## The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Round Table, March 9, 1897

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Title: Harper's Round Table, March 9, 1897

Author: Various

Release date: December 9, 2019 [eBook #60887]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MARCH 9, 1897 ***

HOW TOM RODMAN JOINED THE GERMAN ARMY.
A JAPANESE PICTURE-STORY.
A LOYAL TRAITOR.
THE PAINTED DESERT.
"THE LITTLE PORTERGEE."
CRETE, AND HER STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM.
INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT.
STAMPS.
THE CAMERA CLUB.

[Pg 449]

Copyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

published weekly. | NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 9, 1897. | five cents a copy.
vol. xviii.—no. 906. |  | two dollars a year.

## HOW TOM RODMAN JOINED THE GERMAN ARMY.

### BY POULTNEY BIGELOW.

"Thomas," said Professor Schinkel, as they were in the midst of supper, "run down and see what all the noise is about."

Tom Rodman was only fifteen years old; but like most Yankee boys of his age, he was pretty quick at getting news. He knew that the French Emperor had declared war against the Germans; he knew that soldiers were being marched from every village of the father-land, and he knew also that the Rhine was near to the frontier of France. He was just then—this was in 1870—living in the family of Professor Schinkel, at Slaugenstein on the Rhine, and quickly made up his mind that the noise he heard in the street was made by troops marching to the war. So, with a big piece of brown-bread in his hand and another in his mouth, he sprang down stairs two steps at a time, and opened the front door. The street was full of soldiers who wore helmets of black leather on their heads, and who looked very brown and strong. They all seemed to be looking for something; they had been marching all day, and each soldier carried a knapsack that weighed quite as much as a very heavy child.

As Tom Rodman was wondering what these soldiers[Pg 450] wanted, a big corporal with a straw-colored beard and blue eyes came up, measured the house with his eyes, counted the windows, then pulled out a piece of chalk, and wrote on the door,

"One corporal and seven men!"

Tom now noticed that other doors in the street were being treated in the same way, and quickly learned why; the whole town was to become night quarters for the troops marching to the war.

"Is the Herr Professor at home?" asked the corporal.

"Yes; come this way," said Tom, now very much excited.

The corporal knocked at the professor's door, and walked in with a sharp military tread. He then stood bolt-upright, put one hand to the side of his helmet, after the soldier fashion, and said, in a voice that could be heard all over the house,

"I beg to tell you most respectfully, Herr Professor Schinkel, that it is my duty to bring here for this night one corporal and seven men!"

"You are heartily welcome, Herr Corporal," said the professor. "I am glad that I am able to do a little good at this time for the brave men who are going to war for the sake of our common country."

All was now bustle in the Schinkel family. The seven soldiers came tramping up stairs, and were made as comfortable as was possible. Tom ran out to the baker's and the butcher's, and came running back with bread and meat. The soldiers had laid aside their guns, knapsacks, and coats, and each did his share in getting supper ready.

Corporal Kutchke was invited to eat at the professor's table; and he made the evening pass rapidly by telling stories about life in the army. Tom liked the corporal, for he was a big, healthy, strong man, full of enterprise. The professor found that Kutchke had been in the same university as himself, and they had many friends in common. Tom thought he would give anything if he could only be a soldier like Kutchke, and go to the war. The corporal noticed Tom's excitement, and said, "Herr Professor, why don't you send your son there to fight for his country?"

The professor laughed. "My son? Why, he's not my son. He's not German. Tom is an American boy. His name is Tom Rodman. His mother is the widow of a distinguished American artillery officer, and she has sent him here to learn German in my family."

"Well," said Corporal Kutchke, "you do surprise me! The boy speaks such good German that I never thought he could be a foreigner. But of course foreigners don't care about fighting for us!"

### II.

The door was pushed open with much force, and one of the soldiers marched into the room, knocked his heels together, stood very stiff and still, then said, with a very clear but yet rather sad voice,

"Private Rothmann has been taken very ill."

"Hulloo!" thought Tom, "that is a funny name for a German; it sounds like mine."

Corporal Kutchke ordered the private to run and inform the army surgeon, while he himself went up stairs to learn what he could. Rothmann was very pale and weak. The heat of the day had affected him on the march, and he was now tossing about in a feverish manner. The surgeon came and said that Rothmann was wholly unfit to march, and must be left behind. He was at once taken to the hospital. As soon as Rothmann was gone, Tom Rodman went up to help the corporal about getting bedding for his men. He found Kutchke seated on a drum rubbing his nose with a drum-stick.

"Million Schock Donnerwetter!" said Kutchke. "What will my Captain say? I shall be blamed because he fell ill. And it's not my fault. It's the fault of all the people along the road, who keep giving the soldiers cigars and sausage, and make them useless for hard work."

### III.

When Tom went up to his room that night he felt very sore at not being allowed to go and fight with Corporal Kutchke, and he feared lest people might think him a coward. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and began to make plans for running away and joining the army in spite of the professor. Just then he noticed the uniform which Rothmann had left behind when they had so hastily taken him to the hospital. He jumped up, quickly stripped off his coat and trousers, and dressed himself in the uniform of a Prussian foot-soldier. The fit was not perfect, but as he looked at himself in the glass he felt his shoulders straighten up and his chest swell out with pride, and when he had finally put on the knapsack and the cartridge-belt, and the warlike helmet with the brass spike on top, he looked as though he had been made for this particular uniform. He was just about reaching for Rothmann's gun, which had been hung against the wall, when the door was thrown open, and Corporal Kutchke stood facing him, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

"What is it? Who are you? Are you Rothmann?"

Tom burst into a hearty laugh, and the corporal was so delighted at finding that Tom was not the ghost of Rothmann that he too joined.

Suddenly Corporal Kutchke slapped Tom on the back and said: "I have a grand idea. Do you want to be a soldier?"

"Yes, indeed," said Tom.

"Will you march with us to-morrow at daybreak?"

"Certainly," said Tom.

"Then," said Kutchke, "I will take good care of you. It is against the regulations, but in war-time we cannot be so strict. Your name is Rodman, and you must make believe that you are the man Rothmann whom we have left behind. You are both about the same size, and the Captain is not likely to notice anything amiss, for I will drill you so that you will soon be as good as any of the recruits. You are very big for your age, and you will have splendid stories to tell when you come back from the war."

"But what about the professor?" said Tom.

"Oh, that is simple enough," said the corporal. "Just write him a few lines telling him that you have gone to defend the father-land against the French, and he will forgive you in the end, even if he is angry for the moment."

#### IV.

There was hard marching for poor Tom, and his knapsack weighed very heavily on his young shoulders, and now and then he would gladly have gone back to his comfortable bed at the professor's, had he not been anxious to show his German comrades that an American could make a good soldier—for Tom was a very patriotic boy. One night, as they were cooking their supper at the camp-fire, Kutchke whispered in Tom's ear that some of their scouts had seen French uniforms in the distance, and that there would soon be a fight.

At about two o'clock in the morning his company was drawn up ready to march, although it was pitch-dark. The Captain made them a short speech, telling them they must make no noise, for they hoped to get very near to the enemy before being seen, and if they fought well, many of them might hope to get the Iron Cross, which is the most highly prized war medal in the German army.

Then each soldier held his hand carefully against his side so as to prevent the rattling of his tin water-bottle against his bayonet-scabbard, and thus they marched for about an hour in silence, keeping a sharp lookout to right and left.

Suddenly was heard ping-ping-ping, the sound of rifle-bullets whizzing over their heads, and soon commenced a clatter of infantry fire, for the French had discovered the movements of this company in the faint light of the dawning day. But it was too late for effective resistance on the part of the enemy, who were taken by surprise, and had to retreat up the slopes of a gentle hill, on the top of which stood six cannon in a row; but, curiously enough, they were pointing in the opposite direction from Tom. As soon as the noise of the firing was heard, Tom heard the bugles blowing, and knew from this that the French would soon be firing off their big guns at them. Then the Captain roared out to them to run as hard as they could and[Pg 451] capture these six pieces of cannon before they could be turned round and fired off; so they all started with a great hurrah, and arrived at the guns just as the French artillerymen were trying to move them into proper positions. Tom could not tell exactly what happened, excepting that there seemed to be hundreds of swords waving in the air and a constant rattling of infantry fire. Now and then a man dropped, but Tom was too excited to notice why he dropped. His blood was aroused, and he thought only of keeping near Kutchke and winning the Iron Cross. There was one cannon which was just about to be fired, when Kutchke sprang at the man in charge and knocked him down with the butt of his rifle; but no sooner was this done than another man sprang forward to fire the gun, and three Frenchmen attacked Kutchke at once. Then Tom sprang forward like a wild-cat and smashed the gun of a Frenchman who was just about sticking his bayonet through Kutchke's back, and at this the other two ran away. Then the Captain, who was fighting close to them, shouted out, "Well done, Rodman; you have saved Kutchke's life!" And the soldiers near by shouted "Hurrah!" still more vigorously, and looked at Rodman as though they were proud of him.

But now the Captain commenced to be anxious for the safety of his company, and ordered the men to harness up the horses to the French cannon so as to get them back as trophies, for there were signs in the distance that large forces of French were coming up. They had no sooner brought the horses up to be harnessed, than a regiment of French cavalry was seen galloping towards them in a cloud of dust. On they came with loud shouts, and there was no time to waste. Tom's company was ordered to lie down beneath the guns and not to fire until the horses were close to them, and then to give them a volley all together. This plan worked splendidly, for the French were so surprised by this sudden response that there was much confusion amongst them, and they hesitated. Tom noticed a French officer carrying a flag, which in war is considered a very precious trophy. When that Frenchman saw the effect of the first volley, he looked about him as though ready to run away, and when a second volley was fired, which killed more Frenchmen, he wheeled round with the flag in his hand and put spurs to his horse. But Tom did not wait for orders in the presence of such an opportunity. He seized the nearest artillery horse, jumped into the saddle in the twinkling of an eye, and made straight for the flying French officer. The race was an exciting one, and Tom soon discovered that it was likely to be a dangerous one; for they soon left the battle-field behind them, and he had before him the prospect of fighting a desperate man. Tom had no weapons, for he had thrown away his gun, and at the same time he had cast off his knapsack and cartridge-belt. Tom shouted to the Frenchman that he must surrender, but the Frenchman paid no attention to it; so Tom took off the stirrup leathers from the saddle while his horse kept up his furious pace. He hung the two stirrups on to one leather, and joined the two leathers together so that they would stretch a long distance. Then he swung this around his head as though it had been a long sling, and waited for a time to use it. The Frenchman was not a very good rider, and the country over which he rode was rather rough, so that he did not dare to turn round in the saddle, excepting just enough to point his pistol at Tom, and fire it off without hitting anything. Tom was gaining inch by inch, and at last was ready for a blow. A narrow and rapid river was close ahead of them, and the Frenchman no doubt felt that escape was hopeless without a struggle; so he drew his sword, wheeled his horse, and attacked Tom for the purpose of running him through the body. Tom kept cool, swung his long leather gently around his head, and just at the moment when the Frenchman was ready to make his lunge he gave all his strength to a final swing that brought the stirrups together against the left cheek of the Frenchman, who fell to the ground stunned and bleeding. One blow was enough, and Tom sprang from his horse, seized the flag and sword from the enemy and then fetched water from the river and bandaged up the Frenchman's wound. Tom would have staid longer with this French officer had it not been that French troops made their appearance over the tops of the ridges.

### V.

With the sabre of a French cavalry officer in one hand, and the standard of a French cavalry regiment in the other, Tom ran as hard as his legs could carry him towards the rapid stream which was not more than fifty yards from where he had had the short fight. It was no use trying to escape on horseback, for his retreat was cut off by French cavalry; indeed, it seemed to Tom as though Frenchmen had started up out of the ground all around him, and he realized that he was now cut off entirely from his comrades, and must make good use of his wits if he wished to avoid being killed or made prisoner. Along the edges of this stream were clumps of overhanging bushes, and into the thickest of them he sprang, where he lay effectually concealed. Pretty soon a detachment of Frenchmen passed close to him, and he heard one of them say:

"Oh, that sacré Prussien! How I should like to catch him and get back the standard of our regiment! But I don't see how he could have knocked our Captain off his horse; it is most mysterious. However, I suppose he has drowned himself in the river, and so I ought to be satisfied."

Tom did not know the name of this river, or where it led to, but he knew enough of geography to know that if he kept on it long enough he should arrive at the Rhine. He was an expert swimmer, and made up his mind that the only way open to him was to travel by water and avoid the land. Of course he did not dare move by daylight, but as soon as the sun was set he launched himself upon the stream and struck out with the current. The sabre and standard he had wrapped round and round with small branches cut from the bushes, and this served him not only as a means of concealing his trophies, but also as a help, for it supported him when he was tired. His uniform he had to leave behind, for it would have been in his way, and he wore nothing but his shirt and a sort of bathing-drawers, which he made by cutting off the lower part of his uniform trousers. The water was, fortunately, warm, and Tom was prepared for a good long swim. He had gone about an hour, and already he had begun to feel that he could not stand very much more of this kind of work, when he noticed ahead of him something black. He struck out for it, and found that it was a massive door, which had been broken off from some peasant's barn and probably thrown into the river out of mischief by some prowling band of soldiers. To the great delight of Tom this barn door was so big that he could lie upon it and find most welcome rest as he floated on down stream at the rate of five or six miles an hour. Tom had nothing to eat with him, but he tightened his belt and tried to think of other things, and soon he fell asleep, with his head resting in the water on one side of the raft, and his legs in the water on the other side.

As he lay sweetly dreaming, he was suddenly awakened by a sound of voices and by the fierce light of a huge camp-fire on the bank. The voices were French, and Tom could understand this much.

"Look out there! I see something suspicious on the river."

"It is a corpse," said another Frenchman, and then Tom heard a laugh.

"Be careful there," cried another, "or he will float down upon us and poison our soup;" and then Tom heard foot-steps coming down to the water's edge; then he felt a push against his raft and the scraping of a bayonet-point against one of his legs. So near was he that he could smell the fragrant supper—the onions, the beef, and the smoke of the wood fire.

About half an hour from where he had left the Frenchmen cooking their soup he rounded a bend in the river, and saw ahead of him another camp-fire, with soldiers about it wearing German forage-caps. He recognized the big straw-colored beard of Kutchke, and knew at once that he was amongst friends. He floated close to the bank where the corporal stood, and pretended to be a corpse. No one noticed him until he was at their very feet, and then he heard[Pg 452] some one say: "Ach, there is a corpse! Push it away quickly!" And then he heard Kutchke call out: "No; wait until I see it. Perhaps it is Tom Rodman." Then he heard the heavy tread of Kutchke, and presently the corporal's voice could be heard breaking out into loud lamentation.

"Ah, yes," said he, "it is poor Rodman who saved my life from the Frenchmen! How dreadful that I should have brought him to the war! What can I do?"

"Why, you can give me something to eat!" came from the raft; and with these words Tom Rodman sat bolt-upright and laughed in Kutchke's face. Then there was a loud hurrah in the camp, and all the soldiers flocked down to see the miracle of Rodman coming to life and asking for something to eat. Kutchke embraced him, and kissed him several times, and called him his savior. All the men shook hands with him, and he was at once put into a good warm uniform, and given the most comfortable seat by the fire, where he was provided with a big tin full of well-cooked cabbage, sausage, and bread, which tasted exceedingly well after the hardships of the last twenty-four hours.

In the midst of it arrived the Captain, who wanted also to hear the story of Tom's escape, and why he had chased after the French officer. Tom told his adventures, and then produced the French cavalry standard, and the sabre of the officer whom he had knocked from his horse with the pair of stirrups.

All were delighted at the result of Tom's courage, and Kutchke said that Tom deserved three Iron Crosses—one for saving his life, another for capturing the standard, and another for bringing home the sabre. Tom was very popular with his comrades, and the news of his adventures soon reached the ears of the Colonel of his regiment, and he was soon afterwards informed that he was to receive the Iron Cross. The whole regiment was formed into three sides of a square, and the Colonel called out the name of Tom Rodman, who stepped forward, and stood very stiff while the Colonel asked after him and his family. Tom could not any longer conceal the fact that he was not a German, but an American boy, and the Colonel promised to say nothing about it, in order that Kutchke should not be punished. So this is how Tom Rodman joined the German army, and was the first American to wear the famous Iron Cross. The Colonel cabled to his mother in America, so that she might not be alarmed, and the Professor easily forgave his pupil for all the anxiety that Tom had caused him.

## A JAPANESE PICTURE-STORY.

### BY BARNET PHILLIPS.

he stories that have been written about pictures are to be divided into two general categories—those indicating the skill of the artist, and those relating to the performances of the pictures themselves. Both of these merge, since they attest the ability of the artist. There is a third kind of story, dwelling on the mishaps of painters, which accidents, however, in the long-run, invariably aid the artist.

The supernatural must have been called into play at the dawn of civilization, when the first artist scratched with splinter of flint an animal form on a bone. Pygmalion, who carved a woman so lifelike that he prayed to Venus to give Galatea flesh, blood, and a soul, must in an earlier form have been a story of the most remote antiquity. We find traces of this myth in Egyptian worship. To a South Sea Islander carved idols are not stocks nor stones, but living gods. The most acute Hindostanee does not separate his brazen images from the personalities of his deities.

Nothing is older than the stories of the supreme skill of the artist which the old Greek repeated. The common type of this legend is the picture with the figs painted on it, which were so natural that the birds pecked at them. The modern Orientals have embellished this story in many ways. The Persians will tell you that the birds actually carried a pomegranate out of a picture and fought over the fruit. One of the pomegranates slipped from the beak of a bird and tumbled down to a garden below. The over-ripe fruit broke, the seeds were scattered, and where they fell a pomegranate-tree grew, which will be shown you to-day in a court-yard in Ispahan.

We have the very old joke about the slab of stone painted so exactly like a log of wood that it floated. The Japanese have worked up the idea in many ingenious ways. They had a painter of the tenth century who drew a crystal ball so perfectly that when the sun shone on it, it behaved as would a lens, and would light tinder.

The Greeks tell of an artist who was dissatisfied with the flecks of foam in the mouth of the dog he was painting, and in anger threw a sponge at his picture, and, lo! where the sponge had struck the painting there was the froth required.

THE BRONZE WAS HURLED TO THE GROUND.

This is told of a bronze artificer who never could be satisfied with the ocean he was making up, into which his[Pg 453] hero was wading. He set his work on a window. A storm arose, there was a blinding flash of lightning, and the bronze was hurled to the ground. When the artist picked up the bronze a portion of the metal representing the water had been fused, and there was the rolling, undulating sea, such as no mortal hand could ever have produced.

Another story is about a second bronze-worker, who was a great artist, but an intemperate one, for he drank too much saki. The man had fashioned a deity in bronze which did not satisfy him, though he had worked on it for ten years. Do what he would, the figure showed traces of the long toil he had lavished on it. Though given to his cups, he was apparently a conscientious artist. Putting his bronze in his pocket or up his sleeve, the artist determined to commit suicide, and so plunged into a great tub of fermenting rice, from which saki is distilled. When the saki-maker emptied his tubs there was the artist dead, and his bronze, but the work had been perfected. The fermenting rice had smoothed down the hard lines. The bronze was admirable, and so the artist's death conferred on him a certain amount of heroism—that is, according to Japanese ideas of heroism.

The neatest story of artistic performance and of higher criticism is Japanese, and for the lesson it conveys has its value. There was a Shogun of the fourteenth century who was the art critic of his time, because he never saw a screen or a bronze or a china decoration without finding some fault. In his court all his retainers followed the Shogun in deprecating whatsoever was shown to them.

In the court of the great man was a painter, the most distinguished of his time, and this artist became very tired of the adverse criticisms passed on his work. The Shogun ordered a screen, leaving the choice of the subject to the artist.

"As you are very slow," said the Shogun, "you may take a year to paint your screen. Time enough, I think, to assure us that there will be nothing careless in your work."

The artist accepted the commission, and asked for leave of absence, which was granted to him. He was away for eleven months, and it was within three days of the end of the year when he paid his respects to the Shogun.

"Exhibit at once your so-called work of art," said the Shogun.

"I have not yet commenced it, may it please your Dignity," answered the artist.

"And in three days do you expect to show me a picture worth my looking at?" inquired the Shogun.

"I have travelled all over the country for that work which it has pleased you to commit to my care, and it will be ready on time," replied the artist, humbly.

When the last day had come the artist said his screen was ready, and that it was hanging in a particular room in the Shogun's palace. The high dignitary and his court were present, and examined the picture.

What was painted was simplicity itself. There was a river, and in the stream a boat was moored, with a furled sail. The banks of the river were lined with rushes. There were a few trees, with a bird here and there perched on the boughs. A rabbit was nibbling the grass. In the distance was a high mountain.

"That is supposably water, if I am not mistaken," said the Shogun.

"It's very sluggish," remarked the pipe-bearer.

"Those rushes—ahem!" interposed a courtier—"are they not absurdly stiff?"

"And, dear me," chimed in the secretary, "what birds! Stuffed birds on boughs are too preposterous!"

"The boat—such a boat as that never could float! Is it meant for a boat or a rock?" inquired the master of the robes.

"The fact is," said the Shogun, "it is an idiotic performance. It wants life, go, dash, imagination. It is dulness personified. It is nothing but 'prentice work, and entirely unfitted to grace our elegant abode. Treasurer, pay this man for his trouble. A full year's wages, such as you would give to a weeder of rice."

"Your Highness always was a liberal patron of the arts," said the treasurer.

"And though generous, most discriminating, for really the picture is overpaid," said the courtiers.

THE ARTIST PLUNGED HEAD FOREMOST INTO HIS WORK.

The painter smiled, slowly walked to where the screen was hung, and plunged head foremost into his work. Then, to the great amazement of the Shogun and his court, a splash was heard. Now the water rippled and the boat began to rock. The rushes on the bank of the stream nodded and bent and swayed, as if with a passing breeze. The birds flew from bough to bough. The rabbit scampered away. There was a figure in the boat, and presently the anchor was hauled up and the sail was set, and the little craft, heeling over with the wind, sped up the stream, and now a landing was made at the foot of the mountain.

Next a little man was seen slowly climbing up the mountain, and when the mountain-top was reached the figure bowed respectfully to the Shogun and the court and disappeared, as if descending on the other side of the mountain.

Then a loon came to the immediate foreground of the screen, and flapped his wings, and said, in very courtly Japanese, these words, which may be rather carelessly translated into English in this way:

"You are all a set of ninnies, for you don't know a good thing when you see it. Ta, ta!"

The courtiers were so enraged that they drew their two swords and wanted to hack the loon and the screen to pieces. But when they looked at the screen, they saw a big tear in it, with falling flaps of silk, on which the work had been painted. It was where the artist had made his exit. This is the Japanese fable for critics.

[Pg 454]

## A LOYAL TRAITOR.[1]

#### A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.

### BY JAMES BARNES.

### CHAPTER XX.

### AN EXCHANGE AND A ROBBERY.

ome, lads," I said at last, "don't give up. Give way together. We'll make for that old castle rock, and go ashore."

In a few minutes we had beached both boats in a little cove hardly twenty feet across. I had an idea in my mind of leading the crew to the top of the rock, for it appeared to me that five or six men from the summit could hold a score or more at bay with nothing but stones for weapons.

But to my astonishment I saw that the spit of land which ran out to the tall rock was not more than thirty feet in width, and that it was rounded, as if at some time the sea washed over it. Dugan and Chips had followed me up the slope. When we reached the top, which was not more than ten feet above the beach, we could see the cutter plainly. Through the glass I made out she had come to anchor, and that they were loading some casks into a boat alongside of her:

I handed the glass to the carpenter, who was next to me, and asked him to take a look through it.

"Halloa!" cried Dugan, suddenly, "there are the prisoners on the beach. Now let's see what they're going to do. I wonder if they'll think it is a Yankee trick," he added, with a half chuckle, "scuttling that rotten old junk?"

I took the glass from him without answering, for I saw no humor in the situation. A boat put off from the cutter and brought back two of the men from shore, and now, hidden behind a rock, we watched the proceedings in turn. The idea of getting water was apparently abandoned.

The boat rowed to shore again, picked up the rest of the Englishmen, and then I saw that they were getting out the quarter-boat from the other side.

In a few minutes both were loaded. I caught the glint of steel as they handed muskets and cutlasses into them, and then they pulled off to the northward to go around the farther end of the island.

But an idea had seized me that set my blood tingling!

"How many men does such a craft as that carry?" I croaked, hoarsely.

"Twenty-five to thirty," responded Chips, sullenly.

I had counted twenty men besides the prisoners in the two boats that had put off from the cutter. It would take probably two hours to row around to the north shore of the island.

It would do no harm to broach the subject in my mind to the others, and I did so in a few short words, speaking in hoarse whispers.

"Why not roll one of our boats across the neck of land, and then row down and take the cutter by surprise?"

I did not know how this plan would be received by the others, but when I finished they were looking at me eagerly.

"Captain, I admire ye!" said Dugan, with a trace of Irish in his tone.

Chips grasped my hand.

"By Solomon! we can do it, sir!" he said, and we hurried across to where the men were seated, a dejected-looking group, on the sand.

In twenty minutes the boats from the cutter were out of sight around the north shore cape, and we set to work getting the largest of our own over the barrier.

We broke the oars from the boat we had discarded into rollers, and in five minutes, or a little over, we had made a launching on the western shore.

The men muffled their oars with their shirts, and with a sensation of hunters stalking some dangerous animal, we rowed slowly along against the tide. Truly it was as if the quarry were asleep, and we feared awakening it before we got within striking distance.

Now we were right under her stern, and I read the name, Bat, in gold letters.

She was a tidy little craft, more like a gentleman's yacht than a vessel of war, and from two small ports on her sides poked the muzzles of brass six-pounders.

It was but the hoist of a foot to get on board; and, behold! there was no one there to receive us! But we had no arms; and, picking up a hand-spike and handing it to the carpenter, I led the way down the little hatch, followed by the other eight men, with their closed fists for weapons.

Now if any two people were surprised it was the two Irish sailors who sat there eating with their knives from tin plates they held on their knees.

"SURRENDER!" I CRIED, POINTING THE TELESCOPE AT THEM.

"Surrender!" I cried, pointing the telescope at them as if I had but to touch a trigger to blow out their brains. Before they knew what had happened, or could raise their voices, two of the privateersmen had them pinioned by their wrists.

"Cut that cable; make all sail and get out of this!" I roared, pushing up again.

The jib and foresail went chock-a-block with one heave. Never did men leap to their work so quickly.

Now as it was but a stone's-throw to the shore, I ordered the two sailors overboard into the water, and gave them one of the empty casks to help them make it safely. They were glad of the chance to go.

The mainsail was up by this time, the rope hawser had been severed by the blow of an axe, and we were making out to sea. The crew, all on deck, burst into three hearty cheers, and I led them.

But if they were surprised, and truly they must have been, a greater surprise was in store for me, and I would that I could dwell on my sensations, which I shall but outline. I did not leave the deck to make any investigations of the little sloop until we had covered some five miles, and I had found out that she sailed like a witch, and that there was no sail after us.

The cabin was very handsomely furnished, with a long couch down one side, a handsome table under a fine swinging lamp in the centre, and a desk with many drawers off in a corner, lighted by a handsome sconce. A number of books were thrown about on the couch, and suspended from hooks against the white panels were a half-dozen beautifully executed miniatures; the door to a little cupboard was open, and I saw, hanging up inside, a number of uniforms.

I walked over to the desk and picked up a leather-covered volume that had "Log-book of the Bat" on the cover in red letters, very beautifully done. I turned to the first page, and here is where I got my surprise.

"A journal kept on board H. M. Revenue Cutter Bat, of four guns, commanded by Lieutenant John Hurdis, R.N."

There was my own name staring me in the face. I did not know that Hurdiss was a name well known in the English navy. But I recovered my wits at last, and regarded the coincidence of names as a very lucky omen. I had to take but one step up the little ladder to have my head above the level of the deck. Standing there I called Chips to me, and showed him the entry in the book.

"It's witchcraft," he said, "and nothing less."

The cutter was a little bit larger than our single-gun boats, and perfectly able to go across the Atlantic, or to sail anywhere, provided her provisions held out. We found by an inspection of the hold that there was more than enough to last ten men for a month and a few days over, although we would have to go light in the drinking line.

At once Chips and I set about preparing a routine. The crew were divided into three watches, and I laid out a[Pg 455] course that would fetch us somewhere in the vicinity of Boston. On we sailed; everything was fine. For three days I had a most delightful experience, reading the well-chosen books in the cabin, and seeing that the men were kept employed polishing the brass-work and overhauling the forward hold, and so forth.

On the fourth day the fine breeze, that had held from the same direction almost continually, stopped as suddenly as if it had been shut off by the intervention of a great wall.

Before dawn a slight wind came out of the west, dead against us; and at five bells a large ship was seen coming down before the wind with all sail set. I got upon the opposite tack to that I had been holding, and at this the large vessel changed her course, evidently intending to speak me. There was no way of my escaping, for if I had started to run she would soon have overhauled us in two hours. I could see her ports and make out she was a 44-gun frigate, and was not surprised when she displayed the English flag.

I answered in the same manner, and at Chips's suggestion I got out the signal-book that I had found, and the little flags also, hoping that this would be all that it would amount to.

But she did not signalize us, and in a quarter of an hour we were near enough to see the faces of a group of officers leaning over the rail, and to notice that one of them held a trumpet in his hand.

Soon the hail came, "What cutter is that?"

I answered.

"What are you doing out here?"

For an instant I was nonplussed. "Chasing a Yankee privateer," I answered, with an air of bravado.

"Where is she?"

"Got away to the south'ard."

"I'll send a boat on board of you."

This was exactly what I did not wish to happen. "Don't trouble, sir. I'll come on board of you myself," I replied, at the same time ordering out the only boat we had left, a little dingy swung over the stern.

"Now, Chips," said I, "this is a case of must obey. We are edging up to windward, and it's going to thicken. If you can get away, do so; but be cautious. You know the cost. I leave it all to you. Get up to windward without exciting suspicion, and if you don't hear from me in two hours, clear away for home."

This conversation was held under the lee of the frigate; in fact we were so close to her that she shadowed us completely, and although we were both hove to, I knew that we could swing off before she could get the weather-gage. I feared doing this myself, but I knew that my coming on board would disarm all suspicion, and that Chips might be able to carry out the plan.

From the southwest a fog-bank was approaching—I had made note of it—and the air was filled already with fine particles of moisture. It was no easy job to bring the little dingy alongside. But at last we were able to do so, thanks to the good oarsmanship of Caldwell, and at last I grasped the rope-ladder that had been lowered from the gangway, and came on deck. The boatswain shrilled his whistle, and the side-boys touched their caps. A fine-looking officer stepped forward to meet me, saluting and extending his hand.

"Your name, sir?" he inquired.

It would not do to hesitate. I was running risks, of course, but no half-way measures would suffice.

"John Hurdiss, Lieutenant, commanding the cutter Bat," I replied.

"Will you come with me to my cabin, Mr. Hurdiss? I'm Mallet, of the Cæsar."

I followed him at once.

"Isn't it rather a strange thing for you to be in this latitude and longitude, when your station is on the coast?" he continued, severely.

"Not when you understand the circumstances, Captain Mallet," I replied. And forthwith I began a story of how I had chased a small Yankee privateer for the last three days, and that she had given me the slip but the night before.

"I shall make a report of this affair, and it shall be looked into," he said. "Go back on board your vessel, and return to your cruising-grounds."

I was sorely tempted to ask what business all this was of his, but I held my tongue, and we went on deck together. The fog-bank was all about us. The Bat was nowhere to be seen. I could not help showing my impatience. A gun was fired, and then another, and a third, but there was no response.

All eyes were upon me, and in the group of officers I noticed an old man in civilian's dress. He was a distinguished-looking figure, and I overheard some one address him as Mr. Middleton.

"Middleton?" I repeated to myself. "Where have I heard that name before?" I could not place it, but somehow it had staid in my recollection.

"What's the explanation of this, Mr. Hurdiss?" asked Captain Mallet, folding his arms and stepping in front of me.

"That's more than I can tell you," I replied.

As I spoke there came the sound of a shot off to windward.

"There's my vessel," I replied. "Might I ask you to set me on board of her, or shall I consider myself under arrest, sir?"

"You shall consider yourself ordered on board your vessel, with instructions to report to your superior at Dublin at once, to whom you will give this letter."

Scarcely had the boatswain finished shrilling the call for the cutter when the old gentleman in citizen's dress spoke up.

"As Dublin is my destination, Sir John, would it be possible for us to be transferred to this young gentleman's vessel? It would save us much time and trouble."

"I cannot order him to take you," replied the Captain, "but if he chooses—"

The old man looked at me.

"My granddaughter and I," he began, "are very anxious to reach Ireland. If you would do us the favor—"

I was anxious to get away without more parleying, as the boat was now rocking at the foot of the ladder.

"Our quarters are not so large as those of the frigate," I began.

"I hope that this is not asking too much," went on Mr. Middleton, earnestly, interrupting before I had finished.

I glanced over my shoulder, and I saw standing there the figure of a tall young girl dressed in deep mourning.

I went hot and cold from my heart to my finger-tips. The shock came near to paralyzing me.

"I think I can make you comfortable," I said, "if you will allow me to row off and bring my vessel up while you are getting your luggage."

"Thank you very much," said Mr. Middleton; "we'll set about it."

I descended the ladder, jumped into the boat, and gave the orders to pull out into the fog. When we had gone some four or five hundred yards, I made a trumpet of my hands, and shouted:

"Oh, Mr. Chips! Where are you?"

"Here we are, sir!" came the reply close to us.

In another moment we were alongside, and the carpenter, in the uniform of a British quartermaster, helped me on board.

"Mr. Chips," I said, hurriedly, "there will soon be some passengers come off from the frigate. It is supposed that we are bound for Dublin."

"It is a roundabout way we'll take to get there, sir," he said, grinning. "Who are they?"

"Never mind as to that," I answered. "Treat them with all courtesy, and show them to my cabin."

When Mr. Middleton and his granddaughter, whose name the reader has guessed by this time, were put on board of us, I made myself very scarce, hiding in the fore-castle luckily, I thought it better to start to the eastward and sail down to the frigate to allay any suspicion that might still linger in Captain Mallet's mind. It was the best thing I could have done, for we came up to her, finding her yet hove-to.

[Pg 456]

"Follow in our wake," came the order through the trumpet, as she rounded off on the same course we were holding.

"Ay, ay, sir," I replied; and as soon as she had passed us and was out of sight, I came about and headed to the west through the rain, with the wind bearing the little cutter on, with (to me) the most precious cargo in the world.

The passengers did not come on deck that afternoon; but late in the evening the fog cleared away, and so far as we could see by searching the horizon with a glass not a sail was in sight. I was leaning with my back to the companionway, talking to Mr. Chips, who was at the tiller (the Bat had no wheel), when I heard the sound of a voice that thrilled me through and through. My own talking apparatus was almost normal by this time, I should have stated, although I now could sing bass instead of tenor.

"Give the order to haul up that flag," I said to the carpenter, in an undertone.

It was still bright light, and the sun had not dipped full below the edge of the sea, and clear and bright in all its beautiful colors up went to the peak the stars and stripes.

Mary had seen it first. "What does this mean, grandfather?" she said.

The old man could not reply.

"It means," said I, turning, "that Captain John Hurdiss has come in his own vessel to get you, Mistress Tanner."

I did not know exactly what would be the result of this speech, but if I had had any idea that it was to produce a sensation, the result certainly proved the correctness of my surmisings. Mary gave a gasp and stamped her foot upon the deck. The flash of her eye had more kinds of feeling in it than one can describe.

"Traitor and coward!" she hissed, extending her clinched hands at her sides with the knuckles upward in a rigid gesture. Then she gave a half-inarticulate cry of rage, and turning, stepped down the companionway into the cabin.

Before me was standing Mr. Middleton; his arms were folded, and his fingers clasping and unclasping nervously.

"What in the name of Satan have we here?" he said. "What does this mean? Who are you, and what are you?"

"I am John Hurdiss, the commander of this vessel," I answered in return, folding my arms also, but keeping as quiet as I could. "I am a plain American seaman. You are my guest, sir, and believe me that no harm will come to you."

"You addressed my granddaughter just now as though you had some claim on her. We are in your power, but—"

"Stay," I cried, lifting my hand. "My words may have been ill chosen, but mark this—I would put a pistol to the man's head whose touch might look to harm her, as I would to my own if my thoughts could threaten treachery. Both you and she are safe, I pledge my honor!"

This speech, which really came from the depths of my heart, had the effect of causing the old gentleman to relax his features somewhat.

"Thank you for this assurance," he said. "Will you tell me whither we are bound, and why you inveigled us, pray, to come on board this skipjack? What plot is this?"

"Oh, pardon me," I laughed; "it was your suggestion, and not mine. Every moment that I spent on board that frigate I was in great danger, and not only I, but these brave fellows who have stood by me so nobly. Besides I had hoped, or at least supposed, that affairs might have turned out differently."

"How so?" inquired Mr. Middleton, raising his eyebrows.

"The necessity for explaining my thoughts, sir, has passed," I answered, tersely. "I was mistaken."

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 457]

## THE PAINTED DESERT.

#### A STORY OF NORTHERN ARIZONA.

### BY KIRK MUNROE,

Author of "Rick Dale," "The Fur-Seal's Tooth," "Snow-Shoes and Sledges," "The Mate Series," etc.

### CHAPTER V.

### A ROBINSON CRUSOE SITUATION.

hen Todd reached the curtained doorway of the hut and looked out, he could not have told whether he was more disappointed or relieved by the sight that greeted him. He had fully expected to see human beings who would either prove friends or foes. He hoped they would give him something to eat, and at the same time feared they might kill him. But a single glance showed him that for the moment both his fears and his hopes were groundless. Instead of people he saw half a dozen goats grouped in front of the doorway, and gazing at him expectantly. A little kid among them bleated plaintively, and Todd knew in a moment that its voice was the one he had mistaken for that of a child.

He looked eagerly about for a herdsman or a shepherd boy, for even the tiniest Indian lad would have been welcomed just then; but none was to be seen. In his keen disappointment he became filled with wrath at the unoffending goats, and stepping forward with an angry gesture he bade them begone. For an instant they seemed bewildered at such unaccustomed treatment, and stood irresolute; but as Todd took another step towards them they recognized him for an enemy; and scampering away, were quickly lost to sight amid the surrounding trees.

Even before they disappeared the hungry boy regretted his hasty action. "For," he said to himself, "I might have captured one of them, and so have laid in a supply of food; or I might have milked the mother of that kid. What a chump I am, anyway. Seems to me I am always acting first and reflecting afterwards. I wonder if I can't overtake and make friends with them even now?"

Thus thinking, he started in pursuit of the goats; but though he saw them several times as they skipped among the trees, they easily eluded his feeble efforts to catch them, for he was too weak to run, and they were too well assured of his unfriendly intentions to allow him to approach them.

"If I only had my rifle," sighed the lad. "Though what would be the good of it anyway, for I haven't a fire nor any means of making one, and hungry as I am I don't believe I could eat raw-goat. How do people obtain fire under such circumstances anyhow? Matches? I haven't any. A burning-glass? I don't suppose there is such a thing within five hundred miles of this place. Rubbing two dry sticks together? That's all nonsense, and I don't believe it can be done, for I've tried it, and never succeeded in getting so much as a curl of smoke, let alone fire. I remember reading about some fellow up in Alaska doing it. Serge Belcofsky—yes, that was his name; but I don't believe he ever really did. That same Serge made a fire another time with brimstone and feathers, or at least the book said so; but as I haven't either of those things, I don't see that it does me any good to remember it.

"Then there was Phil Ryder, who made a fire by cutting open one of his cartridges, rubbing powder on his handkerchief, and shooting into it with his rifle. I have plenty of cartridges, and so could get the powder, but haven't any[Pg 458] rifle—so that plan won't work. Flint and steel? That's a way you hear a good deal about, though I never saw any one really try it. Still, I suppose it can be done, and my knife will furnish the steel if I can only find a flint. I wonder what a flint looks like, anyway?"

By this time Todd had returned wearily to the hut and was sitting on the stone that formed its doorstep. Now he began striking at this with the back of his sheath-knife, and finally thought he saw a spark fly from the point of contact; but it was such a fleeting thing, and disappeared so instantly, that he could not be certain.

"Even if it was a spark," he said to himself, "how could anybody make a fire from it? I should want one as big as those that fly from red-hot horseshoes when the blacksmith pounds them, though I doubt if I could get a blaze even then, they go out so quickly. So, Todd Chalmers, you might as well make up your mind to go without a fire, and eat your food raw—that is, if you get any at all, which looks very doubtful just now.

"Oh dear! What do people do when they are cast away on desert islands? Not that this is one, but it's a desert valley, which is a great deal worse, for the others are always in the tropics, and have bread-fruit and things. And then the people always have wrecks to get supplies from, the same as Robinson Crusoe did. If I only had such a snap as he had I wouldn't say a word. Plenty of provisions, muskets, cutlasses, clothing, turtles, grapes, and pieces of eight, besides the knowledge of how to start a fire and make all sorts of things. No wonder he was grateful and contented. He ought to have been. And the Swiss Family Robinson. There's another cheerful crowd who had everything they wanted, and more than they knew what to do with. I just wish I knew what any of those chaps would do right here in my place at this very minute. I guess they'd find out what soft times they had in being wrecked where they were and as they were instead of the way I am. I suppose, though, they would start right off into the woods, where they would run across all sorts of fruits to eat and animals waiting to be cooked, besides everything they needed to make houses and clothing of, so that inside of two weeks they'd be living as comfortably and happily as though they were right alongside a Baltimore market. They'd know how to make a fire without matches too in at least a dozen different ways. That's what would happen if they were book people; but if they were real live folks like I am I don't believe they'd know any more how to get a square meal than I do at this minute.

"Going into the woods, though, and hunting for something to eat isn't a bad idea. There must be nuts or berries, or at least roots that would keep a fellow from starving. I suppose some of them will be poisonous and others won't, and the only way to find out which is which will be to eat them. The poisonous ones will kill you and the others won't. At the same time I shall surely die of hunger if I stay here doing nothing, and so here goes for a breakfast."

Up to this time Todd had been so certain of finding people who would supply him with food, that while fully realizing how faint and weak he was growing for want of it, he had not regarded his situation as perilous. From the moment of discovering the beautiful valley with its abundant water, he had felt that all real danger was over. He had imagined that the natives, after feeding him and allowing him a day's rest in which to regain strength, would willingly guide him to the river in return for the handsome reward that he knew he could safely promise them in his brother's name. Now that there did not appear to be any natives nor any food, it suddenly dawned upon our lad that he was very little better off in this beautiful place than he had been amid all the horrors of the Painted Desert, and it was with a decided feeling of uneasiness that he set forth on his search for food.

He first examined two small structures that he discovered back of the hut. One of these was evidently a fowl-house, and as soon as Todd recognized its character he had visions of fresh eggs. "They will be fine," he said to himself, "even if I can't cook them; for eggs are almost as good raw as cooked, anyway." So, though he had not as yet seen nor heard any hens, he entered the place hopefully. Yes, there were several nests, and an egg in each one. But, alas! they were only nest eggs that had done duty as such for so long a time that after breaking a couple of them poor Todd was glad to make a speedy escape from their vicinity. He was bitterly disappointed, and began to think that the inhabitants of the valley had recently emigrated from it, taking everything eatable, including their fowls, with them.

The other structure proved to be a corral or pen in which goats had been confined, but now it was empty and its gate stood wide open.

Continuing his search for food wearily and despondently, our lad soon came to several small fields, all showing traces of careful cultivation, and all enclosed by stout fences of wattle. In these he found oats, beans, squashes, and corn, of which the last named was the only one that seemed edible in its raw state. So Todd began to gnaw hungrily at an ear that had long since passed its green stage without becoming quite ripe enough to be hard. It was merely tough and toothless. Still it could be eaten, and served to fill, after a fashion, the aching void of which he had long been painfully conscious.

Beyond the fields he found a small grove of peach-trees; but they had been stripped of their fruit some time since, and what of it had fallen to the ground had evidently been devoured by goats, so that not a single peach rewarded his careful search.

By this time the sun stood directly overhead, and was pouring down a heat so intense as to make him feel giddy. So the boy gathered up his spoils, consisting of a sheaf of ripened oats, a dozen pods of beans, a green squash, and two ears of tough corn, with which he returned to the hut. There, after refreshing himself with a copious drink of water, he attempted to eat in turn each of the things he had brought with him. The green squash and raw beans were so unpalatable that he threw them out of the door in disgust. The oats were fairly good; but extracting the kernel from each separate grain was such slow work that he decided the attempt to sustain life in that manner would prove only another form of starvation.

"Oh, for a big dish of oatmeal and cream!" he exclaimed. "But I don't suppose I shall ever see one again."

He also thought of squash pies and baked beans with regretful longings, while the tough corn at which he gnawed with aching jaws suggested muffins, hot cakes, corn bread, hominy, and all the other attractive forms in which maize can be prepared, until he groaned aloud to think how very far beyond his present reach all such things were.

### CHAPTER VI.

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

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

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

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

Trembling with eagerness, Todd let drive his missile. To his astonishment it reached its destined mark, and one of the little creatures rolled over with a sharp squeak, kicked[Pg 459] convulsively, and then lay quiet, while its companion scampered to a place of hiding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HE MADE A MISSTEP AND FELL HEAVILY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#### [to be continued.]

[Pg 460]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caddy even remembered the blow on the head which it had once been feared would injure Manuel's reasoning[Pg 461] faculties. If Manuel should prove to be foolish, her grandfather must not send him away! They would take care of him always! So thought Caddy, with a dry sob in her throat.

THE HARBOR HAD NEVER BEEN PACKED WITH FISH LIKE THIS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Manuel appeared in the doorway to explain, with young Josiah looking over his shoulder—although young Josiah[Pg 462] was but thirteen, he was taller than Manuel—and with little Israel's beaming face thrust forward between his knees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Pg 463]

## CRETE, AND HER STRUGGLE FOR FREEDOM.

### BY CYRUS C. ADAMS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crete cannot forgive the Turks for their enormities. The list is very long, but here is a specimen: In 1822, 300 women, children, and decrepit old people took refuge in the cave of Melidoni. The Turkish soldiers who were pursuing them, built a great fire before the narrow opening,[Pg 464] and the wind blew all the smoke into the cavern. The wretched fugitives retreated to the depths of the cave, but all in vain. They perished of suffocation, and their bodies were unburied, until drippings from the roof covered them at last with a calcareous winding-sheet.

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

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

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

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

[Pg 465]

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

LOOKING ACROSS THE LOWER POND TOWARDS THE CHAPEL, ST. PAUL'S SCHOOL.

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

THE UPPER POND, ST. PAUL'S SCHOOL.

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

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

There is also a school hockey team. Last Easter they played St. Nicholas at the latter's rink in this city, and were defeated, 10-2. Last Christmas a second game was played, and the school was again defeated, 5-1. A third game is to be played at Easter this year. The great fault has been that the boys have not been able to keep up the faster pace set by their opponents. The first twenty[Pg 466] minutes has seen good play; then the New-Yorkers have done as they chose. The school has a large rink, which can be flooded at will. It is much used.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Event.
50-yard dash (Senior) |  |  | 6 | sec. | R. W. Moore, Barnard, N.Y.
50-yard dash (Junior) |  |  | 5-4/5 | sec. | W. A. Robinson, St. Paul's, L.I.
220-yard dash |  |  | 26-1/5 | sec. | W. M. Robinson, Worcester Academy, Mass.
Quarter-mile run |  |  | 57-4/5 | sec. | C. R. Irwin-Martin, Berkeley, N.Y.
Half-mile run | 2 | m. | 12-1/5 | sec. | W. S. Hipple, Barnard, N.Y.
One-mile run | 4 | m. | 56 | sec. | E. W. Mills, Berkeley, Boston.
50-yard hurdle (3 ft.) |  |  | 7-2/5 | sec. | A. F. Beers, De La Salle, N.Y.
One-mile walk | 7 | ft. | 59-2/5 | sec. | A. L. O'Toole, English High-School, Boston.
Running high jump | 5 | ft. | 7½ | in. | F. R. Sturtevant, Hartford High-School.
Running broad jump | 19 | ft. | 2½ | in. | A. F. Beers, De La Salle, N.Y.
Pole vault | 10 | ft. |  |  | R. G. Paulding, Black Hall, Conn.
Putting 12-lb. shot | 42 | ft. | 1 | in. | F. C. Ingalls, Hartford High-School.
Relay race | 4 | m. | 2-1/5 | sec. | St. Paul's School, L.I.

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

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

School. | Won. | Lost.
Poly. Prep. | 15 | 3
Adelphi | 7 | 5
Brooklyn High | 5 | 5
Pratt | 0 | 14

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

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

It is reported from Philadelphia that an interscholastic association of oarsmen is to be formed, and I believe that active steps toward the organization have already[Pg 467] been made. Rowing is rapidly becoming more and more popular as an interscholastic sport, and this is the second rowing association formed by schools this year, the first one being that of the Milwaukee High-Schools.

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

### ADMINISTRATION.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

### QUALIFICATIONS OF CONTESTANTS.

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

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

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

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

> 2. Pupils enrolled for the first time shall not be excluded from any contest because of absence during the previous term. But a student entering from another secondary school shall not be allowed to compete unless he has done the work required in Section 1 as a resident student for at least one term. Or he must show as satisfactory a record as that required in Section 1 for at least two terms' work or their equivalent at some similar school in the preceding year. It is stipulated, however, that all candidates under Section 2 must have been members of the school as regular students, conforming otherwise to Section 1 from the first fifteen days of the term in which said contest takes place.

> 3. A Senior considered by his faculty as a regular candidate for graduation shall not be excluded from any contest because of absence or failure during his first Senior year, provided he is taking three full studies which he has not before completed. It is understood, however, that a Senior who has completed a part of the Senior work in previous years shall not be excluded from contests, provided he is doing the unfinished work of his course.

> 4. No person shall be eligible as a contestant for more than the minimum number of years required to complete a four-year course.

> 5. Before taking part in any contest a pupil must file with his principal the written statement of a parent or guardian that said pupil has permission to engage in athletics.

> 6. No less than five days before a contest there shall be exchanged between the principals of the contesting schools the following data: Name of each candidate, the date of his first enrolment, time in years he has been a member of a secondary school, his age, and studies, with percentage in each for the preceding term, and to the first of the month in which these certificates are exchanged. It must also be stated over the signature of the principal that the candidates are eligible under these rules.

> 7. No person shall enter a contest under an assumed name.

> 8. The principal shall have power and is advised to exclude any contestant who, because of bad habits or improper conduct, would not represent the schools in a becoming manner.

> 9. Each contestant shall sign a statement that he is an amateur, and that he is eligible under these rules. The definitions of amateur and professional shall be those of the Western Intercollegiate Amateur Athletic Association.

> 10. These rules may be amended by a vote of a majority of the principals subscribing hereto voting on the subject.

> 11. These rules shall go into effect on and after January 1, 1897.

These rules have been adopted by twenty-eight high-schools in Wisconsin. Madison H.-S. has adopted all the rules with the exception of No. 5 under the administration heading. They obtained permission to do this in order that they might not be restricted from playing with schools outside the State.

#### "TRACK ATHLETICS IN DETAIL."—Illustrated.—8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

The Graduate.

### NANSEN'S ENDURANCE.

Dr. Nansen seems to have been born and bred for arctic exploration. The strength and hardihood which were his by birth were developed and confirmed by the robust austerity of his early training. One reads of his habit of swimming in the evening in the coldest pools of the Frogner River that ran by the door of his father's house, and is no less astonished at the story of his plunge in the sea in pursuit of his kayaks in the extreme north, and of his endurance of the various cold baths he got in fights with bears and walruses. The man who put his wet and frozen foot-coverings in his bosom to thaw out and dry at night while he slept with his companion in a bag was an extraordinarily tough person, with an astonishing physique hardened by Spartan exercises. In his teens, he says, he used to go off on lonely expeditions in the great Frogner woods, and be gone alone for weeks at a time. "I disliked," he says, "to have any equipment for my expeditions. I managed with a crust of bread, and broiled my fish on the embers. I loved to live like Robinson Crusoe there in the wilderness."

### THE WAY HE TOOK IT.

There is a neat bit of property in a town near New York that is owned by an Irishman whose nature embraces most of the characteristics of that nationality. He has for a neighbor a very penurious old gentleman who, for a long time, had cast covetous eyes upon the land, and daily devised schemes and propositions for obtaining it. Knowing that the owner, although reputed to be extravagantly good-natured, was nevertheless not to be fooled by any ill-concocted proposal, he desisted until he succeeded in preparing one which he thought would surely be unobjectionable. Carefully writing it out he delivered it to the owner of the property, requesting him to look it over. In a few days he called, and after being jovially greeted, he asked whether his proposition had been entertained. Much to his astonishment the Irishman broke into hearty laughter, crying out:

"Entertained! Ha! ha! Why, my dear sir, I haven't entertained the absurd thing; it's done nothing but entertain me ever since I read it."

### AN OBSERVATION.

"I don't think pop is very strong," said Tommie. "He can't stand loss of sleep at night half as well as the baby does."

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### MR. JOHN HABBERTON

contributes a short story,

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## AND A BOY

to the next number of

### Harper's Round Table

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#### HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, N. Y.

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[Pg 468]

### A MUSICAL SAILOR.

The Washington correspondent of the New York Sun tells an odd story about a well-known violinist of that city. He says that the young man was shipped at Gibraltar by the executive officer of a vessel of our Mediterranean squadron as a landsman, the vessel having been short-handed on account of the return to this country of a large number of short-time men. As a landsman he did his work up to the top notch. He suffered a good deal of ridicule uncomplainingly. His messmates joked him because when he shipped his hair was chopped off in the back after the Russian muzhik fashion, and because he was generally a funny sight in the bluejacket "government-straight" uniform. Through it all the Pole was bland and smiling. He kept his bright-work well polished, and it was not found necessary to hale him to the mast when he returned from shore liberty.

One Sunday afternoon at Villefranche, when the Pole had been a landsman for about a month, an Irish marine, lolling below in one of the berth-deck alcoves, took it into his head to "break out" a really fine old violin which he possessed, upon which, to the intense misery of the whole ship's company fore and aft, he was accustomed at long intervals to saw "The Rose of Kildare," "The Rakes o' Mallow," "Bonnie Lakes o' Killarney," "Wind that shakes the Bailey," "The Meeting of the Waters," etc. These tunes the marine butchered outrageously; but being a mellow, complaisant Hibernian, he could not see anything wrong with his own music, and enjoyed it greatly. When he made the first scrape of his bow on this Sunday afternoon the Pole, who was on the spar-deck, was observed to cock up his ears and to betray some degree of excitement. He went below, and for a few minutes he nervously watched the big marine saw on the fine instrument. Then he impulsively reached out for the violin. The Irishman was so overcome with astonishment that he gave up the violin to the Pole without a word. Then followed an hour of music such as probably had never been heard on a man-of-war in the United States navy. To the writer it sounded every whit as beautiful as the performances of Sarasate, Ysaye, Remenyi, Joachim, Wilhelmj, and the rest of the masters of the bow who have inspired millions. This awkward, simple-looking Polish landsman was a violin virtuoso. He had not played two minutes before the officer of the deck had his head poked through a deck-light listening. There was a general exodus of officers from ward and mess rooms within five minutes. They all came forward with astonished expressions, and stood in the alcove taking in the Pole's music. All of the men who could get anywhere near the alcove crowded down the ladders. Pretty soon, unheralded even by an "Attention!" so enwrapped were officers and men, the commanding officer, who had heard the music from his cabin, tiptoed into the alcove. He remained until the musician was through. Absolute silence prevailed. There seemed positively nothing in the way of formidable violin technique that the Pole could not do. His bowing was dazzling. His chords were wonderful. His tones were perfect; his pathos so heart-rending that it made tough old tars gasp. He made it appear that playing triple chords up around the bridge of a violin was the simplest thing in life. At the conclusion of a Chopin Nocturne an officer weakly asked him to play the "Rhapsodie Hongroise." The Pole attacked the composition as Liszt used to attack it on the piano—with the pure fire and fury of inspiration. When he finally handed the violin back to the marine, who was in a stupefied condition, the man went forward and the officers aft without a word.

The Pole polished no more bright-work. A new place, unofficial, but not the less dignified and important, was created for him aboard the ship. He became musician to the commanding officer. It was a soft berth, such as even a haughty admiral's cox'un might have desired. The Pole's sole duty was to take the marine's violin into the cabin and play for the solace of the ship's commander. The commanding officer flouted some of his officers who suggested that so fine a musician as the Pole should be transferred to the flag-ship's band. He wouldn't hear of such a thing. He went ashore at Genoa and bought for the Pole a fine violin. When he had guests of distinction aboard the ship he would send for the Pole to entertain them, and the visitors went away marvelling. Once in a while, as a particular favor, the skipper would lend the Pole to his officers for a ward-room musical. The musician never got a higher rate officially than that of landsman, for there was nothing aboard the ship that the commanding officer would let him do, for fear he would injure his hands, but as a landsman he had absolutely no duties to perform such as fell to the lot of the other men of his rating. When his time was up, last August, the ship's Captain tried hard to induce the Pole to ship over, but he obdurately, and quite sensibly, declined. He was paid off in New York, and he came straight to Washington, where he has some well-to-do relatives, and hung out his sign as a violin-teacher. He has more pupils than he can teach, and more money than he ever dreamed of possessing. He resolutely refuses to say anything about his record, or to state how and where he got his musical education.

### A FAST TRANSPORT-SHIP.

One of the proudest achievements of the American clipper-ships that we have to look back on is that of the famous Lightning, built by Donald McKay for the English firm of James Bain & Co. The McKay clippers were known all over the world, and England recognizing their merit, many orders were sent from that country. The Lightning was employed during the Sepoy uprising in India to carry troops and stores to Calcutta, and when she spread her snowy sails in the Downs and fairly had the bone in her teeth, she showed as neat a pair of heels to the steamer transports as any captain could wish for. It is on record that she beat the steamers every passage, and that not a sailing vessel under the British flag could keep way with her sailing side by side.

### WORDS THAT TROUBLE THE TONGUE.

Drimtaidhvickhillichattan is the name of a small hamlet in the Isle of Mull containing not more than a dozen inhabitants. How they pronounce it is a mystery only to be solved by some one acquainted with Gaelic, but the fact that the Scots are a nation of few words seems easy to explain, if they have many such words as the above in their language.

A sample of Welsh nomenclature is Mynyddywllyn, which is the name of a parish close to Cardiff, whilst another of the same kind is Llanfairpwllgwngyll.

Perhaps, however, the Germans may be fairly said to carry off the palm in word-coining. How is this for a specimen— Constaninopelischerdudlelsackpfeifer? or this one, Jungfrauenzimmerdurchschwindersuchtoedungs?

The first means a Constantinopolitan bagpipe-player, and the last is the name of a young ladies' club which adorns the brass plate of the door of a house in Cologne to this day.

Rabelais gives the following name to a particular book which was supposed to be in the library of Pantagruel's medical student friend Victor—"Antipericatametanaparbeugedanptecribrationes Toordicantium"; whilst Anantachaturdasivratakatha is an actual Sanscrit word to be found in any Sanscrit dictionary, and the word Cluninstaridysarchedes occurs in the works of Plautus, the Latin comedy writer.

Now, most of the above words can be pronounced by ordinary persons with a week's training or so; so could this one, Kagwadawwacomergishearg, which was the Christian name of one of the Indian chiefs who died at Wisconsin a little while ago; but, studying long and hard as they will, not one person in a million will ever succeed in correctly pronouncing the name of Tschlsi, King of Wahuma. The best way to set about it is to sneeze violently, and to try to work in the l sound towards the end.

[Pg 469]

> This Department is conducted in the interest of stamp and coin collectors, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on these subjects so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Stamp Department.

Two things fix the prices of all but the rarest or commonest stamps. First, the desire of the dealers, who make the catalogues, to obtain as high a price as possible for scarce stamps of which they have a supply on hand; and secondly, auction sales, which reflect the actual prices paid in open competition. During the last four months the new catalogues have appeared with increased prices for the majority of "medium" stamps, and during the same period the prices paid in the auction-room have in many instances been smaller than during the previous year. The result has been a comparative cessation of business in stamps, which will continue until the two factors have adjusted themselves. Speculators will not buy on a falling market, and it has been the speculative purchases in the past which have advanced the prices of so many stamps. Of course the real scarcity of unused stamps of most of the early issues has been demonstrated of late years, and an increase of value was inevitable, but, pushed too far, it frightens new collectors, and discourages many of the older ones whose purses are not large.

Each of the Portuguese colonies, Funchal, Horta, Angra, and Punta Delgado has a complete set of new stamps. The designs of all values and for all the colonies are the same, with the exception that the stamps bear the name of the colony in the label under the portrait.

2½ reis, gray and black.
5 reis, orange-buff and black.
10 reis, light green and black.
15 reis, brown and black.
20 reis, violet and black.
25 reis, dark green and black.
50 reis, blue and black.
75 reis, rose and black.
80 reis, lilac and black.
100 reis, blue and black on blue.
150 reis, brown and black on buff.
200 reis, mauve and black on lilac.
300 reis, blue and black on pink.
500 reis, black and red on blue.

> George Hall.—It is a Hungarian revenue stamp.

> L. N. Dodd, 2607 Thirty-ninth Street, Chicago, Ill., wishes to exchange stamps.

> W. R. Wheeler.—The 3c. "outer line," perforated, is the same stamp as the 1851. The common perforated lacks the line at top and bottom, as these were cut out of the plate to allow room for the perforations. The Department stamps have been advancing in price for years. How long they will continue to advance no one knows. Some of the "specimen" stamps are rarer than the regular issues.

> D. McPherson, Jun., Cor. Church and Chestnut streets, Santa Cruz, Cal., wants to exchange a kodak for stamps.

> E. L. Smith.—Your Spanish stamp is a revenue. The word "Cave" is that of a large mercantile house in the East. It is not a governmental surcharge.

> F. O. S.—Your coin with inscription LUD. XV. D. G. FR. ET. N. REX. (Louis XV. By the Grace of God King of France and Navarre), and the other coin (from Bolivia), are no longer current, and hence are worth bullion only.

> D. McPherson.—Your 12c. 1869 U.S. stamp is very badly centred, and hence is not worth more than one-half as much as a perfectly centred copy. This is true of all scarce stamps.

> A. Gregory.—An "Albino" envelope is one with the impression of the die, but without ink, having been used on the same. It is found in U.S. envelopes sometimes.

Philatus.

The stores which keep the best that's made
Secure the highest class of trade;
The shoppers who are shrewd and wise
Select such stores to patronize;
And stores and shoppers all attest
Pure Ivory Soap is far the best.

#### Copyright 1896, by The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.

#### NOW READY:

## The Voyage of the Rattletrap

By Hayden Carruth, Author of "The Adventures of Jones." Illustrated by H. M. Wilder. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

> The story of three boy chums and of their cruise across the Dakotas in a "prairie-schooner." The log makes amusing reading, even though there are no very exciting adventures to chronicle. Mr. Carruth has a genial humor in the telling of ordinary happenings that is irresistible, and he even manages to impart a great deal of useful information as he goes along. The new Northwest is a great country, and the author tells us very pleasantly some things about this big slice of Uncle Sam's territory.

## By KIRK MUNROE

> The kind of stories that healthy, hearty boys are apt to like.—Independent, N. Y.

> Master of the art which keeps the young reader's interest at a tension.—N. Y. Sun.

### Rick Dale

A Story of the Northwest Coast. Illustrated by W. A. Rogers. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.

> A capital story, brimful of adventures.... It is a good, clean, captivating tale.—Observer, N. Y.

### Snow-Shoes and Sledges

A Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth."

### The Fur-Seal's Tooth

### Canoemates

### Raftmates

### Campmates

### Dorymates

Each one volume. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1.25.

The "Mates" Series, Four Volumes in a Box, $5.00.

### Wakulla

A Story of Adventure in Florida.

### Derrick Sterling

A Story of the Mines.

### The Flamingo Feather

### Chrystal, Jack & Co.

And Delta Bixby. Two Stories.

Each one volume. Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, $1.00.

#### HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York

[Pg 470]

### A Cuban War Story.

The Rev. Dr. Conwell, a well-known Baptist clergyman of Philadelphia, recently went to Cuba. On his return he related the following incident to his Sunday-evening congregation:

"A planter, with whom I talked several times, told me that some months ago, on a very dark and rainy night, a light-house on the south coast of the island was captured by insurgents, and as the keeper was, of course, a government official brought from Spain, the insurgents took him prisoner. Some of his captors urged that the keeper be shot forthwith. The keeper bravely accepted his fate, and as he was being led out he requested as his dying petition that his captors would keep the light burning on that stormy night.

"The insurgent colonel, who since has himself been killed under Maceo, was so captivated by the brave keeper's thoughtfulness for the unknown sailors beaten toward shore in the terrible hurricane, that he ordered the release of the keeper, and presented him with some silver plate, which the insurgents had confiscated from some wealthy planter. One touch of nature," added Dr. Conwell, feelingly, "makes all the world kin."

### More Signs and Omens.

> I live in the "Sunny South" too, and here are some of the signs most often heard here:

> Peacocks' feathers bring bad luck.

> A black cat brings good luck.

> Watch a person out of sight, and you will never see him again.

> If you point at a grave, a member of your family will die.

> Bring a hoe or other garden tool into the house, and it will bring bad luck.

> A good fire-maker will always have a smart husband.

> A hard storm is often a sign of the death of some rather unpopular man.

> I don't know as these are strictly local, but all of them are very common here.

Carolyn Sherman.
Ash Grove, Va.

### Queer New Orleans Customs.

> New Orleans has some customs peculiarly its own. One of them, the decorating of the cemeteries on All-Saints day, is not done in any other place in the United States. On that day the cemeteries are beautifully decorated with all kinds of flowers. The fronts of the great white tombs (for there are few underground graves in New Orleans) are often so covered with flowers that you can hardly read the inscription. This is lovely while it lasts; but when the flowers are faded and dead, it is rather pathetic than otherwise to wander through the streets of the silent cities of the dead. Metaire and Greenwood are the most beautiful cemeteries, and the old St. Louis the most interesting. Here are buried the old French people who died over a hundred years ago.

> Another queer custom, but which is dying out, is the giving of "lagniappe" (pronounced lan-yap) in the stores and markets. That is, they give you an apple, an orange, or a few pieces of candy in the grocery stores, in addition to what you have bought. They used to do it in the old French Quarter more than anywhere else, and often gave lagniappe of coffee, tea, sugar, or rice. But now they give hardly any, except to children, and sometimes even they have to ask for it.

> Then the street-criers, too, are amusing. A familiar sight is a dilapidated wagon and horse loaded with sacks of charcoal, while an extremely dirty-looking individual screams, "Charcoal, two bits a sack—charcoal!" "two bits" being used invariably, instead of twenty-five cents, among this class of people, and even among the better classes.

> New Orleans has a most excellent system of street railway, although it is but lately that it has had it. Before, there were only small cars with one mule attached; so you can imagine the electric cars are a great improvement on the old style of transportation, which was both slow and uncertain. But it has taken away a good deal of the quaintness from the city. There are only two mule lines left, and these will soon be replaced by electric ones.

> The city lost one of its old buildings by fire two years ago, which has been replaced by a handsome modern structure seven stories high. I refer to the St. Charles Hotel. There are very few handsome public buildings here; about the finest are those of the Tulane University. The soil of New Orleans does not admit of very heavy buildings being built, although they now drive piles of sixty feet for foundation.

> New Orleans is fast coming to the front as a grain-exporting point, the Illinois Central having recently finished an immense elevator and dock. It has been for many years the largest cotton-exporting port in the world.

> The two public parks, Audubon and the City Park, could be made very beautiful if they were improved. Their natural beauty is so great that one does not mind their somewhat wild state. Little by little they are being improved, but, both being large tracts, it takes a long time. The trees in both are immense live-oaks, and under those at the City Park many of the duels of the earlier Louisiana days were fought.

> West End, the one nice resort of New Orleans, is situated on Lake Pontchartrain, about six miles from the centre of town. Here, in summer, there is music every evening by a fine band, and trains run at intervals of fifteen minutes. It is a most delightful way to spend an evening, as there are no mosquitoes, and the breeze off the water is always cool. The mosquitoes are a great pest here, and even in winter they are quite bad, we being compelled to sleep under bars a good share of the time.

> This is a very easy place for visitors to find their way alone, as the streets are all plainly marked and numbered. All the cars start from Canal Street, and it is almost impossible to lose one's way.

> As Canal Street is the starting-point for all the cars, it is quite a feat to cross without risking your life. Policemen are stationed on every corner, and it is very rarely that an accident occurs.

Sophie Eleanor Clark.

### What do You Think They Weighed?

> Don't you think the following pretty good? I got it from an old man who says he won $5 for answering it years ago.

> A man had an article weighing exactly forty pounds. He let it fall, and it broke into four pieces. But it was such a fortunate fall that the pieces were afterwards available for sale weights, and with them he could weigh any number of pounds from one to forty. How much did each piece weigh?

J. Lurie.
New York.

We do think it good. You ought to be able yourself to tell a good puzzle, for you have won some of our puzzle-prizes. The Table will publish the answer in a week or two.

### Laid and Wove Paper.

Edward C. Wood, of Philadelphia, asked the difference between laid and wove papers of fine grade. The question was referred to a manufacturer of this kind of writing-paper, and he answers in the following interesting way:

"You have seen your mother roll out pie-dough with a rolling-pin. She rolls it out on a board into a thin even sheet with a smooth surface, which is like the surface of 'wove paper.'

"Now after doing this, if she were to take another rolling-pin, and place around it wires laid close together and parallel with each other and with the length of the pin, and bind them in place with other wires wrapped around the pin and about an inch apart, and then if, with the rolling-pin thus prepared, she were to roll the even surface of the thin sheet of dough, the impression of the wires would be left in the dough, producing a surface like 'laid paper.'

"In making paper a flat surface of wire-cloth corresponds to the board. The paper pulp or 'stuff' (made by grinding up rags very fine, and mixing them with water until the composition looks like cream), which is spread in a flat sheet over the surface of the wire-cloth, corresponds to the dough. And a roll (covered with wire-cloth for wove paper, and with wires laid parallel with each other and with the length of the roll for laid paper) corresponds to the rolling-pin.

"This roll, called the 'dandy,' covered with wire-cloth, rolling over the surface of the thin wet sheet of paper-stuff, smooths it down into an even regular surface, and produces wove paper.

"The dandy-roll, with parallel wires, rolling over the wet sheet of stuff, leaves its impression in the thin sheet, and produces laid paper.

"The lines at right angles to the parallel lines are called the 'chains,' and are produced by the impression of those wires which are wrapped around the parallel wires to hold the latter in place around the dandy-roll."

### The Name "Indian Summer."

> Henry Osborn asks why Indian summer is so called. I have always heard that it is the time of the year when the Indians laid in their provisions for winter. During the summer they only hunted for pleasure. Cold weather came before they realized it. Just at this state of affairs the Indian summer came in and gave the Indian one more chance to provide for winter.

Harry Richardson.

This reason is a new one to some, we think. Can anybody else give a reason popularly said to be the origin of the name? And will some one write out the scientific cause for the hazy atmosphere of this season? Is the cause well known?

### Advice to Boys of Fifteen.

"Mercer" asks the probable expense of two boys of fifteen going round the world on a bicycle; whether it is prudent to go; and if any publisher or publishers would perhaps accept and pay for an account of the journey a sufficient sum to reimburse the boys for their necessary outlay.

The expense of such a trip would not be less than $4 per day for each boy for the entire time absent from home. It might be less than this in the far East, but in other parts of the world it would be more. If this estimate errs, it does so in being too small. Is it prudent? We should say, with perhaps not as much emphasis as would the parents of the boys in question, no. There are many dangers, but if there were not, what substantial thing is to be gained? Prudence in a boy of fifteen demands that he shall be in training, save during the few summer months, which are not long enough for a world bicycle tour, for the future. There may be publishers who would pay a big price for such a manuscript, but they are not advertising that they will do so.

### Questions and Answers.

A member of the Camera Club sends the Table $1, and asks if there are other members who have old negatives, in perfect condition, of scenes of places of interest anywhere, size four by five inches. If any member has such will he write to the Table, describing the subjects of the pictures and the number willing to be given for $1? Do not forward negatives until requested.—W. Randall Spurlock, 3108 Highland Ave., Mt. Auburn, Cincinnati, O., asks if any one can give him the address of Capt. J. D. Randall, who is, or used to be, a Mississippi River boatman, whose boat ran, at one end of its route, to Memphis.—Chas. Henshaw, 432 North State Street, Chicago, wants to join a Chapter or some club somewhere that is interested in photography.—Chas. K. Russell, a Brooklyn member, asks us why coins are put into corner-stones when laid. We always supposed it was merely to preserve them for a future generation, the same object in view when records, newspapers, and memorials are enclosed. We can find no other reason. Is there any other reason?

[Pg 471]

> Any questions in regard to photograph matters will be willingly answered by the Editor of this column, and we should be glad to hear from any of our club who can make helpful suggestions.

### HOW TO MAKE ENLARGED NEGATIVES FROM SMALL PRINTS.

Though the rules for the photographic contest stated that no picture less than 4 by 5 in size would be admitted, yet the editor constantly received letters asking if pictures taken by the small pocket-cameras would be admitted. These tiny pictures, though often good in detail and well chosen as to subject, are on too small a scale to be admitted to any contest; but if one has a small picture which, aside from size, seems worthy of being entered in a competition, a large negative may be made from it, from which prints may be made and sent to the contest.

The first thing to do is to make as good a print from the negative as possible. Squeegee this print to a glass plate—a spoiled sensitive plate is the best for this purpose, as the glass is usually free from defects. If the picture is larger than the glass, squeegee the picture in the centre of the glass, and either block out the clear glass with Gihon's opaque, or cover it with black needle paper. From this paper positive is to be made the negative in the same manner in which one enlarges from a negative to make an enlarged print.

Choose a room which has but one window. It is better to take a room on the second floor where an unobstructed view of the sky can be obtained. If the room has two windows one must be completely darkened and the other covered, except a small space large enough to admit the glass plate on which the picture is squeegeed. On the outside of the window arrange a large piece of white card-board at an angle of about 45° so as to reflect the light through the picture.

The camera used for enlarging may be a 4 by 5 or larger, and a little practice will enable one to make excellent negatives. Take the focussing-glass out of the frame, and place the glass containing the picture in its place. The focussing-glass is easily removed by loosening the screw in the side of the frame and slipping out the piece of wood which holds it in place. Put the focussing-frame in the camera, and place the camera close to the window, so that all the light that enters the space left in the window passes through the camera. The lens is of course turned inside the room.

The camera should be supported on a table, and fixed so that it cannot jar. Directly opposite the camera, on the same plane, must be placed something to serve as a support for the sensitive paper, and a wooden box with the bottom covered with white paper will be found to answer every purpose. A convenient way of arranging the camera and box is to take a board, place the camera at one end, and the box at whatever point the clearest focus is obtained.

Having everything in place, shut out all the light except that which enters through the camera, and focus the picture on the plain white paper. Mark where the image falls, close the shutter, and by a red light place a sheet of bromide-paper on the space covered by the image, holding it in position by means of small thumb-tacks.

Open the shutter of the camera and expose for ten or fifteen minutes, according to the density of the negative. If the light is poor, a much longer exposure must be made. One can time the exposure by making one or two experiments with small strips of paper and developing.

For developing this enlarged negative use hydroquinone. Do not over-develop, clear with acetic acid, fix, and wash thoroughly. When dry the paper may be rendered more transparent by waxing, or it may be printed from without further manipulation. If the negative is inclined to curl, straighten it by drawing it over the sharp edge of a drawer.

> S. W. Hines, Jun., asks if it spoils plates to cut them with a glass-cutter; whether dark or light objects take quicker in snap-shots; how to print lantern slides, and where an outfit for lantern-slide-making can be obtained. Sensitive plates may be cut into smaller sizes and used if great care is taken not to scratch the sensitive film, though if one has plates too large for the camera it is a better plan to change them for a size that will fit the camera. See Nos. 798 and 799 for directions for making lantern slides. All the outfit required is a box of lantern-slide plates, some good negatives, a printing-frame, and a lantern. The finishing, cover glasses, binding strips, and name-markers will be required. We will publish soon another article on lantern-slide-making for the benefit of the new members of our Camera Club. Light objects always take quicker than dark ones.

> D. Saylor Wilson, 120 McDonough St., Brooklyn, N.Y.; William Seymour, Marshall, Mich.; Arthur S. Dudley, West Salem, Wis.; Ralph Bulkey, Jun., 345 Miller Ave., Columbus, O.; S. W. Hines, Jun., Cumberland, Wis.; Charles Boyden, Jun., 4053 Washington Ave., St. Louis, Mo.; E. L. Dedham, Orysa, Tenn.; John D. Duff, 922 Duquesne Way, Pittsburg, Pa.; Arthur Nilsen, 69 West Fiftieth St., New York city; Horace A. Williams, Parkesburg, Pa.; Donald C. Vaughn, 1 West Eighty-second St., New York city; Arthur Ehrhart, Maywood, Ill.; Evarts A. Graham, 672 West Monroe St., Chicago, Ill.—wish to become members of the Camera Club.

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dif. unused Foreign stamps, 10c. Fine approval sheets at 50% off. G. M. Frame, Haverhill, Mass.

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We wish to introduce our Teas, Spices, and Baking Powder. Sell 75 lbs. to earn a Bicycle; 50 lbs. for a Waltham Gold Watch and Chain; 25 lbs. for a Solid Silver Watch and Chain; 10 lbs. for a beautiful Gold Ring; 50 lbs. for a Decorated Dinner Set. Express prepaid if cash is sent with order. Send your full address on postal for Catalogue and Order Blank to Dept. I

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A physician of experience in the care of boys will take a small party through England and Scotland during July and August.

Refers by permission to Dr. David W. Cheever, Boston; Dr. C. Shattuck, Boston; Edward E. Hale, D.D., Boston. Address

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money selling my Household Article. Needed in every house. Send 4 cents in stamps for sample, and start to work. C. D. BABCOCK, 71 Nassau St., N. Y.

## CARDS

FOR 1897. 50 Sample Styles AND LIST OF 400 PREMIUM ARTICLES FREE. HAVERFIELD PUB Co., CADIZ, OHIO

## PUNCH

& JUDY WHISTLE, great fun for the boys. WIZARD Skeleton 13 inches high, with directions. The great Egyptian Smoke Trick, all for 10c. (others ask 30 to 50c.) Bert M. Slade, Akron, O. B. 5.

## HARPER & BROTHERS'

Descriptive list of their publications, with portraits of authors, will be sent by mail to any address on receipt of ten cents.

#### HARPER & BROTHERS, Publishers, New York.

[Pg 472]

## FUNNY HOW-DO-YOU-DO'S.

ost amusing are the styles of salutation in different countries, and also very interesting. The following are a few that have been recently brought to notice:

The Chinese gentleman, meeting a friend, shakes his own hand, and inquires in the most complimentary terms about his friend's health. The friend shakes his own hand also, and answers that he is well, but calls himself the most abusive names he can think of, and they pass on.

The French and Italian gentlemen kiss and embrace their men friends when they feel great delight at meeting.

The American fool grasps his friend's hand at the level with his hat, and gently jiggles it.

The politician, just before election, meeting a voter, slaps him vigorously on the back, and shakes his hand at the same time.

The Gambier Islanders rub noses, and if their welcome is very hearty, they each hold their breath for a few seconds, and then give a most alarming sniff, thereby showing great pleasure at meeting you.

### HE HAD FALLEN OFF.

Patrick was a new man in the light-horse regiment, but his cheerfulness and witty replies had already established him as a favorite. He had one drawback, however, and that was his awkwardness when on a horse's back. Naturally his position required the opposite of this, and Patrick worked hard and faithfully to acquire the ease and naturalness of his comrades when riding. He congratulated himself that this was at last accomplished; but one day when on parade his horse shied and threw him with considerable force. When he regained consciousness he found that his arm had broken with the fall. With his usual characteristic good humor the poor fellow smiled in his pain as he said:

"Well, well, it's too bad. I thought I had improved in my riding a great deal, but instead I have fallen off."

### COULDN'T HEAR THE MUSIC.

Colonel Brown was a mighty fox-hunter, and loved the sport beyond words. He owned a fine pack of hounds, and, during the season, thought of nothing but his hunters, his dogs, and the weather. He was once entertaining a friend from America, whose ideas of hunting any animal involved the use of fire-arms, and who had never seen a fox-hound. He had been with difficulty persuaded to go forth one morning with the Colonel and some friends to a meet, and they were waiting impatiently for the hounds to take the scent. Presently there burst upon their listening ears the din of thirty canine voices in full cry. The Colonel's eyes gleamed, and as he settled his feet in the stirrups and stretched his arm towards the yelping pack, he cried,

"Major, listen to that heavenly music!"

The Major pricked up his ears for a second or two, and then replied,

"I can't hear a thing, those dogs are making such a noise."

The Colonel put his spur savagely into his horse's side, and dashed away, leaving his guest to his own devices.

### HE WANTED PAREGORIC.

It is a good thing to remember the right word at the right time, but it is not every one who does it by such a curious succession of ideas as the man who dashed into a Western drug store, and accosted the clerk with:

"Say—I want some medicine, and I want it quick, too! But for the life of me I can't tell what the name is!"

"Well, how on earth do you expect to get it, then?" demanded the disgusted clerk. "I can't help you!"

"Yes, you can, too!" said the would-be customer, promptly. "What's the name of that bay on the lower part of this lake—eh?"

"Do you mean Put-in-Bay?"

"That's it! That's it! And what's the name of the old fellow that put in there once, you know? Celebrated character, you know?"

"Are you talking about Commodore Perry?"

"Good! I've got it! I've got it!" shouted the customer. "That's what I want! Gimme ten cents' worth of paregoric!"

### FRANKLIN'S LOAN.

We often learn by sad experience that it is a very unwise plan to give money to the poor. It is much wiser either to loan or to require some slight return in work. This plan tends to raise the respect of the recipient, rather than to form the easily acquired habit of begging. In an old English magazine we find the following letter from Dr. Franklin to some unknown beggar; it is amusing as well as instructive:

"April 22, 1784.

> "I send you herewith a bill for ten Louis-d'or. I do not pretend to give such a sum; I only lend it to you. When you shall return to your country you cannot fail of getting into some business that will in time enable you to pay all your debts. In that case, when you meet with another honest man in similar distress, you must pay me by lending this sum to him, enjoining him to discharge the debt by like operation when he shall be able, and shall meet with such another opportunity. I hope it may thus go through many hands before it meets with a knave to stop its progress. This is a trick of mine for doing a deal of good with a little money. I am not rich enough to afford much in good work, and so am obliged to be earning and make the most of a little."

If your Majesty will kindly
Stop your funning for a while,
I will make a portrait of you
In the very best of style.
But if you keep on jesting,
I am very much afraid
Instead of as the king, you'll as
The joker be portrayed.

### FOOTNOTES:

[1] Begun in Harper's Round Table No. 888.

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