Chapter VIII: Cliff Castle and Its Occupants (1)

"Oh, sir," cried Todd, "I am indeed grateful to you for all your kindness to me!"

"And I," replied the old gentleman, "am more than pleased to see thee so evidently restored to health. At the same time I sincerely welcome thee to the Valley of Peace, which, with all it contains, is at thy service. May I introduce myself as Rufus Plant, at one time professor of ethnology in Calvert College, but now and for many years resident of this valley?"

"Calvert College, did you say, sir? Why, that is the college where my brother Mortimer Chalmers is professor of geology, and the one that I am to enter next fall. It seems to me, too, that I have heard your name before. Wasn't there something strange about your dis-- I mean, I thought you were killed by Indians."

"Doubtless that was the report, and it might well be credited," replied the Professor. "But tell me, lad, is thy name Chalmers?"

"Yes, sir--Todd Chalmers, of Baltimore."

"Can it be that thee is a relative of my old friend Carey Chalmers?"

"He was my father."

"The Lord be praised for all His mercies!" exclaimed the other. "Why, lad, if thee was a messenger from Heaven thy presence could not be more welcome to an old man cut off these many years from intercourse with his fellows. But thee must be sorely in need of refreshment, and it would be wrong to keep thee longer from her who waits anxiously to welcome thee. Therefore let us hasten to the castle, if indeed thee is strong enough for so arduous a climb."

Todd quickly proved that he was now fully equal to the task that he had so nearly accomplished the evening before, and a few minutes later, filled with an eager curiosity, he stood with his new friends on a broad shelf of rock a hundred feet above the valley. It was bordered along its outer edge by a low parapet, and was partially overhung by the cliff that still rose above it. At its inner end was a veritable house of stone, having a door and windows, just outside of which stood one of the dearest of old ladies, clad in Quaker costume.

The boy knew at a glance that she who welcomed him must be the one whom his new acquaintances spoke of so lovingly as "mother"; but more than ever did he wonder at the strangeness of her surroundings, and long for an explanation of the many things that were puzzling him. A thousand questions were at his tongue's end; but he could not ask them then, for the dear old lady at once led the way into the house, saying:

"Not another moment shall thee be kept from thy breakfast, Todd Chalmers; for starvation is one of the things not permitted in Cliff Castle, and hunger is written on thy face."

Never had Todd entered so queer an abode, nor one so filled with curious objects, as when he passed the doorway of that little dwelling. Its low roof was not more than two feet above his head, and its interior walls of white clay were covered with rude drawings in color that strongly suggested the work of ancient Egyptians. The stone floor was covered with rugs of goat and deer skins; several articles of rude furniture, besides blocks of jasper and agate used as seats, were conveniently placed, while great earthen-ware jars, quaint in shape and beautifully decorated in colors, stood on all sides. In one corner was a rude fireplace, which was evidently used only to furnish warmth, as Todd had already noticed another, provided with appliances for cooking, on the outer platform.

Best of all, in our hungry lad's estimation, was a table covered with a snowy cloth and laden with food. Nearly all its furnishing--including bowls, platters, jugs, and small dishes--was of earthen-ware quaintly devised and ornamented. There were also several steel knives and forks, half a dozen silver spoons, three white china cups, and as many saucers.

Served on these queer dishes was a breakfast of broiled chicken, oatmeal, corn-bread, and another bread made from grass-seeds, eggs, and stewed peaches, besides small white cheeses, and a jug of goat's milk, all of which combined to make a meal that seemed to Todd better than any he had ever before tasted. It made him pity himself to recall how, only the day before, he had been very nearly starved actually within sight and reach of all this abundance.

When his hunger was at length satisfied, the boy related his adventures of the past few days, describing his wanderings on the desert, his efforts to reach the blue peaks that ever beckoned him forward, his finding of the valley, his perplexity at discerning signs of human occupancy but no inhabitants, his joy at seeing the smoke from Cliff Castle, his fruitless attempt to reach the place from which it ascended, and his doubts as to the kind of reception he might meet from its occupants.

To all this the lad's hearers listened with deepest interest, frequently interrupting him with questions and exclamations. When he had finished he turned to the Professor, saying:

"Now, sir, that you have learned how I happen to be in this place, will you not tell me of your own experience in reaching it, and your reason for remaining here all these years?"

"Gladly will I gratify thy most natural curiosity," replied the old man, "but I must ask thee to wait until evening; for the narrative is of such length that it cannot be told until our affairs are ordered for the day. Therefore, let us first return thanks to our Heavenly Father for His abounding mercies, and then attend to the duties awaiting us."

With this the old man led the way to the outer platform, to which Nanahe fetched a small Bible, that was the only book the Indian lad had ever seen, and from which he read aloud, without hesitation, the exquisite Twenty-third Psalm. While he read, Todd gazed over the underlying valley, and wondered that its every feature should appear so familiar to him. Suddenly he recalled the mirage that three days before had first turned his steps in this direction, and knew that the picture then presented was an image of the one upon which he now looked.

After the simple service was ended the Professor and Nanahe descended into the valley, carrying with them the fowls that had been brought to the castle for safety during their two days' absence. The old lady busied herself with domestic duties, and Todd found himself at liberty to explore the quaint little house, which, his hostess informed him, was only one of many, long since abandoned by their builders, that were to be found among the cliffs enclosing the valley.

"Thee must have read of the ancient cliff-dwellers of this region," she said, "and so will understand when I tell thee that this place of abode and most of its contents were made by their hands, and that we are to-day leading the very life of that long-vanished people."

"But what became of them?" asked Todd.

"That is a mystery that many persons have tried in vain to solve. My husband is of the opinion that they were forced to migrate, either by flood or drouth, but expected to return, since they left their most valued possessions behind them, and carefully concealed the only entrance to the valley. Had they been destroyed by an enemy, their possessions would also have been destroyed or removed, whereas nothing had been touched from the day they left, probably hundreds of years ago, until that on which we were led to this place, and it was given to us for a house."

"It was very wonderful," said Todd; "but the strangest part of all is to find you and your husband and a young Indian living here so contentedly and comfortably. I can't understand it all, and wish you would tell me how it came about."

"Have a little patience and it shall be made clear to thee," replied the old lady, with a smile. "It is a tale of strange experiences, and I would gladly relate it, but I know the Professor has set his heart on telling it himself."

So Todd was forced to wait, and passed the morning in an examination of the dwelling and its contents. Later in the day he descended to the valley, where at the hut he found Nanahe cutting into thin strips, for drying, the meat of a deer that he had just brought in.

"How did you kill it?" asked Todd. "I didn't know you had a rifle."

"I have not, nor did I ever see one," replied the Indian lad. "I killed it with my throw-stick."

"Throw-stick?" repeated Todd, with a puzzled air. "What is a throw-stick?"

For answer Nanahe handed him a stick of tough wood two feet long, about as many inches in diameter, and fitted at one end with a handle in which were two finger-holes. The weapon was completed by a slender lance having a barbed head formed from a splinter of obsidian, keen-edged as a razor. Nanahe laid this lance on a flattened side of the throw-stick, with its butt resting against a bit of bone that was embedded in the wood near the upper end of the weapon. The lance was held in position by the thumb and one free finger of the thrower's right hand until the act of throwing was begun. Then it was released and sent whizzing through the air with such force that it fell to the ground more than one hundred yards away.

"Now I understand," cried Todd, "for I have often thrown apples from the end of a stick in just that way. But surely you can't throw the lance with any degree of accuracy."

Without replying, Nanahe smilingly selected half a dozen of the stone-headed shafts, and hurling one after another with inconceivable quickness at a tree some thirty yards from him, set them quivering in its bark so close together that a ring two inches in diameter would have encircled them all.

"Good enough!" cried Todd, enthusiastically. "I give in, and acknowledge that your throw-stick is a wonderfully effective weapon. But where did you pick up the idea?"

"The Professor found some of them in the cliff houses," answered Nanahe. "He says that in very ancient times all hunters used them, and that even now they are common among people called Eskimos who live in a far-away land of ice and snow. He taught me how to use them, and this one I made myself."

"Well," said Todd, "I begin to see how people get along and manage to live comfortably in a place like this; but it certainly takes genius to do it. As for myself, I know I should have starved long before I learned to kill a deer or even a rabbit with any such primitive weapon as a throw-stick. Now let's get back to the castle, for it must be supper-time, and after that I am to hear the Professor's strange story."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

It was a crisp morning in late October. All the land was sere and yellow, darkening away into brown shadows. The trees kept their garments of leaves, but these were ragged and sombre, as if the heat of summer had worn and burned them. The grass at the foot of the trees was brown and gray, and the bare branches of the field bushes made naked perches for belated birds. The sky was wan and faint near the rigid horizon, but deeply blue in the zenith; and the sun, far down the southern vault of the heavens, rolled westward in a glory of silver. The sea was of a gorgeous ultramarine color, with a dash of royal purple in its shadows, and a glitter of cold emerald in its transparent crests. A light nor'west wind barely ruffled its surface, yet sufficed to fill the sails of a score of schooners which were ploughing a snowy road to the southward.

Henry and George felt that it was a good day for yarns, and so they hurried out of the house immediately after breakfast and bent their steps toward the pier. There they saw their old friend in his familiar attitude, with his eyes fixed on two steamers which were rapidly approaching each other from opposite directions. He did not turn his head as the boys approached him, but said, in a meditative manner,

"It are not no sort o' kind o' use fur to try to git past without shiftin' yer helm."

Then he relapsed into silence, while the two boys stood wondering what was coming next. Presently the Old Sailor broke out again,

"Do ye see them two steamers?"

"Yes," answered both boys.

"Waal, they are agoin' fur to pass putty close."

At that instant a gush of white steam rose from one of them, and the hoarse cry of her whistle rumbled across the water. The other vessel answered with a single blast.

"An' wot do that mean?" asked the Old Sailor.

"That means," answered Henry, "that they are going to port their helms and keep off to starboard."

"Werry good, too," declared the Old Sailor. "An' ef they didn't, wot'd happen?"

"They would bump into each other," answered George, soberly.

"W'ich the same it'd be a colligion," said the Old Sailor, "an' mebbe it would be like the colligion o' the _Lord Kindlin'wood_ an' the _Orange Mary_, an' mebbe it wouldn't, 'cos w'y, I don't reckon there ever were no sich colligion afore, an' I don't reckon as how there ever will be agin."

"Will you please tell us about it?" asked Henry.

"In course I will, my son. W'enever I recomembers one o' them picooliar misfortins wot has happened to me at sea, I allus tells ye about it, don't I?"

The Old Sailor fixed his eyes on the two steamers, which were now passing each other very closely, and shook his head.

"It are all werry putty in clear an' calm weather," he said; "but it ain't no good wotever in weather wot are dirty. Waal may I never live to see a ship's cook at the fore-sheet ag'in ef it weren't jess like I'm agoin' fur to tell ye. I were in Liverpool an' didn't have no berth at all, so I were more'n half tickled to death w'en I met old Jonas Pettigrew, the shippin' agent, an' he sez to me, sez he, 'They 'ain't got no mate on the _Lord Kindlin'wood_ yet.' I'd heerd about her. She were bound fur Calcutta an' Hong-kong by way o' the Suez Canal, an' her Cap'n were a Frenchman, 'cos she'd jess been bought by a French company in Canton. So I went down to the dock where she were a-takin' in her cargo, an' I sez to the Cap'n, sez I, 'Here are a mate fur ye.' His name were Zhan Four--anyhow, that's as near as I can come to wot he called hisself. 'Ala bonner,' sez he to me, sez he, w'ich the same it are French fur 'Bully fur you.' We soon come to tarms, an' I turned to.

"Waal, we didn't have no incidents or accidents o' no kind at all on the run down to Alexandry. Then the wind come in from the south'ard an' east'ard an' blowed putty nigh straight up the sea. I don't remember any nastier sea than it kicked up. The _Lord Kindlin'wood_ would stand straight up on her starn-post, an' then take a pitch forrad and go clean into it up to her foremast. We had double lookouts up in the crow-nest, an' they was under water so much o' the time that they hollered fur divin'-suits.

"Waal, it blowed an' it blowed an' it blowed. It blowed so hard on the second day that it cut the tops right off'n the seas, an' sent 'em flyin' along like buckets o' rain, an' blow me fur pickled oysters ef ye could stand with your face up to wind'ard.

"Howsumever, we got used to it arter a while, an' the cook took to singin', so we knowed we was all right. But along about the middle o' the fust dog-watch one o' the lookouts yelled, 'Steamer ho!' I jumped into the fore-riggin' an' seed the wessel dead ahead o' us. She were a steamer about our own size, bound to the north'ard. She were runnin' at full speed ahead o' the gale, an' were drivin' along like the werry tops o' them seas wot I told ye about. Only she were actin' a little different from the _Lord Kindlin'wood_, 'cos w'y, she were a runnin' with the seas. So w'en one o' them would roll in under her starn she would h'ist her taffrail up into the air, an' plough forrad with her head down for all the world like a mad bull. Then the sea would underrun her an' git under her bow, an' she'd sit up on her starn-post with her bow p'inted away up in the air, an' like the werry tops o' them seas wot I told ye about. That were all right, but wot discomforted me w'en I saw her were that she were a-headin' right dead on end at us. Now we didn't dare fur to shift the _Lord Kindlin'wood_'s helm an inch. We had to keep her head to the seas, 'cos w'y, it were the only way she'd lay to an' behave herself. The other wessel I sort o' reckoned, bein' about our size, would be in danger o' broachin' to ef she shifted her helm. So I were somewhat anxious 'bout how the two on 'em was agoin' fur to git past each other. I sent a man aft to call the Cap'n, an' he came on the bridge an' danced a reg'lar jig. 'Ef she turn not away she will make to the bow a bump!'

"'Wot is the orders, Cap'n?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'Blow the wheestle! Blow the wheestle!' sez he to me, sez he. An' accordin'ly I blowed it once, signifying accordin' to the rules o' the road at sea, that we were puffickly agreeable that both parties should keep to the right. The other ship she blowed hers back at us. O' course we couldn't hear nothin', but we could see the steam, an' we knowed she were agreeable. But she didn't change her course a little bit.

"'Dogs an' cats an' little kittens!' sez Cap'n Zhan Four, in French. 'Ef he change not the course, we are collided.'

"'Shall I order the helm to be shifted, Cap'n?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'Non! non! All the time non!' sez he to me, sez he. 'I turn not out of my path for such rubbeesh! I hit him in the meeddle, the miserable shadow of a dead horse!'

"'Werry good, sir,' sez I to he, sez I.

"An' I sez to the man at the wheel, 'keep 'er steady.' The other wessel, seein' we didn't change our course, blowed her whistle several times, but o' course that didn't 'nay pa riang,' as the Cap'n sez. Waal, to make the story short, this are edzackly wot happened. The _Lord Kindlin'wood_ riz up over one o' them flat-topped seas, an' plunged head fust down the other side. At the werry same instant the stranger were sittin' up on her taffrail gittin' ready to dive down; an' consequentially we 'n the two ships come together precisely an' direckly head on, the stranger's bow overrun ours, an' she came down with her forefoot right on top o' our fo'c's'le deck. There were one grand crash, an' fur half a minute ye couldn't see nothin' 'cept flyin' timbers, iron, egg-shells, an' ham bones. In the middle of it all ye could hear the Cap'n screechin' in French, an' the two whistles a-blowin', an' the mates yellin' to clear away the boat-falls, 'cos w'y, it were not to be expected that both wessels would do anything 'ceptin' go to Davy Jones's locker in about five minutes. But they didn't, an' that are the picooliar part o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, an' also the werry partikler reason w'y I are not a-feedin' Red Sea fish like Pharaoh's army.

"It warn't no sort o' proper behavior fur wessels wot, accordin' to the laws o' colligions, ort to gone to the bottom; but sich as it were, this were the bloomin' ridiklous way on't. The stranger's bow comin' down right on top o' ourn cut through the decks jess like a axe, straight down to the k'elson. An' there it stopped, bein' wedged in jess like the axe in a log, an' a dozen tugs couldn't 'a' pulled her out. An' wot we found out arter a few minutes, w'en we'd all got through bein' crazy, were that she were wedged in so tight that there weren't a leak anywhere at all, an' them two ships was actooally made into one, 'ceptin' that it were a new kind o' wessel with two starns, an' no more bow than a bass-drum. The Cap'n o' the stranger he comes forrad on a run an' a jump, and w'en he got to the place w'ere our cat-heads was alongside o' his he stopped, an' sez he, bawlin' like Feejee Injun in a fit o' cholery:

"'Donner unt blitzen! vot kind o' peezness vas dot? Vere ist der Gept'n?'

"Ye see, we l'arned by his way o' talkin' that he were a bloomin' Garman, an' I looked to see some fun w'en Cap'n Zhan Four an' him got laid yard-arm to yard-arm. But they couldn't edzackly do that, 'cos w'y, 'cos they was laid bow to bow, like a couple o' buckin' billy-goats in a fight. As soon as ever Cap'n Zhan Four heard the Garman Cap'n talk he jumped clean down off'n the bridge to the fo'c's'le deck an' danced on one foot, while he yelled:

"'Singe cornay of a Allemand!'--w'ich means dog-eared monkey of a Garman, an' are not no perlite way fur one gen'leman to address another at sea--'why do you make to knock a hole in my sheep?'

"'Ach, du dummer aysel!' sez the Garman, sez he; 'wot for you ton't ged your sheep out der vay?'

"'My sheep makes not to be in the way,' sez Cap'n Zhan Four, sez he; 'it is your sheep that comes straight at mine an' runs upon her, unessy pa?'

"'Donnerwetter!' sez the Garman, 'how could I dot help? I vas before der seas, unt you vas behint. Das macht nichts aus!'

"'Silonce!' screeched Cap'n Zhan Four. 'Speak not the accursed tongue of Garmany at me!'

"'Sprechen sie nicht dot frog talk at me!' howls the Garman. 'I speak der lankwitch von my vaterland alvays!'

"'Hoist the French flag!' sez Cap'n Four.

"'Up mit der Garman flag!" sez the Garman.

"An' as soon as the flags was run up them two crazy critters commenced fur to dance up an' down their two forrad decks right in each other's faces, one on 'em singin' the 'Marseillaise,' an' the other 'Die Wacht am Rhein,' like they was fit to bu'st theirselves. An' in the mean time, o' course, the two bloomin' ships, jammed together, slewed around broadside on to the sea, an' a big wall o' green water broke aboard an' putty nigh swept the two on 'em overboard. Anyhow, it put a stop to their singin', an' sot 'em a-thinkin' about their 'sheeps,' as they called 'em.

"'Back out you!' yelled Cap'n Zhan Four.

"'Nicht!' shouted the Garman. 'Ich back for no Frenchman alretty yet! Back you!'

"'Jammy! Jammy!' screeched Cap'n Four, an' 'jammy' it were, only that are French fur 'not on yer life!'

"'I go aheat full speet!' sez the Garman.

"'Ay maw,' sez Cap'n Four, w'ich the same that are French fur 'me too.' An' then them two wild men o' the sea orders their engines ahead full speed, an' the two ships commenced a grand pushin' match, fur all the world like one o' them there feet-ball games wot the long-haired collidge fellers plays in the mud every autumn. Now this 'ere shovin' game were a putty even match atwixt them there two ships, 'ceptin' fur one thing, an' that were that the Garman had the wind an' sea with him. So he commenced fur to push the _Lord Kindlin'wood_ back'ards up north'ard toward the canal agin. Waal, boys, I reckon ye've seed a good many mad men, but ye 'ain't never seed none half or quarter as mad as that there French Cap'n Zhan Four. He said more funny things in French than ever I kin recomember, an' he got so red in the face that he putty near busted hisself. Howsumever, it didn't do no good, 'cos w'y, the Garman had the best on't in the matter o' the elements, an' he were steadily a-shovin' of us back to w'ere we come from, w'en the gale broke, an' the sea beginned fur to go down. The barometer riz, an' I looked fur a smart shift o' wind, w'ich the same it come along all right about three bells in the arternoon watch o' the second day. It dropped right around to nor'west, an' in ten minutes were blowin' a brisk breeze.

"'Sacred name of St. Michael!' sez Cap'n Zhan Four, sez he, 'now I push the Garman to the south pole!'

"'I hope ye ain't agoin' az fur as that,' sez I, ''cos I shipped fur Calcutta an' Hong-kong, an' I 'ain't got my seal-skin overcoat along with me,' sez I, jess like that, him bein' a crazy French Cap'n and me a werry partiklarly sane American mate.

"'I push him anywhere I want to!' sez Cap'n Zhan Four.

"An' he orders more fire an' more steam. An' putty soon we found that we'd stopped goin' back'ard an' was a-holdin' the Garman in his place. But we couldn't make him go back'ard fast enough fur to suit Cap'n Zhan Four. So seein' the wind were putty fresh, I sez to the Cap'n, sez I,

"'Wot's the reason we don't set all our canvas?'

"'Excellentment!' sez he, w'ich are French fur 'bully,' an' I jumps out an' gives the orders.

"Waal, boys, jess as soon as we got the canvas on her we commenced fur to push the Garman back'ard, an' he commenced fur to do the dancin' an' howlin'; but it didn't do him no good. He heaped coal onto his fires an' he burnt oil an' ham fat, but he couldn't hold us. We shoved him all the way down the Red Sea an' out into the Indian Ocean. Then he got his men forrad an' tried to cut his ship out o' ours, but Cap'n Zhan Four ordered the hose turned on 'em with hot water, an' that stopped that job. Finally, the Garman Cap'n, he come forrad with a flag o' truce, an' sez he'd like to make a treaty o' peace atwixt Garmany an' France on the high seas. So him an' Cap'n Zhan Four had a long talk, an' finally they agreed that they'd make fur the nearest port, each one agreein' to be pushed back'ards half-way an' to keep his engines agoin' reversed to help things along. An' so we finally reached the island o' Socotra, w'ere we contrived to get the ships apart an' patch ours up fur the run to Bombay."

TWO LEADERS OF THE GREEK REVOLUTION.

BY V. GRIBAYEDOFF.

Greece's active championship of the cause of the Cretan revolutionists, in the face of the opposition of the combined powers of Europe, recalls that plucky little nation's fierce struggle for her own independence from Turkish rule during the early portion of the present century. Indeed, as Prince George started for Cretan waters the other day with his flotilla of torpedo-boats, almost the last words Prime-Minister Delyannis said to him were:

"May the spirit of the great Canaris hover over your Highness and your brave men, inspiring you to maintain nobly the traditions of the Hellenic navy!"

Here is probably what Delyannis had in mind: The Greece of to-day lacks the larger vessels of war fully as much as did the Greece of 1820, but at that earlier period she possessed a formidable weapon in the dreaded fire-ship, and under Canaris's lead the enemy's naval power was almost destroyed by this primitive method of attack. The fire-ship of the past has been supplanted by the torpedo-boat of the present, an engine of war calling into play almost the same qualities as its predecessor--pluck, skill, dash, and rapidity in handling. And Delyannis was therefore anticipating that the deeds of the early part of the century would be repeated at its close in a mode of warfare for which his countrymen are both by nature and temperament eminently fitted.

The story of Greece's struggle for independence both by land and by sea has formed the subject of many volumes of prose and verse. But among all the heroes of those stirring times there are two whose names will live on the roll of fame--Constantine Canaris, the fearless and enterprising sailor, and Marco Botzaris, the guerilla chieftain.

Let us begin with Canaris, whose achievements were the greater by reason of his surviving all the manifold dangers of this most cruel of wars; Botzaris, on the other hand, succumbed to a Turkish bullet long before Greece was liberated. Let the reader glance at a map of the Grecian Archipelago, and among its numerous islands he will find one named Ipsara, about midway between the mainland of Greece and the coast of Asia Minor. It was on this barren and desolate stretch of rock that Constantine Canaris was born at the close of the last century. Until the war of independence broke out in 1821 he pursued the humble calling of fisherman, but at the outbreak of the revolution he abandoned everything to espouse the cause of his country. His wife, an ardent patriot herself, and the mother of three children, whom she had proudly named Nicolas, Lycurgus, and Miltiades, in honor of the past glories of Greece, urged her husband on in his resolve.

And so Canaris went to the front. He was destined soon to be heard from. The fighting at the commencement of the war was confined to the Greek mainland, especially the Morea, or ancient Peloponnesus; but the bad condition of the roads throughout Rumelia obliged the Sultan to send his re-enforcements by water through the historic Dardanelles. The fishermen fighters of the archipelago felt that here was their opportunity. The inhabitants of the three islands of Samos, Ipsara, and Hydra equipped a flotilla, and started out to intercept the oppressor. Now inasmuch as the Turks possessed double-deckers and frigates carrying an untold weight of metal as against the light and poorly armed craft of the Greeks, it was not to be supposed that the latter would venture on a struggle at close quarters. The lessons of the past were there to teach them that their sole hope of salvation lay in the skilful use of the fire-ship, and they adopted this system of warfare with one accord. It required a high order of seamanship to carry it on with success and a thorough knowledge of the actions of the tide and wind, for a slight miscalculation not only involved a failure of the enterprise, but the almost certain destruction of the aggressor.

There were various modes of attack. As a usual thing, an ordinary fishing sloop or schooner, filled with combustible material--tar, pitch, oil, sulphur, etc.--and navigated by half a dozen fearless patriots, would be directed at dusk against the enemy's ships lying at anchor. When the messenger of destruction arrived within a few hundred yards of the intended victim, the temporary crew applied the torch to tapers placed at intervals among the combustibles in the hold, and then lowered themselves into a small boat to row off to a safe distance. Carried by the wind and current, the fire-ship stole on in the darkness, the fire having in the mean while taken hold in good earnest. On, on it went into the midst of the Mussulman's ships of war, the flames now darting from its sides in huge tongues, sparing naught upon its path. Panic-stricken and forgetful of all discipline, the Turk became a ready victim to the avenger. His first thought was to cut his cables, but this measure made matters worse, inasmuch as the big ships, once loose from their moorings, usually collided with one another, and rendered their own destruction only the more certain.

The scenes that followed the incursion of the flaming avenger beggared all description. It became a choice between a fiery and a watery death, for the unfortunates who had survived the explosions of the powder-magazines, and even those who hoped to reach shore by swimming, were doomed to destruction at the hands of the vindictive patriots hovering near in small boats. For it must be remembered that this was a war to the knife on both sides, in which quarter was neither asked nor given.

But to return to Canaris. His first naval success was obtained under the orders of a man whose name is venerated as one of the greatest heroes of the war of independence, Admiral Andrea Miaulis, after whom one of the Greek war-ships now on service in Cretan waters is named--the _Navarchos Miaulis_.

The Sultan was sending an army to besiege Missolonghi on the Gulf of Corinth, and his mighty fleet had covered about half the journey between Constantinople and that stronghold when it sighted a Greek squadron off the island of Lesbos. Miaulis had a comparatively strong force at his command and was tempted to try conclusions with the foe at close quarters, but Canaris, with greater long-sightedness, realized that his countrymen could ill afford to assume so great a risk, and although a mere subordinate, entreated the Admiral, on his bended knees, to be allowed to first attack the Turks with a few fire-ships. Miaulis had given the signal to clear the decks for action, and at first resented the interference.

"Your Excellency has but one fleet, and the Sultan has a dozen," persisted Canaris. "Our deaths will not atone to our country for the consequences of our defeat and destruction!"

The veteran fighter soon caught the drift of the younger man's argument.

"So let it be," he exclaimed. "_Zito Hellas!_" (Long live Greece!) And muttering an invocation to his patron saint, he ordered Canaris to proceed with his plan.

Within one hour after this interview the hardy Ipsara fisherman succeeded in setting fire to the Turkish Admiral's flag-ship, three frigates, and five sloops, and forced the rest of the enemy's fleet to seek shelter under the guns of the Dardanelles forts. The loss of the Turks in men exceeded 1000; that of the Greeks was but fifteen killed and wounded.

Victorious at sea, the Greeks were at this period almost uniformly defeated on land. Fifteen thousand patriots were massacred at Patras in Morea, and many more at Salonica. The second year of the revolution witnessed the most terrible events. In order to punish the inhabitants of Scio, off the coast of Asia Minor, for sundry acts of rebellion, the Sultan sent a powerful armament to that devoted island, and in the course of a few days it was entirely depopulated. Of its 85,000 inhabitants only 15,000 escaped to the mainland; the rest were either put to the sword or carried away into captivity. But vengeance for this savage act was close at hand. Miaulis, Canaris, and another hero, George Pepinis, overtook the Sultan's vessels as they were heading for the Dardanelles. Miaulis, who had usually prohibited his men from indulging in excesses, issued the watchword "Remember Scio!" which meant no quarter under any circumstances. In the battle that followed, every known method and weapon of naval warfare was brought into play--fire-ships, grappling-irons, carronades, chain-shot, boarding assaults, and so forth--and when finally the smoke cleared at dusk, the Greeks found that they had destroyed six Turkish ships of the line, ten frigates, and twelve brigs, out of a total of fifty sail.

Canaris himself was wounded, and, indeed, owed his life to a miracle. He had selected the Turkish flag-ship as his especial prey, and steered a large brigantine filled with pine shavings and sulphur in her direction. When within a few hundred yards of the foe he started the conflagration below, and then made his way to the stern, intending to jump into a small boat behind. But in some way the boat had become detached, and was nowhere visible; the sulphurous flames were beginning to shoot up from the hold, and the bullets from the Turkish small-arms were whizzing in uncomfortable proximity. There was danger indeed, and increasing every moment at that, as the wind and current drove the vessel wildly on. There was nothing for it but to jump overboard and swim for dear life. But, though expert swimmers, Canaris and his five subordinates were not proof against leaden balls, and one after the other the poor fellows sank, until only the leader remained. Even he was struck after a while, and began to lose blood rapidly. Just as he was about abandoning hope, none of the Greek ships being near, a terrific explosion rent the air and convulsed the waters, and when the sinking man's head arose to the surface for the last time, as he thought, there, within arm's-reach, was floating the large figure-head of the Turkish Admiral's vessel. The fire-ship had done its work. It had blown up 500 Mussulmans, and by this very act had saved the life of Greece's naval hero.

Canaris's exploits now became the subject of general attention, and his name also grew to be a by-word among the Turks. The very suspicion of his being near caused the Turkish Admiral, who had been sent to relieve the fortress of Napoli di Romania, besieged by General Kolokotronis, to sail away without accomplishing his purpose. Still this act of prudence did not save him in the end, for Canaris followed the Turkish fleet to the bay of Tenedos, and there made sad havoc among the large double-deckers, blowing them one after the other out of the water. The Turks on this occasion added to the disaster by cutting their cables and running foul of one another.

The following year, 1823, Canaris drove back into the Dardanelles another Turkish fleet that had been sent from Constantinople to re-enforce the beleaguering army of Missolonghi, a proceeding that exasperated the Sultan to the point of vowing vengeance against the irrepressible Giaour. The Sultan kept his word. The year 1824 saw the accession to Turkey's fighting forces of the entire military and naval resources of the vassal state of Egypt. The Khedive placed a large army and navy, commanded by his adopted son, Ibrahim Pasha, at the Sultan's disposal. The campaign therefore began with an expedition against the Greeks, numbering 100,000 men and a fleet of 80 war-vessels. This mighty armament was first directed against the islands of Spezzia and Ispara, the latter, as stated, being Canaris's home. At the approach of the Turks a council of war was summoned at Ispara by the local dignitaries.

"Give me five fire-ships," exclaimed Canaris, "and I will stand for your safety, and that of your wives and children!"

But, as in all communities, there were here some politicians and wise-acres to be reckoned with who had never fought themselves, but who would have been perfectly willing to give Napoleon himself points on strategy. Canaris's plan was overruled by these men, and it was decided to await the enemy on shore. The result of this decision was the capture and devastation of the island, including a massacre of all the males above tender age. Canaris escaped by swimming to a boat. He had already gotten his family safely out of the way on hearing the announcement of the council's absurd plan of campaign.

It is unnecessary to say that the brave Ipsariot fully avenged the cruel wrong done to his native isle. A few months later he fell upon an Egyptian fleet of forty sail, laden with provisions and munitions of war, and destroyed almost half their number. What remained of the Turco-Egyptian men-of-war after all these reverses was burned or sent to the bottom in February, 1827, by the allied fleets of England, France, and Russia at the memorable battle of Navarino. Canaris not only experienced the satisfaction of witnessing this event, but he also lived to see his country free and independent.

Marco Botzaris, the most picturesque military hero of the Greek war of independence, was a native of Souli, a famous mountain stronghold in Epirus, which for centuries has produced a race of fighting-men. The Souliotes indeed were justly considered the flower of the Greek revolutionary army. Attired in a costume resplendent with gold lace, gilt buttons, snow-white linen of superior quality, and other finery, they made an imposing array on dress parade or on the march. An American traveller named Emerson, who visited the theatre of the war in 1821, says of them, "I have seen the noble grenadiers of Napoleon, and I have known the superb English guards, but the Souliotes appear to me to surpass both." He describes their method of fighting to be somewhat theatrical, and to resemble that of the Scotch Highlander. Every man chooses his post, and like the ancients who covered themselves with shields, they seek cover behind a rock or stone, and from there shoot down the foe. In order to deceive the latter, the Souliote sometimes places his red cap on a pole at some distance away. He seldom makes more than three discharges, preferring to finish the fight with the cold steel. His weapon is a curved sword, called a _yataghan_, and he wields it with terrible effect.

One can imagine that with such material at his command Botzaris was able to lead the Mussulman a lively dance, as the saying is. His wild dashes on convoys, his surprises by day and night, and his ability to check the advance of large bodies of the enemy under all conditions of time and place, soon made his name a terror among the followers of the prophet. Neither Maurocordatos nor Kolokotronis, with all their science and their military training, was able to inspire the same fear in the enemy's ranks. Botzaris's name will ever be linked with the story of Missolonghi, its vicissitudes and its victories. With 400 men Botzaris defended this stronghold against an army of many thousands under Omar Vrione, and in repelling six assaults killed 12,000 of the enemy. This was but one of many triumphs. It was near this same stronghold of Missolonghi that the great hero met his death on August 20, 1823. He had received information that a large column of Turks was on its way to that place, and he decided to intercept it with his small force of 1200 Souliotes. It was late at night when the patriots came across the enemy, and by superhuman efforts succeeded in crushing him. For the time being Missolonghi was saved, but the brave Botzaris received his death-wound in the very moment of victory. He died with the words. "Zito Hellas!" on his lips.

The eighth annual interscholastic in-door athletic meeting of the New England I.S.A.A., a week ago Saturday, was a remarkable one for several reasons. First of all was the surprise at the outcome, which was entirely unlooked for; not that the winning school was not thought well of and was not a candidate for the honors it reaped, but that the victory was so very one-sided.

POINTS SCORED BY THE SCHOOLS.

P
u
R t
u t
4 n i
5 n n
3 1 8 - i g
4 0 6 0 8 y n
0 0 0 0 0 a g 1
- - 0 0 - r 6 P
y y - - y d H - o
a a y y a i l l
r r a a r H g b e
d d r r d u h . T
d d r V o
D D W d J S a t
a a R R a l u h u a
s s u u l e m o l l
Schools. h h n n k s p t t s

English High 8 8 5 1-1/2 2 24-1/2
Worcester High 5 5 10
Hopkinson's 3 5 1-1/2 9-1/2
Noble's and Greenough's 2 5 7
Worcester Academy 2 1-1/2 1 1-1/2 6
Chauncy Hall 5 5
Cashing Academy 5 5
Boston Latin 2 2
Newton High 1 1
Phillips Exeter 1 1
Cambridge High and Latin 1 1

It was predicted before the games that the contest for points would devolve upon certain schools, but it happened in several instances that calculations were rudely upset by representatives who failed to come up to expectations. This was noticeable especially in the case of Worcester Academy, a school that was feared by all, but which turned out a disappointment.

English High from the outset began to gather the points, and 16 in the 40-yard dash and half-mile walk added materially in swelling the total of 24-1/2. Worcester High was satisfied to beat out its rivals the Academy. Hopkinson's gave a better exhibition than it has for several years, and came third in the competition for points. The customary record-breaking performances were forthcoming, and the 40-yard dash, 1000-yard run, and the running high jump were affected, while the hurdles were done in the same time as last year.

The list of entries was considerably smaller than last year, because of the requirements of the new registration law, which prevents many from competing. A rumor spread around before the games began that some of those entered had not registered with the Secretary of the A.A.U., which was confirmed by Manager John Graham of the meet. A conference of the Athletic Committee of the B.A.A., under whose auspices the games were given, was held to decide what should be done. They decided that if a sanction could be obtained from the president of the I.S.A.A. for such schools not registered but members of the I.S.A.A., the men should be allowed to compete and assume all of the responsibility. This was also done to act as a test case for the A.A.U's decision.

An unparalleled surprise was developed in the first event on the programme, when the existing record in the 40-yard dash was broken, three runners doing the trick, and equalling the world's mark for the distance. It was an unusually speedy lot that was entered in this event, and when the trial heats began to be caught in the old record the final figure was awaited with suspense. In the trial heats the first and second place winners were eligible for the semi-finals. In the first line-up was Butler of Worcester High, the best runner that school has, and Kennington of English High, who eventually became the winner.

The next two heats were captured by English High-School sprinters, Kane getting the first and Duffy the second, in 4-3/5 sec. Eight heats were run off in all before the list of entries had been exhausted. Butler, Kane, and Duffy were called in the first semi-final, and speculation was intense as to whether the Worcester lad would survive the ordeal. Kane and Duffy realized that they had a worthy foe to deal with, and knew that they would have to strain every bit of energy to shut the Worcester man out and make the final round, but they were equal to the occasion.

Kennington, the third English High runner, did not have much trouble in claiming the second semi-final heat, and Wight of Brown and Nichols, ran second to him. In the third, Archibald of Hyde Park won the heat in a canter, though the time was 4-3/5 sec.; Sever of Brown and Nichols was able to catch a second. A peculiar thing happened in the final heat. At the crack of the pistol five of the six runners were off on a line; the sixth, Archibald, was set back a yard, which practically put him out. As the tape was reached there was scarcely a wavering of the line, but in the last few strides the sprinters shifted somewhat, though a blanket would have covered them as the post was passed. The judges deliberated long, and finally came to the conclusion that no decision could be reached, and the only way to settle the matter was to have four of the runners try it over; so Kane, Kennington, Duffy, all of English High, and Sever of Brown and Nichols, toed the scratch again. It was almost a repetition of the former heat, but Kennington was proclaimed the winner by the narrowest of margins, with Duffy second, and Kane third.

Each school was allowed to make one entry in the 1000-yard run, the reason being that the narrowness of the track made it necessary to reduce numbers so as not to clog up the path. Mills of Chauncy Hall was a prime favorite, and nobody disputed his right to be called the winner, and most attention turned to his ability to make a new record, which he had been heard to say he would attempt. The New York schools had a chance last winter to see what kind of stuff Mills is made of when he won the mile at the Madison Square Garden, and on March 27 they will be given another opportunity. Mills rarely sets the pace, and in this instance held back to give the others this work to do. Kinsley of Worcester Academy started out at a 440 clip, with the evident intention of running some of the athletes off their feet in the first part of the race. Sullivan of Worcester High, the national interscholastic miler, was not to be lost in such a manner, and sailed after Kinsley as if he had wings. On the third lap Sullivan in some unaccountable way missed his footing and tumbled, and he was left behind. Meanwhile Mills was keeping his eyes open, and seeing his field lagging, made a dash for the lead and began to leave a gap between him and his nearest opponent. For two laps he ran round the track with a wonderful burst of speed, the spectators wildly cheering his efforts to shatter the record. There were no exclamations of surprise when it was announced that he had replaced 2 min. 33 sec. by 2 min. 30-1/5 sec. Kinsley was a quarter of a lap in the rear of Mills, and Falls of Phillips Exeter, an unknown runner, close upon the former.

The 300-yard run brought out some good running, but the time of last year was never in danger of being disturbed. In the very first heat Butler of Worcester High and George Hersey, of Worcester Academy, met, and the issue was breathlessly awaited. The former had the pole, and with this advantage--a big one, too, on the track conditions--swung round the corners in the lead. Hersey unfortunately was hedged in closely on all sides, and he just saved himself at the last moment by breaking his way through and coming in second.

Kennington and Kane of English High counted in the next heat, but the latter was disqualified, as on one of the corners he came in contact with Baker of Noble's School, and the latter was thrown. Baker was permitted to go into the final. Garrett and Winslow, two of Cambridge High and Latin's best, won heats, and the latter got a point for his school. Butler was the choice in the final heat, but it was expected that Kennington and Hersey would make him hustle. Kennington bowed to fate by going off his mark and losing a yard at the start. He was making up this distance in fine shape when he went down in a heap on a corner. Butler was not pushed to do his utmost, as Baker, who was coming after him in the stretch, was some yards away.

Worcester High had strong hopes of winning the 600-yard run, basing its faith on the presence of Dadmund, Mills, and Moran. Each one qualified in his heat to run in the final, and the High-School stock was going higher. When the test came Dadmund was found wanting, as his strength failed him. Lincoln, captain of the Boston Latin, was conspicuous in this event, as he held the lead till the last corner, fifteen yards from the worsted. Here Mills caught him, and together they ran shoulder to shoulder the remainder of the distance, Mills falling across the line in the van. It was a most thrilling finish and a victory richly earned, the audience appreciating the struggle.

J. H. Converse, of English High, the national interscholastic hurdler, appeared to defend his title, and kept it from being marred, although he had a narrow escape, Hallowell and Cole of Hopkinson's pressing closely to the last foot.