Chapter I: Front Matter

Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 31, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVII.--NO. 857. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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ONCE IN A THOUSAND YEARS.

BY JAMES BARNES

It was quite dark. The sun was not high enough as yet to shine down into the long narrow crevice up which Professor Jensen and the two boys were clambering.

A short distance ahead of them stalked John Coleman, the guide. He was a tall thin man with drooping shoulders, and he carried the Professor's camera, a heavy pick, and a long-handled shovel as if they were no more than feather-weights.

Suddenly the little party turned around a steep wall of shale, and the main cañon was in sight. The Professor paused and mopped his forehead. "There, boys, there it is," he said, pointing with his finger.

Half-way up the steep side of the cliff, in what looked to be a long narrow cleft in the steep descent of rock, stood the home and fortress of the ancient cliff-dwellers, which the boys had come so many miles to see.

From where they were they could make out nothing but some square windows in what appeared to be a line of half-crumbling adobe houses that nearly filled the huge shadowy recess.

George Lyman and Carter Randall were two boys of sixteen who had left home some two months before under the charge of young Professor Jensen. They were making a trip through Arizona and New Mexico in the search of fossils and traces of the prehistoric inhabitants. "Bones and battle-axes," George called them. Through their acquaintance with an army officer at one of the forts they had heard of the guide Coleman, who knew more about the habitations of the old cliff-dwellers than probably any man in the region, for he had been one of the first explorers up in the Glachens and the Black River country.

With this recommendation the Professor had engaged Coleman to guide his little party into the Black River cañon, and show them how to reach one or two of the more accessible fortresses that the strange, almost unknown people had built ages and ages ago.

When they had reached the bottom of the arroyo, and were following the shallow stream, John Coleman turned.

"Whar I'm goin' to take ye," he said, "lots of people have bin before. It's most cleaned out o' relics, I reckin; but thar, see thar!" He turned suddenly, and seized the Professor's arm. "Come here, a few rods further," he went on, pointing at the same time, as he waded up the stream to the opposite side of the cliff.

The village that the boys had first seen was nothing to that which now was plain in sight, under a great beetling brow of stone, that thrust out overhead a hundred feet or so into the cañon. It was fully one thousand feet from where they stood straight up to the ledge upon which this village stood. Sheer and straight it was, without a fissure or the chance for a foothold below, and the overhanging mass above marked it at once as inaccessible. The sides of the houses could be seen as they stood there almost intact, the ends of the roof-beams were plain in sight even to the naked eye, and through the field-glass a pile of pottery could be made out standing near the entrance to one of the larger dwellings.

The Professor gazed in astonishment. "It looks as if it were built yesterday," he said.

"How did they get up there?" inquired Carter, as he plashed up alongside.

"That's more than I can tell you," answered the Professor, slowly. "Major Evans told me of this village, but probably the old method of going there has been destroyed by time. In my opinion, no human foot has been there in the last thousand years or more."

"I'd like to see what it's like," said George, looking up, with his glass to his eye. "I'd like to get in there."

The Professor sighed. "Science would give a great deal to have you," he replied; "but come on; we must hurry to reach the small one over yonder." He pointed again to the ruins on the other side.

By careful climbing and careful stretching from point to point they at last reached the smaller ledge and entered through the narrow opening cut in the solid rock. It was as Coleman had reported; there was evidence of many visitations before them. Under the thick stifling dust they found nothing but some crumbling brick-work, bits of rough earthen jars, and a sandal made of straw.

Professor Jensen was outspoken in his disappointment. It was evident that the destroying power of nature besides that of man had been at work long, long before him.

The village, unlike the one across the chasm, was in a very exposed position, and rain and water had helped to work destruction; but over there in front of them and some hundred feet above their heads was the tantalizing fortress which they could not reach. What treasures it possessed! The Professor sighed; a long trip of three or four days had been next to fruitless.

Suddenly John Coleman turned and spoke to the Professor quite excitedly. "Capt'in," he said, "take that big glass of yourn and look just inside that window whar that rafter hangs." He pointed with his lean finger at the opposite cliff, and his hand was trembling.

The Professor looked through his glass.

"See anything?" asked the guide, his voice almost quivering.

"Yes," said the Professor, "I see something red."

Coleman drew a long breath. "It's thar yet," he whispered. He turned and looked at the group gathered about him as if frightened; then he spoke, still beneath his breath, "I put it thar."

The Professor started. "You! you!" he began, but the guide interrupted him.

"Yes, fifteen year ago las' spring I've bin thar" (with a wave of his arm), "and I've seen things."

The boys stepped forward, and Professor Jensen lowered his glass and glanced at the guide from head to foot.

"Tell us," he said, quietly, raising his hand to keep the boys from speaking.

The tall man was fairly trembling now. "You won't believe me," he faltered; "they never will."

Carter was about to say something, but the elder man suppressed him again with a gesture. "We will believe you, John," he said, as quietly as he had spoken before; "but how in the world, and where did you start from?"

Coleman sat down and clasped his palms together, and the boys and the Professor seated themselves quietly also, without a word.

"I'll tell you the hull story," began the guide, looking appealingly from one to the other. "But I 'ain't told it for nigh eight years now."

"Go on," said Professor Jensen; "we will listen carefully; it may be most important, John. Don't fear to tell it."

"Well," said the guide, beginning slowly, "you know I have lived and hunted in this kintry for more'n eighteen years. I come here from the East, an' I wa'n't older than either of you two boys." The three listeners nodded.

"One day I was huntin' with a party up this here cañon when we discovered this town, whar we be now, and t'other one 'cross the way. We reached this one easy 'nough, as we done to-day, but some one had been 'fore us even then--I suspect as they was Injuns," he added, parenthetically. "There was three others with me then, no good tellin' their names, 'cause they're all dead, but thet comes in the story. We was all young an' ventresome, and I sez to Bill Combs-- He was drowned rite down thar!"

The guide broke off so suddenly that it was startling. He pointed with his finger down to where the little stream was slowly running through its sandy bed.

"I've seen it sech," said he, "an' I've seen it from bank to bank, a roarin' tearin' river--'tis now at some seasons o' the year."

For a moment the Professor was afraid that the thread of the story was going to be lost, but Coleman regained himself in half a moment.

"I was talkin' o' Bill Combs," he said. "We were standin' here whar we be now, an' I sez, lookin' over thar, 'Bill, if you lo'ered a man over the top of that ere cañon he could git opposite them houses and have a good squint at 'em.'

"'I reckin no man dares try it,' Bill sez to me.

"'I can,' sez I."

There was a pause, and Coleman stirred the dust nervously with his foot.

"I reckin the traders at Arequitta thought as how that we was crazy," he resumed at last. "But all the money Bill an' me had saved we put in rope, an' six months after that we were right up thar." He pointed to the top of the opposite cliff. "Three o' us, with three burros an' mor'n a thousand feet of rope, an' it warn't none too much. They drove a stake inter the ground, an' I tied the end of the rope 'round my arms, an' they lo'ered me away.

"At first 'twas kinder easy crawlin' backwards over the steep rock, but when I come to the edge an' looked up an' saw 'em so fur off, I tell you I felt scared, an' under me I could see the water rushin' an' jumpin' so far below. I couldn't hear no sound, but thar it was roarin' an' tumblin' up agin the rocks. They shouted somethin' to me, but I couldn't hear 'em, an' then I felt them payin' out the rope again. Well, sir, thar I hung a-swingin', an' lookin' up I could see nothin' but the rope comin' over the round top of the overhangin' rock foot after foot. I felt myself goin' down, twisting first one way an' then t'other, until all of a sudden thar was a jolt, an' I felt as if my arms were goin' to come off the sokits, an' then I stopped quick. Thar I was, sir, not mor'n forty feet from whar you see thet big house on the left, rite opposite to it. I could look inside o' the winders an' see big bottles settin' on the shelves, an' 'long on the ground was a basket full of things that looked like gourds. I had some difficulty from turnin' round, an' every now and then I'd swing about, for thar was quite some breeze flyin' up the cañon. At last the rope twisted so that I could hold myself quiet and still. The sun was nigh overhead by this time, an' it kinder lit up the shadows back in the lidge; an' what you suppose I saw there? Four skeletons, sitting with their backs agin the wall! They was kinder 'rapped up in cloth, but I could make out their ha'r--it was hangin' over their shoulders."

Coleman paused and clasped his hands.

"It was red, sir! Not black like the Injuns, but red, an' light colored like a gal's. Just then I felt a movement on the rope, an' I knowed thet they was tryin' to haul me up. I moved a few inches, and then come down again. Two or three times I felt them heave, but every time back I come to whar I was before. Then I looks up."

He paused.

"I never can forget it! Never, never," he said, half whispering. "The rope was frayin' through over the edge o' th' rock; 'twould only take two or three minits of thet sawin' to drop a plumb thousand feet onter the rocks or down inter the river. Then an idee come into my head, an' I swung myself to and fro much as you see children pumpin' in a swing. At last I was movin' back an' for'ard, longer an' longer, until once or twice I come within most jumpin' distance of the lidge; but I couldn't git the rope from 'round my arms. Then suddenly I thought about my knife, an' still swinging as hard as I could swing, I got it out; but it slipped from my hand, an' down it went; I heard it ring agin the cliff. I was goin' forward with a rush jest then, an' it looked as if the houses was all comin' out to meet me, an' suddenly I didn't know nothin' more."

The Professor was leaning forward expectantly, the boys had grasped hands, great beads of perspiration stood on Coleman's forehead. But he went on in a low even voice that never changed in its expression.

"When I come to I couldn't at first tell whar I was, but then I saw that I was lyin' on my back all kivered up with dust in the middle of a lot of brick pots an' rubbish, an' one of my feet was hangin' out over the cliff.

"Thar's where I landed," he said, pointing across the cañon. "I wasn't much hurt to speak on, an' I got up on to my feet an' looked 'roun' me."

"Well," said the Professor, excitedly, "go on! Go on!"

"It was a queer sight, I tell you," said the guide, resuming. "I had to move careful, for everything tiched raised sech a dust that it 'most strangled me. Thar was them four skeletons close up agin the wall--you can't see them, for they're right behind thet pile o' stones. Jest to the left was a big trough made o' wood, in which was some ears o' corn. I couldn't tell ye what I'd seen, but thar was speers with stone heds, and painted jugs, an' hangin' on a hook was a long cloth coat or somethin'; it was fringed with claws o' bears, an' hanged by a string was a big tooth, like o' which I never seen. There was a picture o' a elephant or sompthin' on the wall, an' a big stick curled like a snake with gold eyes--at least, it looked like gold. A heap o' truck was in a corner; but inside the houses the dust was so thick an' stiflin' when I tiched anythin', thet I'd hev to run out into the air to breathe. So I found a flight of steps, an' goin' up them careful, I got to the roof of thet big house. Thet lidge runs back mor'n a hundred feet, an' I went further in. As I got used to the dryness an' the dark I could see some more bodies--skeletons, at least twenty--sittin' close to the wall; they was crouched up an' 'rapped about with rough cloth ban'ges; some was sewed up in hides. An' then what do you s'pose I foun'?"

There was no answer, and he again resumed, quietly:

"A well, sir! A well, sir! dug into the solid rock, an' down about ten or twelve feet, filled with water. I could hear it tricklin'. I bent down an' looked in. Settin' on the edge was a cup, green an' shiny after I rubbed the dust off it, an' smooth as any plate you ever see. It took some trouble to get down to the water, but with a bit of rope thet I found still 'round my shoulders I man'ged to get a drink; and then it come to me how am I to get out of this place, anyhow?"

It was evident that the best way to get at the end of the story was to let the man go on in his own manner, so after a pause, in which no one spoke, he continued, his voice sounding monotonous in the dead silence:

"Strange to say, jest then I felt a current o' cool air a-comin' from the back o' the lidge beyon' the wall. As I went further in the current grew stronger, and the lidge narrowed down so thet I could jest squeeze myself 'long by bendin' somewhat careful like. At last I came to a hole, an' thar the air was so strong jest as if it war comin' up a chimney, only it was as cold as ice. I put the cup into my pocket, an' sounded the hole with my rope. It didn't go straight down, but sloped away, an' I crawled in it, feet first. It was all pitch dark, but I could make my way 'long, slippin' and pushin' with my elbows. All the time the draft kept gettin' stronger, but seemed to me it was growin' warmer, too, and then--"

Coleman had an exasperating way of stopping when he reached a most exciting place. But now he went on quicker, his voice rising with a rush of words.

"--I felt somethin' pilin' on my shoulders an' runnin' down my neck, an' it was sand! sand! an' the draft an' wind began to die away. At first I thought my head would be buried, for the sand ran over my shoulders an' almost held my arms; but I found I could keep it back by workin' careful, and all the time I was movin' down, feelin' my way with my feet before me. It seems to me I must have gone 'long for hours, when all at once I seed a little dot of light 'way down ahead. It give me hope, an' I pushed 'long, the hole growin' summat bigger, an' the sand pourin' past me so I had to fight to keep ahead of it. Jest as I could make out the entrance plain, I seemed to slip an' slide 'long, fightin' with my arms an' elbows to keep from stiflin', an' then know'd no more.

"When I come to agin I was lyin' on thet slope down thar, an' my clothes was torn inter rags, an' thar was nothin' near me but sand an' shale, an' no hole at all whar I could have come out of. I had to move careful, for the groun' shifted easy when I turned, and thar was the river a-roarin' at my feet. Thet's all the story," he continued, "an' it's true."

"Where were the other men?" Professor Jensen asked.

"Thet's whar the strange part come in; no one heard tell on 'em again. But I found Bill Comb's body rite over whar I pointed out. He may have fell over the cliff for all I know, an' they all may hev been drowned lookin' for him or me."

"What about the cup?" asked the Professor.

"Oh, I forgot!" said the guide, drawing out a leather wallet attached to a string about his neck. "Thet's all that is left of it."

He put into the Professor's hand some fragment of earthenware. It was glazed on both sides like the finest Chinese pottery. The Professor sighed.

"Don't tell 'em I told you," said the guide. "I 'ain't dare to tell that story for eight years, I reckin."

"What is that red thing over there you pointed out?" said Carter.

"Oh!" said the guide, quickly; "thet's a bandanna handkerchief. I tied it thar when I first went in."

FRAIDIE-CAT.

I sha'n't tell you what's his name!--
When we want to play a game,
Always thinks that he'll be hurt,
Soil his jacket in the dirt,
Tear his trousers, spoil his hat,--
Fraidie-cat! Fraidie-cat!

Nothing of the boy in him!
Dasn't try to learn to swim;
Says a cow'll hook; if she
Looks at him he climbs a tree;
Scart to death at bee or bat,--
Fraidie-cat! Fraidie-cat!

Claims there're ghosts all snowy white
Wandering around at night
In the attic; wouldn't go
There for anything I know.
B'lieve he'd run if you said "scat!"--
Fraidie-cat! Fraidie-cat!

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

NEW YORK'S DEFENCES ON THE SOUND.

BY WILLIAM HEMMINGWAY.

One of the most interesting questions in a recent examination at the Royal Naval Academy at Woolwich, England, was: "How would you capture New York, approaching by way of Long Island Sound?" There is only one question that interests us more, and that is, How would New York's defenders along the Sound repel our enemy? The news from Washington that thrilled this country only a few days ago, and the possibility that we might after all really come to war, make the defence of the greatest city of America a problem of the most intense concern to every one of us.

Captain Howard Patterson told the readers of the ROUND TABLE, on March 13th of last year, how New York would be successfully defended from Sandy Hook. The arrangements for removing a fleet of men-of-war from the waters of New York Bay are so complete that no fair-minded invader could really ask for more.

But suppose some one should declare war against us to-morrow, and promptly send a fleet to take our richest city. Would the enemy walk into the trap so thoroughly prepared for him at Sandy Hook? The chances are rather that he would come down from Halifax and try to dodge in by way of Long Island Sound, where he thinks that very little has been prepared to check his advance. It is true, unfortunately, that the works to the eastward of New York are not nearly so efficient as those to the southward; yet there would be found in time of need enough men and guns to drive back the most formidable invasion any one might undertake.

If you will look at your map of Long Island Sound you will find several small islands scattered between Connecticut and the Long Island shore. Chief among them are Fishers and Plum islands. Upon every one of these islands mortar batteries will soon be placed, while the channels of the Sound itself will be full of submarine mines ten yards apart. For years the great drawback to the improvement of our coast defences has been the childish confidence of certain inland Congressmen that "American ingenuity" will always find a way to defend American interests. The haste that is being made to fortify our coasts to-day shows how ill-advised that confidence has been. If you speak about "American ingenuity" to an army or navy man, he probably will glare at you and turn purple. It has been their stumbling block for a very long time. Still, we are not quite so unprepared as our enemies believe.

Imagine that the hostile fleet has arrived off the mouth of Long Island Sound on its errand of destruction and plunder. Its array of ships almost staggers belief. There are twelve battle-ships--veritable mountains of iron and steel--armed with rifled cannon of prodigious bore and wonderfully long range, as well as smaller guns of every degree. With them have come twenty-four armed cruisers, twelve torpedo-catchers--boats that run twenty-eight or thirty miles an hour--and a swarm of ordinary torpedo-boats that one might well describe as innumerable. The proud armada sails westward flaunting the enemy's ensign and trailing plumes of black smoke like vast banners. The attacking Admiral knows that beneath the dancing waters of the Sound there are hidden mines of deadly power, awaiting only the pressure of an electric key from the shore or the touch of a passing keel to blow his great ships into fragments. He sends out scouts--that is, lines of torpedo-boats twenty or thirty feet apart, trying to determine the channel. It is the duty of the crews of these swift, light-draught boats to drag for and explode the hidden mines, which are submerged at a depth of twenty feet so as to strike only the keels of great ships.

Where are the forts that shall check the invaders? From the conning-towers of the ships there can be seen no sign of fortification. The little islands lie peacefully basking in the balmy sunshine. The grass on their round-browed hills quivers gently in the breeze. But behind every one of those hills is a modern fort--a gigantic circular pit in the sand, with four arms running out from it at right angles. At the end of each arm is a pit big enough to hold four rifled mortars. These are short, wicked-looking guns that seem like long-range rifled cannon sawed off half-way down the barrel. From the moment the torpedo-catchers are within five miles the officers of the mortar batteries are watching them with range-finders.

Four miles; three and three-quarters; three and a half--then comes a thunderous uproar as if a mountain-side had fallen! The mortars on two islands send showers of bursting shells that fall upon the group of pretty white torpedo-boats, and blot them from the sea. The thing is done with startling quickness. Before one can count half a hundred the last vestige of the torpedo-destroyers has disappeared beneath the waves. The batteries on Plum Island and Fishers Island have rained destruction in an awful cross-fire.

AMERICAN NAVY PROCEEDING UP EAST RIVER TO THE SOUND.]

The hostile Admiral sends out twenty torpedo-catchers in the wake of their lost fellows. Let us assume that by hard work, great pluck, and good fortune they have counter-mined and cleared the channel, and so made the way safe for the big ships. The men in the mortar-pits are almost unhurt at first. The opponents have had nothing to guide their retaliatory firing but the clouds of smoke from the pits. At last they get the range and silence the forts.

Willets Point. Fort Schuyler. Mortar Battery.

THE ENEMY'S FLEET APPROACHING THE NEW YORK END OF LONG ISLAND SOUND.]

The fleet passes on, only a little crippled, but still wary of mines in the channel. The ships would be subject to a similar cross-fire from mortar batteries on either side of the Sound at every narrow part of the channel. Almost the entire journey down the Sound toward New York would be under a heavy bombardment. There are at least six places where the groups of mortars will be placed. It would not be proper to give their location here. There are also very heavy batteries of this description on Davids Island, which is a military post near New Rochelle, and on Sands Point, Long Island, about sixteen miles east of New York. Then there are the fortifications at Willets Point and Fort Schuyler still nearer to this city, and at a point where the Sound is only three-quarters of a mile wide.

If the enemy should live to come within range of these forts he would find that his troubles were only now beginning in earnest. The great 16-inch rifled guns at Willets Point have a seven-mile range, up past Stepping Stone Light and Execution Rock. They could easily dispose of any number of torpedo-boats trying to destroy submarine mines. More destructive than all these is the "dynamite gun," a tube of steel fifty feet long, and with a bore of fifteen inches. This throws a long cigar-shaped slug of explosive gelatine, more powerful than dynamite, and weighing about two hundred pounds. The shell is driven out of the gun by compressed air.

It is not at all likely that we could get together a fleet of battle-ships of sufficient numbers to cope with the enemy's great squadron. Still, the _Maine_, the _Texas_, and half a dozen other fighting ships, each one of which is equal to anything in the foreign navy, would be assembled in the Hudson River awaiting the arrival of the invaders. As soon as the news of their progress down the Sound was telegraphed to this city, they would steam up the East River, take their stations within the arc of the forts at Willets Point and Fort Schuyler, and add their broadsides to the defence of New York. Is there any fleet in the world that could force its way past such an opposition? No American thinks so.

RICK DALE.[1]

[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 852.

by KIRK MUNROE.