, indeed, several times fired at, as they made their way down to the camp, and at one time the resistance was formidable; but they were presently joined by another party from the camp, and the afridis therefore drew off. lisle received many hearty congratulations on his return, and many officers of other regiments came in to shake his hand. "i shall send in your name again, mr. bullen," his colonel said, after lisle had made his report. "it was a most gallant action, to defend yourself so long, with only seven men, against a couple of hundred of the enemy; and the loss you inflicted upon them has been very severe, for forty fell close to the house, so that their bodies could not be carried off. i certainly should reckon that you must have killed or wounded a good many more." "i don't think so, colonel. no doubt we killed some more but, as it was dark for the greater part of the time, we could only fire at the flashes of their rifles. certainly i saw twelve or fourteen fall, before it became quite dark and, as they several times tried to rush us, others might have fallen far enough from the house to be carried off by their friends." that day general lockhart placed, in the order of the day, the names of lisle and his little party as having shown conspicuous gallantry, in defending themselves against a vastly superior force. two days later general lockhart, himself, went out with a strong force to the top of saransur; but met with little resistance, and the force returned at a much earlier hour than on the previous occasion, and reached camp before nightfall. in warfare of this kind, it is the wounded who are the cause of disaster. a wounded man means six men out of the fighting line--four to carry him, and one to take charge of their rifles. a few casualties greatly reduce the fighting strength of the party. in european warfare this would not take place, as the wounded would be left behind, and would be cared for by the enemy. the next day representatives of all the orakzai tribes came in, and asked for terms. they were told that they must restore all stolen property, give up five hundred rifles, and pay a fine of thirty thousand rupees, and the cost of rebuilding the post they had destroyed. representatives of three other tribes also came in, and similar terms were imposed upon them. two of these, the kambar-khels and the malikdins, were in the habit of migrating to british territory in cold weather; but the kuki-khels sent their families and goods, in winter quarters, to the bara valley. the other maidan tribes would probably have come in at the same time, but for their fear of the zakka-khels. there was trouble the next day in the mastura valley, where two officers and four men were wounded. the following night the camp was fired into, by an enemy who had crept within a hundred and fifty yards of it. news came that general kempster, with his detached brigade, had met with little opposition; and his search over the hills showed that the zakka-khels, in that direction, were severely punished. on the 13th, the 3rd brigade left the camp to cross the kotal towards saransur. except for a few long-range shots, there was no opposition. next day a mullah's house was destroyed, documents found there showing that he had taken a vigorous part in the rising. two days later the brigade started on their return march. the 1st and 3rd ghoorkhas were to cover the retirement, and the 15th sikhs to hold the kotal. the baggage train reached the kotal by twelve o'clock, and the camp at three. the ghoorkhas, however, had to fight hard; and were so done up that, instead of continuing to cover the retirement they passed on, leaving the sikhs to cover. the enemy, thinking that only a small rear guard had been left, came down in great force; but the fire was so heavy that they fell back, leaving the ground strewn with their dead. the action, however, now became general, all along the hill. ammunition was running short, and captain abbott felt that, in the face of so large a force, and with fifteen or sixteen wounded, he could not retire down the ravine or valley without support. he therefore signalled for assistance; and the 46th, and two companies of the dorsets, were detached for that purpose. colonel houghton of the 36th, who was now in command, retiring steadily, found himself hampered with wounded in the rough country; while the enemy were surrounding him in increasing numbers. he was suffering heavily from the fire of the enemy posted in a small village; and he determined to seize it, and hold it for the night. three companies of the 15th and two of the 36th therefore rushed up the hill, and were into the buildings before the pathans were aware that they were moving against them. those that delayed were bayoneted, the rest fled precipitately into the darkness. their fire, however, had cost us an officer and five men killed. major des voeux on the right, having rushed a clump of buildings opposite to him, made for a second one on the far side of the nullah, in which was a small square building. the roof of the house had been burnt, and the charred beams were lying on the ground. the men rolled these, and what litter they could find into the gaps of the building; but the breastwork was barely two feet high. when the enemy returned to the attack they rushed right up to the house but, luckily, they fired high in their excitement, and the sikhs swept them back again. the breastwork was then completed, a sentry was placed at each side of the house, and the rest lay down. colonel houghton's post, which was a strong one, was not much troubled. a disaster, however, occurred to a half company, under two officers, who tried to push their way back to camp. their bodies were found in a nullah, in the morning. the next morning the parties were relieved by a force from camp. on the same day general westmacott, with the 4th brigade, marched out. for the past three days the malikdins and kambar-khels had shown a disposition to be friendly, and had made some attempt to open a grain traffic. major sullivan, with three other officers, pushed forward to prospect a site for a camp. some apparently friendly and unarmed tribesmen approached them; but major sullivan's suspicions were excited when he saw that, instead of coming down direct, they were making a sweep that would cut off his little party. he therefore whistled for the others to join him. when the tribesmen saw that the game was up, they poured in two volleys. luckily the shots went high, and the four officers gained the cover of a house, and were soon joined by a ghoorkha company. there was no doubt that the enemy had played the game of friendlies for the purpose of obtaining four officers, alive, to use as hostages. the force then retired, bringing in the baggage animals, loaded with forage. the return was now decided upon. it was considered by the authorities that it would be less expensive to organize another expedition in the spring, when the sowing had begun; than to maintain a large force in the tirah during the winter. the afridis would not come down, and orders were therefore issued for destroying all the villages. these were burned, and the axe laid to the roots of the beautiful groves. the tribal representatives of the kambar-khels, alla-khels, malikdin-khels, and kuki-khels came in. they were ordered to send in eight hundred serviceable rifles, fifty thousand rupees in cash, and all property that had been stolen. when the force arrived at bagh there was a sharp action, and the casualties amounted to twenty-two wounded and seven killed. the ghoorkhas reported that they had found the enemy in great force, in the valley. on the 22nd of november, sir william lockhart made a reconnaissance to dwatoi and the bara valley. he took with him a strong brigade, under general westmacott. every precaution was taken in entering this unknown country, as the road led down a defile commanded by high peaks. the yorkshire regiment was told off to hold the right of the advance, the 1st and 2nd ghoorkhas were to do the same work on the left. the column was headed by the 3rd ghoorkhas; followed by the 28th bombay volunteers, two companies of the sappers and miners, the borderers, and the baggage; the rear guard being furnished by the 36th sikhs. within a mile of camp, the ghoorkhas were engaged with stray riflemen. a mile farther they were met by the main body, and were unable to proceed farther without support. the flanking regiments, however, presently came up, and the advance continued. the road lay in the river bed, and the men were plodding, waist deep, in water. the passage became narrower and narrower, and so rapid was the decline that the river bed became impassable, and the men made their way along by its side. the road was almost dark, so high were the cliffs and so narrow the passage between them. here the resistance became very formidable. the ghoorkhas were all engaged in clearing the ridges, and the bombay pioneers pushed forward an advance guard, the borderers moving up to their support. the deepest gorge was enfiladed by a party of tribesmen, with martinis. one man fell with a broken leg. the man helping him was shot a moment later and, when a stretcher was brought back, two more of the borderers were hit. a section of the 3rd sikhs was detached to turn the enemy out, and then the ravine was rushed by all the rest. there was another gorge to be passed, and the enemy were pressing on both sides; but a battery was now brought into action, and soon drove them off. thus dwatoi was reached, where the force encamped. it was but a small open plain, some five hundred yards across. three miles away a gorge opened into the rajgul valley, and it appeared that, beyond this, lay wira valley. all the summits were strongly picketed. night fell, and there was no sign of the baggage. the troops were wet to the waist, there were seventeen degrees of frost, and the men had neither blankets nor food. when morning broke there were still no signs of baggage, but at eleven it began to appear. at noon fighting began again, and the rest of the train did not arrive till about five o'clock. fighting had been incessant the whole day. it was so severe that sir william lockhart determined to return to bagh, the following day. the arrangements were admirable. the baggage was loaded up before daybreak. the ghoorkhas were to ascend the hills flanking the village, three companies of the borderers were to form the advance guard, the wounded on stretchers were to follow, and the mountain battery was to take up a position to cover the retirement. by eight o'clock the last of the baggage was near the nullah. the helio then flashed to the pickets. they came in and joined the rear guard of the sikhs, and were well in the nullah before a shot was fired. when the afridis fairly took the offensive they attacked with fury, and the sikhs were obliged to signal for help. they were joined by a company of the borderers. a party of pathans dashed forward to seize the baggage; they had not, however, seen the few files that formed the rearmost guard, and were therefore caught between two bodies of troops, and almost annihilated. this sudden reversal of the situation seemed to paralyse the tribesmen, and the rest of the gorge was safely passed. though the natives followed up the rear guard to within two miles of the camp, they never made another determined attack. the force lost, in all, five officers wounded, and a hundred men killed and wounded, from the 36th. during the course of the reconnaissance lisle had been with the rear guard, and had fallen in the torrent with a rifle ball through his leg. as every man was engaged in fighting, the fall was unnoticed and, as he could not recover his footing, he was washed helplessly down to the mouth of the defile. as he managed to reach the shore, a party of afridis rushed down upon him with drawn tulwars; but a man who was evidently their leader stopped them, as they were about to fall upon him. illustration: a party of afridis rushed down upon him. "he is an officer," he said. "we must keep him for a hostage. it will be better, so, than killing him." accordingly he was carried back to a village which the troops had left that evening. here some women were told to attend to his wound, and the party who captured him went off to join in the attack on the british rear guard. in the evening, the man who had saved his life returned. he was, it seemed, the headman of the village; and had been with his force in the bara valley, where the natives of the village had retired on the approach of the british force. there lisle lay for ten days, by which time the inflammation from the wound had begun to subside. the bullet had luckily grazed, and not broken the bone. at the end of that time, some of the principal men came to him and, by signs, directed him to write a letter to the british commander, saying that he was a prisoner, that he was held as a hostage against any further attempt to penetrate into the valley; and that, in the event of another british force approaching, he would be at once put to death. four of the afridis always sat at the entrance to the house, which was one of the largest in the valley. he was served regularly with food; of which, as the valley had not been entered, there was, of course, abundance. the women in the house seldom came in to see him, except when they brought him his meals; and then it was evident, from their surly manner, that they strongly objected to his presence. as he lay on his rough pallet, he resolved to maintain the appearance of being unable to walk, as long as possible. he knew very well that, if general lockhart had to make another movement against the bara valley, he could not be averted from his purpose by the fact that the afridis held one officer prisoner, though he would assuredly revenge his murder, by destroying every house in the valley; and that he must accordingly trust only to himself to make his escape. to do this, it would be absolutely necessary to procure a disguise; and this, at present, he did not see his way to accomplish. the guards below were relieved every few hours, and kept up their watch every day. still, as they watched only the door, it might be possible for him to let himself down from the window at the back of the house. on the tenth day he found himself really able to walk, without very great difficulty. looking out of the window, one morning, he saw that the women of the house were all gathered round the guards, and talking excitedly. evidently some messenger had come in with news from the tirah valley. he knew, by this time, how many there were in the house, and was satisfied that they were all there. he at once made his way down to the floor below; feeling confident that, for the moment, he would not be disturbed. hanging against the wall were several men's dresses and clothes. he hastily took down sufficient for a disguise. they were summer clothes--for the afridis, when leaving to act against our troops in the mountains, wear sheepskin garments. at any rate, there was little fear that their loss would be discovered until the men returned from the front. he took the clothes up to his room, and hid them under the pallet. then, having ascertained that the women were still engaged in talking, he took off his boots and made his way down to the lowest story, which was principally used as a storehouse. here, among bags of corn and other stores, he saw a coil of rope. this he carried upstairs and, having hidden it, lay down again. the rest of the day passed quietly. it was apparent that the clothes had not been missed and, with a strong feeling of hopefulness, he awaited the night. when the house was quiet he looked out. four men were sitting, as usual, at the front of the door. then he took off his uniform and put on his disguise, fastened one end of the rope securely, and slid down noiselessly to the ground. keeping the house between him and the guard, he started. making a detour, he got free of the village, and then turned to the upper end of the valley. half an hour's walking took him to where the force had encamped, and he soon reached the mouth of the gorge. here he plunged into the river. his leg hurt him a good deal, but he waded on and, after great exertions, reached the head of the gorge. his leg was now hurting him so much that he could proceed no farther so, turning off, he mounted the hills and lay down among the rocks, where there was little chance of his being discovered. here he dozed till morning. when he took the rope, he had thrust several handfuls of grain into his pocket; and this he had tied up in the skirt of his garment, when he started. he now munched some of it, and lay, watching the mouth of the gorge below. two hours after daybreak, he saw a small party of tribesmen come hurrying up through the gorge. they did not stop, but kept on their course, evidently supposing that he had pushed on to join the british camp. all day he lay hidden and, before dark, he saw the men come back again. they had evidently given up the chase and, as he had seen no searchers upon the hills, the idea that he was hiding had evidently not occurred to them. he felt, however, that he must give his leg another day's rest before proceeding. on the following day he suffered a good deal from thirst, and dared not venture down to the river. when it was dark, however, he continued his way. illustration: it was the dead body of an afridi. presently he saw something white, huddled up behind a rock and, climbing up, he found that it was the dead body of an afridi, who had fallen in the fight. beside him lay his lee-metford rifle. this was indeed a find. in the scanty garments that he had alone dared to take, he would be known at once by anyone who happened to pass near him. he now set to work, and dressed himself in the dead warrior's garments; and took up his rifle and pouch of ammunition. "now," he said, "i only want something to stain my face and hands, and i shall be able to pass anywhere, if it does not come to talking." he kept his eyes about him, and presently saw the plant which he knew robah had used in preparing the dye for him. pulling all the leaves off, he pounded them with the stock of his rifle, and rubbed his face with juice from the leaves. there was sufficient to stain both his face and hands. by nightfall he entered the maidan. here he saw many natives gathered round the ruined houses. as he approached it, he saw that heavy firing was going on round the camp. it was greatly reduced in extent, and he guessed that a considerable proportion of the force had moved off on some punitive expedition. between him and it, he could see many of the afridis crouched among the rocks, ready to attack any small parties that might issue out. he saw at once that it would be impossible to reach the camp without being questioned, and he therefore determined to fall in with the column that had gone out. for this purpose, he made a wide detour until he came upon a track where there were innumerable signs that a column had recently passed. crushed shrubs would, in themselves, have been a sufficient guide; but there were many other tokens of the path of the army: grain dropped from a hole in a sack, scratches on the rock by the shod feet of the transport animals, an empty cartridge case, and a broken earthenware pot. he pushed on rapidly, keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy. some of them, passing along the hill, shouted to him to join them; but with a wave of his rifle and a gesture, showing that he intended to keep to the track, he went on. late in the afternoon, on mounting a high pass, he could distinctly hear firing in the distance; and his heart beat at the thought that he was near his friends. still, between him and them the afridis might be swarming. the risk, however, must be run. ascending the slope of the hill, he obtained a view of the conflict. a body of british troops was firing steadily, and another regiment was coming up to their assistance. the afridis were swarming round in great numbers, and keeping up a continuous fire. waiting until he saw where the afridis were thickest, he made his way down to the firing line, and took up his position behind a rock; there being none of the natives within fifty yards of him. he now began to fire, taking pains to see that his bullets went far over the heads of the british. this he continued until nightfall, by which time the conflict had come to an end, and the british regiments, with the convoy which they were protecting, had reached camp. chapter 10: through the mohmund country. for a time the firing ceased entirely but, soon after nightfall, a scattered fire opened round the camp. lisle now made his way down fearlessly, until within four hundred yards of the camp. he was able to make out the white dresses of the afridis, lying crouched behind rocks. no one paid any attention to him and, as soon as he had passed them, he dropped on his hands and knees and began crawling forward; keeping himself carefully behind cover for, at any moment, the pickets might open fire. when he approached the british lines, he stopped behind a rock and shouted: "don't fire! i am a friend." "come on, friend, and let us have a look at you," the officer in charge of the picket answered. rising, he ran forward. "who on earth are you?" the officer asked when he came up. "you look like one of the afridis, but your tongue is english." "i am lieutenant bullen," he said; and a burst of cheering rose from the men, who belonged to his own regiment. "why, we all thought you were killed, in that fight in the torrent!" "no; i was hit, and my leg so disabled that i was washed down by the torrent; and the men were, i suppose, too much occupied in keeping the afridis at bay to notice me. on getting to the other side of the pass i crawled ashore, and was made prisoner. no doubt the afridis thought that, as i was an officer, they would hold me as a hostage, and so make better terms. "i was put into the upper story of one of their houses but, after ten days, my wounds healed sufficiently to allow me to walk; and i have got here without any serious adventure." "well, i must congratulate you heartily. i will send two of the men into camp with you, for otherwise you would have a good chance of being shot down." on arriving at the spot where the officers of the regiment were sitting round a campfire, his escort left him. as he came into the light of the fire, several of the officers jumped up, with their hands on their revolvers. "don't shoot! don't shoot!" lisle exclaimed, with a laugh. "i can assure you that i am perfectly harmless." "it is bullen's voice," one of them exclaimed, and all crowded round him, and wrung his hands and patted him on the back. "this is the second time, bullen, that you have come back to us from the dead; and this time, like hamlet's father, you have come back with very questionable disguise. now, sit down and take a cup of tea, which is all we have to offer you." "i will," lisle said, "and i shall be glad of some cold meat; for i have been living, for the past three days, on uncooked grain." the meat was brought, and lisle ate it ravenously, declining to answer any questions until he had finished. "now," he said, "i will tell you a plain, unvarnished tale;" and he gave them, in full detail, the adventure he had gone through. "upon my word, lisle, you are as full of resources as an egg is full of meat. your pluck, in going down to the lower story of that house while the women were chatting outside, was wonderful. it was, of course, sheer luck that you found that dead pathan, and so got suitable clothes; but how you dyed your face that colour, i cannot understand." lisle explained how he had found a plant which was, as he knew, used for that purpose; and how he had extracted the colouring matter from it. "you had wonderful luck in making your way through the pathans, without being questioned; but, as we know, fortune favours the brave. well, i shall have another yarn to tell general lockhart, in the morning; but how we are to rig you out, i don't know." several of the officers, however, had managed to carry one or two spare garments in their kits. these were produced; and lisle, with great satisfaction, threw off the dirt-stained pathan garments, and arrayed himself in uniform. pleased as all the others were at his return, no one was so delighted as robah, who fairly cried over his master, whom he had believed to be lost for ever. "we shall not be uneasy about you again, bullen," the colonel said, as they lay down for the night. "whenever we miss you we shall know that, sooner or later, you will turn up, like a bad penny. if you hadn't got that wound in the leg--which, by the way, the surgeon had better dress and examine in the morning--i should have said that you were invulnerable to afridi bullets. the next time there is some desperate service to be done, i shall certainly appoint you to undertake it; feeling convinced that, whatever it might be, and however great the risk, you will return unscathed. you don't carry a charm about with you, do you?" "no," lisle laughed, "i wish i did; but anything i carry would not be respected by a pathan bullet." next morning the colonel reported lisle's return, and sir william lockhart sent for him and obtained, from his lips, the story of the adventure. "you managed excellently, sir," the general said, when he had finished. "of course, i cannot report your adventure in full, but can merely say that lieutenant bullen, whom i had reported killed, was wounded and taken prisoner by the pathans; and has managed, with great resource, to make his escape and rejoin the force. your last adventure, sir, showed remarkable courage; and this time you have proved that you possess an equal amount of calmness and judgment. if you go on as you have begun, sir, you will make a very distinguished officer." during the day lisle had to repeat his story, again and again, to the officers of other regiments; who came in to congratulate him on making his escape, and to learn the particulars. "i shall have," he said, laughing, "to get the printing officer to strike off a number of copies of my statement, and to issue one to each regiment. there, i think i would rather go through the adventure again, than have to keep on repeating it." he had received a hearty cheer, from the regiment, when he appeared upon parade that morning; a reception that showed that he was a general favourite, and that sincere pleasure was felt at his return. lisle had been known among the men as 'the boy' when he first joined, but he was a boy no longer. he was now eighteen; and had, from the experiences he had gone through, a much older appearance. he learned, on the evening of his return, that he was now a full lieutenant; for there had been several changes in the regiment. when in cantonments other officers had joined, junior to himself; and four or five had been killed during the fighting. "if this goes on much longer, mr. bullen, you will be a captain before we get back to india," one of the officers said. "i am sure i hope not," he replied. "i don't wish to gain steps by the death of my friends. however, i hope that there is no chance of it coming to that." after the visit of the commander to the mohmund hill force, the troops under general lockhart learned the history of the operations of that force, of which they had hitherto been in complete ignorance. on the 28th of august the force was concentrated. it consisted of the troops which, under sir bindon blood, had just pacified the upper swat valley; with a brigade, under brigadier general jeffreys and general wodehouse, mobilized near malakand. on the 6th of september orders were issued to march to banjour, through the mohmund country to shabkadr, near peshawar, and operate with a force under major general ellis. a force had already been despatched, under general wodehouse, to seize the bridge over the panjkora. this was successfully accomplished, the force arriving just in time, as a large body of the enemy came up only a few hours later. general meiklejohn was in command of the line of communication, and the 2nd and 3rd brigades crossed the panjkora without opposition. on the 13th of september the rambuck pass was reconnoitred, and the two brigades arrived at nawagai. general jeffreys encamped near the foot of the ramjak pass; and part of his force was detached, to prepare the road for the passage of the expedition, and to bivouac there for the night. the road was partially made, and the brigade would have passed over but, about eight o'clock in the evening, the camp at the foot of the pass was suddenly attacked. all lights were at once extinguished, and the men fell in rapidly; the trenches opening fire on the unseen enemy, who moved gradually round to the other side of the camp. it was pitch dark, for the moon had not yet risen; and the enemy poured in a murderous fire, but did not attempt to rush the camp. the troops were firing almost at random for, in spite of star shells being fired, very few of the enemy could be made out. the fire was hottest from the side occupied by the 38th dogras, who determined to make a sortie, for the purpose of clearing the enemy away from that flank. in spite of the fact that the ground was swept by bullets, several volunteered for the sortie. the fire, however, was too hot. captain tomkins and lieutenant bailey fell, almost the instant they rose to their feet. lieutenant harrington received a mortal wound, and several men were also killed and wounded, and the sortie was given up. all night a heavy fire was kept up by the enemy, but they moved off in the morning. the camp presented a sad sight, when day broke; dead horses and mules were lying about among the tents and shelters, which had been hurriedly thrown down at the first attack. when it was learned that the assailants belonged to the banjour tribes, living in the mohmund valley, a squadron of bengal lancers were sent off in pursuit and, overtaking them in a village at the entrance of their valley, killed many, pursuing them for four or five miles. when they returned to the village, they were joined by the guides infantry and a mountain battery. this was too small a force to follow the enemy into their hills, but they destroyed the fortifications of several small villages and, before night, general jeffreys, with the rest of the brigade, arrived. night passed without interruption and, in the morning, the force marched in three columns; the centre keeping straight up the valley, while the other two were to destroy the villages on each side. when the centre column had advanced six miles up the valley, they saw the enemy in a village on the hill; and a detachment of the buffs went out to dislodge them. the remainder of the column pushed on. two companies of the 35th sikhs, who were in advance, went too far; and were suddenly attacked by a great number of the enemy. fighting sturdily they fell back but, being hampered by their wounded, many of the men were unable to return the fire of the tribesmen; who formed round them, keeping up a heavy fire at close quarters. the ghazis, seeing their opportunity, came closer and closer; their swordsmen charging in and cutting down the sikhs in the ranks. seventeen were thus killed or wounded. presently, however, the buffs arrived in support, and a squadron of the 11th bengal lancers charged the ghazis, and speared many of them before they could reach the shelter of the hills; and the buffs soon drove them away, with heavy loss. while this was going on the third detachment, which had destroyed many of the numerous villages, was called in to join the main body. the guns had been doing good work among the flying tribesmen. a company and a half of the 35th sikhs were told to take post, on a high hill, to cover the guns. this force, when the troops returned, diverged somewhat from the line of march which the main body were following. it was hard pressed by the tribesmen, hampered by the wounded, and was running short of ammunition; and was obliged to send for help. the general ordered the guides to go to their assistance but, fortunately, a half company of that regiment with some ammunition had already reached them, and the party could be seen fighting their way up a steep rocky spur. the tribesmen, confident that they could cut off the small band from the main force, rushed at them with their swords. both the officers were severely wounded. when, however, the rest of the guides arrived on the hill, they poured several volleys into the enemy, and so checked their advance. a havildar then volunteered to mount the hill with ammunition. he reached the party with seventy cartridges, and carried back a wounded native officer. other guides followed his example, and all reached the valley as evening was closing in. the ghazis crept up the ravine, and maintained a hot fire upon them. it soon became pitch dark, and the difficulty of the march was increased by a heavy storm. the force lost the line of retreat and, but for the vivid lightning, would have found it impossible to make their way across the deep ravine. at ten o'clock they reached the camp. here they found that general jeffreys, with part of his brigade, had not yet returned. at dawn, however, the general appeared, with his mountain battery and a small escort. they had become separated from the remainder of the brigade, and the general decided to bivouac in a village. defences were at once formed. the trenching tools were with the main body, but the sappers used their bayonets to make a hasty shelter. the enemy took possession of the unoccupied part of the village, and opened fire on the trenches. this grew so hot that it became absolutely necessary to clear the village. three attempts were made, but failed; the handful of available men being altogether insufficient for the purpose. the enemy now tried to rush the troops, and a continuous fire was poured into a small enclosure, packed with men and mules. the casualties were frequent, but the men now threw up a fresh defensive work, with mule saddles and ammunition boxes. the fury of the storm, which came on at nine o'clock, somewhat checked the ardour of the assailants; and the water was invaluable to the wounded. at midnight four companies, who had gone out in search of the general, arrived and cleared the enemy out of the village. the casualties had been heavy, two officers and thirty-six men having been killed, and five officers and a hundred and two men wounded. next day the force started on their way up the valley. their object was to attack a strongly-fortified village on the eastern side of the valley, about six miles distant from the camp. when they were within two thousand yards of the enemy's position, the tribesmen could be seen, making their disposition for the attack. the sikhs, dogras, and buffs stormed the heights on either side; but the enemy made no attempt to stand. the guides advanced straight on the village, which was destroyed without loss. the grain found there was carried into camp. several other villages were captured and, though the enemy were several times gathered in force, the appearance of a squadron of bengal lancers, in every case, put them to flight. in the meantime, the 3rd brigade were encamped at nawagai. the news of the attack on general jeffreys' column had upset the arrangements. it was of the utmost importance to hold nawagai, which separated the country of the hadda mullah and the mamunds. as the whole country was hostile, and would rise at the first opportunity, the force was not strong enough to march against the hadda mullah, and leave a sufficient body to guard the camp. it was therefore decided to wait, until they were joined by general ellis' force. skirmishing went on daily. on the 17th, heliographic communication was opened with general ellis. on the following day an order was flashed to them, to join general jeffreys in the mamund valley. this was impracticable, however, until general ellis should arrive. next night a couple of hundred swordsmen crept up to a ravine, within fifty yards of the camp, and suddenly fell upon the west surrey regiment. they were met by such a hail of bullets that most of them dropped, and of the remainder not a man reached hallal. on the following day a messenger arrived, from general ellis, asking sir bindon blood to meet him ten miles away. that afternoon a reconnaissance was made, as news had been received that large reinforcements had been received by hadda mullah. the enemy showed themselves in great force, but kept out of range of the guns though, during the return march, they followed the troops and, when darkness set in, were but two miles from camp. at nine in the evening the enemy, who had crept silently up, attempted to rush the camp on three sides. the troops were well prepared, and maintained a steady fire; although the enemy's swordsmen hurled themselves against our entrenchments in great numbers. the star shells were fired by the mountain battery, and their reflection enabled the infantry to pour deadly volleys into the midst of the enemy, who were but a few yards distant. the tribesmen, however, completely surrounded the camp, their riflemen keeping up a heavy fire, and their swordsmen making repeated rushes. the tents had all been struck, and the troops lay flat on the ground while the enemy's bullets swept the camp. this was kept up till two o'clock in the morning, the fire never slackening for a minute; and the monotony of the struggle was only broken by an occasional mad, fanatical rush of the ghazis. the entrenchments were so well made that only thirty-two casualties occurred, but a hundred and fifteen horses and transport animals were killed. the effect of this decisive repulse, of an attack which the enemy thought would certainly be successful, was shown by the complete dispersal of the enemy. their losses had been terrible. it was ascertained that, in the surrounding villages alone, three hundred and thirty had been killed; while a great number of dead and wounded had been carried away over the passes. on the following day general ellis arrived. it was arranged that the 3rd brigade should join his command. thus reinforced, he could deal with the hadda mullah, and general blood would be at liberty to join the 2nd brigade in the mamund valley. general ellis took up a position, with the two brigades at his disposal, at the mouth of the bedmanai pass; and sniping went on all night. next morning the troops moved forward to the attack. covered by the rest of the force, the 20th punjabis, with the 3rd ghoorkhas in support, were ordered to make the assault, and to secure the hills commanding the pass. the enemy fought stubbornly, but were gradually driven back; their numbers being greatly reduced by deserters, after the attack on the camp. the hadda mullah had fled, directly the fight began; but the suffi mullah was seen constantly rallying his followers. on the following morning, general westmacott's brigade marched to a village situated at the mouth of the jarobi gorge--a terrible defile, with precipitous cliffs on either side, the crests of which were well wooded. the resistance, however, was slight, and the force pushed through and burned the houses, towers, and forts of the hadda mullah. they were harassed, however, on their return to camp. in the meantime, sir bindon blood had joined general jeffreys' brigade, which was still engaged in operations against the mamunds. several villages were burned, and large supplies of game and fodder carried off. the mamunds at last sent in a party to negotiate; but it soon appeared that they had no intention of surrendering, for they had been joined by a considerable number of afghans, and were ready for a fresh campaign. the afghan borderers were in a good position, and were able to bring their forces to the assistance of the mamunds with the assurance that, if they were repulsed, they could return to their homes. general jeffreys therefore recommenced operations, by an attack upon two fortified villages. these were situated on the lower slope of a steep and ragged hill, near enough to give support to each other, and protected by rocky spurs. the inhabitants sallied out to attack, but were checked by the appearance of our cavalry. the force then pressed forward to the high jungle. it was evident that the spurs on either side must be captured, before the village could be stormed. the guides were ordered to clear the spur to the left, the 31st punjab infantry and the dogras the centre ridge between the two hills, while the west kents advanced straight up the hill. the guides dashed up the hill with a wild yell. this so intimidated the tribesmen that, after firing a volley so wild that not a single man was wounded in the attacking column, they fled in a panic. the punjabis, on the other hill, were stubbornly fighting their way. the ground consisted, for the most part, of terraced fields, commanded by strongly-built sangars. colonel o'brien was killed, while gallantly leading his men on to the assault; but the punjabis persisted, under the covering fire of the mountain battery, and dropped shell after shell into the mamunds; who, however, although losing heavily, stuck manfully to their rocks and boulders, and finally were only driven out at the point of the bayonet. the 31st were now joined by the west kent, who came down from a spur on the west, and were able to drive the enemy out of several strong positions above the other village. on their way a half company, on reaching a sangar, were suddenly charged by a body of ghazis. from the melee which ensued, many of the west kents were killed and wounded, among them the officer in command. as it was now late, it was decided to return to camp for the night. this was done steadily and deliberately, although the enemy kept up a heavy fire. the casualties of the day were sixty-one, no fewer than eight british officers being killed or wounded. two days' rest was given the troops, and then they marched against badelai. the attack was almost unopposed. the tribesmen imagined that we were again going to attack their former position, and they were unable to return in time to defend the village. their loss, however, was severe, as they came down to the open ground, and were swept by the guns of the mountain battery. a few days afterwards the campaign was brought to an end, the enemy coming in and offering a general surrender. the expedition had been very successful, twenty-six villages having been destroyed, and all the hoards of grain having been carried off. on the 13th of october the mamund valley was evacuated, and the force moved into matassa. the inhabitants here were perfectly peaceable and, beyond the blowing up of the fort of a chief, who had continued hostile, there was no fighting. the force then returned to malakand, where it remained for two months. two tribes yet remained to be dealt with, namely the bulas and chamlas. both refused to comply with the reasonable terms imposed upon them, by the government, for their complicity in the rebellion. the force selected for their punishment consisted of two brigades, under general meiklejohn and general jeffreys. these advanced to the assault on the tangi pass. the guides, 31st punjabis, three squadrons of the bengal lancers, and two squadrons of the guide cavalry were sent to rustam, a place which threatened three passes leading into buner. the enemy, being thus compelled to watch all three routes, were prevented from assembling in any force. sir bindon blood encamped the two brigades on thursday, the 6th of january, at the mouth of the tangi pass. the detached column was to protect an entrance over the pirsai pass. the assault was made by the column under general meiklejohn, and so well was the force distributed--the hills on either side being captured, while three batteries opened fire on the hill with shrapnel--that the tribesmen were unable to maintain their position. the pass was captured with only one casualty, and the troops marched triumphantly down into buner, the first british troops who had ever entered the country. they halted at the first village. as this place was plentifully stocked with goats and chickens, they found abundance of food. the detached column were equally successful in their attack on the pirsai pass, for they met with scarcely any resistance. our success, in capturing the two passes hitherto deemed impregnable, brought about a complete collapse of the enemy. deputations came in from all the surrounding villages, and the tribesmen complied with the terms imposed upon them. chapter 11: an arduous march. lisle had heard of the operations that had been carried on by the brigade under general gazelee, under the general supervision of sir william lockhart. the object was to cross by the zolaznu pass, to punish two of the hostile tribes on the other side; to effect a meeting with the khuram column; and to concentrate and operate against the chamkannis, a tribe of inveterate robbers. on the 26th general gazelee started, and the newly-arrived wing of the scottish fusiliers, and two companies of the yorkshires was to follow, on the 28th. the approach to the pass, which was four miles to the left, was across a very rough country; and as, after advancing four and a half miles, a severe opposition was met with, most of the day was spent in dislodging the tribesmen from the villages, and turning them out of the spurs which covered the approach to the pass. finding it impossible to make the summit that night, they encamped and, although they were fired into heavily, but little damage was done. at dawn the expedition started again but, by accident, they ascended another pass parallel with the lozacca. at nine o'clock the ghoorkhas and sikhs arrived at the top of the pass. it was very difficult and, as the baggage animals gave great trouble on the ascent, and were unable to go farther, the party camped on the top of the pass. general lockhart left the camp early that morning, but was also opposed so vigorously that he was obliged to encamp, three miles from the top of the pass, after having burnt all the villages from which he had been fired upon. in the morning he joined the advance party, and went ten miles down the pass. on arriving there, he found that the queen's and the 3rd sikhs had pushed on farther to dargai. this was not the place previously visited of this name, which appears to be a common one in the tirah. plenty of hay and straw stores were found, and the troops were vastly more comfortable than on the previous night. it was here that lisle had overtaken the column. next day the whole force was encamped at dargai, where they were received in a friendly manner by the villagers; who expressed themselves willing to pay their share of the fines imposed, and also to picket the hills. the rear guard, of two companies of ghoorkhas and two companies of scottish fusiliers, arrived late in the day. they had met with great opposition. the tribesmen would, indeed, have succeeded in carrying off the guns, had not a company of the ghoorkhas come up and, fighting stubbornly, driven them off. next morning the headmen of the village were summoned, to explain why they had failed to pay the number of rifles they had promised; and fire was applied to one of their houses. this had an instantaneous effect and, in a quarter of an hour, the rifles were forthcoming and the fine paid. the force then moved on to esor, where helio communication with the khuram column had been effected and, that day, sir william lockhart and colonel hill--who commanded it--met. the country traversed was a beautiful one. it was admirably cultivated, and the houses were substantially built. that day two columns went out: one under general gazelee, to collect the fines from one of the tribes; the other commanded by colonel hill, to punish the chamkannis. this was a small, but extremely warlike and hardy tribe. a short time before, they had raided a thousand head of cattle from across our border, and got clear away with them. a portion of the force was told off, to work its way into the valley by the river gorge, while the main body ascended the path over the kotal. they reached this at a quarter-past ten and, while they were waiting for the head of the column that had gone up the gorge to appear, fire was opened upon them. this, however, was kept down by the guns. it was an hour before the column appeared, but the whole force was not through the defile until it was too late to carry out the destruction of the villages. the column therefore retired, severely harassed, the while, by the enemy. next day colonel hill was again sent forward, with the border scouts, the 4th and 5th ghoorkhas, part of the queen's, and the khoat battery. they were over the kotal at nine o'clock, and the 5th ghoorkhas and the scouts were sent to hold the hills on the left. the chamkannis had anticipated a sudden visit, and were in force on the left, where they had erected several sangars. the little body of scouts, eighty men strong, fought their way up the hill; and waited there for the leading company of the 5th. lieutenant lucas, who commanded them, told off half his company to sweep the sangar, and then the remainder dashed at it. the chamkannis stood more firmly than any of the tribesmen had hitherto done. they met the charge with a volley, and then drew their knives to receive it. the fire of the covering party destroyed their composure and, when the scouts were within thirty yards, they bolted for the next sangar. lucas carried three of these defences, one after another, and drove the enemy off the hill. the ghoorkhas scouts, who had been engaged thirty-six times during the campaign, had killed more than their own strength of the enemy, and had lost but one man killed and two wounded; and this without taking count of the many nights they had spent in driving off prowlers round the camp. the work of destruction now began. over sixty villages were destroyed in the valley and, on the following day, the expedition started to withdraw. the lesson had been so severe that no attempt was made, by the tribesmen, to harass the movement. the column marched down to the camp in the maidan--the adam khels, through whose country they passed, paying the fine, and so picketing many of the adjacent heights as to guard the camp from the attacks of hostile tribesmen. when they reached bara they decided to rejoin the peshawar column, without delay, as the outlook was not promising. the evacuation began on the 7th of december, but the rear guard did not leave till the 9th. it was divided into two divisions in order, as much as possible, to avoid the delay caused by the large baggage column. the 1st division was to march down on the mastura valley, while general lockhart's 2nd division would again face the dwatoi defile. both the forces were due to join the peshawar column, on or about the 14th. general symonds, with the 1st division, was unmolested by the way. it was very different, however, with lockhart. the movement was not made a day too soon. clouds were gathering, the wind was blowing from the north, and there was every prospect of a fall of snow, which would have rendered the passage of the bara pass impossible. the 3rd ghoorkhas led the way, followed by the borderers, with the half battalion of the scottish regiment and the dorsets. behind them came the baggage of the brigade and headquarters, the rear of the leading column being brought up by the 36th sikhs. general kempster's brigade followed, in as close order as possible; having detached portions of the 1st and 2nd ghoorkhas, and the 2nd punjab infantry, to flank the whole force. the malikdin khels were staunch to their word, and not a single shot was fired till the force had passed through the defile. the difficulties, however, were great, for the troops, baggage, and followers had to wade through the torrent, two-thirds of the way. the flanking had used up all the ghoorkhas, and the borderers now became the advance guard. everything seemed peaceful, and the regiment was halfway across the small valley, when a heavy fire was opened on the opposite hill. general westmacott was in command of the brigade. the borderers were to take and hold the opposite hill, supported by a company of dorsets and of scottish fusiliers. the battery opened fire, while a party turned the nearest sangars on the right flank. by three o'clock the whole of the crests were held, and the baggage streamed into camp. fighting continued, however, on the peaks, far into the night. no explanations were forthcoming why the enemy should have allowed the force to pass through the defile, without obstruction, when a determined body of riflemen could have kept the whole of them at bay; for the artillery could not have been brought into position, as the defile was the most difficult, of its kind, that a british division had ever crossed. the day following the withdrawal of the rear guard, it rained in the bara valley, which meant snow in the maidan. the pickets on the heights had a bad time of it that night, as some of them were constantly attacked; and it was not till three in the morning that the baggage came in, the rear guard arriving in camp about ten. the camp presented a wonderful sight that day, crowded as it was with men and animals. the weather was bitterly cold, and the men were busy gathering wood to make fires. on the hills all round, the sikhs could be seen engaged with the enemy, the guns aiding them with their work. the 36th sikhs, as soon as they arrived, were sent off to occupy a peak, two miles distant, which covered the advance into the rajgul defile. the enemy mustered strong, but were turned out of the position. the next morning the villages were white with snow. a party was sent on into the rajgul valley, where they destroyed a big village. immediately after leaving dwatoi, the valley broadened out till it was nearly a mile wide. on the right it was commanded by steep hills; on the left it was, to some extent, cultivated. the 4th brigade this time led the way, the 3rd bringing up the rear. from the moment when the troops fell in on the 10th, till they reached barkai on the 14th, there was a general action from front to rear. the advance guard marched at half-past seven. at eight o'clock flanking parties were engaged with the enemy in the hills and spurs. serious opposition, however, did not take place until five and a half miles of the valley had been passed. here the river turned to the right, and the front of the advance was exposed to the fire of a strongly-fortified village, nestling on the lower slope of a hill, on a terrace plateau. the village was furnished with no fewer than ten towers, and from these a very heavy fire was kept up. the battery shelled the spur; while the sikhs, in open order, skirmished up the terraces to the plateau and, after a brisk fusillade, took the village and burnt it. a mile farther, the head of the column reached the camping place, which was a strong village built into the river cleft. on the left the 36th sikhs and part of the ghoorkhas cleared the way; while the bombay pioneers, and the rest of the ghoorkhas, became heavily engaged with the enemy in some villages on the right. all along the line a brisk engagement went on. the camp pickets took up their positions early in the afternoon, and a foraging party went out and brought in supplies, after some fighting. kempster's brigade had not been able to reach the camp, and settled itself for the night three miles farther up the valley. it, too, had its share of fighting. all night it rained heavily, and the morning of the 11th broke cold and miserable. it was freezing hard; the hilltops, a hundred feet above the camp, were wrapped in snow; and the river had swollen greatly. the advance guard waded out into the river bed, and the whole of the brigade followed, the ghoorkhas clearing the sides of the valley. in a short time they passed into the zakka-khel section of the bara valley. curiously enough, the opposition ceased here. it may be that the enemy feared to show themselves on the snow on the hilltops; or that, being short of ammunition, they decided to reserve themselves for an attack upon the other brigade. scarcely a shot was fired until the valley broadened out into the akerkhel, where some small opposition was offered by villagers on either bank. this, however, was easily brushed aside. the advance guard of the 3rd brigade almost caught up the rear guard of the 4th and, by four in the afternoon, its baggage was coming along nicely, so that all would be in before nightfall. the rear guard of the brigade, consisting of the gordons, ghoorkhas, and 2nd punjab infantry, had been harassed as soon as they started and, as the day wore on, the enemy increased greatly in numbers. as the flanking parties fell back to join the rear guard, they were so pressed that it was as much as they could do to keep them at bay. when about three miles from camp, the baggage took a wrong road. in trying a piece of level ground, they became helplessly mixed up in swampy rice fields. the enemy, seeing the opportunity they had waited for, outflanked the rear guard, and began pouring a heavy fire into the baggage. the flanking parties were weak, for the strain had been so severe that many men from the hospital escort and baggage guard had been withdrawn, to dislodge the enemy from the surrounding spurs. the pathans were almost among the baggage, when a panic seized the followers. as night began to fall, the officer commanding the gordons, with two weak companies of his regiment, two companies of the ghoorkhas, and a company of the 2nd punjab infantry and some ghoorkhas, found himself in a most serious position. the guns had limbered up and pushed on, and the rear guard remained, surrounded by the enemy, hampered with its wounded, and stranded with doolies. as the native bearers had fled these doolies were, in many cases, being carried by the native officers. the enemy grew more and more daring, and a few yards, only, divided the combatants. captain uniacke, retiring with a few of the gordons, saw that there was only one course left: they must entrench for the night. he was in advance of the actual rear guard, attempting to hold a house against the fire of quite a hundred tribesmen. collecting four men of his regiment, and shouting wildly, he rushed at the doorway. in the dusk the enemy were uncertain of the number of their assailants and, in their horror of the bayonet, they fired one wild volley and fled. to continue the ruse, captain uniacke climbed to the roof, shouting words of command, as if he had a company behind him. then he blew his whistle, to attract the rear guard as it passed, in the dark. the whistle was heard and, in little groups, they fell back with the wounded to the house. it was a poor place, but capable of defence; and the pathans drew off, knowing that there was loot in abundance to be gained down by the river. as night wore on the greatest anxiety prevailed, when transport officers and small parties straggled in, and reported that tribesmen were looting and cutting up followers, within a mile of camp; and that they had no news to give of the men who composed the rear guard. so anxious were the headquarter staff that a company of the borderers were sent out, to do what they could. lieutenant macalister took them out and, going a mile up the river, was able to collect many followers and baggage animals, but could find no signs of the rear guard. early in the morning a company of the 2nd punjab infantry went out, as a search party, and got into communication with the rear guard. they were safe in the house; but could not move, as they were hampered with the wounded, and were surrounded by the enemy. two regiments and a mountain battery therefore went out and rescued them from their awkward predicament, bringing them into camp, with as much baggage as could be found. the casualties of the day amounted to a hundred and fifty animals, and a hundred followers killed. of the combatants two officers were wounded, and fourteen gordons were wounded, and four killed. owing to the necessity of sending out part of the 4th brigade, to support the cut-off rear of the 3rd brigade, it was impossible to continue the march that day. next morning, the order of the brigade was changed. the 23rd was to lead, handing over a battery of artillery to the 4th, for service in the rear guard. it was also ordered that flanking parties were to remain in position, until the baggage had passed. the advance guard consisted of the 2nd punjab infantry, and the 1st and 2nd ghoorkhas. the others were told off to burn and destroy all villages on either side of the nullah. the baggage of the whole division followed the main guard. directly the camp was left, the sides of the nullah enlarged and, for half a mile, the road lay through a narrow ravine. the drop was rapid; for the river, swollen by the fallen snow, had become literally a torrent; and the scene with the baggage was one of extreme confusion. the recent disaster had given a frenzied impulse to the generally calm followers, and all felt anxiety to press forward, with an impetus almost impossible to control. the mass of baggage became mixed in the ravine, but at last was cleared off and, when the valley opened, they moved forward at their greatest speed, but now under perfect control. after this the opposition became less, and the village of gulikhel was reached by the 3rd brigade. the village stands on the left bank of the bara. immediately below it a nullah becomes a narrow gorge, almost impassable in the present state of the river. it is several miles long. there was, however, a road over a neighbouring saddle. the path up from the river was narrow, but sufficient to allow two loaded mules to pass abreast. it wound for some seven miles, over a low hill, until the river bed was again reached. the next ford was barkhe. the advance guard was well up in the hills by midday, when it met the oxfordshire regiment, which had come out seven miles to meet the force; but the baggage of a division, filing out of the river bed in pairs, is a serious matter, and there was necessarily a block in the rear. general westmacott moved as soon as the baggage was off but, long before it was through the first defile, his pickets were engaged, and a general action followed. the enemy, fighting with extraordinary boldness, kept within a few yards of the pickets. followers with baggage animals were constantly hit, as they came up but, at half-past ten, the rear guard regiments marched out of camp, under cover of artillery fire. the fighting was so severe that, within an hour, the ammunition of the 3rd ghoorkhas was expended and, shortly afterwards, the two regiments of the rear guard were forced to call up their first reserve ammunition mules. the march was continued at a rapid pace, until they reached the block caused by the narrowness of the path. here the whole river reach became choked with animals and doolies. the wounded were coming in fast, when the pathans, taking advantage of the block, attacked in great force, hoping to compel the retreating force to make their way down the long river defile. general westmacott, however, defended his right with energy; the rear-guard regiments supporting each other, while the batteries were in continual action. the borderers, sikhs, and ghoorkhas stood well to their task, till the last of the baggage animals were got out of the river bed. the country now had become a rolling plateau, intersected by ravines and thickly covered with low jungle, in which the enemy could creep up to within three or four yards of the fighting line. progress was, consequently, very slow. to be benighted in such a country would have meant disaster, so general westmacott selected a ridge, which he determined to hold for the night. the wearied men were just filing up, when a tremendous rush was made by the afridis. for a moment, it seemed as if they would all be enveloped and swept away; but the officers threw themselves into the ranks, magazines were worked freely, and the very bushes seemed to melt away before the hail of shot. the tribesmen were swept back in the darkness, and they never tried a second rush. their firing also slackened very much, and this permitted the men to form a camp, and see to the wounded. that day the rear guard lost one officer killed and three wounded, eighteen men killed, eighty-three wounded, and six missing. the night in camp was a terrible experience. the troops had been fighting since early morning, the frost was bitter, and they had neither water, food, nor blankets. general westmacott passed the night with the sentry line. early in the morning the action recommenced and, stubbornly contesting each foot, at times almost in hand-to-hand conflict with tribesmen in the bushes, the rear guard fell back. the summit of the kotal was passed; but the enemy continued to harass their retirement down to the river, where the picket post of the 9th ghoorkhas was reached. the retirement from the tirah had cost a hundred and sixty-four killed and wounded. as a military achievement, this march of lockhart's 2nd division should have a prominent place in the history of the british army. after a quiet day, the force marched into swaikot. next morning the troops in camp there gathered on each side of the road, cheering their battle-grimed comrades, and bringing down hot cakes to them. it was a depressing sight. the men were all pinched and dishevelled, and bore on their faces marks of the terrible ordeal through which they had just passed. the advance guard were followed by the wounded. the 4th brigade followed. they were even more marked by hardship and strife than those who had preceded them. then the rear guard marched in, and the first phase of the tirah expedition was at an end. the expedition had carried out its object successfully. the afridis had been severely punished, and had been taught what they had hitherto believed impossible, that their defiles were not impregnable, and that the long arm of the british government could reach them in their recesses. the lesson had been a very severe one, but it had been attained at a terrible cost. it is to be hoped that it will never have to be repeated. but while the regiment were resting quietly in their cantonment, there had been serious fighting on the road to chitral. after some hesitation, the government had decided that this post should remain in our hands, and a strong force was therefore stationed at the malakand. this, after clearing the country, remained quietly at the station; until news was received of the attack on our fort at shabkadr, near peshawar, by the mohmunds and, two days later, news came that a large council had been held by the fanatics of various tribes, at which they decided to join the tribes in the upper valley of swat. on the 14th of august the force set out from thana, under sir bindon blood, on their march for the upper swat. the 11th bengal lancers were sent forward in order to reconnoitre the country. the enemy were found in force near jelala, at the entrance to the upper swat river, their advance post being established in some buddhist ruins on a ridge. the royal west kent, however, advanced and drove them off. then news came that several thousand of the enemy occupied a front, of some two miles, along the height; their right flank resting on the steep cliffs, and their left reaching to the top of the higher hills. the battery opened fire upon them; and the infantry, coming into action at nine o'clock in the morning, did much execution among the crowded ghazis. the 31st and 24th punjab infantry, under general meiklejohn, had a long and arduous march on the enemy's left. the movement was successfully carried out; and the enemy, knowing that their line of retreat towards the morah pass was threatened, broke up, a large portion streaming away to their left. the remainder soon lost heart and, although a desperate charge by a handful of ghazis took place, these only sacrificed their lives, without altering the course of events. the enemy gathered on a ridge in the rear but, by eleven, the heights commanding the road were in the hands of our troops, and the guides cavalry began to file past. when they got into the pass behind the ridge, the enemy were more than a mile away; and could be seen in great numbers, separated by several ravines. captain palmer, who had pushed forward in pursuit, soon found himself ahead of his men. near him were lieutenant greaves and, thirty yards behind, colonel adams and lieutenant norman. seeing that the enemy were in considerable force, colonel adams directed the troop of cavalry who were coming up to hold a graveyard, through which they had passed, until the infantry could arrive. owing, however, to the noise of the firing, palmer and greaves did not hear him; and charged up to the foot of the hill, hoping to cut off the tribesmen who were hurrying towards them. palmer's horse was at once killed, and greaves fell among the pathans. adams and fincastle, and two soldiers, galloped forward to their assistance, and were able to help palmer back to the shelter of the graveyard. meanwhile fincastle, who had had his horse killed, tried to help greaves on to adams' horse. while doing so, greaves was again shot through the body, and adams' horse wounded. the two troopers came to their assistance; and maclean, having first dismounted his squadron in the graveyard, pluckily rode out with four of his men. in this way the wounded were successfully brought in; but maclean was shot through both thighs, and died almost instantly. the loss of the two officers, who were both extremely popular, was greatly felt by the force. the infantry and guns now having arrived, the enemy retired to a village, two miles in the rear. here they were attacked by a squadron of the guides, who dispersed them and drove them up into the hills. in the meantime our camp had been attacked, but the guard repulsed the assailants, with some loss. the enemy had lost so heavily that they scattered to the villages, and sent in to make their submission. this fight effectually cooled the courage of the natives, and the column marched through their country unopposed, and the tribesmen remained comparatively quiet during the after events. chapter 12: a tribal fight. two days after lisle's return he was sent for by general lockhart, who requested him to give him a full account of his capture and escape. "this is the second time, mr. bullen, that your conduct has been brought before me. your defence of that hut, when you were unable to make your retirement to the camp, with a handful of men, was a singularly gallant affair. i lost one of my aides-de-camp in the last fight, and i am pleased to offer you the vacancy. you may take possession of his horse until we return; when it will, of course, be sold. i shall be glad to have a young officer of so much courage and resource on my staff." "thank you, sir! i am extremely obliged to you for the offer, which i gladly accept; and feel it a very high honour, indeed, to be attached to your staff." "very well, mr. bullen, i will put you in orders, tomorrow morning." on his return to the regiment, lisle was warmly congratulated when they heard the honour that had been bestowed on him; but there were many expressions of regret at his leaving them. "it will not be for long," he said, "for i suppose that, in another fortnight, we shall be across the frontier. if it had been at the beginning of the campaign, i should certainly have refused to accept the general's offer; for i should much rather have remained with the regiment. as it was, however, i could hardly refuse." "certainly not," said one. "it is always a pull having been on the staff, even for a short time. the staff always get their names in orders, and that gives a fellow much better chances in the future. besides, in a campaign like this, where the division gets often broken up, there is plenty of work to do. "well, i hope you will soon be back with us again." next morning lisle took up his new duties, and was soon fully occupied in carrying messages from and to headquarters. one day he received orders to accompany one of the senior members of the staff, to reconnoitre a pass two miles from camp. it was a level ride to the mouth of the gorge. they had scarcely entered it when, from behind a rock a hundred yards away, a heavy volley was fired. the colonel's horse was shot dead and he, himself, was shot through the leg. lisle was unwounded, and leapt from his horse. "ride for your life, bullen!" the colonel said. "i am shot through the leg." illustration: 'my horse must carry two, sir,' lisle replied. "my horse must carry two, sir," lisle replied, lifting the officer, who was not wholly disabled, and placing him in the saddle. "jump up!" the officer said. but the tribesmen were now within twenty yards, and lisle drew his sword and gave the animal a sharp prick. it was already frightened with the shouting of the tribesmen, and went off like an arrow. lisle, seeing that resistance was absolutely useless, threw down his sword; and stood with his arms folded, facing the natives. an order was shouted by a man who was evidently their leader and, pausing, those who were armed with breech loaders fired after the flying horseman; totally disregarding lisle, who had the satisfaction of finding that his sacrifice had been effectual, for the horse pursued its way without faltering. when it was out of range, the chief turned to lisle. the afridis value courage above all things, and were filled with admiration at the manner in which this young officer sacrificed himself for his superior. he signalled to lisle to accompany him and, surrounded by the tribesmen, he was taken back to the rock from which they had first fired. then, guarded by four armed men, he was conducted to a little village standing high among the hills. "this is just my luck," he said to himself, when he was taken to a room in the principal house. "here i am a prisoner again, just as the troops are going to march away. it is awfully bad luck. still, if i ever do get back, i suppose the fact that i have saved colonel houghton's life will count for something in my favour. it was unlucky that there was not time for me to jump up behind him, but my horse was in bad condition, and we should have been a good deal longer under fire. "however, i ought not to grumble at my luck. i believe i am the only officer who has been taken prisoner and, as it looks as if i am to be kept as a hostage, my life would seem to be safe. i certainly expected nothing but instant death when they rushed down upon me. i have no doubt that, by this time, a messenger has reached camp saying that they have got me; and that, if there is any farther advance, they will put me to death. as i know that the general did not intend to go any farther, and that every day is of importance in getting the troops down before winter sets in in earnest, i have no doubt that he will send back a message saying that, if any harm comes to me, they will, in the spring, return and destroy every house belonging to the tribe. "i think i may consider myself safe, and shall find plenty of employment in learning their language, which may be useful to me at some time or other. i expect that, as soon as we leave, the people here will go down into one of their valleys. the cold up here must be getting frightful and, as there is not a tree anywhere near, they would not be able even to keep up fires. "as to escape, i fear that will be impossible. the passes will all be closed by snow, and i have no doubt that, until they are sure of that, they will keep a sharp lookout after me." later in the day the tribesmen returned. the chief came into the room and, by means of signs and the few words that lisle had picked up, when he was before a prisoner, he signified to him that if he attempted to make his escape he would at once be killed; but otherwise he would be well treated. for four or five days a vigilant watch was kept over him. then it was relaxed, and he felt sure that the army had marched away. then preparations for a move began. lisle volunteered to assist, and aided to pack up the scanty belongings, and filled bags with corn. the chief was evidently pleased with his willingness and, several times, gave him a friendly nod. at last all was in readiness; and the occupants of the village, together with their animals--all heavily laden, even the women carrying heavy burdens--started on their way. it was five days' journey, and they halted at last at a small village--which was evidently private property--down in the plains at the foot of the mountains and, as lisle judged, at no very great distance from the frontier line. lisle now mixed a good deal with the natives, and thus he began to pick up a good many words of their language. now that they were down on the plains, two men with rifles were always on guard over him, but he was allowed to move freely about, as he liked. a fortnight after they were established in their new quarters another party of natives arrived, and there was a long and angry talk. as far as lisle could understand, these were the permanent occupants of that portion of the plain, and had been accustomed to receive a small tribute from the hill people who came down to them. it seemed that, on the present occasion, they demanded a largely increased sum in cattle and sheep; on the ground that so many of the hill tribesmen had come down that their land was eaten up by them. the amount now demanded was larger than the hill people could pay. they, therefore, flatly rejected the terms offered them; and the newcomers retired, with threats of exterminating them. for the next few days, the tribesmen were busy in putting the village in a state of defence. a deep ditch was dug round it, and this was surmounted by an abattis of bushes. fresh loopholes were pierced in the tower, and stones were gathered in the upper story, in readiness to throw down on any assailants. as soon as the work was begun, lisle signified to the chief that he was ready to take part in it, and to aid in the defence. the chief was pleased with his offer, and gladly accepted it. lisle worked hard among them. he needed to give them no advice. accustomed to tribal war, the men were perfectly competent to carry out the work. there were but three towers capable of defence, and in these the whole of the villagers were now gathered. men and women alike worked at the defences. their sheep and cattle were driven into the exterior line, and were only allowed to go out to graze under a strong guard. a fortnight passed before there were any signs of the enemy, and then a dark mass was seen approaching. the cattle were hastily driven in, and the men gathered behind the hedge. lisle asked the chief for a rifle, but the latter shook his head. "we have not enough for ourselves," he said. "here is a pistol we took from you, and a sword. you must do the best you can with them. it is probable that, before the fight goes on long, there will be rifles without masters, and you will be able to find one. are you a good shot?" "yes, a very good one." "very well, the first that becomes free you shall have." the assailants halted five hundred yards from the village. then one rode forward. when he came within a hundred yards he halted, and shouted: "are you ready to pay the tribute fixed upon?" "we are not," the chief said. "if you took all we have it would not be sufficient and, without our animals, we should starve when we got back to the hills; but i will pay twice the amount previously demanded." "then we will come and take them all," the messenger said. "come and take them," the chief shouted, and the messenger retired to the main body; who at once broke up, when they learned the answer, and proceeded to surround the village. "do you think," the chief said to lisle, "that you could hit that man who is directing them?" "i don't know the exact distance," lisle said, "but i think that, if i had two or three shots, i could certainly knock him over." "give me your rifle," the chief said, to one of the tribesmen standing near him. "now, sahib, let us see what you can do." lisle took the rifle, and examined it to see that it was all right; and then, leaning down on a small rise of ground that permitted him to see over the hedge, he took steady aim and fired. the man he aimed at fell, at once. "well done, indeed!" the chief exclaimed, "you are a good shot. i will lend you my rifle. it is one of the best; but i only got it a short time since, and am not accustomed to it." "thank you, chief! i will do my best." then, waving his arm round, he said, "you will do more good by looking after your men." the chief went up to his house, and returned with an old smooth-bore gun and a bag of slugs. "i shall do better with this," he said, "when they get close." a heavy fire was opened on both sides; but the defenders, lying behind the hedge, had a considerable advantage; which almost neutralized the great superiority in numbers of the assailants, who were in the open. lisle, lying down behind the bank from which he had fired, and only lifting his head above the crest to take aim, occupied himself exclusively with the men who appeared to be the leaders of the attack, and brought down several of them. the assailants presently drew off, and gathered together. it was evident to lisle, from his lookout, that there was a considerable difference of opinion among them; but at last they scattered again round the village and, lying down and taking advantage of every tuft of grass, they began to crawl forward on their stomachs. although, as the line closed in, several were killed, it was evident that they would soon get near enough to make a rush. the chief was evidently of the same opinion, for he shouted an order, and the defenders all leapt to their feet and ran to the three fortified houses. there were only three-and-twenty of them, in all. lisle saw with satisfaction that they had evidently received orders, beforehand, from the chief; for seven were running to the chief's house, making up its garrison, altogether, to nine men; and seven were running to each of the others. as the enemy burst through the bushes, which were but some twenty-five yards from the houses, the defenders opened fire from every loophole. at so short a distance every shot told; and the assailants recoiled, leaving more than a dozen dead behind them, while several of the others were wounded. they now took up their places in the ditch, and fired through the hedge. lisle at once signed to the chief to order his men to cease firing, and to withdraw from the loopholes. "it is no good to fire now," he said. "let them waste their ammunition." the chief at once shouted orders to his men to cease firing, and to take their place on the lower story; the walls of which, being strongly built of stone, were impenetrable by bullets; while these passed freely through the lightly-built story above. the enemy continued to fire rapidly for some time; and then, finding that no reply was made, gradually stopped. there was a long pause. "i think they are waiting till it is dark," lisle said. "tell the men to make torches, and thrust them out through the loopholes when the enemy come." the chief nodded, after lisle had repeated the sentence in a dozen different ways. he at once ordered the men to bring up ropes, and to soak them with oil; and then in a low voice, so that the assailants should not hear, repeated the order to the men in the other houses. the ropes were cut up into lengths of three feet, and then there was nothing to do but to wait. the attack had begun at three in the afternoon, and by six it was quite dark. a loud yell gave the signal, and the enemy rushed through the hedge and surrounded the three houses. all had walls round them and, while the assailants battered at the doors, which had been backed up with earth and stones, the defenders lighted their torches and thrust them out, through loopholes in the upper stories, and then retired again to the ground floor. the doors soon gave way to the attacks upon them, and the assailants rushed in, in a crowd. as they did so, the defenders poured in a terrible fire from their magazine rifles. the heads of the columns melted away, and the assailants fell back, hastily. "i do not think they will try again," lisle said. "if they have lost as heavily, in the other two houses, as they have here, their loss must have been heavy, indeed." the torches were kept burning all night, but there was no repetition of the attack and, in the morning, the assailants were seen gathered half a mile away. presently a man was observed approaching, waving a green bough. he was met at the hedge by the chief. he brought an offer that, if the afridis were allowed to carry off their dead and wounded, they would be content that the same tribute as of old should be paid; and to take oath that it should not, in the future, be increased. the chief agreed to the terms, on condition that only twenty men should be allowed to pass the hedge, and that they should there hand over the dead to their companions. on returning to his house, he made lisle understand that, after the heavy loss they had inflicted on their assailants, there would forever be a blood feud between them; and that, in future, they would have to retire for the winter to some valley far away, and keep a constant watch until spring came again. when lisle had, with great difficulty, understood what the chief said, he nodded. "i can understand that, chief," he said, "and i think you should keep a very strong guard, every night, till we move away." "good man," the chief said, "you have fought by our side, and are no longer a prisoner but a friend. when spring comes, you shall go back to your own people." it took some hours to remove the dead, of whom there were forty-three; and the badly wounded, who numbered twenty-two--but there was no doubt that many more had managed to crawl away. lisle now set to work to learn the language, in earnest. a boy was told off by the chief to be his companion and, at the end of two months, lisle was able to converse without difficulty. the chief had already told him that he could leave when he liked, but that it would be very dangerous for him to endeavour to make his way to the frontier, especially as the tribe they had fought against occupied the intervening country. "when we get among the hills, i will give you four men to act as your escort down the passes; but you will have to go in disguise for, after the fighting that has taken place, and the destruction of the villages, even if peace is made it would not be safe for a white man to travel among the mountains. he would certainly be killed." every precaution was taken against attack, and six men were stationed at the hedge, all night. two or three times noises were heard, which seemed to proceed from a considerable body of men. the guard fired, but nothing more was heard. evidently a surprise had been intended but, directly it was found that the garrison were on watch, and prepared, the idea was abandoned; for the lesson had been so severe that even the hope of revenge was not sufficient to induce them to run the risk of its repetition. lisle did not fret at his enforced stay. he was very popular in the little village, and was quite at home with the chief's family. the choicest bits of meat were always sent to him; and he was treated as an honoured guest, in every way. "when you return to your people," the chief said, one day, "please tell them that, henceforth, we shall regard them as friends; and that, if they choose to march through our country, we will do all we can to aid them, by every means in our power." "i will certainly tell them so," lisle replied, "and the kindness you have shown me will assuredly be rewarded." "i regret that we fought against you," the chief said, "but we were misled. they will not take away our rifles from us, i hope; for without them we should be at the mercy of the other tribes. these may give up many rifles, but they are sure to retain some and, though there are other villages of our clan, we should be an easy prey, if it were known that we were unarmed." "i think i can promise that, after your friendly conduct to me, you will not be required to make any payment, whatever; and indeed, for so small a matter as twenty rifles, your assurances, that these would never again be used against us, would be taken into consideration." when lisle had been in the village about three months, one of the men came up to him and spoke in punjabi. "why, how did you learn punjabi?" he said, in surprise; "and why did you not speak to me in it, before? it would have saved me an immense deal of trouble, when i first came." "i am sorry," the man said, "but the thought that you could speak punjabi did not enter my mind. i thought that you were a young white officer who had just come out from england. i learnt it because i served, for fifteen years, in the 32nd punjabis." "you did?" lisle said; "why, the 32nd punjabis was my father's regiment! how long have you left it?" "six years ago, sahib." "then you must remember my father, captain bullen." "truly i remember him," the man said. "he was one of our best and kindest officers. and he was your father?" "yes. you might remember me too, i must have been eleven or twelve years old." the man looked hard at him. "i think, sir, that i remember your face; but of course you have changed a good deal, since then. i remember you well, for you often came down our lines; and you could speak the language fluently, and were fond of talking to us. "and your father, is he well?" "he was killed, three years ago," lisle said, "in an attack on a hill fort." "i am sorry, very sorry. he was a good man. and so you are an officer in his regiment?" "no," lisle said, "i left the regiment in the march to the relief of chitral. they wanted to send me home, so i darkened my skin and enlisted in the regiment, by the aid of gholam singh; and went through the campaign without even being suspected, till just at the end." "you went as a soldier?" the man said, in surprise; "never before have i heard of a white sahib passing as a native, and enlisting in the ranks. you lived and fought with the men, without being discovered! truly, it is wonderful." "i did not manage quite so well as i ought to have done; for i found, afterwards, that i had been suspected before we got to chitral. then colonel kelly took me out of the ranks and made me a temporary officer, and afterwards got a commission for me." "it is truly wonderful," the man repeated. from that time the native took every pains to show him respect and liking for the son of his old officer; and the account he gave, to the others, of the affection with which the young sahib's father was regarded by the regiment, much increased the cordiality with which he was generally treated. spring came at last, and the snow line gradually rose among the distant hills and, at last, the chief announced that they could now start for their summer home. the news was received with general satisfaction, for the night watches and the constant expectation of attack weighed heavily upon them all. the decision was announced at dawn and, three hours afterwards, the animals were packed and they set out on the march. they had started a fortnight earlier than usual for, if they had waited till the usual time, their old enemies would probably have placed an ambush. they travelled without a halt, until they were well among the hills. then the wearied beasts were unladen, fires were lighted, and a meal cooked. but even yet they were not altogether safe from attack; and sentries were posted, some distance down the hill, to give notice of the approach of an enemy. the night, however, passed quietly; and the next evening they were high among the hills, and camped, for the first time for three months, with a sense of security. it was determined to rest here for a few days, for they had almost reached the snow line. this was receding fast, under the hot rays of the sun, but it was certain that the gorges would be full of fierce torrents; and that, until these abated somewhat, they would be absolutely impassable. a week was extended into a fortnight. as the snow melted the grass grew, as if by magic; and the animals rapidly regained condition and strength. then they started again and, after encountering no little difficulty and hardship, arrived at their mountain home. "now, sahib," the chief said the next morning, "i will keep my promise to you, and will send four of my men with you to peshawar. the sun and the glare from the snow have browned you almost to our colour, so there will be no occasion for you to stain your face and, in afghan costume, you could pass anywhere. besides, you speak our language so well that, even if you were questioned, no one would suspect that you are not one of ourselves." "how many days will it take, chief?" "in five days you will be at peshawar. i know not whether you will find an army assembled there, to march again into our country; but i hope that peace has been settled. it will take the tribes all the year to rebuild their houses. it will be years before their flocks and herds increase to what they were before and, now they have found that british troops can force their way through their strongest passes, that they can no longer defy white men to enter their lands, they will be very careful not to draw down the anger of the white man upon themselves. they will have a hard year of it to repair, in any way, the damages they have incurred; to say nothing of the loss of life that they have suffered. they have also had to give up great numbers of their rifles; and this, alone, will render them careful, at any rate until they replace them; so i do not think that there will be any chance of fighting this year, or for some years to come. i am sure i hope not." "i hope not, also," lisle said. "we too have lost heavily, and the expense has been immense. we shall be as glad as your people to live at peace. i think i may safely say that, if the country is quiet, a messenger will be sent up from peshawar with the general's thanks for the way in which i have been treated; and with assurances that, whatever may happen, your village will be respected by any force that may march into the country. probably such an assurance will be sent by the men who go with me." another fortnight was spent in the village, for the rivers were still filled to the brim; but as soon as the chief thought that the passes were practicable, lisle, in afridi costume, started with four of the men. all the village turned out to bid him goodbye; several of the women, and many of the children, crying at his departure. the journey down was accomplished without adventure; the men giving out, at the villages at which they stopped, that they were on their way to peshawar, to give assurances to the british there that they were ready to submit to terms. on nearing peshawar, lisle abandoned his afridi costume and resumed his khaki uniform. when he arrived at the town, he went at once to headquarters. the sentry at the door belonged to his own regiment; and he started, and his rifle almost fell from his hand, as his eye fell upon lisle. "i am not a ghost," lisle laughed, "but am very much alive. "i am glad to see you again, wilkins," and he passed in at the door. "is the general engaged?" he asked the orderly who, like the soldier at the door, stood gazing at him stupidly. "no, sir," the man gasped. "then i will go in unannounced." general lockhart looked up from the papers he was reading, and gave a sudden start. "i have come to report myself ready for duty, sir," lisle said, with a smile. "good heavens! mr. bullen, you have given me quite a turn! we had all regarded your death as certain; and your name appeared in the list of casualties, five months ago. "i am truly glad to see you again," and he heartily shook lisle's hand. "there is another in here who will be glad to see you." he opened the door, and said: "colonel houghton, will you step in here, for a moment?" as the colonel entered the room, and his eye fell upon lisle, he stood as if suddenly paralysed. the blood rushed from his cheeks. "i am glad to see that you have recovered from your wound, sir," lisle said. the blood surged back into the colonel's face. he strode forward and, grasping both lisle's hands in his own, said in broken accents: "so it is really you, alive and well! this is indeed a load off my mind. i have always blamed myself for saving my life at the expense of your own. it would have embittered my life to the end of my days. "and you are really alive! i thank god for it. i tried in vain to check my horse, but it got the bit between its teeth and, with my wounded leg, i had no power to turn him. as i rode, i pictured to myself your last defence; how you died fighting. "how has this all come about?" and he looked at the general, as if expecting an answer. "i know no more than yourself, houghton. he had but just entered when i called you in." "now, mr. bullen, let us hear how it happened." "it was very simple, sir. the afridis were but twenty paces away, when i started the colonel's horse. i saw that fighting would be hopeless, so threw down my sword and pistol. i should have been cut up at once, had not their chief shouted to them to leave me alone, and to fire after colonel houghton. this they did and, i was happy to see, without success." "then the chief sent me off, under the guard of four men, to his village; with the intention, as i afterwards heard, of holding me as a hostage. a week later we moved down to the plain. when we had been settled in our winter quarters for about two months, we were attacked by a neighbouring tribe. "by this time i had begun to pick up enough of the language to make myself understood. i volunteered to aid in the defence. the chief gave me his rifle, and i picked off a few of the leading assailants, and aided in the defence of the village. the enemy were beaten off with very heavy loss, and the chief was pleased to attribute their defeat to my advice. "he at once declared that i was to regard myself no longer as a prisoner, but as a guest. i spent the next three months in getting up their language, which i can now speak fluently enough for all purposes. "all this time, a vigilant watch had been kept against another attack and, as soon as the snow began to melt, we returned to the mountains. there we remained until the passes were open; and then the chief sent me down, with an escort of four, and i arrived here a quarter of an hour before i reported myself. "i believe that i owe my life, in the first place, to the afridi's surprise at my sending off colonel houghton on my horse." "no wonder he was surprised, mr. bullen. it was a splendid action; and in reporting your death, i spoke of it in the warmest terms; and said that, had you returned alive, i should have recommended you for the v.c. "i shall, of course renew the recommendation, now that you have returned." turning to colonel houghton, he said: "you no doubt wish to have a further chat with lieutenant bullen and, as there is no special work here today, pray consider yourself at liberty to take him down to your quarters." "thank you, sir! i shall certainly be glad to learn further about the affair." "if you please, general," lisle said, "i have a message to give you, from the chief. he says that, henceforth, he will be friends with the british; and that if you ever enter his country again, he will do all in his power to aid you. he hopes that you will allow them to retain their rifles and, as they only amount to some three or four and twenty fighting men, i was tempted to promise him that you would." "you were quite right, mr. bullen. i suppose the men who accompanied you are still here?" "yes." "tell them not to go away. i will myself send a message to their chief." "we will write him a letter, colonel houghton, thanking him for his kindness to his prisoner; sending him a permit to retain his arms, and a present which will enable his tribe to increase their flocks and herds." "thank you very much, sir! i shall myself, of course, send a present of some sort, in return for his kindness." "you talk the pathan language with facility?" "yes, sir. i was five months with them, and devoted the chief part of my time to picking it up." "you shall be examined at the first opportunity, mr. bullen; and the acquisition of their language, as well as your proficiency in punjabi will, of course, greatly add to your claim to be placed on staff appointments; and will add somewhat to your income. "i hope you will dine with me, this evening; when you can give me a full account of your life in the village, and of that fight you spoke of. it will be highly interesting to learn the details of one of these tribal fights." lisle accompanied colonel houghton to his quarters with a little reluctance, for he was anxious to rejoin his comrades in the regiment. "now, bullen, tell me all about it," the colonel said. "i know that you lifted me on to your horse. i called to you to jump up behind, as the afridis were close upon us; and i have never been able to make out why the horse should have gone off at a mad gallop, with me; but no doubt it was scared by the yells of the afridis." "when i lifted you up, sir, i certainly intended to get up behind you; but the afridis were so close that i felt that it was impossible to do so, and that we should both be shot down before we got out of range; so i gave the horse a prod with my sword and, as i saw him go off at a gallop, i threw down my arms, as i told you." "as it has turned out," the colonel said, "there is no doubt that the tribesmen, valiant fighters themselves, admire courage. if you had resisted, no doubt you would have been cut down; but your action must have appeared so extraordinary, to them, that they spared you. "i have often bitterly reproached myself that i was unable to share your fate. you are still young, and i am old enough to be your father. i am unmarried, with no particular ties in the world. you have given me new interest in life. it will be a great pleasure for me to watch your career. "if you have no objection i shall formally adopt you; and shall, tomorrow, draw out a will appointing you heir to all i possess--which i may tell you is something like fifteen thousand pounds--and shall make it my business to push you forward." "it is too much altogether, colonel." "not at all, bullen; you saved my life, when certain death seemed to be staring you in the face; and it is a small thing, when i have no longer need of it, that you should inherit what i leave behind. "in the meantime, i shall make you an allowance of a couple of hundred a year, as my adopted son. say no more about it; you are not stepping into anyone else's shoes, for i have no near relation, no one who has a right to expect a penny at my death; and i have hitherto not even taken the trouble to make a will. you will, i hope, consider me, in the future, as standing in the place of the brave father you lost, some years ago." lisle remained chatting with the officer for an hour, and then the latter said: "i won't keep you any longer, now. i am sure you must be wanting to see your friends in the camp." as soon as lisle neared the lines of the regiment, he saw the soldiers waiting about in groups. these closed up as he approached. the sentry to whom he had spoken had been relieved, and had told the news of his return to his comrades and, as he came along, the whole regiment gathered round lisle, and cheer after cheer went up. he had gone but a few paces when he was seized and placed upon the shoulders of two of the men; and carried in triumph, surrounded by the other men, still cheering, to the front of the mess room. he was so affected, by the warmth of the greeting, that the tears were running down his cheeks when he was allowed to alight. the officers, who had, of course, received the news, gathered at the mess room when he was seen approaching. before going up to them lisle turned and, raising his hand for silence, said: "i thank you with all my heart, men, for the welcome you have given me; and the proof that you have afforded me of your liking for me. i thank you again and again, and shall never forget this reception." there was a fresh outburst of cheering, and lisle then turned, and ascended the four steps leading up to the mess room. chapter 13: the v.c. the colonel was standing, surrounded by his officers. "i welcome you back, mr. bullen," he said, as he shook the lad's hand heartily, "in the name of the officers of the regiment, and my own. we are proud of you, sir. how you escaped death, we know not; it is enough for us that you are back, and are safe and sound. "your deed, in saving colonel houghton's life at what seemed the sacrifice of your own, had been a sore trial and a grief to all of us. no doubt existed in our minds that you had been cut to pieces, and you seem to have almost come back from the dead." the other officers then crowded round him, shaking his hand and congratulating him on his escape. "now, come in and tell us how this miracle has come about. we can understand that you have been held as a hostage, but how is it that you are here? "now, do you get up on a chair, and give us a true and faithful account of all that happened to you, and how it is that you effected your escape." "i did not effect my escape at all," lisle said, as he mounted the chair; "i was released without any terms being made and, for the past three months, have been treated as an honoured guest by the afridi chief into whose hands i fell." "well, tell the story from the beginning," the colonel said; "what you have said only adds to our wonder." lisle modestly told the story, amid frequent cross questioning. "well, there is no doubt that you were lucky, lisle," the colonel said, when he had brought his story to a conclusion. "the pluck of your action, in getting colonel houghton off and staying yourself, appealed strongly to the afridis; and caused their chief to decide to retain you as a hostage, instead of killing you at once. i do not suppose that he really thought that he would gain much, by saving you; for he must have known that we are in a hurry to get down through the passes, and must consider it very doubtful whether we should ever return. still, no doubt he would have detained you and, in the spring, sent down to say that you were in his hands; and in that way would have endeavoured to make terms for your release. but your assistance when he was attacked, and your readiness to take part with his people, entirely changed his attitude towards you. "however, i don't suppose he will lose by it. the general is sure to send back a handsome present to him, for his conduct towards you. "have you seen houghton yet?" "yes, sir; i have been with him for the past hour. he has been more than kind to me and, as he has no near relations, has been good enough to say that he will adopt me as his heir. so i have indeed been amply rewarded for the service i did him." "i congratulate you most heartily," the colonel said; "you have well earned it, and i am sure that there is not a man in the army who will envy your good fortune. there is only one thing wanting to complete it, and that is the v.c.; which i have not the least doubt in the world will be awarded to you, and all my fellow officers will agree with me that never was it more nobly earned. you courted what seemed certain death. "the greater portion of the crosses have been earned by men for carrying in wounded comrades, under a heavy fire; but that is nothing to your case. those actions were done on the spur of the moment, and there was every probability that the men would get back unhurt. yours was the facing of a certain death. i can assure you that it will be the occasion of rejoicings, on the part of the whole regiment, when you appear for the first time with a cross on your breast." he rang the bell and, when one of the mess waiters appeared, told him to bring half a dozen bottles of champagne. lisle's health was then drunk, with three hearty cheers. lunch was on the table, and lisle was heartily glad when the subject of his own deeds was dropped, and they started to discuss the meal. "now, mr. bullen," the colonel said, when the meal was finished, "i must carry you off to the ladies. they have all rejoined, and will be as anxious as we were to hear of your return." "must i go, colonel?" lisle asked shyly. "of course you must, bullen. when a man performs brave deeds, he must be expected to be patted on the back--metaphorically, at any rate--by the ladies. so you have got to go through it all and, as i have sent word round that i shall bring you to my bungalow, you will be able to get it all over at once." "well, sir, i suppose i must do it, though i would much rather not. still, as you say, it were best to get it all over at once." six ladies were gathered at the bungalow, as lisle entered with the colonel. all rose as they entered, and pressed round him, shaking his hand. "i have come to tell you how pleased we all were," the colonel's wife said, "to hear that you had returned, and how eager we have all been to learn how it has come about. we think it very unkind of you to stay so long in the mess room, when you must have known that we are all on thorns to hear about it. i can assure you that we have missed you terribly, since the regiment returned, and we are awfully glad to have you back again. "now, please tell us all about it. we know, of course, how you got colonel houghton off, and remained to die; and how proud all the regiment has been of your exploit; so you can start and tell us how it was that you escaped from being cut to mince-meat." lisle again went through the story. "why did you not return at once, when the chief who captured you said that you were his guest? was there not some fair young afridi, who held you in her chains?" lisle laughed. "i can assure you that it was no feminine attractions that kept me. there were some fifteen or twenty girls and, like everyone else, they were very kind to me but, so far as i was able to judge, not one of them was prettier, or i should rather say less ugly, than the rest; although several of them had very good features, and were doubtless considered lovely by the men. certainly there was none whom an englishman would look at twice. "poor things, most of the work of the village is left to them. they went out to cut grass, fed the cattle, gathered firewood, and ground the corn; and i have no doubt that they are now all occupied with the work of tilling the little patches of fertile ground beyond the village. "besides, ladies, you must remember that i have a vivid recollection of you all; which would, alone, have guarded me against falling in love with any dusky maiden." "i rather doubt your word, mr. bullen," the colonel's wife said; "you were always very ready to make yourself pleasant, and do our errands, and to make yourself generally useful and agreeable; but i do not remember that you ever ventured upon making a compliment before. you must have learnt the art somehow." the lady laughed. "i could hardly help comparing you with the women round me, but i really had a vivid remembrance of your kindness to me." "in future, mr. bullen, we shall consider you as discharged from all duty. we have heard of other gallant deeds that you have done; and henceforth shall regard you, with a real respect, as an officer who has brought great credit upon the regiment. i am sure that, henceforth, you will lose your old nickname of 'the boy,' and be regarded as a hero." "i hope not," lisle said; "it has been very pleasant to be regarded as a boy, and therefore to act as a sort of general fag to you. i hope you will continue to regard me as so. i have always considered it a privilege to be able to make myself useful to you, and i should be very sorry to lose it. "i can assure you that i still feel as a boy. i know nothing of the world; have passed my whole time, as far back as i can remember, in camp; and have thoroughly enjoyed my life. i suppose some day i shall lose the feeling that i am still a boy, but i shall certainly hold to it as long as i can." "i suppose you had some difficulty in speaking with the natives?" the doctor's wife said. "at first i had but, from continually talking with them, i got to know their language--i won't say as well as punjabi, but certainly very well--and i shall pass in it at the next examination." "i wish all subalterns were like you," the colonel's wife said. "most of those who come out from england are puffed up with a sense of their own importance, and i often wish that i could take them by the shoulders, and shake them well. and what are you going to do now?" "i am going off to find the four men who came down with me, see if they are comfortable, and tell them that the general will give them the message to their chief, tomorrow." "what will be the next thing, mr. bullen?" "the next thing will be to go to the bazaar, and choose some presents for the chief and his family." "what do you mean to get?" "i think a brace of revolvers, and a good store of ammunition for the chief. as to the women i must, i suppose, get something in the way of dress. for the other men i shall get commoner things. everyone has been most kind to me, and i should certainly like them to have some remembrance of my stay. "i suppose that there is five months' pay waiting for me in the paymaster's chest." "i should doubt it extremely," the colonel said. "you will get it in time, but you will have to wait. you have been struck off the regimental pay list, ever since you were put down as dead; and i expect the paymaster will have to get a special authorization, before you can draw your back pay." "i was only joking, colonel. my agent at calcutta has my money in his hands, and i have only to draw on him." "so much the better, bullen. it is always a nuisance getting into debt, even when you are certain that funds will be forthcoming which will enable you to repay what you owe. but have you enough to carry you on till you hear from your agent?" "plenty, sir; i left all the money i did not care to carry about with me in the regimental till." "then i expect you will find it there still. i know that nothing has been done with it. a short time since, the paymaster was speaking to me about it, and asking me if i knew the address of any of your relations, or who was your agent at calcutta. he said to me: "'i shall wait a bit longer. mr. bullen turned up quite unexpectedly, once before and, though i fear there is not a shadow of chance that he will do so again, i will hold the money for a time. it is just possible that he is held as a hostage, in which case we shall probably hear of him, when the passes are open.'" lisle went to the paymaster's at once and, finding that he had not parted with the money, drew fifty pounds. he had no difficulty in buying the revolvers and cartridges; but was so completely at a loss as to the female garments, and the price he ought to pay, that he went back to the cantonment and asked two of the ladies to accompany him shopping. this they at once consented to do and, with their aid, he laid in a stock of female garments: silk for the chief's wife; and simpler, but good and useful materials--for the most part of bright colour--for the other women. these were all parcelled up in various bundles, and a looking glass inserted in each parcel. for the men he bought bright waistbands and long knives; and gave, in addition, a present in money to the men who had come down with him. it was evening before the work was finished, and he then returned to mess with the regiment. "i suppose you don't know yet whether you are coming back to us, bullen?" the major said. "no, sir, the general did not say; but for myself, i would very much rather join the regiment. staff appointment sounds tempting, but i must say that i should greatly prefer regimental work; especially as i should be very much junior to the other officers of the staff, and should feel myself out of place among them." "i have no doubt that you are right, in that respect; but staff appointments lead to promotion." "i have no ambition for promotion, for the present, major. i am already five or six up among the senior lieutenants, which is quite high enough for one of my age." "well, perhaps you are right. it is not a good thing for a young officer to be pushed on too fast, and another two or three years of regimental work will certainly do you no harm." "i have not yet asked, major, whether we are going up into the tirah again, this spring?" "i fancy not. already several deputations have come in from the tribesmen, some of them bringing in the fines imposed upon them; and all seem to say that there is a general desire among the afridis for peace, and that deputations from other tribes will shortly follow them." "i am glad to hear it, sir," lisle said. "i think i have had quite enough of hill fighting." "i think we are all of the same opinion, bullen. it is no joke fighting an enemy hidden behind rocks, armed with lee-metford rifles, and trained to shoot as well as a british marksman. "the marching was even worse than the fighting. passing a night on the snow, any number of thousand feet above the sea, is worse than either of them. no, i would rather go through a campaign against the russians, than have anything more to do with the tirah; though i must admit that, if we were to begin at once, we should not have snow to contend with. "i have been through several campaigns, but the last was infinitely the hardest, and i have not the least desire to repeat it. whether all the tribes choose to send in and accept our terms, or not, makes no very great difference; they have had such a sharp lesson that it will certainly be some time before they rise again in revolt. there may be an occasional cattle-lifting raid across the frontier, but one can put up with that; and it would be infinitely cheaper for government to compensate the victims, than for us to get an army in motion again, to punish the thieves. "moreover, having once taught them that we are stronger than they, it would be a pity to weaken them still further for, if a russian army were to try and force its way into india, these fellows would make it very hot for them. they are full of fight and, although they are independent of afghanistan, and have no particular patriotic feeling, the thirst for plunder would bring them like bees round an invading army. "no, the thing has been well done, but the expense has been enormous and the losses serious; and i trust that, at any rate as long as we are stationed in northern india, things will be quiet." next morning lisle went, early, to headquarters. he had to wait a little time before he could see the general. when he went in, general lockhart said: "now about yourself, mr. bullen. your place has, of course, been filled up; but i shall be glad to appoint you as extra aide-de-camp, if you wish. would you rather be on staff duty, or rejoin your regiment?" "if you give me the choice, sir, i would rather rejoin the regiment. staff duty in war time is extremely interesting; but in peace time, i would rather be at work with the regiment. "you see, sir, i am very young, and much younger than any of the staff; and i am sure that i should feel very much out of place." "i agree with you," the general said, with a smile. "i think that you are wise to prefer regimental duty. i have written home, giving my account of your gallant action; telling how you were not, as reported, killed; and recommending you, in the strongest possible terms, for the v.c." "i am greatly indebted to you, sir. i do not feel that i have done anything at all out of the way, and acted only on the impulse of the moment." "you could not have done better, had you thought of it for an hour," the general said; "but as i also reported your defence of that hut, i have little doubt that you will get the well-earned v.c." there was great satisfaction among the officers and the regiment, when lisle told them of his interview with the general. it was soon evident, from the sale of the transport animals, that the war was over; and the regiment shortly afterwards returned to their old quarters, at rawal pindi, and fell into the old routine of drill. in the middle of the following summer lisle, while fielding at cricket in a match with another regiment, suddenly staggered and fell. the surgeon, running up from the pavilion, pronounced it as a case of sunstroke. it was some time before he was conscious again. "what has happened?" he asked. "you have had a bad sunstroke," the surgeon said, "and i am going to send you home, as soon as you are able to travel. i shall apply for at least a year's leave for you, and i hope that, by the end of that time, you will be perfectly fit for work again; but certainly a period of rest, and the return to a temperate climate, is absolutely necessary for you." long before this, a despatch had been received from england bestowing the victoria cross upon lisle. general lockhart himself came down from peshawar and fixed it to his breast, in presence of the whole regiment, drawn up in parade order. the outburst of cheering from the men told unmistakably how popular he was with them, and how they approved of the honour bestowed upon him. the general dined at mess, and was pleased to see how popular the young officer was with his men. he himself proposed lisle's health, and the latter was obliged to return thanks. when he sat down, the general said: "it is clear, mr. bullen, that you have more presence of mind, when engaged with the enemy, than you have when surrounded with friends. it can hardly be said that eloquence is your forte." "no, sir," lisle said, wiping the perspiration from his face, "i would rather go through eleven battles, than have to make another speech." the application for sick leave was granted at once and, a fortnight later, lisle took his place in the train for calcutta. all the officers and their wives assembled to see him off. "i hope," said the colonel, "you will come back in the course of a year, thoroughly restored to health. it is all in your favour that you have not been a drinking man; and the surgeon told me that he is convinced that the brain has suffered no serious injury, and that you will be on your feet again, and fit for any work, after the twelve months' leave. but, moderate as you always are, i should advise you to eschew altogether alcoholic liquids. men who have never had a touch of sunstroke can drink them with impunity but, to a man who has had sunstroke, they are worse than poison." "all right, colonel! nothing stronger than lemonade shall pass my lips." and so, with the good wishes of his friends, lisle started for calcutta. here he drew from his agents a sum which, he calculated, would last him for a year at home. to his great pleasure, on entering the train he met his friend colonel houghton. "i have been thinking for some time, lad," he said, "of applying for a year's leave; which i have earned by twelve years' service out here. i was with the general when your application for leave arrived, and made up my mind to go home with you. i therefore telegraphed to simla, and got leave at once; so i shall be able to look after you, on the voyage." "it is very kind of you," lisle said. "it will be a comfort, indeed, having a friend on board. my brain seems to be all right now, but my memory is very shaky. however, i hope that will be all right, too, by the time we arrive in england." the presence of the colonel was indeed a great comfort to lisle. the latter looked after him as a father might have done, placed his chair in the coolest spot to be found and, by relating to the other passengers the service by which lisle had won the v.c., ensured their sympathy and kindness. by the time the voyage was over, lisle felt himself again. his brain had gradually cleared, and he could again remember the events of his life. he stayed three or four days at the hotel in london where the colonel put up; and then went down into the country, in response to an invitation from his aunt, which had been sent off as soon as she received a letter from him, announcing his arrival in england. his uncle's place was a quiet parsonage in somersetshire, and the rest and quiet did him an immense deal of good. at the end of three months' stay there, he left to see something of london and england, and travelled about for some months. when the year was nearly up, and he was making his preparations to return to india, he received a summons to attend at the war office. wondering greatly what its purport could be, he called upon the adjutant general. "how are you feeling, mr. bullen?" the latter asked. "perfectly well, sir, as well as i ever felt in my life." "we are sending a few officers to aid colonel willcocks in effecting the relief of the party now besieged in coomassie. your record is an excellent one and, if you are willing and able to go, we shall be glad to include you in the number." "i should like it very much. there is no chance, whatever, of active service in india; and i should be glad, indeed, to be at the front again, in different circumstances." "very well, mr. bullen, then you will sail on tuesday next, in the steamer that leaves liverpool on that day. you will have the local rank of captain, and will be in command of a company of hausas." lisle had but a few preparations to make. he ordered, at once, a khaki uniform and pith helmet, and a supply of light shirts and underclothing. then he ran down to somersetshire to say goodbye to his uncle and aunt, and arrived in liverpool on the monday evening. sleeping at the hotel at the station, he went on board the next morning. here he found half a dozen other officers, also bound for the west coast of africa, and soon got on friendly terms with them. he was, of course, obliged to tell how he had won the victoria cross; a recital which greatly raised him in their estimation. they had fine weather throughout the voyage; and were glad, indeed, when the steamer anchored off cape coast. although looking forward to their arrival at cape coast, the officers were not in their highest spirits. all of them had applied for service in south africa, where the war was now raging but, to their disappointment, had been sent on this minor expedition. at any other time, they would have been delighted at the opportunity of taking part in it; but now, with a great war going on, it seemed to them a very petty affair, indeed. they cheered themselves, however, by the assumption that there was sure to be hard fighting; and opportunities for distinguishing themselves at least as great as they would meet with at the cape, where so vast a number of men were engaged that it would be difficult for one officer to distinguish himself beyond others. until he started, lisle had scarcely more than heard the name of ashanti; though he knew, of course, that two expeditions, those under sir garnet wolseley and sir francis scott, had reached the capital, the latter dethroning the king and carrying him away into captivity. now, however, he gathered full details of the situation, from two officers belonging to the native troops, who had been hurriedly ordered to cut short their leave, and go back to take their places with the corps to which they were attached. there was no doubt that the ashantis were one of the most formidable tribes in africa. their territory extended from the river prah to sixty miles north of cape coast. they were feared by all their neighbours, with whom they were frequently at war--not so much for the sake of extending their territory, as for the purpose of obtaining great numbers of men and women for their hideous sacrifices, at coomassie. they were in close alliance with the tribes at elmina, which place we had taken over from the portuguese, some years before sir garnet wolseley's expedition. this occupation was bitterly opposed by the ashantis, who felt that it cut them off from free trade with the coast. in return, they intercepted all trade with the coast from the tribes behind them; and finally seized some white missionaries at their capital, and sent a defiant message down to cape coast. the result was that sir garnet wolseley was sent out to take command of an expedition and, with three white regiments, a small naval brigade, and the west african regiment, completely defeated the ashantis in two pitched battles, reached the capital, and burnt it. unfortunately, owing to the want of carriers, and the small amount of supplies that were sent up, he was obliged to fall back again to the coast, after occupying the capital for only three days. had it been possible to leave a sufficient force there, the spirit of the ashantis would have been broken. this, however, could not be done; and they gradually regained their arrogant spirit, carried out none of their obligations and, twenty-two years later, having quite forgotten their reverses, they resumed their raids across the prah. sir francis scott's expedition was therefore organized, and marched to the capital. this time the former mistake was not committed. a small garrison was left to overawe its inhabitants, and the king was carried away a prisoner. the expedition had encountered no opposition. the reason for this was never satisfactorily ascertained, but it is probable that the ashantis were taken by surprise, and thought it better to wait until they had obtained better arms. in this they were successful, for there are always rascally traders, ready to supply the enemies of their country with arms, on terms of immense profit. the ashantis were evidently kept well informed, by some of their tribesmen settled in the coast towns, of the state of affairs in europe and, in the belief that england was fully occupied at the cape, and that no white soldiers would be sent, they again rose in rebellion. they were ready to admit that the white soldiers were superior to themselves, but they entertained a profound contempt for our black troops, whom they were convinced they could defeat without difficulty. certainly, the force available at cape coast was altogether insufficient for the purpose; for it consisted only of a battalion of hausa constabulary, and two seven-pounder guns. sierra leone had a permanent garrison of one battalion of the west indian regiment, and a west african regiment recruited on the spot; but few of these could be spared, for sierra leone had its own native troubles. the garrison of lagos was similar to that of cape coast; but here, also, troubles were dreaded with their neighbours at abeokuta. southern nigeria had their own regiment; while northern nigeria had the constabulary of the royal niger company, and they had, at the time, just raised two battalions and three batteries. fortunately, the recent dispute between the people and ourselves as to their respective boundaries had been temporarily arranged, and a portion of these troops could be utilized. the two regiments were both numerically strong, each company amounting to a hundred and fifty men. they were armed with martini-metford carbines, and each company had a vickers-maxim gun. the batteries were provided with powerful guns, capable of throwing twelve-pound shells. the men were all hausas and yorubas, with the exception of one company of neupas. this contingent were supplied with khaki, before starting; and the rest were in blue uniform, similar to that worn by the west indian regiments. there was, in addition, a small battalion of the central african regiment; with a detachment of sikhs, who also supplied non-commissioned officers. that the men would fight well, all believed; but the forces had been but recently organized, and it was questionable how they would behave without a backbone of white troops. the experiment was quite a novel one, as never before had a war been carried on, by us, with purely native troops. the collection of the troops was a difficult matter, and cost no small time; especially from northern nigeria, which was to supply a much larger contingent than the others. these troops were scattered in small bodies over a large extent of country, for the most part hundreds of miles from the coast. there was a great paucity of officers, too; and of these, many were about to take their year's leave home, worn out and weakened by the unhealthy climate. by prodigious exertions, however, all were at last collected, and in readiness to proceed to the scene of operations. picking up troops at several points, the steamer at last arrived off cape coast; but not yet were they to land. a strong wind was blowing, and the surf beat with such violence, on the shore, that it was impossible even for the surf boat to come out. the officers had nothing to do but to watch the shore. even this was only done under difficult circumstances, for the steamer was rolling rail under. the prospect, however, was not unpleasing. from a projecting point stood the old dutch castle, a massive-looking building. on its left was the town, on rising ground, with whitewashed buildings; and behind all, and in the town itself, rose palm trees, which made a dark fringe along the coast on either hand. "it doesn't look such a bad sort of place," one of the officers said, "and certainly it ought to be healthy, if it were properly drained down to the sea. yet it is a home of fever; one night ashore, in the bad season, is almost certain death for a white man. i believe that not half a dozen of the white inhabitants are hardened by repeated attacks of fever, to which at least three out of four newcomers succumb before they have been here many months. if this is the case, here, what must it be in the forest and swamps behind?" all were greatly relieved when the wind abated, on the third day, and the surf boats were seen making their way out. the landing was exciting work. the surf was still very heavy, and it seemed well-nigh impossible that any boat could live through it. the native paddlers, however, were thoroughly used to the work. they ceased paddling when they reached the edge of the breakers, until a wave larger than usual came up behind them. then, with a yell, they struck their paddles into the water, and worked for dear life. higher and higher rose the wave behind them, till it seemed that they must be submerged by it. for a moment the boat stood almost upright. then, when it rose to the crest of the wave, the boatmen paddled harder than ever, and they were swept forward with the swiftness of an arrow. another wave overtook them and, carrying them on, dashed them high up on the beach. the paddlers at once sprang out, and prevented the boat from being carried out by the receding wave. then the officers, mounting the men's backs, were carried out; for the most part high and dry, although in some cases they were wet to the skin. a few yards away was the entrance to the castle. here everything was bustle. troops were filing out, laden with casks and cases. others were squatting in the paved court, ready to receive their burdens. all were laughing and chatting merrily. there were even troops of young girls, of from ten to fifteen years old, who were to carry parcels of less weight than their brothers. two officers were moving about, seeing that all went on regularly; and a number of men were bringing the burdens out from the storehouse, and ranging them in lines, ready for the women to take up. the district commissioner, who was in charge of the old castle, received lisle and his companions cordially; and invited them, when the day's work was over, to dine with him. rooms were placed at their disposal. as soon as this was done they went down to the beach, and superintended the landing of the men and stores, which was carried on until nightfall. then, when the last boat load was landed, they came up to dinner. after a hearty meal, one of them said: "we shall be glad, sir, if you will tell us what has been happening here. all we know is that the fort of coomassie is surrounded, and that we have come up to relieve it." "it is difficult to give you anything like an accurate account," the officer said, "for so many lying rumours have come down, that one hardly knows what to believe. one day we hear that the place has been carried by storm, and that the garrison have been massacred. then we are told that sir frederick hodgson, with the survivors of the garrison, has burst his way through. "it is certain that most of our forces are unable to push their way up, and that their posts are practically surrounded. further, on the 18th of april the first news that the fort was being besieged reached cambarga, three hundred and forty miles from coomassie. three days later three british officers, and a hundred and seventy men, with a maxim and seven-pounder, marched under the command of major morris to the station of kintanpo. after thirteen days' marching the force was increased to seven british officers, three hundred and thirty soldiers, and eighty-three native levies. "near n'quanta they met with opposition and, two hours later, had a successful engagement, with only three casualties. on the 14th they fell into an ambush, and incurred twelve casualties. for two days after this they had more or less continuous fighting and, in charging a stockade, major morris was severely wounded. captain maguire then headed the charge, and succeeded in capturing the stockade. "no further resistance was met with, though two more stockades were passed. this want of enterprise, on the part of the enemy, was due to a short armistice that had been arranged with the beleaguered garrison. "major morris's force was the third reinforcement which had reached the garrison. the first to come up was a party of gold coasters from the south. this was the only contingent permitted by the ashantis to enter coomassie unopposed. the next was a detachment from lagos, composed of two hundred and fifty men of that colony's hausa force, with four british officers and a doctor, under the command of captain alpin. the adansis, who occupy the country between the prah and the recognized ashanti boundary, had revolted; so that for part of the way they were unopposed but, as soon as they reached the first village in the ashanti country, they were heavily attacked. after a couple of hours' fighting, however, the advance guard took the village, at the point of the bayonet. "next day they reached the ordah river. here the enemy made a determined stand, entrenched behind a stockade. the fight lasted for four hours, and then the situation became critical. the maxim had jammed, the ammunition of the seven-pounder was exhausted, and a great proportion of the small-arm ammunition had been expended. captain cox and thirty men went into the bush, to turn the enemy's position. when they reached a point where they took the enemy in rear, they charged the stockade. the enemy fled, and were kept at a run until coomassie was reached, before dark. "the list of casualties showed how hard had been the fighting. all the white officers had been wounded, and there were a hundred and thirty casualties among the two hundred and fifty british soldiers. the garrison now consisted of seven hundred rank and file, and about a dozen british officers; two hundred and fifty native levies, and nearly four thousand fanti and hausa refugees. "the next force to move forward was the first contingent from northern nigeria, consisting of two companies under the command of captain hall, with one gun. in traversing the adansi country captain hall drew up a treaty, and got the adansi king to sign it. then he marched on to bekwai, the chief town of a friendly tribe; and took up his quarters at esumeja, a day's march from coomassie. the border of bekwai lay a short distance on one side, that of kokofu was half a mile to the east. "these were an ashanti tribe, very fierce and warlike; and the occupation of esumeja both kept them in check, and inspired the loyal bekwais with confidence. here captain hall was joined by a second contingent from lagos, a hundred strong; and fifty men of the sierra leone frontier police. the force has got no farther, but its position on the main line of march is of vital service; as it overawes the kokofu, and facilitates the advance of further relief. "that, gentlemen, is the situation, at present. so far as i know, the garrison of coomassie is amply sufficient to defend the fort; but we know that they are short of ammunition, and also of supplies to maintain the large number of people shut up there. "i am expecting the vessel with the main nigerian contingent tomorrow, or next day; and i hope that this reinforcement will enable an advance to be made." "thank you, sir! it is evident that we are in for some tough fighting, and shall have all our work cut out for us." "there can be no doubt of that," the commissioner said, gravely. "the difficulties have been greatly increased by the erection of these stockades, a new feature in these ashanti wars. when the bekwais put themselves under our protection, instructions were given them in stockading, so that they might resist any force that the ashantis might send against them and, doubtless, the latter inspected these defences and adopted the idea. the worst of it is that they are generally so covered, by the bush, that they are not seen by our troops till they arrive in front of them." chapter 14: forest fighting. early the next morning the transport with the nigerian troops anchored off the town. the work of disembarkation began at once. five of the newly-arrived officers were appointed to the commissariat transport service. the three others--of whom lisle, to his great satisfaction, was one--were appointed to the command of companies in the nigerian force. this distinction, the commissioner frankly informed him, was due to his being the possessor of the v.c. having nothing to do that day, lisle strolled about the town. there were a few european houses, the property of the natives who formed the elite of the place; men for the most part possessing white blood in their veins, being the descendants of british merchants who, knowing that white women could not live in the place, had taken negro wives. these men were distinguished by their hair, rather than by their more european features. their colour was as dark as that of other natives. lisle learned that such light-coloured children as were born of these mixed marriages uniformly died, but that the dark offspring generally lived. all the small shops in the town were kept by this class. with the exception of the buildings belonging to them, the houses of the town were merely mud erections, with a door and a window or two. the roofs were flat, and composed of bamboos and other branches; overlaid by a thick mud which, lisle learned, not unfrequently collapsed in the rainy season. nothing could be done at that time to repair them, and their inhabitants took refuge in the houses of their friends, until the dry season permitted them to renew their own roofs. the women were of very superior physique to the men. the latter considered that their only duty was to stroll about with a gun or a spear; and the whole work of cultivating the ground, and of carrying burdens, fell to the lot of the women. many of these had splendid figures, which might have been the envy of an english belle. their great defect is that their heels, instead of going straight to the leg, project an inch or more behind it. from their custom of always carrying their burdens on their heads, their carriage is as upright as a dart. whether the load was a heavy barrel, or two or three bananas, lisle noticed that they placed it on the head; and even tiny girls carried any small article of which they might become possessed in this manner. curiously enough, the men had no excuse for posing as warriors; for the fantis were the only cowardly race on the coast, and had several times shown themselves worthless as fighters, when the ashantis made their expeditions against them. a narrow valley ran up from the sea, in one part of the town, and terminated in a swamp behind it. here the refuse of the place was thrown, and the stench in itself was sufficient to account for the prevalence of fever. here were the accumulations of centuries; for the dutch governors, who were frequently relieved, had made no effort whatever towards draining the marsh, nor improving the sanitary condition of the place; nor had the british governors who followed them shown any more energy in that direction. doubtless the means were wanting, for the revenue of the place was insufficient to pay for the expenses of the garrison; and so the town which, at a very moderate expenditure, might have been rendered comparatively healthy, remained a death trap. as soon as the nigerian troops had landed, lisle reported himself to their commander. he was at once put in charge of a company, and began his duties. when, two days later, they marched up the country, he felt well pleased with his command; for the men were for the most part lithe, active fellows; very obedient to orders and ready for any work, and evidently very proud of their position as british soldiers. they had for the most part had very little practice in shooting; but this was of comparatively little consequence, as what fighting they would have to do would be in the forests, against a hidden enemy, where individual shooting would be next to impossible. the adansi had risen, three days after signing the treaty. two englishmen, going from bekwai to kwisa, on their way were fired upon, and the terror-stricken carriers fled. their loads were lost, and they themselves just succeeded in escaping to kwisa. captain slater, who was in command there, was much surprised to hear of such hostility, so soon after the signing of the treaty; and he started with twenty-six men to investigate the cause. he was attacked at the same place--one soldier being killed and ten wounded, while two were missing--and he was obliged to retire to kwisa. sixty englishmen of the obuasi gold mines, on the western frontier of the adansi, sent down for arms, and were supplied without any mishap. illustration: map illustrating the ashanti campaign. colonel wilkinson telegraphed orders to a force, which had started two days before, to halt at fumsu until he joined them with the newly-arrived contingents. colonel willcocks now had four hundred and fifty men, under captain hall, at kwisa and bekwai; captain slater a handful of men at kwisa; colonel wilkinson a company at fumsu; colonel carter the two hundred soldiers just landed on the line of march, and three hundred men from northern nigeria. nine hundred reinforcements were known to be on their way. the force was scattered over a hundred and forty miles, and numerically only equal to the garrison they were going to relieve. the carriers were utterly insufficient for the transport. the newly-arrived troops, with colonel willcocks and his staff in front, rode out of the town on the morning of the 5th of june. a drizzling rain was falling, but this soon ceased and the sun broke out. the road lay over low scrub-covered sand hills. it was a fair one, with the exception of bad bits, at intervals. the first day's march was a short one, as much time had been lost in getting the carriers together, and loading them up. they halted that evening at akroful. the place afforded but little accommodation. five white officers slept together in one small room. there was a storm during the night, but the sky had cleared by the time the troops started in the morning. they now entered a very different country. it was the belt of forest, three hundred miles wide, which ran across the whole country. great as had been the heat, the day before, the gloom of the forest was more trying to the nerves. except where the road had been cleared, the advance was impeded by the thick undergrowth of bush and small trees, through which it was impossible to pass without cutting a path with a sword. above the bush towered the giants of the forest--great cotton trees, thirty or forty feet in circumference, and rising to the height of from two to three hundred feet. round the tops of these many birds were flitting, but in the underbrush there was no sign or sound of life. thorny creepers bound the trees together. in the small clearings, where deserted and ruined villages stood, a few flowers were to be found. here, also, great butterflies flew about. the moist air, tainted with decaying vegetation; the entire absence of wind, or of movement among the leaves; the profound silence, broken only by the occasional dropping of water, weighed heavily on the spirits of the troops. under foot the soil was converted into mire by the recent rains; and glad, indeed, were all, when they reached mansu. from this village, as had been the case at the previous halt, numbers of the carriers deserted. in order to get on, therefore, it was necessary to send out to the surrounding villages, to gather in men to take their places; and at the same time a telegram was sent down to cape coast, requesting the commandant there to arrest all the men who came in, and try to punish them as deserters. it was some satisfaction to know that they would be flogged, though this did not obviate the inconvenience caused by their desertion. mansu was a pleasanter halting place than the two preceding ones. it was surrounded by a clearing of considerable size; and contained two bungalows, which served as quarters for the officers. the soldiers got abundance of firewood from the forest, and the place presented a picturesque appearance, after nightfall, with its blazing fires and their reflection on the deep circle of foliage. the march had been a depressing one, to the officers; but the native troops did not seem to find it so, and chattered, sang, and danced by their fires. three of the officers found it difficult to swallow their food; but lisle and another young officer, named hallett, with whom he had been a special chum on board ship, made a hearty meal and, after it was finished, set out together for a tour round the camp, to assure themselves that everything was going on satisfactorily. "this must be very different from your experience in the tirah," hallett said. "yes; to begin with, it was generally so cold at night, even in the valley, that we were glad of both our blankets and cloaks; while among the passes it was bitter, indeed. then, too, the greater portion of the troops were white and, though they were cheerful enough, their spirits were nothing to the merriment of these natives. then the camps were crowded with animals, while here there are only these wretched carriers; and almost every night we were saluted with bullets from the heights, and lay down in readiness to oppose any sudden attack. "i suppose we shall have to do the same, when we get into the enemy's country, here. that is really the only similarity between the two expeditions. the country, too, was mountainous and, except in the valleys, there were few trees; while here we tramp along in single file, through what is little better than a swamp, and only get an occasional glimpse of the sky through the overhanging foliage. of course it is hot in northern india, very hot sometimes; but it is generally dry heat, quite different from the close, muggy heat of the forest. however, they say that when we have once ascended the adansi hills, matters will be better." "i hope so, bullen. i found it so close today that i would gladly have got rid of all my clothes, which were so drenched with perspiration that i could have wrung them. we shall have other things to think about, however, when we get across the river; for you don't think of minor inconveniences when, at any moment, a volley may be poured into you from the bushes." "yes, the idea is rather creepy; but they say that the ashantis always shoot high--the effect of the enormous charges they put into their muskets--so that the harm done bears no proportion, whatever, to the noise. i expect our maxims will come in very useful for clearing out the bush; and i doubt if the ashantis will be able to stand for a moment, against our bayonets, as they have no weapons of the sort." "no, but a good many of them are armed with spears, which are a deal longer than our muskets and bayonets. they are not accustomed, however, to work together. each man fights for himself, and i feel convinced that they would not stand a determined charge," hallett said. "it is all very well to talk about a charge; but how are you going to charge through the bush, where every step has to be cut? however, i suppose our fellows can get through as well as they can." "it would be horrid work, bullen, for some of these creepers are a mass of spikes, which would pretty nearly tear a man to pieces, as he was forcing his way past them in a hurry." "yes, that is not a pleasant idea; but i own that, if what they say about the stockades they have formed is true, they will be even more formidable than the bush; for our little guns will make no impression upon them. they say that these are constructed with two rows of timber, eight feet apart; the intervening space being filled up with earth and stones so that, if they are well defended, they ought to cost us a lot of men before we carry them." "well, tomorrow we shall be at prahsu. they say it is a fine open camp, as it was completely cleared by wolseley's expedition. of course, bushes will have sprung up again but, fast as things grow in this climate, they can hardly have attained any great height; and we shall have no difficulty in clearing the place again. there is a good rest house at the place, i hear, and we sha'n't be pigged in, as we were at akroful." "why should they build a better house there than at the other stations?" "because, when the river is full, there is no way of getting across; and one may have to wait there for a fortnight, before it falls." on the afternoon of the next day prahsu was reached, after a march of twenty miles. the greater part of the house was found to be occupied by offices and stores. fortunately, however, two or three tents had been brought along. the troops soon ran up huts of bamboos and palm leaves and, as there was a small native village close by, all were soon able to sleep in shelter. the prah was found to be full of water. it was here about a hundred and fifty yards wide, and circled round three sides of the position. there was no bridge, but two old wooden pontoons were found, relics of the last expedition; and these, with the aid of two old native canoes, were the only means of crossing. on the morning after their arrival a despatch, dated may 24, was received from captain hall. it gave the details of his attack on kokofu. some thousands of the enemy were round that place and, in his opinion, no advance could be made to coomassie till this force was destroyed. an hour or two later another runner came in, this time from kwisa. the despatch he brought gave details of the fighting the force at this place had had, in trying to effect a junction with captain hall. the column advanced rapidly. in any place where the bush was particularly thick, volleys were fired into the undergrowth by a few men of the advance guard; for it had been found by experience in nigeria that, if fired upon, natives generally disclosed their presence by replying. they went on, unmolested, until they neared the village of dompoasi. the natives of this town had sworn a solemn oath, to prevent any reinforcements from going up to coomassie; and they had erected a stockade, six feet high. this was built in zigzag shape, so that a flanking fire could be kept up from it. it was about four hundred yards long, with both ends doubled backwards, to prevent an enemy from turning the position. in the rear was a trench, in which they could load in perfect shelter. seats had been prepared on the neighbouring trees, for riflemen; and the undergrowth was left untouched, so that there should be nothing to excite suspicion. the stockade did not run across the road, but parallel to it, the distance varying from twenty to thirty yards. thus, anybody coming along the path would notice nothing unusual, though he himself would be easily seen by the defenders. a road had been cut, at the back of the entrenchments, so as to give a line of retreat to the defenders. on the northern side of the village, a similar stockade had been constructed. captain roupell--who commanded the advance--became aware, from the numerous tracks and footprints, that the enemy must be in force in the neighbourhood, and advanced cautiously. he did not observe the stockade, however, so well was it hidden among the bushes. just as they reached the farther end of it, a tremendous fire was opened. captain roupell was wounded, and many of the men also killed or wounded. for a moment the troops were paralysed by the hail of lead. then they replied with their rifles, and two maxims and an eleven pounder were got to work. captain roupell, in spite of his wound, worked one of the maxims, lieutenant o'malley the other, and lieutenant edwardes the gun. captain roupell was again dangerously wounded, and lieutenant o'malley so severely wounded that he was forced to discontinue fire. lieutenant edwardes, although he was hit early in the action, stuck to his gun. the gun team were all lying round, either killed or wounded, and he ran home the shells with a stick. he was, shortly afterwards, shot in the left arm. this incapacitated him from serving his gun; but he went and worked a maxim, with his right arm, till a shot in the face compelled him to have his wounds dressed. colonel carter was wounded in the head, and handed over the command to colonel wilkinson, who was himself slightly wounded at the back of the head. the men fell fast. the seven pounder and the other maxim were completely isolated, some distance up the path. the existence of the stockade was only discovered as the undergrowth was cut away by the rain of bullets. the officer commanding d company--which had been the rear guard all this time and, consequently, had not suffered--was in hammock with fever, and colour sergeant mackenzie was in command. at this moment mackenzie came up, and asked leave to charge the enemy. his proposal was at once sanctioned, and when half of his company had arrived they charged the stockade, other soldiers and officers near joining them. the enemy could not stand this determined attack, evacuated their position, and took to flight. the force now prepared to retire, and this operation they performed in an orderly manner. seven european officers had been wounded, and there were ninety casualties. indeed, if the enemy had not fired too high, the column might have been annihilated. orders were sent, to colonel carter, telling him to remain where he was till reinforcements should arrive. a telegram was also sent to captain hall, instructing him to despatch a company to increase the garrison at kwisa. in the meantime two companies of the troops on the prah were ordered to proceed, instantly, to the relief of kwisa, under the command of captain melliss and, to lisle's satisfaction, some of his company were to form part of the force. they started at two in the afternoon, but it was four before they got across the prah; and they could only march ten miles that evening, which they did through a pouring rain. an early start was made, next morning. by eight o'clock they reached fumsu, which was held by a company of soldiers under quartermaster sergeant thomas; who informed them that all the troops ahead were perilously situated, short of food and ammunition, and crippled with casualties. he tried to dissuade them from going farther, saying: "you are simply walking into a death trap. it is not fighting, it is murder. i am sure you will never get there, with only a hundred men and all these carriers." however, orders had to be obeyed. the carriers were so limited in number that only a few days' food could be taken to the kwisa garrison, if all the cartridges were to go on. a hundred extra rounds were served out to each man, in addition to the hundred he already had; so that there was no risk of running short, and the carriers would be relieved of much of the weight of the reserve, and could therefore carry up a larger amount of provisions. a hasty meal was eaten, and then they stepped forward for the twenty miles' march before them. during the halt, they found out how the natives signalled. a gun was fired from the forest, the signal was repeated farther on, and continued to the next war camp. an estimate was given of the number and composition of an enemy by the number of guns fired. the force learned, afterwards, that their departure from prahsu had been signalled in this way to the adansis; and only the darkness and pouring rain, which delayed the enemy's movements, had saved the column from attack. when the march was continued, therefore, the greatest precautions were taken against an ambush. a small party of twelve men marched ahead of the advance guard, and fired occasional volleys. where the undergrowth was unusually thick, scouts moved abreast of them, cutting a way with their sword bayonets. the difficulties were so great that the column moved only three-quarters of a mile an hour. the carriers struggled on, carrying their burdens with surprising cheerfulness, staggering over the slippery mud, and frequently falling. the gun carriers had the worst time of all, for the parts into which these weapons divide are too heavy for single loads; and have to be carried, swung on bamboo poles, by four men--but often, at the acute bends in the path, the whole burden had to be supported by two. nevertheless, the column managed to advance. the river fum was rising, but was still fordable, and they crossed it, with difficulty. it was now necessary to give up scouting, and depend entirely on the volleys of the men in front to discover ambuscades. one or two deserted or thinly populated villages were passed. then, after two hours of this trying tramp, the advance guard came upon the fum again; but at this point its volume and width were more than doubled. the river was rising rapidly, and there were no trees that could be cut down, with the sword bayonets, long enough to throw across. at last, by good luck, at some distance farther down a native canoe was found, caught in the branches of a fallen tree. it was a clumsy craft, but it was better than nothing. two native hammock boys and two soldiers took their places in it, and set out for the other side. when it reached the centre of the stream, however, an eddy caught it and, in an instant, it capsized. captain melliss at once plunged into the river. he was a strong swimmer, and had gained the royal humane society's medal for saving life at sea. his strength, however, had been taxed by the climate, and he had to call for aid. luckily, no one was drowned. the intense chill, caused by the sudden immersion in almost ice-cold water; and the bites of the ants that swarmed over them, as they made their way back through the undergrowth from the spot where the canoe had been washed ashore, threatened an attack of fever; but this was averted by a change of clothing, a glass of neat spirits, and a dose of quinine. it was now agreed that nothing could be done, and the force marched back to fumsu. they recrossed the river, by means of a rope stretched from bank to bank, and arrived long after dark. next day it was determined to make another trial but, for a long time, no one was able to suggest where a crossing of the swollen river might be effected. it was clearly impossible to build a bridge but, after much discussion, it was agreed to make a raft. it consisted of a platform of planks, built across empty barrels; and was lashed together by the only rope at the station. a couple of natives took their places upon it, with long poles; but their efforts to push against the strong currents were quite unavailing. then something went wrong with the rope and the raft gradually sank, the men swimming ashore. on examination it was found that, not only were the leaking casks gone, but the rope that tied them together. the situation now appeared more hopeless than before. it was lisle who suggested a possible way out of the difficulty. he was wandering about the deserted native huts, when it struck him to see what the mud walls were composed of, and how the roofs were supported. drawing his sword, he cut a large hole in one of the walls and, to his surprise, discovered that they were strengthened by lines of bamboos, which were afterwards plastered over. it seemed to him that these bamboos, which were extremely light as well as strong, would be very useful material for a raft, and he communicated the idea to captain melliss. "you have solved the difficulty, captain bullen; there is no doubt that these will do admirably." in a few minutes the whole of the little force, and carriers, were occupied in pulling down the huts. the question arose, how were the stakes to be tied together? while this matter was being discussed, lisle said: "surely we can use some of the creepers. the natives tie up bundles with them." the suggestion was at once adopted. creepers were cut in the forest, and four bundles of bamboos were tied up, with cross pieces of the same material; so that they could be carried by four men, like a hammock. four of the loads were similarly tied up. the telegraph wire was torn down from the trees, on the bank on which they were arrested; and the nearest insulator on the opposite side was broken by a shot, so that the wire hung down to the water in a gentle curve, the next insulator being fastened to a tree at a considerable distance. one end of the raft was then attached to this wire, by a noose that worked along it; and this contrivance enabled the swiftest streams to be triumphantly crossed, the loads of rice, meanwhile, being kept dry. the success of the experiment created a general feeling of relief. on that day, an escort of fifty soldiers and some more ammunition came in, to reinforce the little garrison at fumsu. the full number asked for could not be spared, as a rumour had arrived that the enemy would endeavour to cut off the carriers, who were making their way up from the coast. next morning a start was made at an early hour. four rivers had been crossed, and five miles of the advance had been accomplished, without an enemy being seen; and the troops began to hope that they would reach kwisa without further molestation. however, in mounting a steep rise, after crossing a river, a heavy fire was suddenly opened on them; and they had their first experience of the nature of the ground chosen by the enemy for an ambuscade. the path zigzagged up the hill and, while the movements of the troops could be seen by the natives on its crest, dense foliage prevented the men toiling up it from obtaining even a glimpse of the enemy. volleys were fired both to right and left. the enemy replied by firing volley after volley, and the shower of leaves showed that the bullets were flying high. it was difficult for the officers to control the extended line, and the scattered soldiers marching among the carriers were altogether out of hand, and fired recklessly. at last, however, this was checked. the advance guard had suffered, but their fire had quelled that of the enemy. a rush was therefore made, the ambuscade carried, and the enemy put to flight. captain wilson was, unfortunately, killed in the engagement. his body was put into a hammock and taken to fumsu, a march of thirty-three miles. the force then returned to the prah with the wounded, leaving only a small garrison of fifty men, under a british corporal. it was a terrible march. the river had swollen, and the crossing took hours, many of the troops and carriers not arriving until the following day. "well, bullen, how does this campaign compare with that in the tirah?" "it is infinitely worse," lisle said. "we were only once or twice bothered by rivers, the country was open and, when the enemy crowning the hills were turned out, we were able to go through the passes without much opposition. we certainly often went to bed supperless, but on the whole we did not fare badly. at least we were generally dry and, though the cold was severe, it was not unbearable. at any rate, it was better than marching through these forests, in single file, with the mud often up to one's knees. above all, the air was fresh and dry, and we had not this close atmosphere and this wet to struggle against. "these fellows fight as well as the afridis do, but are nothing like such good shots. if they had been, we should have been annihilated. i would rather go half a dozen times, through the tirah, than once through this country. "i think it is the darkness in the woods that is most trying. we are all bleached almost white; my uniform hangs about me loosely. i must have lost any amount of weight." both of the young officers had received wounds, but these were of so slight a nature that they had been able to keep their places. "i wonder what the next move will be. at any rate, we shall be in clover at prahsu, and be able to get into condition again by the time we make another move. plenty of stores are sure to be lying there, while i expect that hall and wilkinson will be on pretty short commons." "well, i suppose it is all for the best." one day they came upon a swollen river, which was so deep as to be unfordable, and the column were brought to a halt. the pioneers, on being questioned, were of accord that it would take at least two days to build a bridge. there was a long consultation, and it was agreed that, unless something could be done, the column must retire for, by the time the bridge was built, the supply of food would be exhausted. "if we could get a wire across," the engineer officer said, "we certainly could build the bridge in less time than i stated." "i will try to carry it across, sir," lisle said. "i am a strong swimmer, and i think i could do it." "yes, but the ashantis are all on the opposite bank. you would be picked off before you got halfway across." "i would try after dark. once i got the wire across and fixed, enough men could cross, with its assistance, to clear the other bank of the enemy." "you would find it very hard work tugging the wire across, bullen. the stream would catch it and, as it is as much as you can do to swim the current without any drawback, it would certainly carry you down." "yes, sir; but if i asked for a volunteer, i should find one without difficulty." "well, mr. bullen, if you volunteer to try, i shall, of course, be very glad to accept the offer; especially as, if you keep tight hold of the wire, the stream will only send you back to this bank." as soon as it was known that lisle was about to attempt to swim the river, several volunteers came forward; and from these he selected one of the sikh soldiers, not only because he was a tall and powerful man, but because he could give him orders in punjabi. as soon as night came on, the preparations were completed. a length of wire, that would be sufficient to cross the river, was laid out on the bank from the spot that seemed to offer most advantages for a bridge. in this way, as they swam out the line would go with them, and they would be swept across the river by its pull, until they touched the bank opposite to where the other end of the line was secured. lisle took off his tunic, putties, and boots; and the sikh also stripped himself to his loincloth, in which he placed his bayonet. lisle unloaded his revolver and put it into his waistband, at the same time placing in his pocket a packet of twenty cartridges, in a waterproof box. "you would swim better without those things, bullen." "no doubt, sir; but i want to have some means of defence, when i get across the stream. some of the enemy may be lurking there, now." "before you start i will get the maxim to work, and sweep the opposite bank. when you get ashore fasten the end of the wire to a tree, and then give a shout; we will stretch it tight on this side, and i will send a half company over, without delay. that ought to be enough to enable you to retain your footing, until we join you." when all was ready, lisle fastened the end of the wire round his body. the sikh was to take hold a yard or two below him, and aid him as he swam. then they stepped into the water, and struck out. they had swum only twenty yards, when the sikh cried out, "i have cramp, sahib! i can swim no longer!" and he let go his hold of the wire. rapidly, lisle thought over the position. it was very important to get the wire across. now that the sikh had gone, he felt that it would pull him under; on the other hand, the brave fellow had volunteered to go with him, and he could not see him drown before his eyes. he accordingly slipped the loop of the wire over his head, and struck out with the stream. so rapid had been the course of his thoughts that the man was still within some fifteen yards of him. he could see him faintly struggling and, swimming with long, steady strokes, soon overtook him. "put your arm on my shoulder," he said; "i will soon get you ashore." the sikh did as he was told, and lisle turned to make for the shore they had left. to his dismay, however, he found that the centre current was carrying him to the opposite side. as soon as he found this to be the case, he ceased his efforts and allowed himself to float down. doubtless the ashantis would be on the watch, and any movement in the water would catch their eyes. he could hear their voices on the bank and, occasionally, a shot was fired over his head. he felt sure, however, that he was still unseen; and determined to float quietly, till the course of the current changed, and brought him back to the side from which he started. he felt the sikh's grasp relaxing, and threw his arms round the man's neck. a quarter of an hour passed and then, to his dismay, he saw that he was close to the bush, on the wrong side of the river. he himself was getting rapidly weaker, and he felt that he could not support the weight of the soldier much farther. accordingly he grasped a branch that overhung the river, pulled himself in to the shore, and there lay at the edge of the mud. when he recovered his breath, he began to calculate his chances. the bush overhead seemed very thick, and he resolved to shelter there for a time. occasionally he could hear the sound of voices close by, and was sure that the ashantis were in force there. his companions would, he was sure, regard him as dead when, on pulling on the wire, they found that it was loose; and after the failure of this attempt to establish a bridge, would probably start on their return march, without delay. he had, therefore, only himself to rely upon, beyond what assistance he could get from the sikh, when the latter regained consciousness. he poured a little spirits into the man's mouth, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing him move. waiting until the movement became more decided, he said: "you must lie still; we are across on the ashanti side. they don't know we are here and, when you are able to move, we will crawl down some little distance and hide in the bushes. we must hide in the morning, for i am sure that i could not swim back to the other side, and certainly you could not do so. we are in a tight place, but i trust that we shall be able to get out of it." "do not encumber yourself with me," the sikh said. "i know you have risked your life to save me, but you must not do so again. what is the life of a soldier to that of an officer?" "i could not get across, even if i were alone. at any rate, i am not going to desert you, now. let us keep quiet for an hour, then we shall be able to move on." an hour passed silently, and then lisle asked: "how are you feeling, now?" "i feel strong again, sahib." "very well then, let us crawl on." chapter 15: a narrow escape. keeping in the mud close to the bank, and feeling their way in the dense growth produced by the overhanging bushes, they crawled forward. sometimes the water came up to the bank, and they had to swim; but as a rule they were able to keep on the mud, which was so deep that they sank far into it, their heads alone showing above it. in two hours they had gone a mile, and both were thoroughly exhausted. "we will lie here till day breaks," lisle said; "as soon as it is dawn, we will choose some spot where the bushes are thickest, and shelter there. i am in hopes, now, that we are beyond the ashantis. i dare say that we shall be able to get a peep through the bushes and, if we find the coast clear, we will make our way into the forest. there we may be able to gather something to eat, which we shall want, tomorrow; and it will certainly be more comfortable than this bed of mud. we must get rid of some of that before we leave." "it would be better to allow it to dry on you, sahib. our white undergarments would betray us at once, if any ashantis came upon us. for my part, my colour is not so very different from theirs." "yes, perhaps that would be better. i must rub some over my face, as well." "i do not care, for myself, sahib; we sikhs are not afraid to die; but after your goodness to me, i would do anything to save you." "what is your name?" "pertab, sahib." "well, pertab, i think that as we have proceeded so far, we shall pull through, somehow. you have your bayonet, and i have my revolver, which i will wash and load before we get out of this. we shall be a match, then, for any three or four men we may come across. at any rate, i shall shoot myself if i see that there is no other way of escape. it would be a thousand times better to die, than be taken captive and tortured to death." "good, sahib! i will use my bayonet, myself; but i don't think there will be any occasion for that." "i shall certainly die fighting. i would rather not be taken alive, pertab; and shall certainly fight till i am killed, or can take my own life." "do you think that the troops will be marched away, sahib?" "i feel sure that they will. they have only got provisions enough to take them back to camp; and as, when they pull the wire in, they will find that we have gone, they will feel quite sure that we have been drowned. "no; we must quite make up our minds that we have got to look after ourselves. fortunately, the ashantis will not be able to cross the river to harass them in their retreat; unless, indeed, they know of some ford by which they can get over." as soon as daylight began, the sikh went down into the water and washed the mud from himself, and lisle cleaned and loaded his pistol. then they waited until it was broad daylight and, as they heard no sounds to indicate that any ashantis were near, lisle climbed up as noiselessly as he could to the bushes, and looked cautiously round. there were none of the enemy in sight. he therefore called to the sikh to join him and, together, they made their way into the forest behind. "the first thing to ascertain," lisle said, "is whether the enemy are still here, and to find out for certain whether our friends have left. if they stay where they were, we can swim the river and join them; if they have retreated, and the ashantis are still here, we shall know that there is no ford. if, however, we find that the ashantis have gone, we shall be sure that they crossed at some ford, and will be swarming round our men; in which case it will be impossible for us to join them, and we must make our way as best we can." they kept close to the edge of the forest, the soldier occasionally using his bayonet to cut away the thorny creepers that blocked their course. after an hour's walking, lisle said: "that is the spot where the troops were, last night. i can see no signs of them now. "now for the ashantis." they took the greatest pains to avoid making a noise, until they stepped out opposite the point from which they had started, the evening before. they saw no signs of the enemy. "this is bad," lisle said. "i can have no doubt that they have crossed the river, somewhere, and are swarming in the forest opposite. however, now that we know that they have gone, we can look out for something to eat." for three hours they wandered about, and were fortunate enough to find a deserted village, where they gathered some bananas and pineapples. of these they made a hearty meal; and then, each carrying a few bananas, they returned to the river and swam across, finding no difficulty in doing so now that they were unencumbered by the wire. they had not been long across before they heard the sound of heavy firing, some two or three miles away. "it is as i thought," lisle said. "the ashantis have crossed the river, somewhere, and are now attacking the convoy. they will not, of course, overpower it; but they will continue to follow it up till they get near camp, and there is little chance of our being able to rejoin them before that." travelling on, they more than once heard the sound of parties of the enemy, running forward at the top of their speed. evidently news had been sent round, and the inhabitants of many villages now poured in, to share in the attack upon the white men. "it is useless for us to think of going farther, at present," lisle said. "they will be mustering thickly all round our force, and i expect we shall have some stiff fighting to do, before we get back to camp--i mean the column, of course; as for ourselves, the matter is quite uncertain. we may be sure, however, that they won't be making any search in the bush and, as even in the ashanti country you cannot go through the bush, unless you cut a path, it will be sheer accident if they come across us. at any rate, we may as well move slowly on, doing a little cutting only when the path seems deserted. if we keep some forty or fifty yards from it, so as to be able to hear any parties going along, and to make sure that they are moving in our direction, that is all we can do. "of course, everything will depend upon the result of the fight with the column. there is no doubt that they are going to be attacked in great force; which, as far as it goes, is all the better for us. if it were only a question of sniping by a small body of men, the colonel would no doubt push steadily on, contenting himself with firing occasional volleys into the bush; but if he is attacked by so strong a body as there appears to be round him, he will halt and give them battle. if so, we may be pretty sure that he will send them flying into the bush; and they won't stop running till they get back to the river. in that case, when we have allowed them all to pass we can go boldly on, and overtake the column at their halting place, this evening. "if, on the other hand, our fellows make a running fight of it, the enemy will follow them till they get near coomassie, and we shall have to make a big detour to get in. that we shall be able to do so i have no doubt, but the serious part of the business is the question of food. however, we know that the natives can find food, and it is hard if we do not manage to get some. "making the necessary detour, and cutting our way a good deal through the bush, we can calculate upon getting there in less than four days' march. we have food enough for today, and a very little will enable us to hold on for the next four days." they moved slowly on. the firing increased in violence, and it was evident that a very heavy engagement was going on. two hours later they heard a sound of hurrying feet in the path and, peering through the bush, saw a crowd of the ashantis running along, in single file, at the top of their speed. "hooray! it is evident that they have got a thorough licking," lisle said. "they will soon be all past. our greatest fear will then be that a few of the most plucky of them will rally in the bush, when they see that none of our troops come along. our troops are not likely to follow them up, as they will be well content with the victory they have evidently gained, and resume their march." they waited for an hour and, when they were on the point of getting up and making for the path, the sikh said: "someone is coming in the bush." in another minute, four natives came suddenly upon them; whether they came from the force that had been routed, or were newly arriving from some village behind, the two fugitives knew not; nor, indeed, had they any time to consider. they threw themselves, at once, into one of the divisions at the base of a giant cotton tree. these divisions, of which there may be five or six round the tree, form solid buttresses four or five inches thick, projecting twenty or thirty feet from the front, and rising as many feet high; thus affording the tree an immense support, when assailed by tropical storms. illustration: two of them fell before lisle's revolver. the natives, seeing that the two men were apparently unarmed, rushed forward, firing their guns as they did so. two of them fell before lisle's revolver. one of the natives rushed with clubbed musket at him but, as he delivered the blow, the butt end of the musket struck a bough overhead and flew out of the man's hand; and lisle, putting his revolver to his head, shot him. the other man ran off. lisle had now time to look round and, to his dismay, the sikh was leaning against the branch of a tree. "are you hit?" he asked. "yes, sahib, a ball has broken my right leg." "that is a bad business, indeed," lisle said, kneeling beside him. "it cannot be helped, sahib. our fate is meted out to us all, and it has come to me now. you could not drag me from here, or carry me; it would be impossible, for i weigh far more than you do." lisle was silent for a moment. "i see," he said, "that the only thing i can do is to push on to camp, and bring out assistance. i will leave you my pistol, when i have recharged it; so that if the native who has run away should bring others down, you will be able to defend yourself. as, however, you remained on your feet, he will not know that you were wounded; and will probably suppose that we would at once push on to join our companions. still, it will be well for you to have the weapon. "now, let me lower you down to the ground, and seat you as comfortably as i can. i will leave these bananas by you, and my flask of water. it is lucky, now, that i did not drink it all when i started to cross the river. "i suppose they will have halted at the same camp as before. it was a long march, and we must still be ten or twelve miles away from it, so i fear it will be dark long before i get there." "you are very good, sahib, but i think it will be of no use." "oh, i hope it will! so now, give me your turban. i will wrap it tightly round your leg, for the bleeding must be stopped. i see you have lost a great deal of blood, already." he bandaged the wound as well as he could, and then he said: "i will take your sword bayonet with me. it can be of no use to you and, if i do happen to meet a native upon the road, it may come in very handy." "the blessing of the great one be upon you, sahib, and take you safely to camp. as for myself, i think that my race is run." "you must not think that," lisle said, cheerily; "you must lie very quiet, and make up your mind that, as soon as it is possible, we shall be back here for you;" and then, without any more talk, he made his way to the edge of the path. there he made a long gash on the bark of a tree and, fifty yards farther, he made two similar gashes. then, certain that he could find the place on his return, he went off at a trot along the path. it was eight o'clock in the evening before he reached camp. on the way, he had met with nothing that betokened danger; there had been no voices in the woods. when about halfway to camp, he came across a number of dead bodies on the path and, looking into the bush, found many more scattered about. it was evident that the little british force had turned upon their assailants, and had effected a crushing defeat upon them. he was hailed by a sentry as he approached the camp but, upon his reply, was allowed to pass. as he came to the light of a fire, round which the white officers were sitting, there was a general shout of surprise and pleasure. "is it you or your ghost, bullen?" the commanding officer exclaimed, as all leapt to their feet. "i am a very solid person, colonel; as you will see, if you offer me anything to eat or drink. i am pretty well exhausted now and, as i have got another twenty-mile tramp before i sleep, you may guess that i shall be glad of solid and liquid refreshment." "you shall have both, my dear boy. we had all given you up for dead. when we saw you washed down, we were afraid that you were lost. the only hope was that the current might bring you over to our side again, and we went two or three miles down the stream to look for you. we hunted again still more carefully the next morning, and it was not until the afternoon that we moved. "we encamped only three miles from the river, hoping still that you might come up before the morning. we started at daybreak this morning. we were harassed from the first, but the affair became so serious that we halted and faced about, left a handful of men to protect the coolies and carriers; and then sent two companies out into the bush on each side, and went at them. fortunately they fought pluckily, and when at last they gave way they left, i should say, at least a third of their number behind them. "we did not stop to count. i sent a small party at full speed along the path, so as to keep them on the run, and then marched on here without further molestation. "and now, about yourself; how on earth have you managed to get in?" "well, sir, i can tell it in a few words. the current took us to the opposite shore. we lay concealed under the bushes overhanging the bank, and could hear the enemy talking behind the screen. on the following day the voices ceased, and we made our way up to the camp; and found, as we expected, that you had gone and, as we guessed, the ashantis had set off in pursuit. we went on through the forest and, of course, heard the firing in the distance; and saw the enemy coming along the path, terror stricken. we were waiting for a bit, and felt sure that they had all passed; when a party of four men came from behind upon us. i don't think they belonged to the force you defeated. they were within twenty yards when they saw us. "we jumped into one of the hollows at the foot of a cotton tree. the whole four fired at us and then, as they supposed that we were unarmed, made a rush. i shot two of them as they came on. one of the others aimed a blow at me, with the butt end of his gun. fortunately the weapon caught one of the creepers, and flew out of his hand. my revolver had in some way stuck, but it all came right just at the moment, and i shot him. the fourth man bolted. "when i looked round to see what the sikh was doing, he was leaning against the tree, with the blood streaming from his leg; the bone having been broken by one of their balls. well, sir, i bandaged it up as well as i could, and left him my revolver; so that he might shoot himself, if there was a likelihood of his being captured. i then set off, as hard as i could go, to fetch assistance for him." "the troops have had a very heavy day, bullen," the colonel said, gravely. "how far away is it that you left the man?" "about ten miles, i should say." "well, they are all willing fellows, but it is a serious thing to ask them to start on another twenty miles' journey, within an hour or two of getting into camp." "i think, sir, if you will allow me to go down to where the sikhs are bivouacked, and i ask for volunteers to bring in their comrade, they will stand up, to a man." lisle's confidence in the sikhs was not misplaced. as soon as they heard that a comrade, who they believed had been drowned while trying to get the wire across the river, was lying alone and wounded in the forest, all declared their willingness to start, at once. "i will take twenty," lisle said; "that will be ample. i have just come down the path myself, and i saw no signs, whatever, of the enemy; still, some of them may be making their way down, to carry off their dead. if they are, however, their astonishment at seeing us will be so great that they will bolt at the first volley." "are you going back with us, sahib?" "yes, i must do so, or you would never find the place where he is lying." "we will take two stretchers," the sergeant--a splendid man; standing, like most of his companions, well over six feet--said, "and you shall walk as far as you are able, and then we will carry you. when will you march, sahib?" "i am going to get something to eat and drink first and, if you will fall in, in half an hour i will be with you again." "where is pertab wounded, sahib?" "he is shot through the leg, three or four inches above the knee, and the bone is broken." "did the man get off, sahib?" "i can't say for certain," lisle said, with a smile. "four men attacked us. they all four fired. i shot three of them with my revolver, and the fourth bolted. whether he was the man who really shot your comrade, or not, i cannot say; but you see, the chances are that he was not." the grim faces of the sikhs lit up with a smile. "you paid them out, anyhow," the sergeant said. "i don't think we are very deeply in their debt." lisle went back to the campfire. the best that could be found in camp was given to him, and the colonel handed him his own whisky flask. while he ate, he related the story in full. "well, it is a fine thing for you to have done," said the colonel; "a most creditable affair. i know that you are a pretty good marcher; but i hardly think that, after a long day's work, you can set out for a march of nearly double the length." "i have no fear of the march, colonel. the sikhs have volunteered to carry a stretcher for me. i shall, of course, not get into it, unless i feel that i cannot go another foot farther; but the mere fact that it is there, and in readiness for me, will help me to keep on. the sikhs have done just as long a march as i have, and i hope that i shall be able to hold on as long as they can. i should hate to be beaten by a native." "ah! but these sikhs are wonderful fellows; they seem to be made of iron, and march along as erect and freely as they start, when even the hausas and yorubas are showing signs that they are almost at the end of their powers. i must say that i consider the sikhs to be, all round, the best soldiers in the world. they cannot beat tommy atkins, when it comes to a charge; but in the matter of marching, and endurance, tommy has to take a back seat. he will hold on till he fairly breaks down, rather than give in; but he himself, if he has ever campaigned with the sikhs, would be the first to allow that they can march him off his feet. "have you got a spare pair of shoes in your kit, bullen?" "yes." "then i should advise you to take those you have on, off; and put on a fresh pair." "i will take your advice, sir; but i really think that it would be best to follow the custom of the native troops, and march barefooted." "it would not do," the colonel said, decidedly. "the soles of their feet are like leather. you would get half a dozen thorns in your foot, before you had gone half a mile; and would stub your toes against every root that projected across the path. no, no; stick to your shoes." lisle changed his boots, and then went across to the sikhs; who fell in as they saw him coming. "you have got everything, sergeant?" he asked. "yes; a hundred and thirty rounds of ball cartridge, the two stretchers, and some food and drink for our comrade." "you have got a good supply of torches, i hope. there may be some small risk in carrying them, but i am convinced that the ashantis will not venture to return, tonight, whatever they may do tomorrow. with three torches--one at the head, one in the middle of the line, and one in the rear--we should be able to travel through the paths better than if we had to grope our way in the dark." the little party at once moved off, many of the officers and men gathering round, to wish them good luck and a safe return. four hours took them to the spot where lisle had turned into the path. for the last mile he had had three torches burning in front, so that he should not overlook the signs he had made on the trees. "there it is, sergeant," he said, at last, "two slashes; the other one is on the left, fifty yards on." they turned off when they came to this. "here we are, all right, pertab!" lisle said, as they came to the tree. "allah be praised!" the man said, faintly. "i seem to have been hearing noises in the wood, for a long time; and when i heard you coming, i was by no means sure that it was not an illusion, like the others." "here are twenty of your comrades with me, pertab, and we shall soon get you into camp." "i didn't expect you till morning," the wounded man said. "i thought that you would be far too tired to come out and, without you, they could not have found me." "they would have carried me, had it been necessary; but i managed to hold on pretty well. "now, my men, get him upon the stretcher, and let us be off. pour the contents of that bottle down his throat; that will keep him up, till we get back." for another four or five miles, lisle kept along but, to his mortification, he was obliged at last to take to the stretcher. the four sikhs who carried it made light of his weight. once or twice, on the way, some dropping shots were fired at the party; but these were speedily silenced by a volley or two from the rifles. it was four o'clock in the morning when they re-entered camp. the fires were already lighted and, as the party entered, the troops received them with loud cheering; which called all the white officers out from their shelters. "you have done well, my fine fellows," the colonel said to the sikhs. "now, get some food at once, and then lie down for three or four hours' sleep. i shall leave two companies with you; i don't think that, after the thrashing we gave them yesterday, the enemy are likely to trouble us--at any rate, not before the afternoon, and by that time you will have rejoined us." "we can march on now, sahib." "no, no," the colonel said; "a thirty-six-mile march, through this bush, is a great deal more than a fair day's march for anyone; and i am not going to see such good men knocked up, by asking too much of them. so just go, and do as i order you. you may be sure that i shall put the deed you have accomplished in my orders of today. "well, mr. bullen," he said, as he came to the spot where lisle was sitting, with his shoes and stockings off, rubbing his aching feet, "so you could not outmarch the sikhs?" "no, sir, and i did not expect to do so. i went at their head all the way there, and four or five miles back; but should have had to give up, even if i had been told that a big fortune awaited me, if i got in on foot. i should have had to say: "'well, then, somebody else may have it; i can go no farther.'" "well, you have done uncommonly well, anyhow; uncommonly well. i don't suppose there are five white men in camp who could have done so much. after this you may be sure that, if you have need of an expedition, the sikhs would follow you through fire and water, if they were allowed to volunteer for the service. "i should have been glad to recommend you for the victoria cross, for your conduct right through the affair; but you have got it. but i fear that, although you would get every credit for your doings, the authorities would consider that it did not come under the head of deeds for which the victoria cross is given." "i am sure i have no desire for another v.c., even if two could be given." no attack was made on the following day, and it was evident that the ashantis had taken to heart the lesson that had been given them. two days later the column marched into the fort, and colonel willcocks went out to meet it. the colonel's reports had been sent in by a runner. as the sikhs came along, the colonel ordered them to halt and, as lisle marched up at the head of his company, he made a sign to him to come up. "captain bullen," he said, "i have much pleasure in congratulating you on the manner in which you saved the life of the sikh soldier, who volunteered to swim that river in flood in order to carry a wire across; and still more for the manner in which you made what i should say was a record march, in this country, to bring in a man who had been wounded, in a fight with a small party of the enemy." then he turned to the sikhs. "soldiers," he said, "i cannot praise you too heartily for having volunteered, at the end of a long and exhausting march, to undertake another still longer and more fatiguing, in order to bring in a wounded comrade. it is an act of which you may be proud; but not altogether a surprising one, for we know well that we can depend upon the sikhs, on all and every occasion." lisle had been carried into the fort. his feet were so tender and swollen that he could not possibly walk farther, and he was consequently taken down by the carriers, during the last two days' march. hallett sauntered up, as soon as he was put into a hospital hut. "hillo, bullen, so you have broken down! a nice example to set to your hausas, isn't it?" "i suppose it is," lisle laughed; "but the hausas did not march as far as i did." "no? what were you doing? scouting half a mile ahead of them, on your own account?" "not exactly; i only went the width of a river, and yet, the result of that was that i had to do an extra march of some twenty miles." "now you are speaking in riddles, lisle; and if there is one thing i hate, it is riddles. when a fellow begins to talk in that way, i always change the subject. why a man should try to puzzle his brain, with such rigmarole things, is more than i can imagine." "well, hallett, i really feel too tired to tell you about the matter. i can assure you that it is no joke, being carried down fifteen miles on a stretcher; so please go and ask somebody else, that's a good fellow." in a quarter of an hour hallett returned again, put his eyeglass in his eye, and stood for a couple of minutes without speaking, regarding lisle furtively. "oh, don't be a duffer," the latter said, "and drop that eyeglass. you know perfectly well that you see better, without it, than with it." "well, you are a rum chap, bullen. you are always doing something unexpected. i have been hearing how you and a sikh started to swim the ordah, when it was in flood, with a wire; how you were washed away; how you were given up for lost; how, two days later, you returned to camp and went straight out again, with a party of twenty sikhs, took a little stroll for ten miles into the bush--and of course, as much back--to carry in the sikh soldier you had had with you, but who had been wounded, and was unable to come with you. i don't know why such luck as this is always falling to your lot, while not a bit of it comes to me." "it is pure accident, hallett. you will get a chance, some day. i don't know that you would be good for a thirty-mile tramp, but it must be a consolation to you that, for the last five miles, i had to be carried." "it is a mercy it is so," hallett said, in an expression of deep thankfulness, "for there would have been no holding you, if you had come in on your feet." chapter 16: the relief of coomassie. "i certainly should not have volunteered for this work, bullen, if i had known what it was like. i was mad at not being able to go out to the cape, and as my regiment was, like yours, stationed in india, there was no chance of getting away from there, if i had once returned. of course, i knew all about the expeditions of wolseley and scott; but i forgot that these were carried on in the dry season, and that we should have to campaign in the wet season, which makes all the difference in the world. we are wet through, from morning till night--and all night, too--and at our camping places there is no shelter. the low-lying land is turned into deep swamps, the little streams become great unfordable torrents, and the ground under our feet turns into liquid mud. it is really horrible work, especially as we get very little food and less drink. it is not work for dogs." "it is all very well for you to grumble, hallett, but you know just as well as i do that, if the offer were made to you to go home, at once, you would treat it with scorn." "oh, of course i should! still, one may be allowed to have one's grumble and, after all, i think we are pretty sure of some stiff fighting, which makes up for everything. i am not afraid of the enemy a bit, but i do funk fever." "i don't think we are likely to get fever, so long as we are on the move; though i dare say a good many of us will go down with it, after the work is done. we have only to think of the starving soldiers and people, in coomassie, to make us feel that, whatever the difficulties and dangers may be, we must get there in time. the great nuisance is, that we can get no news of what is doing there. we constantly hear that the governor, with a portion if not all of the force, has broken out, some days since; and we begin to look out for them; and then, after a time, comes the news that there has been no sortie whatever. it is really most annoying, and i am often kept awake at night, even after a day's fight, thinking of the position of the garrison." "i don't think, if there were a hundred garrisons in danger," hallett laughed, "it would affect my sleep in the slightest. i lie down as soon as i have eaten what there is to eat, which certainly is not likely to affect my digestion; and however rough the ground, i am dead asleep as soon as my head touches it, and i do not open an eye until the bugle sounds in the morning. even then i have not had enough sleep, and i always indulge in bad language as i put on my belts, at the unearthly hour at which we are always called. i don't begin to feel half awake till we have gone some miles." "you would wake up sharp enough, hallett, at the sound of the first gun." "yes, that is all right enough; but unless that comes, there is nothing to wake one. the close air of the forest takes out what little starch you have in you, and i verily believe that i am very often asleep, as we march." "it is monotonous, hallett, but there is always something to see to; to keep the men from straggling, to give a little help, sometimes, to the wretched carriers." "you are such a desperate enthusiast, bullen. i cannot make out how you keep it up so well. i really envy you your good spirits." "they are indeed a great blessing; i had plenty of occasion to make the most of them, when i was marching in the ranks of the 32nd pioneers, on the way up to chitral. still, they came naturally enough, there; and i am bound to acknowledge that it is hard work, sometimes, to keep them up here." "i think that it would really be a mercy, bullen, if you were to pour a bucket of water over my head, when the bugle sounds. i have no doubt i should be furious with you, and should use the strongest of strong language; but still, that would not hurt you." "except when the carriers bring up our bundles of dry clothes, we lie down so soaked that you would scarcely feel the water poured over you. at any rate, if you really think that it would do you good, you had better order your servant to do it; that is to say, if you don't think you would slay him, the first morning." "no, i suppose i must put up with it, as best i can; but really, sometimes i do envy the colonel's little terrier, which frisks along all day, making excursions occasionally into the bush, to look for rats or mongooses. he seems to be absolutely tireless, and always ready for anything. "well, i shall turn in, now, and try to dream that i am on a feather bed, and have had supper of all sorts of dainties." "i would not do that, if i were you. it would be such a disappointment, when you woke up." "well, perhaps it might be," hallett said, despondently. "i will try to dream that i am with you on that chitral expedition, and am nearly frozen to death; then possibly, on waking, i might feel grateful that things are not so bad as i thought they were." they spent a few pleasant days at prahsu and, while there, received the news that a column had started, from tientsin, for the relief of the europeans collected in the various legations at pekin, news which created general satisfaction. "i have no doubt they will have some stiff fighting," hallett said, as he and lisle sat down to breakfast, after hearing the news. "one thing, however, is in their favour. as they will keep by the river all the way, they will never be short of water. the last news was that they were collecting a large flotilla of junks, for carrying up their provisions. lucky beggars! wouldn't i like to change places with one of them! i hope all the different troops will pull well together for, with a force of half a dozen nationalities, it is almost certain that there will be some squabbling." "i should hardly think that there would be any trouble, hallett. of course, it was reported in the last mail that the russians, french, and germans were all behaving somewhat nastily; but as the japs have the strongest force of all, and the americans stick to us, i should think that things will go on well. it would be a disgraceful thing, indeed, if troops marching to the relief of their countrymen could not keep the peace among themselves. of course, there may be fighting; but it is morally certain that the chinese cannot stand against us, and i imagine that, in proportion to the numbers, their casualties will enormously exceed ours. "britain has her hands pretty full, at present, what with the big war in the transvaal, and the little one here, and another in china. it is a good thing we thrashed the afridis, two years ago. if we had not, you may be sure that there would be an even more formidable rising on our northern frontier than that we quelled. news travels marvellously fast, in india; the afridis always seem to know what is going on elsewhere, and i am pretty sure that they would be up, all over the country, if they had not had to give up the greater portion of their rifles, and had not more than enough to do to rebuild their houses. so we have something to be thankful for." "i am glad that marchand business did not come off just at the present time," hallett said. "you may be sure that we should have had a war with france; it was a mighty near thing, as it was." "yes; i think they would not have backed down, if we had been busy with boers, chinese, and black men. they were at fever heat as it was; and we could have done nothing, if we had had two hundred and fifty thousand men engaged at the cape." "it would have made no difference," lisle said, scornfully, "we have plenty of soldiers at home. every barrack was crowded with men, as we came away; and there were a great number of the militia and volunteers, to back them up. above all there was our fleet which, however much the frenchmen value their warships, would have knocked them into a cocked hat in no time. "well, i suppose it is time to go out and inspect our men." "i suppose it is, bullen," hallett said despondently, as he stretched himself. "if there were no inspections and no parade, an officer's life would be really a pleasant one." lisle laughed. "and if there were no inspections and parades there would be no soldiers, and if there were no soldiers there would be no need for officers." "well, i suppose that is so," hallett said, as he buckled on his sword. "now, just look at me; do i look like an officer and a gentleman? nobody could tell what was the original colour of my khaki; it is simply one mass of mud stains." "well, i do think you hardly look like an officer and a gentleman--that is to say, you would hardly be taken for one at aldershot. fortunately, however, there are no english ladies here to look at you and, as the blacks don't know what an officer and a gentleman should be, it doesn't matter in the slightest." while at prahsu, there was nothing to do but to speculate as to what would be the next move. colonel willcocks kept his plan to himself, for information as to our movements reached the enemy in a most extraordinary manner. it was a busy camp. bamboo grass-covered sheds, for stores, were in course of construction. the engineers were employed in making a road, to take the stores and troops across the prah. three of the wounded officers--captain roupell, lieutenants edwardes and o'malley--were invalided, and left for home in a convoy with over a hundred wounded. this was necessary, owing to the fact that there was no roentgen apparatus in the colony, and it was found impossible to discover and extract the slugs with which the great proportion were wounded. it was unknown that four hundred men of the west african regiment, with nearly twenty officers, and a company from jebba were on their way to reinforce them. three officers were away to raise native levies in denkera and akim, and there were rumours about more troops from other parts of the world. but the one thing certain was that some more troops were coming down from northern nigeria. colonel burroughs arrived with a strong party, and lisle and hallett prepared to go up again. no resistance was met with, as far as fumsu; but it was found that a foot bridge that had been thrown across the river was washed away, and communication with the other bank was thus cut off. to the disgust of the officers and men, they were called out to a false alarm and, when dismissed, went back to bed grumbling. when they rose again, the men cleaned their arms and received their pay and rations. the latter amounted to but a pound of rice a day, but this was subsequently increased. the officers were little better off, for there was, of course, nothing to buy. two companies had gone on in advance to open the main road, find out the ambushes and stockades, and to join colonel wilkinson at bekwai. those who remained in camp had little to do, and were therefore glad to spend their time on fatigue duty; the officers building shelters for themselves, while the men erected conical huts, until the station was covered with them. a day or two after their arrival a letter, written in french on a scrap of paper, was brought down. it stated that the garrison could hold out until the 20th, a date that was already past. supplies were urgently wanted. it also warned the relief column that there was a big stockade within an hour of the fort. colonel willcocks sent out a messenger at once, asking that every available man should join him; but the man never reached the coast, and no help came from there. sir frederick hodgson had then been out of coomassie four days, and was making his way down to the coast through a friendly country; with an escort of six hundred soldiers, and all his officers but one, who had remained in the fort with a hundred men. on the morning of the 27th colonel burroughs, with five hundred men, started on his journey north. scouts flanked the advance guard, thereby preventing the chance of an ambuscade; but greatly delaying the column, as they had to cut their way through the bushes. they halted that night at sheramasi. a detachment was left at a village at the foot of the hills. just as the head of the troops arrived at the top, they were fired into from behind a fallen tree. a sharp fight took place for nearly an hour, until the enemy were turned out of their position, and pursued through the bush, by a company which had moved round their flank. kwisa was reached after dark, when it was found that the place had been entirely destroyed by the enemy. next morning they moved forward with the greatest caution, fully expecting that there would be another terrific fight at dompoasi. this place, though only four miles from kwisa, was not reached till nightfall. darkness set in with heavy rain, and the officers commanding the two leading companies held a council of war, and decided to call in the scouts--who were useless in the dusk--to make a dash for the village, and try to rush it before preparations could be made for its defence. the terrible downpour of rain was all in their favour. the enemy's scouts, who had reported the advance upon kwisa, had given up the idea of watching, that night; and they and the whole war camp were at their evening meal. the noise of the rain drowned the sounds of feet, and the troops were in the village before the enemy entertained a suspicion of their approach. a scene of wild confusion then ensued. the enemy rushed wildly to and fro, while our men poured volley after volley into them. savages have no idea of rallying, when thus taken by surprise. many fell; some fled into the forest; others ran down the prepared pathway and manned the big stockade, but the troops rushed forward, and soon compelled them to quit it. half a company were sent into the bush, to follow up the flying foe. they remained out all night, and did much execution among the adansis. this was the first real success gained over them. pickets and sentries were thrown out in a circle round the village. at midnight, the troops got a scratch meal under the protection of the huts. many guns were captured, some sniders, many cakes of powder, and much food which was cooking over the fires when the troops entered the village. some of the rifles that had belonged to the men who had fallen in the unsuccessful attack were found, together with three thousand rounds of ammunition to fit them. all this was accomplished without any casualties to our troops. the next day was spent in destroying the two great stockades, cutting down the bush round them, and blowing up the fetish tree; as well as burying the enemy's dead, thirty in number. on the evening of the next day, bekwai was gained. colonel burroughs determined, after this success, to get rid of the next danger by making another attack on the entrenchments and war camp at kokofu and, with five hundred men and four maxims, he started out for that place. but the task was too heavy for him, and the enemy were quite ready to receive our troops. they were in great force, and fought bravely for some hours. the turning movement which was attempted failed; and the colonel decided, at last, to retire to bekwai. this the troops accomplished safely, although the enemy followed them till they reached the town. lieutenant brumlie was killed, six other officers were hit slightly; and one british non-commissioned officer and three soldiers were killed, and seventy-two men wounded. after this, no fighting took place until colonel willcocks arrived to carry out the main object of the expedition. convoys of stores, however, kept pouring in incessantly and, to lisle's delight, a large box of provisions, which he had bought before starting from cape coast, arrived. then colonel neal arrived, with the sappers. he and his men built a bridge across the fum. it was twelve feet above the water, but within thirty-six hours it was swept away. while the troops were waiting, a runner came in and reported that heavy firing had been heard round coomassie. on the evening of the 30th of june, news came that colonel willcocks would start the next morning. he would have but a small escort of fighting men, but a very large number of carriers, to bring in the stores intended for coomassie. colonel willcocks reached fum on the night after leaving the prah. as the supplies were failing at kwisa, and another post, captain melliss took down a convoy to them, with twenty days' rations, and succeeded in doing so without opposition. colonel willcocks pressed on, leaving all baggage behind. the defeat of the dompoasis had its effect, and the little column joined colonel burroughs's men unopposed. the combined force then pushed on, until they arrived at a town under the sway of the king of bekwai. next morning they marched to bekwai. here it was decided to evacuate kwisa, for a time, and bring up the garrison that had been left there. the next march was laborious, and wet, as usual. the troops marched into the little village of amoaful, where sir garnet wolseley had fought the decisive battle of his campaign, and saw many relics of the fight. signal guns were heard, at various times, acquainting the enemy of our advance. the column stayed here for three days, which both soldiers and carriers enjoyed greatly, for the fatigues of the march had fairly worn out even the sturdy and long-enduring british troops. colonel willcocks went forward with his staff to esumeja, where the three companies, of which the garrison was composed, had already suffered sixty casualties. the pioneers, some carriers with hatchets, and some of the esumeja were sent out, a hundred yards down the road to kokofu, to cut the bush on each side and build two stockades. this was done to deceive the garrison, there, into the belief that we were about to advance on the place by that road. the ruse succeeded admirably. the general there sent information to the commander-in-chief of the ashanti army, and the latter at once despatched a considerable number of men to reinforce the garrison. thus the resistance along the main road was greatly reduced; and the kokofu, standing on the defensive, did not harass the force upon its march. on the evening of the 11th, a starving soldier made his way down from the fort with this message: "governor broke out, seventeen days ago. garrison rapidly diminishing by disease, can only last a few more days, on very reduced rations." six star shells were fired, that night, to let the garrison know that help was coming, but they never saw them. at midnight, the last contingent from northern nigeria, the kwisa garrison, and an escort of two companies of the west african contingent arrived. this brought the force up to the regulation strength of one battalion, on its war footing. at sunset the officers were called, and orders were given for the next day's work. the direction of the march was, even at that moment, a profound secret. the column was to be kept as short as possible, and only two carriers allowed to each officer. only half rations were to be issued. at daybreak the advance sounded, and the force moved out. it consisted of a thousand rank and file, sixty white men, seventeen hundred carriers, six guns, and six maxims. the rain fell in ceaseless torrents. the road was practically an unbroken swamp, and the fatigue and discomfort of the journey were consequently terrible. the ordah river was in flood, and had to be crossed on a felled tree. the distance to pekki, the last bekwai village, was fifteen miles. it did not lie upon the main road, but that route had been chosen because a shorter extent of hostile country would have to be traversed, and the march thence to coomassie would be only eleven miles; but it took the relief force nineteen and a half hours to get in, and the rear guard some two hours longer. darkness fell some hours before they reached their destination and, thence forward, the force struggled on, each holding a man in front of him. nothing broke the silence save the trickling of water from the trees overhead, and the squelch of the mud churned up by marching columns. at times they had to wade waist deep in water. the exhausted carriers fell out by dozens, but their loads were picked up and shouldered by soldiers, and not a single one was lost. the men got what shelter they could in the huts of the village and, in spite of wet and sleeplessness, all turned out cheerfully in the morning. the start was made at eight o'clock, in order that the men might recover a little from the previous day's fatigue. the enemy's scouts were encountered almost on the outskirts of the village and, in a short time, the advance guard neared the village of treda. it was a large place, with a very holy fetish tree. it stood on the top of a slope and, long before the rear guard had fallen out at pekki, it was carried by a brilliant bayonet charge, by the yorubas and the sierra leone frontier police. the enemy fought stubbornly, in the village; but were driven out with only some half-dozen casualties on our part. thirty sheep were found in the village, and they were a godsend, indeed, to the troops. as in every other place, too, numbers of lee-metfords, martinis, and sniders were found. treda was burnt by the rear guard. the ju-ju house, which was the scene of the native incantations, was pulled down, and the sacred trees felled. the enemy, however, were not discouraged; but hung upon the rear, keeping up a constant fire. some of them proceeded to attack the pekki people. fighting went on at intervals throughout the day, and it was decided to spend the night in a village that had been taken, after some resistance. this place was less than halfway on the road from pekki to coomassie. during the night a tropical deluge fell, and the troops and carriers were, all the time, without shelter. late that evening colonel willcocks called the white officers together and, for the first time, told them of the plan formed for the advance. he said that, after marching for an hour and a half, they would reach a strong fetish stronghold, where a fierce resistance might be looked for; but the final battle would be fought at the stockades, two hundred yards from the fort. he intended to attack these without encumbrance. a halt would therefore be called, at a spot some distance from the stockades; which would be hastily fortified, with a zereba and a portion of the troops. here all the carriers and stores would be placed. then the fighting force would take the stockades, return for the transport, and enter coomassie. by this means there would be no risk of losing the precious stores and ammunition. so determined was colonel willcocks to reach the forts, at all costs, that he gave orders that, if necessary, all soldiers killed should be left where they fell. at four o'clock next morning the bugle sounded and, at the first streak of dawn, the column moved off. the march was maintained under a heavy skirmishing fire but, to the general surprise, the fetish town of which colonel willcocks had spoken was found deserted. night was approaching, so that the plan proposed overnight could not be carried out. the troops, therefore, went forward hampered by the whole of the carriers and baggage of the column. at four o'clock action began, at the point where the cape coast and pekki roads converged towards coomassie. the ashantis had taken up a position on slightly rising ground--a position which was favourable to the assailants, as it tended to increase the enemy's inclination to fire high. each of the roads was barred with massive entrenchments, which stretched across them into the bush, and flanked with breastworks of timber. these obstacles had been originally intended to envelop the garrison. consequently, the war camps were on the british side of the stockades. the battle began by a heavy fire, from the bush, upon both flanks of the rear guard. the attack on the left was soon successfully repulsed. on the other side, however, the roar of musketry never ceased, the enemy moving along abreast of the column, protected by a stockade expressly prepared; until they approached the main stockade, where they joined their companions. about fifty yards from the stockades, which were still invisible, a fresh path diverged towards the left; and the officers commanding the scouts were discussing what had best be done, when the enemy poured in a terrific volley from their fortified position in front, slightly wounding one officer and four soldiers. the rest immediately took shelter behind a fallen tree, which was lying across the path. colonel wilkinson, commanding the advance guard, ordered up the guns. these were massed in a semicircle behind the fallen trees, and opened fire on the unseen foe; while the maxims poured their bullets into the adjacent bush. the reply of the enemy was unceasing and, for an hour and a half, the battle raged, the distance between the combatants being only forty yards. then colonel willcocks gave the order to cease firing and, in a minute, a strange silence succeeded the terrible din. the ashantis, too, stopped firing, in sheer surprise at the cessation of attack; but soon redoubled their fusillade. the leading companies moved up and formed in line, to the front and rear flank. then came the inspiring notes of the charge and, with a cheer, the whole of the advance guard sprang forward into the bush. the dense undergrowth checked the impetus, as the soldiers had to cut their way with their knives but, as they did so, they maintained their deep-toned war song. as they got more into the open, they rushed round and clambered over the stockade; and the enemy, unable to stand the fury of their charge, fled in panic. as a prolonged pursuit was impossible in the bush, and as daylight was fading, the troops were recalled at once. the first thing to be done was to pull down the stockade along the fetish road, to enable the transport to pass. when this was done, colonel willcocks collected the troops nearest to him and moved forward, at their head, along the broad road. their delight, when they emerged into the open and saw coomassie ahead of them, was unbounded. keeping regular step, though each man was yearning to press forward, they advanced steadily. the silence weighed upon them; and a dread, lest they had arrived too late, chilled the sense of triumph with which they had marched off. at last, the faint notes of a distant bugle sounded the general salute, and a wild burst of cheering greeted the sound. the bugles returned the call with joyous notes. then the gate opened, and captain bishop, mr. ralph, and dr. hay came out, followed by such few of the brave little garrison as still had strength to walk. just at this moment, a great glow was seen in the distance. the flying enemy had fired the basel mission. a company therefore started at once, at the double, to drive them off. the relieving force had, indeed, arrived only just in time. the means of resistance had all been exhausted, and another day would have seen the end. the garrison had held out desperately, in the hope that colonel willcocks would be able to fulfil the promise he had sent in, that he would arrive to relieve them on the 15th of july; and he had nobly kept his word to an hour, at the cost of an amount of hard work, privation, hardship, and suffering such as has fallen to the lot of but few expeditions of the kind. the ashanti rising was the result of long premeditation and preparation. on the 13th of march, the governor of the gold coast, accompanied by lady hodgson, left accra to make a tour of inspection. on his way up country he was received with great friendliness at all the villages and, when he arrived at coomassie on the 25th, he found a large number of ashanti kings, who turned out in state to meet him. a triumphal arch had been erected, and a gorgeous procession of kings and chiefs marched past. there was no sign of a cloud in the horizon. several days passed quietly, and sir frederick hodgson had several meetings with the chiefs about state matters. gradually the eyes of the governor's followers, accustomed as they were to savage ways, saw that all was not right; and a wire was despatched, asking for reinforcements of two hundred men. these arrived on the 18th of april. captains armitage and leggatt, with a small party of soldiers, went out to the neighbouring village to bring in the golden stool. this was regarded by the natives with considerable veneration, and was always used as the throne of the king, as the sign of supreme authority. when they reached the village the party were fired upon, the two officers being wounded; and had to retire without having accomplished their purpose. it was clear now that rebellion was intended. the native kings were all sounded, and several of them decided to side with us, among them five important leaders. on the 25th the basel mission servants were set upon, and several of them killed. the ashantis then attacked and captured the villages in which the friendly natives and traders lived, and set fire to these and to the cantonment. the refugees, to the number of three thousand five hundred, with two hundred children, crowded round the fort, imploring the mission to allow them to enter. it was wholly beyond the capacity of the fort to accommodate a tenth of their number. troops were therefore ordered down from the barracks, and formed a cordon round the fugitives. the fort gate was closed, and a rope ladder led down one of the bastions. in this way, only one individual could enter at a time, and the danger of a rush was obviated. close round the walls, huts were erected to shelter the fugitives, who were exposed to all the inclemency of the weather. thus passed some wretched days and worse nights, sleep being constantly interrupted by alarms, due to the fact that the rebels were in possession of all the buildings in the place, except the fort, many of which they loopholed. on the 29th a determined attack was made, the enemy advancing boldly across the open, and fighting long and obstinately. captain marshall, however, with his two hundred and fifty native troops and friendly levies, taught them such a lesson that they never again tried fighting in the open. a hundred and thirty corpses were found and buried, and many more were carried off, while the fighting was going on. that evening captain apling came in with his little column, but without food and with little ammunition. aided by these troops, the outlying official buildings were occupied; and the friendly natives lodged in huts a little farther from the fort. things remained quiet until the 15th of may, when major morris arrived with his force. he too was short of food and ammunition, and famine already began to stare the beleaguered garrison in the face. meanwhile the enemy had been busy erecting stockades, to bar every outlet from coomassie. many attempts were made to take these entrenchments; but they always failed, as they could not be pushed home, owing to want of ammunition; and the troops became, to some extent, demoralized by want of success. although the food had been carefully husbanded, it was running perilously low. rations consisted of one and a half biscuits, and five ounces of preserved meat, per day. five ponies, brought up by major morris, and a few cows kept at the residency were killed and eaten. a few luxuries could still be bought from the native traders, but at prodigious prices. a spoonful of whisky cost 2 shillings, a seven-pound tin of flour 6 shillings, a box of matches 2 shillings, and a small tin of beef 2 pounds, 16 shillings. the refugees fared much worse. they had no reserve of food, and foraging was next to impossible. as a result, they died at the rate of thirty and forty a day. when only three and a half days' rations were left, it was decided that something must be done, and a council of war was called. it was then agreed that those who could walk should make a dash for it; and that a garrison of three europeans, and a hundred rank and file, should be left behind. for these twenty-three days' rations could be left. major morris, as senior officer, was to command the sortie. the direct road down to the cape was barred by a great force of the rebels, and he therefore chose the road that would lead to the denkera country. if that could be reached, they would be in a friendly country. the line to be taken was kept a profound secret, and was not revealed until ten o'clock on the evening before starting. the force consisted of six hundred soldiers, with a hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition a man, seven hundred carriers, and about a thousand refugees. there was a mist in the morning, and the garrison who were to remain made a feint, to direct the enemy's attention to the main road. the column was not engaged until it reached a strong breastwork, at potasi. this was taken after a severe fight; and captain leggatt, who commanded the vanguard, was mortally wounded. four men were also killed, and there were nine other casualties. a part of the stockade was pulled away, and the force moved forward. it was constantly attacked on the way and, on one occasion, captain marshall was seriously wounded in the head. numbers of soldiers, refugees, and carriers fell out from exhaustion, and had to be left behind. nearly all the carriers threw away their loads, and the men who carried the hammocks of the two ladies found themselves unable to support the weight. the night was spent at terrabum, eighteen miles from coomassie; some two thousand human beings being crowded into the village, in a deluge. the soldiers were posted round the camp, in the form of a square. the second day was a repetition of the first--heavy rain, muddy roads; dying soldiers, carriers, and refugees; attacks by the enemy. twelve miles farther were made that day. thus seven days were passed. captains marshall and leggatt both died. the ladies bore their trials wonderfully, as they had to tramp with the rest, along the miry track. at last ekwanter, in the friendly denkera country, was reached, and the force rested for two days. they then set out again and, after a terrible march, in the course of which they had to cross many swollen rivers, they arrived, two weeks after they had left coomassie, half starved and worn out, on the coast. in the meantime the three white officers, captain bishop of the gold coast constabulary, assistant inspector ralph, lagos constabulary, and doctor hay, medical officer, remained behind, with a hundred and fifteen hausas, few of whom were fit for the task of holding the fort. after the departure of the column, the ashantis swarmed down on the fort, thinking that it was entirely evacuated. they were met, however, with a heavy fire from the maxims, and soon withdrew. the first duty of captain bishop was to tell off the men to their posts. the soldiers who were to man the guns were ordered to sleep beside them. the ammunition was examined, and found to amount to a hundred and seventy rounds a man. the rations were calculated, and divided up for the twenty-three days that they were intended to last. attempts were then made to burn the native shanties, for sanitary reasons. they were so soaked, however, with water, that all attempts to burn them failed; till june 27th, when a short break in the rain enabled them to be fired. when they were all burned down, the residency windows on the windward side were opened, for the first time. sickness, unfortunately, broke out very soon; and three of the little band died on the first day. this rate mounted higher and higher, and at last smallpox broke out. so dismal was the prospect that the men sank into a dull despair. a few women traders hawked their wares outside the fort. a little cocoa, worth a farthing, cost 15 shillings; plantains were 1 pound, 6 shillings each; and a small pineapple fetched 15 shillings. the men received 3 shillings daily, in place of half a biscuit, when biscuits ran short; and this ready cash was willingly bartered for anything eatable. three heart-breaking weeks passed thus. two-thirds of the troops had been buried outside the fort, the remainder were almost too weak to stand. when the food was all gone, it was arranged that they should go out to forage in the darkness, each man for himself. the three white men, each with a dose of poison, always stuck together and, come what might, agreed not to fall alive into the hands of the enemy. however, on 14th july reports were brought in that firing had been heard. the news seemed too good to be true, but an old native officer declared that he had heard distant volleys. it was not until four o'clock on the next day, however, that a continuous and tremendous roar of guns convinced them that a relief column was at hand. the three imprisoned officers opened their last comfort, a half bottle of champagne, and drank success to their comrades. several of the troops died while the fighting was going on, the excitement being too much for their weakened frames. at last the ashantis were seen flying in terror. then the two buglers blew out the general salute, time after time till, at six o'clock, the head of the relief column came in view. the gate was thrown open, and those of the little garrison who were able to stand went out, to welcome their rescuers. five star shells were fired, to tell those left behind at ekwanter that the relief was accomplished. then the outlying quarters were occupied, and all slept with the satisfaction that their struggles and efforts had not been in vain, and that they had succeeded in relieving coomassie. chapter 17: stockades and war camps. "well, hallett, here we are," lisle said the next morning, "and thank god neither of us is touched, except perhaps by a few slugs. of these, however, i dare say the surgeon will rid us this morning. it has been a big affair and, if we live to a hundred years, we are not likely to go through such another." "i wish you would not be so confoundedly cheerful," hallett said, gloomily; "we have got to go down again, and the kokofu are to be dealt with. we shall probably have half a dozen more battles. the rain, too, shows no signs of giving up, and we shall have to tramp through swamps innumerable, ford countless rivers and, i dare say, be short of food again before we have done. as to going through such work again, my papers will be sent in at the first hint that i am likely to have to take part in it." "all of which means, hallett, that just at the present moment a reaction has set in; and i will guarantee that, if you had a thoroughly good breakfast, and finished it off with a pint of champagne, you would see matters in a different light, altogether." "don't talk of such things," hallett said, feebly; "it is a dream, a mere fantasy. it doesn't seem to me, at present, a possibility that such a meal could fall to my lot. "look at me, look at my wasted figure! i weighed nearly fourteen stone, when we started; i doubt whether i weigh ten, now." "all the better, hallett. when i first saw you, on shore at liverpool, i said to myself that you were as fat as a pig. "'he would be a fine-looking young fellow,' i said, 'if he could get some of it off. i suppose it is good living and idleness that has done it.'" hallett laughed. "well, perhaps i need not grumble at that; but the worst of it is that i have always heard that, when a fellow loses on active service, he is sure to make it up again, and perhaps a stone more, after it is over." "yes, it is clear that you will have to diet, when you get home. no more savoury dishes, no more champagne suppers; just a cut of a joint, a few vegetables, and a ten-mile walk after." "don't talk of such things," hallett said, impatiently; "rather than live as you say, i would put up with carrying sixteen stone about with me. what is the use of living, if you are to have no satisfaction out of life?" "well, hallett, my advice to you in that case is, make love to some young lady, directly you reach england; and marry her in a month, before you have begun to assume elephantine proportions. once hooked, you know, she cannot sue for divorce, on the ground that you have taken her in; and she will have to put up with you, whatever size you may attain." "look here, bullen," hallett said seriously, "i know you mean well, but the subject is a very sore one with me. however, seriously, i will try to keep my fat down. if i fail i fail, and shall of course send in my papers; for i don't care to be made a butt of, by young subalterns like yourself. the subaltern has no sense of what is decent and what is not, and he spares no one with his attempts at wit." "why, you are a subaltern yourself, hallett!" "i am within two of the top of the list, please to remember, and you have still four above you, and i am therefore your superior officer. i have put aside youthful folly, and have prepared myself for the position of captain of a company. i make great allowances for you. you will please to remember that you are five years my junior, and owe me a certain share of respect." "which i am afraid you will never get," lisle said, laughingly. "i should as soon think of acting respectfully towards a buddhist image, simply because it is two thousand years old. however, since the subject is so painful to you, i will try not to allude to it again. "is there anything you would wish me to do, sir? i have no doubt i shall have plenty of work to do, but i dare say i shall be able to find time to do anything my senior officer may require." "get out, you young scamp," hallett growled, "or i shall throw--" and he looked round "--i don't see what there is to throw." "hallett, i am afraid that this rest is going to do you harm. i have found you a very companionable fellow, up to now; but it is clear that a night's rest and high living have done you more harm than good." so saying, with a laugh, lisle put on his helmet and went out. there was, as he said, much to do. everywhere there were proofs of the rigidness of the siege. even in the houses in which they were quartered, which had been occupied by the enemy, the walls were pitted with bullets. at eight o'clock a party of men went out, to destroy the stockades and burn the enemy's camps. in the one in which the ashanti commander in chief had his headquarters were found over a thousand huts and bamboo camp beds. the troops now saw the method of investment for the first time. it consisted in making large entrenchments, to barricade all the roads and tracks. in the bush between these were similar stockades, to complete the circle of fortifications and afford flank defences. all these were joined by a wide path; so that, as soon as one position was attacked, it was reinforced by those to right and left. the remainder of the troops and carriers were engaged in trying to remedy the shockingly insanitary condition of the place. the staff were employed in examining the matter of stores and provisions, ammunition, and medical comforts; which were to be left behind for the relieving garrison. the labourers worked in relays, as did the rest of the soldiers. high grass had grown almost up to the fort walls, and had to be cut down. while this was being done, skeletons and corpses in all states of decomposition were met with. almost all had died of starvation. at first the bodies of those who died had been buried, but latterly their friends had become too weak to perform this office; and the poor wretches had crawled a few yards into the jungle, to die quietly. such numbers of bodies were found that they had, at last, to be burned in heaps. few, indeed, of the four thousand fugitives who had gathered round the fort, reached the coast with the force that had fought their way out. the doctors were busy all day with the refugees, the old garrison, the thirty casualties from the fight of the day before, and several white men down with fever. the ashantis had burnt all the cantonments of friendly natives, but had left the old palace of prempeh uninjured. this structure was burnt during the day. the order for officers to assemble was sounded in the evening, and it was arranged that the return march was to start at four on the following morning. the coveted post of leading the column was given to a company of the west african frontier force. they were a little sorry that they were so soon to leave the place. the fort itself was a handsome, square stone building, with towers at the four corners. the resident's quarters had a balcony, and excellent rooms. there was also, of course, barrack accommodation, store rooms, and a well. quick-firing guns were mounted on the circular bastions. the surrounding buildings were bungalows, with broad verandahs; and the force would have been well pleased to remain for a few days, and enjoy the comforts provided for them. the force to be left was under the command of major eden; and consisted of three officers, one doctor, three british non-commissioned officers, a hundred and fifty men of the west african frontier force, and a few gold coast constabulary gunners; with fifty-four days' rations, and a plentiful supply of ammunition. the column was a terribly long one, owing to the enormous number of invalids, wounded, women, and children. they halted for the night at the village halfway to pekki. the villages on the road were all burnt down, to prevent opposition next time we passed; and all crops were destroyed. this work the soldiers quite enjoyed. continued explosions occurred during the burning of the huts, showing how large an amount of ammunition the natives possessed. next night they arrived at pekki. the king had prepared a market, so that the starving force got a more substantial supper than usual. here the column was to divide. colonel willcocks was to go straight through to bekwai; while the second portion, with the wounded and cripples, was to take two days. they halted at bekwai for two or three days, to give rest to the soldiers; a large proportion of whom were suffering from coughs, sore throats, and fever, the result of their hardships. two thousand carriers were sent to fetch up more stores. preparations were then made for an attack on kokofu, which was a serious menace to the troops going up or down. the column for this purpose, which was under general moreland, consisted of six companies, which were to be brought up to eight. with three of the larger guns and two seven-pounders, they started for esumeja on the 22nd. the force was a compact one, the only carriers allowed being one to each white man, to take up some food and a blanket. major melliss commanded the advance. they marched rapidly, as it was all important to take the enemy by surprise. some distance short of kokofu, they stopped for breakfast. then the officers were assembled and, when the plan of attack had been formed, the column moved cautiously on. the place was only a mile away, so that an attack was momentarily expected. the troops entered a deserted village, and there halted. a few sentries were thrown out, and the colonel held a short council of war with major melliss and two of his other officers. after some discussion, it was decided that a hausa company should go on, and rush the stockade with the bayonet, without firing. if they carried it, they were to proceed along the river bank beyond, and so place themselves as to cover the advance of the guns. the scouts were called in; and the hausa company set off, in fours, along the path. when they had marched a hundred yards, the little band that formed the advance signalled that they made out something ahead and, when they rounded the next sharp turn of the road they saw, not thirty yards away, a great six-foot stockade, extending far into the bush on either side. it lay halfway down a gentle slope, a situation which favoured the assailants for, naturally, the hill would increase the impetus of the charge. the order was sent down in a whisper, "stockade ahead, prepare to charge." the men kept together as closely as possible. the buglers rang out the charge and, with a shout, the hausas rushed at the stockade. in an instant the white leaders scaled the timbers, and the men followed at their heels. to their astonishment, the place was empty. the surprise was complete. it was clear that the enemy had no information, whatever, of their approach; and the guard from the stockade had gone to feed, with their companions, in the war camp. the bugle had told them what was coming and, with a roar, thousands of black figures dashed up towards the stockade. there was nothing for it but to charge and, with fixed bayonets, the hausas dashed forward, regardless of the heavy fire with which they were met. enormously as they outnumbered their assailants, the sight of the glittering bayonets and the cheers of the hausas were too much for the enemy. those in front, after a few more shots, turned and fled; the hausas following in hot pursuit. the river turned out to be of no depth; and it had not, as reported, a parapet for defending the passage. hard as the hausas tried to overtake the enemy, the ashantis, being fleeter of foot, kept ahead but, though the shouting and running were beginning to tell on the pursuers, still they held on. the path gradually became firmer; and suddenly, when they turned a corner, there was kokofu in front of them. from almost every house, running for their lives, were naked ashantis. the sight restored the men's strength; and they redoubled their efforts, with the result that they killed some thirty of the enemy. the pursuit was maintained until they reached the other end of the town. then the company was halted. the officers had difficulty in restraining their men, who implored them to press on in pursuit; but a general permission to do so could not be given. no one knew whether the main column had followed them; and it was possible, too, that the ashantis might rally and return. half the company, however, were permitted to continue the pursuit, and to keep the ashantis on the run. with shouts of delight, the men darted off in the darkness. in a short time they were recalled, and the company then marched back to the centre of the town. here they found that the main body had come in. two companies had been sent out, right and left into the bush, to keep down sniping fire, and hurry the enemy's retreat. pickets and sentries had been thrown out round the town. soldiers were eating the food that the enemy had cooked. piles of loot were being dragged out of the houses; among which were quantities of loaded guns, rifles, and powder barrels. the native soldiers were almost mad with delight; and were dancing, singing, and carrying each other shoulder high, shouting songs of triumph. but short time could be allowed for rejoicing. the various company calls were sounded and, when the men were gathered, the town was methodically razed, and a collection of over two hundred guns were burnt. the troops, however, had reason for their joy. the kokofu army of some six thousand men, who had repulsed two previous attacks, were a mass of fugitives. in the course of one week, the ashantis had suffered two crushing defeats in their strongest positions. as soon as the work was done, the force set out on their return march. their appearance differed widely from that of the men who had silently, and in good order, advanced. scarcely a man, white or black, was not loaded with some token of the victory. all were laughing, or talking, or singing victorious songs. a halt was made, to destroy the stockade and the war camp. the former was found to be extremely strong and, had it been manned by the enemy, the work of capturing it would have been very serious, indeed. when they arrived at esumeja, the garrison there could scarcely believe that the success had been so complete, and so sudden. bekwai was reached as twilight was beginning, and here the whole of the garrison, with colonel willcocks at its head, was drawn up to receive them. the men were heartily cheered; and the hausa company, which had done such splendid service, were halted and congratulated by colonel willcocks. then after three cheers the force, which had been on foot for sixteen hours, was dismissed, and returned to its quarters. "well, hallett, how do you feel?" "better," hallett said. "i felt tired enough, after the march there but, somehow, i forgot all about it directly the fight began. everyone was so delighted and cheery that, really, i came in quite fresh." "i knew it would be so," lisle said. "it has been a glorious day and, if you had come in moping, i should have given you up as hopeless." "and i give you up as hopeless, the other way," hallett replied. "you always seem brimming over with fun; even when, as far as i can see, there is nothing to be funny about." "well, it really has been a glorious victory; and i only wish we had both been with the hausa company who first attacked. they really won the game off their own bat, for we had nothing to do but to pick up the spoil. "there was not much worth carrying away, but i am glad of some little memento of the fight. i got the chief's stool. i don't quite know what i am going to do with it, yet; but i shall try to get my servant to carry it along; and it will come in handy, to sit down upon, when we encamp in a swamp. "what did you manage to get?" "i picked up a small rifle, a very pretty weapon. do you know, i quite approve of the regulation, in south africa, that officers should carry rifles instead of swords. i have never been able to understand why we should drag about swords, which are of no use whatever while, with rifles, we could at least pot some of the enemy; instead of standing, looking like fools, while the men are doing all the work." "i agree with you, there. in the tirah campaign i, several times, got hold of the rifles of fallen men, and did a little shooting on my own account. officers would all make themselves good shots, if they knew that shooting would be of some value; and even three officers, with a weak company, could do really valuable service. i certainly found it so, when i was with the punjabis. of course, i was not an officer; but i was a really good shot with a rifle, and succeeded in potting several pathan chiefs." "i suppose," hallett said, mournfully, "that about the time when i leave the army as a general, common sense will prevail; and the sword will be done away with, except on state occasions." "it is very good of you to look so far ahead, hallett. it shows that you have abandoned the idea of leaving the army, even if you again put on flesh. "i rather wonder that you should modestly confine yourself to retiring as a general. why not strive for the position of a field marshal, who has the possibility of becoming commander in chief? it may be, old fellow that, if you shake yourself together, you may yet attain these dignities. you were always very jovial, on board ship; and i trust that, when we get out of this horrible country, you will regain your normal spirits." "i am not so sure that i shall get out of the country; for i often feel disposed to brain you, when you won't let me alone; and i fear that, one of these days, i may give way to the impulse." "you would have to catch me, first," lisle laughed; "and as i believe that i could run three feet to your one, your chance of carrying out so diabolical an impulse would be very small. "but here is the boy with our supper, which we have fairly earned, and to which i shall certainly do justice. "what have you got, boy?" "half a tin of preserved meat, sah, done up with curry." "let us eat, with thankfulness. "how much more curry have we got, boy?" "three bottles, sah." "thank goodness!" said hallett, "that will last for some time; for really, tinned beef by itself, when a man is exhausted, is difficult to get down. i really think that we should address a round robin to the p.m.o., begging him to order additional medical comforts, every night." "you are belying yourself, hallett. you have taken things very well as they came, whatever they might be; save for a little grumbling, which does no harm to anyone and, i acknowledge, amuses me very much." "i have no expectation or design," hallett grumbled, "but it seems to amuse you. however, i suppose i must put up with it, till the end." "i am afraid you will have to do so, hallett. it is good for you, and stirs you up; and i shall risk that onslaught you spoke of, as we go down to the coast again." "when will that be, lisle?" "i have not the smallest idea. i should imagine that we shall stay, and give these fellows thrashing after thrashing, until we have completely knocked the fight out of them. that won't be done in a day or two. probably those we have defeated will gather again, in the course of a day or two; and we shall have to give them several lickings, before we dispose of them altogether." the news of the victory at kokofu spread fast, and the denkeras poured in to join the native levies. there was now a pause, while preparations were made for a systematic punitive campaign. captain wright was sent down to euarsi, where three thousand denkera levies had been collected; and superintended the cutting down of the crops in the adansi country, to the south and west. the akim levies were to act similarly, in flank, under the command of captains willcocks and benson; while a third body of levies, under major cramer, guarded the upper district. a company was sent to kwisa to guard the main road, which was now reopened for traffic. convoys went up and down along the entire route, bringing up supplies of all sorts; but those going north of fumsu still required strong escorts. large parties went out foraging, almost daily, to villages and farms for miles round. these bodies were compact fighting forces, and took out considerable numbers of unladen carriers. when a village was found the troops surrounded it, while the carriers searched it for hidden stores. then they would march away to other villages, until every carrier had a load; when the force would return, and store the results of the raid. the remnants of the reconcentrating ashanti army were reported to be somewhere in the bush, east of dompoasi. it was necessary to clear them out before the adansi country could be subdued, and the line of communication be at all safe. consequently a flying column--of four hundred of the west african field force, one large and one small gun of the west indian rifles, to be joined by the kwisa company--was despatched, under the command of major beddoes, against the enemy. they had to strike out into the bush by almost unknown roads, and great difficulties were encountered. fortunately, however, they captured a prisoner, who consented to lead them to the enemy's camp, on condition that his life would be spared. three days later, an advance was made on the camp. the column had hardly started when they were attacked. the enemy held a strong series of fortified positions; but these were captured, one after another. a couple of miles farther, they again met with opposition. the enemy, this time, occupied the bank of a stream. the maxims at once opened fire on them, and did such great execution that the ashantis rapidly became demoralized, and fled. close to the rear of this spot was found a newly-constructed stockade, some three hundred yards in length; but the fugitives continued their flight without stopping to man it. when they advanced a little farther, the force was severely attacked on all sides. the enemy pushed up to within a few yards of our men. once they even attempted to rush the seven pounder; but were repulsed by the heavy volleys of the west indian rifles, who were serving it. lieutenant phillips and lieutenant swabey were severely wounded, and two other officers slightly so. the adansis made another desperate attempt to cover their camp, and they were not finally driven back until nearly dusk. it was found that the rebels had discovered the advance of major cramer's levies while they were still a day's journey away. they were, therefore, not only anxious to repulse our force, so that they could fall upon the other one; but were fighting a splendid rear action, so as to cover the retreat of their women, children, and property, which had been gathered there under the belief that the existence of the camp was unknown to us. meanwhile, at bekwai, the list of sick and invalids steadily increased; and every convoy that went down to the coast was accompanied by a number of white and black victims to the climate. the kits of the men who died realized enormous prices. a box that contained three cakes of soap fetched 27 shillings, and a box of twenty-five cheroots 2 pounds, 2 shillings. on the 31st of july a runner arrived, from pekki, stating that the town was going to be attacked in force, the next evening, as a punishment for the assistance it had rendered the white men. major melliss was accordingly ordered to proceed thither the following morning with two guns, a hausa company with a maxim, and a column of carriers. they were to remain there a day, and put the place in a state of defence; and then they would be joined by a force under colonel burroughs, which was to complete the relief of coomassie, by doubling its garrison and supply of stores. the little party started, and tramped along the intervening fifteen miles much more comfortably than usual; as the rains had temporarily ceased, and the track had been greatly improved by the kings of bekwai and pekki. there was great difficulty in crossing the bridge over the ordah river, but the guns were at last taken over safely, and they arrived at pekki at half-past four in the afternoon. they were received with delight by the villagers, who had been in a state of terrible fear. the war chief put his house at the disposal of the officers. fortunately, no attack was made by the ashantis. hasty fortifications were erected, and a rough bamboo barracks built for the force. here, for the first time since the beginning of the campaign, the hausas received a small issue of meat, and their delight was unbounded. some scouts, who had been sent out in the neighbourhood of the town, brought in a wounded hausa who had been left behind in the governor's retreat and, for six weeks, had managed to hide himself in the bush, and live upon roots that he found at night. on the afternoon of the 4th of august, colonel burroughs and his force arrived; bringing with him a fresh half battalion of the central african regiment, with two large guns and two seven-pounders. this raised the total strength to seven hundred and fifty. it was decided that it would be necessary to proceed without delay to coomassie; for no signals had been received from the fort, for two successive sundays, and there was a rumour that the ashantis had again attacked it. the column therefore moved forward, next day. the garrison, when they arrived, was to be brought up to three hundred soldiers and ten white men; the stockades round coomassie were to be destroyed; and then the relief column were to fight their way down the main road, which had been hitherto closed for all traffic. at first the column met with no opposition but, when they reached treda, the people of that place fired heavily upon them. after driving these off the force proceeded, but were soon met by an ashanti force. they attacked only the transport and hospital, and their tactics were clever. they had formed a series of ambushes, connected by a broad path. the head of the column was allowed to pass, unattacked; then the carriers were fired into heavily and, when the tail of the column passed, they ran along the path to the next ambush and renewed their tactics. their plan, however, was soon discovered and, in order to checkmate it, a gun was placed in the path, crammed with case shot, the infantry were got ready to fire in volleys, and a maxim ranged for rapid fire. presently the enemy were seen, hurrying along to occupy the next ambush; and the big gun poured its contents into their midst, while the troops fired well-directed volleys at them and, when they fled in confusion down the path, the maxim swept numbers of them away. the attacks immediately ceased, and the column proceeded on its way; rejoicing that, for once, they had beaten the ashantis at their own game. they arrived at the fort at six o'clock in the evening; and found that, although the garrison had been harassed by sniping, no serious attack had been made upon them. it was known that there were still four stockades occupied by the ashantis; and it was decided that two columns, each three hundred strong, should sally out the next morning, and each carry two of the fortifications. the companies under lisle and hallett formed part of the force under major melliss, which was to destroy the stockade on the bantama road; while the other, under major cobbe, was to attack that near the kimtampo road. after this had been done, arrangements were to be made for the attack on the other two stockades. the start was made at ten o'clock. at first everything went well. the basel mission house was passed and, as they marched on without seeing any signs of life, it was believed that no opposition would be met with. they advanced, however, with great caution. suddenly, news was sent back from the advance guard that the village of bantama had been sighted, just ahead; and that the enemy were running out from it. the force advanced, and found the fires in the village still burning. at the other end the track through it divided; but the defiance signal, a large vulture lying spread-eagle fashion, showed the line the fugitives had pursued. this was followed and, in a short time, a stockade was seen at the foot of a slope, some eighty yards away. how far it extended into the bush on either side, there was no means of knowing; nor could it be ascertained whether it was defended, for no signs of life were visible. the carriers were ordered to bring up the maxim but, before they could get the parts of the gun off their heads, a deafening volley flashed out from the stockade. several of the carriers fell, wounded by the slugs, and the rest fled. the little weapon, however, was soon put together, and opened fire. but rifle bullets were useless against a six-foot tree trunk. the enemy, moreover, were firing on our flank, and it was thought that they might be working round to attack the rear. an effort was therefore made to cut a path through the bush, under the impression that it was not so thick inside. the jungle grass, however, prevented this from being carried out, and the heavy gun was therefore ordered up. when it began to play upon the fort, as far as could be determined, the enemy's fire grew momentarily heavier. then it was seen that a number of men were firing from a high tree, in the rear of the stockade. colour sergeant foster turned a maxim upon it. he was severely wounded on the left shoulder, but he said nothing about it, and poured such a shower of lead into the tree that it was, at once, deserted by the enemy. the din was deafening. every white man belonging to the leading company had been hit, and the ground near the gun and maxim was strewn with the dead and dying. major melliss gave the word: "mass the buglers, form up left company, and both charge!" the buglers stood up, waiting for the word to blow. one of them was instantly wounded but, though the blood was streaming down his face, he stuck to his work. the word "sound the way!" was given, and the hausas sprang wildly forward and dashed down the slope, major melliss at their head. contrary to custom, the ashantis were not terrified at the sight of the bayonets and, through their loopholes, kept up a heavy fire. the assailants, however, soon reached the stockade. two white men scrambled up the timbers, which were slippery with blood; and jumped down, eight feet, on the other side, where they were soon joined by numbers of their men. the enemy, however, stood their ground bravely, and there was a fierce hand-to-hand fight. but the bayonet did its work; and the enemy, who were getting more and more outnumbered, at last turned and fled, hotly pursued by the victors. a turn in the path revealed the war camp. it was an enormous one, but already the last of its garrison were disappearing in the forest, taking any path that afforded a chance of safety. the assembly sounded, and the pursuit was abandoned; as another company came forward, at a steady double, with orders to proceed up the road to the next village. this they were to burn, and then return to the war camp. the work of destroying the war camp at once began. the troops lined its outskirts, while the carriers cut down and burnt the huts. then a party set to work to pull down the stockades, which turned out to be nearly three hundred yards long, and crescent shaped--a fact that explained why we had suffered so severely from crossfire. at last, sheets of flame showed that the work was accomplished, and the company that had gone on in advance returned, and reported the destruction of the village behind. the little force then gathered, and proceeded to bantama, a sacred village at which human sacrifices had been perpetrated, for centuries. this place was razed to the ground. on the left, the sound of continuous firing told that major cobbe was still heavily engaged. there was, however, no means of moving through the bush to his assistance. the force therefore returned to the fort. it was late before the firing ceased, and major cobbe's column came in, with the wounded on hammocks and stretchers. the first two signal shots had slightly wounded major cobbe and a white colour sergeant. after a prolonged fight, the former had finally turned the right of the enemy's position, with two companies of the central african regiment; but lost heavily, owing to the thick grass and slow progress. meanwhile the west african company had engaged a stockade similar to the one we had rushed, but horseshoe in form. thus our men had been almost completely surrounded by a circle of fire. when, however, the flanking movement had at last been completed, the enemy were charged simultaneously from the front and flank, whereupon they broke and fled. the large war camp behind had been looted and burnt, and the stockade pulled down. the guns had failed to penetrate this, and the defenders were only driven out at the point of the bayonet, after a fight of two hours' duration. the loss had been heavy. half a dozen white officers were wounded, and seventeen sikhs had been killed or wounded, out of a total of fifty who had gone into action. the total casualties mounted up to seventy. chapter 18: a night surprise. with the exception of replenishing the supplies of ammunition, cleaning rifles, and burying the dead, nothing further was done that afternoon. in the evening a consultation was held, in the fort, among the principal officers. the situation was a difficult one. an immense amount of ammunition had been expended, and it was decided that it was out of the question to draw upon the supplies that had been sent up for the garrison. there were still two strongly-entrenched positions, and strong opposition was anticipated to the clearing of the main road. every round would, therefore, be required for this work. this seemed to preclude the idea of taking the other two stockades. the choice therefore remained of making the assault upon these, and then returning through pekki; or of leaving them and going back by the main road, the route laid down in their instructions. neither of these plans was satisfactory, for each left half the programme undone. it was suggested that a night attack might be attempted. in that case, not a shot must be fired, and the attack must be made by the bayonet alone. the moon rose early, and it was almost high at eight o'clock. of course, it was extremely risky to venture upon such a plan, with superstitious black troops. the object of assault, however, could be located the next day, and the danger of losing their way would thereby be reduced to a minimum. further, it was decided that no dependence, whatever, be placed on any native guide. finally, it would be eminently undesirable to leave coomassie again in a state of siege. it was clear that only one of the stockades could be carried in this manner, as the other would be placed on its guard. it was therefore decided that the one on the accra-coomassie road was the most suitable; first because it joined the main road to cape coast, and secondly because the capture of the stockade would isolate the remaining one on the ejesu road, which the ashantis would probably abandon, as both the adjacent camps had fallen into our hands. as the result of this decision captain loch was sent out, at twelve o'clock on the following day, to reconnoitre the position. his men, by creeping through the tall grass and clambering among the tall trees, succeeded in reaching a large cotton tree within seventy yards of the enemy's entrenchment. climbing this, they obtained a good view of the enemy's stockade and camp behind it. at that moment a roar of voices was heard, and hostile scouts poured out from the camp. the object of the expedition, however, had been attained; and the soldiers retired rapidly, without casualties. at five in the afternoon the officers assembled at colonel burroughs's quarters. here the details of the work were explained to them. they were to fall in at eight o'clock, and deliver the attack between nine and ten. the maxims were to follow in rear of the infantry, and no other guns were to be taken. only five hundred men were selected to go. captain loch's company were to take the lead, as a reward for the scouting they had done in the morning. major melliss' company was to follow. the companies in the rear were to move to the flanks, when the stockade had been taken, so as to guard against an attack from the other war camp. an early meal was taken, and then the officers sallied out for a last inspection of the company; which was, by this time, assembling outside the fort gate. silently the troops fell into their allotted position. then the word was passed down the line that all was ready. the officers gave their final orders to the men--no smoking, no talking, no noise, no firing, bayonet only. as if nothing unusual was occurring, the bugle from the fort sounded the last post. at the start the pace was for some time good but, after passing prempeh's palace, the road became a tortuous track and, at every yard, the tall grass became thicker and, here and there, a fallen tree lay across the path. the dead silence that prevailed rendered every one nervous. at last they came in sight of the great cotton tree. here all halted, and crouched down. two leading companies formed up and were awaiting orders when, suddenly, two signal guns were fired and, instantly, the line of timbers was lit up by a glare of fire, and a crashing volley of slugs was poured in. lieutenant greer, who was in front of the column, fell, seriously wounded. then, with a shout of rage that almost drowned the order, "charge!" they leapt to their feet and dashed forward. nothing could stop the impetuous charge and, when they reached the stockade, they scaled it and poured headlong over it. in front of them was the war camp, through which ran a road, now crowded with the panic-stricken defenders. as the enemy ran from their huts, they were cut down in numbers with swords and bayonets. the din was tremendous; yells, shouts, and groans rent the air. the path was strewn with corpses. the headlong race continued. three villages had been passed, but there was a fort behind. this also was carried. then there was a halt, on account of the exhaustion caused by the speed with which all had run. there was no fear that the panic-stricken foe would rally; but there was the possibility of a counter attack, by the ashantis from the war camp to the left; for it was not known that the panic had spread to these, also, and that they too had fled in disorder, never to return. the four camps were burnt, one after another; the stockades pulled down; and the force, still half mad with the excitement of the fight, marched back to the fort. the number of casualties was very small. hardly one, indeed, had taken place, except those caused by the first volley of the enemy. in one of the houses they entered, a child was found asleep. it had been left behind, and had not been aroused by the noise. terrified as it awoke, it clung to a white man for protection, and was taken by him to a place of safety. the force reached camp at eleven o'clock, having accomplished their work with a success altogether beyond expectation. at eight o'clock next morning, the column paraded for its march down. all the wounded who were unfit for duty were left in the fort. not long after the start, the scouts sighted another stockade. the troops formed up for the attack; but they found, to their surprise, that it was deserted. both the stockade and the war camp behind were destroyed, without opposition. pressing forward they passed entrenchment after entrenchment, but all were deserted. river after river was forded, breast high, but no enemy was met with; although some of the entrenchments were exceedingly formidable, and could not have been carried without very heavy loss. the scouts captured a young girl, from whom valuable information was obtained. she had been sent out, like many of the other women, to get supplies for the army at ejesu, where the queen mother was. it appeared that the queen had been greatly upset by the night attack, and the capture of all the entrenchments; and had collected all her chiefs to decide what had best be done, now that the siege of coomassie had been raised. then it was understood why the advance had not been opposed. but for this council, we should have found every stockade occupied in force. the expedition pushed on, and arrived at bekwai without having to fire a shot. the garrison there was formed up to receive and cheer them and, what was still more appreciated, a ration of fresh meat and another round of medical comforts were served out. "well, bullen," hallett said, the next morning, "here we are again. i wonder how long we shall get to rest our wearied bodies." "for my part," said lisle, "i sha'n't be sorry when we are afoot again. it has been hard work, and there has been some tough fighting; but anything is better than being stuck in one of these dreary towns. fortunately we have both escaped bullets, and have merely had a slight peppering of slugs and, as we have both been put down in the reports as slightly wounded, on three occasions, we may feel grateful, as it always does a fellow good to be mentioned in the casualty list; and it should help you to attain that position we spoke of, the other day, of commander-in-chief." "i renounce that dream utterly, and aspire to nothing higher than colonel. it must really be an awful bore to be commander-in-chief. fancy having to go down to your office every morning, and go into all sorts of questions, and settle all sorts of business. no, i think that, when i get to be a colonel, my aspirations will be satisfied." "i don't know that i should care even about being a colonel, hallett. long before i get to that rank, i am sure that i should have had quite enough of fighting to last for a lifetime, and would be quite content to settle down in some little place at home." "and marry, of course. a fellow like you would be sure to be able to pick up a wife with money. my thoughts don't incline that way. i look forward to the rag as the conclusion of my career. there you meet fellows you know, lie against each other about past campaigns, eat capital dinners, and have your rub of whist, regularly, of an evening." "but, my dear hallett, think how you would fatten out under such a regime!" "oh, hang the fat, bullen; it would not matter one way or another, when you haven't got to do yourself up in uniform, and make tremendous marches, and so on. i should not want to walk, at all; i should have chambers somewhere close to the club, and could always charter a hansom, when i wanted to go anywhere. besides, fat is eminently respectable, in an elderly man." lisle laughed merrily. "my dear hallett, it is useless to look forward so far into the future. let us content ourselves with the evils of today. in spite of your grumbling, you know that you like the life and, if the bullets do but spare you, i have no doubt that you will be just as energetic a soldier as you have shown yourself in this campaign; although i must admit that you have sometimes taken it out in grumbling." "well, it is very difficult to be energetic in this country. i think i could be enthusiastic, in anything like a decent climate, but this takes all the spirit out of one. "i think i could have struggled over the snow in the tirah, as you did. i can conceive myself wearing the d.s.o. in european war. but how can a man keep his pecker up when he is wet through all day, continually fording rivers, and exposed all the time to a pelting rain and, worse than all, seeing his friends going down one after another with this beastly fever, and feeling sure that his own turn will come next? "i should not mind so much if we always had a dry hut to sleep in, but as often as not we have to sleep on the drenched ground in the open and, consequently, get up in the morning more tired than when we lie down. i have no doubt that, after all this is over, i shall become a cripple from rheumatism, or be laid up with some other disorder." "i don't suppose you will do anything of the sort, hallett. of course this fever is very trying but, although men are being constantly sent down to the coast, the number who die from it is not great. only some six or seven have succumbed. i expect myself that we shall both return to our regiments in the pink of condition, with our medals on our breasts, and proud of the fact that we have gone through one of the most perilous expeditions ever achieved by british troops; and the more wonderful that, except for a handful of english officers and non-commissioned officers, it has been carried through successfully by a purely native army. "i don't think we quite recognize, at present, what a big affair it has been. we have marched through almost impenetrable bush; we have suppressed a rebellion over a great extent of country, admirably adapted for the mode of warfare of our enemies; and we have smashed up an army of well-armed natives, in numbers ranging from six, to ten to one against us." "yes, yes, i know all that; and i don't say that it has not been a well-managed business; and i dare say i shall look back on it with pleasure, some day, when i have forgotten all the miseries we have suffered. besides, though i do grumble, i hope we are not going to stick here long. i could do with a week of eating and drinking--that would be the outside. it is wretched enough tramping through swamps, but i think i should prefer that to a prolonged stay in this hole." "for once i agree with you thoroughly, hallett. it is bad enough to march in west africa, but it is worse to sit still. it is only when you try to do that, that you find how much you are pulled down; and the longer you sit still, the less disposed you are to get up; whereas, on the march, you are so full of the idea that you may be ambushed, at any moment, that you have no time to think of your fatigues." "yes, there is no doubt of that, bullen; so i mean to spend all the time i have to spare here on my back; and sleep, if i can, continuously." "don't flatter yourself that you will be allowed to do that. you may be sure that they will find ample work for lazy hands to do. now it is time to buckle on our swords, and go out and inspect our fellows. i can see that they are mustering already." "i wish those white non-commissioned officers would not be so disgustingly punctual," hallett grumbled. "they are splendid when it comes to fighting, but they never seem to know that there is a time for work and a time for play--or, at any rate, they never let others play." "they are splendid fellows," lisle said. "i really do not know what we should have done without them. there would be no talking of lying down and going to sleep, if they were not there to look after the men." "i don't think it would make any difference to you," hallett said, "for it seems to me that you are always looking after your men." "so are you, hallett. you are just as keen about getting your company into order as i am, only you always try to look bored over it. it is a stupid plan, old man, for i don't think that you get the kudos that you deserve." "my dear bullen, you may argue forever, but if you think that you can transform me into a bustling, hustling fellow like yourself, i can tell you that you are mistaken. i know that i do what i have to do, and perhaps may not do it badly, but i don't go beyond that. "when they say 'do this,' i do it; when they don't say so, i don't do it; and i fancy it comes to about the same thing, in the end." "i suppose it does," lisle laughed, as they issued from their hut. "these poor fellows look as if they wanted a rest more than we do, don't they?" "they look horribly thin," hallett said. "yes, it is well that the blacks have such good spirits, and are always ready to chatter and laugh when the day's work is over--that is, if it has not been an exceptionally hard one. "well, though i don't care about staying long here, myself, i do hope they will give the poor fellows time to get into condition again, before starting. i fear, however, that there is very little chance of that." this, indeed, turned out to be the case. two days later, reinforcements arrived from the coast, to increase the total strength available for punitive expeditions. two strong parties then started, under colonel haverstock and colonel wilkinson. they were to travel by different routes, and to join hands in the neighbourhood of the sacred fetish lake, where large numbers of ashantis and kokofu were reported to have assembled. the hausa companies did not accompany them, the columns being largely composed of the newly-arrived troops--who were, of course, eager to take their share of the fighting. lisle and hallett did a little grumbling, but they really felt that they required a longer period of rest, and they could not help congratulating themselves when the columns returned, ten days after, without having exchanged more than a shot or two with the enemy. they found that the country round the lake was thickly inhabited. many of the villages had been burnt and, in all cases, the sacred trees had been cut down. it was quite clear that the spirit of the enemy was greatly broken, and that the end was approaching. "we must certainly congratulate ourselves upon having a comfortable time of it, here," lisle said, "instead of a ten days' tramp, without any great result. we can manage to keep ourselves dry in this hut, now that our men have covered it thickly with palm leaves; whereas they have had to sleep in the open, pretty nearly every night." "it was good for them," hallett said; "the fellows looked altogether too spick and span, when they marched in. it is just as well that they should get a little experience of the work we have been doing, for months. i saw them, as they marched in, look with astonishment at the state of our men's garments--or rather, i may say, their rags. they would have grown haughty, if they had not had a sample of the work; and their uniforms looked very different, when they came back, from what they were when they marched away. there is nothing like a fortnight's roughing it in the bush to take a man, whether white or black, a peg or two down in his own estimation. "i was amused, the first day they arrived, when i saw their faces at the sight of their rations. it was quite a picture. thank goodness we have had nothing to grumble about, in that way, since we got our box from the coast. chocolate for breakfast, brandy and water at dinner, preserved meat, are quite a different thing from the stuff they manage to give us--two or three ounces of meat, about once a week. those boxes of biscuits, too, have been invaluable. the ration biscuits were for the most part wet through, and there wasn't a wholesome crunch in a dozen of them. we have certainly improved a lot in appearance, during the last fortnight; and i believe that it is due to the feeding, more than the rest." "it is due, no doubt, to both," lisle said; "but certainly the feeding has had a good deal to do with it." "those tins of soup," said hallett, "have been really splendid. i believe i have gained seven or eight pounds in weight, in spite of this sweltering heat." "you have certainly filled out a bit. i was rather thinking of asking you to hand over all the soups to me, so that you should not gain weight so fast." "that would have been a modest request, indeed, bullen!" "it was a case of true friendship," lisle laughed. "i know how you have appreciated your loss of flesh." "you be blowed!" hallett said. "if they would run to half a dozen tins a day, i can tell you i would take them, whatever the consequences." "well, really, i do think, hallett, those few cases have saved us from fever. i felt so utterly washed out, when we arrived here, that i began to think i was in for a bad attack." "same here, bullen. i fought against the feeling because i dreaded that hospital tent and, still more, being carried down country." "yes; we certainly did a clever thing, when we bought up everything we could, that day we were in cape coast. our servants, too, have turned out most satisfactory. poor beggars! though the weather has been so bad, there has scarcely been a night when they have not managed to make a little fire, and boil water either to mix with our tot of rum, or to make a cup of tea." "yes, they have turned out uncommonly well. we must certainly make them a handsome present, when this is all over. it was awfully lucky we brought up a good supply of tea with us, and condensed milk. i am certain that the hot drink, at night, did wonders in the way of keeping off fevers." "that is so, lisle; there is nothing that will keep the wet out, or at least prevent it from doing harm, like a cup of hot tea with the allowance of rum in it. i am sure i don't know what we should have done, without it. that tea and milk were all that we could bring, especially as our carriers were cut down to one man, each." "that was your idea, lisle, and i agree that it has been the saving of us. i was rather in favour of bringing spirits, myself; but i quite admit, now, that it would have been a great mistake. besides, half a dozen pounds of tea does not weigh more than a couple of bottles of spirits; which would have been gone in four or five days, while the tea has held out for months. i never was much of a tea drinker before. it is all very well to take a cup at an afternoon tea fight, but that was about the extent of my indulgence in the beverage. in future i shall become what is called a votary, and shall cut down my spirits to the narrowest limit." "that would be running to the opposite extreme, hallett. too much tea is just as bad as too much spirits." "ah! well, i can breakfast with coffee or cocoa. the next time i go on the march, i shall take two or three pounds of cocoa in my box. many a time i have longed for a cup, when we have started at three o'clock in the morning, and have felt that it would be well worth a guinea a cup. now i shall have the satisfaction of always starting with a good warm drink, which is as good for hunger as thirst. i have often wondered how i could have been fool enough not to bring a supply with me." "yes, it would have been very comforting," lisle agreed; "we shall know better, another time." "i trust that there will never be another time like this for me. i shall be ready to volunteer for service in any part of the world, bar western africa. they say that the troops at the cape are going through a hard time, but i am convinced that it is child's play in comparison with our work here. why, they have hours, and indeed days, sometimes, without rain. just think of that, my dear fellow! just think of it! and when the rain does fall, it soon sinks into the sandy soil and, if they lie down at night, they only get wet on one side, and have waterproof sheets to lie on. just think of that! and yet, they actually consider that they are going through hardships! "they say, too, that the commissariat arrangements are splendid. they get meat rations every day--every day, mind you--and i hear they even get jam. it is enough to fill one with envy. i remember i was always fond of jam, as a boy. i can tell you that, when i get back to civilization, one of my first cries will be for jam. fancy jam spread thickly on new bread! "and men who have all these luxuries think that they are roughing it! certainly human ingratitude is appalling!" lisle laughed. "but you must remember that there are compensations. we get a fight every two or three days, while they have often to tramp two or three hundred miles, without catching sight of an enemy at all." "there is certainly something in that," hallett said. "i must admit that that is a great consolation; and it is satisfactory, too, that when we do fight we are fired at principally with slugs; which we both know from experience are not pleasant customers, but at any rate are a great improvement upon rifle bullets, pom poms, and shells of all sizes. "yes, i don't even grudge them the jam, when i think how awful it must be to be kept, for months, at some miserable little station on the railway, guarding the roads. we get restless here at the end of three or four days, but fancy spending months at it!" "besides, hallett, in such places they get their rations regularly, and have nothing to do but to eat and get fat. if you were living under such conditions, you would be something awful at the end of six months of it." "there is a great deal in that," hallett said, thoughtfully. "yes; i don't know that, after all, the gains and advantages are not with us; and indeed, if we had our time to go over again, we could make ourselves fairly comfortable. "in the first place, i should purchase a large ground sheet, which i might use as a tent. i would have a smaller one to lie upon, and the biggest mackintosh that money could buy. then, as you say, with a good supply of tea and chocolate, i could make myself extremely happy. "i cannot think why the authorities did not point out the necessity for these things, before we started. they must have known it was going to rain like old boots, all the time. i don't mean, of course, the authorities at cape coast, because i don't suppose any of these things could have been picked up there; but we should have been told, when we got our orders, that such things were essential. really, the stupidity and thoughtlessness of the war office are beyond belief." "i should advise you to draw up a memorial to them, pointing out their want of thought and care; and suggesting that, in every room, there should be a printed reminder that mackintoshes and ground sheets are essential, in a campaign in western africa in the wet season." "yes, and cocoa and tea," hallett said, with a laugh. "i should like to hear the remarks of the war office, when my communication was read. it would flutter the dove cot, and the very next steamer would bring out an intimation that lieutenant john hallett's services were no longer required." "no doubt that would be the case, hallett; but think what an inestimable service you would have done, in campaigning out here!" "that is all very well, bullen, but i should recommend you to try your eloquence upon someone else. perhaps you might find someone of a more self-sacrificing nature who would take the matter in hand." "perhaps i might, but i rather fancy that i should not. the only man who could do it is willcocks. after the victories he has won, even the war office could hardly have the face to retire him from the service for making such a suggestion. besides, the public would never stand it; and he is just the sort of fellow to carry out the idea, if he took to it." "i agree with you, bullen, as in the end i almost always do, and should suggest most strongly that you lay the matter before him. no doubt, if he applied, the war office would send out a hundred waterproofs and two hundred ground sheets, for the use of the officers, by the next ship sailing from england." "i might do it," lisle laughed, "if it were not that the rainy season will be at an end before the things arrive here." "that is a very good excuse, bullen; but i hope that, at any rate, you will carry out your idea before the next wet season begins--that is, if we are kept on here, as a punishment for our sins." at this moment one of the non-commissioned officers came in with a letter, and hallett opened it. "oh dear," he said, in a tone of deepest disgust, "we are off again!" "thank goodness!" lisle said. "you know we were just agreeing that we have had enough of this place." "i often say foolish things," hallett said, "and must not be taken too literally. here is an end to our meat rations, and to all our other little luxuries. besides, i have been getting my tunic washed, and it will certainly take three or four days to dry in this steaming atmosphere." "well, my dear fellow, you can put it on wet, for it is certain to be wet before we have gone a quarter of an hour. my tunic has gone, too, but at any rate they will both look more respectable for the washing. "well, i suppose we had better go across to headquarters and find out what the route is, and who are going." as they went out, they saw the return of the central african regiment. they had been more fortunate than the other regiments, having captured and razed djarchi. they had taken the enemy by surprise, and run them right through the town, with only a single casualty. they had ascertained that the enemy had been commanded by the brother of the ashanti commander-in-chief, and that he had been killed in the fight. a very large amount of spoil had been captured, the first haul of any importance that had been made during the campaign. among the loot were the king of the kokofu's iron boxes, containing much official correspondence; union jacks, elephant tails, and other symbols of royalty, together with gold ornaments, gold dust, and two hundred pounds of english money; numbers of brass-nailed, vellum-backed chairs, part of the ashanti chief's regalia; robes, guns, ammunition, drums, and horns, and also sheep and poultry. a company was at once despatched to the sacred lake, to join major cramer's levies, which had been told off to act as locusts and eat up the country. colonel wilson was ordered to go to accra, to reorganize and recruit the remnant of the gold coast force; so that, when the campaign was over, they could again take over the military control of the colony. it was also decided that bekwai could no longer be occupied, and that all the stores there should be removed to esumeja, as the whole main road up to coomassie would shortly be open. at last all was in readiness for the general and final advance. all the adansi country to the south, and kokofu to the east had been conquered, and the roads cleared. the next step was to clear northern ashanti; neglecting altogether, for the present, the parties of the enemy between the southern boundaries of ashanti territory and their capital. it was therefore decided to move the whole of the headquarters staff and the advance base to coomassie, esumeja being selected as the point, between it and kwisa, to be held in force. the general plan was to send up all the stores, carriers, and troops via pekki, as had been done on both previous occasions. this would reduce the chance of attack and loss to a minimum while, simultaneously, a fighting column with the smallest possible transport would follow the road through kokofu and take ejesu, which was the residence of the queen mother, and the headquarters of the remnant of the ashanti army. the general opinion was that it would be the last fight of the year. colonel brake, who was the last arrival, having had no chance of a fight hitherto, was selected for the command. the whole force was to advance, and five thousand carriers were required to effect the movement. there was general joy when it was known that bekwai was to be evacuated. it was a dull, dirty place, surrounded by dense, dark forests, and was in a terribly insanitary state. europeans were rapidly losing their strength, and an epidemic of smallpox was raging among the natives, of whom a dozen or more died daily. on the 28th of august colonel burroughs left bekwai, with seven hundred and fifty men, and three thousand carriers taking ammunition and baggage. the column was fully two miles long. they had an extremely heavy march, and did not arrive at their destination till night. the carriers returned to bekwai the next day, so as to be ready to march out at daylight, on the 30th, with the second column. the troops at pekki being in enforced idleness, half of them marched out to attack the enemy's war camp, which had for so long threatened pekki. the place was found to be evacuated, and it and the bush camps on the way were all burnt. the second column had now well started. the downfall of rain continued without intermission, and the roads became worse than ever. the day after the first column left pekki, colonel brake started with eight hundred men and two guns. the news came in that the king of akim had been asked, by a number of the kokofu, to intercede on their behalf for peace; and a messenger with a flag of truce came in from the djarchi district. the appearance of the messenger was singular. he was completely clad in white, even his skin being painted that colour, and he carried an enormous white flag. he was well received, but was sent back with a message that the chiefs must come in themselves. on the 30th colonel willcocks arrived and, the next day, the whole force started in fighting formation for coomassie, where they arrived after twelve hours' march. the distance was only twelve miles, so the condition of the roads may be well imagined by the time the column took to traverse them. chapter 19: lost in the forest. on the way up, lisle met with a very unpleasant adventure. he and hallett had been sent out, with a small party of men, to enter the bush and drive out any of the enemy who might be lurking, for the purpose of attacking the carriers and rear guard. they went some distance into the bush but, though they came upon tracks that had recently been cut, they saw none of the enemy. some men were planted on each of these paths; and the two officers, who had followed one a little distance farther into the bush, were on the point of turning, when they heard men cutting their way through the undergrowth behind them. "hide, hallett!" lisle exclaimed, "they must be enemies." illustration: they saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road. as noiselessly as they could they took refuge in the thick bush and, a minute later, saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road that they had just passed along. there were several hundred of them. some thirty or forty halted on the path. the others continued to cut a track through and, in five minutes, a scattered fire was opened, showing that they had come in contact with the troops. the fire was kept up for some time, and then died away; whether because the troops had retired, or because the natives had turned off and taken some other line, they could not be sure. later they heard very heavy firing abreast of them, and guessed that the ashantis had followed some other path, and come down on the convoy. peering through the bushes, from time to time, they found that those who had halted on the path were still there, probably in waiting for some chief or other who was to take command of them. "we are in a nice mess, bullen," said hallett. "by the sound the convoy is still moving on, so how we are to rejoin them, i don't know." "yes, we are certainly in a hole and, if these fellows stop here till night, i see no chance of our being able to move. the slightest rustle in the bushes would bring them down upon us, in no time. the firing is getting more and more distant every moment and, no doubt, a big body of the enemy have engaged our fellows. "i have been in a good many tight places, but i think this is the worst of them. our only course, so far as i can see, is to wait till nightfall; and then, if these fellows still stick here, get into the path again, and follow it up till we come to some path going the other way. then it will be a pure question of luck whether we hit upon the enemy, or not. if we do, of course we must fight till the last, keeping the last shot in our revolvers for ourselves. i have no intention of falling into their hands alive, and going through terrible tortures before i am put to death." "that really seems to be the only thing to be done, bullen. however, we must hope for the best." when night fell, a fire was lit by the party on the path. "the beggars evidently mean to stay here," lisle said, "and even if they moved away we should be no better off for, as the column will be ten miles away by now, we should really have no chance of regaining it." when night fell they crept out of the bush, taking the greatest care not to make any noise, for the natives were but thirty yards away. they crawled along for forty or fifty yards and then, a turn in the path hiding them from sight, they rose to their feet and pushed on. they found, however, that it was no easy matter to make headway. it was pitch dark, owing to the canopy of leaves, and they had to feel their way at every step. the path, moreover, was constantly turning and twisting. after travelling for upwards of two hours, they came to a point where two paths met and, without knowing, they took the one that led off to the left. this they followed for some hours, and then lay down to rest. they awoke at daybreak. "i wonder where we have got to," hallett said. "i am afraid somehow we have gone wrong," lisle exclaimed, after looking round, "and the light seems to be coming from the wrong quarter, altogether. we must have turned off from the main path without knowing it, and tramped a long distance in the wrong direction." "i believe you are right, bullen. what on earth are we to do now? retrace our steps, or push on and chance it?" "we have the choice of two evils, hallett, but i think it would be better to go on than to turn back. in the first place, however, we must search for something to eat. we crossed several little streams on our way, so i don't think we are likely to be hard up for water; but food we must have. the natives are always able to find food in the forest and, if we cannot do that, we may come upon some deserted village, and get some bananas. we might even steal some, at night, from a village that is not deserted. at any rate, it is useless to stay here." they set out at once, moving cautiously, and stopping frequently to listen for the soft trail of naked feet. they came at last to the spot where they had left the other track. here they held another council, and decided that there was too much risk in turning on to the main path again; as that was sure to be occupied by the enemy, who would be burying their dead, or examining any loot that they had captured from the carriers. after proceeding two or three miles, they came upon another path on the right. "this path," said lisle, "will take us in the proper direction." "i doubt if we shall ever get there," hallett said. "i am feeling as hungry as a rat, already; and we have seen nothing to put between our lips since we started out, yesterday morning." "it is a little rough," lisle said cheerfully, "but we must hit upon a village, presently." "i should not mind, if the path went on straight," hallett said, "but it zigzags so much that we can never feel certain that we are going in the right direction." "well, you see," said lisle, "we have passed two tracks to the left, since we struck into this road. i cannot help thinking that these must lead to villages, and that the one we are following is a sort of connecting link between them. i vote that we stop at the next one we come to." "all right, old man! it seems to me that it will make no great difference which way we go. indeed, so far as i can make out, by the glimpses we get of the sun, the path has turned a great deal, and is now going right back to that from which it started." "i am afraid you are right, hallett. however, there is one thing certain. the ashantis don't cut paths through their forests without some reason, and i should not be surprised if we come to some large village, not far ahead." after walking for another half hour, they found the bush getting thinner, and they could soon see light ahead. they went very cautiously now and, at last, stood at the end of a large clearing, in which stood an ashanti village. "thank god there is something to eat ahead!" said hallett. "there are lots of bananas growing round the village and, when it gets dark, we will get two big bunches. that should last us some time." utterly exhausted, they both lay down just inside the bush. many villagers were moving about and, twice, native runners came in. the afternoon passed very slowly; but at length the sun set, and darkness fell quickly. they waited a couple of hours, to allow the village to get comparatively quiet; then they crept forward, and cut two great bunches of bananas from the first tree they came to and, returning to the forest, sat down and ate a hearty meal. "i feel very much better," hallett said, when he had finished. "now, let us talk over what we had better do next." "i should say we had better keep along by the edge of the bush, and see if we can strike some other path. it would be useless to go back by this one, as it would simply take us to the place we started from." hallett readily agreed to this suggestion, and the two officers started and gradually worked round the village. presently they struck another path. turning up this they again pushed forward, each carrying his bunch of bananas. after walking two hours, they lay down. the darkness was so dense that their rate of progress was extremely slow. in the morning they went on again but, after walking for some hours, they came suddenly upon four of the enemy. as soon as these saw them, they rushed on them with a yell, firing their guns as they did so. both were struck with slugs; and lisle was knocked down, but quickly jumped to his feet again, revolver in hand. the ashantis charged with their spears, but the revolver bullets were too much for them and, one by one, they dropped, the last man being shot just as he reached them. two were only wounded, but lisle shot them both. "it would never do," he said, "for any of them to get to a village, and bring all its occupants upon us. we are neither of us fit to do much running, and the beggars would be sure to overtake us." "it is horrid," hallett said, "though i admit that it is necessary." for four days they wandered on. the path never seemed to run straight. though they found a plentiful supply of bananas, their strength was gradually failing. on the fourth day they came upon a sheet, doubtless a portion of some officer's baggage that had been looted. hallett, who was walking fast, passed it contemptuously. lisle, however, picked it up and wound it round his body. "we can lay it over us, hallett, at night. it will at least help to keep the damp off us." "we sha'n't want it long," hallett said; "i think the game is almost up." "not a bit of it," lisle said, cheerfully. "in spite of the turns and twistings we have made, i think we cannot be far from coomassie, now. i thought i heard the sound of guns this morning, and it could have been from nowhere else." late that afternoon they came suddenly upon a great war camp and, at once, sat down in the bushes. "what is to be done now?" hallett said. "we cannot go back again. we are neither of us fit to walk a couple of miles." lisle sat for some minutes without answering him, and then said suddenly: "i have an idea. i will cut down a sapling, seven or eight feet long; and fasten the sheet to it, so as to make a flag of truce. then we will walk boldly into the village, and summon it to surrender. it is a bold stroke, but it may succeed. we know that most of them are getting tired of the war. we can give out that we have lost our way in the bush and, if the fellows take it kindly, well and good; but if not, we shall have our revolvers, and shall, of course, use them on ourselves." "i am game to carry it out, bullen. your idea is a splendid one. anyhow, it is our last chance. i really don't think i could go a mile farther. we know enough of their language to make ourselves understood." "yes. what with our servants, the hausas, and the carriers, we have both picked up a good deal of the language." with renewed spirits they cut down a sapling, stripped it of all its leaves and branches and, fastening the sheet to it, walked straight down towards the camp. there was an immediate stir in the camp. many of the ashantis ran for their arms but, when they saw that the two officers were alone, they calmed down. presently two chiefs advanced, followed by some twenty warriors. "now, bullen, muster up your knowledge of the language, and address them. lay it on pretty thick." "chiefs," lisle said, "we are come to you from the governor of coomassie. he says that it must be clear to you, now, that you cannot stand against the white man; and that you will only bring ruin upon yourselves, and your country, by further resistance. they have therefore sent us to say that, if you will surrender, a small fine only shall be imposed upon you; and that your soldiers may retire to their villages, after having laid down their arms. while you are talking about this, we shall be glad if you will give us some provisions; for we have lost our way in the bush, coming here, and need food." "if you follow me into the village," one of the chiefs said, "provisions shall be served to you, while we talk over what you say. we shall be glad of peace; for we see that, however strongly we make our stockades, your soldiers always take them. our men are beginning to long to return to their people, for they have fought many times, and already have begun to complain. do you guarantee our safety, if we return with you to your fort?" "i can promise that," lisle said. "we respect brave men, and are anxious that there should be an end to this fighting. when it is over, you will again live under the protection of our government, and the past will be forgotten. you attacked us without reason, and have suffered heavily for it. this is the third time that we have had to come up, and we hope that it will never be necessary to do so, again. we recognize each other's valour; we have each made sacrifices; and we hope that, when this war is over, we shall live together in peace. had we only been armed as you are, the fortunes of war might have gone differently; but we have rifles and guns, and these must always give us victory, in the long run." "we will talk it over," the chief said. "while we do so, you shall have food." so saying, he turned and led the way to a house in the village, where food and native spirit were set before them. "your dodge has succeeded admirably," hallett said, as they were waiting for the meal. "i think they will surrender." "i hope they will," lisle said; "but at any rate, i think they will treat us as coming in under a flag of truce; and will perhaps send an escort with us back to the camp. however, they are preparing a meal for us and, if the worst comes to the worst, it is much better to die full than fasting." in a quarter of an hour two women entered; one carrying a bowl with four chickens, and a quantity of rice; the other a large jug of water, and a smaller one of native spirit. not a word was spoken, while the meal was being eaten. at the end, nothing but bones remained of the four chickens. "thank god for a good dinner!" hallett said, after the meal was over. "i feel, at present, at peace with all men; and i can safely recommend the chiefs, when they arrive at coomassie, as being first-rate fellows; while i am sure that the chief will be greatly pleased that we have secured the submission of their tribe. it will be a big feather in our caps. when i came in here, i thought i could not go another mile to save my life; now i feel perfectly game for a seven or eight mile march to coomassie." at this moment, they noticed that there was a great hubbub in the camp. half an hour later, the chiefs entered. "we accept the terms you bring," one of them said, "and will go with you on condition that, if the terms are not as you say, we shall be allowed to return here, unmolested." "that i can promise you," lisle said. "we have not come here without reason, and the terms we offer are those that you can accept without dishonour. i can assure you of as good treatment as you have given us; and permission to leave the fort, and return to your people, if you are dissatisfied with the terms." a quarter of an hour later the party--consisting of the two chiefs, ten armed followers, and the two officers--set out. the camp was, they learned, about six miles from coomassie. after a march of three hours, they emerged from the forest into the cleared space round the fort. when they reached the outlying sentries they were challenged, but a word from lisle sufficed to pass them on. as they approached the fort a number of soldiers gathered round them and, when they neared the entrance, colonel willcocks himself came out. "you remain here with the chiefs, bullen. i will go on, and explain matters to the chief." lisle nodded, and hallett hurried forward, while the others halted. "why, mr. hallett," colonel willcocks said, "we had given you up for dead; you and mr. bullen, whom i see over there. whatever have you been doing now?" hallett gave a brief account of their adventure. "you will probably be annoyed at us for acting as your messengers but, as we have induced the two leaders of the large war camp to come in, i trust that we shall be forgiven. we have promised them permission for their force to return, unmolested, to their villages; and i may say, from the formidable stockades they have made there, this result could not have been achieved, otherwise, without very heavy loss. "i wish to say that the idea was entirely bullen's. it seemed to be the only chance of getting through; for we were both utterly exhausted, when we reached the village." "i think you have done extremely well, hallett. i was about to send a force to capture that camp; and i am glad, indeed, of being relieved of the necessity of doing so. it means, perhaps, the saving of a couple of hundred lives. besides, we should probably not have caught quarter of them; and the rest would have taken to the bush, and continued to give us trouble. "tell me exactly what the terms are, upon which they are willing to surrender." "simply the lives and freedom of the chiefs; and permission to their men to retire, unmolested, to their villages." "those are exactly the terms i have offered to some of their chiefs, who had sent in to ask for terms. now, i will speak to them myself." he accordingly walked forward, with hallett, to where the chiefs were standing. "i am glad, indeed, chiefs," he said, "that you have decided to take no further part in the war. you will stay here with us, until i hear that your camp is broken up; and you will then be at liberty to return to your own grounds. i thank you for receiving my messengers so kindly; as a reward for which i shall, when you leave, present you each with five hundred dollars. henceforth, i trust that you will always remain on good terms with us, do all you can to aid us by sending in carriers, and will accept our rule frankly and truly. "now, i will ask you to come into the fort; where you will be treated as guests, until i hear of the dispersal of your camps." the chiefs were much gratified by their reception; and sent off the escort, at once, to order the camp to be abandoned and burnt, and the stockades to be pulled down. then they followed colonel willcocks into the fort, where a room was assigned to them, and everything done for their comfort. as soon as the governor had retired with them, the other officers flocked down round hallett and lisle, to learn their adventures. both were warmly congratulated upon their safe return; and lisle came in for a large share of their congratulations when, in spite of his protestations, hallett insisted on giving him the largest share of credit for the manner in which he had suggested the scheme, and had unquestionably been the means of saving their lives. "hallett had everything to do with it, except that," he said; "and that was only an accidental idea. we mutually helped each other, during those long days of tramping; and it was most fortunate for me that he was with me for, had i been alone, i don't think i should have had the strength of mind or body to hold on, when the prospect seemed altogether hopeless." as they went down to the lines of their company, they were surrounded by the delighted blacks; who continued to cheer so heartily that it was some time before they could get an opportunity to tell what had taken place. cheers again broke out, when the stories were finished. the men insisted on shaking their hands, and then started a war dance to show their satisfaction. then both retired to a shelter erected for them and, lying down, slept for some hours. when they awoke they ate a hearty meal; after which they agreed that, in a day or two, they would be fit for duty again. "i shall mention your conduct in my despatches," the colonel said, next day. "you have not only saved your own lives; but have rendered very important service, in inducing those two chiefs and their followers to submit. from the information that we have been able to get, their camp was very strongly fortified, and could only have been taken after hard fighting; and even then, as has happened on all previous occasions, the main body would have escaped, rallied again a short distance away, and given us all the trouble of dispersing them, once more. as it is, i have no doubt that the influence of their chiefs will keep them quiet and, indeed, scattered as they will be among their villages, it will be difficult to persuade them to take up arms again. "on second thoughts, i allowed them to leave this morning, with a column that was starting to collect the arms of the garrison. they seemed quite in earnest; and will, i have no doubt, succeed in inducing their men to part with their arms, without a squabble." the detachment, indeed, returned in the evening. the success of their mission had been complete; and the natives had handed over their arms, and started off with their chiefs into the forests, after burning the camp and razing the stockades. they all seemed highly pleased that they should not be called upon for more fighting, and had individually taken an oath that they would never again fight the white men. several other flags of truce came in, and many chiefs surrendered. the queen mother, the most important of the leaders, tendered her submission. colonel willcocks gave her four days in which to prove the truth of her submission by coming in, in person. shortly, however, before the truce expired, she sent in an impudent message that she would fight till the end. some of the chiefs who had been foremost in their opposition, and who had personally taken part in the torture and death of those who fell into their hands, were tried by court martial; and either shot or hanged, it being necessary to prove to the natives that even their greatest chiefs were not spared, and that certain punishment would be dealt out to those who had taken part in the murder of soldiers, or carriers, who had fallen into their hands. the greatest tragedy of this campaign became known, on the 8th of september, through a letter from a native clerk who was with the akim levies, which were commanded by captains willcox and benson. these levies had worked up on our right flank, as we advanced from the south, in the same way as the denkeras had done on the west. they were as cowardly, and as terrified of the ashantis, as all the other neighbouring races. in fact, the only work they were fit for was living in deserted villages, or cutting crops and eating up the produce. three thousand of these levies were ordered to cooperate with colonel brake's column. they were met by the ashantis, and bolted as soon as the latter opened fire; and captain benson, deserted by his cowardly followers, fell. in a letter he had sent home, a few days before his death, he expressed in the strongest terms his opinion of the men under his command, saying: "if it comes to a real show, after all, heaven help us! three-quarters of my protective army are arrant cowards, all undisciplined, and quite impossible to hold." the native levies cannot be compared with the disciplined troops. they were simply a motley mob, armed with stray guns, arms, and powder, and their pay is what they can loot; whereas the african private's drill and duties are identical with those of the british private. his orders are given to him in english, and his knowledge of our language is probably superior to that of most indian or egyptian soldiers; while the british soldiers in west africa are rarely able to understand the language of their men. a column had started, at once, to captain willcox's assistance. they returned, however, in ten days, having been unable to come up to him, as he had retired fifty miles farther to the east. they had no fighting, the enemy having gone north; but they ascertained that all the country immediately to the south was free from rebels and desirous of peace. the spot where captain benson's action had been fought was strewn with dead bodies, baggage, and rifles; evidence of the disordered flight. it seemed that the levies bolted, as soon as they were fired on. then, with a few trained volunteers, the white men hastily entrenched themselves; and held out till late in the afternoon when, their ammunition having run short, they were compelled to retire, which they did fighting. it was during the retreat that captain benson was shot. another column came in on the following day, after five days' reconnaissance. it had gone by the same road by which the governor had broken out, on the 23rd of june. the road was entirely deserted, the villages destroyed, and the crops burnt. they made no attempt to search the bush but, on the path, they found ninety-eight headless skeletons; a painful testimony of the number of soldiers and carriers who had died of privation, and hardship, during the retreat. information now came in that, to the north, the most reckless of the ashantis had again concentrated, and were determined to make another stand. on the 16th there was a big review of the seventeen hundred troops and the nine guns of the garrison. the heavy guns were exercised on a stockade, similar to those of the enemy. hitherto they had not been altogether successful; as it was found that, owing to the large bursting charge, the range had to be estimated at double its real distance. six shots smashed a barricade which was six feet high by six feet thick. friendly chiefs, who were invited to witness the experiment, were profoundly impressed; and there can be no doubt that the feat was reported to the enemy in the field, for they raised no stockade in the future, and reverted to their old plan of bush fighting. the heavy and continuous rains were now rapidly bringing on sickness, and the officers were attacked in forms that were quite novel to them. "i don't know what is the matter with me," lisle said, one morning, "but i am swollen all round the neck. i once had mumps, when i was a little boy and, if it were not so ridiculous, i should declare that i had got them again." hallett burst into a fit of laughter. "i expect you are going to have all your old illnesses again--scarlet fever, measles, whooping cough, and the rest. we must see that the hut is fitted up for you, with something as much like a bed as possible, and a fire for making a posset, or whatever they give you." "it is all very well for you to laugh, hallett, but look at my neck." "well, it is swollen," hallett agreed; "and i expect that you have caught a cold, when we were wandering about in the bush. seriously, i should advise you to put a piece of warm flannel round your neck, or else go across and consult the doctor." "i think i will do so, hallett. it hurts a good deal, i can tell you and, as you see, i can hardly drink my tea." after breakfast was over, he went to the tent of the principal doctor. "i have come, sir," he said, "to ask you about my neck." "you don't say so, bullen! why, yours is the third case i have seen this morning! let me look at it. "yes, the symptoms are just the same as in the others. if this were england, i should say that an epidemic of mumps has broken out; but of course it cannot be that. "well, i have sent the other two into hospital, and you had better go there, too. is it painful?" "it is rather painful, and i can hardly swallow at all." "well, when i come across to the hospital, i will put you in with the others. i certainly cannot make out what it is, nor why it came on so suddenly. the only thing i can put it down to is the constant rains that we have been having, though i really don't see why wet weather should have that effect. i should advise you to keep on hot poultices." in the evening another patient came in, and lisle burst out laughing, when he saw that it was hallett. "oh, you have come to the nursery, have you? i hope you have made up your mind to go through scarlet fever, or measles, hallett?" "don't chaff. it is no laughing matter." "no? i thought you took it quite in that light, this morning. well, you see we have all got poultices on; and the orderly will make one for you, at once. my face is bigger than it was this morning, and what it is going to come to, i cannot imagine. although the doctor said, frankly, that he did not understand it; he seemed to think that there was nothing very serious about it." the next day the swelling had abated and, two days later, both of them were discharged from the hospital; to their great delight, for they heard that a column was just going to start, and that their companies were included in it. on the following day the column started. it was nearly a thousand strong, with guns, and rations for twenty-eight days. this force was to penetrate into the northwestern country. the enemy here had sent an impudent message that they would not surrender; and that, if they were attacked, they intended to revert to their former tactics, and direct all their efforts to shooting down the officers and, when these were disposed of, they would have little difficulty in dealing with the native troops. on the second day, when twenty-five miles from coomassie, the enemy were met with in force; and it was found that the message they had sent was true, for there was no stockade, and the enemy resorted entirely to sniping. they were commanded by kofia, one of the most turbulent and determined of their chiefs. the attack did not come as a surprise for, the day before, a number of ashantis had been found in a village which was rushed. the active allies now searched the woods thoroughly, and succeeded in ascertaining the spot where the enemy had their war camp. they had been careful that the ashantis had no notion of our approach, and a number of them were shot down by the maxims and rifles. the enemy, who held a strong position on the hilltop, rushed down and attacked our front and flank. their number was estimated at four thousand. three companies on each side entered the bush, and soon succeeded in pressing the enemy into a path; where they were fiercely charged by the west african field force, under major melliss. that officer was wounded; and captain stevenson, who was close to him, was shot in the chest. for a moment the soldiers wavered but, almost immediately, dashed on again to avenge the loss of their officers. the charge was very effective. those of the enemy who gradually assembled were bayoneted, and the rest fled. captain stevenson's death was greatly regretted. he and captain wright, of another company, had asked for leave to accompany the force. as the one had no better claim than the other, colonel willcocks suggested that they should toss for it. they did so, and captain stevenson won; but what he deemed his good fortune cost him his life. after the fight was over, there was a short pause to reorganize the force; and an advance was made to a village, three miles ahead, the intention being to attack the next morning. that evening, however, a flag came in, with an offer to surrender. word was sent back that the offer would be accepted, if made unconditionally; and at seven o'clock in the evening a chief, a large number of men, four hundred guns, and some sheep arrived. they said that kofia was holding a village, farther on; and would again give fight there. the force returned with them to coomassie. the next day, some scouts brought in the news that the enemy had again concentrated, and their numbers had been raised to four thousand by their junction with another fighting tribe. kofia was in command, and a big war camp had been established some twelve miles away on the berekum road. berekum itself, which was a hundred and forty miles to the north, was reported to be invested, and had asked for help but, as so large an ashanti force was near at hand, no men could be spared for the purpose. a column twelve hundred strong, with five guns, and every available man in the garrison who could carry a gun, moved out early on the 29th, to give battle. it was followed by a supply column, and the bulk of the carriers. nine miles were accomplished without any opposition. then a small adansi outpost retired on their approach. the commandant decided to halt, for the night, at a deserted village. it was a miserable place. the huts had all been burnt by the rebels; so that the troops had to sleep in the open, in a steady downpour of rain. the europeans tried to get rest in some hastily-constructed shelters, but a perfect tornado of wind was blowing, and swept the ground on which they were built. next day the troops marched, in their drenched clothes, through a heavy rain. between seven and eight, however, this ceased and, almost at the same moment, a tremendous fire burst out upon them. the advance guard and support at once became engaged, but the enemy clung with such determination to their position, and contested every foot of the ground so stoutly, that two companies of reinforcements had to be called up. two companies were sent out into the bush, and eventually succeeded in getting partly behind the enemy, and forcing them to retreat. more troops were sent out on the left; and a company was instructed to move through the bush, on an extended line. in this way the enemy were driven out of the jungle, and forced to retire slowly up the hill. then the main column started, led by major melliss and headed by the sikhs. the enemy, however, did not fly; and major melliss dashed into the thick of them, with the few men he could collect. an ashanti fired at him, at close quarters; but a native soldier ran the man through. as they struggled on the ground, another ashanti fired at major melliss, hitting him in the foot. he was practically unarmed, as he could use neither his sword nor his revolver; and would have been killed, had not another officer come up and shot the wounded ashanti. as the head of the column reached the spot, a heavy fire was directed upon the enemy, who were soon in headlong flight. the village in the rear of the position was taken, at the point of the bayonet. one hundred and fifty of their dead were found, lying on the battlefield; and it was learned, from prisoners, that over five hundred had been wounded. the defeat was a crushing one. several of their most determined chiefs were found among the dead. so hopelessly demoralized were the enemy that they never rallied again. the victory had been achieved with very small loss, owing to the excellence of colonel willcocks' force. the casualties consisted only of two officers severely, and two slightly wounded; and twenty-six rank and file killed and wounded. when the wounded had been dressed, and the scattered units collected, an advance was made to the next village; where the wearied troops slept, as it was still doubtful whether the rebels might not rally. major cobbe was sent on, next morning, with eight hundred men. he was to go as far as he could, but to return the next evening. the march was a very trying one, the weather terrible. after going four miles they reached the bank of an unfordable river, some forty yards wide. the pioneers, although they had no technical equipment, succeeded in making a rough bridge by the afternoon; and major cobbe decided to push on to kofia. at ten o'clock they reached this place and, to the general relief, it was found to be deserted. the troops, therefore, marched in and turned into the huts, amid a howling tornado. the return journey, next day, was even worse. the tracks, in many parts, were now covered with between two and three feet of water. the bridge, though submerged, had fortunately not been carried away; and the troops were able to cross, and march into camp the same evening, having carried out their orders without encountering the smallest opposition. chapter 20: at home. it was now found necessary to give the worn-out troops a long rest. they had been on constant service, for months; the stream of invalids that had been sent down to the coast daily increased, and the sick list had already reached an appalling length. the want of fresh rations was very much felt, and any large combination of troops not only caused great discomfort, but engendered various diseases, smallpox among them. in addition to this, as the black soldiers always go barefooted, their feet had got into a deplorable state. the halt, however, had a good effect; and there was general satisfaction that it was unlikely that they would be called upon to make further efforts, as no news came of fresh gatherings of the enemy. colonel willcocks now saw that the time was come to issue a proclamation promising, henceforward, to spare the lives of all rebels that surrendered. this was done, with the result that large numbers of the enemy came in. almost all of them declared that they would have surrendered, long ago, had they not feared to do so. on october 6th, the commandant and british resident held a state levee. it was attended by all the friendly and submitted kings. these vied with each other in their pomp; they were dressed in gorgeous robes and carried their state umbrellas, while their attendants danced round them, beating drums and blowing horns. after the palaver was over, target practice took place, with the guns. canvas dummies were riddled with bullets by the maxims; and stockades, specially constructed for the purpose, were demolished by the big guns. the natives retired, greatly impressed. two days later, colonel willcocks got up a rifle meeting for a cup; and he himself took his place among the competitors. five days later, news came that a fresh force of the enemy had gathered. two columns were sent out--one of seven hundred and the other of five hundred men--but, though they traversed a wide stretch of country, they had no fighting. they received, however, the submission of a number of chiefs and villages. the new commander of the ashanti force was captured, tried, and hanged. the queen also was caught and, on the 24th of april, a telegram was sent home with the words: "the campaign is at an end." there can be no doubt that this expedition will lead to great results. the natives of ashanti and the surrounding tribes have received a lesson that will not be forgotten for a great number of years and, long before that time, it may be hoped that civilization will have made such strides there that there will be no more chance of trouble. they have been taught that they are absolutely unable to stand against the white man; that neither distance, the thickness of their forests, stockades, nor weather can check the progress of british troops; and that resistance can only draw down upon them terrible loss, and the destruction of their villages and crops. they had received no such lessons in the previous expeditions. that of governor sir charles m'carthy had been entirely defeated, and the governor himself killed. another expedition, in 1867, met with a total failure. sir garnet wolseley, in 1873, marched to coomassie but, though he burnt the place, he had at once to fall back to the coast. in 1895 sir francis scott led an expedition which, for some reason or other, met with no resistance. now ashanti had been swept from end to end, and fire and sword had destroyed the major part of the villages. garrisons were to be left, at coomassie, strong enough to put down any local risings; and the natives had been taught that, small as our army might be in their country, it could at any time be largely augmented, at very short notice. most of all, they had learned that, even without the assistance of white soldiers, the native troops--whom they had hitherto despised--were their superiors in every respect. the completion of the railway to coomassie has enabled troops to be sent up from the coast, in a few hours, to the heart of the country; and the numerous companies formed to work the gold mines will, in themselves, prove a great check to trouble as, no doubt, the miners will, in future, be well armed. colonel willcocks left the headquarters staff a few days after the despatch of his telegram. he rode through a two-mile avenue of troops and friendly natives and, on arriving at cape coast, had a magnificent reception. major c. burroughs remained in command of coomassie, with a strong garrison. a few days later, the rest of the force moved down to the coast. lisle and hallett were carried down in hammocks, for both were completely worn out by the hardships of the campaign and, as there was no limit to the numbers of carriers that could be obtained, they gladly acquiesced in the decision of the medical officer that they ought to be carried. both, indeed, had the seeds of fever in their system and, when they arrived at cape coast, were laid up with a sharp attack. as a result they were, like the great portion of the officers who had gone through the campaign, invalided home. a day after his arrival in london, lisle was visited by his friend colonel houghton, at whose house he had spent most of his leave when he was last in england. "i saw your name in the paper, yesterday, as among the returned invalids; and thought that i should find you in the hotel where you stayed before." "i wrote yesterday afternoon to you, sir." "ah! of course, i have not got that letter. and now, how are you?" "i am a little shaky, sir, but the voyage has done wonders for me. i have no doubt that i shall soon be myself, again." "you have not seen the last gazette, i suppose?" "no, sir." "well, there was a list of promotions, and i am happy to say that you have got the d.s.o. for your services. i dare say you know that you succeeded to your company, just six months ago?" "no, i did not know that. i knew that i stood high among the lieutenants, and expected to get it before long; but i am proud, indeed, of the d.s.o." "to have won the v.c. and the d.s.o. is to attain the two greatest distinctions a soldier can wear. "now, you had better come down with me to my place in the country; the air of london is not the best, for a man who has been suffering from african fever." "i certainly want bracing air, and i shall be only too glad to go home with you; for i feel it is more my home than any other in england." as soon as lisle began to recover a little, colonel houghton introduced him to his neighbours, who made a good deal of the young soldier. five years had elapsed, since he had started with the pioneers for chitral, and he was twenty-one. soon after he went to the colonel's, he was speaking to him of his friend and constant companion in the late campaign; and the colonel at once invited hallett down. hallett accepted the invitation, and soon joined them. he had pretty well recovered, and the campaign had knocked all his little laziness and selfishness out of him. he also had received the d.s.o. "i am sure, colonel houghton," he said one day, "that i owe a tremendous lot to lisle. he was always cheerful, and his unmerciful chaffing kept me alive. i am quite sure i should never have got through that time, when we were lost in the forest, if it hadn't been for him. i was a confirmed grumbler, too; but he never let me indulge my discontent. altogether you have no idea, colonel houghton, how much he did for me." "well, you know, captain hallett, how much he did for me." "no, sir," hallett said, in surprise; "he has often spoken to me of you, and of your kindness to him; but he did not tell me about anything he had done for you." "well, he saved my life at the risk of his own. if he has not told you the story, i will." and he related the manner in which lisle had won his v.c. "why did you not tell me about it, bullen? it was a splendid thing to do. you did tell me, i remember, how you got the v.c. by helping to get an officer out of the grasp of the afridis, but you gave no details." "there was nothing to tell about it, hallett. i only did what i am sure you would have done, in my case." "i am by no means sure of that," hallett said. "i am always slow in making up my mind about anything; and should never have thought of putting a wounded officer on my horse, and sending him off, while i remained to be cut to pieces. i hope i should have stood by him, and been cut down with him; but i am certain that i should not have thought of the other thing, with the afridis rushing down upon me, only thirty yards away. "you ought to have let me know about it. you did bully me a great deal, you know; and though it was all for my good, still i think i should have put up with it better, if i had known that you had done such a thing as that." "i think you put up with it very well, hallett. chaffing you, and getting you sometimes into a rage--which was pretended, rather than real--did me a lot of good. i am sure i should have given in, several times, had you not acted as a sort of tonic; and had i not been sure that it did you as much good as it did me." a month after hallett's arrival, the colonel said, one morning: "good morning, lisle! i am going out with the hounds, tomorrow. they meet near here. as you are not great riders, i won't press you to go with me but, at least, you will ride with me to the meet. it is sure to be a good gathering, and you will probably meet some nice girls; who will, no doubt, have much greater attractions, for young fellows like you, than a gallop round the country." "they have no particular attraction for me, sir," lisle laughed. "it will be time enough for that, in another eight or ten years. it is more in hallett's line." "but we shall be chaffed, if we don't ride after the hounds, colonel," hallett said. "not at all," the colonel replied, "you have a first-rate excuse. you are only just recovering from fever. that would get you no end of commiseration and pity." "in that case," lisle said, "i think i should prefer staying at home. i don't feel that i need the least pity, and don't want to get it on false pretences." "it won't be false pretences," the colonel said. "i have taken care that all the ladies i shall introduce you to should know what you did for me, and how you did it." "i am sorry to hear it, colonel. it is really hateful, being regarded as a man who has done something, especially at my age. however, i shall leave hallett to bear the brunt of it. i know that he is on the lookout for a wife." "i don't think you know anything of the sort, lisle. it will be time for that when i get my majority." "ah! that is all very well, hallett; i know you took a good half-hour dressing your hair, previous to that dinner party last week." "it has to be brushed. it was nearly all cut off, when we were in cape coast, and one doesn't want to go out looking like a fretful porcupine." so, laughing and joking, they started the next morning. there was, as the colonel had predicted, a large meet. many ladies came on horseback, and others in carriages. the two young officers were soon engaged, chatting and laughing, with the latter. "do you mean to say that you are not going to ride, captain bullen?" one of the ladies on horseback said. "in the first place, miss merton, i am an infantry officer and, except for a few weeks when i was on the staff of colonel lockhart, i have never done any riding. in the second place, i am forbidden to take horse exercise, at present. moreover, although no doubt you will despise me for the confession, i dislike altogether the idea of a hundred men on horseback, and forty or fifty dogs, all chasing one unfortunate animal." "but the unfortunate animal is a poacher of the worst kind." "very well, then, i should shoot him, as a poacher. why should a hundred horsemen engage in hunting the poor brute down? bad horseman as i am, i should not mind taking part in a cavalry charge; but hunting is not at all to my taste." "you like shooting, captain bullen?" "i like shooting, when there is something to be shot; in the first place, a dangerous animal, and in the second, an animal that is able to show fight. i have several times taken part in tiger hunts, and felt myself justified in doing so, because the animals had made themselves a scourge to unarmed villagers." "i am afraid that you are a sort of don quixote," the girl laughed. "not quite that, miss merton; though i own i admire the good knight, greatly. we are going to move off, now, to the covert that has to be drawn; and i know i shall shock you, when i say that i sincerely hope that nothing will be found there." the whole party then moved off, and the hounds were put into a covert. five minutes later, a whimper was heard. it soon spread into a chorus, and then a fox dashed out from the opposite side; followed, in a couple of minutes, by the whole pack. "well, that is fun, is it not, captain bullen?" said a girl, to whom he was talking, in one of the carriages. "it is a pretty sight," he said, "and if the fox always got away, i should like it. as it is, i say honestly that i don't." the meet now broke up, and the carriages dispersed. hallett and lisle accepted an invitation to lunch with the ladies to whom they were talking. two hours later, lisle was on the point of leaving, when a groom rode up at full speed. "is captain bullen here?" he asked. with a presentiment of evil, lisle went out. "the colonel has had a bad accident, sir. he was brought in, half an hour ago, by the servants. i understand that he asked for you; and three of us at once rode off, in different directions, to find you." lisle called hallett and, in five minutes, they were mounted and dashed off. as they entered the house, they were met by the surgeon. "is he badly hurt'?" lisle asked, anxiously. "i fear that he is hurt to death, captain bullen. his horse slipped as it was taking a fence, and fell on the top of him. he has suffered severe internal injuries, and i greatly fear that there is not the least hope for him." "is he conscious?" lisle asked, with deep emotion. "yes, he is conscious, and i believe he understands that his case is hopeless. he has asked for you, several times, since he was brought in; so you had better go to him, at once." with a sinking heart, lisle went upstairs. the colonel was lying on his bed. "i am glad you have come in time, my dear boy," he said faintly, as lisle entered. "i am afraid that i am done for, and it is a consolation for me to know that i have no near relatives who will regret my loss. i have had a good time of it, altogether; and would rather that, as i was not to die on the battlefield, death should come as it has. it is far better than if it came gradually. "sit by me, lad, till the end comes. i am sure it will not be long. i am suffering terribly, and the sooner it comes, the better." the ashy gray of the colonel's face sufficed to tell lisle that the end was, indeed, near at hand. the colonel only spoke two or three times and, at ten o'clock at night, passed away painlessly. upon lisle devolved the sad work of arranging his funeral. he wrote to the colonel's lawyer, asking him to come down. hallett had left the house at once, though lisle earnestly begged him to stay till the funeral was over. the lawyer arrived on the morning of the funeral. "i have taken upon myself, sir," lisle said, "to make all the arrangements for the funeral, seeing that there was no one else to do it." "you were the most proper person to do so," the lawyer said, gravely, "as you will see when the will is read, on our return from the grave." when all was over, lisle asked two or three of the colonel's most intimate friends to be present at the reading of the will. it was a very short one. the colonel made bequests to several military charities; and then appointed his adopted son, lisle bullen, lieutenant in his majesty's rutlandshire regiment, the sole heir to all his property. this came almost as a surprise to lisle. the colonel had indeed told him that he had adopted him, and he was prepared to learn that he had left him a legacy; but he had no idea that he would be left sole heir. "i congratulate you, sir," the lawyer said, when he folded up the paper. "colonel houghton stated to me, fully, his reasons for making such a disposition of his property and, as he had no near relations, i was able to approve of it heartily. i may say that he has left nearly sixteen thousand pounds. the other small legacies will take about a thousand, and you will therefore have some fifteen thousand pounds, which is all invested in first-rate securities." "i feel my good fortune, sir," lisle said quietly, "but i would that it had not come to me for many years, and not in such a manner." the meeting soon after broke up, and lisle went up to town and joined hallett at the hotel they both used. "well, i congratulate you heartily," hallett said, when he heard the contents of the will. "it is a good windfall, but not a bit more than you deserve." "i would rather not have had it," lisle said, sorrowfully. "i owe much to the colonel, who has for the past three years given me an allowance of two hundred pounds a year; and i would far rather have gone on with that, than come into a fortune in this manner." "i can understand that," hallett said; "the colonel was a first-rate old fellow, and his death will be an immense loss to you. still, but for you it would have come three years ago and, after all, it is better to be killed hunting than to be shot to pieces by savages. "well, it will bring you in six or seven hundred pounds a year, a sum not to be despised. it will enable you to leave the army, if you like; though i should advise you to stick to it. here are you a captain at twenty-one, a v. c. and d. s. o. man, with a big career before you and, no doubt, you will get a brevet majority before long." "i have certainly not the least idea of leaving the army. i was born in it, and hope to remain in it as long as i can do good work." "what are you going to do now?" "i shall go down there again, in a fortnight or so." "would you be disposed to take me with you?" "certainly i shall, if you will go. i had not thought of asking you, because everything must go on quietly there, for a time; but really i should prize your company very much." "well, the fact is," hallett said, rather shamefacedly, "i am rather smitten with miss merton, and i have some hopes that she is a little taken with me. i heard that she has money but, although that is satisfactory, i would take her, if she would have me, without a penny. you know i have three hundred pounds a year of my own; which is quite enough, with my pay, to enable us to get on comfortably. still, i won't say that, if she has as much more, we could not do things better." lisle laughed. "i thought you were not a marrying man, hallett! in fact, you have more than once told me so." "well, i didn't think i was," hallett admitted, "but you see, circumstances alter cases." "they do, hallett, and your case seems to be a bad one. however, old man, i wish you luck. she is an exceedingly nice girl and, if i were ten years older, i might have been smitten myself; and then, you know, your chance would have been nowhere." "i quite feel that," hallett said; "a v.c. is a thing no girl can stand against. "if you will take me, i will go down with you and stay a little time, and then try my luck." "that you certainly shall do. i can hardly do anything in the way of festivities, at present; but there is no reason why you should not enter into anything that is going on." so they went down together. ten days later, all the families round came to pay visits of condolence; and to each lisle said that, although he himself could not think of going out, at present, his friend hallett, who had come to stay with him for a month, would be glad to join in any quiet festivity. so hallett was frequently invited out, lisle accompanying him only to the very quietest of dinners. one evening hallett returned in the highest glee. "congratulate me, my dear fellow," he said. "miss merton has accepted me and, after she had done so, i had the inevitable talk with her father. he told me, frankly, that he had hoped that his daughter would make a better match. i of course agreed with him, heartily; but he went on to say that, after all, our happiness was the first consideration, and that he felt sure that it would be secured by her marriage with me. he said that he should allow her four hundred pounds a year, during his and her mother's lifetime. at their death there would be a small addition to her allowance, but naturally the bulk of his property would go to her brother. of course, i expressed myself as infinitely grateful. i said that he had not enquired about my income, but that i had three hundred pounds a year, in addition to my pay; and should probably, some day, come into more. he expressed himself as content and, as i had expected, asked me whether i intended to leave the army. i said that that was a matter for his daughter to decide; but that, for my part, i should certainly prefer to remain in the service, for i really did not see what i should do with myself, if i left it. i said that i had been very fortunate in having, to some small extent, distinguished myself; but that if, after some experience of india, she did not care for the life, i would promise to retire." "'i think you are right,' he said. 'it is a bad thing for a young man of seven or eight and twenty to be without employment. your income would be insufficient to enable you to live, with comfort, as a country gentleman; and you would naturally find time lie heavy upon your hands, if you had nothing to do.' "he was good enough to say that he thought his daughter's happiness would be safe in my hands and, as she would be able to have every luxury in india, he thought that the arrangement would be a very satisfactory one. it is awfully good of him, of course, for she could have made an infinitely better match." "you have, of course, not settled anything about the date, hallett?" "no; i expect we shall settle about that when i see her, tomorrow. of course, it must be pretty early, as we had letters, yesterday, to go up to town to be examined by the board; and we have both picked up so much that, i fancy, we shall be ordered back to our regiments pretty sharply. you see, every man is wanted at present and, as we both had a year's leave before we went out to west africa, it is not unnatural that they should send us off again, as soon as they can. i dare say, however, they will give us a couple of months; and i suppose we shall want a month for our honeymoon, in which case we ought to be spliced in a month's time; if she can get ready in that time, which of course she can do, if she hurries up the milliners and other people." "i have no doubt she could, in the circumstances," lisle laughed. "well, old man, i do congratulate you most heartily. she certainly is a very charming young woman. i expect i shall not get leave again, till the regiment comes back; which will be another five years yet, and perhaps two or three years longer, if there is any action going on anywhere. i can tell you i am not so hot about fighting as i used to be. the tirah was sharp, but it was nothing to west africa, which was enough to cure one of any desire to take part in fighting. "if we are going to have a fight with russia, i certainly should like to take part in that. that would be a tremendous affair, and i fancy that our indian soldiers will give a good account of themselves. if it is to be, i do hope it will come before i leave the army. i am certainly in no hurry to do so." "you would be a fool, if you were," hallett said. "thanks to your luck in getting a commission at sixteen, and to the loss of so many officers in the tirah, you are now a captain at twenty-one, certainly the youngest captain in the service. of course, if there is no war, you can't expect to continue going up at that pace; but you certainly ought to be a major at thirty, if not before. you may command a regiment within five or six years later, and be a brigadier soon after that, for you will have that by seniority. of course, if you marry you will have to consider your wife's wishes; but she is not likely to object to your staying on, if you get to be a major, for a major's wife is by no means an unimportant item in a regiment." "ah! well, we needn't think about that," lisle laughed, "especially as, if there is war with russia before we come home, a good many of us will certainly stay out permanently. well, old man, i do congratulate you, most heartily." miss merton, after some demur, agreed that it would be just possible for her to be ready at the end of a month. three days later the two friends went up to town and, after undergoing a medical examination, were told that they must rejoin their regiments in a couple of months. as both regiments were in india, they decided to return in the same ship. "i am not sorry that we are off," lisle said, when they met on the deck of the p. and o. steamer. "i was getting desperately tired of doing nothing and, after you had gone off with your wife, on the afternoon of the marriage, i began to feel desperately lonely. of course, i have always been accustomed to have a lot of friends round me; and i began to feel a longing to be with the regiment again and, if we had not agreed to go out together, i think i should have taken the next steamer." six weeks later lisle rejoined his regiment, where he was heartily welcomed. "now you are a brevet major, mr. bullen, i am afraid that you will cease to be useful to us all; for of course we cannot be sending an officer of that exalted rank about to do our messages. however, several nice boys have joined, while you have been away." "i shall always be happy to be employed," lisle laughed, "and i dare say i am no older than many of the subalterns." "i suppose you have had hard times?" "very hard. i thought that the tirah business was about as hard as one would have to go through, in the course of one's soldiering; but i was greatly deceived. when i say that for six months i hardly ever had dry clothes on, and that i waded something like a hundred rivers, you may guess what it was like. "and we had our full share of fighting, too. i was very fortunate in only getting hit three or four times, with slugs; but as we were for the most part fighting against men hidden in the bush, it was unsatisfactory work, though we always did lick them in the end. i can assure you that i do not wish for any more service of that kind. "have the tribes been quiet since i went away?" "quiet, as far as we were concerned. of course, there have been a few trifling risings along the frontier but, as a whole, even the zakka-khels have been quiet. i don't think there will be any trouble, on a large scale, for some time to come." "then there is a prospect of a quiet time; that is to say, if the russians will keep quiet." "that is a very strong 'if,' major bullen; but i think that, if there is trouble, it will be in china." "in that case, no doubt a good many regiments will be sent from here. i hope that it will be our good fortune to be among them." "well, in that case," the colonel said, with a laugh, "you will have to restrain your ardour, and give a chance to other men. you have got the v.c. and the d.s.o., which ought to satisfy you; to say nothing of having got your company, and brevet majority, at the age of twenty-one. you must be content with that, otherwise the regiment will rise against you." "that would be very unpleasant," lisle said, with a laugh. "i will try to suppress my zeal. i can assure you that i am perfectly conscious of the incongruity of being in such a position, at my age." at present lisle is with his regiment, and the prospect of a war with russia is no nearer than it was. 