Chapter II: Part 2

For the last three-quarters of an hour, indeed, the _Minetta_ had been stationary, heaving a little now and then, but in such a small way and keeping on such an even keel as scarcely to move the coffee in our cups. The Captain had been gone but a few minutes when we all went up on deck. The seas were round and oily, and the brown sails hung in lazy folds against the masts. The man at the wheel now and again gave the spokes a whirl this way and that, and he was forever casting his eye aloft as if by some motion of his he might catch a stray breath of wind.

It was past sundown, and there was a strange, suffused glow everywhere, more like dawn than the twilight of evening. But off to the northwest towered a black tumble of clouds that were edged with a fringe of lighter color. They were stretching upwards and peering grandly above the horizon-line like a range of growing mountains.

Suddenly a quiver of light flashed all around, and then a streak of forked lightning ripped horizontally, like a tear in a heavy curtain, against the pit of the cloud. The Captain went below at this, to look at the barometer again.

"It's falling, Mr. Norcross," he said, raising his head. "Shorten sail, sir, and be lively!"

The men tumbled out from the deck-house. The top-sails which we had carried all the afternoon were taken in, and a reef put in the foresail and mainsail.

I watched all this bustling about with much delight, and then my attention was drawn to the sky. The clouds had now spread so that they were almost over us; a few big rain-drops fell and made little splotches on the surface of the water and spattered the deck in spots as big as dollars. They could be heard falling in the stillness against the dry sails overhead. Then, without a warning, there came another flash of lightning and a deafening thunder-roll. A slight puff of wind trailed the heavy blocks on the main boom rattling across the deck. The yards swung about with a complaining, creaking noise.

The Captain seized the glass and pointed to the westward; then he jumped to the wheel, jammed it over, and immediately began shouting orders to close the hatches, haul in the main-sheet, and make all snug. Every eye had followed the aiming of the telescope--a line of white below a wall of gray was coming toward us on the rush! A few more drops of rain fell softly, and then the thunder began to crash and roar on every hand.

Warned by the Captain, Mr. Chaffee and his wife went down to the cabin, both pale with fright. I, however, kept the deck, and in some way (I cannot account for it) was overlooked. And here nearly comes an ending to my story.

So suddenly and so fair abeam did the wind strike us that it was almost a knockdown then and there, and the first thing I knew I slid across the deck over against the lee bulwarks. The scuppers were running so full that I went under from head to foot; I thought surely I was going to be drowned--in fact, I think I took a few strokes and imagined myself overboard. The masts were extending over the water so far that the yard-arms almost dipped, the crew were hanging on by anything they could lay hand to, and the wind raised such a screeching in the rigging that the Captain, who was bawling at the top of his lungs, might as well have held silence; his voice apparently blew down his throat. Nevertheless, some of the crew must have understood him, for they clambered into the shrouds. This I noticed as I tried to crawl up the slope of the deck. Then there came a loud report; the foresail blew out into tatters, and the brig righted. A turn of the wheel, and she was put before it, crashing down into the sea (that came tumbling under her quarters), and now and then lifting her stern as if she would roll over like a ball--any which way.

I managed with difficulty to make the head of the after-ladder, and stumbled down it head first, some one slamming the sliding-hatch with a bang almost on my heels as they went over the combing. Looking about me, I found Mr. Chaffee and his wife engaged in prayer. They were much bruised from having been flung about the cabin, and were in great fear that we were about to founder.

But the _Minetta_ was going so much steadier now that we all three sought our bunks, and managed to stay in them, and I had so much confidence in the Captain and crew, and was so unfamiliar with terror, that probably I did not recognize the nearness we had come to disaster, so after an hour or so I went to sleep.

When I awakened the sunlight was pouring in at the transoms, and we were gently heaving up and down. There was nothing to give me an idea of the time of day, but I could smell the brewing of coffee, and dressed hastily. No one was in the cabin, and the breakfast was untasted on the table; so, hearing the sounds of conversation, I went on deck. We were hove to, and within an eighth of a mile of us another vessel was coming up into the wind. She was very trim to look at, and I saw that a boat was being lowered over her side, and that she had the weather-gage of us.

The Captain was walking up and down with his arms folded, and our crew were gathered in the waist, muttering in surly and half-frightened voices.

"We are in for it this time, Master Hurdiss," said Mr. Chaffee, casting a bitter look over the taffrail at the stranger, from whose peak was flying the British Jack. "We are under the lion's paw, and no mistaking it."

Norcross, the mate, leaned over the rail and spoke to one of the men on the deck below him.

"Dash, do you know that vessel, my man?"

"Indeed I do, sir," was the reply from the light-haired seaman who had appeared so elated at the escape of the previous day. "It's his Majesty's sloop-of-war _Little Belt_, if I'm not mistaken, and she is a little floating hell, sir; that's what she is!"

Nevertheless, as I have said, she was a trim-looking craft, and I could not but admire the way the men tumbled into the boat and the long, well-timed sweep of the oars as they pulled toward us. When alongside, within a few yards, a young man in a huge cocked hat stood up in the stern-sheets.

"What brig is that?" he asked, brusquely.

Captain Morrison answered, giving our name and destination.

"I will board you," was the short reply of the cocked-hatted one, and he gave orders to the bowman, who was ready with his boat-hook, to make fast to the fore-chains.

The English seamen, a sturdy-looking set, were all armed with cutlasses, and four or five of them followed their officer over the bulwarks.

The young Britisher's insolence must have been hard to stand.

"Muster your crew and let me see your papers," he ordered, with a toss of his head; "I would have a look at both of them."

Our Captain's politeness in replying, however, was quite as insulting.

"You have only to mention your wish, my courteous gentleman," he sneered. "Here are my papers and there are my crew. Will you help yourself to the cargo also? And pardon my not firing a salute, but we have a lady with us who objects to noise."

At this the English Lieutenant lifted his great hat, but he glared at the Captain as if he would have liked to lay hands on him; then he ordered two of the crew to rout out the forecastle (in a lower tone of voice), and two of them to give a look into the cabin and deck-house. He waited until they had returned, and then taking the papers that had been extended to him, he called off the names of the American seamen. Each one stepped forward in turn, but without saluting, and replied to the Lieutenant's questioning; apparently they all hailed from New England. Two of them, however, he told to stand over to the larboard side.

The men obeyed, and I have never seen such hate on any faces as they had on theirs.

But the scene, which was tragic enough in all conscience, despite the grinning of the armed man-o'-war's men who stood behind their leader, was to be broken by a climax as unexpected as a bolt from a clear sky.

"John Dash," read the officer. There was no answer, and he called it louder again, without result. "Where is this man?" he asked, impatiently.

The Captain made a low bow. "Thanks to your honor for your kind inquiry," he replied. "But the man failed to report on the morning of sailing."

It might have gone well had it not been for the interference of a low-visaged petty officer, who, with his fingers to his cap, here spoke.

"I saw a man go over the bow as we came up, sir," he said.

Two of the men hurried forward and leaned over the side. I, being near the rail, looked over also.

There was John Dash, holding on to the bobstay, his frightened face just above the surface of the water. In an instant he was hauled on board.

"Ah, there's where you've been all the time, Mr. Dash!" said Captain Morrison, sarcastically. "And how strange I not knowing it! This gentleman has been asking for you very kindly."

The poor man, dripping wet, was standing erect before the boarding-officer.

The titter that had run through the English sailors ceased as they saw the look on his face. He was drawing quick breaths, half-snarling like a dog, but he was trembling from head to foot.

"Oho!" said the servant of the King, lifting his eyebrows, "and here we are, eh? I think you know me, as I remember you, Charles Rice! You left us at the Port of Spain and forgot to return, you may remember. You owe his Majesty an accounting."

"I am an American citizen," returned the sailor, hoarsely, "born at Barnstable, Massachusetts! I was impressed from the ship _Martha_ on the high seas, and owe accounting to no one."

"None of your insolence," cried the Englishman, drawing back his closed hand. "We'll see about that. You'll come with me, and these other two fine fellows also."

Dash, or Rice (I understood afterwards the latter was his real name), gave a leap backward and ran into the deck-house. The officer turned.

"Bring that man out," he said to two of his bullies.

Before they had crossed the deck something happened, and no one who witnessed it can ever shake it from his memory. The tall sailor appeared at the doorway. His hands were behind his back, and his blue eyes were absolutely rolling in his head.

"No, by the God of Heaven, you shall not be served!" he cried. "_There_ is something you cannot command, at least, to do your bidding!" With a swift motion he drew his left arm from behind his back and flung something on the deck. _It was his right hand, severed at the wrist!_

Such a horror possessed us all that not a word was said. The planter's wife went in a heap to the deck, and as for myself, I went sick with the misery of it, and reeled to the side of the ship. The Lieutenant fell back as if struck a blow over the heart, and without a word, followed by his men, he clambered weakly down to his boat and shoved off. Dash lifted the bloody stump above his head; a curse broke from him, and then he fell into the arms of one of the black seamen. They carried him into the deck-house, and all hands followed, even the wheel being left deserted. As for myself, I crawled below into my bunk and wound the blankets about my head--Mrs. Chaffee was screaming in hysterics. Then and there was born in my heart such a hatred for the sight of the cross of St. George that I have never confounded my prejudice with patriotism, and this may account for some of my actions subsequently.

No one referred to the happening in our talk after this--it might not have occurred.

However, in such ways as we could we made the poor fellow comfortable; but John Dash, seaman, existed no longer; a poor, maimed, half-crazed hulk of a man was left of a gallant, noble fellow. But he had lived to teach a lesson.

A day later we sighted Sandy Hook, and beating up the bay, anchored in New York Harbor, where the planter and his wife and the heroic seaman were put on shore.

As the wind and tide were ripe to take us up the East River and through the narrows of Hell Gate into the Sound, we tarried but long enough to drop anchor and get it in again, and I caught only a panorama of houses and spires and the crowded wharfs of the city.

The voyage up the Sound was uneventful, and my landing in Connecticut and what followed I shall make another chapter.

But we passed many coasting-vessels and towns (whose number seemed past counting on both shores), and at last we entered the narrow sound of Fisher's Island and crept up close to the wharfs of Stonington. I made up my mind not to go ashore until the following morning, as it was after sunset before we had found a berth that suited the skipper.

Oh, I have forgotten to add that when I returned to my bunk, after being boarded by the party from the _Little Belt_, I had missed the miniature which I had left hanging by a nail driven into one of the stanchions. That one of the British sailors, on the hurried search of the cabin, had helped himself to it was beyond doubting.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE SONG IN THE NIGHT.

BY JAMES BUCKHAM.

Bleak, barren hills and cheerless plain,
All soaked and sodden with the rain;
No wood to bid the camp-fire glow,
No forest roof against the snow;--
Drear was the dying winter day
When the troops halted at Luray.

Not ev'n the draggled tents went up,
No chance to sleep, no chance to sup!
A few hours' rest upon their arms,
Then--who could tell what wild alarms?
"Halt until midnight," orders read;
"Then, if the storm holds, march ahead."

Tired and disheartened, faint and chill,
The soldiers, scattered o'er the hill,
Lay in their blankets. Scarce a word
In all the width of camp was heard.
Out of heart was the great blue host--
Out of that which they needed most,--
And the General's heart was a heavy load,
For well he knew what that hush must bode.

Forth from the town, as if heaven-sent,
Passed a child; and as on he went
Something moved him to sing a song
His mother taught him, while waiting long
For the loyal husband, who could not stay
When the first blue regiment passed that way!
Sweet, and flutelike, and childish clear,
The boy's voice rang through the valley drear:--

_Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching;_
_Cheer up, comrades, they will come!_

Every soldier along the hill
Felt his heart with the music thrill!
All forgotten the dreary night,
Hunger, and pillow frosted white.
One by one, as the child-voice sang,
Others joined, till the chorus rang
Deep as a mighty organ tone,
By the bellows of the storm-wind blown.

At midnight the order passed along:--
"March!" And they marched with their heart of song!
Needless to say how they fought, that day,
When the sun rose up over far Luray.
And the little singer--the loyal lad
Who gave, unconsciously, all he had
For his country's welfare--let none deny
His sovereign share in the victory!
If not from his song in the dreary night,
Whence came the courage to win the fight?

by John Kendrick Bangs]

THE TRUE STORY OF THE MOOSE HEAD.

For a great many years--for as long, indeed, as either Bob or Jack could remember--there had been over the great fireplace in the office of the Mountain House, as its chief decorative feature, a huge moose-head, from either side of which rose up majestic antlers, concerning which Bob had once remarked that "they'd make a bully hat-rack."

To this sage remark Bob's father had replied that he thought so too; and he added that he thought it somewhat of a pity that Bob, when he chose his pets, should choose pug-dogs and rabbits, that were of no earthly use, instead of an occasional moose, which might be trained to sit in the hall and allow people to hang their hats on his horns.

"Just to think," he said, "what a convenience a real live walking hat-rack would be! When you wanted your hat, all you would have to do would be to whistle, and up the hat-rack would trot; you'd select the hat you wished to wear, and back would go the moose again to his accustomed place between the front door and the window."

"I'm willing," Bob had answered. "You buy me the moose, daddy, and I'll be glad to make a pet of him."

But it so happened that at the moment his father had something else to think about, and as a result Bob never got the moose.

Curiously enough, up to this particular summer of which I am writing, it had never occurred to either of the boys to inquire into the story of this especial moose, who had been so greatly honored by having his head stuffed and hung up to beautify the office of the hotel. They had both of them often wondered somewhat as to how it came to lose the rear portions of its body--that from its shoulders backward--but at such times it had so happened there had never been anybody about who could be counted upon to enlighten them on the subject. Now, however, it was different. Sandboys seemed always at hand, and considering that he had never failed them when they had asked for an explanation of this, that, or the other thing, they confidently broached the subject to him one afternoon during the music hour, and, as usual, Sandboys was ready with a "true story" for their satisfaction.

"Oh, that!" he said, when Bob had put the question. "Yes, I know all about it; and why shouldn't I? Didn't my father catch him? I guess!"

The boys were not quite sure whether the guess was correct or not, but they deemed it well to suppose that it was, and Sandboys went on.

"Some folks about here will tell you wonderful stories about that moose," he said. "Some will tell you it came from Maine; and some will tell you it came from Canady; and some will tell you they don't know nothin' at all about it; an' generally it'll be the last ones that tell the whole truth, though it did come from both Canady an' Maine; and, what's more, if it hadn't come, I wouldn't ha' been here. Nobody knows that but me, for up to now I haven't breathed a word about it to a soul, but I don't mind tellin' you boys the whole truth."

"You don't mean to say it got you your position here as a bell-boy, do you?" asked Jack.

"Yes, I do--that is, it did in a way, as you'll see when I've told you the whole story," returned Sandboys, and he began:

"My father, when he was a boy, used to live up in Canady. I don't recollect the name of the exact place. He told me its name lots o' times, but it was one o' them French-Canadian names with an accent to it I never could get the hang of. Names of English towns, like London or New York, I can always remember without much trouble, because I can spell 'em and pronounce 'em; but the minute they gets mixed in with a little foreign language, like French or Eyetalian, I can't spell 'em, pronounce 'em, or remember 'em to save my life. If anybody'd say to me, 'Remember the name o' that town or die,' I think that I'd simply have to stop breathin' an' die. I do remember, though, that it was a great place for salmon and mooses. My daddy used to tell me reg'lar slews of stories about 'em. Why, he told me the salmon was so thick in the river back of his father's barn, that if you took a bean-shooter and shot anywhere into the river, usin' pebbles instead o' beans, you couldn't help hittin' a salmon on the head and killin' it--or, rather, knockin' it unconscious, so's it would flop over and rise to the surface like it was dead, after which all you had to do was to catch it by the tail, chop its head off as you would a chicken's, cook it, and have your marketing done for two weeks."

"Jiminny!" said Bob. "It's too bad you can't remember the name of that place. A hotel at a place like that would be good as a mint."

"Oh no--it's all changed now," said Sandboys, sadly. "They've put a saw-mill in there now, and the salmon's mostly all gone. Sometimes they tell me they do catch one or two, and they're so big they cut 'em up in the saw-mill just like planks, and feed on 'em all through the winter."

"I've heard of planked shad," put in Bob, very anxious indeed to believe in the truth of Sandboys's statement, and searching in his mind for something in the way of a parallel which might give it a color of veracity.

"Hyops!" said Sandboys. "Planked shad is very good, but it can't hold a candle to planked salmon. But, as I was tellin' you, the place was full of moose too. They used to catch 'em and train 'em to go in harness. I don't believe anybody up there ever thought of buying a horse or a team of oxen to pull their wagons and plough their fields, moose were so plenty, and, when you could catch 'em hungry, so easy to tame. They'd hitch 'em to the plough, for instance, with ropes tied to their horns, and drive 'em around all day, and when night came they weren't a bit tired. But sometimes daddy said they'd strike a fearfully wild one, and then there'd be trouble. Pop told me he hitched one up to the harrow once, and the thing got a wild fit on and started across the field prancin' like a Rocky Mountain goat. He pulled up all the fences in his way with the harrow's teeth, and before he stopped he'd gone right through my grandfather's bay-window, into the dinin'-room, out the back door into the kitchen, takin' all the tables and chiny in the place with him. Where he went to nobody ever knew, though the harrow was found on top o' one of the mountains about sixty miles away, three years afterwards. I'd tell you the name of the mountain, only it had one o' those French-Canadian names too, so of course I can't.

"Time went on, and pop got to be a pretty big boy, and on his thirteenth birthday his father gave him the gun he'd used in the war--the war of the Revylation, I think it was, when George Washington was runnin' things. With it he gave him a powder-flask and some bullets, and I tell you pop was proud, and crazy to go huntin'. His father wasn't anxious to let him, though, until he thought pop knew enough about fire-arms to kill something besides himself, and he told him no, he couldn't. He must wait awhile. So pop tried to be good and obey, but that gun was too much for him. It kept hintin', 'Let's go huntin'--let's go huntin',' and one night pop could not resist it any longer. So after everybody'd gone to bed, he got up, sneaked down stairs into the parlor, took down the gun from the bricky-brack rack, and set out for the lonely woods.

"'If I don't kill nothin',' he said to himself, 'I'll get home before they wake up; and if I do kill somethin', pa will be so pleased an' proud he'll forgive me.' He little thought then he was leavin' home forever. He opened the door softly, an' in half an hour he was off on the mountain, 'longside of a great big lake. Pretty soon he heard a sound, and through the darkness he see two big eyes, flamin' like fire, a-lookin' at where he was. _It was that moose up there as was a-lookin' at him._ For a minute he was scart to death, but he soon recovered, upped with his gun, an' fired--only he was too excited, and he didn't do any more than graze the moose's cheek. You can't see the scar. It's been mended. It was a tarrable exciting moment, for in a jiffy the moose was after him, head down. Pop tried to run, but couldn't. He stumbled, an' just as he stumbled he felt the big moose's breath hot on the back of his neck. He thought he was a goner for sure; but he wasn't, as it turned out, for as he rolled over and the moose tried to butt him to death, pop grabbed holt of his horns, and the first toss of his head the moose gave landed pop right between 'em, sittin' down as comfortably fixed as though he was in a rockin'-chair. If you'll look at the antlers you'll see how there's a place in between 'em scooped out just right for a small boy to sit in. That's where pop sat, hangin' on to those two upper prongs, with, his legs dangling down over the moose's cheeks."

"Phe-e-e-ew!" whispered Bob. "He was in a fix, wasn't he? What did the moose do?"

"Him?" said Sandboys. "He was absolutely flummoxed for a minute, and then he began to run. Pop held on. He had to. He didn't want to go travellin', but there warn't anything else he could do, so he kept holt. That moose run steady for three days, down over the Canadian border into Maine, takin' a short-cut over Maine into New Hampshire, droppin' dead with weariness two miles from Littleton, where I cum from. That let pop out. The moose was dead, and he wasn't afraid any more; so he climbed down, walked into Littleton, and sold the animal's carkiss to a man there, who cut off its head, and sent it up here to this hotel, an' it's been here ever since. Pop took the money and tried to get back home with it; but there wasn't enough, so he worked about Littleton until he had enough; and just then he met my mother, fell in love with her, married her, and settled down right there; and that's how it is that that moose-head is responsible for my bein' here. If the animal hadn't run away with dad, he'd never have met my mother, and I'd have been nowhere."

"It's very interesting," said Bob. "But I should think he'd have sent word to his father that he was all right."

"Oh, he did," said Sandboys; "and a year or two later the whole family came down and joined him, leavin' Canady and its French names forever."

And here the narrative, which might have been much longer, stopped, for the cross old lady near the elevator sent word that that "talkin' must stop," because while it was "goin' on" she "couldn't hear what tune it was the trumpeter was blowin'."

THE GAME OF CHOLE.

BY W. G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN.

Chole (pronounced sh[=o]l) is a capital game for the enthusiastic golfer at this time of year, when the fields are brown and bare, and the careful green-keeper has closed the regular golf course for fear of harm to his precious putting greens. It is golf, and yet it is not golf, the essential difference being that but one ball is used, one player striving to advance it towards a certain agreed-upon goal, and his opponent as strenuously endeavoring to thwart him in the attempt. But, on the other hand, it is not hockey or anything resembling it. Each player has for the time being absolute possession of the ball, and cannot be interfered with while he is making his stroke. It is an old Belgian game, and undoubtedly one of the ancestors of our modern golf. As a matter of fact, it is still played in the Low Countries with rude iron clubs and an egg-shaped ball of birchwood. The following extract from a historical paper on the beginnings of golf explains very clearly the purpose and method of the play at chole:

If Tom Morris and Hugh Kircaldy were going to play a match at
_chole_, they would first fix on an object which was to be hit. A
church door at some five miles distance, cross country, seems to
have been a favorite goal. This settled on, match-making began--a
kind of game of brag: "I will back myself to hit the thing in five
innings," Tom might say. (We will explain in a moment what an
"innings" meant.) "Oh, I'll back myself to hit it in four," Hugh
might answer. "Well, I'll say three, then," Tom might perhaps say,
and that might be the finish of the bragging, for Hugh might not
feel it in his power to do it in two, so he must let Tom try. Then
Tom would hit off, and when he came to the ball he would tee it and
hit it again, and so a third time. But when they reached the ball
this third time, it would be no longer Tom's turn to hit, but
Hugh's. He would be allowed to tee the ball up and _dechole_, as it
was called--that is to say, to hit it _back_ again as far as he
could. Then Tom would begin again and have three more shots towards
the object; after which Hugh would again have one shot back. Then
if in the course of his third innings of three shots Tom were to
hit the church door, he would win the match; if he failed, he would
lose it.

It is evident, from this explanation, that _chole_ gives first-class practice in driving; in fact it is nothing but a succession of tee shots, and the longest driver ought always to win, unless he is so over-confident of his powers that he is induced to bid too low for the honor of being _choleur_. It may be added that hazards in the _lie_ of the ball are not fairly a part of the game. Each striker has a right to tee his ball, and he should be allowed to do so anywhere within two club-lengths of where the ball has dropped. In the case of a lost ball or a ball in water, the player must go back to the place whence the lost ball was struck, and play a new one, without penalty. Of course only a driver, or play club, is carried, and a caddie is not necessary, as the players themselves should be able to keep track of the ball. In Belgium the game is played with three or more on a side, but in this case the players have to wait too long for their turn to strike, and the interest must be correspondingly diminished. Here is a better plan for a match game at _chole_:

The battle-ground should be a field of about 400 yards in length, the fence at either end serving as the goal over which the ball is to be driven. The width of the field is of no account, providing that there is a clear space of at least fifty yards to give a chance for straight and open play. In practice it might be well to roughly indicate these side-lines by means of stakes, and if the ball is knocked out of bounds it must be brought back precisely as in football. Supposing that there are six on a side, the most skilful player should act as captain, and arm himself with the ordinary wooden driver. The second man should carry a brassey, the third a cleek, the fourth a lofter, the fifth a niblick, and the sixth a putter. Or there may be any other selection among the ordinary clubs used at golf, provided that each side is armed with virtually the same weapons, and, most important of all, that every combination must at least include a driver, a lofter, and a putter. Three is the smallest practicable number for a side, and the maximum may be put down at six or seven. The object of each side is to drive the ball over their adversary's goal-line, but the strokes are taken in turn, and there is nothing resembling the free hitting and scramble of hockey. The captains toss for the opening stroke, and the winner tees the ball at the centre of the field, and strikes it with his driver as far as possible towards the enemy's goal-line. After he has had his stroke, it is the turn of the other side; and now comes in the essential point of the game. The return shot must be made by the _weakest_ club on the opposing side, _viz._, the putter. The idea is that the players shall all strike in regular rotation, but the _order_ of the sides is exactly opposite. In other words, one side strikes in succession with driver, brassey, cleek, lofter, niblick, and putter, their opponents answering with putter, niblick, lofter, cleek, brassey, and driver. It is evident that if A leads off their attack will grow weaker as the less powerful clubs come into play, while B, the defence, will grow stronger in the same proportion. Theoretically, after a full exchange of shots the ball should be again at the centre of the field from where it started, but of course, in practice, accidents will happen and shots will be foozled.

The field should be long enough to give the defence a fair chance to rally, and it therefore should not be less than 400 yards in all. It should not be much longer, as then it would hardly be possible for ordinary players to ever get near enough for a goal. Supposing that in actual play the Captain of the Blues drives off and sends the ball 130 yards out of the 200, the putter on the Red side must reply, and he may succeed in driving the ball back 30 yards. Brassey of the Blues has now a carry of 100 yards to make to put the ball over the fence and win a goal. If he does it, it is perfect play, and the Blues are credited with one point. But if he tops his ball or drives short, the niblick man of the Reds may get it back to, say, the 100-yard point, and the Blues have now a chance with the cleek to get it over. If this attempt fails, the Red goal should be out of danger for a while, for their long driving clubs are now coming into play to carry the war into Africa. But at any stage of the game some one may slip up on a difficult shot, and so the advantage be gained or lost. The exact size of the field will largely depend upon the driving ability of the players, and that can only be arrived at by experiment. Theoretically, the goal should be made on the third or cleek shot--that is, with perfect play on each side. Of course only the captains have the privilege of teeing the ball; all the other players must take it as it lies. A ball knocked into a hazard must be played as in match-play at golf; but if it has not been extricated after _each_ side has taken a shot at it, it may be lifted and dropped a club-length outside of the hazard at a point agreed upon between the two captains. A ball in a hazard may not be teed, and this gives a chance for finesse. For instance, suppose that the ball is perilously near the Red goal, and it is Red putter's turn to play. With a straight drive he can only get it a few yards back, and Blue driver, whose turn it is to follow, will be almost certain to get it over. But if Red putter can play it into a hazard or behind a tree, Blue driver will probably fail to make the goal, and that will give the Reds another chance. Other variations will occur in the playing of the game, and may be readily worked out by any boy with a turn for generalship. After each point the sides change goals, so as to equalize the chances of the hazards, and the side that has lost the goal drives off. A ball driven _through_ or _under_ the goal-fence does not count for either side. It must be brought out to a point half-way distant between the centre of the field and the point where it went over the goal-line, and there teed for the player whose turn it is to strike. A ball over the side-line is brought inside, as in football, and dropped a club-length from the line. In the case of a lost ball, the inning begins again as though no play had been made. A player may not strike the ball back over or through his own goal-line. If he does so, accidentally or otherwise, the ball is brought out and teed precisely as in the former case, where the attacking player had failed to put it fairly over.

The game may be made still more scientific and interesting if a regular field be laid out with chalk lines, as in football. In this case the goal at each end should be a circular pit six feet in diameter and six inches deep. The diagram gives the other proportions and the general arrangement of the field. The "vantage"-lines indicate the spot where the ball is to be teed in the case of a failure of a try for goal. There is no restriction upon the direction in which the ball may be played, except in the case of a player who knocks it over his own goal-line. The ball is then teed at "vantage." Balls out of bounds are placed on the side-line at the crossing-point. To make a goal, the ball must drop in the pit and stay there.

It is evident that the interest of the game will depend upon the evenness with which the players are matched. As a general thing a player should be assigned to the club which he is most expert in handling, and the players are known by the names of the clubs they carry. In no case must the rotation of play be altered, and _driver_ always leads off at the beginning of an inning. It would be possible for two men to play the game, using their clubs in the prescribed rotation, but the match between sides gives a chance for more interesting work. If the sides are uneven, one man may, by special agreement, be allowed to play two clubs.

THE PIRATE'S TREASURE.

BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.

"Ralph," said Grandfather Sterling, one hot August morning, looking over the veranda rail to where the boy was stretched full length upon the lawn, "did I ever tell you about the time that I went hunting for a treasure that had been buried by a pirate on one of the islands in the West Indies?"

The lad came bounding up the steps in delight, for there was no greater treat to him than one of the old sea-captain's stories concerning the long and adventurous life that he had led from the time of his first voyage as cabin-boy until his retirement from the sea about two years before.

"No, indeed, Grandpop, and it will be jolly, I'm sure. Please fill up your pipe, so that you won't have to stop just when you get to the most exciting part. Here's your box of matches; and now, as you often say, 'let the reel hum.'"

Captain Sterling smiled affectionately into the eager face upturned to his, and commenced his story:

"It was when I was second mate of a brig called the _Nellie_, a good many years ago, that this yarn really begins. We were homeward bound from Brazil, with a cargo of coffee, when the yellow fever broke out on board. First the captain sickened and died, then in order followed our first mate, leaving me in command. Next the oldest member of our crew was struck down, and to give him a chance for his life, as well as to humor the wishes of the men, I had him taken out of the dark hot forecastle and brought aft into one of the spare state-rooms in the cabin. Here I nursed him as well as I could; but although the fever broke after the third day, it left him so weak that he could not rally, and his end was hastened on account of his not being able to retain the slightest nourishment. He seemed to be very grateful for my care. On the afternoon of the fifth day of his sickness he said to me that he knew his end was near, and that he wished to show his gratitude while there was yet time. In his chest in the forecastle, he stated that there was a leather wallet, which I was to get and give to him. I did as he requested. He took from it a sheet of paper, on which was rudely sketched the outline of an island, with a compass showing the cardinal points. On the western side of this island there was an indentation resembling a bay having a very narrow entrance from the sea, and in about the middle of the sketch there was a small circle, about west of which a cross was marked.

"'Take this,' he said to me, 'and listen to what I say. This is a chart of a little island known as San Juan, in the Windward West Indies. You will see that I have given its latitude and longitude. Twenty years ago I was one of the officers of the pirate schooner _Don Pedro_. We went on shore at San Juan to divide the contents of the treasure-chest and to carouse. During the night, when all others were sleeping, I stole away to the spring, which is shown by the circle on the chart, and buried my share of the treasure--nearly ten thousand dollars in gold--three feet in the sand. I dug the hole right in the wake of the rising moon, with the spring between it and me. Go to the island, count fifty paces west of the spring, and dig.'

"'But,' I said to him, 'how do you know but what the money was found years ago?'

"'The island is uninhabited, and no one but myself ever knew that I had hidden it there. Two weeks after that the _Don Pedro_ was captured. They hung the captain, and imprisoned the rest of us for life. One year ago I escaped. Since that time I have been waiting for a chance to recover my treasure. I intended to use the wages made on this voyage to buy a passage to St. Croix, which is the nearest inhabited island to San Juan, and then by some means reach the place where my gold is safely hidden. The money is yours now, and I want you to take it as a gift from me for your kindness.'

"Later on, when I visited his room, he was resting peacefully, with a little ivory crucifix pressed against his cold white lips. The spirit of the pirate had sailed on its last voyage across the sea of eternity.

"Three weeks later I carried the _Nellie_ into the harbor of New York, and received a handsome present in money from the owners for my services, with which I bought a passage on a sailing-vessel, known as the _Dart_, bound to St. Croix, and reached that place after an uneventful voyage.

"During our trip I stated to the captain that my business was to look after some interests of an acquaintance, and that I hoped to have the same attended to in advance of the time that the vessel was to sail, so that I might return in her. I volunteered the same explanation at the house where I secured board, and then found myself at liberty to go and come without arousing interest in my movements. Having an object to gain, I made it a point of keeping up very friendly relations with the captain of the _Dart_, several times inviting him to dine with me, and showing him many other courtesies, which he responded to by having me as a guest at his table on board whenever I could make it convenient to visit his vessel. One evening, as we sat under the quarter-deck awning enjoying our Havanas, I said, carelessly:

"'Captain, I've been thinking that I would like to hire your long-boat for the time that we shall be here. Being fitted with lug-sails, she can easily be handled by one man, and I would enjoy running about the harbor in her, and even making little trips along shore when I have nothing else to do.'

"'You can have her in welcome,' he said. 'Don't say a word about pay. As long as you will return her all right you can use her to your heart's content. I will get her overboard in the morning, and have her put in shape for you.'

"The next day I made a trial spin in the boat, and found her all that a sailor could wish for in the way of speed and sea-going qualities. The pirate's island was something less than sixty miles away, and I knew that in the constant trade-winds that I had to count upon to give me a fair breeze there and back, I should be able to reach it in about ten hours.

"During the next two or three days I made several short excursions along the coast, gradually paving the way for the dash I had in view. At last the day arrived when I determined to stretch away for the little coral island below the horizon. In the early morning I left the house, carrying a valise, in which was food sufficient for my anticipated needs, a large garden trowel, and a boat compass that I had brought from the States. Folded in the pocket of my coat I carried a chart of the Windward Islands, and with this equipment I stepped on board, hoisted the two jib-headed sails, and started on my voyage.

"Hour after hour I was swept swiftly onward over the wind-whipped waves, holding the brave little vessel steadily to her course. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon that I lifted the island into sight, bearing directly ahead, and an hour later found me sailing through the narrow inlet that the pirate had laid down on his chart. I ran the boat head on to the sandy beach, securing her painter to one of several stunted palm-trees that grew in a bunch close to the water. The island was not much more than a mile in circumference, and was impoverished in the matter of vegetation, although the cactus-plant showed here and there, and a few cocoanut-trees with a fringe of sickly scrub underbrush occupied the centre of this otherwise barren island. I reasoned that the site of the spring must be found within the little grove; so, providing myself with the trowel and compass, I made my way toward it.

"From the time that I had first become familiar with the pirate's secret up to the hour when I landed on the island my head had been perfectly cool and my nerves tranquil; but now, as I approached the spot that I had travelled two thousand miles to find, I grew dizzy, and my limbs trembled, so that I was obliged to throw myself on the sand to rest for a few minutes and to force a return of my self-control. Then I arose and stepped within the circle of the little oasis.

"If there had been a spring there twenty years before, it had dried up in the interval, although a bowl-shaped hollow in the soil possibly showed where the water had once oozed through the sand.

"I asked myself if I had not been too credulous in pinning my faith to a pirate's wild tale. Had I been chasing a rainbow? Had I spent hard-earned savings and wasted several months' time on a wild-goose errand? Such thoughts made me sick at heart and half desperate. I placed my compass on the ground, carefully measured fifty paces due west of what I was forced to consider the site of the old spring, and fell to digging with my trowel.

"At the depth of about three feet I struck coral; then I commenced a trench running north and south, and dug away for an hour, meeting with nothing but fine white sand and the coral foundation. Hope as good as deserted me. Looking at the sun, I saw that it was almost touching the horizon-line, and knew that in a short time darkness would fall--for there is no twilight in the tropics. I dropped my trowel, and sat down on the edge of the hole that had promised so much in the beginning. As I gave loose rein to my bitter thoughts I savagely kicked the toe of my boot into the sandy wall of the opposite side of the pit.

"Was I dreaming? Had disappointment turned my brain, or had I really heard the clink of metal? I held my breath, and again drove my boot heavily against the wall.

"A piece of the soil fell into the pit, and out of the hole that it left a golden waterfall poured down with a merry, maddening _clink, clink, clink_; and there I sat, motionless, fascinated, while the treasure ran over my feet and literally hid them from sight. Then my senses partly returned to me, and I dragged my boots out of the gold and jumped and shouted in a delirium of joy.

"It was no myth, after all, for the thousands so secretly hidden away by the pirate looked upon the light of day for the first time in twenty years, and as I gazed down at the golden heap I realized that it was mine--all mine!

"The sun went down and the deep shadows fell on sea and land as I sat gloating like a miser over my riches. I slept in the ditch that night, lest during absence my fortune should be spirited away, and when morning came I stowed the gold in the valise that I had brought from the boat, then dug into the pocket from which it had flowed, to discover that it yet contained a few scattered pieces, and the rotten remnants of the canvas bag in which it had been buried.

"I set sail with my precious freight, and late that afternoon I reached St. Croix, where I pottered about the boat until nightfall; then, under cover of the darkness, I carried the valise to my room on shore and stowed it in my sea-chest.

"Little remains to be told. I returned to New York in the _Dart_, and used the little fortune that had come to me to purchase a captain's interest in a fine vessel."

IMPORTANT "TRIFLES" ON WAR-SHIPS.

BY FRANKLIN MATTHEWS.

II.

Just outside the door of the Captain's cabin, on every ship of the navy, there stands a sentry. He paces up and down for a distance of about ten feet. On one of the sides of the cabin is an electric indicator similar to those seen in the large hotels back of the clerk's desk. The sentry on the ship passes that indicator every time he paces from one end of his limited beat to the other. He cannot escape hearing its bell when it rings, and his eye at once sees whence the signal comes that is telegraphed to the Captain in time of emergency. That indicator is placed there so that, when necessary, there shall be instant communication with the Captain. Some of the dials tell stories of the utmost importance to the safety of the ship. They tell these stories automatically.