Chapter VI (1)

TODD'S FAILURE AS A HUNTER AND A FIRE-MAKER.

"If this wretched corn was only hard enough to pound into meal," reflected Todd, "I might mix it with water and make a sort of chicken feed that would at least keep me alive until I could find something better. As it is, I believe I am using up more strength in eating it than it will ever pay back. Oh, if I only had a fire in which to roast it, what a difference it would make!

"Hello! what's that? A rabbit, sure's I'm sitting here. And there's another! Why, the woods are full of them! I don't wonder the natives have to protect their fields with tight fences. If I could catch one, what a fine stew he'd make! I wonder how other fellows catch rabbits? They are all the time doing it in books. Seems to me trapping is one of the things that ought to be taught in school. My! how saucy these chaps are!"

One of the rabbits had indeed ventured to within a dozen feet of where the boy stood, attracted by the bits of green squash that he had thrown from the door a few minutes earlier. Instinctively Todd picked up a stone, while the rabbit, alarmed by the movement, ran off a short distance and looked at him inquiringly. As no further movement was made he presently returned to the bits of squash, where he was quickly joined by a companion.

Trembling with eagerness, Todd let drive his missile. To his astonishment it reached its destined mark, and one of the little creatures rolled over with a sharp squeak, kicked convulsively, and then lay quiet, while its companion scampered to a place of hiding.

"I hit him!" cried the young stone-thrower in a tone of mingled amazement and delight, as he hastened to pick up his prize. "Who would have thought that killing rabbits was so easy!"

No hunter of big game was ever prouder or more excited over his first trophy than was our city-bred lad over this proof of his skill. "I certainly can't starve," he said to himself, "so long as the supply of rabbits and rocks holds out, and there seems to be plenty of both. Isn't he fat, though!"

He had already carried his rabbit to the hut, stroking and admiring it as he went. From the job of skinning and cleaning it he shrank with repugnance, nor had he an idea of how to set to work. Still he knew these things must be done, and drawing his hunting-knife from its sheath he prepared to make a beginning. With the very first touch of the knife the rabbit drew a gasping breath, and began to struggle so violently that Todd dropped it in horror. In another moment the little creature, which had only been stunned, had darted away and vanished, leaving one of the most amazed boys in the world to gaze after it with an air of utter bewilderment.

"If that don't beat anything I ever heard of!" he muttered. "I wonder if they always have to be killed twice? That fellow would have jumped out of his skin if I'd only held on tight enough. Never mind; it's a lesson I won't forget in a hurry, and the next time I'll make sure that my game is dead before I begin to skin it."

It did not seem, however, that there was to be any next time; for though Todd filled his pockets with stones and hunted for more than an hour, he did not see another rabbit until he again returned to the hut, and was nearly tripped up by one that darted from the open doorway. It had been attracted by a portion of the squash left on the floor, and noting this, the lad threw out what remained, with the hope that it might cause others to come within range of his missiles. Several were thus tempted during the afternoon, but though the hungry lad threw stones at them until he was weary, he did not succeed in hitting another. Finally, pretty well convinced that the success of his first shot was an accident not likely to be repeated, he gave up this method of obtaining rabbits, and began to think of traps. As he had never made nor even seen one, the only thing in the shape of a trap that suggested itself was a box, one edge of which should rest on a short stick. He would use green squash for bait, fasten one end of a long string to the stick, hold the other in his hand, and when a rabbit was safely under the box jerk away the support.

"It wouldn't do me any good if I did catch them," he reflected, "since I have no fire with which to cook them. At the same time I don't see that I am going to do much with raw vegetables, either, and so a fire does appear to be one of the most necessary things. Seems to me I ought to make one with a cartridge, the same as Phil Ryder did, even if I haven't a rifle."

As a result of much thinking on this subject, Todd finally spread his pocket-handkerchief on the table, laid one of the brass cartridges that still filled his belt on it, and after a while succeeded in cutting it in two close to its rear end. Emptying out the black powder, he threw away the shell with its bullet still attached, and kept only that portion containing the percussion-powder. The next thing was to lay the handkerchief on the stone doorstep, spread the powder over it, and place the firing portion of the shell in the middle. Then he hunted up a stone that came to a point, and holding this firmly in his hand, struck the percussion-shell a violent blow.

The result was instantaneous, and in a certain sense satisfactory. There were a sharp explosion and a quick flash of flame that burned Todd's right hand so severely that he ran to plunge it in the cooling waters of the stream. When he returned to the hut, some five minutes later, ruefully nursing his wounded hand, the only trace remaining of his handkerchief was a film of ashes on the doorstep.

"I don't care," he remarked, stoutly. "I did make a fire, anyhow, and I would do it again if I only had another handkerchief. As I haven't, I suppose I must give up the idea for the present, and live on that beastly raw corn until I can find some other kind of tinder. If I only had some cotton, that would be the very thing. I might as well wish for matches, though, and done with it, as to hope for cotton in a place like this. It was a good scheme, all the same; every bit as good as Serge Belcofsky's brimstone and feathers, and I would have had an elegant fire by this time if I only hadn't burned my hand."

After Todd had again visited the field and brought back two more ears of the much-despised corn, from which he expected to make a frugal supper that night, and an equally unsatisfactory breakfast on the following morning, the sun was so low in the western sky that the shadows of the cliffs on that side extended clear across the valley. Night was close at hand, and the lad dreaded its loneliness in that strange place, without fire, or means of defence against its unknown dangers. For all that he knew, both wild men and wild beasts might only be awaiting the coming of darkness to attack him.

"I wonder if I hadn't better climb a tree," he reflected, "or shut myself up in that hen-house? It at least has a stout door, which is more than this hut possesses."

While he sat on the doorstep thinking of these things, and watching the shadows pursue the waning sunlight up the face of the eastern cliffs, his eye fell on something that caused him to start to his feet with an exclamation. From some unseen source high up on the rocky wall a slender column of blue smoke, curling gracefully towards the summit of the mesa, was plainly visible. Nor was that all; for even as the lad gazed wonderingly at it, a human figure clad in white appeared near the place from which the smoke ascended, and after standing for a moment as though looking expectantly down the valley, again moved out of sight.

"That explains everything," cried Todd. "The natives are cliff-dwellers, and live somewhere up there among the rocks. From all accounts of such people, although they are filthy and degraded, they are not half a bad lot. So I'm going to hunt them out before it grows dark. Of course they won't be able to understand a word I say, but I'll make that all right somehow."

The excited boy had already set off in the direction indicated by the smoke, and before long he came across a plainly marked trail leading among the trees directly toward the cliffs. As it reached them it bent sharply upward, becoming steeper and more rugged with every step.

Until now Todd had not realized how very weak he had grown through long fasting and from his recent terrible experience on the desert. Every few steps he was obliged to pause for breath, and several times he was so overcome by giddiness that he was compelled to sit down. Thus his upward progress was very slow, and the sun had set before he reached a point at which the trail ended. Above him was a sheer face of rock some fifteen feet high, in which were cut rude steps and handholds. It was like a perpendicular rock ladder, and in his weakness Todd regarded it with dismay. He was afraid, too, of his wounded hand, and wondered if he could hold on by it.

"It's got to be tried, though," he said, resolutely, "for it would never do to spend the night here, and I hate the thought of that lonely hut; so here goes."

With this the boy began to climb slowly and unsteadily. If he had had two sound hands and his normal strength, it would have been easy enough; but weak, giddy, and wounded as he was, it seemed very doubtful if he could gain the top. Now, too, he began to fear concerning the reception that he might meet even if he succeeded. Suppose the natives should take him for an enemy, how easy it would be for them to push him from his precarious footing?

Filled with such thoughts, he had only ascended a few feet when suddenly there came a loud shout from close behind him. So startling was it that he made a misstep, clutched vainly at the smooth rock to save himself, and with a despairing cry, fell heavily to the steep pathway, where he lay stunned and motionless.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

by Sophie Swett]

"Times bein' so hard, I can't see my way clear to keep that little Portergee through the winter," said Cap'n 'Siah Doane, with a solemn shake of his gray head.

And three hearts seemed to stand still; they were sixteen-year-old Caddy's, who was the Hausmutter, and had knit the little "Portergee's" winter supply of stockings and mittens as carefully as she had knit her own boys', and young Josiah's and little Israel's, who had only truly enjoyed life since they had had a companion who knew as much of the great world as the geography and a fairy-book put together. For the little "Portergee," Manuel Silva, had been tossed upon the Cape Cod sands by a wreck, after cruising about in all the seas, and picking up sixteen years' worth of knowledge in many lands.

It was almost into the door-yard of Cap'n 'Siah Doane's weather-beaten cottage at the Point that he had been carried by a discriminating wave; and with a dislocated shoulder, and a wound on the head which, as Cap'n 'Siah declared, would have killed anything but a "pesky little Portergee," he staid.

There were summer visitors to Tooraloo, and he had done errands for them, and shared young Josiah's jobs of fishing and clamming for the boarding-houses, and generally been "worth his keep," as Cap'n 'Siah carefully figured out, being a thrifty and prudent soul. In fact, Tooraloo people generally thought that Cap'n 'Siah would have been better off if he had been less prudent and cautious. He wouldn't take the least risk for fear of losing; he would scarcely go fishing with a fair wind lest it should become a foul one before he came back, and he wouldn't raise cranberries lest the market should be over-supplied when he came to sell.

"Now God made things chancy to develop folks, and he made 'em chancier than common on Cape Cod," Uncle Saul Nickerson, of Tooraloo, was always saying as a hint to Cap'n 'Siah. And little Israel had heard so much about his grandfather's bump of caution that he thought it must mean the wen on the top of his bald head.

In the winter there were no jobs in Tooraloo. Manuel had talked of going to Kingstown, where there were many of his race, to try to get a chance to sail with a Portuguese captain; but they had all protested earnestly against his leaving, and little Israel had raised a mighty wail. Manuel said he never had struck a home port before, and it was evident that he longed with all his heart to stay. But with a hard winter before them Cap'n 'Siah's bump of caution had got into working order, and he had made the dreadful announcement with which this story begins.

They all looked at each other in consternation; and even Caddy, who had grown very sensible by having to look out for them all, felt a rush of tears to her eyes.

At that very moment the little "Portergee" was digging his heels into the sand--which he did when he had on his thinking-cap as naturally as a Yankee boy whistles--and saying to himself that he should immediately go away, it was so dull, if he didn't feel as if he must stay and take care of these people who had been so kind to him. He meditatively tapped the top of his own thickly thatched head where the wen was on the Cap'n's, and shook his head with sad significance. He, like little Israel, thought that wen was the bump of caution which kept Cap'n 'Siah from everything that was enterprising.

"If I do not stay and take care of them they are los'!" said the little "Portergee" to himself.

But how? For a brave and enterprising spirit what opportunities had Tooraloo? There was a shadow of discouragement upon even Manuel's stout heart; but just then Hiram Tinker called to him from the dory in which he was putting in to shore.

"Seen the herrin'? Kingstown Harbor is chockfull of 'em! Greatest sight anybody ever see! All the traps and seines and nets are full a'ready, and they're gettin' the cold-storage plants ready to take 'em in. Seems as if all the herrin' in creation had drifted into Kingstown Harbor!"

Manuel didn't hear the last words; he was running around to the cove where Michael Fretas lived. Michael was Portuguese. He owned a small fishing-boat, and Manuel had helped him to paint and letter her in the summer. Manuel could paint straight letters--that is, nearly straight. Michael's daughter, who taught school farther up the cape, had wished to name the vessel the _Daylight_; but Manuel's spelling of English was a little uncertain, and he made her the _Delight_ instead. And Michael said he would not have it changed because Manuel was his friend and countryman.

Michael was an old man, and his daughters sent him money, and he now never used his fishing-boat in the winter, but no one had ever been able to hire it, and Manuel's eager face was clouded with doubt as he ran around to Michael's house in the Cove.

They were still talking about sending him away, Cap'n 'Siah insisting, and Caddy and the others remonstrating with tears, when Manuel burst into the living-room and poured out the story of the great catch of herring in Kingstown Harbor. The doubt was all gone from his face now, and the eagerness was like a flame.

"You don't say! Seems as if we'd ought to get a couple of barrels to salt; or, if they're so plenty as you say, some to manure the garden. But there! we hain't got anything but a row-boat, and we can't. Such chances ain't for poor folks," and Cap'n 'Siah sighed heavily.

"I am going--in the _Delight_. We want barrels, empty barrels, and all must go--all!" cried Manuel, breathlessly.

"The _Delight_! How come he to let you have her?" demanded Cap'n 'Siah; but Manuel and young Josiah were already rolling empty barrels down to the slip, and Caddy was putting up a basket of provisions, and essaying at the same time the difficult task of buttoning little Israel into his thick jacket while he turned a somersault.

They were on board the _Delight_, with nets and barrels, and Jo Fretas, Michael's nephew, slightly infirm of wit but strong of body, to help, and the sails were spread to a favoring breeze, when Cap'n 'Siah was discovered, hurrying as fast as he could, and shouting to them to wait.

"I expect it won't cost me nothin' to see what's goin' on. Anyhow, I sha'n't pay for the boat!" he said, as he came on board. "How come he to let you have her?"

But now Manuel was running back to the house. When he returned he offered no explanation, but Caddy caught sight of the rough little checker-board that he had made tucked under his pea-jacket, and heard the rattle of the wooden checker-men in his pocket.

Cap'n 'Siah was extremely fond of a game of checkers; but it was only a short sail to Kingstown, and there was no danger of being becalmed, and on a trip that promised so much excitement who would think of checkers?

Caddy even remembered the blow on the head which it had once been feared would injure Manuel's reasoning faculties. If Manuel should prove to be foolish, her grandfather must not send him away! They would take care of him always! So thought Caddy, with a dry sob in her throat.

Not the half had been told about the herring. Since the world began Kingstown had never seen her harbor packed with fish like this. The waves tossed them upon the wharves into the baskets and barrels of those who had no nets, at the very feet of the vagrant Kingstown cats, who, for lack of rod and line, had been forced to haunt the fish-houses.

The herring had only just appeared, but it was estimated that when all appliances were ready a thousand barrels a day could be taken.

They worked with a will, all the little party from Tooraloo Point, even Cap'n 'Siah, although he grumbled that herring wouldn't be worth nothing, there were so many, and that the _Delight_ would surely sink if they loaded her so heavily, and that they could never get salt enough to salt so many herring, and if they ate so many they should be like pin-cushions before spring.

There had been a fair wind to carry them down to Kingstown, and in returning they were forced to beat.

"But there's going to be a change," said Manuel, surveying the heavens with a sailor's practised eye, "and after we get round the Point 'twill be all right."

That was when they were making their way out of Kingstown Harbor, and little Israel was shouting with wonder at the herring, which sometimes seemed like a great wall, through which the _Delight_ pushed her bow slowly.

"Round the Point?" echoed young Josiah and Caddy, wonderingly; and Caddy thought again of the blow on the head that had been enough to kill anything but a "Portergee."

And Manuel, growing suddenly pale, and showing new, strong lines in his sharp little sixteen-year-old face, beckoned them impressively aft--yet not so far aft as to be overheard by Jo Fretas, who was at the helm. Cap'n 'Siah was watching the herring with little Israel, and saying, "I wum! I never see so much of anything in my life, without 'twas sand."

Manuel had to use persuasion when he divulged his plan, chiefly with Caddy, who had inherited some of her grandfather's caution, and who had never been to Boston, fifty miles away, in her life.

Young Josiah had demurred but little, and that only--as in a candid moment he afterwards confessed to Manuel--because he hadn't planned it. As for young Josiah's being afraid, like Caddy--catch him!

Caddy was afraid little Israel would be seasick, and was sure that her grandfather would jump overboard, but Manuel tapped the top of his head significantly, and upon second thoughts Caddy decided that his bump of caution would be likely to prevent that.

And at last, when the Point was already in sight, Caddy, with her chin looking pretty square, as young Josiah said, called her grandfather to come down into the _Delight_'s very small cabin and play checkers.

Cap'n Josiah came with alacrity, for he could never get checker-playing enough; moreover, the wind was growing fresh, and it was chilly on deck. He said maybe there would be time for a game before they got home, and Manuel was a good little "Portergee" to think of the board.

"Let him beat! _Make_ him beat! Play like fox!" whispered Manuel to Caddy, as she followed her grandfather into the cabin.

And the _Delight_ rounded the Point and found a more favoring wind, as Manuel had predicted, and the little weather-beaten house on the shore was left desolate and alone, with the early shadows of the November afternoon closing in upon it; while Cap'n 'Siah hilariously beat Caddy at checkers, and quite forgot that it was time they should be at home. When Caddy was forced to light a lamp in the little cabin, he sprang to his feet, and demanded, in great excitement, where that "pesky little Portergee" was letting the vessel drift to.

Manuel appeared in the doorway to explain, with young Josiah looking over his shoulder--although young Josiah was but thirteen, he was taller than Manuel--and with little Israel's beaming face thrust forward between his knees.

"It is not Portuguese like Jo Fretas and me who let the vessel drift. To navigate is in our blood, like the great Colombo!" Manuel drew his spiderlike little figure up as tall as he possibly could. "We carry the first herring to Boston; the very first, because the others have wait to load more. There is fair wind, and the moon will shine bright; before morning we shall be there. To carry you off was disrespect, and I lament him." Manuel removed his small cap and bowed profoundly. "But you are known there in Boston as great ship-master; you have license to sell these many years."

Cap'n 'Siah sat down and mopped his brow--and his wen.

"I was consid'able well known up there before things went wrong, and I got so kind of discouraged," he admitted. "But you--you're a terrible resky little Portergee!"

Manuel drew a breath that made his small chest heave; it was going to be all right with Cap'n 'Siah, whom he did not fear, but loved.

"The disrespect I lament him," he repeated, anxiously, "but the wind so fair, and to be the first in with the herring, and the _Delight_ so comfortable, with bunks for every one except Jo and me, who have known life, and are content with coils of rope!"

"How come he to let you have the vessel?" asked Cap'n 'Siah, abruptly.

"Michael Fretas he is my friend and countryman," answered Manuel, evasively.

There was all the moonlight that Manuel had promised, and the wind held instead of going down at night-fall, as it so often does; in fact, it made the waves so rough that as they drew near Boston Light little Israel was very seasick, and even Caddy had a qualm. But who remembered that when the _Delight_ thrust her sharp little nose between the larger vessels that lay at T wharf, in the murky morning light? Little Israel felt that life had suddenly turned into a fairy-story, and young Josiah, and even Caddy, had little doubt that the family fortunes were made.

Alas and alas! T wharf was piled with barrels of herring! On an adjoining wharf was a small mountain of the fish, as they had been shovelled from a schooner! The great catch had begun to reach the Boston market in the steamer that got in the night before, and in two or three large schooners that could take all the wind out of the little _Delight_'s sails!

"Why hadn't you listened to me and kept from such foolhardy pranks!" cried Cap'n 'Siah, in angry despair. "Here we be, likely to be becalmed, and not get home for a week, with a cargo that's good for nothing but to heave overboard, and no victuals to eat!"

Little Israel gave way to despair at this dreadful prospect and set up a mighty roar. Caddy thought it was better, after all, to have a bump of caution; and young Josiah, with red rims appearing around his eyes, as they always did when he was frightened, looked inquiringly at the leader of the enterprise.

"It is so--as I have hardly thought it possible--the market is glut!" said the leader, calmly, but with a sharp line between his tensely drawn brows.

"Little mites of herring, too! Look how big them are!" Cap'n 'Siah pointed to the barrels nearest them on the wharf.

"He told me to pick 'em out small!" said young Josiah, in an aggrieved tone, for his faith in the leader had begun to waver.

The color leaped suddenly into Manuel's sharp, thin little face.

"It is true they are small; one must provide a little for the evil day, even when one shall not think the market will be glut! I go, but I will be back again by-and-by!"

He made his way swiftly through the crowd of clamoring fish-dealers, with which the wharf was already alive, and in the long avenue that led to the street he disappeared from their sight.

"That's the last we shall ever see of that tarnal little Portergee!" said Cap'n 'Siah.

But after the Cap'n had threatened to throw the herring overboard, to sell them for enough to buy a breakfast, and never to pay for the boat, Caddy had given way to tears in company with little Israel, and young Josiah had permitted himself to express a preference for Yankees, Manuel came walking across the plank to the _Delight_, his small brown face aglow.

A man came with him, well dressed and with a business-like air, but dark-skinned and with ear-rings. Manuel introduced him proudly as his friend and countryman, José Macés, foreman of the great canning factory in ---- Street. He would buy the little herring; it was of them that sardines were made in his factory.

"It is why I have choose the small ones," Manuel explained, serenely.

But it was not until Cap'n 'Siah saw the barrels loaded upon a great dray, with the name of José Macés's firm upon it, that he could believe the good fortune.

They all had to count the money over twice; it seemed too much to be true; and little Israel bit and rung the silver pieces. Then Manuel made them go to a restaurant on Atlantic Avenue to breakfast, and although Cap'n 'Siah thought it was reckless extravagance, he murmured all the way that Manuel was a "dreadful cute little Portergee." At the restaurant he met two sea-captains who were old friends, and had so good a time that he forgot how reckless it all was.

But when the _Delight_ had set sail for her homeward voyage he grew silent and dejected. He wished he had a vessel he owned; the old captains had told him that he ought to go sandin'; that there was money in it.

"But the _Delight_! She will be so good a vessel for that," said Manuel, calmly. "It is true that I have contracts with the canning factory to deliver many herring--and mackerel too, in their season; but there will be times--oh, plenty, until we buy another boat, to use her for the sanding too!"

"What in nater are you talking about? Don't you know that Michael Fretas won't lend his boat?" growled Cap'n 'Siah.

"The _Delight_ she begin to-day to be mine. I agree to pay the first instalment from the herring money; after that it will be easy, and--the disrespect I lament him--but if you would share in the business--and afterwards young Josiah--and with Mees Caddy to keep the home port snug--" Manuel took off his old cap, with one of his beautiful bows.

"And I thought of letting you go away," said Cap'n 'Siah, with something between a growl and a sob in his throat.

"Oh, but I should not--nevair!" cried Manuel, his little peaked face alight. "You that have been so good and make true home for me, should I leave you to take care of yourself?"

Cap'n 'Siah's great grizzly chin actually quivered; he threw back his head and laughed to hide it. "If you ain't the all-tiredest little Portergee!" he said.

CRETE, AND HER STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM.

BY CYRUS C. ADAMS.

A glance at the map on the next page shows a chain of islands stretching like a bent bow from the southern shore of Greece to the coast of Asia Minor. These island stepping-stones, bridging more than one-half the way across the sea, are nothing more nor less than the tops of mountain ranges with shallow valleys in between, their bases resting on the sea-floor. The largest of these islands is Crete. It is almost exactly twice as large as our Long Island, and if we were to stand on the south coast of Greece on a clear day, we should see the mountains of Crete looming above the sea. We might call it a Greek island, for nature made it a part of Greece, just as Long Island is naturally a part of America, and the people and development of Crete are Grecian to this day. The limestone mountains that stretch east and west through Crete are a part of the very ranges that extend through southern Greece and jut out into the sea as promontories, just as our Aleutian chain of islands is geologically a part of the Alaskan mountain range. Why is it, then, that Crete, geographically a part of Greece, and peopled, as it is, by Greeks, is politically severed from the mother-country? It is simply because ever since human history was recorded the nations, by their treaties and wars, have disposed of whole peoples without consulting them at all. This is the reason why Crete is a Turkish island. This is why the whole civilized world sympathizes with the Cretans in their aspirations for good government and their long struggle for freedom.

Numerous revolts against Turkish misrule have made Crete a battle-field from end to end; and perhaps Crete is the only region in the whole world where one may stand at a single point, and see spread before him practically every spot made memorable by the most momentous events in the nation's history. Snow-crowned Mount Ida is the culminating point of the island, 8060 feet above the sea. It stands in the centre of Crete, and tourists, well bundled in woollens even on a summer day, conducted by a guide to the top of the mountain, find it well worth the labor, for Europe has no finer view. If the day is clear, the whole of Crete is in plain view, save some areas of lowland hidden by hills. All the towns fringing the seaboard are in the panorama. The eye may range far over the Ægean Sea, resting on one and another of the beautiful islands of the Cyclades; and then turning from nature's grand and varied aspects, the guide willingly points out the scenes that human struggle has made memorable, just as Waterloo is fought over again every day for visitors who are led to a height overlooking the historic field.

"In that pass," the guide will say, "the Cretans ambushed the Turks, and killed them to a man. On the west side of that hill yonder are some ancient quarries, dug deep into the hill, with passages so intricate that it is called the Labyrinth; and there 500 of our Christian families took refuge, in the revolt of 1820, and the Turks never found them. Those women and children went peaceably back to their homes after quiet came again. Do you see that big oak-tree right down this slope? That marks the entrance to the cave in which the Turks suffocated 300 of our women and children and old men in 1822. In that valley yonder the Cretans made their last bloody stand in 1859; and down that wide slope, far to the west, the Sfakiotes poured, in 1866, to attack the Turks near the coast." So he goes on pointing out the battle-fields where Cretan blood has been given like water in the cause of independence. All parts of the island have witnessed their sufferings, and particularly that lying between Mount Ida and the White Mountains. The Cretans are brave fighters, and they have failed to win simply because, after they were stripped of resources and nearly dead of exhaustion, the Turks could still pour fresh troops and munitions into their mountains and plains.

Aristotle said, twenty-two centuries ago, that Crete would become a great centre of commercial exchange, because it lay midway between Europe, Asia, and Africa. This is the reason why it has been the prey of so many nations all through the Christian era. The Greeks who colonized it, no one knows how long before the dawn of history, were supreme till Crete was absorbed in the Roman empire. Then Byzantine emperors ruled it, and later it was captured by the Saracens, recaptured by a Byzantine general, sold to the Venetian Republic, and while Venice was its master the island had 400 years of greater prosperity than it has ever known since. Then the Venetians and the Turks waged a long war in Crete for possession, a feature of which was the longest siege on record. It was twenty years after the Turks invested the city of Candia before their army made its way inside the walls. Then the whole island submitted, and Crete has been a Turkish province ever since.

Under all her masters Crete has remained Greek. No other people in eastern Europe use the expression "Motherland," a term the Cretans apply to Greece. There are about 300,000 Cretans, and nearly all of them are of Greek descent. Most of the Mohammedans, who number over a quarter of the population, are of the same blood. Their Cretan forefathers, to save their lives, embraced Islam, reared their children in that faith, and to this day the Koran is expounded to them in the Greek language, for very few understand Turkish. The universal language is Greek--not pure modern Greek, but a dialect that has often suggested humorous criticism in Athens; nevertheless, it is as good Greek as Yorkshirese is good English.

Into this land came the alien Turk, 250 years ago, with his tax-gatherers, janizaries, and priests. He has done nothing for the island except to oppress it. His sole purpose was to wring from the wretched people all the taxes they could pay. Only a few thousand Turks, besides the officials, soldiers, and priests have ever lived in Crete. The Turkish outrages in Bulgaria, which caused the Russo-Turkish war of 1877, were long equalled and surpassed in Crete. Travellers and historians say that up to 1830 Crete was the worst-governed province of the Turkish empire. At that time, when the Cretans had been at war for nine years against their oppressors, the intervention of the powers secured some betterment of their condition, and further privileges were conferred upon them in 1878 through pressure exerted by the Berlin Congress. Crete has since been better governed than most Turkish provinces, but the Sultan's yoke was galling none the less.

Nine revolutions, some lasting for years, have cost the blood of many thousands of Cretan patriots; and what has Crete gained by the promises extorted from the Sultan? With a genial sky, a rich soil, and a commanding commercial position, the Cretans are very poor. They have no internal improvements, no cheap means of sending their products to the sea, little commerce, few schools or other advantages of civilization, and too few farm laborers to gather large crops if they raised them. Crete is supposed to have now about one-third the population it supported when the Christian era dawned.

In April last the people revolted again, and the clamors of the powers made the Sultan promise that definite reforms would be carried out at once. His pledges were empty words. When a fresh revolt began, a few weeks ago, the Cretans had no police, nor any other machinery for preventing or punishing crime. One cause of last year's revolt was that the Christians could not get justice in the law courts. The Sultan promised that the judiciary should be reorganized, but three months ago he decreed that the old courts should be continued.

Crete cannot forgive the Turks for their enormities. The list is very long, but here is a specimen: In 1822, 300 women, children, and decrepit old people took refuge in the cave of Melidoni. The Turkish soldiers who were pursuing them, built a great fire before the narrow opening, and the wind blew all the smoke into the cavern. The wretched fugitives retreated to the depths of the cave, but all in vain. They perished of suffocation, and their bodies were unburied, until drippings from the roof covered them at last with a calcareous winding-sheet.

Typical mountaineers live in the White Mountains of the west, in whose veins there is scarcely any admixture of foreign blood. They have guarded their valleys with jealous care, to prevent any intimate contact with foreigners, and whether Romans, Arabs, Venetians, or Turks have ruled the island, they have preserved the purity of their clans. The Sfakiotes, as they are called, have always been foremost in the uprisings against the Sultan.

The Cretans prefer union with Greece to autonomy, and this choice is probably wise. If left to themselves they and their Mohammedan relations might find it difficult to allay their long and deep-seated antagonism. If the island becomes a part of Greece, King George's government will keep the peace in Crete, and time will heal the wounds that have been kept open so many years. When the Turkish flag leaves the island forever a great many of the Mussulmans will doubtless return to the faith of their Christian fathers. Long ago the powers made the Sultan promise that persecution on religious grounds should cease in Crete. This promise has been partly fulfilled, and many Mohammedan families of Greek origin have returned to the Greek faith.

Why is Greece so eager to help these islanders throw off the Turkish yoke? It is easy to see the reason, when we think of the ties that bind these peoples together. When the Greeks won their independence from Turkey, early in this century, the Cretans fought side by side with them, and bore as glorious a part in that great struggle as any soldiers of the Greek mainland. In all the revolts in Crete that have occurred in nearly every decade of this century tens of thousands of Cretans have fled to Greece, saving nothing but their lives, and have been supported, at enormous cost, by the Greek people. We may find Cretans to-day all over Greece prominent and influential in her army, navy, civil service, and social life; and it is impossible to draw between the Greeks of the island and those of the mainland a greater distinction than that between Englishmen and Scotchmen. Who can wonder, therefore, that bound together as they are by race, history, and common interests, Greece yearns to rescue her brethren from further pillage and misery, and at the same time save herself hereafter from the agitation, unrest, and great expense which each recurring revolt, at her very doors, inflicts upon her own people?

These Cretans, among the most patriotic people in the world, have perhaps atoned in bitterness for the sins of their unpatriotic fathers. In ancient times it was the reproach of the Cretans that they had no love for the motherland, and that in the civil wars in Greece their mercenary troops were sent to support the cause that paid them the most money. They were themselves divided into petty little states, which made it all the easier for foreigners to conquer them. The dream of their sons is to become a part of united and progressive Greece: and if the shadow of the Orient may be removed from Crete, and she may share Greece's growing strength, we may expect to hear better things of the island which nature has so highly favored, and man alone has cursed.

St. Paul's School, Concord, probably has as great a variety of winter sports as any school in the country, and, as at Lawrenceville, every student is expected to take his part in some athletic exercise. A few years ago tobogganing was one of the most popular winter sports, but of late hockey has rather usurped its prominence.

St. Paul's has a toboggan slide nearly 1000 feet long, with a fall of 250 feet. Four years ago, before the Canadian game came in vogue, every boy had a toboggan, or a share in one; now not fifty care for it. Snow-shoeing and winter trapping, on the other hand, are rapidly growing in popularity. There are many opportunities for the pursuit of both these sports, and probably one out of every ten boys in the school has trophies of his traps upon his walls.

Skating is indulged in by the great majority of the students. There are two ponds by the school--the Upper and the Lower ponds. These, with the connecting "strait" and the adjacent "gulfs" (actually large puddles)--"Mexico" and "Guinea"--offer a skating surface large enough to accommodate 5000 people.

Every one plays hockey. Each building has a team, each "form" (_i.e._, class), and often scrub teams representing the various tables play for the championship of the dining-room. All this is more or less "scrub." The greater interest centres in the club games. In this sport, as in every other, except rowing, the school is divided into three clubs--Old Hundred, Isthmian, and Delphian. _Every_ boy joins some club. In hockey alone each club has a first, second, and third team.

There is also a school hockey team. Last Easter they played St. Nicholas at the latter's rink in this city, and were defeated, 10-2. Last Christmas a second game was played, and the school was again defeated, 5-1. A third game is to be played at Easter this year. The great fault has been that the boys have not been able to keep up the faster pace set by their opponents. The first twenty minutes has seen good play; then the New-Yorkers have done as they chose. The school has a large rink, which can be flooded at will. It is much used.

Golf has been tried on the snow, but has few followers. Coasting is fairly popular, and the hills are good, but some serious accidents in the past have forced the school authorities to certain rules which materially restrict the sport.

Members of the school hockey team (and one substitute) are allowed to wear the "S.P.S." sweater, with crossed hockeys behind the letters. These school sweaters are very highly coveted. They go to the school football eleven and five substitutes, to the school cricket eleven and three substitutes, to all who break records on the track, and to the best eight oarsmen--these last chosen from the first two crews by a jury composed of two representatives from each rowing club. Football and cricket and crew sweaters are marked S.P.S. The sweaters given for track performance bear in addition "A.A."

There was a number of events at the in-door meeting of the First Regiment Athletic Club (Chicago) in which high-school athletes entered. In several events they won places. In the 40-yard dash, Powell of Hyde Park (4 yards) took his heat in 4-3/5 secs., and McKinnen of Oak Park, with the same handicap, got first in another heat, 4-4/5 secs., but both were defeated in the semi-finals. The time made in the finals was 4-2/5 secs. In the long runs the track was by far too crowded with contestants for any successful racing, and one or two men were hurt at the turns.

In the half-mile run, Boyne of Hyde Park, with a handicap of 40 yards, took second place. Actually he was only third, for the man who took second was protested for cutting a corner. In the high-school relay race of one mile, with five starters, there were three schools entered--English High, Lake View, and Hyde Park. The event was won by the former with the close margin of six yards only, in the very good time of 3 min. 19 secs. Their relay team consisted of E. A. Fitch, D. W. Kelley, W. A. Boley, G. H. Stillman, and L. S. Wells.

The schools of the Inter-preparatory League held a three-quarter-mile relay race, four men to the team. There were but two contestants in this event, the University School and the Princeton-Yale School. The former won easily in 2 min. 47 secs. Their team was made up of G. Henneberry, Robert Ross, C. W. Popper, and F. Maysenberg. The half-mile walk was a scratch event, but in spite of this, Dowd, who is the best man at that event among the Chicago schools, came in a very close second to the winner, the time for the event being 3 min. 47-3/5 secs.

The University of Chicago in-door meet, which was held February 26, drew a well-filled house, and plenty of interest was shown in all the events. The most interesting numbers on the programme were the various team races, the one for high-schools coming next to last on the programme. Among the many contestants, some were from Northwestern University, Lake Forest University, Knox College, University of Wisconsin, and all the big athletic clubs of the city. The high-school boys showed up remarkably well; many of their best runners won heats in the 50-yard dash, but only one secured a place in the finals. D. W. Kelly, of English High, with a handicap of 10 feet, was beaten by the well-known, C.A.A. man C. A. Klunder (8 feet).

In the 880-yard run, a scratch event, having many of the University of Chicago and other university men in it, another English High-School man brought honor to his school. E. A. Fitch came in second, the time of the event being 2.14-4/5. Englewood did well in the walking events. In the half-mile walk, W. O. Dowd (20 yards) won the event in 3.27, A. D. Brookfield coming in third, having had a 30-yard start. The best amateur walkers of the city were in the event, including C. O. Berg, who took second place from scratch.

In the 440-yard run D. Bell, the fastest man for the distance in the Inter-preparatory League, took second place. In the 1-mile relay race for high-schools, eight to enter, six to start, Hyde Park repeated her performance of a year ago, and took the pennant. Her runners were Frank Linden, Roland Ford, Burt Powell, Paul Chase, Dan Trude, and Ralph Pingree, each going 1/6 made the mile in 4.59-1/5. English High showed up well. Englewood also sent a good team.

All in all, the evening was satisfactory for the high-schools. It brought out some new talent, and showed the schools something of what might be expected of their men in the spring meets.

LAST YEAR'S RECORDS AT THE MADISON SQUARE GARDEN GAMES.

Event. Performance.

50-yard dash (Senior) 6 sec.
50-yard dash (Junior) 5-4/5 sec.
220-yard dash 26-1/5 sec.
Quarter-mile run 57-4/5 sec.
Half-mile run 2 m. 12-1/5 sec.
One-mile run 4 m. 56 sec.
50-yard hurdle (3 ft.) 7-2/5 sec.
One-mile walk 7 ft. 59-2/5 sec.
Running high jump 5 ft. 7-1/2 in.
Running broad jump 19 ft. 2-1/2 in.
Pole vault 10 ft.
Putting 12-lb. shot 42 ft. 1 in.
Relay race 4 m. 2-1/5 sec.

Event. Winner.

50-yard dash (Senior) R. W. Moore, Barnard, N.Y.
50-yard dash (Junior) W. A. Robinson, St. Paul's, L.I.
220-yard dash W. M. Robinson, Worcester Academy, Mass.
Quarter-mile run C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, N.Y.
Half-mile run W. S. Hipple, Barnard, N.Y.
One-mile run E. W. Mills, Berkeley, Boston.
50-yard hurdle (3 ft.) A. F. Beers, De La Salle, N.Y.
One-mile walk A. L. O'Toole, English High-School, Boston.
Running high jump F. R. Sturtevant, Hartford High-School.
Running broad jump A. F. Beers, De La Salle, N.Y.
Pole vault R. G. Paulding, Black Hall, Conn.
Putting 12-lb. shot F. C. Ingalls, Hartford High-School.
Relay race St. Paul's School, L.I.

The table at the top of the page gives the figures made at the Knickerbocker A.C. in-door interscholastic games last year. As there was never before an interscholastic in-door meet under the auspices of the New York I.S.A.A., these figures stand therefore as the N.Y.I.S.A.A. in-door records. If space allows, the New York scholastic in-door records will be printed in an early issue, for the sake of comparison.

The handball championship of the Long Island Interscholastic League has been won by Poly. Prep., the record of games being as follows:

School. Won. Lost.

Poly. Prep. 15 3
Adelphi 7 5
Brooklyn High 5 5
Pratt 0 14

The man who developed the best playing qualities during the season was undoubtedly Clark of Poly. Prep., and ranking next to him, I think, are Frothingham and Robinson.

The feature of the Newton High-School's in-door meeting, held on Washington's birthday, was the breaking of the record in the 300-yard run. This was done by H. B. Owens in 40 secs. He also ran from scratch in the 30-yard dash in 3-4/5 sec. If he comes to the Knickerbocker A.C. games he will be a hard man to beat.

It is reported from Philadelphia that an interscholastic association of oarsmen is to be formed, and I believe that active steps toward the organization have already been made. Rowing is rapidly becoming more and more popular as an interscholastic sport, and this is the second rowing association formed by schools this year, the first one being that of the Milwaukee High-Schools.

The new spirit which is invigorating interscholastic sport in the middle West has taken the form of a very good set of regulations that have been adopted by the high-schools of Wisconsin. As I am frequently asked for similar texts, I print these in full:

ADMINISTRATION.

1. A committee of three shall be elected annually at the annual
meeting of the State Teachers' Association by the principals
subscribing to these rules, whose duty it shall be to have general
charge of all interscholastic contests under these rules.

2. The chairman of the Athletic Committee of the University of
Wisconsin shall be an arbitrator, whose duty it shall be to decide
upon alleged violations of these rules.

3. The principal of the school, or persons authorized by him, shall
be the manager or managers of the teams representing the school.

4. No game shall be played with any team without the sanction of
the principal.

5. No contests shall be arranged with other than school teams
acting under these rules.

6. Non-playing captains and managers shall conform to the same
rules as players, unless they be members of school faculty.

7. The principal, or his authorized representatives, shall
accompany his team to all contests.

QUALIFICATIONS OF CONTESTANTS.

1. To represent a high-school in any athletic contest a person must
be a _bona fide_ student in regular attendance, taking three full
studies, and obtaining at least a passing standing in each. He must
also have obtained a passing standing in two full studies during
the previous term, or must have obtained credits in three full
studies during his last term of attendance.

Exception.--It is agreed, however, that if during the
above-mentioned term any pupil shall obtain ten per cent. above the
passing mark in two full studies, and not lower than ten per cent.
below passing mark in the third, he shall not be excluded because
of failure to obtain the third passing standing.

By full study is meant a regular study in the curriculum of the
school requiring daily class-room work. It is stipulated, however,
that not less than two periods daily in freehand drawing shall be
called a full study.

Standing in each study must be based upon the entire ground covered
by the class, and must be a record complete from the beginning of a
term to the time required in Section 6. Any athletic contest is
understood to mean a contest with any secondary school.