Chapter XX: Chitsah's Natural Telephone (1)

Seventeen green wolf-skins formed a heavy sledge-load, especially for the weakened dog teams, but fortunately Jalap Coombs's feet were again in condition for walking, and snow on the river was not yet deep. So it was determined to carry them at least for the present. On the evening following that of the encounter with wolves, Phil, leaving the work of preparing camp to the others, unpacked the Eskimo wolf-traps of compressed whalebone that he had procured at Makagamoot. He had twenty of the ingenious little contrivances, and wrapped each one in a strip of frozen wolf meat that he had saved and brought along for the purpose. When all were thus prepared he carried them about a quarter of a mile from camp, and there dropped them at short intervals in a great circle about it. He knew the dogs would not stray that far, since their experience of the night before, and so felt pretty certain that the traps would only find their way to the destination for which they were intended.

The first blood-chilling howl was heard soon after dark, and a few minutes later it was apparent that wolves were again gathering from all quarters. Then the anxious watchers caught occasional glimpses of dim forms and sometimes of a pair of gleaming eyes, that invariably drew a shot from Phil's rifle. Still, the wolves seemed to remember their lesson, or else they waited for the occupants of the camp to fall asleep, for they made no effort at an attack.

As time passed, the wolf tones began to change, and defiant howlings to give place to yelps and yells of distress. Soon other sounds were mingled with these--the fierce snarlings of savage beasts fighting over their prey. The traps were doing their work. Those wolves that had eagerly gulped them down were so stricken with deadly pains that they staggered, fell, and rolled in the snow. At the first symptoms of distress others sprang upon them and tore them to pieces, at the same time battling fiercely over their cannibal feast. So wolf fed wolf, while the night echoed with their hideous outcries, until finally the survivors, gorged with the flesh of their own kind, slunk away, and after some hours of bedlam quiet once more reigned in the forest.

So Phil's scheme proved a success, and for the remainder of that night he and his companions slept in peace. At daylight they visited the scenes of wolfish feasting, and found everywhere plentiful evidence of what had taken place; but this time they gathered in neither rugs nor robes, for only blood stains and bones remained.

For another week did the sledge party journey down the several streams that, emptying one into another, finally formed the Conehill River, or, as the gold-diggers call it, Forty Mile Creek, because its mouth is forty miles down the Yukon from the old trading-post of Fort Reliance. As the first half of their long journey drew toward a close they became anxious as to its results and impatient for its end. When would they reach the settlement? and could they get there before their rivals who had followed the Yukon? were the two questions that they constantly asked of each other, but which none could answer.

Phil grew almost despondent as he reflected upon the length of time since they left old Fort Adams, and gave it as his opinion that the other party must have reached Forty Mile, long since.

Jalap Coombs was firm in his belief that the other party was still far away, and that his would be the first in; for, quoth he: "Luck allers has been on my side, and I'm going to believe it allers will be. My old friend Kite Roberson useter say, speaking of luck, and he give it as his own experience, that them as struck the best kinds of luck was them as worked the hardest for it, and ef they didn't get it one way they was sure to another. Likewise he useter say, Kite did, consarning worriments, that ef ye didn't pay no attention to one 'twould be mighty apt to pass ye by; but ef ye encouraged it by so much as a wink or a nod ye'd have to fight it to git red of it. So, as they hain't no worriments hove in sight, what's the use in s'arching for 'em?"

As for Kurilla, whenever his opinion was asked, he always grinned, and returned the same answer:

"You come pretty quick, mebbe. Yaas."

So each day of the last three or four brought its fresh hope; at each succeeding bend of the stream all eyes were strained eagerly forward for a sight of the expected cluster of log huts, and each night brought a disappointment.

At length one evening, when Phil, who had pushed on longer than usual, in an effort to end their suspense, was reluctantly compelled by gathering darkness to go into camp, Chitsah suddenly attracted attention to himself by running to a tree and pressing an ear to the trunk. As the others stared a smile overspread his face, and he said something to his father, which the latter instantly interpreted.

"What!" cried Phil, incredulously. "He thinks he hears the sound of chopping?"

"Yaas," answered Kurilla. "Axe chop um white man. Plenty. Yaas."

"I too can hear something," exclaimed Serge, who had imitated Chitsah's movements, "though I wouldn't swear it was chopping."

"Hurrah! So can I!" shouted Phil, after a moment of intent listening at another tree. "First time, though, I ever knew that the public telephone service was extended to this country. The sound I heard might be a train of cars twenty miles away or a woodpecker somewhere within sight. No matter. If Chitsah says it's chopping, it must be, for he ought to know, seeing that he first heard it with the aid of the tree-telephone. So let's go for it. We can afford to travel an hour or two in the dark for the sake of meeting the white man who is swinging that axe."

"Of course we can," replied Serge.

"Ay, ay, sir!" answered Jalap Coombs.

"Mebbe catch um. Yaas," added Kurilla, sharing the general enthusiasm.

An hour later, as they rounded a projecting point, Phil uttered an exulting shout. A cluster of twinkling lights shone dead ahead, and our travellers' goal was won.

"Let's give them a volley," suggested Serge. "It's the custom of the country, you know."

So the guns were taken from their deer-skin coverings, and at Phil's word of command a roar from double-barrel, flintlock, and Winchester woke glad echoes from both sides of the broad valley, and from the rugged Yukon cliffs beyond. Then with cheers and frantic yelpings of dogs, the sledge brigade dashed on toward the welcoming lights.

"Hello the camp!" yelled Phil, as they approached the dark cluster of cabins.

"On deck!" roared Jalap Coombs, as though he were hailing a ship at sea.

"Hello yourself!" answered a gruff voice--the first hail in their own tongue that the boys had heard in many a week. "Who are you? Where do you come from? And what's all this racket about?"

"White men," replied Phil, "with dog-sledges, up from Yukon month."

"Great Scott! You don't say so! No wonder you're noisy! Hi, boys! Here's the first winter outfit that ever came from Yukon mouth to Forty Mile. What's the matter with giving them a salute?"

"Nothing at all!" cried a score of voices, and then volley after volley rang forth, until it seemed as though every man there must have carried a loaded gun and emptied it of all six shots in honor of the occasion.

Men came running from all directions, and before the shooting ceased the entire population of the camp, some three hundred in number, were eagerly crowding about the new-comers, plying them with questions, and struggling for the honor of shaking hands with the first arrivals of the year.

"Are we really the first to come up?" asked Phil.

"To be sure you are. Not only that, but the first ones to reach the diggings from any direction since navigation closed. But how did you come? Not by the river, I know, for when I heard your shooting 'twas away up the creek."

"We came by the Tananah and across the Divide," answered Phil. "There is another party coming by way of the river, though."

"Hark to that, boys! One train just arrived and another coming! I tell you, old Forty Mile is right in it. Daily express from all points; through tickets to Europe, Arup, and Arrap; morning papers and opera-houses, circus and theaytres. Looks like the boom had struck us at last. But say, stranger, what _is_ the news from below?"

"New steamer on her way up the river, with saw-mill, mining machinery, and best stock of goods ever seen in Alaska," replied Phil, quick to seize the opportunity, and anxious to make his business known while he still had the field to himself. "We have come from her, and are on our way to San Francisco to send up a new stock for next season. So we have only stopped to take your orders and find out what will be the most acceptable."

"Hurrah!" yelled the crowd, wild with excitement. "Send us a brass band," shouted one. "In swaller-tails and white kids," added another. "What's the matter with moving the Palace Hotel up here?" suggested a third.

"Come, fellows, let up," cried the man who had been the first to welcome the new arrivals, and whose name was Riley. "We mustn't keep these gentlemen standing out here in the cold any longer. I reckon they're hungry, too, and wondering why we don't invite 'em to grub. So, men, just come into my shebang and make yourselves at home. There isn't much to it, but such as it is it's yours, so long as you'll honor yours truly."

"No, come with me," cried another voice. "I've got beans, Boston baked, fresh from the can." "I've got molasses and soft-tack," and "I've just made a dish of scouse." "Come with us," shouted others.

"No, you don't!" roared Mr. Riley. "They're my meat, and they are going to bunk in with me."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

TYPICAL AMERICAN SCHOOLS.

ANDOVER.

BY WILLIAM PHILLIPS GRAVES.

About one hundred and sixteen years ago a small school was started in a carpenter's shop on Andover Hill. This little school of about twelve boys was the origin of the great Phillips Academy, which now numbers about five hundred. Its founder was a certain Judge Samuel Phillips, a prominent young lawyer and statesman in Massachusetts during the Revolution. Besides giving much of his own money to the school, he enlisted the aid of some of his relatives, all of whom were very rich for those days, and soon had them so much interested in founding schools that his uncle, John Phillips, started a similar one in Exeter, New Hampshire, and named it Phillips Exeter Academy.

The little academy in Andover did not long hold its sessions in a carpenter's shop. It was soon provided with a good building by its wealthy founder; and, with an energetic principal and a fine set of boys, many of whom afterwards became famous men, the school flourished at once, and became widely known.

The location of the school has been shifted about on Andover Hill, for its buildings were several times burned down. One of them, the Science Building, is said to have been set on fire by a boy in revenge for having been severely disciplined. Tradition says that he is still living. If he should risk coming to Andover now, and could see the fine new Science Building which replaces the one he destroyed, I venture to say that his conscience would be immensely relieved.

Where Oliver Wendell Holmes went to school.]

The present Gymnasium is the old school-house which Oliver Wendell Holmes attended in his boyhood, and which he has immortalized in his poem read at the centennial celebration in 1878:

"The morning came. I reached the classic hall.
A clock face eyed me, staring from the wall.
Beneath its hands a printed line I read--
Youth is Life's Seed Time;' so the clock face said.
Some took its counsel, as the sequel showed,
Sowed their wild oats, and reaped as they had sowed.
How all comes back--the upward slanting floor.
The masters' thrones that flanked the master's door,
The long outstretching alleys that divide
The row of desks that stands on either side,
The staring boys, a face to every desk,
Bright, dull, pale, blooming, common, picturesque."

The life at Andover is more like college life than at most schools. The boys have their rooms in private boarding-houses, or small dormitories on and near the Hill. Here they do all their studying during day study hours, and here they must be at eight o'clock in the evening, for at a quarter before eight the academy bell begins to toll warningly until five minutes before the hour, when it rings rapidly. This means that every boy not within walking distance of his home must run, and woe to him who is discovered lingering on the street after eight!

Of course many of the teachers acquire great reputations as eagle-eyed detectives or lightning sprinters, and traditions are not dead yet of the hot races that have taken place between belated youths and some sprinting instructor. Sometimes this pursuer is a real teacher, but often he is only a boy theatrically made up to represent some dignified teacher, and who is out for a little exercise. I can remember one genuine race, when the culprit was discovered skylarking around the enchanted grounds of the "Fem. Sem." His pursuer, though a heavy man, and with the worst record in the faculty as a sprinter, maintained a most lively pace, and the race never ended until our young friend was dragged, panting and very much scared, from under his bed.

Besides these boarding-houses there are the famous English and Latin "Commons." These are ranged in rows at each end of the campus or playground. The houses, which resemble factory cottages, are not beautiful architecturally; but boys do not care for that usually. These rooms are very cheap, and are primarily meant for boys who cannot afford the greater luxury of private boarding-houses. Yet they are very comfortable, and, from the greater independence and pleasant dormitory life, many richer fellows are found there.

The life in these Commons is quite like college life. In front of each row is a low fence, where, as at Yale, fellows gather of a warm evening and sing songs and have a good sociable time generally. Each boy must care for his own room; and every Friday noon an inspection of rooms is made by the faculty, so that beds are made up and clothes put away once a week at least.

The day's work at Phillips begins at 8.10 in the morning, when, after much tolling and rapid ringing of the old bell, the whole five hundred boys assemble for prayers in the great Academy Hall, where hang the portraits of teachers and benefactors and founders of a century back. Recitations are held during the day until half past four, when all hands turn out for a good time. Every tennis-court and ball-ground is immediately more than occupied. The first teams begin to practise on the campus, the athletic team gets to work on the track, and bicyclers start off in all directions. Others stroll off for a walk to Indian Ridge, or the old railroad, or Sunset Rock, or Allen Hinton's. Allen Hinton is the famous ice-cream man. No one can make better ice-cream than he. Besides his fame as an ice-cream maker, he is the greatest fox-hunter for miles around, and his stories of fox-hunting and his experiences in the war are something worth hearing.

Then "Chap's" is a great meeting-place for those who like eating better than exercise. Here boys have drunk soda-water and eaten candy and griddle-cakes, and ruined their digestions for years and years. The benches and stalls are so thickly inscribed with names that it is difficult to find room to carve a new one.

Andover has always been noted for its fine athletic teams. The great rivalry between Exeter and Andover has brought the standard of athletics up very high, so that college Freshman teams are usually beaten by the Phillips boys, and even the Yale and Harvard 'varsity teams often have no easy task in overcoming them.

For many years the great events of the school year have been the football and baseball games with Exeter. For weeks before the game the chief topics of conversation are the chalices of victory and the prospects of this and that man for the team. As the day for the game draws near, the excitement increases. Crowds watch the daily practice, and under appointed leaders work up new cheers or practise on the old ones, so that those who do not belong to the teams have at least a chance to beat Exeter at yelling.

Finally the great day arrives. Every man in school who owns or can borrow a couple of dollars has his excursion ticket, and eight or ten yards of blue and white ribbon with which to decorate his cane, hat, and button-hole. After the morning recitation the whole school, supported by half the town of Andover and certain extraordinary mascots, board the special train for Exeter, gay with flags and ribbons, and noisy with tin horns. Even the cars and engine are draped with blue.

After reaching Exeter a rush is made for the campus, and a mad scramble for seats ensues. Those who are fortunate enough to belong to the secret societies have positions on gayly decked coaches. With Andover men massed on one side of the field and Exeter men on the other, an alternate contest of cheering at once takes place, like the Greek choruses of old. While waiting for the athletes to appear, the excitement is intense. For real genuine excitement a Harvard-Yale contest is a dull affair compared with an Andover-Exeter game.

When you are sixteen years old or less, and at Phillips, you don't care for close games. You want to see your own side make all the runs or touch-downs possible, and although cheering of opponents' errors is strictly against school courtesy, yet the more points your own team makes, and the poorer the other plays, the more you feel like yelling and waving your cane and slapping your friend on the back and congratulating yourself that you went to Andover instead of Exeter.

Such a contest as this was the baseball game of '87. About the seventh inning a mysterious-looking wagon containing something covered with a canvas drove rapidly across the field and disappeared in the woods behind. This strange appearance was soon forgotten in the interest of the game; but the wagon bore the instruments of the Andover Brass Band, who were concealed in the woods, and whom a loyal citizen had hired in case of victory. At the end of the game, when all Andover was tearing madly on the field and bearing off the victors on their shoulders, the band appeared on the scene in full blare. Every one fell in behind them, helping them out with tin horns and cries of "Left, left, left, the Exeter men got left!" And each year some new feature like this is introduced.

Then ensues the usual scene after a victory. The entire wild procession moves to the depot, followed by the chagrined and more or less angry Exeter men. At the depot, after some friendly scuffling and snatching of canes and colors for souvenirs, and deafening cheering on the part of everybody, the special train moves away for Andover, long before stripped of its blue colors, to supply those who have failed to bring a ribbon for themselves.

On the train the expressions of joy do not cease. Every brakeman or conductor who ventures inside a car is immediately put up for a speech. The brakemen often object, and smash their red lanterns about on the heads of small boys, who do not mind it in the least. When Andover is reached, all, tired and hoarse, but happy, make for their boarding-houses for a rousing supper and a little rest before the time-honored celebration in the evening. At half past eight this celebration takes place, and all sally forth, armed with tin horns of huge proportions. Study hours never count on celebration nights.

According to tradition, the members of the victorious team are drawn about in a barge by a rope long enough for the whole school. They are hauled about to the houses of the faculty. Each teacher is lustily cheered by his popular nickname, and then called forth to make a speech. After the round of the faculty houses, the whole mob, not a whit less noisy for all its exertions, retire to the campus. In less than twenty minutes a mass of oil-barrels and fence rails miraculously appears, and is heaped to the size of an ordinary barn. After a bath of kerosene oil a famous fire is set going. All join hands around the fire. The captain of the team is mounted on the shoulders of two sturdy friends. Every one gathers himself together for one last shout, and around they whirl in a wild weird dance. Then the fire begins to die down; it is getting toward midnight; the faculty begin to flit warningly about; all, tired and scarcely able to talk, go quietly home, and the great celebration is over.

This is a sample of what takes place after a victory. After defeat the town in the evening is silent as the grave, and the depression for several days is quite appalling. In these games feeling often runs high, but such things as fights are very rare. At such times Andover and Exeter men speak disrespectfully of each other, but the chances are that one's best friends at college may be these very opponents, and perhaps one likes them all the better for having once done them an injustice.

But Andover does not go in for athletics alone. In their studies the boys are so well trained that at college they usually take high position in their classes without any difficulty whatever. For those who are inclined to literary pursuits there is the _Phillipian_ to try for. It is issued twice a week, and it is considered a great honor to become a member of the editing board. Then there is the _Mirror_ every month, which contains literature of a more solid character. Besides these there are yearly publications which offer prizes for drawings. The Philomathean Society, which has held meetings for seventy years, is the debating society. Those who are sensible enough to join this, and practise speaking before a crowd, receive a training that helps them wonderfully all their lives. This society and a flourishing branch of the Y.M.C.A. are powerful influences in the school. What with the different prize speakings, the glee and banjo clubs, the track-athletic and tennis teams, and numberless other organizations, every boy has a chance to distinguish himself.

Sunday is a delightful day at Andover. The afternoon stroll with one's best friend in the beautiful country around is perhaps the pleasantest experience in the week. Boys are obliged to attend church twice on Sunday, but few of them object to this compulsory attendance, for the services are conducted in turn by the professors of the Theological Seminary, all of whom are very distinguished and interesting men, who never fail to interest their hearers.

The Theological Seminary is situated near the school, and as is always the case, the men are closer students and more devoted to their work than are the members of the Academy proper. That does not mean, however, that they do not join the latter in their social and athletic life. Once they had a baseball team that could completely demolish the Phillips nine. Their pitcher, a famous Yale player, was said to be the only man in the country who could deliver a "snake" curve.

Near Phillips Academy also is situated the Abbot Female Academy. This is a large girls' school. No uninvited boy is allowed on these sacred premises, and all intercourse between the two schools is forbidden. Nevertheless, the stories of midnight serenaders and of encounters with Pat, the Fem. Sem. policeman, would fill a volume.

Every Andover man loves his school, not only for the fun and scrapes that he had there, but for the good that he has received from it. Many of his strongest friendships were formed there, and much of his success at college and in after-life has depended on the associations made at school, while those who have not gone to college feel that they gained at Andover an education by no means scanty.

A REVENGEFUL WHALE.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

The ship was under a cloud of canvas. Old Handsome lay on his side away forward near the knight-heads, where the rhythmic rise and fall of the bows lulled him like the rocking of a cradle.

"Say," he drawled, in a lazy voice, "the old ship looks very gay in the sunset, doesn't she?"

"Waal," said Farmer Joe, "she dew look right peert. But all the same I don't see no use o' wastin' a whole dog-watch a-lookin' at her."

"Who arst yer to?" said another sailor.

"Waal," continued Farmer Joe, "what I'm a-thinkin' of is that Handsome ort to tell us some more o' his whalin' exper'ences."

Handsome uttered a feeble moan of protest. But the seamen gathered around him and persisted.

"Well, well," he said at length, "hold on a minute till I overhaul my recollection-lockers. Let's see; where was I? Oh yes; I'd got to where I was lost from the _Ellen Burgee_, and was picked up by the whaler _Two Cousins_. Well, that was a rum sort of a go. You see the Captain of the _Two Cousins_ was very glad to get us, because he was short-handed, some of his men having deserted at the last port. So we agreed to work in with his crew until our own ship was sighted, when he was to put us aboard of her. Of course we never had any sort of a notion that it was going to be six months before we got back to the _Ellen Burgee_. Say, of all the wearing, tearing things that can come to a man in this world there's nothing more exasperating than waiting for whales. We pretty nearly went crazy aboard the _Two Cousins_, for it was two weeks before the masthead let go the mighty welcome yell,

"'There she breaches!'

"The skipper he jumped into the rigging and took a squint, and the next minute he shouted:

"'There she blows--one--two--three! Three good whales. Lower away lively, you shipkeepers!'

"Our crew had been put in one boat, because the Captain agreed that we'd do better working together, and of course he knew we wouldn't run away, because there wasn't any place to run to. Well, we lowered away and off we went under oars, because the whales were dead to windward, and not so very far away either. We had gone about half the distance, when the boat-steerer said,

"'There goes flukes.'

"Which meant, of course, that the whales had sounded. There was nothing to do except to wait for them to come up again. They staid down a pretty long time, which proved that they were big ones, and then they came up half a mile dead to leeward of us. We set our little boat sail, there was a fairly good breeze, and we went dancing over the waves toward the whales at a good pace. The first mate of the _Two Cousins_ had the weather-gage of us, and he had the smallest whale. The one we were heading for was a regular old leviathan.

"'Get in your sail,' whispered the boat-steerer.

"It was done with great caution.

"'Now a good stroke, starboard, to pull her round.'

"We were now in a position to go up to his whaleship without being seen; so the boat-steerer says:

"'Now, lads, give way with a will. Jump her; jump her!'

"We dashed our oars, and the boat sprang forward.

"'Now!'

"The iron was thrown with a whiz, and as quick as a flash--yes, as quick as a mouse could dart into his hole--the whale went down into the sea. The line ran out of the tub fast enough to make you dizzy. All of a sudden--how, I never could tell--there was a kink in the line, and it fouled for a second in the bow chock. Such a thing meant destruction to the boat, and as quick as thought I, being bowman, grabbed the axe and cut the line.

"'Blast you!' yelled the boat-steerer; 'what did you do that for?'

"'Do you want to be towed under?' I said. 'I should think we'd had enough towing.'

"'Well,' says he, cooling down a bit, 'there's a fine whale gone off with a good iron in him.'

"The other boats did not have much better luck than we did, seeing that their whales got frightened and began to run. They chased the brutes for two hours, and couldn't get anywhere near them. Then it commenced to get late, and the ship hoisted the waif--"

"What's that?" asked Farmer Joe.

"That's the boat recall in a whaler," answered Handsome; "and when it went up we had to go back to the ship, where we were jawed by the Captain, and made fun of by the rest of the crew. Still, we didn't mind that so very much, because, you know, it's pretty likely to be turn about in a whaler, and you can't ever tell when an accident is going to happen to the oldest hand. It was three days before we saw a whale again. I was on lookout, and I caught sight of a spurt of spray away down to leeward. I was hardly sure of it at first, but the next second the whale rose on a sea, and I caught the flash of the sun on his shiny wet back. So I bawled away as usual,

"'There blows!'

"'Only one?' yelled the Captain.

"'That's all, sir,' says I.

"'Well,' says he,' we'll make sure of him, anyhow.'

"So he gives orders to lower away three boats. These boats were to spread out in running down on the whale, so that if he sounded he might come up so near one of the outside ones as to give it a chance to go on before he could recover from his surprise. Well, we had the outside berth on the port side, and the mate of the _Two Cousins_ he had the middle. The orders were to keep abreast in sailing down, and by easing and trimming sheets, according as we went ahead or not, we managed to do it pretty neatly. We had got down within two hundred and fifty yards of the whale, when he began to swim ahead. He didn't seem to go very fast, but he managed to keep us all about the same distance astern of him. All of a sudden our boat-steerer says,

"'I know him!'

"'Get out!' says I; 'how can you know a whale?'

"'But I tell you I do,' says he, 'and if you had any sense you'd know him too.'

"'How would I?' asks I.

"'Don't you see the harpoon sticking out of him?'

"I looked pretty hard, and, sure enough, there was a harpoon, with a line drifting from it.

"'That's my iron!' says the boat-steerer.

"'Get out!' says I.

"'I won't,' says he.

"'How do you know it's yours?' says I.

"'Because I made it myself, and I know my own work even when I see it afloat on a whale's back away off in longitude and latitude something or other.'

"'Then it's the same whale!' says I.

"'Right!' says he. 'It's the whale I struck the other day, and which got away because you went out and cut the line.'

"'It would be a pretty good joke on the whale,' says I, 'if we could get close enough to him to catch hold of the end of the line.'

"'It would,' says he,' and we could begin again where we left off yesterday.'

"'Shall we try it?' I asks.

"'Of course,' says he.

"'He's stopped swimming ahead,' says I.

"'Then we'll soon be close to him,' says he.

"'But if he don't swim ahead the end of the line'll sink,' says I.

"'And we'll go on and heave a new iron into him,' says he, 'and so we'll get him anyway.'

"Well, we sailed on, and occasionally the whale would swim ahead a little, and then again he'd stop, and we'd gain on him. By-and-by we got pretty close, and the boat-steerer says:

"'Let's make a dash now and make fast to him with the new iron.'

"With that we got the oars out, and with a jump and a snort we sent the light boat boiling ahead. Now in all my life I never saw anything quite as smart as that particular whale. The minute we began to go ahead, so did he. But we were so close that old Bacon, the boat-steerer, made up his mind that we could catch him.

"'Pull hard, lads!' he says; 'pull hard! We're gaining on him at every stroke.'

"And now it came to be a regular race between us and the whale, which was altogether out of the nature of things. The whale, if he'd been scared, ought to have sounded. We thought of that afterward, but we didn't think of it then. The other boats' crews didn't think of it either, for they were pulling hard too. But owing to the whale's starboarding his helm a little we were much the nearest to him. All of a sudden I happened to look over the side of the boat, and blow me if I didn't see the end of the harpoon-line dragging along in the water! Quick as a wink I let go of my oar and grabbed that line. The next second I had it in the boat, and had a turn around the loggerhead.

"'We're fast!' says I.

"'Bully for you!' says Bacon.

"'Hurrah!' says the rest of the crew.

"Then Bacon he sort of half stood up and waved his cap to the other boats, and pointed to the harpoon and line. They waved back at us and laughed. Then Bacon says,

"'Now I'm fast I don't hardly know what to do, because the whale is just as cool as though he'd never been struck.'

"At that minute, as luck would have it, the whale seemed to find out what had happened, and he ups flukes and sounds. He didn't stay down very long, and when he came up Bacon says,

"'Now's our time. We'll go right in and give him the lance.'

"We bent our backs to it and dashed the boat ahead; but it was not to be our luck to kill just then, for just as Bacon stood up with the lance the whale hove his tail into the air and brought it down on the water with a report like a cannon. At the same instant he sounded again.

"'He's a regular demon!' says Bacon; 'but we'll get him yet.'

"In a few minutes he came up again and lay perfectly still. Once more we pulled up on him, and Bacon got ready to throw the lance. Again the whale sounded. Down, down he went till the line was all out. And then he didn't stop.

"'Great Scott!' yells Bacon, 'he's trying to tow us under.'

"Without a second's hesitation he grabbed the axe and cut the line. It was lucky he was so quick, for the bow of the boat had been pulled down till the water was flowing over the gunwales. Another second and we'd all have been in the water. Again the whale came up and lay perfectly still, with the tantalizing harpoon fast in his back.

"'Now we'll not fool with that any more,' said Bacon, the boat-steerer, 'but we'll go on and put in a new iron.'

"'We made a good approach, and got up within heaving distance. Bacon stood up, and was just going to let fly, when Mr. Whale went down again.

"'Well, that's the most exasperating brute I ever met,' says Bacon, 'and I'll never leave him till I see him dead.'

"I don't suppose a whale down under the sea can hear what a man in a boat says, and I guess he wouldn't understand it if he did; but that whale acted as if he knew a heap. The first thing we knew, the stroke-oar, who was leaning over the side of the boat, let out a yell and dashed his oar into the water.

"'Pull for your lives!' says he."

"We didn't need any second invitation of that kind. We all dipped our oars, but it was too late. Suddenly two great dark walls seemed to shoot up out of the ocean, one on each side of the boat. The boat itself was lifted bodily out of the water, bending and straining as if it was made of straw. Looking over the sides, our blood just stood still at the sight. The whale had come up under us straight up and down, as if he was a-standing on his tail. He had opened his terrible cave of a mouth, and had snatched the boat in it, and now he was holding the little vessel and us in it a good fifteen feet above the water, while he sort of rocked back and forward like a child playing with a doll.

"'Give him an iron in his beastly snout!' yelled one of the men.

"Too late; and it wouldn't have done any good anyhow. He moved his jaw a little, and the sides of the boat bent in and creaked like paper. With wild yells we all threw ourselves out of the boat, for in another minute some of us would have been in his throat. He snapped his jaws together, crunching the boat into kindling-wood. Then he threw himself end over end, going down head first, and lashing out with his great flukes. Poor Bill Johnson got a crack that broke one of his legs, and if it hadn't been for Bacon, he'd have drowned. The other boats came dashing down to our rescue, the boat of the first mate of the _Two Cousins_ leading the way. She was nearest to us, and the mate was shouting words of encouragement, when all of a sudden his cries changed to shouts of fear. The next instant we saw the waters split wide open, and the whale came up, back first, with a crash right under the boat. Boys, I hope I may never see South Street again if he didn't drive the harpoon that was still sticking in his back right through the bottom of her. There she was pinned fast to his back.

"'Give him your lance'!' yells Bacon, who was swimming and holding up Bill Johnson.

"'What! And be killed in his flurry?' shouted the mate. 'Not much!'

"With that he grabs the spars of his boat, throws them overboard, and jumps after them, followed by all his crew. At the same instant the whale lashed out with his flukes again and went down, taking the boat on his back. This time, as good luck would have it, he didn't hit any one. But we were all thoroughly terrified, for we knew now that the brute was in a temper, and that he knew what he was doing. Meanwhile the ship was bearing down on us, and we had hopes of being saved. The third boat, too, was pulling up, but we had not much hopes of her, for we expected to see the whale attack her. And, sure enough, he came up a few yards away, without the mate's boat on his back, and waited for her. When she was close to us he seemed to utter a snort as he plunged down and made for her. The steerer of the boat was a cool hand, and he swung the boat off with a powerful stroke just as the whale came up and tried to smash her with his flukes. Curiously enough, the brute seemed to think he'd done for her, for instead of coming back to take another shot, he sounded, and we never saw anything more of him. Five minutes later we were all safe in the third boat, and soon afterward we were aboard the ship. But, I tell you, I don't care to have any more dealings with a whale that's bent on revenge and seems to know just who it was that hit him."

If the weather is fair next Saturday there ought to be some records broken in the Interscholastic games, both at the Berkeley Oval and at Eastern Park. The Oval's straightaway track is one of the fastest in the country, and with the conditions in his favor Washburn should win the 100 in 10-2/5. Hall could take the event if he would train, but he seems disinclined to put forth his greatest exertions, and so will probably dispute second place with Moore. In the Juniors for the same distance Wilson will pretty surely score five points for Barnard. Syme's injury to his foot may prevent him from competing in any of the many events for which he is entered, but if he recovers and gets into condition again before Saturday he will doubtless be heard from in the 220 and the low hurdles. He ought certainly to win the latter, with Harris behind him. In the 220 Vom Baur will push his schoolmate, if he runs; but I should not be surprised if Vom Baur staid out and reserved his strength for other work. Wilson ought to win the Junior 220, if his first heat and the two 100 heats don't tire him. Stratton will have a place. The quarter-mile seems to be an easier riddle than most of the other events on the card. Irwin-Martin will undoubtedly take first place, Syme second (if he has recovered from the effects of his spiking), and Meehan third. Another reasonable certainty is the high jump. Baltazzi is sure to take the event for Harvard School, while Pell and Wenman will struggle for second place, both being of about equal skill, with possibly a slight advantage in favor of Pell. Irwin-Martin could win the half-mile if he ran, but I do not think he will answer the call in this event. I understand he will only enter the 440 and the hammer, and consequently Pier may pretty safely be counted on to win, with Inman and Vom Baur in the places.

Winners of the N.Y.I.S. Championship in 1894.]

Tappen and Blair will have a chance to decide, in the presence of competent judges, which one of them can run the fastest mile; and although Blair deserved the prize at the Sachs games, I think Tappen will lead in the interscholastics. The mile walk, in all probability, will rest between Ware and Hackett; and if Powell can keep his seat in the bicycle-race, the order in that event should be Powell, Ehrich, Mortimer. But Powell may reasonably be counted on to slip or trip or break something, and so Harvard School stands a chance of getting five points there instead of three. Cowperthwait did 20 feet 4 in the broad jump at the Trinity games, and ought to win the event Saturday; but Beers will doubtless cover 20 feet; and I expect to see Batterman do better than 19, with Pier close behind him. Between Batterman and Irwin-Martin for the hammer it is hard to decide, but I am inclined to give the preference to the former. He will have to do better than 106 feet to win, but I doubt if Irwin-Martin can throw 105. Ayers should take third place, and he will doubtless get second in the shot, with Bigelow ahead of him, and Batterman behind. The remaining events on the programme are the pole-vault, which lies between Hurlbert and Simpson, and throwing the baseball, which will be taken by Ayers. He will have to better his last year's record of 325 feet, however, for Zizinia threw 330 feet in practice last week, and Elmer's arm is in good condition. It looks now as if four schools were certain of scoring twenty points or more each. These are Barnard, Berkeley, Harvard, and Cutler. Barnard's chances of success will greatly depend on Syme's condition, for he is their chief point-winner; and if he fails, then Berkeley will make a strong bid for the championship.

At Eastern Park the performances will not be so good as at Berkeley Oval, but several of the Long Island records will no doubt be considerably bettered. The most promising candidates for the 100 are Underhill and Stevenson. Litchfield is good at that distance, but he will doubtless be reserved for the hurdles and the broad jump. In that case Stevenson may be counted on to win. Stevenson will contest the 220 with Underhill and Jewell, and will probably take the 440. It will be a hot struggle for the places among Goetting, Jewell, Foster, and Grace. As the new rule shuts Bacchus out of the half-mile, Campbell, Bowden, and Goldsborough will make a close race. If Bedford does not save himself for the mile, he ought to be heard from; and he will undoubtedly take the long-distance event, Romer and Beasly in the places. If Berger, who won last year, is allowed to compete, he is a pretty sure winner for the bicycle, and he will be followed closely by Roehr. Fomey ought to be prominent in the pole vault, and if in condition, should win. Jewell and Streeter will push him. Barker and Gunnison have been doing good work in the high jump, but the event will probably go to Watt or Duval. I expect to see Munson take the shot, with Badger and Milne in the places. Herrick and Litchfield are the best men for the hurdles, and the latter should easily win the broad jump. Munson and Bishop ought to rank second and third. The Junior 100 will be decided among Richards, Rionda, Robinson, and Liebman. These men are a good deal of an unknown quantity. As the mile walk is a new event, no safe or just prediction can be made.

Some objection may be made by President Sykes, of the N.Y.I.S.A.A., to Ehrich's riding in the bicycle-race Saturday, but Ehrich has just as good a right to compete as any of the rest. If any protest is made it will be based on the fact that Ehrich attended the College of the City of New York last year, and as a member of the sub-Freshman class competed in the Intercollegiate games last spring. But Section 2 of Article X. of the constitution of the N.Y.I.S.A.A. expressly provides that any boy having been a member of the sub-Freshman class at C.C.N.Y. is not debarred from competing in games of the association provided he is under age and a member of some school. This year Ehrich is at the Harvard School. By riding in the Intercollegiates Ehrich classed himself with college men, possibly without having any right to do so. That was a question for the I.C.A.A. to settle last year. At the present time, however, Ehrich is a _bona fide_ student at the Harvard school, he is within the age limit required by the I.S.A.A., he has never "attended any college," in the sense conveyed by the rules of the I.S.A.A., and he has never been in business. It seems therefore that he should be allowed to ride without protest, so long as there is no direct legislation affecting the case.

Baseball is in a much more nourishing state of activity in New England than it is in New York, although the N.Y.I.S.B.B. League games have been under way here for two weeks or more. The championship season began in Boston on April 25th, and will close on June 7th, when the Cambridge High and Latin nine meets the English High-school team. The C.H. and L. has held a leading position in the league ever since the organization was started seven years ago, and the team has never finished lower than in third place, and in four of the six seasons has taken the pennant. This year the work of the players is well up to the standard set by their predecessors, except that the batting is weak. The team work is fair, and Stearns has good control of the ball, but little speed. The English High-school also came into the league at the start, and has played a close second to C.H. and L. ever since. Ward, who has been a member of every football and baseball team since he entered school in 1891, has made an efficient Captain since the resignation of Dakin, and will play in the box. He has speed and good curves, but he is liable to lose control of the ball when touched up for consecutive hits. The strength of the Roxbury Latin nine lies in Morse, the pitcher; but as Captain Ewer is the only player left from last year, he will have all he can do to mould his material for effective team work. Just at present the Hopkinson team is weak. There is plenty of good material at hand, however, and as Joe Upton, the old Harvard player, is coaching the boys, it is possible that at the end of the season unexpected strength will be developed. The Somerville High nine is somewhat of an unknown quantity too. That school has always been unfortunate in interscholastic athletics, never having finished higher than fourth place in baseball. Last year every one expected to see S.H-S. win the series, after they had defeated the Harvard Freshmen by a large score, but at the end of the season Hopkinson was the only team in the league that had failed to defeat them. As to the Boston Latin, there is a noticeable improvement over the standard of former seasons, and if the students will only show interest in baseball work, and support those who are striving to win glory for them, such encouragement cannot fail to result in higher achievements.

On the whole, the members and supporters of the N.E.I.S. Association should feel well satisfied with the league's attainments. It has certainly succeeded in the purpose for which it was formed--that is, to train players for the Harvard 'Varsity nine. This year no less than seven of the Crimson's players, including Captain Whittemore, are graduates from the interscholastic ranks. Whittemore was a B.L.S. player in 1891, and led the league in batting. On the several Harvard class teams there is an aggregate of twenty-five or thirty men who got their early experience in the league. To encourage sharp work in interscholastic baseball the Boston A.A. has this year offered a silver cup as a trophy to be played for during a term of five years.

Yale is just as much interested in interscholastic baseball in her neighborhood as Harvard is in Boston and Cambridge, and in 1891 offered to the Connecticut Interscholastic League a cup which was to stand for three years, and which has now become the property of the Hartford Public High-school by virtue of its successes in 1891, 1892, and 1894. The Connecticut I.S. League has sent many prominent athletes to Yale, some of the best known of whom are Corbin, who captained the '89 eleven; Williams, who made the 15-4/5 seconds high-hurdle record at the Berkeley Oval in '91; Cady, who is a star in the same event, but who failed to come up to Yale's expectations in the international games with Oxford in London last summer; and Gallaudet, who stroked the victorious crew at New London in 1893. The field meeting of the Conn. High-school A.A. on the Charter Oak track at Hartford next month promises to be one of the most interesting contests of the interscholastic season.