Chapter II: Part 2

Lance, followed by George, passed into the kitchen, and through a short covered way which led to the lower part of the house. The covered way, and the kitchen too, were of the same rough stone half-way up. A few steps at the end of the covered way led down into the cellars where the arms and provisions were stored. It was quite dark down there, and Lance struck his flint and made a light. They had not gone far in the underground passage when George instinctively felt some one stealing by him. He turned quickly, and in a moment Black Bear was pinioned to the wall.

"What are you doing here?" asked Lance, gruffly.

The Indian, remaining perfectly still, said: "White man's house like rabbit-burrow. Injun get lost in it."

George, at a sign from Lance, let the Indian go, and he stalked solemnly out in front of them. Around outside Lance said,

"What is your name?"

"Squaw-man," was the Indian's laconic answer; and as the squaw-men had no distinctive names, it was answer enough. But Lance grinned openly at this.

"You don't look like a squaw-man, but a warrior, and your name, if I know it, is Black Bear. Now, if you are a squaw-man, show me how that carcass ought to be cut up; and here is some money for you if you do it right." Black Bear looked longingly at the money, but he was evidently not used to cutting up dressed meat, and he made no attempt at it. He grunted out something, and then strode off in the direction of the path up the mountain.

"There you go," apostrophized Lance, "and we shall see you before long with a firelock and a hatchet, and with a lot of other savages of your own kidney."

At dinner that day George told Lord Fairfax about finding the Indian prowling about the cellar, and Lance's suspicions.

The morning had been bright, but it grew so cold and snowy towards the afternoon that Lord Fairfax remained at home, and George took his ride alone. He had not gone but a few miles along the rugged mountain road, when a furious snow-storm set in, and he quickly retraced his steps. It grew suddenly dark, but his horse was sure of foot, and George himself knew the way home perfectly. He galloped along through the darkness and the fast-falling snow, which deadened the sound of his horse's hoofs. He was surprised, though, to see a number of tracks in the snow as he passed along. He instantly recognized moccasin tracks, and remembered Lance's prediction that the alleged squaw-man had some companions with him. At one point on the road George was convinced that he heard a low whistle. He stopped his horse and turned in his saddle, but there was no sound except the crackling of the trees as the wind swept through their bare branches, and the faint sound of falling water in the distance. As he sat on his horse, a perfect picture of young manhood, two stealthy eyes were fixed on him, and Black Bear, concealed behind a huge mountain-ash, noiselessly and rapidly raising a firelock, took direct aim at him. The horse, which had stood perfectly still, suddenly started as a shot rang out, and a bullet whizzed past George so close that he felt the current of air it made.

George was too astounded to move for a moment, but not more astounded than was Black Bear. Never in his life had the Indian made such a miss. Half a dozen pairs of beady black eyes had seen it, and the concealed Indians made a sign to each other in dumb-show signifying that the white youth had a charmed life.

In another moment the horse, of his own will, as if flying from danger, started down the rocky road. George let him go on unchecked. He did not think the bullet came from the piece of a sportsman, and he had not forgotten Lance's warning.

When he reached the house he looked about for Lance, whom he found in the armory, carefully examining the muskets on the rack. Lance listened to George's story of the shot very attentively.

"As sure as you live, Mr. Washington, there were some red devils skulking about, and when they get a firelock in their hands the first thing they want to do is to kill a white man. The Frenchmen sell them muskets, and give them fire-water, and set them against us. I knew the minute I put my eyes on that copper-colored rascal that he had murder and arson in his heart; but we'll be able to keep them off, Mr. Washington."

"Why is it that you think they want to capture this house?" asked George, thoughtfully.

"Because we have plenty of arms and ammunition here. It is hard to get either over the mountains, and it would be a small fortune to any Indian to get a musket and a powder-horn. Then we have dried provisions in plenty--enough to last us six months if we get nothing from the outside--and dried provisions are what the Indians fancy. And my lord is opposed to the French, and no doubt they have set the Indians against us; and then the Indians like the killing, just for the fun of the thing. I think I shall sleep with one eye open until I hear that Mr. Black Bear and his friends are no longer in this neighborhood."

That night, after supper, George and the Earl talked over Lance's suspicions. Lord Fairfax thought they were not ill founded, but he was not a man to excite himself over possibilities. The talk drifted towards marksmanship, and the Earl, who was an excellent shot, brought out a pair of silver-mounted pistols, small for the time. He had some bullets made of composition, which flattened out against the rough-cast wall without making an indentation. George drew a target on the wall, and the Earl, standing at the end of the great low-ceiled hall, made some wonderful shots. George then took the pistols, and fairly surpassed him. The Earl taught him to snuff a candle at twenty paces, and other tricks of the kind. So absorbed were they in their pastime that it was nearly midnight before they parted.

When George went to his room Billy was not to be seen; but when he was called a woolly head was poked out from under the valance of the high-post bed, and Billy chirped out:

"I's gwi' sleep under de baid ter-night, Marse George. Mr. Lance, he talk 'bout Injuns, an' ef dey come, I ain't gwi' gin 'em no chance fer to mek a hole in dis heah nigger's skin. An' I got de dog wid me, an' ef he start ter bark, I kin choke him, so dey ain't never know dee is a dog heah."

George laughed and went to bed, but it was not to sleep. He was excited, and lay awake for what seemed hours to him. At last, about three o'clock, he noticed by the moon-light that stole in his shutterless window that the snow-storm had ceased, and the moon was shining brilliantly. He got up and looked out. The ground was covered with snow, and the radiance of the great full moon made the whole landscape of a dazzling white; the tall peaks, which reared their heads into the sky, shone like burnished silver, and seemed almost touching the vast dome of heaven. George gazed for a long time, entranced at the scene, until the moving of a faint shadow under the trees attracted his attention. His eyes were keen at all times, and particularly so that night. He waited until he became convinced that there were Indian forms flitting about under the trees; then, slipping on his clothes and carrying his shoes in his hand, he noiselessly opened the door and went into the hall. As he opened the door he met Lance face to face.

"Have you seen them?" asked George, in a whisper.

"No," replied Lance; "but I wakened up just now, and something, I know not what, told me to go over the house and see if everything was all right."

George drew him to the outer door, and pointed to one of the little eye-holes. Lance peered through anxiously.

"I can't see anything, Mr. Washington; but your eyes are better than mine, and if you say there are Injuns out there I'll take your word for it."

At that moment George, who was watching at another eye-hole, saw in a corner near the house a fire smouldering on the ground. A dozen blanketed figures were crouching around it. Presently they rose, and, carrying each a long and heavy fence-rail blazing at the end, made a rush around the back of the house, and, with a thundering crash and a succession of terrific whoops, pounded the stout oaken door of the kitchen with the burning rails. It was as if that barbaric yell in one instant wakened the house and converted it into a fortress. Lights shone at every window, the negroes appearing as if by magic, and Lord Fairfax in a dressing-gown, but with a musket in his hand, opening his door. Lance and George had made a rush for the armory, and each seized an armful of muskets. The negroes were each given a musket, and stationed at an eye-hole. Meanwhile the pounding at the kitchen door continued, and shook the house from end to end. Stout as the oaken planking was, it seemed impossible that it could long withstand such assaults.

"It is the first time the red rascals have ever had sense enough to try and batter that door down. Before this they have tried the front door," said Lance, as he and George took their station at the end of the short covered way that led to the kitchen.

The Earl by this time had put on his clothes and had joined Lance and George.

"I think the door is giving way, sir," said George, quietly, to Lord Fairfax, as the sound of breaking timbers mingled with the screech of the savages.

"I know it, sir," added Lance, grimly. "We can keep the scoundrels out of the front door by stationing men in the half-story above, but there is no way of defending the kitchen door from the inside."

"How many Indians do you think you saw, George?" asked Lord Fairfax, as coolly as if he were asking the number of cabbages in a garden.

"At least a dozen, sir."

"Then if you saw a dozen there were certainly fifty,"' was the Earl's remark. The next moment a louder crash than before showed the door had given way, and in another instant the narrow passageway swarmed with Indians. George, mechanically following Lance's movements, raised his musket and fired straight at the incoming mob--the first hostile shot of his life. He felt a strange quiver and tremor, and an acute sensitiveness to everything that was happening around him. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Lance, and Lord Fairfax quietly moved in front of him, which he thought strange.

"Kneel down," said Lance, in quite his ordinary voice, kneeling himself, so that the armed negroes behind him could fire over his head. Lord Fairfax and George did likewise. The perfect coolness and self-possession of Lance and Lord Fairfax amazed George. He had never seen old soldiers under fire before. For himself, he felt wildly excited, and was conscious that his features were working convulsively, and his heart thumped so loudly against his ribs that he heard it over the crashing of the musket-balls. It flashed before his mind that any and every moment might be his last, and he thought of his mother and Betty; he thought of everything, in fact, except one--that he might run away. He stood as if nailed to the ground, loading and firing faster than he ever did in his life, and so accurately that both the Earl and Lance were astonished.

All at once George's senses seemed to return to him, and he felt as calm and unshaken as either the Earl or Lance. He turned to the Earl and said:

"The two swivels are in the cellar directly back of us, and on a level with us. If we had one we could command this passage."

"Get it," replied the Earl, laconically. "Take Cæsar with you--it is on wheels, you know."

George darted into the cellar, and directly the rumbling of a small gun upon a rude carriage, with the wheels cut from solid logs of wood, was heard. Cæsar was dragging the swivel out, while George followed with the powder and shot. There was now only one Indian lying stark before them in the passage. Without a moment's thought, George darted forward to drag the prostrate form out of the way of the gun, lest, if the Indian were dead, it might mutilate him, and if only wounded, it might kill him.

As George stooped forward to lift him, the Indian, who was bleeding profusely from a wounded leg, suddenly threw his left arm around George's neck, and with the other hand drew a tomahawk from under him. But George was too quick for him, and catching his arm, lifted him bodily, and carried him back into the passageway where they stood.

It was Black Bear.

"_You_ a squaw-man," was Lance's comment.

Black Bear said no word, but raising himself from the ground, produced a leather thong, which he tied around his bleeding leg, rudely but not unskilfully checking the flow of blood, after which Lance tied him securely and put him in a corner.

There was now a brief pause, and the guns were reloaded, and all were prepared for a second assault, while the swivel commanded the passageway thoroughly.

"They know what is going on here," said the Earl, "and their next attack will be by the front entrance."

"True, sir," responded Lance.

"Shall we leave Mr. Washington here while we reconnoitre the front of the house?" asked Lord Fairfax of Lance, who was the actual commandant of the garrison.

"I think so, sir--with Cæsar and one or two others. But keep your eye on Black Bear, Mr. Washington," said Lance, "as well as this passage." Just then the noise of an assault on the other part of the house was heard, and the whole force went over on that side, leaving George, Cæsar, and Jake the scullion to watch the passageway.

Occasionally they could see, by the dim light of a lantern hung to the wall, a figure passing to and fro in the kitchen.

George remembered to have heard that wounded men suffer fearfully from thirst. There was a cedar bucket full of water on a shelf in the larger passage, with a gourd hanging by it. He told Jake to put the bucket by Black Bear, and although the Indian had sat perfectly still, not showing, even by a contraction of the brows, the agony he was suffering, he gulped the water down eagerly.

The crack of musket-shots on the other side of the house could now be heard, and it was evident that the fight was renewed, but at the same time dark faces appeared at the opening into the covered way. George, loading the swivel himself, pointed it, and, by way of a salutary warning, sent a four-pound shot screaming through the kitchen. Not an Indian showed himself after that. They had met resistance on the other side of the house too, and as the moon went slowly down the horizon, in the pale gray of dawn the watchers from the eye-holes saw them draw off and take their way rapidly across the white ground into the mountains. The snow was blood-stained in many places, showing that the musketry fire had been very effective.

Just as day was breaking. Lord Fairfax came to George. "You have had your first taste of ball-cartridges," said he, smiling. "What do you think of it?"

George hesitated and remained silent for a moment. "At first," he said, "I hardly knew what I was doing. Afterwards, it seemed to me I had never thought so quickly."

"Witness the dragging out of the swivel," continued Lord Fairfax; "and let me tell you this--the difference between an ordinary general and a great general is that the ordinary man cannot think in a hurry and in the midst of terrible emergencies, but the great man thinks the better for the very things that disconcert an every-day man. You may some day prove a great general, George."

The boy blushed, but said nothing.

When he was relieved from his post he went to his room. As soon as he entered he saw Billy's ashy face, with his eyes nearly popping out of his head, emerging from under the bed, while Rattler gave a yelp of delight.

"Lord a'mighty, Marse George, I never tho't to see you ag'in!" exclaimed Billy, fervently. "All de time dem balls was poppin' me an' Rattler was thinkin' bout you, an when I hear one big gun a-gwine off I jest holler out loud, 'Marse George done daid--I know he done daid!'"

"I might have been dead a good many times for any help I had from you, you lazy scamp," responded George, severely, at which Billy burst into tears, and wailed until "Marse George" condescended to be mollified.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE AMERICAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.

THE PICNIC.--BY EMMA J. GRAY.

Mariette's eyes looked rather red, as though she had been crying, and then came the words. "A dreadful thing has happened!"

"What?" And the next second her dearest friend, Laura Brainerd, was standing before her, and putting her hand on each shoulder, scanned Marietta's face.

Then, with a sob accompanying each word, came the sentence, "My caramel cake is heavy!"

This answer was so unexpected that, although Laura twisted her lips in every possible direction, and contorted her pretty mouth until it was absolutely homely, she had to give way at last, and then followed such a hearty laugh that her friend Marietta opened her dark blue eyes to their widest, and simply stared at her.

"Dear little Mariette," she exclaimed, "how absurd of you to care so much about a cake!" And then, seeing a wounded look steal over her friend's sensitive mouth, she added, "I know your caramel cake is always delicious, and I'll trust your hamper any time for holding no end of good things." And Laura smacked her lips, as if already tasting them.

"But it won't now," was the doleful response.

"Oh, pshaw! don't be such a silly girl. Tell me what you're going to take."

"Oh, nothing but sardine and chicken salad, pickled beets and walnuts, roast-ham sandwiches, blackberry and lemon meringue pie, cookies, almond cake--"

And as she was evidently not yet through, Laura interjected: "Don't tell me there is any more, or I'll not be able to sleep all night. Oh, how can I wait for to-morrow to come, anyway?" and impatient Laura paced hurriedly up and down the room.

"Yes, there is something more. I shall take big juicy plums;" and Mariette, holding up her hand, made a ring by touching her second finger and thumb together, and laughingly added, "_So_ big, and with such a soft bloom on them that you'd like to taste one, I know."

"_One!_ A dozen!"

And then quickly followed, "You just ought to see my peaches, though--so large and ripe, such beauties!" and Marietta's lips were pressed together as if already enjoying them.

And so the clouds rolled away, for in counting the many delicacies her picnic basket would hold, the heavy caramel cake was altogether forgotten.

"But what are you going to take, Laura?"

"I?" and Laura straightened herself back with a most self-satisfied air while saying, "Potato and asparagus salad--just made from asparagus tips, Mariette."

"Yes, I know," and she smiled, while nodding her curly brown head.

"And besides those, chicken pie, hard-boiled eggs, nasturtium seed, and peach pickles; _pâté de foie gras_ sandwiches, a loaf of fresh home-made bread, and a roll of unsalted butter; large ripe tomatoes, some pepper and salt to help them down, and a frosted walnut cake."

"Oh, what a tempting luncheon! I guess no one will starve at our table!"

"I hope not. But, you know, picnics give powerful appetites; that's why I shall take an extra loaf of bread; besides, it will seem so fresh to cut it foreign fashion, just as it's needed."

The girls were talking in the large wainscoted parlor, and, it is needless to say, made a fascinating picture in their pretty summer toilettes, Mariette all in white, and Laura all in pink, her pink satin ribbons the exact match of her pink cheeks, as with mischievous manner she talked excitedly on. And we made a play of reading; for, instead, we were idly resting in this temptingly cool airy room, and could not help but listen to their gay chatter. So it was we learned that the picnic was to be to-morrow, that the party numbered twenty, an even number of girls and boys, that they were to be driven to their destination in large market-wagons made festive with flags; that each girl was to bring luncheon enough for herself and one of the boys, and that the boys would bring all the necessary outfit for games, such as ropes, archery, grace-hoops, tennis-net, and racquet balls.

The woods were not regular picnic grounds, and therefore the children knew there would be no tables, and as they wanted to do everything correctly and comfortably, they would meet the deficiency by taking their own. Five cutting-tables had been borrowed from their mothers; these would be folded over and put in the bottom of the wagon, and four persons could easily sit at each. The boys would arrange the seats, which, more than likely, would be the wagon seats, built to the requisite height by supporting each end on a pile of stones, or they might find convenient rocks, or take the rails from the post-and-rail fence adjoining. Should they decide on the latter, they would be put in place again when luncheon was over. Milk, lemonade, ice, and even ice-cream were to be carried; for some of the girls were excellent ice-cream-makers, and everybody would get so warm playing games and rushing around continually that ice-cream would be in demand.

That plated spoons, forks, etc., would be used, "so as to save worry," Mariette explained, and that Japanese napkins would do double duty, as they would also serve as table-cloths; besides they were pretty, and really dressed a table, and there was no fuss about their laundering afterwards, and her mother had said, "Maids should be considered as well as mistresses in such warm sultry weather."

All the sandwiches would be neatly wrapped in white tissue or waxed paper, and the thin wooden platters would be far more suitable for picnic purposes than delicate dainty china, as no one would be afraid of chipping them; and, besides, they were so light, "the horses would be glad," Mariette was sure.

"What's the harm of burning them when we are through, and the napkins, for that matter!" was Laura's interjection.

But the more thoughtful Mariette replied, "No harm, if we don't set the woods on fire."

It was thought best to put all the lunches, wraps, etc., in one wagon, and the picnickers would go in the other. Trusty drivers were going with the wagons, and the men were to keep watch all day, and be ready to help in whatever capacity necessity would require.

The atmosphere for the picnic proved perfect, and the girls' laughing sunbrowned faces and tangled curls testified to their having had a jolly day, while the boys' gay raillery, frequent cheers, and fern-trimmed hats showed that they were not left rearward when the fun was going around.

Long before the wagons were in sight the children were heard, for song followed song all the way back, they explained.

"It seems as if I was a boy again," said an old man, as the words "We'll not go home till morning" reached us, just before the wagons came in sight.

And when, with springing feet, the merry girls and boys jumped out, they were all so earnest to tell the story of the day that everybody talked at once. However, we learned that games were their chief sport, and that the rope now taken out of the wagon was first used for the Crown Game:

A girl enters the ring; all the others take firm hold of the rope. No sooner is she in than they skip about her, keeping the rope in motion. As they skip they sing, to the tune of "Auld Lang-syne,"

"Who'll crown our queen, our merry queen,
Who'll crown our queen to-day?
Who'll crown our queen, our merry queen,
Who'll crown our queen to-day?"

When this is sung the children stop skipping just where they are. And at once one of the boys puts his head under the rope, and, standing by the queen, replies, "I will." Then raising a crown of wild flowers, he puts it on her head. No sooner is she crowned than she blindfolds the boy, and another girl enters, thus making two girls in the ring. The game is to "tag" the right girl before the other players count nine. When the boy "tags" the girl, he must at once say whether or not she is the queen, and if he makes a mistake he must remain in the ring and try again. The first girl withdraws, the second girl is crowned queen, and the game is repeated. But should he make no mistake, the boy remains in the ring, is crowned king, and the game goes on, only that two boys are in the ring when a girl is blindfolded.

Another rope game was called the Guess.

Put a rope on the ground in the form of a circle; in the centre put a stone about the size of a duck's egg. The players stand backwards around the rope, with their heels touching it. Each one in turn throws a grace-hoop over his right shoulder, with the hope it will encircle the stone. As soon as the hoop is thrown all may turn and see the position. If the hoop encircles the stone the player may try again and again, until he fails, counting one for each time. Then the party to his right tries, and so on all around the rope. Whoever has the largest count wins the game.

This game is also played facing the stone; it is then no longer a game of guess, but a game of skill.

After the rope games, one of the boys taught a German game called Urbar, which he said was really a play on the word bear.

Every one excepting the boy who was instructor, and who was now known as Bear, twisted and knitted their handkerchiefs. The Bear selected a tree as starting-point, and stated his object would be to tag the others, and that whoever was tagged would become a Bear, and would have to return to the tree, pursued and beaten all the way back with the knotted handkerchiefs. The two Bears then join hands, and starting out, try to tag every one that is possible, and this action is repeated until all the players are Bears. Whenever the chain of Bears is broken, as it sometimes is by an attack from the rear, the Bears again return to the tree.

This game was followed by the Jolly Dinner:

Each girl in succession led a boy to a position to dance a reel.

First girl then said to first boy, "This is my flower to decorate the table," and she gave the boy a flower, which he put in his button-hole.

Second girl to second boy, "This is my flower to decorate the table," and giving him a different flower, he put it in his button-hole.

Third girl to third boy, "You tread clams for dinner," and the boy made the motion of treading for clams.

Fourth girl to fourth boy, "You catch trout for dinner," and the boy made believe he was a fly-fisherman.

Fifth girl to fifth boy, "You get lamb to roast," and the boy called. "Bah! bah!"

Sixth girl to sixth boy, "You get the turkey to roast," and the boy gave the call of a turkey-gobbler.

Seventh girl to seventh boy, "You shoot the duck for roasting," and the boy called, "Quack! quack!"

Eighth girl to eighth boy, "You are my pigeon to bake in a pie," and the boy flapped his arms, in imitation of wings.

Ninth girl to ninth boy, "You are the baker, and must make our cake," and the boy pretended to beat eggs.

Tenth girl to tenth boy, "You are the young man who grinds good coffee," and he acted as if turning the crank of a coffee-mill.

As soon as the tenth boy responded, those who received flowers whistled "Yankee Doodle"; all the others danced a reel, repeating their calls and motions while dancing.

This game caused so much hilarity that one of the boys proposed that childish game and old favorite the Mulberry Bush, and joining hands around a bush, they sang out loud and clear, "Here we go around the mulberry bush so early in the morning." Then they pretended they were sewing, and sang, "This is the way we sew our clothes, so early in the morning." And so on, adding verse after verse.

"So it's no wonder I feel tired now," one of the girls explained, "for, besides these games, we had tennis and archery matches. Indeed, we had nothing but fun all day long."

A COUNTRY BOY'S SOLILOQUY.

BY CLARA LOUISE ANGEL.

When the blackbird twitters blithely on the school-room window-sill,
And I hear the cattle lowing from the pasture on the hill,
When the hollyhocks are peeping through the widely open door,
And the sunshine flickers through the leaves across the school-room
floor,
My truant mind don't seem inclined to work this endless sum:
I'm a-wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days had come.

I long to roam about the fields, to ride on loads of hay.
To pluck the yellow buttercups that grow beside the way,
To hunt for eggs, go berrying, and vault the meadow fence;
But oh! the joy to fill your heart with pleasure most intense:
_To bait your hook beside the brook, where little trout appear!_
How I'm wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days were here!

When the holidays have come at last, like happy golden dreams,
I'll speed away, all blithe and gay, and seek the meadow streams.
Oh, then my mind will be at peace; my hours will be sublime--
Though _now_ I'm groaning over books, but thinkin' all the time
Of little trout that dart about beneath the waters clear,
And a-wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days were here!

HELD CAPTIVE BY SAVAGES.

BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.

Few boys are ever called upon to go through such an experience as fell to the lot of John Jewett, and it is safe to claim that no boy of his age would have shown a braver spirit than he exhibited during his three years' captivity among the savages.

The ship _Boston_, belonging to the port of that name, commanded by Captain John Salter, sailed a good many years ago for a trading voyage to the then little-visited northwest coast of America. The hero of this story had been apprenticed to his father, a shipsmith of Boston, but developing a longing to see the world, obtained his parents' consent to ship as an armorer on board of Captain Salter's vessel. After the usual boisterous Cape Horn passage, the _Boston_ ran into the fine weather of the Pacific, and made a speedy voyage to Nootka Sound, coming to anchor in a sheltered cove close to the principal village on the coast.

As soon as the ship was moored, the King of the country went on board and welcomed Captain Salter warmly, promising that he would bring off for trade many furs, seal-skins, and other articles. The ruler of this section of Nootka Sound was known as King Maquina. He was over six feet in height, powerfully built, and possessed good features; but his face and body were made hideous by being smeared with stripes of white, black, and red paint. His long black hair fairly reeked with oil, and through a hole cut below the under lip a ring of ivory dangled. The dress of this chieftain was composed of a splendid otter-skin cloak reaching to the knees, and a head-dress of various colored feathers. On each arm above the elbow were several circles of copper, and around the ankles were strapped a number of small bells which jingled as he walked. Having been frequently visited by trading captains, he had picked up enough English to make himself understood in that language. Vessels bringing firearms, knives, hatchets, and fancy articles in the way of beads, bells, etc., were sure of carrying away, in exchange, valuable furs and skins. For several days after bartering had commenced the natives continued to bring on board otter and other furs. Large quantities of salmon, duck, and geese were also exchanged for trinkets, which were highly prized by the natives.

About a fortnight after the arrival of the ship it became evident that the Indians had traded their available stock, so preparations were made to leave this part of the coast. It is probable that Captain Salter and the King would have parted in a friendly way had not the former's greed led him to speak disrespectfully to the proud savage. The cause of the trouble was a fowling-piece which Maquina wished to obtain, but for which he was unwilling to pay the price demanded, being nothing less than the elegant cloak that covered his person. Thinking to bring the King to terms, the master told him that he would not deal with him ever again, and ordered him to leave the cabin and quit the ship with all his people. Maquina made no reply to the Captain, but his countenance expressed the rage he felt. Going to the side of the vessel to regain his canoe, he met the boy John, who was at work at his forge near the gangway. The King had taken a great fancy to the young armorer on account of the latter having mended a number of broken implements belonging to the royal collection, as well as having made in his presence a finely shaped tomahawk, with which the admiring chief had been presented. Seeing the fierce looks of the King, John asked him the cause. Maquina explained the trouble, and during the recital frequently clutched his neck and smoothed his breast, explaining that this performance was necessary to keep down his angry heart, which was rising in his throat and choking him.

The following morning, while the mate and a number of the men were on shore filling the water-casks, the King came off to the ship with a present of a fine salmon for the Captain, and appeared to be very cheerful and friendly. Shortly after this a number of canoes paddled alongside, their occupants holding up various things which they offered to trade. One by one, on various pretexts, they climbed over the rail, until there were about fifty of them on the deck. Maquina spoke to John, asking him to fix the lock of his gun, which he said he had broken. Entering the carpenter's work-room to get a screw-driver, John found the door quietly closed upon him, and secured from the outside so that exit was impossible. Almost immediately a frightful warwhoop and the sound of a scuffle on the deck proved that the savages had turned against the crew. At the end of two or three minutes Maquina opened the door and said:

"You, John, no hurt--heap good boy--make plenty spear--come."

As the young armorer held back, not knowing but what it was the intention of the savages to murder him as soon as he should appear, the King added, impatiently:

"What for no come? No hurt you--heap plenty all dead. King him save you make plenty gun--you come."

When John, sick at heart, followed Maquina outside, he saw the natives throwing overboard the mutilated bodies of the crew. Concerning John they had evidently been posted by the chief, for when they caught sight of the boy they patted him on the head and shoulders, and turned the palms of their hands toward him as signs of friendship. John was now directed to enter the King's canoe, which, followed by several others, paddled to that part of the coast, about two miles distant, where a stream of fresh water emptied into the bay, and to which the mate and sailors had gone just after breakfast with the water-casks. It was only when the boats neared the spot that John realized the mission of the painted savages, whose restless eyes swept the length of the beach, while their sinewy arms plied the paddles that drove their boats of bark with surprising quickness over the smooth water. The ship's launch was soon made out hauled up on the white sand, but the crew were nowhere in sight, and it was evident that they were hidden by the bushes that fringed the beach. Before the canoes had effected a landing the mate and his men emerged from the undergrowth, rolling the water-casks in the direction of the boat. Catching sight of the little fleet that now, at a sign from the chief, advanced slowly toward them, the seamen halted suspiciously; but Maquina waved a green branch before him as a token that his errand was one of peace, and the sailors started down to the beach to meet them.

Up to this time John had remained passive, crushed under the recollection of the awful end that had overtaken the Captain and men who had remained on board; but now, resolved to warn his shipmates even at the risk of his life, he jumped to his feet, waved his arms to attract their attention, and was about to cry to them, when a blow from the King's war-club upon the back of his head tumbled him senseless into the bottom of the canoe. When John opened his eyes some time after this, it was to meet Maquina's triumphant gaze, and to hear that individual say:

"How John? Now can make heap noise--no hear--all dead. Maquina he plenty big chief."

When the canoes returned to the village they were met by the entire population, who welcomed them with shouts of joy and war-songs chanted to an accompaniment played on their tomtoms, these instruments consisting of the dry skin of a seal stretched over a hollow shape of wood. Towards John the kindest treatment was shown, but the King explained that he was a slave, and that he must obey his orders and not try to escape, otherwise he would be given to the old women to be tortured. The chief wound up his harangue in this way: "Much good boy John. Maquina plenty big chief--heap friends. John make spear, make gun, make heap plenty all Maquina. No never go way--stay old man--heap good. Ugh!"

Finding that he was free to go about as he pleased, John threw his tired and aching body down under a tree, and surrendered his mind to bitter reflections. Only a few hours before yonder ship had been animated with a happy crew, speculating, as they worked, about the queer presents they proposed to purchase for friends and sweethearts when the ship arrived in the pig-tailed kingdom, for it had been Captain Salter's intention to proceed to China for a cargo of tea after trading with the Indians. Now the only human beings on board the ill-fated _Boston_ were the savages left by the King to guard the great treasure that made Maquina the richest lord among all the chiefs on the northwest coast. Throughout the long afternoon the boy was left alone to nurse his sorrow and despair. He knew that few vessels visited this far-away, uncivilized land, and that years might elapse without offering him a chance of escape from his captors. Mother and father would long wait for his return. Brothers and sisters were likely to grow to manhood and womanhood without seeing the brother they remembered last as a sailor-boy, kissing them good-by beneath the vine-encircled porch of their modest home on the morning when the good ship _Boston_ opened her white wings and glided out of the harbor to the hearty chorusing of the seamen as they pulled upon the ropes.

When evening came, the King, who had been on board the vessel, approached the boy, saying:

"John come--plenty eat--sleep Maquina's tepee. To-morrow make big tomahawk chop off head--Maquina heap big chief."

Whereupon the King took John by the hand and led him to his hut, inside of which the chief's wives had arranged the evening meal. To please the King, poor John made a show of eating; then asked permission to lie down on one of the skins scattered around on the floor, to which request Maquina nodded an assent, and the boy stretched his tired limbs upon the rug, and in spite of his aching head, soon fell asleep. He was awakened by the King prodding him with the handle of his spear. For a few moments the strangeness of his surroundings dazed him, then, with the larger recovery of his faculties, the bitter truth was forced upon him. Choking back a sob, he returned Maquina's salutation, and followed him out of the hut to find that the morning had come and that the village was astir. After breakfast the King told John that he was to accompany him to the ship and bring the forge on shore, explaining his purpose in this way:

"Get iron fire--plenty iron--make heap things--get heap sail--heap things--burn ship so no can find--good--Maquina heap rich--plenty much gun--fight--kill--big chief. Ugh!"

Here he smote his breast, and strutted about in a lordly way until he caught sight of one of his wives taking a drink out of a decanter of rum that had stood on the Captain's table, and which the King had brought on shore as a precious find. Calling her a "peshak," which signifies a very bad woman, Maquina threw his spear at her, with the effect of knocking the bottle from her hand and breaking it on the ground. Forgetting kingly demeanor in his rage, he next hurled his war-club after the screaming woman, narrowly missing her head.

"Squaw bad--much whip," grunted the King, as he surveyed the broken glass and the little pool of liquor fast being absorbed into the earth. For a moment he eyed it wistfully, then got down on his knees and sucked up a mouthful of the spirit, after which he received back his spear and club from an obsequious attendant, rewarding his subject and relieving his own outraged feelings by giving the poor savage a rap across the back that sent him flying from the royal presence.

Upon going on board the _Boston_ the chief entered the cabin to ransack the officers' rooms, and John descended into the hold in order to obtain a number of bars of iron with which to make the spear-heads and the like. While getting them slung for hoisting on deck he heard his name pronounced in a Christian voice, and looking in the direction of the sound, saw the dishevelled sail-maker of the ship. He had been in the 'tweendecks when the massacre occurred, where he had hastened half dressed from his bunk at the time of the attack. In a few words he was made acquainted with the story of the tragedy; then John told him that as everything was to be at once removed from the vessel, his hiding-place would soon be discovered, but that he had a plan by which he hoped to save his life, and for him to conceal himself again while he would go on deck and talk with the King. Entering the officers' quarters, John found the chief had togged himself out in the Captain's clothes and was in excellent humor as he proudly surveyed himself in the looking-glass which encased the mizzenmast where it passed through the cabin. Throwing himself on his knees before the King, John said that he had found his father, the sail-maker, alive, and begged that his life might be spared, claiming that his parent would make a great white house out of the ship's sails, and that this would be so beautiful as to cause all the other chiefs in the land to die of envy. Maquina appeared greatly pleased, and promised that "John's father" should not be harmed. Going on deck he addressed his men, telling them the story, and ordered John to call the sail-maker on deck. The old man made his way up the ladder and kneeled before the Chief, who lifted him up, saying:

"How John's Father? Maquina no kill--make plenty white tepee--make heap canoe sail--heap good. Ugh!"

Several days later, when everything of value to the savages had been carried on shore, the vessel was set on fire. That night on shore in Maquina's tent, dressed in the remnants of some hunter's costume, the sail-maker smoked the pipe of peace with the King, and made his position in the camp as secure as John's.

Maquina's riches soon became known to the tribes on the coast, and several raids were made upon his village by the covetous savages, but in every instance they were repulsed with considerable loss, owing to the muskets with which the chief's followers were armed. John and John's Father, as the sail-maker was known and called, were made much of by the King, and granted many indulgences, but were not allowed to lead idle lives, as the duty of the first was to keep all the guns and other arms in repair, while the other, as sail-maker-in-chief of the King's navy, was obliged to manufacture the sails with which the canoes were fitted. Thus nearly three years passed away, and when they had almost given up hope of escape, the trading brig _Lydia_, of Boston, commanded by Captain Samuel Hill, came to anchor one afternoon in the cove where a few blackened timber-heads sticking out of the sand marked the grave of the stately vessel that had once been moored on its gentle surface. After placing a guard over John and the sail-maker, and forbidding them to move out of their hut, Maquina went off to the brig to trade. Owing to a curiosity that probably cost them their heads before the next sun rose, the two sentinels shortly made their way to the beach in order to look upon the strange ship with whose people their neighbors were carrying on a lively trade, while they were left in the deserted village and deprived of the opportunity of exchanging the skins and furs that they had been saving for so long.

As soon as their guard disappeared the two captives plunged into the woods and made their way around the bend of the cove so as to approach the brig on the opposite side to the village. Waiting under cover until night had fallen, they took to the water and swam off to the ship, where they told their story, and were warmly received by the Captain and crew. A close watch was kept during the night to prevent a possible surprise by the natives, and when morning came the vessel was hauled out of the cove and anchored at some distance from the shore. Shortly after this Maquina's canoe was seen coming out to the ship. When it drew near, the King stood up and eagerly scanned the faces observing him from over the rail. He failed at first to recognize his two former captives, so great a change had been effected in their appearance by the aid of soap, scissors, and civilized dress; but suddenly penetrating this disguise, he burst into tears, stretched his arms out to them, and passionately cried:

"How John? How John's Father? No go away--come back Maquina!"

John answered the chief, telling him that he would never see them again; that he and his father thanked him for saving their lives and treating them kindly, but that Captain Hill was so enraged with him for killing the white men that if he came near the ship he would be shot. Whereupon the King beat his breast, threw his cloak over his head as a sign of grief, and was paddled back to shore.

Fearing to remain in this place lest Maquina might make a desperate effort to recover his lost slaves, and having completed his cargo, the Captain made sail during the day, and by nightfall was out of sight of land, the good ship _Lydia_ sweeping over the long Pacific swells as though realizing that she was on her journey home. Some months later the anchor that had last rested on the white sand of Nootka Sound was dropped off the long wharf in Boston Harbor, and an hour later our young hero was folded in loving arms, while the father and mother offered up their thanksgivings for their boy who had been lost but was found again.

St. Paul's School, Concord, is one of the few preparatory institutions in this country, if not the only one, that has a fully organized golf club and regularly established links. When the links was laid out in 1894 it was considered one of the best in the country, but since that time such an advance has been made, and so much interest has been taken in the game all over the United States, that the St. Paul's course cannot now boast such prominence. Nevertheless it is a fine course, and as the game is very popular at St. Paul's, improvements are constantly being made, and the grounds keep getting better and better.

The St. Paul's Golf Club was formed a little over two years ago, and it was made the club president's duty to have the greens cut and rolled when they need it by the men who regularly look after the other athletic fields of the school. The membership fee is two dollars a year, and an orphan asylum near by furnishes caddies. A ticket is given to each boy for every round of one person, two tickets for two persons, and so on, and these tickets are redeemed at five cents each about once a month.

The links is a good three miles in length. The start is from a slight incline, and over a smooth field having a fence, a road, and tall bushes to the right, with a free meadow to the left, and, at a distance of a fair drive, a ditch bordered by tall willows.

Teeing-ground at the start, looking towards the course.]

This lay of the land makes it necessary for the player to adopt one of two plans when he starts. He must either make a fine drive right over the willows, and land in the meadow which lies between the teeing-ground and the first hole, or he must make a careful drive so as to place the ball on the hither side of the bushes, and then loft it over them with an iron. If the ball drops in a favorable position, however, the player may use his brassey with advantage, and drive through a gap that exists in the underbrush. This move will generally save him a stroke over the iron play. If he uses the iron, and arrives safely on the ground beyond, a good cleek shot will land him on or near the green. If he used the brassey and went through the willows at the ditch, a mashie shot should put him in position for a putt.

In all plays for the first hole the fence as well as the road and the bushes on the right must be avoided. Within sixty feet of the tee for the second hole there is a ditch, and beyond it a slight hill, and after that a level clear stretch to the second hole, just behind which is a fine woods. Careful driving is therefore required to avoid going into the ditch or hitting the hill, and many of the novices find they need to give good care to their lofting to save themselves from jumping into the woods.

Looking back from the middle links; course is around the fence on the left.]

From the second to the third hole it is perfectly plain sailing, an even, smooth meadow with a slight downward inclination. This part of the course is so good that it has frequently been made in one drive. Between the tee for the fourth hole and the hole itself there is a potato patch surrounded by a fence, and, as every man who plays golf knows, a potato patch is a very unpleasant hazard. But to the careful driver its terrors in this case may be greatly reduced, for a good strong drive will put you out of all danger. The putting green, however, is on a slight elevation with woods behind it, so that considerable care is required when dropping the ball upon it with a mashie stroke.