Chapter VI: Part 6

Now he happened to have met in Edinburgh a Knaresborough man who had joined Prince Charlie, and this fellow might, Jack thought, be of great help to him in his search. So he sought the man out, and told him that he was tired of serving with the English and felt sure they would be badly beaten, and he would like a place as musician to Prince Charlie. The Knaresborough man at once fell into the trap and replied that an Irish spy was going to join the Prince at Falkirk immediately, and Metcalfe might go with him and ask for an interview.

The first difficulty was with the English sentries in Edinburgh, who refused to let them pass; but Jack overcame this by demanding to be taken before the officer on guard, to whom he explained the real object of his journey.

'Give it up, give it up! my good fellow,' said the captain; 'it is certain death to a man with two eyes, and you have none, though you manage to do so well without them.' But Metcalfe would not listen, so he and the Irishman were allowed to proceed, and after various adventures arrived safely in Falkirk.

All this time, as we have said, Thornton had been caged up in the cupboard in his wet clothes, till he was almost too stiff to stoop to pick up his food when the woman thrust it under his door. He caught a bad cold besides, and more than once could not restrain his cough, even when he knew the soldiers were in the room. They heard it of course, but as the partitions were very thin, they took for granted it was next door, for the dresser completely hid all trace of an opening.

But by Monday night he felt he could not stay in the closet any longer, and when the woman brought him his provisions for the next day he told her that he would not die there like a rat in a hole, but would come out whatever it cost him.

'Remain there till to-morrow night,' she said, 'and I will contrive some way of escape for you,' and so the poor captain was forced to pass another twenty-four hours in his most uncomfortable prison. Then, when the soldiers had all gone off to their night duty, the landlady brought a carpenter whom she could trust to take away the dresser. Oh! how thankful the captain was to stretch himself again, and to put on a Highland dress and a black wig which the woman brought him. He had only ten guineas with him, and eight of them he thankfully gave to the landlady while the other two he bestowed on the carpenter. As he was bid, he slung over his shoulder a bag of tools, and hid himself downstairs till it grew light and people were setting out to work, when he and the carpenter started together just four hours before Metcalfe entered Falkirk. On the way to Edinburgh they had a terrible fright, and narrowly escaped falling into the hands of a large body of Highlanders, but at length they reached a house belonging to a friend of the carpenter's, who lent Thornton a horse, which carried him in safety to Edinburgh.

Metcalfe meanwhile had fared rather badly. His dress, consisting of a plaid waistcoat which he had borrowed, and a blue coat faced with buff, the uniform of his company, had attracted the attention of the Highlanders. He told them that he had been fiddling for the English officers, who had given him the coat (which belonged, he said, to a man killed in the battle) as payment. The men would have been satisfied had not a person chanced to pass who had often seen Jack at Harrogate, and said:

'You had better not let him go without a search; I don't like the look of him.' Accordingly Metcalfe was removed to the guard-room and his clothes examined all over to see if they concealed any letters. The guard even split in two a pack of cards which Metcalfe had in his pocket, imagining that he might have contrived to slip a piece of thin paper between the thick edges of the cardboard then used. The cards, however, had not been employed for this purpose, and after three days' confinement in a loft Metcalfe was tried by court-martial and acquitted, and given besides permission to go to the Prince. By this time, however, he had somehow discovered that Thornton had escaped from Falkirk, so he was only anxious to return to the British army as fast as he could. The Irish spy was equally desirous of taking letters to Edinburgh to some of the friends of Prince Charlie, who were to be found there, but did not know how to pass the English sentries, a difficulty easily solved by Blind Jack, who assured him that he would tell them he was going to Captain Thornton.

Not far from the English outposts the two travellers met with an officer who knew Metcalfe, and informed him to his great delight that the captain was in Edinburgh, so when the sentries were passed he bade farewell to the Irishman after promising to meet him the next night, and went straight to the captain.

'You have given me a great deal of trouble,' was Metcalfe's greeting. 'Really, people might manage to come home from market without being fetched.'

'Well, so I did,' answered Thornton with a laugh. 'But what is to be done now, as I have neither clothes nor cash?'

'Oh, I can get you both!' replied Metcalfe; 'some friends I have here have often heard me speak of you, and they will trust you for payment.' And he was as good as his word, and quickly borrowed thirty pounds, which provided the captain with all the clothes he wanted.

In January 1746 the Duke of Cumberland, Commander-in-Chief of the English army, arrived in Edinburgh, and as Thornton was a great friend of his, the Duke heard all his adventures and the share Blind Jack had taken in them. He then sent for Metcalfe, and being much interested in his story often watched him on the march, and noticed, to his surprise, that, by listening to the drum, Jack was able to keep step with the rest.

The British forces proceeded northwards as far as Aberdeen, where the Duke suddenly determined to give a ball to the ladies and begged that Thornton would allow Metcalfe to play the country dances, as the wind instruments of the German musicians were unsuitable. It must have been rather a strange ball, as up to the last moment it was quite uncertain whether they might not have to fight instead of dance, and the invitations were only sent out at five o'clock for the company to assemble at six. Twenty-five couples were present and kept Metcalfe hard at work till two the next morning; the Duke, then about twenty-five, dancing away with the rest.

The English then turned westwards and defeated the Highlanders at Culloden, near Inverness, after which all British prisoners were set free, and the volunteers returned home.

Captain Thornton and Metcalfe rode back together as far as Knaresborough, where they parted company. Blind Jack's wife had suffered a great deal of anxiety during the eight months of his absence, for she knew that his love of adventure would thrust him into all kinds of unnecessary dangers. But here he was, none the worse for the hardships he had gone through, and in the best of spirits, but, to Dolly's great relief, quite ready to stay at home for a bit.

According to his own account--and again we ask ourselves how much we may believe of Metcalfe's amazing story--there was no end to the different trades he carried on successfully for the rest of his life. He soon grew restless and went to Aberdeen to buy a large supply of stockings, which he sold at a profit among his Yorkshire friends; for a while he became a horse dealer, feeling the animals all over before he made an offer to purchase, so that he knew exactly what condition they were in, and their good and bad points. He next turned smuggler, getting a great deal of excitement out of cheating the Government, and finally took to building bridges and making roads. In 1751 he started a coach between York and Knaresborough, which he drove himself. It ran twice a week in the summer and once in the winter; and as soon as he grew tired of this employment, for he detested being obliged to do things at stated times, he managed with his usual luck to get the business taken off his hands.

We bid farewell to him in 1795 when he was seventy-eight, but still strong and active and able to walk ten miles in three and a half hours. His friendship with Colonel Thornton was as fast as ever, and he remained a welcome guest in several of the big houses round York and Knaresborough. And if perhaps he was not _quite_ so wonderful a person as he thought, and saw some of his deeds through a magnifying glass, there is no doubt that he was a very uncommon man, worthy of all admiration for not allowing his life to be spoilt by his blindness.

_THE STORY OF DJUN_

Once upon a time a famine broke out among the tribe of the Tlingits, and one of their girls, who was an orphan and had to look after herself, would have fared very badly had she not now and then been given some food by her father's sister. But this did not happen often, for everybody was almost starving, and it was seldom that they had any food for themselves, still less for anyone else.

Now the girl, whose name was Djun, heard some of the women planning to go to the forest and dig roots, and though she wished very much to accompany them, they would not take her.

'You will bring us bad luck,' they said, and struck her fingers when, in despair at being left behind, she grasped the side of the canoe. But though the girl was obliged to loosen her hold from pain, she was so hungry that she would not be beaten off, and at last her father's sister, who was one of the party, persuaded the others to let her go with them. So she jumped in and paddled away to the forest.

All that day the women hunted for roots till they had collected a large pile, and had even caught some salmon in the river as well, and as evening drew on they prepared to encamp for the night, and built a fire to warm them and to cook some of the roots. But the girl, who had wandered away by herself as soon as they had landed, did not return, and the women were angry, and said that if she did not choose to come back, she might stay in the forest for ever. And the next morning, when they started for home, they threw water on the fire so that Djun might not be able to cook her food, if she had any to cook. However, the girl's aunt managed to steal a burning coal which lay on the fire, and, unseen by the rest, threw it into a deserted brush-house where they had slept, and put a piece of dried salmon with it. Just as she had done this she caught sight of the girl hiding behind the brush-house, and went to speak to her; for the other women were too busy packing the food into the boat to notice what she was doing.

'Are you not coming with us?' she asked, and Djun answered:

'No; as they don't want to take me, I had better stay here.'

'Well, I have put a live coal in that brush-house for you and a piece of salmon,' said her aunt, 'so you will have something to eat for a day or two.'

* * * * *

The girl did not leave her hiding-place till the boat was out of sight, and then she made a big fire from the burning coal, and cooked her roots and her salmon; but though they smelt very good, and she was hungry, she did not somehow feel as if she could eat. So she soon got up and went farther into the forest and dug some more roots.

'I shall be almost starving by the evening,' thought she, 'and I will eat them then;' but when evening came she had no more appetite than in the morning, so she curled herself up in a corner and fell asleep, for she was very tired.

She was awakened early next day by a rushing of wings, and, looking out of the door, found a flock of birds sweeping by. But there was nothing very uncommon in that, and she lay down again and slept for several hours longer. Then she got up and walked some distance till she reached a flat plain, where the best roots grew, but the flock of birds had found them out also, and were feeding upon them.

When they saw her they flew away, and she went to a spot covered with dead grass, for she expected that would be a good place to dig in. To her surprise, under the dead grass lay several big canoes filled with oil, dried halibut and dried salmon.

'How lucky I am!' she said to herself; 'it was well indeed that I did not return with the others,' and she broke off a piece of salmon and tried to eat it, but she could not.

'What is the matter with me?' she wondered. 'I wish my aunt were here,' and she felt rather frightened. And the next day she grew more frightened still, for she found out that the birds were spirits, and it was they who were preventing her from eating food, so that she might become a great shaman or medicine-man. After a little while her eyes were opened, and she understood many things she had never guessed at, and the spirit-birds she had seen took possession of her, and others came from the woods and the sea, and sang to her.

At first she went two or three times every day to visit the buried canoes and to dig for roots, but she quickly gave that up, for she had nothing with which to sharpen the sticks she used instead of spades; and besides, what was the use of digging for roots if you could not eat them? Meanwhile, in the village the girl's aunt mourned for her, as she felt sure Djun must by this time be dead of hunger.

* * * * *

'I am very lonely: I wish some of my old friends would come to see me,' thought Djun when she had been living by herself for several months, and the next morning a canoe appeared in sight, and in it were seated some people whom she knew. Then Djun was happy indeed, and she bade them follow her to the brush-house, and gave them food out of the canoes; for two or three days they stayed, digging for roots and for anything else they could get, and at the end of the time Djun said to them:

'It is well that you should go again, but be careful not to take with you any of the food that I have given you. Tell my friends that I am alive, and beg my aunt to come and visit me.'

So the people of the canoe returned to the village, and told such tales of the food they had received from Djun that all the townsfolk hastened to get into their canoes and paddled straight off to the place where she was living. When they drew near enough to see the brush-house, they beheld it surrounded by thousands of birds that seemed to stretch right upwards from the earth to the sky. They also heard the shaman's voice and the sound of singing, but as soon as they approached closer to the brush-house, the birds flew away.

After that the shaman went out to meet them, and she asked:

'Where is my aunt? I want her;' and when her aunt came Djun gave her everything that was stored in one of her buried canoes, and then she said:

'I should like two of the women to stay with me and help me with my singing,' and one after another the chief women of the tribe, with their faces newly painted, rose up in the canoes; but she would have none of them, and chose two girls who were orphans like herself, and had been treated very badly by their kinsfolk.

'The rest can come ashore,' she said, 'and camp out here,' but she took the orphans and her aunt into the brush-house.

Now these high-born women had brought their slaves with them, and Djun took the slaves in exchange for food, and put necklaces and paint and feathers and fine robes upon the orphans. And the whole of the village people stayed with her a long while, and when they got into the canoes again they were fat and strong with all that Djun had given them.

* * * * *

For some time Djun lived quite happily in the brush-house now that she had some companions; then a longing took hold of her to go back to her own village, so she worked magic in order to make the chief of the town fall ill, and the people, who had learnt that she had become a shaman, sent a canoe to fetch her and offered her much payment if she would cure him.

The family of Djun the shaman was one of the noblest in the tribe, but misfortune had overtaken them. One by one they had all died, and when the girl came back to the village nothing remained but the posts of her uncle's house, while grass had sprouted inside the walls. She beheld these things from the canoe and felt very sad, but she bade the slaves cease paddling, as she wished to land. Then she drew out an eagle's tail, and, holding it up, blew upon it and waved it backwards and forwards. After she had done this four times, the posts and the grass disappeared, and in their place stood a fine house--finer and larger than the one the chief had lived in.

'Bring in whatever the canoe contains,' she said; and when everything was ready she went into the house, and the two orphan girls went with her.

'The chief's daughter is ill as well as her father,' so Djun heard after she had been back in the village for a few days, and she waited in the house, expecting to be summoned to work a cure. But though they had sent for her while she was living far from them, now that she was amongst them again she looked so like the girl they had known from a child that the people could not believe she could be a _real_ shaman, and called in others. However, in spite of the care of these medicine men, both the chief and his daughter became worse and worse, and in despair, their kinsfolk suddenly bethought themselves of Djun. The girl was not in the house at the time that the messenger arrived, but one of the orphans met him, and asked:

'How much will they pay the shaman if she cures them?'

'Two slaves,' was the answer.

'That is not enough,' said the child; 'go back and tell them so.'

And the messenger went back and came again.

'How much will they pay the shaman?' asked the child as she opened the door to him.

'Two slaves and much goods,' answered he.

'That is well; she will come,' said the child, and the messenger returned with her answer.

* * * * *

'We will go together,' Djun said to the orphans, and the three set off at once to the house of the chief. Inside, there was a crowd of people, except for an empty space round the fire where lay the chief and his daughter. The shaman sat down between them and worked all the spells she knew, but they grew no better. Then she rose and walked through the people in the room, and when she had looked at each one she said to the chief:

'The witch that is killing you two is not here.'

As soon as the people heard that, they left the house and brought in those of the villagers who had not come before, for there was not room for a very great number. For the second time Djun went among them and examined them, and then she repeated:

'The witch is not yet here.' But the spirits, which showed her what others could not see, opened her eyes, and after a moment she spoke again.

'The road of the witch is very clear now; it runs straight to this house.' After that she waited in silence, and the people were silent also. At last they heard a bird whistling in the woods at the back, and the shaman said:

'She is coming now; open the door and let her in,' and they flung the door wide, and there flew in a wild canary.

'Go and sit between the two sick persons,' said Djun, and the canary fluttered towards them, making such a noise with her wings that they were frightened and shrank away from her. And the shaman desired a man to tie the bird's wings to her side so that she might be still. Next a rolling sound such as thunder makes a long way off filled the air.

'Here come her children,' cried the shaman. 'Stop all the holes so that they may not enter, for they are very angry.' But though the holes were stopped, there were cracks in the boards, and the birds flew in through the cracks till the house became full of them, and the noise was deafening. They flew round and round among the people, and whosoever they touched received a cut or a bruise. Suddenly--no one knew how--they all vanished, and not a bird was left in the room save the one which was tied.

* * * * *

Hours had passed since the shaman first came to the house, and it was now morning. The canary never ceased making a noise all that time, and at last the shaman said:

'She wants to go to the place where she has put the food and the locks of hair with which she is bewitching the chief and his daughter. Untie her wings and let her do as she will, but be careful to follow her.' So they untied her wings, and the canary flew out of the house followed by four men, and she hopped ahead of them the way she had come through the woods.

At length she stopped and began scratching at the roots of some bushes till she laid bare a skull. On the top of the skull some leaves, hair, food, and scraps of clothes were carefully arranged in a pattern. She picked up as many of them as she could carry in her beak and flew with them down to the sea, letting the wind scatter them in different directions. This she did till all had disappeared and the skull likewise, and then she returned to the house with the four men following her, and they found the chief and his daughter quite cured, for as soon as the skull and the other things had touched the sea, they recovered by magic.

* * * * *

'Do you hear the noise she is making?' asked the shaman, when the bird had begun to chatter as noisily as before. 'She wants to go away from here, but not to her home, because the other birds will be ashamed of her. The place she wishes to go to is a town called Close-along-the-beach. Therefore, let a canoe be got ready at once to take her there.' So the canoe was got ready, and the bird flew into it, and they pushed off from the shore, and paddled till the bird suddenly broke out into the strange speech, which no one could understand but the shaman.

'This must be the place,' they said, and paddled in towards the beach, and the canary flew out of the boat and went very fast down to the shore followed by a man who wished to see where she was going, and she stopped at a tree whose roots stuck out above the ground. For this was the bird-town of Close-along-the-beach.

That is how the ancient Indians first heard of witchcraft.

[_Tlingit Myths and Texts._]

_WHAT BECAME OF OWEN PARFITT?_

In the early part of the eighteenth century a family named Parfitt were living in a small town in the West of England called Shepton Mallet. We are not told how many children they had, but some probably died young, for the only two we hear about are the eldest daughter Mary and her brother Owen, about fifteen years younger.

Owen was apprenticed by his father to a tailor as soon as he had reached the proper age, and learnt his trade thoroughly. But he hated sitting still sewing all day long, and one morning his stool waited for him in vain, and some hours later a message was brought that he had enlisted under the king's banner. Little was known of him for many years: occasionally a report was carried by some pedlar or old soldier that Owen was serving in this country or in that, but after a while even these rumours ceased, and at length people forgot that such a person as Owen Parfitt had ever existed. His parents were dead; only his sister was left to remember him.

* * * * *

Then suddenly he appeared amongst them, bent and crippled with wounds and rheumatism, and unrecognisable by anyone but Mary. Together they set up house, and Owen again got out the board and the big scissors and the chalk and the wax which his sister had carefully kept, and announced to the town of Shepton Mallet that he was going to become a tailor once more. However, the cottage which the brother and sister had taken proved inconvenient in many ways, and after a time they moved to another, near the high road, with the main street lying at the end of the garden. Here he used to sit in the evening when his work was done, and talk with some of his old friends who would lean over the gate and tell him all the news.

As time went on, Owen's rheumatism grew worse and worse, till at length he was too crippled to move without help, and by and bye he became unable to stir hand or foot. Mary had grown very old also, for her eightieth birthday had long been past, and though no cottage in Shepton Mallet was cleaner than hers, she was very feeble, and Owen looked forward with terror to the day when she would certainly break down. But Mary was not the woman to give in while there was any strength left in her, and when she found that she could not get her brother outside the door by herself, she engaged a girl called Susannah Snook, living about fifty yards away, to come and assist her. Between them they carried him along the passage to a chair placed, if the weather was fine, outside the house door, and there they left him, warmly wrapped up, while his bed was made and his room put tidy.

It was in the afternoon of a June day in 1768 that Owen Parfitt, dressed in the night things which he always wore, with an old greatcoat over his shoulders, took up his usual position in the little garden. No one seems actually to have seen him or spoken with him, but then it was haymaking season, and the fields round the Parfitts' cottage were filled with people, while it is only reasonable to suppose that the turnpike road opposite had many carts and horsemen passing up and down. Be this as it may, there was the old man taking his airing, 'plain for all folks to see,' when Susannah, having made him comfortable, turned and went back to Mary. After the bed had been made and the room put to rights, the girl went home, but she must either have quitted the cottage by a _back_ door, or else the helpless old man must still have been sitting where she left him. In any case, in about half an hour the news reached her that Owen had disappeared, and his sister was almost distracted.

Susannah flew back to the cottage as fast as her feet would take her, and found Mary weeping bitterly. The girl at once tried to find out what had happened, but the old woman was so upset that this was not very easy. Bit by bit, however, Susannah discovered that after she had returned home, Mary had gone upstairs for a short time, and on coming down again was struck by the silence.

'Owen, are you there?' she cried, but there was no answer. 'Owen!' she repeated in a louder voice, but still there was nothing. Then she went to the door and found the chair just as she and Susannah had left it, but with no trace of her brother save the greatcoat which was lying on the back.

'Did you hear no noise?' asked the girl, after listening to her story.

'No; nothing at all. I just came down because I had finished what I had to do upstairs!' And Susannah added, on telling her tale, 'the chair, when I looked, was exactly as we had placed it.'

The alarm once given, the neighbours lost no time in making a thorough search of both town and country for some distance round, even of the most unlikely spots. Ponds and wells were dragged, ditches examined, outhouses explored; though _why_ anyone should wish to hide a harmless old cripple in any of these places, nobody stopped to ask, still less how it could have been done in broad daylight. But in spite of the thorough nature of the hunt, which did not cease even during a sharp thunderstorm, and went on all that night and the next day, neither then nor later was any trace ever found of Owen Parfitt.

* * * * *

As far as we know, nothing further was done about the matter for nearly fifty years, when some gentlemen happened to hear the story and were interested in it. They sought out all the old people in the town who had known the Parfitts and questioned them as to what had happened. Of course, the worst of this kind of evidence is that no kind of notes had been taken down at the time, and also that the love of astonishing their hearers by wonderful details which never occurred is a great temptation to many. On the whole, however, the witnesses in the inquiry into Owen Parfitt's disappearance seem to have been more truthful than usual. Susannah Snook, the last person living to see the old man, told her tale as it has been already set down, and her account was closely borne out by that given by another old woman as far as her own knowledge went. Then followed some men, whose clothes had been made by Parfitt as long as he had been able to work, and who had helped in the search for him. One of these declared that Owen was 'neither a very good nor a very bad man, but was said sometimes to have a very violent temper.' Yet, even if this was correct, it does not throw much light on the mystery.

The general opinion of the neighbours at the time of the vanishing of Parfitt was that he was carried off by demons, and indeed the whole affair was so strange and without reason that their view was hardly to be wondered at. The discovery of part of some human bones under a wall near Parfitt's cottage gave a new turn to their thoughts, but this happened many years after the disappearance of Owen, and were held, when examined in 1814, to be the bones of a girl supposed to have been murdered. One witness only contradicted Susannah's evidence, and that was Jehoshaphat Stone, who swore Mary Parfitt had assured him that she had come downstairs hastily after hearing a noise, to find her brother gone and the chair displaced. But this fact he did not know of his own knowledge, and Susannah, when asked about the displacing of the chair, declared for the second time that the chair was exactly as she had left it, and that Mary had expressly said she had heard no noise.

One more question remained to be put, and that was if the old man had any money about him which might have led to his kidnapping or murder, though this seems very unlikely. One witness said he had a small pension amounting to about seven pounds a year, but an old woman who was related to the Parfitts 'was quite sure he had nothing of the sort,' and even if he had contrived to save a little during the years when he could still work at his trade, it must soon have gone in the days of his helplessness. At any rate, he would hardly have had it upon him when he was dressed in his night things, without any sort of pocket to put it in.

'But _was_ he a _totally_ helpless cripple?' inquired Dr. Butler, the future Bishop of Lichfield, to whom the evidence was sent by the gentlemen who had collected it. 'Be very careful, gentlemen, to discover whether he _walked_ to his chair on the day of his disappearance, or whether he was capable of walking so much as a few yards; for there seems to have been a rumour that a person of his description was seen wandering that evening near Frome ten or twelve miles distant.'

In accordance with Dr. Butler's wish, a close examination was made into this matter, but none of the witnesses had ever seen Parfitt on his feet or attempting to use them for many years before he vanished. But supposing, as has been sometimes known, that a sort of miracle had been wrought and his powers of walking had come suddenly back, how could he have got from Shepton Mallet to Frome in broad daylight, past cottages and along roads where everyone knew him, without being recognised by a single person on the way?

'I give it up,' as they say about riddles; and Dr. Butler 'gave it up,' too.

_BLACKSKIN_

In an Indian town on the North Pacific Ocean there lived a chief, whose ambition it was to be stronger than other men and be able to kill the sea-lions down the coast. On the coldest mornings in winter he might be seen running down very early to bathe and the village people followed him into the water. After he had swum and dived till he was quite warm, he would come out and rush up a hill, and, catching hold of a big branch on a particular tree, would try to pull it off from the trunk! Next he would seize another tree and endeavour to twist it in his hands like a rope. This he did to prove to himself that he was daily growing stronger.

Now this chief had a nephew named Blackskin, who besides appearing weak and delicate, was never seen to bathe and seemed terribly frightened when the boys pushed him into the water. Of course, they could not know, when they saw Blackskin sleeping while everyone else was enjoying himself in the sea, that he was merely pretending, and that as soon as _they_ were asleep, he rose and went down to the shore by himself and stayed in the sea treading water for so many hours, that he had to float so as to rest his feet. Indeed, he would often remain in till he was chilled to the bone, and then he damped the ashes of his fire in order to make them steam, and put his sleeping-mat on top. The villagers, who only beheld him in bed, thought him a dirty fellow; but in reality he was cleaner than any of them, and was never known to lie or to steal. If they laughed at him for his laziness or his cowardice, he took no notice, though he was strong enough to have picked them up with one hand, and thrown them over the cliffs; and when, as often happened, they begged him, for a joke, to bring them in a large log for their fire, he was careful to make a great fuss and to raise it very slowly, as if it was very hard to lift.

'A lazy fellow like that does not deserve any food,' said they, and so poor Blackskin seldom had enough to eat.

* * * * *

Things went on like this for some time, and Blackskin bathed constantly unknown to anyone till one night when he heard a whistle.

'Someone has seen me,' he thought to himself, 'well, if so, I may as well come out,' and he walked up the beach in the direction of the sound till he reached a short man dressed in a bear-skin. To his surprise, the man caught hold of him, picked him up, and flung him down on the sand.

'I am Strength,' said he, 'and I am going to help you. But tell no one that you have seen me, for as yet you are not strong enough to do that which you wish to do.'

These words made Blackskin very happy, but he was quieter than ever, and the boys and villagers counted him a poor-spirited creature, and did not mind what tricks they played on him, even though he _did_ belong to the family of the chief. They ordered him about just as if he had been a captive taken in war, and he bore it quite meekly, and when the little boys wrestled with him he always let them win the match.

'Fancy a great, big man being thrown by a child!' cried those who looked.

Yet, in spite of all this, Blackskin was contented, for after a few more weeks of bathing, he felt there was nothing that he could not do quite easily. Then one night he heard the whistle again, and on the shore stood the same man, who signed to him to come out of the water.

'Wrestle with me,' said the man, and as soon as they had seized each other, he added:

'Now you have strength at last and do not need to go into the sea. Do you see that tree? Try and pull out that big branch.' Blackskin ran over to the tree, and pulled out the branch with ease, and even put it back again, which was harder.

'Very good,' said the man, 'Next, twist that other tree right down to its roots,' and Blackskin did that also, and afterwards untwisted it so that it seemed just as before.

* * * * *

He had hardly got to bed, when the people began to run down to the sea, for it was their bathing hour. And the boys, as they passed, came in and pulled Blackskin's hair, and cried:

'Come and bathe with us,' but as usual he answered nothing. After they all returned from bathing, the chief went up to the tree and pulled out the branch, while the people shouted for joy that at last he was strong enough to do what he had sought to do for so long.

And Blackskin lay in bed and listened. Next, the chief found he was able to twist the other tree, and they shouted again, and the chief felt very proud and thought himself a great man. By and bye they came again to Blackskin and laid hold of his feet to drag him from his bed, laughing and saying as they did so:

'Your chief has pulled out that branch and twisted that tree. Why couldn't you?'

'To-morrow we will hunt the sea-lions,' said the young men to each other. And one of them added:

'I wonder which part of the canoe that great strong Blackskin will sleep in.'

'Why, in the bow, of course,' answered a boy, 'then he can land first and tear the sea-lions in two before any of us,' and they all laughed again. But Blackskin, though he heard, took no notice, as was his custom.

All that day the people visited the tree to look at the branch which the chief had pulled out, and in choosing the strongest men among them who had bathed with him in the sea, to hunt the sea-lions. The store of meat they had in the town was nearly exhausted, and it was time they collected more; but the island on which the animals lived was very slippery, and it was not easy for the men to climb over the rocks.

* * * * *

That night Blackskin took one more bath and then he went to his uncle's wife, who never made fun of him like the rest, and said:

'Will you give me a clean shirt and something for my hair?'

'Have you been bidden to the hunt?' asked the wife, and Blackskin made reply:

'No; I have not been bidden, but I am going.' So she got ready some food and tied it up in a small package for him, and gave him the clean shirt and what he wanted for his hair.

He was the last to reach the canoe, and the men who were seated in it cried when they beheld him:

'Don't let him come! Don't let him come!' But Blackskin was determined to get in, and seized the canoe as they were pushing it off. In vain they struck his fingers to force him to let go; and to their amazement he easily dragged back the canoe, till it was near enough for him to jump in. Finding they could not keep him out, the men began to speak rudely to him, till the chief stopped them.

'Let him alone,' he said; 'he can bale out the water if it should come in;' so Blackskin sat in the seat of the man that bales, wondering within himself if his uncle had suspected anything when he had pulled back the canoe with the men in it. But as the chief said nothing, Blackskin supposed he had been thinking of something else at the time.

When they were close to the island, the chief waited till the canoe was lifted by a wave, and then he leaped on shore. He seized one sea-lion and killed it, and managed to seat himself on the back of another; but the sea-lion gave a sudden spring and threw the chief high into the air, and he fell down heavily striking his head against a rock, so that he died at once.

Blackskin had seen it all, and was sorry. He opened his bundle of clothes and put on his shirt and his hair ornament, while the rest stood round watching.

'I am the man who pulled out that branch and twisted that tree,' he said, 'and now, bring the canoe closer in!' As he spoke he walked the length of it upon the seats, which broke under him, so that those who were sitting on them were thrown to the bottom. Very frightened they all were when they heard the crash, lest he should revenge himself on them for the way they had treated him. But he did not even look at them, only jumped ashore as his uncle had done, and climbed straight up the tall cliff, hitting some sea-lions on the head as he passed. When he reached the big one which had killed his uncle, he slew that also, and carried them all to the shore, piling them up in the canoe.

There was enough meat to last them many months, and Blackskin was still piling, when suddenly the men in the canoe pushed off, and paddled home again, and this was because of their dread of Blackskin. They made the canoe fast and told the people of the town that it was Blackskin who pulled out the branch and twisted the tree, and that for very fear they had left him on the island of the sea-lions.

'Why did you do that?' asked the people. 'Trouble may come of it.'

* * * * *

So Blackskin found himself alone on the island, and as there was nothing to make a fire with, he rolled himself, head and all in his blanket, and went to sleep. After a time he was wakened by a noise which sounded like the beating of sticks, and someone called out:

'I have come after you.' He sat up and looked round, but only saw a black duck swimming towards him.

'I have seen you already,' said he, and the black duck answered:

'I was bidden to fetch you. Get on my back and be sure to keep your eyes tight shut till I tell you to open them.' And Blackskin kept his eyes tight shut till the duck called out:

'Now you may open them,' and he opened them and found that he was in a fine house, though he did not guess it was the house of the sea-lions.

Of course, the people of the town knew nothing of the black duck, and they mourned for the chief and for Blackskin, who had been left to perish on the island, and the chief's wife mourned most of all.

'Why did you do it?' she asked many times, and the townspeople repeated,'Why did you do it? A strong man like that is scarce.'

Then the chief's wife begged some of the young men to cross to the island and bring back her husband's body; and this they did at last, but they could not find Blackskin's.

'Where can he be?' they said. 'Can the tide have taken him, or a wild beast have eaten him? We must consult the wise man.'

And the wise man told them that Blackskin was not dead, but would come back again some day; and this troubled them more than ever.

* * * * *

All this time Blackskin was quite happy in the house of the sea-lions. He had grown so used to them that they seemed to him quite like human beings, though when he thought about it, he knew of course they were not. One day he heard a young sea-lion crying with pain, and his people could not tell what was the matter. Then Blackskin came and examined him, and declared that he had a barbed spear-point sticking in his side.

'This wise medicine man has found out why he cries,' said one; and Blackskin answered:

'I am not a medicine man, but all the same I can take out that spear-head!' And after it was out, he washed the place with warm water.

The young sea-lion was very grateful, and as he belonged to a powerful tribe they wished to reward Blackskin for his kindness, and said to him:

'Anything that belongs to us, you may have if you will.'

'Give me, then,' answered Blackskin, 'that box that hangs overhead.' Now the box was a magic box which could bring the wind out of whichever quarter you wanted it, and this was what happened. The sea-lions pushed the box up and down the surface of the sea, and whistled, and called to the wind as you would call to a dog, saying:

'Come to this box! Come to this box!'

They were sad at parting with it, and would have wished him to ask for anything else, but they would not break their word and showed Blackskin how to get into it, and bade him on no account to take it near whatever was unclean.

Then they said farewell to each other, and Blackskin packed himself carefully into the box (which was rather small for a tall man), and in a minute he was blown far out to sea.

'West wind! West wind! Come to this box,' he cried, and the west wind came, and blew and blew, till it blew him to the shore, not far from his own town. And when he saw where he was, he got out and shook himself and stretched his arms and legs, and hid the box away in the branches of a tree. After that he walked home.

The first person he saw was his uncle's wife, who welcomed him gladly, for next to the chief she loved Blackskin better than anybody. He then sent a messenger to beg all the townspeople to assemble together, and they obeyed; but those who had been cruel to him came unwillingly, for they feared his wrath always, and hoped he had disappeared for ever. And when they lifted their glance and beheld him strong and tall and able to force men to do his will, even though they liked it little, they trembled more than before for the doom he might pronounce on them. As for Blackskin, his eyes shone with an angry light; but he said to himself:

'It is my own fault. If I had not let them do as they like, they would never have dared to treat me in that way. It is not just to punish them: I will forgive them.' But before he had time to tell them so, the men who had left him on the island had run away in terror, and hid themselves in the woods; thus they were not present at the assembling of the people, nor heard of the welcome given him by many. Then Blackskin looked round him, and spoke these words, and some who listened to him hung their heads with shame:

'You know of yourselves what cruelty you showed me, and you do well to be ashamed of it; and those who are cruel to people because they think they are weaker than themselves will always have reason to feel shame. Remember this, and do not make fun of poor people any more, as you did in the days when my uncle was chief.'

This is what Blackskin said.

[_Tlingit Myths and Texts, recorded by John R. Swanton._]

_THE PETS OF AURORE DUPIN_

During the years in which Napoleon and his armies were fighting in Spain, in Germany, and in Russia, a little girl might be seen running wild in the province of Berry, which is almost in the very centre of France. In those days if you had asked her name she would have answered that it was 'Aurore Dupin'; but by and bye she took another, which by her books she made famous--nearly as famous, indeed, in its own way as that of her great ancestor, the general Count Maurice de Saxe.

But it is not the celebrated writer who called herself 'George Sand' with whom we have to do now, but the child Aurore Dupin, and her friends the birds and beasts, dwellers like herself in the bare and desolate plains that surrounded her grandmother's chateau of Nohant. Maurice Dupin, father of Aurore, was a soldier like his grandfather, Maurice de Saxe; but her mother was the daughter of a bird-seller, who, curiously enough, lived in the 'Street of the Birds' (Quai des Oiseaux) in Paris. To this fact Aurore always declared that she owed her powers of fascination over the chaffinches, robins, or starlings that would sit on her shoulders or perch on her hands as she walked with her mother in the garden. And far from being frightened at the presence of a grown-up person, the birds often seemed to prefer Madame Maurice Dupin to Aurore herself.

Aurore became very learned about birds and their ways, considering them far cleverer than men or animals, and endowed with finer qualities than either. Warblers she held superior to any other small bird, and says that at fifteen days a warbler is as old in the feathered world as a child of ten is in that which speaks instead of chirping. When she was a little girl at Nohant, she brought up by hand two baby warblers of different sorts and different nests.

The one with a yellow breast she named Jonquil; while the other, who had a grey waistcoat, was called Agatha. Jonquil was as much as a fortnight older than Agatha, and when under the care of Aurore she was a slim, gentle young creature, inclined to be thin, and with scarcely enough feathers to cover her skin, and not yet able to fly with certainty from one branch to another, or even to feed herself. This Aurore knew was her own fault, because if Jonquil had remained at home she would have learned these things far earlier, for bird-mothers are much better teachers than _our_ mothers, and insist that their children shall find out how to get on by themselves.