Édition d'Élite

 Historical Tales

 The Romance of Reality

 By

 CHARLES MORRIS

 Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors, " "Tales from the Dramatists, " etc. 

 IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES

 Volume I

 American

 I

 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON

 Copyright, 1893, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

[Illustration: WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. ]

PREFACE. 

It has become a commonplace remark that fact is oftenstranger than fiction. It may be said, as a variant of this, that history is often more romantic than romance. The pagesof the record of man's doings are frequently illustrated byentertaining and striking incidents, relief points in thedull monotony of every-day events, stories fitted to rousethe reader from languid weariness and stir anew in his veinsthe pulse of interest in human life. There are manysuch, --dramas on the stage of history, life scenes that arepictures in action, tales pathetic, stirring, enlivening, full of the element of the unusual, of the stuff the noveland the romance are made of, yet with the advantage of beingactual fact. Incidents of this kind have proved asattractive to writers as to readers. They have dwelt uponthem lovingly, embellished them with the charms of rhetoricand occasionally with the inventions of fancy, until whatbegan as fact has often entered far into the domains oflegend and fiction. It may well be that some of thenarratives in the present work have gone through thisprocess. If so, it is simply indicative of the interestthey have awakened in generations of readers and writers. But the bulk of them are fact, so far as history in generalcan be called fact, it having been our design to cull fromthe annals of the nations some of their more stirring andromantic incidents, and present them as a gallery ofpictures that might serve to adorn the entrance to thetemple of history, of which this work is offered as in somesense an illuminated ante-chamber. As such, it is hoped thatsome pilgrims from the world of readers may find it apleasant halting-place on their way into the far-extendingaisles of the great temple beyond. 

CONTENTS

VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS 9FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE 26CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS 34SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP 53THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES 69HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED 80HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA 90THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS 98SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM 111A GALLANT DEFENCE 128DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY 138PAUL'S REVERE'S RIDE 157THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 172THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK 180A QUAKERESS PATRIOT 189THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER 195ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR 211MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX 223THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA 237THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR 249HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED 259THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC 275STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE 285AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON 298THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE 314ALASKA, A TREASURE HOUSE OF GOLD, FURS, AND FISHES 327HOW HAWAII LOST ITS QUEEN AND ENTERED THE UNITED STATES 338

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

AMERICAN. VOLUME I. 

WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. _Frontispiece. _VIKING SHIPS AT SEA. 11LAKE CHAMPLAIN AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. 41POND ISLAND, MOUTH OF THE KENNEBEC. 54THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES. 76THE CHARTER OAK, HARTFORD. 85PRINTING-PRESS AT WHICH FRANKLIN WORKED WHEN A BOY. 90WASHINGTON'S HOME AT MT. VERNON. 98SHORE OF LAKE GEORGE. 118INDIAN ATTACK AND GALLANT DEFENCE. 128THE OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON. 158THE SPIRIT OF '76. 166ETHAN ALLEN'S ENTRANCE, TICONDEROGA. 172THE OLD STATE HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. 191THE BENEDICT ARNOLD MANSION. 220THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 280LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND. 298SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 319MUIR GLACIER IN ALASKA. 328A NATIVE GRASS HUT, HAWAII. 340

VINELAND AND THE VIKINGS. 

The year 1000 A. D. Was one of strange history. Its adventthrew the people of Europe into a state of mortal terror. Ten centuries had passed since the birth of Christ. Theworld was about to come to an end. Such was the generalbelief. How it was to reach its end, --whether by fire, water, or some other agent of ruin, --the prophets ofdisaster did not say, nor did people trouble themselves tolearn. Destruction was coming upon them, that was enough toknow; how to provide against it was the one thing to beconsidered. 

Some hastened to the churches; others to the taverns. Hereprayers went up; there wine went down. The petitions of thepious were matched by the ribaldry of the profligate. Somemade their wills; others wasted their wealth in revelry, eager to get all the pleasure out of life that remained forthem. Many freely gave away their property, hoping, byridding themselves of the goods of this earth, to establisha claim to the goods of Heaven, with little regard to thefate of those whom they loaded with their discarded wealth. 

It was an era of ignorance and superstition. Christendomwent insane over an idea. When the year ended, and the worldrolled on, none the worse for conflagration or deluge, greenwith the spring leafage and ripe with the works of man, dismay gave way to hope, mirth took the place of prayer, man regained their flown wits, and those who had sorecklessly given away their wealth bethought themselves oftaking legal measures for its recovery. 

Such was one of the events that made that year memorable. There was another of a highly different character. Insteadof a world being lost, a world was found. The Old World notonly remained unharmed, but a New World was added to it, aworld beyond the seas, for this was the year in which thefoot of the European was first set upon the shores of thetrans-Atlantic continent. It is the story of this firstdiscovery of America that we have now to tell. 

In the autumn of the year 1000, in a region far away fromfear-haunted Europe, a scene was being enacted of a verydifferent character from that just described. Over thewaters of unknown seas a small, strange craft boldly madeits way, manned by a crew of the hardiest and most vigorousmen, driven by a single square sail, whose coarse woollentexture bellied deeply before the fierce ocean winds, whichseemed at times as if they would drive that deckless vesselbodily beneath the waves. 

This crew was of men to whom fear was almost unknown, thestalwart Vikings of the North, whose oar-and sail-drivenbarks now set out from the coasts of Norway and Denmark toravage the shores of southern Europe, now turned their prowsboldly to the west in search of unknown lands afar. 

Shall we describe this craft? It was a tiny one in which toventure upon an untravelled ocean in search of an unknowncontinent, --a vessel shaped somewhat like a strung bow, scarcely fifty feet in length, low amidships and curvingupwards to high peaks at stem and stern, both of whichconverged to sharp edges. It resembled an enormous canoerather than aught else to which we can compare it. On thestem was a carved and gilt dragon, the figurehead of theship, which glittered in the bright rays of the sun. Alongthe bulwarks of the ship, fore and aft, hung rows of largepainted wooden shields, which gave an Argus-eyed aspect tothe craft. Between them was a double row of thole-pins forthe great oars, which now lay at rest in the bottom of theboat, but by which, in calm weather, this "walker of theseas" could be forced swiftly through the yielding element. 

[Illustration: VIKING SHIPS AT SEA. ]

Near the stern, on an elevated platform, stood thecommander, a man of large and powerful frame and imposingaspect, one whose commands not the fiercest of his crewwould lightly venture to disobey. A coat of ring-mailencircled his stalwart frame; by his side, in arichly-embossed scabbard, hung a long sword, with hilt ofgilded bronze; on his head was a helmet that shone like puregold, shaped like a wolf's head, with gaping jaws andthreatening teeth. Land was in sight, an unknown coast, peopled perhaps by warlike men. The cautious Viking leaderdeemed it wise to be prepared for danger, and was armed forpossible combat. 

Below him, on the rowing-benches, sat his hardy crew, theirarms--spears, axes, bows, and slings--beside them, readyfor any deed of daring they might be called upon to perform. Their dress consisted of trousers of coarse stuff, belted atthe waist; thick woollen shirts, blue, red, or brown incolor; iron helmets, beneath which their long hair streameddown to their shoulders; and a shoulder belt descending tothe waist and supporting their leather-coveredsword-scabbards. Heavy whiskers and moustaches added to thefierceness of their stern faces, and many of them wore asornament on the forehead a band of gold. 

They numbered thirty-five in all, this crew who had set outto brave the terrors and solve the mysteries of the greatAtlantic. Their leader, Leif by name, was the son of Eirekthe Red, the discoverer of Greenland, and a Viking as fierceas ever breathed the air of the north land. Outlawed inNorway, where in hot blood he had killed more men than thelaw could condone, Eirek had made his way to Iceland. Herehis fierce temper led him again to murder, and flight oncemore became necessary. Manning a ship, he set sail boldly tothe west, and in the year 982 reached a land on which theeye of European had never before gazed. To this he gave thename of Greenland, with the hope, perhaps, that thisinviting name would induce others to follow him. 

Such proved to be the case. Eirek returned to Iceland, toldthe story of his discovery, and in 985 set sail again forhis new realm with twenty-five ships and many colonists. Others came afterwards, among them one Biarni, a bold andenterprising youth, for whom a great adventure wasreserved. Enveloped in fogs, and driven for days from itscourse by northeasterly winds, his vessel was forced far tothe south. When at length the fog cleared away, thedistressed mariners saw land before them, a low, level, thickly-wooded region, very different from the ice-coveredrealm they had been led to expect. 

"Is this the land of which we are in search?" asked thesailors. 

"No, " answered Biarni; "for I am told that we may look forvery large glaciers in Greenland. 

"At any rate, let us land and rest. "

"Not so; my father has gone with Eirek. I shall not resttill I see him again. "

And now the winds blew northward, and for seven days theyscudded before a furious gale, passing on their way amountainous, ice-covered island, and in the end, by greatgood fortune, Biarni's vessel put into the very port wherehis father had fixed his abode. 

Biarni had seen, but had not set foot upon, the shores ofthe New World. That was left for bolder or more enterprisingmariners to perform. About 995 he went to Norway, where thestory of his strange voyage caused great excitement amongthe adventure-loving people. Above all, it stirred up thesoul of Leif, eldest son of Eirek the Red, then in Norway, who in his soul resolved to visit and explore that strangeland which Biarni had only seen from afar. 

Leif returned to Greenland with more than this idea in hismind. When Eirek left Norway he had left a heathen land. When Leif visited it he found it a Christian country. Or atleast he found there a Christian king, Olaf Tryggvason byname, who desired his guest to embrace the new faith. Leifconsented without hesitation. Heathenism did not seem veryfirmly fixed in the minds of those northern barbarians. Heand all his sailors were baptized, and betook themselves toGreenland with this new faith as their most preciousfreight. In this way Christianity first made its way acrossthe seas. And thus it further came about that the ship whichwe have seen set sail for southern lands. 

This ship was that of Biarni. Leif had bought it, it may bewith the fancy that it would prove fortunate in retracingits course. Not only Leif, but his father Eirek, now an oldman, was fired with the hope of new discoveries. The agedViking had given Greenland, to the world; it was a naturalambition to desire to add to his fame as a discoverer. Buton his way to the vessel his horse stumbled. Superstitious, as all men were in that day, he looked on this as an evilomen. 

"I shall not go, " he said. "It is not my destiny to discoverany other lands than that on which we now live. I shallfollow you no farther, but end my life in Greenland. " AndEirek rode back to his home. 

Not so the adventurers. They boldly put out to sea, turnedthe prow of their craft southward, and battled with thewaves day after day, their hearts full of hope, their eyeson the alert for the glint of distant lands. 

At length land was discovered, --a dreary country, mountainous, icy; doubtless the inhospitable island whichBiarni had described. They landed, but only to findthemselves on a shore covered with bare, flat rocks, whilebefore them loomed snow-covered heights. 

"This is not the land we seek, " said Leif; "but we will notdo as Biarni did, who never set foot on shore. I will givethis land a name, and will call it Helluland, "--a name whichsignifies the "land of broad stones. "

Onward they sailed again, their hearts now filled withardent expectation. At length rose again the stirring cry of"Land!" or its Norse equivalent, and as the dragon-peakedcraft glided swiftly onward there rose into view a longcoast-line, flat and covered with white sand in theforeground, while a dense forest spread over the risingground in the rear. 

"Markland [land of forest] let it be called, " cried Leif. "This must be the land which Biarni first saw. We will notbe like him, but will set foot on its promising shores. "

They landed, but tarried not long. Soon they took shipagain, and sailed for two days out of sight of land. Thenthere came into view an island, with a broad channel betweenit and the mainland. Up this channel they laid their course, and soon came to where a river poured its clear waters intothe sea. They decided to explore this stream. The boat waslowered and the ship towed up the river, until, at a shortdistance inland, it broadened into a lake. Here, at Leif'scommand, the anchor was cast, and their good ship, thepioneer in American discovery, came to rest within theinland waters of the New World. 

Not many minutes passed before the hardy mariners were onshore, and eagerly observing the conditions of theirnew-discovered realm. River and lake alike were full ofsalmon, the largest they had ever seen, a fact whichagreeably settled the question of food. The climate seemeddeliciously mild, as compared with the icy shores to whichthey were used. The grass was but little withered by frost, and promised a winter supply of food for cattle. Altogetherthey were so pleased with their surroundings that Leifdetermined to spend the winter at that place, exploring theland so far as he could. 

For some time they dwelt under booths, passing the nights intheir leather sleeping-bags; but wood was abundant, axes andhands skilful to wield them were at hand, and they quicklywent to work to build themselves habitations more suitablefor the coming season of cold. 

No inhabitants of the land were seen. So far as yetappeared, it might be a region on which human foot had neverbefore been set. But Leif was a cautious leader. He bade hismen not to separate until the houses were finished. Then hedivided them into two parties, left one to guard their homesand their ship, and sent the other inland to explore. 

"Beware, though, " he said, "that you risk not too much. Weknow not what perils surround us. Go not so far inland butthat you can get back by evening, and take care not toseparate. "

Day after day these explorations continued, the men plunginginto the forest that surrounded them and wandering far intoits hidden recesses, each evening bringing back with themsome story of the marvels of this new land, or some sampleof its productions strange to their eyes. 

An evening came in which one of the explorers failed toreturn. He had either disobeyed the injunctions of Leif andgone too far to get back by evening, or some peril of thatunknown land had befallen him. This man was of German birth, Tyrker by name, a southerner who had for years dwelt withEirek and been made the foster-father of Leif, who had beenfond of him since childhood. He was a little, wretched-looking fellow, with protruding forehead, unsteadyeyes, and tiny face, yet a man skilled in all manner ofhandicraft. 

Leif, on learning of his absence, upbraided the men bitterlyfor losing him, and called on twelve of them to follow himin search. Into the forest they went, and before long hadthe good fortune to behold Tyrker returning. The littlefellow, far from showing signs of disaster, was in thehighest of spirits, his face radiant with joy. 

"How now, foster-father!" cried Leif. "Why are you so late?and why have you parted from the others?"

Tyrker was too excited to answer. He rolled his eyes wildlyand made wry faces. When words came to him, he spoke in hisnative German, which none of them understood. Joy seemed tohave driven all memory of the language of the north from hismind. It was plain that no harm had come to him. On thecontrary, he seemed to have stumbled upon some landfall ofgood luck. Yet some time passed before they could bring himout of his ecstasy into reason. 

"I did not go much farther than you, " he at length calledout, in their own tongue "and if I am late I have a goodexcuse. I can tell you news. "

"What are they?"

"I have made a grand discovery. See, I have found vines andgrapes, " and he showed them his hands filled with the purplefruit. "I was born in a land where grapes grow in plenty. And this land bears them! Behold what I bring you!"

The memory of his childhood had driven for the time allmemory of the Norse language from his brain. Grapes he hadnot seen for many years, and the sight of them made him achild again. The others beheld the prize with little lessjoy. They slept where they were that night, and in themorning followed Tyrker to the scene of his discovery, wherehe gladly pointed to the arbor-like vines, laden thicklywith wild grapes, a fruit delicious to their unaccustomedpalates. 

"This is a glorious find, " cried Leif. "We must take some ofthis splendid fruit north. There are two kinds of work nowto be done. One day you shall gather grapes the next youshall cut timber to freight the ship. We must show ourfriends north what a country we have found. As for thisland, I have a new name for it. Let it be called Vineland, the land of grapes and wine. "

After this discovery there is little of interest to record. The winter, which proved to be a very mild one, passed away, and in the spring they set sail again for Greenland, theirship laden deeply with timber, so useful a treasure in theirtreeless northern home, while the long-boat was filled tothe gunwale with the grapes they had gathered and dried. 

Such is the story of the first discovery of America, as toldin the sagas of the North. Leif the Lucky was the name giventhe discoverer from that time forward. He made no morevisits to Vineland, for during the next winter his fatherdied, and he became the governing head of the Greenlandsettlements. 

But the adventurous Northmen were not the men to rest atease with an untrodden continent so near at hand. Thorvald, Leif's brother, one of the boldest of his race, determinedto see for himself the wonders of Vineland. In the spring of1002 he set sail with thirty companions, in the pioneer shipof American discovery, the same vessel which Biarni and Leifhad made famous in that service. Unluckily the records failto give us the name of this notable ship. 

Steering southward, they reached in due time the lake onwhose shores Leif and his crew had passed the winter. Thebuildings stood unharmed, and the new crew passed a winterhere, most of their time being spent in catching and dryingthe delicious salmon which thronged river and lake. In thespring they set sail again, and explored the coast for along distance to the south. How far they went we cannottell, for all we know of their voyage is that nearlyeverywhere they found white sandy shores and a background ofunbroken forest. Like Leif, they saw no men. 

Back they came to Vineland, and there passed the winteragain. Another spring came in the tender green of the youngleafage, and again they put to sea. So far fortune hadsteadily befriended them. Now the reign of misfortune began. Not far had they gone before the vessel was driven ashore bya storm, and broke her keel on a protruding shoal. This wasnot a serious disaster. A new keel was made, and the old oneplanted upright in the sands of the coast. 

"We will call this place Kial-ar-ness" [Keel Cape], saidThorvald. 

On they sailed again, and came to a country of suchattractive aspect that Thorvald looked upon it with longingeyes. 

"This is a fine country, and here I should like to buildmyself a home, " he said, little deeming in what gruesomemanner his words were to be fulfilled. 

For now, for the first time in the story of these voyages, are we told of the natives of the land, --the Skroelings, asthe Norsemen called them. Passing the cape which Thorvaldhad chosen for his home, the mariners landed to explore theshore, and on their way back to the ship saw, on the whitesands, three significant marks. They were like those made bya boat when driven ashore. Continuing their observation, they quickly perceived, drawn well up on the shore, threeskin-canoes turned keel upward. Dividing into three parties, they righted these boats, and to their surprise saw thatunder each three men lay concealed. 

The blood-loving instinct of the Norsemen was never at faultin a case like this. Drawing their swords, they assailed thehidden men, and of the nine only one escaped, the otherbeing stretched in death upon the beach. 

The mariners had made a fatal mistake. To kill none, unlessthey could kill all, should have been their rule, a lessonin practical wisdom which they were soon to learn. But, heedless of danger and with the confidence of strength andcourage, they threw themselves upon the sands, and, beingweary and drowsy, were quickly lost in slumber. 

And now came a marvel. A voice, none knew whence or of whom, called loudly in their slumbering ears, --

"Wake, Thorvaldt! Wake all your men, if you would save yourlife and theirs! Haste to your ship and fly from land withall speed, for vengeance and death confront you. "

Suddenly aroused, they sprang to their feet, looking at eachother with astounded eyes, and asking who had spoken thosewords. Little time for answer remained. The woods behindthem suddenly seemed alive with fierce natives, who had beenroused to vengeful fury by the flying fugitive, and now cameon with hostile cries. The Norsemen sprang to their boatsand rowed in all haste to the ship; but before they couldmake sail the surface of the bay swarmed with skin-boats, and showers of arrows were poured upon them. 

The warlike mariners in turn assailed their foes witharrows, slings, and javelins, slaying so many of them thatthe remainder were quickly put to flight. But they fled notunrevenged. A keen-pointed arrow, flying between the ship'sside and the edge of his shield, struck Thorvald in thearmpit, wounding him so deeply that death threatened tofollow the withdrawal of the fatal dart. 

"My day is come, " said the dying chief. "Return home toGreenland as quickly as you may. But as for me, you shallcarry me to the place which I said would be so pleasant todwell in. Doubtless truth came out of my mouth, for it maybe that I shall live there for awhile. There you shall buryme and put crosses at my head and feet, and henceforwardthat place shall be called Krossanes" [Cross Cape]. 

The sorrowing sailors carried out the wishes of their dyingchief, who lived but long enough to fix his eyes once moreon the place which he had chosen for his home, and thenclosed them in the sleep of death. They buried him here, placing the crosses at his head and feet as he had bidden, and then set sail again for the booths of Leif at Vineland, where part of their company had been left to gather grapesin their absence. To these they told the story of what hadhappened, and agreed with them that the winter should bespent in that place, and that in the spring they should obeyThorvald's request and set sail for Greenland. This theydid, taking on board their ship vines and an abundance ofdried grapes. Ere the year was old their good ship againreached Eireksfjord, where Leif was told of the death of hisbrother and of all that had happened to the voyagers. 

The remaining story of the discoveries of the Northmen mustbe told in a few words. The next to set sail for thatfar-off land was Thorstein, the third son of Eirek the Red. He failed to get there, however, but made land on the eastcoast of Greenland, where he died, while his wife Gudridreturned home. Much was this woman noted for her beauty, andas much for her wisdom and prudence, so the sagas tell us. 

In 1006 came to Greenland a noble Icelander, Thorfinn byname. That winter he married Gudrid, and so allied himselfto the family of Eirek the Red. And quickly he took up thebusiness of discovery, which had been pursued so ardently byEirek and his sons. He sailed in 1007, with three ships, forVineland, where he remained three years, having manyadventures with the natives, now trading with them for furs, now fighting with them for life. In Vineland was born a sonto Thorfinn and Gudrid, the first white child born inAmerica. From him--Snorri Thorfinnson he was named--came along line of illustrious descendants, many of whom madetheir mark in the history of Iceland and Denmark, the lineending in modern times in the famous Thorwaldsen, thegreatest sculptor of the nineteenth century. 

The sagas thus picture for us the natives: "Swarthy theywere in complexion, short and savage in aspect, with uglyhair, great eyes, and broad cheeks. " In a battle between theadventurers and these savages the warlike blood of Eirekmanifested itself in a woman of his race. For Freydis, hisdaughter, when pursued and likely to be captured by thenatives, snatched up a sword which had been dropped by aslain Greenlander, and faced them so valiantly that theytook to their heels in affright and fled precipitately totheir canoes. 

One more story, and we are done. In the spring of 1010Thorfinn sailed north with the two ships which he still had. One of them reached Greenland in safety. The other, commanded by Biarni Grimolfson, was driven from its course, and, being worm-eaten, threatened to sink. 

There was but one boat, and this capable of holding but halfthe ship's company. Lots were cast to decide who should goin the boat, and who stay on the sinking ship. Biarni was ofthose to whom fortune proved kindly. But he was a man ofnoble strain, fit for deeds of heroic fortitude andself-sacrifice. There was on board the ship a youngIcelander, who had been put under Biarni's protection, andwho lamented bitterly his approaching fate. 

"Come down into the boat, " called out the noble-heartedViking. "I will take your place in the ship; for I see thatyou are fond of life. "

So the devoted chieftain mounted again into the ship, andthe youth, selfish with fear, took his place in the boat. The end was as they had foreseen. The boat reached land, where the men told their story. The worm-eaten ship musthave gone down in the waves, for Biarni and his comradeswere never heard of again. Thus perished one of the world'sheroes. 

Little remains to be told, for all besides is fragment andconjecture. It is true that in the year 1011 Freydis and herhusband voyaged again to Vineland, though they made no newdiscoveries; and it is probable that in the followingcenturies other journeys were made to the same land. But astime passed on Greenland grew colder; its icy harvestdescended farther and farther upon its shores; in the endits colonies disappeared, and with them ended allintercourse with the grape-laden shores of Vineland. 

Just where lay this land of the vine no one to-day can tell. Some would place it as far north as Labrador; some seek tobring it even south of New England; the Runic records simplytell us of a land of capes, islands, rivers, and vines. Itis to the latter, and to the story of far-reachingforest-land, and pasturage lasting the winter through, thatwe owe the general belief that the Vikings reached NewEngland's fertile shores, and that the ship of Biarni andLeif, with its war-loving crews, preceded by six centuriesthe Mayflower, with its peaceful and pious souls. 

FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE. 

Hardly had it been learned that Columbus was mistaken in hisbelief, and that the shores he had discovered were not thoseof India and Cathay, when vigorous efforts began to findsome easy route to the rich lands of the Orient. Balboa, in1513, crossed the continent at its narrow neck, and gazed, with astounded eyes, upon the mighty ocean that laybeyond, --the world's greatest sea. Magellan, in 1520, sailedround the continent at its southern extremity, and turnedhis daring prows into that world of waters of seeminglyillimitable width. But the route thus laid out was far toolong for the feeble commerce of that early day, and variousefforts were made to pass the line of the continent at somenorthern point. The great rivers of North America, theJames, the Hudson, and others, were explored in the eagerhope that they might prove to be liquid canals between thetwo great seas. But a more promising hope was that whichhinted that America might be circumnavigated at the north aswell as at the south, and the Pacific be reached by way ofthe icy channel of the northern seas. 

This hope, born so long ago, has but died out in our owndays. Much of the most thrilling literature of adventure ofthe nineteenth century comes from the persistent efforts totraverse these perilous Arctic ocean wastes. Let us go backto the oldest of the daring navigators of this frozen sea, the worthy knight Sir Martin Frobisher, and tell the storyof his notable efforts to discover a Northwest Passage, "theonly thing left undone, " as he quaintly says, "whereby anotable mind might become famous and fortunate. "

As an interesting preface to our story we may quote fromthat curious old tome, "Purchas his Pilgrimage, " thefollowing quaintly imaginative passage, --

"How shall I admire your valor and courage, yee MarineWorthies, beyond all names of worthinesse; that neitherdread so long either presense nor absence of the Sunne, northose foggie mists, tempestuous windes, cold blasts, snowesand haile in the aire; nor the unequal Seas, where theTritons and Neptune's selfe would quake with chilling feareto behold such monstrous Icie Islands, mustering themselvesin those watery plaines, where they hold a continuall civillwarre, rushing one upon another, making windes and wavesgive back; nor the rigid, ragged face of the broken landes, sometimes towering themselves to a loftie height, to see ifthey can finde refuge from those snowes and colds thatcontinually beat them, sometimes hiding themselves undersome hollow hills or cliffes, sometimes sinking andshrinking into valleys, looking pale with snowes and fallingin frozen and dead swounes: sometimes breaking their neckesinto the sea, rather embracing the waters' than the aires'crueltie, " and so on with the like labored fancies. "GreatGod, " he concludes, "to whom all names of greatnesse arelittle, and lesse than nothing, let me in silence admire thygreatnesse, that in this little heart of man (not able toserve a Kite for a break-fast) hast placed such greatness ofspirit as the world is too little to fill. "

Thus in long-winded meed of praise writes Master SamuelPurchas. Of those bold mariners of whom he speaks our worthyknight, Sir Martin, is one of the first and far from theleast. 

An effort had been made to discover a northwest passage tothe Pacific as early as 1527, and another nine years later;but these were feeble attempts, which ended in failure anddisaster, and discovered nothing worthy of record. It was in1576 that Frobisher, one of the most renowned navigators ofhis day, put into effect the project he had cherished fromhis youth upward, and for which he had sought aid duringfifteen weary years, that of endeavoring to solve theice-locked secret of the Arctic seas. 

The fleet with which this daring adventure was undertakenwas a strangely insignificant one, consisting of threevessels which were even less in size than those with whichColumbus had ventured on his great voyage. Two of these werebut of twenty tons burden each, and the third only of ten, while the aggregate crews numbered but thirty-five men. Withthis tiny squadron, less in size than a trio offishing-smacks, the daring adventurer set out to traversethe northern seas and face the waves of the great Pacific, if fortune should open to him its gates. 

On the 11th of July, 1576, the southern extremity ofGreenland was sighted. It presented a more icy aspect thanthat which the Norsemen had seen nearly six centuriesbefore. Sailing thence westward, the land of the continentcame into view, and for the first time by modern Europeanswas seen that strange race, now so well known under the nameof Eskimo. The characteristics of this people, and theconditions of their life, are plainly described. The captain"went on shore, and was encountered with mightie Deere, which ranne at him, with danger of his life. Here he hadsight of the Savages, which rowed to his Shippe in Boates ofSeales Skinnes, with a Keele of wood within them. They eateraw Flesh and Fish, or rather devoured the same: they hadlong black hayre, broad faces, flat noses, tawnie of color, or like an Olive. "

His first voyage went not beyond this point. He returnedhome, having lost five of his men, who were carried off bythe natives. But he brought with him that which was sure topave the way to future voyages. This was a piece ofglittering stone, which the ignorant goldsmiths of Londonconfidently declared to be ore of gold. 

Frobisher's first voyage had been delayed by the greatdifficulty in obtaining aid. For his new project assistancewas freely offered, Queen Elizabeth herself, moved by hopeof treasure, coming to his help with a hundred andeighty-ton craft, the "Ayde, " to which two smaller vesselswere added. These being provisioned and manned, the boldnavigator, with "a merrie wind" in his sails, set out againfor the desolate north. 

His first discovery here was of the strait now known by hisname, up which he passed in a boat, with the mistaken notionin his mind that the land bounding the strait to the southwas America, and that to the north was Asia. The nativesproved friendly, but Frobisher soon succeeded in making themhostile. He seized some of them and attempted to drag themto his boat, "that he might conciliate them by presents. "The Eskimos, however, did not approve of this forciblemethod of conciliation, and the unwise knight reached theboat alone, with an arrow in his leg. 

But, to their great joy, the mariners found plenty of theshining yellow stones, and stowed abundance of them on theirships, deeming, like certain Virginian gold-seekers of alater date, that their fortunes were now surely made. Theyfound also "a great dead fish, round like a porepis[porpoise], twelve feet long, having a Horne of two yardes, lacking two ynches, growing out of the Snout, wreathed andstraight, like a Waxe-Taper, and might be thought to be aSea-Unicorne. It was reserved as a Jewell by the Queens'commandment in her Wardrobe of Robes. "

A northwest wind having cleared the strait of ice, thenavigators sailed gayly forward, full of the belief that thePacific would soon open to their eyes. It was not longbefore they were in battle with the Eskimos. They had foundEuropean articles in some native kyacks, which they supposedbelonged to the men they had lost the year before. Torescue or revenge these unfortunates, Frobisher attacked thenatives, who valiantly resisted, even plucking the arrowsfrom their bodies to use as missiles, and, when mortallyhurt, flinging themselves from the rocks into the sea. Atlength they gave ground, and fled to the loftier cliffs, leaving two of their women as trophies to the assailants. These two, one "being olde, " says the record, "the otherencombred with a yong childe, we took. The olde wretch, whomdivers of our Saylors supposed to be eyther the Divell, or awitch, had her buskins plucked off, to see if she werecloven-footed; and for her ougly hewe and deformitie, we lether goe; the young woman and the childe we brought away. "

This was not the last of their encounters with the Eskimos, who, incensed against them, made every effort to entrap theminto their power. Their stratagems consisted in placingtempting pieces of meat at points near which they lay inambush, and in pretending lameness to decoy the Englishmeninto pursuit. These schemes failing, they made a furiousassault upon the vessel with arrows and other missiles. 

Before the strait could be fully traversed, ice had formedso thickly that further progress was stopped, and, leavingthe hoped-for Cathay for future voyagers, the marinersturned their prows homeward, their vessels laden with twohundred tons of the glittering stone. 

Strangely enough, an examination of this material failed todispel the delusion. The scientists of that day declaredthat it was genuine gold-ore, and expressed their beliefthat the road to China lay through Frobisher Strait. Untoldwealth, far surpassing that which the Spaniards had obtainedin Mexico and Peru, seemed ready to shower into England'scoffers. Frobisher was now given the proud honor of kissingthe queen's hand, his neck was encircled with a chain ofgold of more value than his entire two hundred tons of ore, and, with a fleet of fifteen ships, one of them of fourhundred tons, he set sail again for the land of goldenpromise. Of the things that happened to him in this voyage, one of the most curious is thus related. "The Salamander(one of their Shippes), being under both her Courses andBonets, happened to strike upon a great Whale, with her fullStemme, with suche a blow that the Shippe stood still, andneither stirred backward or forward. The whale thereat madea great and hideous noyse, and casting up his body andtayle, presently sank under water. Within two days theyfound a whale dead, which they supposed was this which theSalamander had stricken. "

Other peril came to the fleet from icebergs, through themidst of which they were driven by a tempest, but theyfinally made their way into what is now known as HudsonStrait, up which, filled with hope that the continentallimits would quickly be passed and the route to China openbefore them, they sailed some sixty miles. But to theirdisappointment they found that they were being turnedsouthward, and, instead of crossing the continent, weredescending into its heart. 

Reluctantly Frobisher turned back, and, after manybuffetings from the storms, managed to bring part of hisfleet into Frobisher Bay. So much time had been lost that itwas not safe to proceed. Winter might surprise them in thoseicy wilds. Therefore, shipping immense quantities of the"fools' gold" which had led them so sadly astray, theyturned their prows once more homeward, reaching England'sshores in early October. 

Meanwhile the "ore" had been found to be absolutelyworthless, the golden dreams which had roused England toexultation had faded away, and the new ship-loads theybrought were esteemed to be hardly worth their weight asballast. For this disappointment the unlucky Frobisher, whohad been appointed High Admiral of all lands and waterswhich he might discover, could not be held to blame. It wasnot he that had pronounced the worthless pyrites gold, andhe had but obeyed orders in bringing new cargoes of thisuseless rubbish to add to the weight of Albion's rock-boundshores. But he could not obtain aid for a new voyage to theicy north, England for the time had lost all interest inthat unpromising region, and Frobisher was forced to employin other directions his skill in seamanship. 

With the after-career of this unsuccessful searcher for theNorthwest Passage we have no concern. It will suffice to saythat fortune attended his later ventures upon the seas, andthat he died in 1594, from a wound which he received in anaval battle off the coast of France. 

CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS. 

On a bright May morning in the year 1609, at the point wherethe stream then known as the Rivière des Iroquois--and whichhas since borne the various names of the Richelieu, theChambly, the St. Louis, the Sorel and the St. John--pouredthe waters of an unknown interior lake into the channel ofthe broad St. Lawrence, there was presented a strikingspectacle. Everywhere on the liquid surface canoes, drivenby the steady sweep of paddles wielded by naked and duskyarms, shot to and fro. Near the shore a small shallop, onwhose deck stood a group of armed whites, had just castanchor, and was furling its sails. Upon the strip of openland bordering the river, and in the woodland beyond, werevisible great numbers of savage warriors, their faceshideously bedaubed with war-paint, their hands busy inerecting the frail habitations of a temporary camp. 

The scene was one of striking beauty, such as only thevirgin wilderness can display. The river ran between wallsof fresh green leafage, here narrowed, yonder widened into abroad reach which was encircled by far sweeping forests. Thesun shone broadly on the animated scene, while the whites, from the deck of their small craft, gazed with deep intereston the strange picture before them, filled as it was withdusky natives, some erecting their forest shelters, othersfishing in the stream, while still others were seeking theforest depths in pursuit of game. 

The scene is of interest to us for another reason. It wasthe prelude to the first scene of Indian warfare which theeyes of Europeans were to behold in the northern region ofthe American continent. The Spaniards had been longestablished in the south, but no English settlement had yetbeen made on the shores of the New World, and the French hadbut recently built a group of wooden edifices on thatprecipitous height which is now crowned with the walls andthe spires of Quebec. 

Not long had the whites been there before the native huntersof the forests came to gaze with wondering eyes on thosepale-faced strangers, with their unusual attire andsurprising powers of architecture. And quickly they beggedtheir aid in an expedition against their powerful enemies, the confederated nations of the Iroquois, who dwelt in awonderful lake-region to the south, and by their strength, skill, and valor had made themselves the terror of thetribes. 

Samuel de Champlain, an adventurous Frenchman who hadalready won himself reputation by an exploration of theSpanish domain of the West Indies, was now in authority atQuebec, and did not hesitate to promise his aid in thecoming foray, moved, perhaps, by that thirst for discoveryand warlike spirit which burned deeply in his breast. TheIndians had told him of great lakes and mighty rivers to thesouth, and doubtless the ardent wish to be the first totraverse these unknown waters was a moving impulse in hisready assent. 

With the opening season the warriors gathered, Hurons andAlgonquins, a numerous band. They paddled to Quebec; gazedwith surprise on the strange buildings, the story of whichhad already been told in their distant wigwams, and on theirno less strange inmates; feasted, smoked, and debated; andshrank in consternation from the piercing report of thearquebuse and the cannon's frightful roar. 

Their savage hearts were filled with exultation on learningthe powers of their new allies. Surely these wonderfulstrangers would deal destruction on their terrible foes. Burning with thirst for vengeance, they made their facesfrightful with the war-paint, danced with frenzied gesturesround the blaze of their camp-fires, filled the air withear-piercing war-whoops, and at the word of command hastenedto their canoes and swept in hasty phalanx up the mightystream, accompanied by Champlain and eleven other whiteallies. 

Two days the war-party remained encamped at the place wherewe have seen them, hunting, fishing, fasting, andquarrelling, the latter so effectually that numbers of themtook to their canoes and paddled angrily away, scarce afourth of the original array being left for the march uponthe dreaded enemy. 

It was no easy task which now lay before them. The journeywas long, the way difficult. Onward again swept thediminutive squadron, the shallop outsailing the canoes, andmaking its way up the Richelieu, Champlain being too ardentwith the fever of discovery to await the slow work of thepaddles. He had not, however, sailed far up thatforest-enclosed stream before unwelcome sounds came to hisears. The roar of rushing and tumbling waters soundedthrough the still air. And now, through the screen ofleaves, came a vision of snowy foam and the flash of leapingwaves. The Indians had lied to him. They had promised him anunobstructed route to the great lake ahead, and here alreadywere rapids in his path. 

How far did the obstruction extend? That must be learned. Leaving the shallop, he set out with part of his men toexplore the wilds. It was no easy journey. Tangled vines, dense thickets, swampy recesses crossed the way. Here layhalf-decayed tree-trunks; there heaps of rocks lifted theirmossy tops in the path. And ever, as they went, the roar ofthe rapids followed, while through the foliage could be seenthe hurrying waters, pouring over rocks, stealing amiddrift-logs, eddying in chasms, and shooting in white linesof foam along every open space. 

Was this the open river of which he had been told; this theready route to the great lake beyond? In anger and dismay, Champlain retraced his steps, to find, when he reached theshallop, that the canoes of the savages had come up, and nowfilled the stream around it. 

The disappointed adventurer did not hesitate to tell themthat they had lied to him; but he went on to say that thoughthey had broken their word he would keep his. In truth, thevision of the mighty lake, with its chain of islands, itsfertile shores, and bordering forests, of which they hadtold him, rose alluringly before his eyes, and with all theardor of the pioneer he was determined to push onward intothat realm of the unknown. 

But their plans must be changed. Nine of the men were sentback to Quebec with the shallop. Champlain, with two others, determined to proceed in the Indian canoes. At his commandthe warriors lifted their light boats from the water, andbore them on their shoulders over the difficult portage pastthe rapids, to the smooth stream above. Here, launching themagain, the paddles once more broke the placid surface of thestream, and onward they went, still through the primevalforest, which stretched away in an unbroken expanse ofgreen. 

It was a virgin solitude, unmarked by habitation, destituteof human inmate, abundant with game; for it was thedebatable land between warring tribes, traversed only byhostile bands, the battle-ground of Iroquois and Algonquinhordes. None could dwell here in safety; evenhunting-parties had to be constantly prepared for war. Through this region of blood and terror the canoes madetheir way, now reduced to twenty-four in number, manned bysixty warriors and three white allies. The advance was madewith great caution, for danger was in the air. Scouts weresent in advance through the forests; others were thrown outon the flanks and rear, hunting for game as they went; forthe store of pounded and parched maize which the warriorshad brought with them was to be kept for food when thevicinity of the foe should render hunting impossible. 

The scene that night, as described by Champlain was one tobe remembered. The canoes were drawn up closely, side byside. Active life pervaded the chosen camp. Here somegathered dry wood for their fires; there others stripped offsheets of bark, to cover their forest wigwams; yonder thesound of axes was followed by the roar of falling trees. Thesavages had steel axes, obtained from the French, and, withtheir aid, in two hours a strong defensive work, constructedof the felled trunks, was built, a half-circle in form, withthe river at its two ends. This was the extent of theirprecautions. The returning scouts reported that the forestin advance was empty of foes. The tawny host cast themselvesin full security on the grassy soil, setting no guards, andwere soon lost in slumber, with that blind trust in fortunewhich has ever been one of the weak features of Indianwarfare. 

They had not failed, however, to consult their oracles, those spirits which the medicine-man was looked upon as anadept at invoking, and whose counsel was ever diligentlysought by the superstitious natives. The conjurer creptwithin his skin-covered lodge, where, crouched upon theearth, he filled the air with inarticulate invocations tothe surrounding spirits; while outside, squatted on theground, the dusky auditors looked and listened with awe. Suddenly the lodge began to rock violently, by the power ofthe spirits, as the Indians deemed, though Champlain fanciedthat the arm of the medicine-man was the only spirit atwork. 

"Look on the peak of the lodge, " whispered the awed savages. "You will see fire and smoke rise into the air. " Champlainlooked, but saw nothing. 

The medicine-man by this time had worked himself intoconvulsions. He called loudly upon the spirit in an unknownlanguage, and was answered in squeaking tones like those ofa young puppy. This powerful spirit was deemed to be presentin the form of a stone. When the conjurer reappeared hisbody streamed with perspiration, while the story he had totell promised an auspicious termination of the enterprise. 

This was not the only performance of the warriors. There wasanother of a more rational character. Bundles of sticks werecollected by the leading chief, which he stuck in the earthin a fixed order, calling each by the name of some warrior, the taller ones representing the chiefs. The arrangement ofthe sticks indicated the plan of battle. Each warrior was tooccupy the position indicated by his special stick. Thesavages gathered closely round, intently studied the plan, then formed their ranks in accordance therewith, broke them, reformed them, and continued the process with a skill andalacrity that surprised and pleased their civilizedobserver. 

With the early morning light they again advanced, followingthe ever-widening stream, in whose midst islands leagues inextent now appeared. Beyond came broad channels and extendedreaches of widening waters, and soon the delighted explorerfound that the river had ended and that the canoes weremoving over the broad bosom of that great lake of which theIndians had told him, and which has ever since borne hisname. It was a charming scene which thus first met the eyesof civilized man. Far in front spread the inland sea. Oneither side distant forests, clad in the fresh leafage ofJune, marked the borders of the lake. Far away, over theirleafy tops, appeared lofty heights; on the left the GreenMountains lifted their forest-clad ridges, with patches ofsnow still whitening their tops; on the right rose theclustering hills of the Adirondacks, then thehunting-grounds of the Iroquois, and destined to remain thegame-preserves of the whites long after the axe and ploughhad subdued all the remainder of that forest-clad domain. 

[Illustration: LAKE CHAMPLAIN AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. ]

They had reached a region destined to play a prominent partin the coming history of America. The savages told theirinterested auditors of another lake, thickly studded withislands, beyond that on which they now were; and stillbeyond a rocky portage over which they hoped to carry theircanoes, and a great river which flowed far down to themighty waters of the sea. If they met not the foe soonerthey would press onward to this stream, and there perhapssurprise some town of the Mohawks, whose settlementsapproached its banks. This same liquid route in later dayswas to be traversed by warlike hosts both in the French andIndian and the Revolutionary Wars, and to be signalized bythe capture of Burgoyne and his invading host, one of themost vital events in the American struggle for liberty. 

The present expedition was not to go so far. Hostile bandswere to be met before they left the sheet of water overwhich their canoes now glided. Onward they went, the routebecoming hourly more dangerous. At length they changed theirmode of progress, resting in the depths of the forest allday long, taking to the waters at twilight, and paddlingcautiously onward till the crimsoning of the eastern skytold them that day was near at hand. Then the canoes weredrawn up in sheltered coves, and the warriors, chatting, smoking, and sleeping, spent on the leafy lake borders theslow-moving hours of the day. 

The journey was a long one. It was the 29th of July whenthey reached a point far down the lake, near the presentsite of Crown Point. They had paddled all night. They hidhere all day. Champlain fell asleep on a heap of spruceboughs, and in his slumber dreamed that he had seen theIroquois drowning in the lake, and that when he tried torescue them he had been told by his Algonquin friends toleave them alone, as they were not worth the trouble ofsaving. 

The Indians believed in the power of dreams. They had besetChamplain daily to learn if he had had any visions. When nowhe told them his dream they were filled with joy. Victoryhad spoken into his slumbering ear. With gladness theyre-embarked when night came on, and continued their coursedown the lake. 

They had not far to go. At ten o'clock, through the shadowsof the night, they beheld a number of dark objects on thelake before them. It was a fleet of Iroquois canoes, heavierand slower craft than those of the Algonquins, for they weremade of oak-or elm-bark, instead of the light paper-birchused by the latter. 

Each party saw the other, and recognized that they were inthe presence of foes. War-cries sounded over the shadowywaters. The Iroquois, who preferred to do their fighting onland and who were nearer shore, hastened to the beach andbegan at once to build a barricade of logs, filling the airof the night with yells of defiance as they worked away likebeavers. The allies meanwhile remained on the lake, theircanoes lashed together with poles, dancing with a vigor thatimperilled their frail barks, and answering the taunts andmenaces of their foes with equally vociferous abuse. 

It was agreed that the battle should be deferred tilldaybreak. As day approached Champlain and his two followersarmed themselves, their armor consisting of cuirass, orbreast-plate, steel coverings for the thighs, and a plumedhelmet for the head. By the side of the leader hung hissword, and in his hand was his arquebuse, which he hadloaded with four balls. The savages of these woods were nowfirst to learn the destructive power of that weapon, forwhich in the years to come they would themselves discard theantiquated bow. 

The Iroquois much outnumbered their foes. There were sometwo hundred of them in all, tall, powerful men, the boldestwarriors of America, whose steady march excited Champlain'sadmiration as he saw them filing from their barricade andadvancing through the woods. As for himself and his twocompanions, they had remained concealed in the canoes, andnot even when a landing was made did the Iroquois behold thestrangely-clad allies of their hereditary enemies. 

Not until they stood face to face, ready for the battle-cry, did the Algonquin ranks open, and the white men advancebefore the astonished gaze of the Iroquois. Never before hadthey set eyes on such an apparition, and they stood in mutewonder while Champlain raised his arquebuse, took aim at achief, and fired. The chief fell dead. A warrior by his sidefell wounded in the bushes. As the report rang through theair a frightful yell came from the allies, and in an instanttheir arrows were whizzing thickly through the ranks oftheir foes. For a moment the Iroquois stood their ground andreturned arrow for arrow. But when from the two flanks oftheir adversaries came new reports, and other warriors bitthe dust, their courage gave way to panic terror, and theyturned and fled in wild haste through the forest, swiftlypursued by the triumphant Algonquins. 

Several of the Iroquois were killed. A number were captured. At night the victors camped in triumph on the field ofbattle, torturing one of their captives till Champlainbegged to put him out of pain, and sent a bullet through hisheart. 

Thus ended the first battle between whites and Indians onthe soil of the northern United States, in a victory forwhich the French were to pay dearly in future days, at thehands of their now vanquished foes. With the dawn of thenext day the victors began their retreat. A few days ofrapid paddling brought them to the Richelieu. Here theyseparated, the Hurons and Algonquins returning to theirhomes by way of the Ottowa, the Montagnais, who dwelt in thevicinity of Quebec, accompanying Champlain to his new-builtcity. 

The Iroquois, however, were not the men to be quelled by asingle defeat. In June of the ensuing year a war-party ofthem advanced to the mouth of the Richelieu, and a secondfierce battle took place. As another vivid example of thecharacter of Indian warfare, the story of this conflict, maybe added to that already given. 

On an island in the St. Lawrence near the mouth of theRichelieu was gathered a horde of Montagnais Indians, Champlain and others of the whites being with them. Awar-party of Algonquins was expected, and busy preparationswere being made for feast and dance, in order that theymight be received with due honor. In the midst of thisfestal activity an event occurred that suddenly changedthoughts of peace to those of war. At a distance on thestream appeared a single canoe, approaching as rapidly asstrong arms could drive it through the water. On comingnear, its inmates called out loudly that the Algonquins werein the forest, engaged in battle with a hundred Iroquois, who, outnumbered, were fighting from behind a barricade oftrees which they had hastily erected. 

In an instant the air was filled with deafening cries. Tidings of battle were to the Indians like a fresh scent tohounds of the chase: The Montagnais flew to their canoes, and paddled with frantic haste to the opposite shore, loudlycalling on Champlain and his fellow-whites to follow. Theyobeyed, crossing the stream in canoes. As the shore wasreached the warriors flung down their paddles, snatched uptheir weapons, and darted into the woods with such speedthat the Frenchmen found it impossible to keep them insight. It was a hot and oppressive day; the air was filledwith mosquitoes, --"so thick, " says Champlain, "that we couldhardly draw breath, and it was wonderful how cruelly theypersecuted us, "--their route lay through swampy soil, wherethe water at places stood knee-deep; over fallen logs, wetand slimy, and under entangling vines; their heavy armoradded to their discomfort; the air was close and heavy;altogether it was a progress fit to make one sicken ofwarfare in the wilderness. After struggling onward tillthey were almost in despair, they saw two Indians in thedistance, and by vigorous shouts secured their aid as guidesto the field of battle. 

An instinct seemed to guide the savages through that denseand tangled forest. In a short time they led the laboringwhites to a point where the woodland grew thinner, andwithin hearing of the wild war-whoops of the combatants. Soon they emerged into a partial clearing, which had beenmade by the axes of the Iroquois in preparing theirbreastwork of defence. Champlain gazed upon the scene beforehim with wondering eyes. In front was a circular barricade, composed of trunks of trees, boughs, and matted twigs, behind which the Iroquois stood like tigers at bay. In theedge of the forest around were clustered their yelling foes, screaming shrill defiance, yet afraid to attack, for theyhad already been driven back with severe loss. Their hopenow lay in their white allies, and when they saw Champlainand his men a yell arose that rent the air, and a cloud ofwinged arrows was poured into the woodland fort. Thebeleaguered Iroquois replied with as fierce a shout, andwith a better-aimed shower of arrows. At least Champlain hadreason to think so, for one of these stone-headed dartssplit his ear, and tore a furrow through the muscles of hisneck. One of his men received a similar wound. 

Furious with pain, Champlain, secure in his steel armor, rushed to the woodland fort, followed by his men, anddischarged their arquebuses through its crevices upon thedismayed savages within, who, wild with terror at this newand deadly weapon, flung themselves flat upon the earth ateach report. 

At each moment the scene of war grew more animated. Theassailing Indians, yelling in triumph, ran up under cover oftheir large wooden shields, and began to tug at the trees ofthe barricade, while other of them gathered thickly in thebushes for the final onset. And now, from the forest depths, came hurrying to the scene a new party of French allies, --aboat's crew of fur-traders, who had heard the firing andflown with warlike eagerness to take part in the fight. 

The bullets of these new assailants added to the terror ofthe Iroquois. They writhed and darted to and fro to escapethe leaden missiles that tore through their frail barricade. At a signal from Champlain the allies rushed from theirleafy covert, flew to the breastwork, tore down or clamberedover the boughs, and precipitated themselves into the fort, while the French ceased their firing and led a party ofIndians to the assault on the opposite side. 

The howls of defiance, screams of pain, deafeningwar-whoops, and dull sound of deadly blows were nowredoubled. Many of the Iroquois stood their ground, hewingwith tomahawks and war-clubs, and dying not unrevenged. Someleaped the barrier and were killed by the crowd outside;others sprang into the river and were drowned; of them allnot one escaped, and at the end of the conflict but fifteenremained alive, prisoners in the hands of their deadly foes, destined victims of torture and flame. 

On the next day a large party of Hurons arrived, and heardwith envy the story of the fight, in which they were toolate to take part. The forest and river shore were crowdedwith Indian huts. Hundreds of warriors assembled, who spentthe day in wild war-dances and songs, then loaded theircanoes and paddled away in triumph to their homes, without athought of following up their success and striking yetheavier blows upon their dreaded enemy. Even Champlain, whowas versed in civilized warfare, made no attempt to leadthem to an invasion of the Iroquois realm. He did not dreamof the deadly reprisal which the now defeated race wouldexact for this day of disaster. 

Of the further doings of Champlain we shall relate but oneincident, --a thrilling adventure which he tells of his beinglost in the interminable woodland depths. Year after year hecontinued his explorations; now voyaging far up the Ottawa;now reaching the mighty inland sea of Lake Huron, voyagingupon its waters, and visiting the Indian villages upon itsshores; now again battling with the Iroquois, who, thistime, drove their assailants in baffled confusion from theirfort; now joining an Indian hunting-party, and taking partwith them in their annual deer-hunt. For this theyconstructed two lines of posts interlaced with boughs, eachmore than half a mile long, and converging to a point wherea strong enclosure was built. The hunters drove the deerbefore them into this enclosure, where others despatchedthem with spears and arrows. It was during this expeditionthat the incident referred to took place. 

Champlain had gone into the forest with the hunters. Here hesaw a bird new to him, and whose brilliant hue and strangeshape struck him with surprise and admiration. It was, tojudge from his description, a red-headed woodpecker. Bent onpossessing this winged marvel, he pursued it, gun in hand. From bough to bough, from tree to tree, the bird fittedonward, leading the unthinking hunter step by step deeperinto the wilderness. Then, when he surely thought to capturehis prize, the luring wonder took wing and vanished in theforest depths. 

Disappointed, Champlain turned to seek his friends. But inwhat direction should he go? The day was cloudy; he had lefthis pocket-compass at the camp; the forest spread in endlesslines around him; he stood in helpless bewilderment anddismay. 

All day he wandered blindly, and at nightfall found himselfstill in a hopeless solitude. Weary and hungry, he lay downat the foot of a great tree, and passed the night in brokenslumbers. The next day he wandered onward in the same blindhelplessness, reaching, in late afternoon, the waters of aforest pond, shadowed by thick pines, and with water-fowl onits brink. One of these he shot, kindled a fire and cookedit, and for the first time since his misadventure tastedfood. At night there came on a cold rain, drenched by whichthe blanketless wanderer was forced to seek sleep in theopen wood. 

Another day of fruitless wandering succeeded; another nightof unrefreshing slumber. Paths were found in the forest, butthey had been made by other feet than those of men, and iffollowed would lead him deeper into the seemingly endlesswild. Roused by the new day from his chill couch, the lostwanderer despairingly roamed on, now almost hopeless ofescape. Yet what sound was that which reached his ear? Itwas the silvery tinkle of a woodland rill, which creptonward unseen in the depths of a bushy glen. A ray of hopeshot into his breast. This descending rivulet might lead himto the river where the hunters lay encamped. With renewedenergy he traced its course, making his way through thicketand glen, led ever onwards by that musical sound, till hefound himself on the borders of a small lake, within whichthe waters of his forest guide were lost. 

This lake, he felt, must have an outlet. He circled roundit, clambering over fallen trees and forcing his way throughthorny vines, till he saw, amid roots of alder-bushes, astreamlet flow from the lakeside. This he hopefullyfollowed. Not far had he gone before a dull roar met hisears, breaking the sullen silence of the woods. It was thesound of falling waters. He hastened forward. The wood grewthinner. Light appeared before him. Pushing gladly onward, he broke through the screening bushes and found himself onthe edge of an open meadow, wild animals its only tenants, some browsing on the grass, others lurking in bushy coverts. Yet a more gladsome sight to his eyes was the broad river, which here rushed along in a turbulent rapid, whose roar itwas which had come to his ear in the forest glades. 

He looked about him. On the rocky river-bank was aportage-path made by Indian feet. The place seemed familiar. A second sweeping gaze; yes, here were points he had seenbefore. He was saved. Glad at heart, he camped upon theriver-brink, kindled a fire, cooked the remains of his game, and passed that night, at least, in dreamless sleep. Withdaybreak he rose, followed the river downwards, and soon sawthe smoke of the Indian camp-fires ascending in the morningair. In a few moments he had joined his dusky friends, greatly to their delight. They had sought him everywhere invain, and now chided him gently for his careless risk, declaring that thenceforth they would never suffer him to gointo the forest alone. 

SIR WILLIAM PHIPS AND THE SILVER-SHIP. 

The story of a poor boy, born on the edge of thewilderness, --"at a despicable plantation on the river ofKennebec, and almost the farthest village of the easternsettlement of New England, "--yet who ended his life asgovernor and nobleman, is what we have to tell. It is one ofthe most romantic stories in history. He was born in 1651, being a scion of the early days of the Puritan colony. Hecame of a highly prolific pioneer family, --he had twentybrothers and five sisters, --yet none but himself of thisextensive family are heard of in history or biography. Genius is too rare a quality to be spread through such aflock. His father was a gunsmith. Of the children, Williamwas one of the youngest. After his father's death, he helpedhis mother at sheep-keeping in the wilderness till he waseighteen years of age, then there came "an unaccountableimpulse upon his mind that he was born to greater matters. "The seed of genius planted in his nature was beginning togerminate. 

The story of the early life of William Phips may be told ina few words. From sheep-tending he turned to carpentry, becoming an expert ship-carpenter. With this trade at hisfingers' ends he went to Boston, and there first learned toread and write, accomplishments which had not penetrated tothe Kennebec. His next step was to marry, his wife being awidow, a Mrs. Hull, with little money but good connections. She lifted our carpenter a step higher in the social scale. At that time, says his biographer, "he was one tall beyondthe common set of men, and thick as well as tall, and strongas well as thick; exceedingly robust, and able to conquersuch difficulties of diet and of travel as would have killedmost men alive. He was of a very comely though a very manlycountenance, " and in character of "a most incomparablegenerosity. " He hated anything small or mean, was somewhatcholeric, but not given to nourish malice. 

[Illustration: POND ISLAND, MOUTH OF THE KENNEBEC. ]

To this notable young man there soon came an adventure. Hehad become a master workman, and built a ship for someBoston merchants on the river Sheepscote, a few leagues fromhis native Kennebec. The vessel was finished, and ready tobe loaded with lumber; but its first cargo proved to be verydifferent from that which Phips had designed. For Indiansattacked the settlement; the inhabitants, flying for theirlives, crowded on board the vessel, and Phips set sail witha shipload of his old friends and neighbors, who could payhim only in thanks. It is not unlikely that some of his ownbrothers and sisters were among the rescued. Certainly theextensive family of Phips must have spread somewhat widelyover the coast region of Maine. 

William Phips's first adventure had proved unprofitableexcept in works of charity. But he was not one to be easilyput down, having in his nature an abundance of the perilousstuff of ambition. He was not the man to sit down and waitfor fortune to come to him. Rather, he belonged to those whogo to seek fortune. He was determined, he told his wife, tobecome captain of a king's ship, and owner of a fair brickhouse in the Green Lane of North Boston. It took him someeight or nine years to make good the first of thesepredictions, and then, in the year 1683, he sailed into theharbor of Boston as captain of the "Algier Rose, " a frigateof eighteen guns and ninety-five men. 

It was by the magic wand of sunken silver that our heroachieved this success. The treasures of Peru, loaded onSpanish ships, had not all reached the ports of Spain. Somecargoes of silver had gone to the bottom of the Atlantic. Phips had heard of such a wreck on the Bahamas, had sailedthither, and had made enough money by the enterprise to payhim for a voyage to England. While in the Bahamas he hadbeen told of another Spanish wreck, "wherein was lost amighty treasure, hitherto undiscovered. " It was this thattook him to England. He had made up his mind to be thediscoverer of this sunken treasure-ship. The idea tookpossession of him wholly. His hope was to interest somewealthy persons, or the government itself, in his design. The man must have had in him something of thatsilver-tongued eloquence which makes persuasion easy, forthe royalties at Whitehall heard him with favor and support, and he came back to New England captain of a king's ship, with full powers to search the seas for silver. 

And now we have reached the verge of the romance of the lifeof William Phips. He had before him a difficult task, but hepossessed the qualities which enable men to meet andovercome difficulty. The silver-ship was said to have beensunk somewhere near the Bahamas; the exact spot it was noteasy to learn, for half a century had passed since itsdemise. Sailing thither in the "Algier Rose, " Phips sethimself to find the sunken treasure. Here and there hedredged, using every effort to gain information, tryingevery spot available, ending now in disappointment, startingnow with renewed hope, continuing with unflagging energy. His frequent failures would have discouraged a common man, but Phips was not a common man, and would not accept defeat. 

The resolute searcher had more than the difficulties of thesea-bottom to contend with. His men lost hope, grew weary ofunprofitable labor, and at last rose in mutiny They fanciedthat they saw their way clear to an easier method of gettingsilver, and marched with drawn cutlasses to the quarterdeck, where they bade their commander to give up his uselesssearch and set sail for the South Seas. There they wouldbecome pirates, and get silver without dredging or drudging. 

It was a dangerous crisis. Phips stood with empty handsbefore that crew of armed and reckless men. Yet choler andcourage proved stronger than sword-blades. Roused to fury, he rushed upon the mutineers with bare hands, knocked themdown till the deck was strewn with fallen bodies, and bysheer force of anger and fearlessness quelled the mutiny andforced the men to return to their duty. 

They were quelled, but not conquered. The daring adventurerwas to have a more dangerous encounter with these would-bepirates. Some further time had passed in fruitless search. The frigate lay careened beside a rock of a Bahaman island, some eight or ten men being at work on its barnacled sides, while the others had been allowed to go on shore. Theypretended that they wished to take a ramble in the tropicalwoods. What they wished to do was to organize a moreeffectual mutiny, seize the ship, leave the captain andthose who held with him on that island, and sail away aslawless rovers of the deep. 

Under the great trees of that Spanish island, moss-grown andbowery, in a secluded spot which nature seemed to have setaside for secret counsels, the mutinous crew perfected theirplans, and signed a round-robin compact which pledged allpresent to the perilous enterprise. One man they needed tomake their project sure. They could not do without thecarpenter. He was at work on the vessel. They sent him amessage to come to them in the woods. He came, heard theirplans, affected to look on them favorably, but asked for ahalf-hour to consider the matter. This they were notdisposed to grant. They must have an answer at once. Thecarpenter looked about him; dark and resolute facessurrounded him. Yet he earnestly declared he must have thetime. They vigorously declared he should not. He waspersistent, and in the end prevailed. The half-hour respitewas granted. 

The carpenter then said that he must return to the vessel. His absence from his work would look suspicious. They couldsend a man with him to see that he kept faith. Theenterprise would be in danger if the captain noticed hisabsence. The mutineers were not men of much intelligence orshrewdness, and consented to his return. The carpenter, whohad at heart no thought of joining the mutineers, had gainedhis point and saved the ship. In spite of the guard upon hismovements he managed to get a minute's interview withCaptain Phips, in which he told him what was afoot. 

He was quickly at his post again, and under the eyes of hisguard, but he had accomplished his purpose. Captain Phipswas quick to realize the danger, and called about him thosewho were still in the ship. They all agreed to stand by him. By good fortune the gunner was among them. The energeticcaptain lost no time in devising what was to be done. Duringthe work on the ship the provisions had been taken ashoreand placed in a tent, where several pieces of artillery weremounted to defend them, in case the Spaniards, to whom theisland belonged, should appear. Quickly but quietly theseguns were brought back to the ship. Then they and the otherguns of the ship were loaded and brought to bear on thetent, and the gangway which connected the ship with the landwas drawn on board. No great time had elapsed, but CaptainPhips was ready for his mutinous crew. 

To avert suspicion during these preparations, the carpenter, at the suggestion of Phips, had gone ashore, and announcedhimself as ready to join the mutineers. This gave them greatsatisfaction, and after a short interval to complete theirplans they issued in a body from the woods and approachedthe ship. As they drew near the tent, however, they lookedat one another in surprise and dismay. The guns were gone!

"We are betrayed!" was the fearful whisper that ran roundthe circle. 

"Stand off, you wretches, at your peril!" cried the captain, in stern accents. 

The guns of the ship were trained upon them. They knew themettle of Captain Phips. In a minute more cannon-balls mightbe ploughing deadly gaps through their midst. They dared notfly; they dared not fight. Panic fear took possession ofthem. They fell upon their knees in a body, begged thecaptain not to fire, and vowed that they would rather liveand die with him than any man in the world. All they hadfound fault with was that he would not turn pirate;otherwise he was the man of their hearts. 

The captain was stern; they were humble and beseeching. Inthe end he made them deliver up their arms, and thenpermitted them to come on board, a thoroughly quelled bodyof mutineers. But Captain Phips knew better than to trustthese men a third time. The moment the ship was in sailingtrim he hoisted anchor and sailed for Jamaica, where heturned the whole crew, except the few faithful ones, adrift, and shipped another crew, smaller, but, as he hoped, moretrustworthy. 

The treasure-ship still drew him like a magnet. He had notbegun to think of giving up the search. Discouragement, failure, mutiny, were to him but incidents. The silver wasthere, somewhere, and have it he would, if perseverancewould avail. From Jamaica he sailed to Hispaniola. There hisfluent persuasiveness came again into play. He met a veryold man, Spaniard or Portuguese, who was said to know wherethe ship lay, and "by the policy of his address" wormed fromhim some further information about the treasure-ship. Theold man told him that it had been wrecked on a reef ofshoals a few leagues from Hispaniola, and just north of Portde la Plata, which place got its name from the landing thereof a boat-load of sailors with plate saved from the sinkingvessel. Phips proceeded thither and searched narrowly, butwithout avail. The sea held its treasures well. The charmedspot was not to be found. The new crew, also, seemed growingmutinous. Phips had had enough of mutiny. He hoisted sailand made the best of his way back to England. 

Here trouble and annoyance awaited him. He found powerfulenemies. Doubtless ridicule also met his projects. To ploughthe bottom of the Atlantic, in search of a ship that hadgone down fifty years before, certainly seemed to yield fairfood for mirth. Yet the polite behavior, the plausiblespeech, the enthusiasm and energy of the man had theireffect. He won friends among the higher nobility. The storyof the mutiny and of its bold suppression had also itseffect. A man who could attack a horde of armed mutineerswith his bare fists, a man so ready and resolute in time ofdanger, so unflinchingly persevering in time ofdiscouragement, was the man to succeed if success werepossible. Finally, the Duke of Albemarle and some othersagreed to supply funds for the expedition, and Captain Phipsin no long time had another ship under his feet, and wasonce more upon the seas. 

His ship was now accompanied by a tender. He had contrivedmany instruments to aid him in his search. It is said thathe invented the diving-bell. There was certainly one used byhim, but it may have been an old device, improved by hisYankee ingenuity. 

Port de la Plata was reached in due time, the year being1684 or 1685. Here Phips had a large canoe or periago made, fitted for eight or ten oars. It was hollowed out from thetrunk of a cotton-tree, he using "his own hands and adze" inthe work, enduring much hardship, and "lying abroad in thewoods many nights together. "

The shoals where search was to be made were known by thename of the "Boilers. " They lay only two or three feet belowthe surface, yet their sloping sides were so steep that, says one author, "a ship striking on them would immediatelysink down, who could say how many fathom, into the ocean?"

The tender and the periago were anchored near thesedangerous shoals, and the work went on from them. Dayspassed, still of fruitless labor. The men, as they said, could make nothing of all their "peeping among the Boilers, "Fortunately they had calm weather and a quiet sea, and couldall day long pursue their labors around and among theshoals. 

A day came in which one of them, looking far down into thesmooth water, saw what is known as a sea-feather, one of theattractive products of those gardens of the seas, growingout of what seemed a rock below him. He turned to an Indiandiver, and asked him to dive down and bring it up. 

"We will take it to the captain, " he said. "It is tiresomegoing back always empty-handed. "

The diver made the leap. In a minute he was back with thesea-feather in his hand. There were signs of excitement onhis dusky face as he climbed into the boat. He had indeed asurprising story to tell. 

"I saw great guns down there, " he said. 

"What? guns?" was the general cry. 

"Yes, great guns, as from some ship. "

"Guns!" The despondency of the crew at once changed toardent enthusiasm. Had they at length hit upon the spot forwhich they had so long sought in vain? The Indian was toldto dive again, and see what could be found. 

He did so. When he came up, their eyes were ready to startfrom their heads, for he bore with him an object of infinitepromise to their wealth-craving souls. It was a lump ofsilver, --a "sow, " they called it, --worth some two or threehundred pounds in money. 

The search was over! The spot was found! Fortune lay withintheir reach! Marking the spot with a buoy, they rowed backto the ship, on which the captain had remained. Here they, disposed to have some sport, declared with long faces thatthe affair had better come to an end. They were wasting timeand labor; the sea had no treasure to yield. 

"If we were wise, captain, " said the leading speaker, "we'dpull up stakes and sail back for merry old England. There'snothing but failure here. As much work done in digging anddrudging at home would bring tenfold more profit. "

Phips listened in silence to him and the others, lookingfrom face to face. 

"Our disappointments have been many, " he replied, in a calmand resolute tone. "Yet I do not despair. I am determined towait patiently on God's providence. We will find thetreasure-ship yet, my lads. Do not lose courage. "

Turning his gaze to one side as he spoke, he startedviolently, and then asked, in a tone so constrained that itseemed the voice of agony, --

"Why, what is this? Whence comes this?"

He had caught sight of the sow of silver, which they hadcunningly laid a little out of direct vision. 

"It is silver, Captain Phips, " said the spokesman. "We didbut jest with you. That came from the bottom of the sea. Allis well; we have found the treasure-ship. "

"Then, thanks be to God, we are made!" cried the captain, clasping his hands in fervent thankfulness. 

There was no longer any lack of energy in the labor. Allhands went to work with a hearty good-ill. Curiosity tolearn what the sea had to yield wrought upon them as much asdesire for reward. Up came the silver, sow after sow. In ashort time they had brought up no less than thirty-two tonsof this precious metal, with six tons besides that wereraised and appropriated by a Captain Adderly, of Providence, whom Phips had engaged to help him, and who took this meansof helping himself. His crew was small, but his diligencegreat. 

The silver was not all in sows. Much of it was coined, andthis coined silver was, in many cases, covered with a crust, several inches thick, of limestone-like material. It cameout in great lumps, the crust needing to be broken with irontools, when out would tumble whole bushels of rusty piecesof eight, Nor was the treasure confined to silver. Therecame up gold in large quantities, and also pearls and otherprecious stones. The Spaniards had gleaned actively in thosedays of old, when the treasures of Peru were theirs for thetaking; and the ocean, its secret hiding-place once found, yielded generously. In short, the treasure recovered is saidto have been worth nearly three hundred thousand poundssterling. They did not exhaust the deposit. Their provisionsfailed, and they had to leave before the work was completed. Others who came after them were well paid for their labor. 

The treasure on board, Captain Phips had new trouble. Themen, seeing "such vast litters of silver sows and pigs comeon board, " were not content with ordinary sailors' pay. Theymight even be tempted to seize the ship and take its richlading for themselves. Phips was in great apprehension. Hehad not forgotten the conduct of his former crew. He did hisutmost to gain the friendship of his men, and promised thema handsome reward for their services, even if he had to givethem all his own share. 

England was reached in safety, and the kingdom electrifiedby the story of Captain Phips's success. The romanticincidents of the narrative attracted universal attention. Phips was the hero of the hour. Some of his enemies, it istrue, did their utmost to make him a wronged hero. Theydiligently sought to persuade James II. , then on the throne, to seize the whole treasure as the appanage of the crown, and not be content with the tithe to which his prerogativeentitled him. James II. Was tyrannical but not unjust. Herefused to rob the mariners. "Captain Phips, " he said, "hesaw to be a person of that honesty, ability, and fidelitythat he should not want his countenance. "

Phips was certainly honest, --so much so, indeed, thatlittle of the treasure came to him. His promises to his menwere carefully kept; his employers were paid the last pennyof their dues; in the end, out of the whole, there remainedto himself less than sixteen thousand pounds. The Duke ofAlbemarle, moved by admiration for his honesty, gave him, asa present from his wife, a gold cup of the value of nearlyone thousand pounds. As for the king, he was so pleased withthe whole conduct of the adventurer, and perhaps so charmedby Phips's silvery speech, that he conferred on him thehonor of knighthood, and the plain Kennebec boy became SirWilliam Phips, and a member of the aristocracy of England. 

Every one acknowledged that the discoverer owed his successto merit, not to luck. He was evidently a man of the highestcapacity, and might, had he chosen, have filled high placesand gained great honors in England. But America was hisnative land, and he was not to be kept from its shores. 

He became such a favorite at court, that one day, when KingJames was particularly gracious to him, and asked him whatfavor he desired, he replied that he asked nothing forhimself, but hoped that the king would restore to his nativeprovince its lost liberties, by returning the charter ofwhich it had been deprived. 

"Anything but that!" exclaimed James, who had no idea ofrestoring liberty to mother-land or colony. 

He appointed Phips, however, high sheriff of New England, and the adventurer returned home as a man of power andstation. On his way there he visited the silver-ship again, and succeeded in adding something of value to his fortune. Then, sailing to Boston, he rejoined his wife after a fiveyears' absence, and, to complete the realization of hispredictions, immediately began to build himself a "fairbrick house in Green Lane. "

We have finished our story, which was to tell how thesheep-boy of the Kennebec rose to be high sheriff of NewEngland, with the privilege of writing "Sir" before hisname. His after-life was little less memorable than the partof it told, but we have no space left to tell it in. 

King James was soon driven from the throne, and King Williamtook his place, but Sir William Phips retained his power andinfluence. In 1690 he led an army against Port Royal inAcadia, took it, and came back to receive the plaudits ofthe Bostonians. He next attempted to conquer all Canada fromthe French, attacked Quebec with a strong force, but wasrepulsed, largely in consequence of a storm that scatteredhis ships. The Bostonians had now no plaudits for him. Theexpedition had cost New England about forty thousand pounds, and there was not a penny in the treasury. The difficultywas overcome by the issue of treasury-notes, an expedientwhich was not adopted in England till five years afterwards. Charles Montagu, the alleged inventor of exchequer billsdoubtless owed his idea to the sharp-witted Bostonians. 

The beginning of 1692 found Sir William again in England, whence he came back to his native land as captain-generaland governor-in-chief of the colony of Massachusetts. Fromsheep-boy he had risen to the title of "Your Excellency. "Phips was governor of Massachusetts during the witchcraftdelusion. The part he took in it was not a very active one;but when, in 1693, he found that grand juries were beginningto throw out indictments, and petit juries to returnverdicts of "Not guilty, " he ended the whole mad business byemptying the prisons, then containing about one hundred andfifty persons committed, while over two hundred more wereaccused. In 1693 Governor Phips led an expedition againstthe Indians of Maine, and forced them to conclude a treatyof peace. In 1694 he went to England, to answer certainaccusations against his conduct as governor, and here wastaken suddenly sick, and died February 18, 1695. 

The noble house of Phips, thus instituted, has steadilygrown in rank and dignity since that date, bearingsuccessively the titles of baron, viscount, earl, untilfinally, in 1838, a Phips attained the rank of marquis ofNormandy. It is a remarkable development from the life ofthat poor boy, one of a family of twenty-six, whose earlylife was spent in tending sheep in the wilderness of Maine. 

THE STORY OF THE REGICIDES. 

The years 1675 and 1676 were years of terrible experiencefor New England. The most dreadful of all the Indianoutbreaks of that region--that known as King Philip'sWar--was raging, and hundreds of the inhabitants fellvictims to the ruthless rage of their savage foes. Wholevillages perished, their inhabitants being slain on thespot, or carried away captive for the more cruel fate ofIndian vengeance. The province was in a state of terror, fornone knew at what moment the terrible war-whoop might sound, and the murderous enemy be upon them with tomahawk andbrand. 

Everywhere the whites were on the alert. The farmer went tohis fields with his musket as an indispensable companion. Outlying houses were guarded like fortresses. Even places ofworship were converted into strongholds, and the peopleprayed with musket in hand, and, while listening to theexhortations of their pastors, kept keenly alive to thesounds without, for none could tell at what moment the foemight break in on their devotions. 

In the frontier town of Hadley, Massachusetts, then on thenorthwestern edge of civilization, on a day in the summer of1676, the people were thus all gathered at themeeting-house, engaged in divine service. It was a day offasting and prayer, set aside to implore God's aid torelieve the land from the reign of terror which had comeupon it. Yet the devout villagers, in their appeal forspiritual aid, did not forget the importance of temporalweapons. They had brought their muskets with them, and tookpart in the pious exercises with these carnal instruments ofsafety within easy reach of their hands. 

Their caution was well advised. In the midst of theirdevotional exercises a powerful body of Indians made asudden onslaught upon the village. They had crept up intheir usual stealthy way, under cover of trees and bushes, and their wild yells as they assailed the outlying houseswere the first intimation of their approach. 

These alarming sounds reached the ears of the worshippers, and quickly brought their devotional services to an end. Inan instant all thought of dependence upon the Almighty wasreplaced by the instinct of dependence upon themselves. Grasping their weapons, they hurried out, to find themselvesface to face with the armed and exultant savages, who nowcrowded the village street, and whose cries of triumphfilled the air with discordant sounds. 

The people were confused and frightened, huddled togetherwith little show of order or discipline, and void of thespirit and energy necessary to meet their threatening foe. The Indians were on all sides, completely surrounding them. The suddenness of the alarm and the evidence of imminentperil robbed the villagers of their usual vigor andreadiness, signs of panic were visible, and had the Indiansattacked at that moment the people must have been hurledback in disorderly flight, to become in great part thevictims of their foes. 

It was a critical moment. Was Hadley to suffer the fate ofother frontier towns, or would the recent prayers of pastorand people bring some divine interposition in their favor?Yes; suddenly it seemed as if God indeed had come to theiraid; for as they stood there in a state of nerveless dread avenerable stranger appeared in their midst, a tall, statelypersonage, with long white hair, and dressed in strange, old-fashioned garb, his countenance beaming with energy anddecision. 

"Quick, " he cried, "into line and order at once! The Indiansare about to charge upon you. Take heart, and prepare forthem, or they will slaughter you like sheep. "

With the air of one born to command, he hastily formed theband of villagers into military array, displaying such skilland ardor that their temporary fright vanished, to besucceeded by courage and confidence. Had not the Almightysent this venerable stranger to their aid? Should they fearwhen led by God's messenger?

"Now, upon them!" cried their mysterious leader. "We musthave the advantage of the assault!"

Putting himself at their head, he led them on with an ardorremarkable in one of his years. The savages, who had beenswarming together preparatory to an attack, beheld withsurprise this orderly rush forward of the villagers, andshrunk from their death-dealing and regular volleys. And thewhite-haired form who led their foes with such fearlessaudacity struck terror to their superstitious souls, fillingthem with dread and dismay. 

The struggle that followed was short and decisive. Animatedby the voice and example of their leader, the small bandattacked their savage enemies with such vigor and show ofdiscipline that in very few minutes the Indians were in fullflight for the wilderness, leaving a considerable number ofdead upon the ground. Of the villagers only two or three hadfallen. 

The grateful people, when the turmoil and confusion of theaffray were over, turned to thank their venerable leader forhis invaluable aid. To their surprise he was nowhere to beseen. He had vanished in the same mysterious manner as hehad appeared. They looked at one another in bewilderment. What did this strange event signify? Had God really sent oneof his angels from heaven, in response to their prayers, torescue them from destruction? Such was the conclusion towhich some of the people came, while the most of thembelieved that there was some miracle concerned in theirstrange preservation. 

This interesting story, which tradition has preserved in theform here given, has a no less interesting sequel. We know, what most of the villagers never knew, who their preserverwas, and how it happened that he came so opportunely totheir rescue. To complete our narrative we must go backyears in time, to the date of 1649, the year of theexecution of Charles I. Of England. 

Fifty-nine signatures had been affixed to the death-warrantof this royal criminal. A number of the signers afterwardspaid the penalty of that day's work on the scaffold. We areconcerned here only with two of them, Generals Whalley andGoffe, who, after the death of Cromwell and the return ofCharles II. , fled for safety to New England, knowing wellwhat would be their fate if found in their mother-land. Athird of the regicides, Colonel Dixwell, afterwards joinedthem in America, but his story is void of the romance whichsurrounded that of his associates. 

Whalley and Goffe reached Boston in July, 1660. The vesselthat brought them brought also tidings that Charles II. Wason the throne. The fugitives were well received. They hadstood high in the Commonwealth, brought letters ofcommendation from Puritan ministers in England, and hoped todwell in peace in Cambridge, where they decided to fix theirresidence. But the month of November brought a new story toBoston. In the Act of Indemnity passed by Parliament thenames of Whalley and Goffe were among those left out. Theyhad played a part in the execution of the king, and to theregicides no mercy was to be shown. Their estates wereconfiscated; their lives declared forfeited; any man whobefriended them did so at his own peril. 

These tidings produced excitement and alarm in Boston. ThePuritans of the colony were all warmly inclined towardstheir endangered guests. Some would have protected them atall hazards; others felt inclined to help them to escape; afew thought it might be their duty to take them prisoners. 

The illustrious fugitives settled this difficulty byprivately leaving Cambridge and making their way overland toNew Haven. Here they were well received. In truth, the Rev. John Davenport, one of the founders of the colony, did nothesitate to speak to his congregation in their behalf. Wequote from his bold and significant words, whose slightlymasked meaning his hearers failed not to understand. 

"Withhold not countenance, entertainment, and protectionfrom the people of God, --whom men may call fools andfanatics, --if any such come to you from other countries, asfrom France or England, or any other place. Be not forgetfulto entertain strangers. Hide the outcasts, betray not himthat wandereth. Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, Moab. Bethou a covert to them from the face of the spoiler. "

Mr. Davenport was not afraid to live up to the spirit of hiswords. For several weeks the regicides dwelt openly in hishouse. But meanwhile a proclamation from the king hadreached Boston, ordering their arrest as traitors andmurderers. News of its arrival was quickly received at NewHaven. The fugitives, despite the sympathy of the people, were in imminent danger. Measures must be taken for theirsafety. 

They left New Haven and proceeded to Milford, where theyshowed themselves in public. But by night they covertlyreturned, and for more than a week lay hid in Mr. Davenport's cellar. This cellar is still in existence, andthe place in it where the fugitives are said to have hiddenmay still be seen. 

But their danger soon grew more imminent. Peremptory orderscame from England for their arrest. Governor Endicott feltobliged to act decisively. He gave commission to two youngroyalists who had recently come from England, empoweringthem to search through Massachusetts for the fugitives. Letters to the governors of the other colonies, requestingaid in their purpose, were also given them. 

These agents of the king at once started on their mission ofdeath. They had no difficulty in tracing the fugitives toNew Haven. One person went so far as to tell them that themen they sought were secreted in Mr. Davenport's house. Stopping at Guilford, they showed their warrant to Mr. Leete, the deputy-governor, and demanded horses for theirjourney, and aid and power to search for and apprehend thefugitives. 

Deputy Leete had little heart for this task. He knew verywell where the fugitives were, but managed to make suchexcuses and find so many reasons for delay that the agents, who arrived on Saturday, were detained until Sunday, andthen, as this was Puritan New England, could not get awaytill Monday. Meanwhile a secret messenger was on his way toNew Haven, to warn the fugitives of their danger. Onhearing this startling news they hastily removed from theirhiding-place in Mr. Davenport's house, and were taken to asecluded mill two miles away. 

The royal messengers reached New Haven and demanded theassistance of the authorities in their search. They failedto get it. Every obstacle was thrown in their way. Theyequally failed to find any trace of the fugitives, thoughthe latter did not leave the immediate vicinity of the town. After two days at the mill they were taken to a hiding-placeat a spot called Hatchet Harbor, and soon afterwards, finding this place too exposed, they removed to acavern-like covert in a heap of large stones, near thesummit of West Rock, not far from the town. Here theyremained in hiding for several months, being supplied withfood from a lonely farm-house in the neighborhood. 

The royal agents, finding their search fruitless and theirefforts to get aid from the magistrates vexatiously baffled, at length returned to Boston, where they told a bitter storyof the obstinate and pertinacious contempt of his Majesty'sorders displayed by these New Haven worthies. The chase thusgiven up, the fugitives found shelter in a house in Milford, where they dwelt in seclusion for two years. 

But danger returned. The king demanded blood-revenge for hisfather's death. Commissioners from England reached Boston, armed with extraordinary powers of search. The pursuit wasrenewed with greater energy than before. The fugitives, finding the danger imminent, and fearing to bring theirprotectors into trouble, returned to their cave. Here theylay for some time in security, while the surrounding countrywas being actively scoured by parties of search. On oneoccasion, when out of their place of shelter, they were sonearly overtaken that they only escaped by hiding under abridge. This was what is known as Neck Bridge, over MillRiver. As they sat beneath it they heard above them thehoof-beats of their pursuers' horses on the bridge. Thesleuth-hounds of the law passed on without dreaming hownearly their victims had been within their reach. This wasnot the only narrow escape of the fugitives. Several timesthey were in imminent danger of capture, yet fortune alwayscame to their aid. 

[Illustration: THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES. ]

A day arrived in which the cave ceased to serve as a safeharbor of refuge. A party of Indians, hunting in the woods, discovered its lurking occupants. Fearing that the savagesmight betray them, to obtain the large reward offered, thefugitives felt it necessary to seek a new place of shelter. A promising plan was devised by their friends, who includedall the pious Puritans of the colony. Leaving the vicinityof New Haven, and travelling by night only, the agedregicides made their way, through many miles of forest, toHadley, then an outpost in the wilderness. Here the Rev. John Russell, who ministered to the spiritual wants of theinhabitants, gladly received and sheltered them. His househad been lately added to, and contained many rooms andclosets. In doing this work a hiding-place had beenprepared for his expected guests. One of the closets, in thegarret, had doors opening into two chambers, while itsfloor-boards were so laid that they could be slipped asideand admit to a dark under-closet. From this there seems tohave been a passage-way to the cellar. 

With this provision for their retreat, in case the houseshould be searched, Mr. Russell gave harbor to the huntedregicides, the secret of their presence being known only tohis family and one or two of the most trusty inhabitants. The fugitives, happily for them, had no occasion to availthemselves of the concealed closet. Their place of hidingremained for years unsuspected. In time the rigor of thesearch was given up, and for many years they remained herein safety, their secret being remarkably well kept. It wasin 1664 that they reached Hadley. In 1676, when ColonelGoffe so opportunely served the villagers in theirextremity, so little was it known that two strangers haddwelt for twelve years concealed in their midst, that someof the people, as we have said, decided that their rescuermust be an angel from heaven, in default of otherexplanation of his sudden appearance. 

There is little more to say about them. General Whalley diedat Hadley, probably in the year of the Indian raid, and wasburied in the cellar of Mr. Russell's house, his secretbeing kept even after his death. His bones have since beenfound there. As for General Goffe, his place of exit fromthis earth is a mystery. Tradition says that he leftHadley, went "westward towards Virginia, " and vanished fromhuman sight and knowledge. The place of his death and burialremains unknown. 

It may be said, in conclusion, that Colonel Dixwell joinedhis fellow-regicides in Hadley in 1665. He had taken thename of Davids, was not known to be in America, and wascomparatively safe. He had no reason to hide, and dwelt in aretired part of the town, where his presence and intercoursedoubtless went far to relieve the monotony of life of hisfellows in exile. He afterwards lived many years in NewHaven, where he spent much of his time in reading, --historybeing his favorite study, --in walking in the neighboringgroves, and in intercourse with the more cultivatedinhabitants, the Rev. Mr. Pierpont being his intimatefriend. He married twice while here, and at his death left awife and two children, who resumed his true name, which hemade known in his last illness. His descendants are wellknown in New England, and the Dixwells are among the mostrespected Boston families of to-day. 

HOW THE CHARTER WAS SAVED. 

Not until James II. Became king of England was a determinedeffort made to take away the liberties of the Americancolonies. All New England, up to that time, had beenvirtually free, working under charters of very liberalcharacter, and governing itself in its own way and with itsown elected rulers. Connecticut, with whose history we arenow concerned, received its charter in 1662, from CharlesII. , and went on happily and prosperously until Jamesascended the throne. This bigoted tyrant, who spent hisshort reign in seeking to overthrow the liberties ofEngland, quickly determined that America neededdisciplining, and that these much too independent colonistsought to be made to feel the dominant authority of the king. The New England colonies in particular, which claimedcharter rights and disdained royal governors, must be madeto yield their patents and privileges, and submit to therule of a governor-general, appointed by the king, withparamount authority over the colonies. 

Sir Edmund Andros, a worthy minion of a tyrant, was chosenas the first governor-general, and arrived at Boston inDecember, 1686, determined to bring these rampant coloniststo a sense of their duty as humble subjects of his royalmaster. He quickly began to display autocratic authority, with an offensiveness of manner that disgusted the citizensas much as his acts of tyranny annoyed them. The severalcolonies were peremptorily ordered to deliver up theircharters. With the response to this command we are not hereconcerned, except in the case of Connecticut, whichabsolutely refused. 

Months passed, during which the royal representative apedkingly manners and dignity in Boston, and Connecticut wenton undisturbed except by his wordy fulminations. But inOctober of the next year he made his appearance at Hartford, attended by a body-guard of some sixty soldiers andofficers. The Assembly was in session. Sir Edmund marchedwith an important air into the chamber, and in a peremptorytone demanded that the charter should be immediately placedin his hands. 

This demand put the members into an awkward dilemma. Thecharter was in Hartford, in a place easy of access; SirEdmund was prepared to seize it by force if it were notquickly surrendered; how to save this precious instrument ofliberty did not at once appear. The members temporized, received their unwelcome visitor with every show of respect, and entered upon a long and calm debate, with a wearisomedeliberation which the impatience of the governor-generalcould not hasten or cut short. 

Governor Treat, the presiding officer of the Assembly, addressed Sir Edmund in tones of remonstrance and entreaty. The people of America, he said, had been at the greatestexpense and had suffered the most extreme hardships inplanting the country; they had freely spent their blood andtreasure in defending it against savage natives and foreignaggressors; and all this had been done for the honor andglory of the motherland. He himself had endured hardshipsand been environed by perils, and it would be like giving uphis life to surrender the patent and privileges so dearlybought and so long enjoyed. 

Argument of this kind was wasted on Sir Edmund. Remonstranceand appeal were alike in vain. It was the charter he wanted, not long-winded excuses, and he fumed and fretted while theslow-talking members wasted the hours in what he looked uponas useless argument. 

Night had been drawing near on his entrance. Darknesssettled upon the Assembly while the debate went on. Lightswere now brought in, --the tallow candles of our colonialforefathers, --and placed upon the table round which themembers sat. By this time Sir Edmund's impatience at theirprocrastination had deepened into anger, and he demanded thecharter in so decided tones that the reluctant governor gaveorders that it should be produced. The box containing it wasbrought into the chamber and laid upon the table, the coverremoved, and there before their eyes lay the preciousparchment, the charter of colonial liberty. 

Still the members talked and procrastinated. But it is noteasy to restrain the hound when within sight of the gamewhich it has long pursued. Before the eyes of Sir Edmund laythat pestiferous paper which had given him such annoyance. His impatience was no longer to be restrained. In the midstof the long-drawn-out oratory of the members he rose andstepped towards the table to seize the object in dispute. 

At that critical instant there came an unexpected diversion. During the debate a number of the more important citizenshad entered the room, and stood near the table round whichthe members sat. Suddenly, from the midst of those people, along cloak was deftly flung, with such sure aim that it fellupon the circle of blazing candles, extinguishing them all, and in a moment throwing the room into total darkness. 

Confusion followed. There were quick and excited movementswithin the room. Outside, the crowd which had assembled setup a lusty cheer, and a number of them pushed into thechamber. The members stirred uneasily in their seats. SirEdmund angrily exclaimed, --

"What means this, gentlemen? Is some treachery at work?Guard the charter! Light those candles instantly!"

The attendants hastened to obey; but haste in procuringlight in those days had a different meaning than now. Thelucifer-match had not yet been dreamed of. Theflint-and-steel was a slow conception. Several minuteselapsed before the candles again shed their feeble glowthrough the room. 

With the first gleam of light every eye was fixed upon thebox which had contained the charter. It was empty! Thecharter was gone!

Just what Sir Edmund said on this occasion history has notrecorded. Those were days in which the most exalted personsdealt freely in oaths, and it is to be presumed that theinfuriated governor-general used words that must have sadlyshocked the pious ears of his Puritan auditors. 

But the charter had vanished, and could not be sworn backinto the box. Where it had gone probably no one knew;certainly no one was willing to say. The members looked atone another in blank astonishment. The lookers-on manifestedas blank an ignorance, though their faces beamed withdelight. It had disappeared as utterly as if it had sunkinto the earth, and the oaths of Sir Edmund and his effortsto recover it proved alike in vain. 

But the mystery of that night after-history has revealed, and the story can now be told. In truth, some of thosepresent in the hall knew far more than they cared to tell. In the darkness a quick-moving person had made a lanethrough the throng to a neighboring window whose sash wasthrown up. Out of this he leaped to the ground below. Herepeople were thickly gathered. 

"Make way, " he said (or may have said, for his real wordshave not been preserved), "for Connecticut and liberty. Ihave the charter. "

The cheers redoubled. The crowd separated and let himthrough. In a minute he had disappeared in the darknessbeyond. 

Sir Edmund meanwhile was storming like a fury in the hall;threatening the colony with the anger of the king;declaring that every man in the chamber should be searched;fairly raving in his disappointment. Outside, the boldfugitive sped swiftly along the dark and quiet streets, ending his course at length in front of a noble and imposingoak-tree, which stood before the house of the HonorableSamuel Wyllys, one of the colonial magistrates. 

This tree was hollow; the opening slender without, largewithin. Deeply into this cavity the fugitive thrust his arm, pushing the precious packet as far as it would go, andcovering it thickly with fine débris at the bottom of thetrunk. 

[Illustration: THE CHARTER OAK, HARTFORD. ]

"So much for Sir Edmund, " he said. "Let him now robConnecticut of the charter of its liberties, if he can. "

Tradition--for it must be acknowledged that this story istraditional, though probably true in its mainelements--tells us that this daring individual was CaptainJoseph Wadsworth, a bold and energetic militia-leader whowas yet to play another prominent part in the drama ofcolonial life. 

As for the Charter Oak, it long remained Hartford's mostvenerated historical monument. It became in time a hugetree, twenty-five feet in circumference near the roots. Thecavity in which the charter was hidden grew larger year byyear, until it was wide enough within to contain a child, though the orifice leading to it gradually closed until itwas hardly large enough to admit a hand. This grand monumentto liberty survived until 1856, when tempest in its boughsand decay in its trunk brought it in ruin to the earth. 

What followed may be briefly told. The charter lost, SirEdmund Andros assumed control, declared the privilegesgranted by it to be annulled, and issued a proclamation inwhich the liberties of the colonies were replaced by thetyranny of autocratic rule. The colonists were forced tosubmit, but their submission was one of discontent andbarely-concealed revolt. Fortunately the tyranny of SirEdmund lasted not long. The next year the royal tyrant ofEngland was driven from his throne, and the chain which hehad laid upon the neck of Britannia and her colonies wassuddenly removed. 

The exultation in America knew no bounds. Andros was seizedand thrown into prison in Boston, to preserve him from aruder fate from the mob. Early in the next year he wasshipped to England. Captain Wadsworth withdrew the charterfrom the hiding-place which had safely kept its secret untilthat hour, and placed it in the hands of the delightedgovernor. Jurists in England had declared that it was stillin force, and the former government was at once resumed, amid the most earnest manifestations of joy by the populace. 

Yet the liberties of Connecticut were soon again to beimperilled, and were to be save once more by the intrepiddaring of Captain Wadsworth. 

It was now the year 1693. William of Orange had been forsome years on the English throne. While far more liberalthan his predecessor, his acts had somewhat limited theformer freedom of the New England colonies. He did notattempt to appoint royal governors over these truculentpeople, but on Governor Fletcher, of New York, wereconferred privileges which went far to set aside the charterrights of the neighboring colony. 

In brief, this royal governor was given full power ofcommand over the militia of Connecticut, an act in directcontravention of the charter, which placed the militarycontrol in the hands of the colonial authorities. Fletcherpressed his claim. The governor indignantly refused to yieldhis rights. The people ardently supported him. 

Filled with blustering indignation, Governor Fletcher leftNew York and came to Hartford, determined that his authorityshould be acknowledged. He reached there on October 26, 1693. 

He called upon the governor and other authorities, armedwith the royal commission, and sternly demanded that thecommand of the militia should be handed over to him. 

"You have played with me in this matter, " he asserted. "NowI demand an answer, immediate, and in two words, Yes or No. And I require that the militia of Hartford shall beinstantly ordered under arms. "

"As for the latter, it shall be as you wish, " answered thegovernor "As for the former, we deny your authority. Norwill I, as you suggest, consent to hold command as yourrepresentative. "

The train-bands were ordered out. The demand had beenexpected, and no long time elapsed before thesecitizen-soldiers were assembled on the drill-ground ofHartford, --an awkward squad, probably, if we may judge fromthe train-bands of later days, but doubtless containing muchgood soldierly material. 

At their head stood their senior officer, Captain Wadsworth, the same bold patriot who had so signally defeated a royalgovernor six years before. He was now to add to his fame byas signally defeating another royal governor. 

When the New York potentate, accompanied by the governor anda number of the assemblymen, and by the members of hisstaff, reached the place, they found the valiant captainwalking up and down before his men, busily engaged inputting them through their exercises. 

Governor Fletcher stepped forward importantly, produced hiscommission and instructions, and ordered them to be read tothe assembled troops. The person to whom he handed themunfolded the commission, advanced to the front of the line, and prepared to read. He did not know with whom he had todeal. 

"Beat the drums!" cried Captain Wadsworth, in a stentorianvoice. 

Instantly there broke out a roar that utterly drowned thevoice of the reader. 

"Silence!" exclaimed Fletcher, angrily advancing. 

The drums ceased their rattling uproar. Silence once moreprevailed. The reader began again. 

"Drum! drum, I say!" thundered Wadsworth. 

Again such an uproar filled the air as only drum-headsbeaten by vigorous arms can make. 

"Silence! silence!" cried Fletcher, furiously. The drumsceased. 

"Drum! drum, I say!" roared Wadsworth. Then, turning to thegovernor, and handling his sword significantly, hecontinued, in resolute tones, "If I am interrupted again Iwill make the sun shine through you in a minute. "

This fierce threat ended the business. Governor Fletcher hadno fancy for being riddled by this truculent captain ofmilitia. King William's commission doubtless had its weight, but the king was three thousand miles away across the seas, and Captain Wadsworth and his trainbands were unpleasantlynear. Governor Fletcher deemed it unwise to try too stronglythe fiery temper of the Hartford militiaman; he and hissuite returned hastily to New York, and that was the lastthat was heard of a royal commander for the militia ofConnecticut. 

HOW FRANKLIN CAME TO PHILADELPHIA. 

To-day we may make our way from New York to Philadelphia ina two-hour "Flyer, " with palace-car accommodations. To-morrow, perhaps, the journey will be made in ninetyminutes. Such, at least, is the nearly-realized dream ofrailroad-men. A century and a half ago this journey tookconsiderably more time, and was made with much less comfort. There is on record an interesting narrative of how the tripwas made in 1723, which is worth giving as a contrast topresent conditions. 

The traveller was no less notable a personage than BenjaminFranklin, who, much to the after-advantage of the QuakerCity, had run away from too severe an apprenticeship inBoston, failed to obtain employment in New York, and learnedthat work might be had in Philadelphia. The story of how hecame thither cannot be told better than in his own homelylanguage, so we will suffer him to speak for himself. 

[Illustration: PRINTING-PRESS AT WHICH FRANKLIN WORKED WHENA BOY. ]

"Philadelphia was one hundred miles farther; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things tofollow me round by sea. In crossing the bay, we met with asquall that tore our rotten sail to pieces, prevented ourgetting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long Island. In ourway a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, felloverboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the waterto his shock pate and drew him up, so that we got him inagain. His ducking sobered him a little, and he went tosleep, taking first out of his pocket a book, which hedesired I would dry for him. "

The book proved to be the "Pilgrim's Progress, " in Dutch, well printed, and with copper-plate illustrations, a factwhich greatly interested the book-loving traveller. 

"On approaching the island, we found it was a place wherethere could be no landing, there being a great surge on thestony beach. So we dropped anchor, and swung out our cabletowards the shore. Some people came down to the shore, andhallooed to us, as we did to them; but the wind was so high, and the surge so loud, that we could not understand eachother. There were some small boats near the shore, and wemade signs, and called to them to fetch us; but they eitherdid not comprehend us, or it was impracticable, so they wentoff. 

"Night approaching, we had no remedy but to have patiencetill the wind abated, and in the mean time the boatman andmyself concluded to sleep, if we could; and so we crowdedinto the hatches, where we joined the Dutchman, who wasstill wet, and the spray, breaking over the head of ourboat, leaked through to us, so that we were soon almost aswet as he. In this manner we lay all night, with very littlerest; but the wind abating the next day, we made a shift toreach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on thewater, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthyrum, the water we sailed on being salt. "

The story seems hard to credit. The travellers had alreadyspent fifteen times the period it now takes to make thecomplete journey, and were but fairly started; while theyhad experienced almost as much hardship as though they werewrecked mariners, cast upon a desolate coast. The remainderof the journey was no less wearisome. The traveller thuscontinues his narrative:

"In the evening I found myself very feverish, and went tobed; but having read somewhere that cold water drunkplentifully was good for a fever, I followed theprescription, and sweat plentifully most of the night. Myfever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, Iproceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to go toBurlington, where I was told I should find boats that wouldcarry me the rest of the way to Philadelphia. 

"It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon a good deal tired; so I stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all night, beginning now to wish I had neverleft home. I made so miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I was suspected to be somerunaway indentured servant, and in danger of being taken upon that suspicion. However, I proceeded next day, and in theevening got to an inn, within eight or ten miles ofBurlington, kept by one Dr. Brown. He entered intoconversation with me while I took some refreshment, and, finding I had read a little, became very obliging andfriendly. Our acquaintance continued all the rest of hislife. He had been, I imagine, an ambulatory quack doctor, for there was no town in England, nor any country in Europe, of which he could not give a very particular account. He hadsome letters, and was ingenious, but he was an infidel, andwickedly undertook, some years after, to turn the Bible intodoggerel verse, as Cotton had formerly done with Virgil. Bythis means he set many facts in a ridiculous light, andmight have done mischief with weak minds if his work hadbeen published, but it never was. 

"At his house I lay that night, and arrived the next morningat Burlington, but had the mortification to find that theregular boats were gone a little before, and no otherexpected to go before Tuesday, this being Saturday, wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town, of whom Ihad bought some gingerbread to eat on the water, and askedher advice. She proposed to lodge me till a passage by someother boat occurred. I accepted her offer, being muchfatigued by travelling on foot. Understanding I was aprinter, she would have had me remain in that town andfollow my business, being ignorant what stock was necessaryto begin with. She was very hospitable, gave me a dinner ofox-cheek with great good-will, accepting only of a pot ofale in return; and I thought myself fixed till Tuesdayshould come. 

"However, walking in the evening by the side of the river, aboat came by which I found was going towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in, and, as therewas no wind, we rowed all the way; and about midnight, nothaving yet seen the city, some of the company were confidentwe must have passed it, and would row no farther; the othersknew not where we were; so we put towards the shore, gotinto a creek, landed near an old fence, with the rails ofwhich we made a fire, the night being cold, in October, andthere we remained till daylight. Then one of the companyknew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little abovePhiladelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of thecreek, and arrived there about eight or nine o'clock on theSunday morning, and landed at Market Street wharf. "

The closing portion of this naïve narrative is asinteresting in its way as the opening. The idea thatPhiladelphia could be passed in the darkness and notdiscovered seems almost ludicrous when we consider itspresent many miles of river front, and the long-drawn-outglow of illumination which it casts across the stream. Nothing could be more indicative of its village-likecondition at the time of Franklin's arrival, and itsenormous growth since. Nor are the incidents and conditionsof the journey less striking. The traveller, making the besttime possible to him, had been nearly five full days on theway, and had experienced a succession of hardships whichwould have thrown many men into a sick-bed at the end. Ittook youth, health, and energy to accomplish the difficultpassage from New York to Philadelphia in that day; a journeywhich we now make between breakfast and dinner, withconsiderable time for business in the interval. Verily, theworld moves. But to return to our traveller's story. 

"I have been the more particular in this description of myjourney, and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind compare such unlikely beginningswith the figure I have since made there. I was in myworking-dress, my best clothes coming round by sea. I wasdirty from my being so long in the boat. My pockets werestuffed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no one, nor where to look for lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and the want of sleep, I was very hungry; and mywhole stock of cash consisted in a single dollar, and abouta shilling in copper coin, which I gave to the boatmen formy passage. At first they refused it, on account of myhaving rowed, but I insisted on their taking it. Man issometimes more generous when he has little money than whenhe has plenty; perhaps to prevent his being thought to havebut little. 

"I walked towards the top of the street, gazing about tillnear Market Street, where I met a boy with bread. I hadoften made a meal of dry bread, and, inquiring where he hadbought it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed meto. I asked for biscuits, meaning such as we had at Boston;that sort, it seems, was not made in Philadelphia. I thenasked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none. Not knowing the different prices, nor the names of thedifferent sorts of bread, I told him to give methree-penny-worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and having no room in my pockets, walked offwith a roll under each arm, and eating the other. 

"Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father, when she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut Street, and part ofWalnut Street, eating my roll all the way, and, cominground, found myself again at Market Street wharf, near theboat I came in, to which I went for a draught of theriver-water, and, being filled with one of my rolls, gavethe other two to a woman and her child that came down theriver in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther. 

"Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by thistime had many cleanly-dressed people in it, who were allwalking the same way. I joined them, and was thereby ledinto the great meeting-house of the Quakers, near themarket. I sat down among them, and, after looking round awhile and hearing nothing said, became very drowsy throughlabor and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fastasleep, and continued so till the meeting broke up, whensome one was kind enough to arouse me. This, therefore, wasthe first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia. "

There is nothing more simple, homely, and attractive inliterature than Franklin's autobiographical account of thefirst period of his life, of which we have transcribed aportion, nor nothing more indicative of the great changeswhich time has produced in the conditions of this country, and which it produced in the life of our author. As for hisjourney from New York to Philadelphia, it presents, for thetime involved, as great a series of adventures and hardshipsas does Stanley's recent journey through Central Africa. Andas regards his own history, the contrast between theFranklin of 1723 and 1783 was as great as that which hascome upon the city of his adoption. There is somethingamusingly ludicrous in the picture of the great Franklin, soiled with travel, a dollar in his pocket representing hisentire wealth, walking up Market Street with two great rollsof bread under his arms and gnawing hungrily at a third;while his future wife peers from her door, and laughs toherself at this awkward youth, who looked as if he had neverset foot on city street before. 

We can hardly imagine this to be the Franklin who afterwardsbecame the associate of the great and the admired ofnations, who argued the cause of America before theassembled notables of England, who played a leading part inthe formation of the Constitution of the United States, andto whom Philadelphia owes several of its most thriving anduseful institutions. Millions of people have since pouredinto the City of Brotherly Love, but certainly no otherjourney thither has been nearly so momentous in itsconsequences as the humble one above described. 

THE PERILS OF THE WILDERNESS. 

On the 31st day of October, in the year 1753, a young man, whose name was as yet unknown outside the colony ofVirginia, though it was destined to attain world-wide fame, set out from Williamsburg, in that colony, on a momentouserrand. It was the first step taken in a series of eventswhich were to end in driving the French from North America, and placing this great realm under English control, --theopening movement in the memorable French and Indian War. Thename of the young man was George Washington. His age wastwenty-one years. He began thus, in his earliest manhood, that work in the service of his country which was tocontinue until the end. 

The enterprise before the young Virginian was one thatneeded the energies of youth and the unyielding perseveranceof an indefatigable spirit. A wilderness extended far andwide before him, partly broken in Virginia, but farther onuntouched by the hand of civilization. Much of his route layover rugged mountains, pathless save by the narrow anddifficult Indian trails. The whole distance to be traversedwas not less than five hundred and sixty miles, with anequal distance to return. The season was winter. It was atask calculated to try the powers and test the endurance ofthe strongest and most energetic man. 

The contest between France and England for American soil wasabout to begin. Hitherto the colonists of those nations hadkept far asunder, --the French in Canada and on the greatlakes; the English on the Atlantic coast. Now the Englishwere feeling their way westward, the Frenchsouthward, --lines of movement which would touch each otheron the Ohio. The touch, when made, was sure to be a hostileone. 

England had established an "Ohio Company, "--ostensibly fortrade, really for conquest. The French had built forts, --oneat Presque Isle, on Lake Erie; one on French Creek, near itshead-waters; a third at the junction of French Creek withthe Alleghany. This was a bold push inland. They had donemore than this. A party of French and Indians had made theirway as far as the point where Pittsburgh now stands. Herethey found some English traders, took them prisoners, andconveyed them to Presque Isle. In response to this, someFrench traders were seized by the Twightwee Indians, a tribefriendly to the English, and sent to Pennsylvania. The touchhad taken place, and it was a hostile one. 

[Illustration: WASHINGTON'S HOME AT MT. VERNON. ]

Major Washington--he had been a Virginian adjutant-general, with the rank of major, since the age of nineteen--waschosen for the next step, that of visiting the French fortsand demanding the withdrawal of their garrisons from whatwas claimed to be English territory. The mission was adelicate one. It demanded courage, discretion, and energy. Washington had them all. No better choice could have beenmade than of this young officer of militia. 

The youthful pioneer proceeded alone as far asFredericksburg. Here he engaged two companions, one asFrench, the other as Indian, interpreter, and proceeded. Civilization had touched the region before him, but notsubdued it. At the junction of Will's Creek with the Potomac(now Cumberland, Maryland), he reached the extreme outpostof civilization. Before him stretched more than four hundredmiles of unbroken wilderness. The snow-covered Alleghanieswere just in advance. The chill of the coming winter alreadywas making itself felt. Recent rains had swollen thestreams. They could be crossed only on log-rafts, or by themore primitive methods of wading or swimming, --expedientsnone too agreeable in freezing weather. But youth and alofty spirit halt not for obstacles. Washington pushed on. 

At Will's Creek he added to his party. Here he was joined byMr. Gist, an experienced frontiersman, who knew well theways of the wilderness, and by four other persons, two ofthem Indian traders. On November 14 the journey was resumed. Hardships now surrounded the little party of adventurers. Miles of rough mountain had to be climbed; streams, swollento their limits, to be crossed; unbroken and interminableforests to be traversed. Day after day they pressed onward, through difficulties that would have deterred all but thehardiest and most vigorous of men. In ten days they hadaccomplished an important section of their journey, andreached those forks of the Ohio which were afterwards toattain such celebrity both in war and peace, --as the site ofFort Duquesne and of the subsequent city of Pittsburgh. 

Twenty miles farther on the Indian settlement of Logstownwas reached. Here Washington called the Indian chiefstogether in conference. The leading chief was known asTanacharison (Half-King), an Indian patriot, who had beenmuch disturbed by the French and English incursions. He hadbeen to the French forts. What he had said to theircommanders is curious, and worthy of being quoted:

"Fathers, I am come to tell you your own speeches; what yourown mouths have declared. Fathers, you in former days set asilver basin before us, wherein was the leg of a beaver, anddesired all the nations to come and eat of it, --to eat inpeace and plenty, and not to be churlish to one another; andthat, if any person should be found to be a disturber, Ihere lay down by the edge of the dish a rod, which you mustscourge them with; and if your father should get foolish inmy old days, I desire you may use it upon me as well asothers. Now, fathers, it is you who are the disturbers inthis land, by coming and building your towns, and taking itaway unknown to us, and by force. . . . 

"Fathers, I desire you may hear me in civilness; if not, wemust handle that rod which was laid down for the use of theobstreperous. . . . Fathers, both you and the English arewhite; we live in a country between; therefore, the landbelongs to neither one nor the other. The Great Being aboveallowed it to be a place of residence for us; so, fathers, Idesire you to withdraw, as I have done our brothers theEnglish: for I will keep you at arms' length. I lay thisdown as a trial for both, to see which will have thegreatest regard for it, and that side we will stand by, andmake equal sharers with us. Our brothers, the English, haveheard this, and I now come to tell it to you; for I am notafraid to discharge you off this land. "

The poor Half-King was to find that he had undertaken a tasklike that of discharging the wolves out of the sheep-cote. The French heard his protest with contempt, and went onbuilding their forts. He thereupon turned to the English, whom he, in the simplicity of his heart, imagined had nopurpose save that of peaceful trade. His "fathers" hadcontemned him; to his "brothers" he turned in amity. 

Washington told his purposes to his dusky auditors. He hadcome to warn the French intruders off the Indian lands. Hedesired a guide to conduct him to the French fort, onehundred and twenty miles distant. His statement pleased theIndians. Their English "brothers" were in sympathy withthem. They would help them to recover their lands. Thegenerosity of their white brothers must have seemed highlymeritorious to the simple savages. They had yet to learnthat the French and the English were the two millstones, andthey and their lands the corn to be ground between. 

The Half-King, with two other chiefs (Jeskakake and WhiteThunder by name), volunteered to guide the whites. A hunterof noted skill also joined them. Once more the expeditionset out. The journey was a terrible one. Winter had set in;rain and snow fell almost unceasingly; the forest was nextto impassable; great were their toils, severe theirhardships. On December 5 they reached the French outpost atVenango (now Franklin), where French Creek joins theAlleghany. Here they were met by Captain Joncaire, theFrench commandant, with a promising show of civility. Secretly, however, the astute Frenchman sought to robWashington of his Indians. Fortunately, the aborigines knewthe French too well to be cajoled, and were ready toaccompany Washington when he set out on his remainingjourney. Their route now led up French Creek to Fort LeBoeuf, on the head-waters of that stream. This they reachedon the 12th, after a wearisome experience of frontiertravel. Forty-one days had passed since Washington leftWilliamsburg. 

The commandant here was M. De St. Pierre, an elderly man, ofcourteous manners, a knight of the order of St. Louis. Hereceived Washington cordially, treated him with everyhospitality while in the fort, did everything except tocomply with Governor Dinwiddie's order to leave the works. 

Washington's instruction were conveyed in a letter from thegovernor of Virginia, which asserted that the lands of theOhio and its tributaries belonged to England, declared thatthe French movements were encroachments, asked by whoseauthority an armed force had crossed the lakes, and demandedtheir speedy departure from English territory. 

St. Pierre's reply was given in a sealed letter. It declaredthat he was a soldier, his duty being to obey orders, not todiscuss treaties. He was there under instructions from thegovernor of Canada, here he meant to stay. Such was thepurport of the communication. The tone was courteous, but init was no shadow of turning. 

While the Frenchman was using the pen, Washington was usinghis eyes. He went away with an accurate mental picture ofthe fort, its form, size, construction, location, and thedetails of its armament. His men counted the canoes in theriver. The fort lay about fifteen miles south of Lake Erie. A plan of it, drawn by Washington, was sent to England. 

At the time fixed for their return, Washington found thesnow falling so fast that he decided to make his journey toVenango by canoe, the horses, which they had used in theoutward journey, being forwarded through the forest withtheir baggage. St. Pierre was civil to the last. He was ashospitable as polite. The canoe was plentifully stocked withprovisions and liquors. But secretly artifices werepractised to lure away the Indians. The Half-King was a manwhose friendship was worth bidding for. Promises were made, present were given, the Indians were offered every advantageof friendship and trade. 

But the Half-King was not to be placated by fine words. Heknew the French. Delay was occasioned, however, of whichWashington complained, and hinted at the cause. 

"You are certainly mistaken, Major Washington, " declared thepolite Frenchman. "Nothing of the kind has come to myknowledge. I really cannot tell why the Indians delay. Theyare naturally inclined to procrastinate, you know. Certainly, everything shall be done on my part to get youoff in good time. "

Finally, the Indians proving immovable in their decision, the party got off. The journey before them was no pleasureone, even with the advantage of a water-route, and a canoeas a vehicle of travel. Rocks and drifting trees obstructedthe channel. Here were shallows; there, dangerous currents. The passage was slow and wearisome, and not without itsperils. 

"Many times, " says Washington, "all hands were obliged toget out, and remain in the water half an hour or more ingetting over the shoals. At one place the ice had lodged andmade it impassable by water, and we were obliged to carryour canoe across a neck of land a quarter of a mile over. "

In six days they reached Venango, having journeyed onehundred and thirty miles by the course of the stream. Thehorses had preceded them, but had reached the fort in sopitiable a condition as to render them hardly fit to carrythe baggage and provisions. Washington, Mr. Gist, and Mr. Vanbraam, the French interpreter, clad in Indian walkingcostume, proceeded on foot, the horses following with theirdrivers. After three days' journey the poor animals hadbecome so feeble, the snow so deep, the cold so severe, thatWashington and Gist determined to push forward alone, leaving Mr. Vanbraam as leader of the remainder of theparty. 

Gun in hand, and knapsack--containing his food andpapers--on back, the intrepid explorer pushed forward withhis companion, who was similarly equipped. Leaving the paththey had been following, they struck into a straight trailthrough the woods, purposing to reach the Alleghany a fewmiles above the Ohio. 

The journey proved an adventurous one. They met an Indian, who agreed to go with them and show them the nearest way. Ten or twelve miles were traversed, at the end of whichWashington grew very foot-sore and weary. The Indian hadcarried his knapsack, and now wished to relieve him of hisgun. This Washington refused, whereupon the savage grewsurly. He pressed them to keep on, however, saying thatthere were Ottawa Indians in the forest, who might discoverand scalp them if they lay out at night. By going on theywould reach his cabin and be safe. 

They advanced several miles farther. Then the Indian, whohad fallen behind them, suddenly stopped. On looking backthey perceived that he had raised his gun, and was aiming atthem. The next instant the piece was discharged. 

"Are you shot?" cried Washington. 

"No, " answered Gist. 

"After this fellow, then. "

The Indian had run to the shelter of a large white oak, behind which he was loading as fast as possible. The otherswere quickly upon him, Gist with his gun at his shoulder. 

"Do not shoot, " said Washington. "We had best not kill theman, but we must take care of him. "

The savage was permitted to finish his loading, even toputting in a ball, but his companions took good heed to givehim no further opportunity to play the traitor. At a littlerun which they soon reached they bade the Indian to make afire, on pretence that they would sleep there. They had nosuch intention, however. 

"As you will not have him killed, " said Gist, "we must gethim away, and then we must travel all night. "

Gist turned to the Indian. "I suppose you were lost, andfired your gun, " he said, with a transparent affectation ofinnocence. 

"I know the way to my cabin, " replied the Indian "It is notfar away. "

"Well, then, do you go home. We are tired, but will followyour track in the morning. Here is a cake of bread for you, and you must give us meat in the morning. "

The savage was glad enough to get away. Gist followed andlistened, that he might not steal back on them. Then theywent half a mile farther, where they made a fire, set theircompass, and, after a short period of rest, took to theroute again and travelled all night. 

The next night they reached the Alleghany. Here they weredestined to experience a dangerous adventure. They hadexpected to cross on the ice, but the river proved to befrozen only for a short distance from the shores. That nightthey slept with the snow for a bed, their blankets for acovering. When dawn appeared the same dubious prospectconfronted them. The current of the river still swept past, loaded with broken ice. 

"There is nothing for it but a raft, " said Washington. "Andwe have but one hatchet to aid us in making it. Let us towork. "

To work they fell, but it was sunset before the raft wascompleted. Not caring to spend another night where theywere, they launched the raft and pushed from shore. Itproved a perilous journey. Before the stream was halfcrossed they were so jammed in the floating ice that itseemed every moment as if their frail support would sink, and they perish in the swift current. Washington tried withhis setting-pole to stop the raft and let the ice run by. His effort ended unfortunately. Such was the strength of thecurrent that the ice was driven against the pole with aviolence that swept him from his feet and hurled him intowater ten feet deep. Only that chance which seems the workof destiny saved him. He fell near enough to the raft toseize one of its logs, and after a sharp scramble was upagain, though dripping with icy water. They continued theirefforts, but failed to reach either shore, and in the endthey were obliged to spring from their weak support to anisland, past which the current was sweeping the raft. 

The escape was almost like the proverbial one "from thefrying-pan to the fire. " The island was destitute ofshelter. As the night advanced the air grew colder, and theadventurers suffered severely. Mr. Gist had his hands andfeet frozen, --a disaster which Washington, despite hiswetting, fortunately escaped. The morning dawned at length. Hope returned to their hearts. The cold of the night haddone one service, it had frozen the water between the islandand the eastern bank of the stream. The ice bore theirweight. They crossed in safety, and the same day reached atrading-post, recently formed, near the ground subsequentlyto be celebrated as that of Braddock's defeat. 

Here they rested two or three days, Gist recovering from theeffects of his freezing, Washington improving theopportunity to pay a visit to Queen Aliquippa, an Indianprincess, whose palace--if we may venture to call it so--wasnear by. The royal lady had been angry that he had neglectedher on his way out. This visit, an apology, and a presenthealed her wounded feelings, and disposed her to a graciousreception. 

Nothing could be learned of Vanbraam and the remainder ofthe party. Washington could not wait for them. He hurriedforward with Gist, crossed the Alleghanies to Will's Creek, and, leaving his companion there, hastened onward toWilliamsburg, anxious to put his despatches in GovernorDinwiddie's hands. He reached there on January 16, havingbeen absent eleven weeks, during which he had traversed adistance of eleven hundred miles. 

What followed is matter of common history. Dinwiddie wasincensed at St. Pierre's letter. The French had come tostay; that was plain. If the English wanted a footing in theland they must be on the alert. A party was quickly sent tothe Ohio forks to build a fort, Washington having suggestedthis as a suitable plan. But hardly was this fort begunbefore it was captured by the French, who hastened to erectone for themselves on the spot. 

Washington, advancing with a supporting force, met a Frenchdetachment in the woods, which he attacked and defeated. Itwas the opening contest of the French and Indian War. 

As for Fort Duquesne, which the French had built, it gaverise to the most disastrous event of the war, the defeat ofGeneral Braddock and his army, on their march to capture it. It continued in French hands till near the end of the war, its final capture by Washington being nearly the closingevent in the contest which wrested from the hands of theFrench all their possessions on the American continent. 

SOME ADVENTURES OF MAJOR PUTNAM. 

The vicinity of the mountain-girdled, island-dotted, tourist-inviting Lake George has perhaps been the scene ofmore of the romance of war than any other locality thatcould be named. Fort Ticonderoga, on the ridge between thatbeautiful sheet of water and Lake Champlain, is a pointvital with stirring memories, among which the strikingexploit of Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain boys is ofimperishable interest. Fort William Henry, at the lower endof Lake George, is memorable as the locality of one of themost nerve-shaking examples of Indian treachery andbarbarity, a scene which Cooper's fruitful pen has broughtwell within the kingdom of romance. The history of the wholevicinity, in short, is laden with picturesque incident, andthe details of fact never approached those of romanticfiction more closely than in the annals of this interestingregion. 

Israel Putnam, best known to us as one of the most daringheroes of the Revolution, began here his career, in theFrench and Indian War, as scout and ranger, and of noAmerican frontiersman can a more exciting series ofadventures be told. Some of these adventures it is ourpurpose here to give. 

After the Fort William Henry massacre, the American forceswere concentrated in Fort Edward, on the head-waters of theHudson; Putnam, with his corps of Rangers, occupying anoutpost station, on a small island near the fort. Fearing ahostile visit from the victorious French, the commander, General Lyman, made all haste to strengthen his defences, sending a party of a hundred and fifty men into theneighboring forest to cut timber for that purpose. CaptainLittle, with fifty British regulars, was deputized toprotect these men at their labors. This supporting party wasposted on a narrow ridge leading to the fort, with a morasson one side, a creek on the other, and the forest in front. 

One morning, at daybreak, a sentinel who stood on the edgeof the morass, overlooking the dense thicket which filledits depths, was surprised at what seemed to him, in the hazylight, a flight of strange birds coming from the leafyhollow. One after another of these winged objects passedover his head. After he had observed them a moment or two, he saw one of them strike a neighboring tree, and clingquivering to its trunk. A glance was enough for the drowsysentinel. He was suddenly wide awake, and his musket andvoice rang instant alarm, for the bird which he had seen wasa winged Indian arrow. He had been made a target forambushed savages, eager to pick him off without alarming theparty which he guarded. 

A large force of Indians had crept into the morass duringthe night, with the hope of cutting off the laborers and theparty of support. The sentinel's alarm shot unmasked them. Whooping like discovered fiends, they flew from theircovert upon the unarmed laborers, shot and tomahawked thosewithin reach, and sent the others in panic flight to thefort. Captain Little and his band flew to the rescue, andchecked the pursuit of the savages by hasty volleys, butsoon found themselves so pressed by superior numbers thatthe whole party was in danger of being surrounded and slain. 

In this extremity Captain Little sent a messenger to GeneralLyman, imploring instant aid. He failed to obtain it. Theover-cautious commander, filled with the idea that the wholeFrench and Indian army was at hand, drew in his outpostswith nervous haste, shut the gates of the fort, and left thelittle band to its fate. 

Fortunately, the volleys of musketry had reached the ears ofMajor Putnam, on his island outpost. Immediately afterwardshis scouts brought him word that Captain Little wassurrounded by Indians, and in imminent danger ofdestruction. Without an instant's hesitation the bravePutnam plunged into the water, shouting to his men to followhim, and waded to the shore. This reached, they dashedhastily towards the scene of the contest. Their route ledthem past the walls of the fort, on whose parapets stood thealarmed commander. 

"Halt!" cried General Lyman. "Come into the fort. The enemyis in overwhelming force. We can spare no more men. "

To these words, or similar ones, spoken by General Lyman, Putnam returned a vague reply, intended for an apology, buthaving more the tone of a defiance. Discipline and militaryauthority must stand aside when brave men were strugglingwith ruthless savages. Without waiting to hear the general'sresponse to his apology, the gallant partisan dashed on, andin a minute or two more had joined the party of regulars, who were holding their ground with difficulty. 

"On them!" cried Putnam. "They will shoot us down here!Forward! We must rout them out from their ambush!"

His words found a responsive echo in every heart. With loudshouts the whole party charged impetuously into the morass, and in a minute were face to face with the concealedsavages. This sudden onslaught threw the Indians into apanic. They broke and fled in every direction, hotly pursuedby their revengeful foes, numbers of them being killed inthe flight. The chase was not given up until it had extendedmiles into the forest. 

Triumphantly then the victors returned to the fort, Putnamalone among them expecting reprimand. He had never beforedisobeyed the orders of his superior. He well knew therigidity of military discipline and its necessity. PossiblyGeneral Lyman might not be content with a simple reprimand, but might order a court-martial. Putnam entered the fort, not fully at ease in his mind. 

As it proved, he had no occasion for anxiety. The generalrecognized that alarm had led him too far. He welcomed thewhole party with hearty commendation, and chose quite toforget the fact that Major Putnam was guilty of a flagrantdisregard of orders, in view of the fact, of more immediateimportance to himself, that his daring subaltern had savedhim from public reprobation for exposing a brave party todestruction. 

It was not long after this scene that Putnam took theleading part in another memorable affair, in which hispromptitude, energy, and decision have become historical. The barracks within the fort took fire. Twelve feet fromthem stood the magazine, containing three hundred barrels ofpowder. The fort and its defenders were in imminent dangerof being blown to atoms. Putnam, who still occupied hisisland outpost, saw the smoke and flames rising, andhastened with all speed to the fort. When he reached therethe barracks appeared to be doomed, and the flames wererapidly approaching the magazine. As for the garrison, itwas almost in a state of panic, and next to nothing wasbeing done to avert the danger. 

A glance was sufficient for the prompt and energetic mind ofthe daring ranger. In a minute's time he had organized aline of soldiers, leading through a postern-gate to theriver, and each one bearing a bucket. The energetic majormounted a ladder, received the water as it came, and pouredit into the flaming building. The heat was intense, thesmoke suffocating; so near were the flames that a pair ofthick mittens were quickly burned from his hands. Callingfor another pair, he dipped them into the water andcontinued his work. 

"Come down!" cried Colonel Haviland. "It is too dangerousthere. We must try other means. "

"There are no means but to fight the enemy inch by inch, "replied Putnam. "A moment's yielding on our part may provefatal. "

His cool trepidity gave new courage to the colonel, whoexclaimed, as he urged the others to renewed exertions, --

"If we must be blown up, we will all go together. "

Despite Putnam's heroic efforts, the flames spread. Soon thewhole barracks were enveloped, and lurid tongues of firebegan to shoot out alarmingly towards the magazine. Putnamnow descended, took his station between the two buildings, and continued his active service, his energy and audacitygiving new life and activity to officers and men. Theoutside planks of the magazine caught. They were consumed. Only a thin timber partition remained between the flames andfifteen tons of powder. This, too, was charred and smoking. Destruction seemed inevitable. The consternation wasextreme. 

But there, in the scorching heat of the flames, covered withfalling cinders, threatened with instant death, stood theundaunted Putnam, still pouring water on the smokingtimbers, still calling to the men to keep steadily to theirwork. And thus he continued till the rafters of the barracksfell in, the heat decreased, and the safety of the magazinewas insured. 

For an hour and a half he had fought the flames. His hands, face, almost his whole body, were scorched and blistered. When he pulled off his second pair of mittens the skin camewith them. Several weeks passed before he recovered from theeffects of his hard battle with fire. But he had the rewardof success, and the earnest thanks and kind attentions ofofficers and men alike, who felt that to him alone they owedthe safety of the fort, and the escape of many, if not all, of the garrison from destruction. 

Among Putnam's many adventures, there are two others whichhave often been told, but are worthy of repetition. On oneoccasion he was surprised by a large party of Indians, whenwith a few men in a boat at the head of the rapids of theHudson, at Fort Miller. It was a frightfully periloussituation. To stay where he was, was to be slaughtered; toattempt crossing the stream would bring him under the Indianfire; to go down the falls promised instant death. Whichexpedient should he adopt? He chose the latter, preferringto risk death from water rather than from tomahawk orbullet. 

The boat was pushed from the shore and exposed to the fullforce of the current. In a minute or two it had swept beyondthe range of the Indian weapons. But death seemedinevitable. The water rushed on in foaming torrents, whirling round rocks, sweeping over shelves, pouring down inabrupt falls, shooting onward with the wildest fury. Itseemed as if only a miracle could save the voyagers. 

Yet with unyielding coolness Putnam grasped the helm; whilehis keen eye scanned the peril ahead, his quick hand metevery danger as it came. Incessantly the course of the boatwas changed, to avoid the protruding rocks. Here it wastossed on the billows, there it shot down inclined reaches, now it seemed plunging into a boiling eddy, now it whirledround a threatening obstacle; like a leaf in the tempest itwas borne onward, and at length, to the amazement of itsinmates themselves, and the astoundment of the Indians, itfloated safely on the smooth waters below, after a passageof perils such as have rarely been dared. The savages gaveup the chase. A man who could safely run those rapids seemedto them to bear a charmed life. 

[Illustration: SHORE OF LAKE GEORGE. ]

The other story mentioned is one indicative of Putnam's witand readiness. The army was now encamped in the forest, in alocality to the eastward of Lake George. While here, theIndians prowled through the woods around it, committingdepredations here and there, picking off sentinels, anddoing other mischief. They seemed to have impunity in thiswork, and defied the utmost efforts at discovery. Oneoutpost in particular was the seat of a dread mystery. Nightafter night the sentinel at this post disappeared, and wasnot heard of again. Some of the bravest men of the army wereselected to occupy the post, with orders, if they shouldhear any noise, to call out "Who goes there?" three times, and if no answer came, to fire. Yet the mysteriousdisappearances continued, until the men refused to acceptso dangerous a post. The commander was about to draw asentinel by lot, when Major Putnam solved the difficulty byoffering to stand guard for the coming night. The puzzledcommander promptly accepted his offer, instructing him, ashe had done the others, --

"If you hear any sound from without the lines, you will call'Who goes there?' three times, and then, if no answer begiven, fire. "

Putnam promised to obey, and marched to his post. Here heexamined the surrounding locality with the utmost care, fixed in his mind the position of every point in theneighborhood, saw that his musket was in good order, andbegan his monotonous tramp, backward and forward. 

For several hours all remained silent, save for the ordinarynoises of the woodland. At length, near midnight, a slightrustling sound met his keen ears. He listened intently. Someanimal appeared to be stealthily approaching. Then therecame a crackling sound, as of a hog munching acorns. Putnam's previous observation of the locality enabled him tojudge very closely the position of this creature, and he wastoo familiar with Indian artifices, and too sensible of thedanger of his position, to let even a hog pass unchallenged. Raising his musket to his shoulder, and taking deliberateaim at the spot indicated, he called out, in strictobedience to orders, "Who goes there? three times, " andinstantly pulled the trigger. 

A loud groaning and struggling noise followed. Putnamquickly reloaded and ran forward to the spot. Here he foundwhat seemed a large bear, struggling in the agony of death. But a moment's observation showed the wide-awake sentinelthat the seeming bear was really a gigantic Indian, enclosedin a bear-skin, in which, disguised, he had been able toapproach and shoot the preceding sentinels. Putnam hadsolved the mystery of the solitary post. The sentinels onthat outpost ceased, from that moment, to be disturbed. 

Numerous other adventures of Major Putnam, and encounterswith the Indians and the French rangers, might be recounted, but we must content ourselves with the narrative of onewhich ended in the captivity of our hero, and his verynarrow escape from death in more than one form. As anillustration of the barbarity of Indian warfare it cannotbut prove of interest. 

It was the month of August, 1758. A train of baggage-wagonshad been cut off by the enemy's rangers. Majors Putnam andRogers, with eight hundred men, were despatched to interceptthe foe, retake the spoils, and punish them for theirdaring. The effort proved fruitless. The enemy had taken totheir canoes and escaped before their pursuers couldovertake them. 

Failing in this expedition, they camped out on Wood Creekand South Bay, with the hope of cutting off some stragglingparty of the enemy. Here they were discovered by Frenchscouts, and, having reason to fear an attack in force, itwas deemed most prudent to return to head-quarters at FortEdward. 

The route proved difficult. It lay through dense forest, impeded by fallen trees and thick undergrowth. They wereobliged to advance in Indian file, cutting a path as theywent. When night came they encamped on the bank of ClearRiver. The next morning, while the others were preparing toresume the march, Major Rogers, with a foolhardy imprudencethat was little less than criminal in their situation, amused himself by a trial of skill with a British officer infiring at a mark. 

The result was almost fatal. Molang, the celebrated Frenchpartisan, had hastily left Ticonderoga with five hundredmen, on hearing of the presence of this scouting party ofprovincials, and was now near at hand. The sound of themuskets gave him exact information as to the position oftheir camp. Hastening forward, he laid an ambuscade on theline of march of his foes, and awaited their approach. 

Onward through the thicket came the unsuspectingprovincials. They had advanced a mile, and were on the pointof emerging from the dense growth into the more open forest, when yells broke from the bushes on both sides of theirpath, and a shower of bullets was poured into the advanceranks. 

Putnam, who led the van, quickly bade his men to return thefire, and passed the word back for the other divisions tohasten up. The fight soon became a hand-to-hand one. Thecreek was close by, but it could not be crossed in the faceof the enemy, and Putnam bade his men to hold their ground. A sharp fight ensued, now in the open, now from behindtrees, in Indian fashion. Putnam had discharged his pieceseveral times, and once more pulled trigger, with the muzzleagainst the breast of a powerful Indian. His piece missedfire. Instantly the warrior dashed forward, tomahawk inhand, and by threat of death compelled his antagonist tosurrender. Putnam was immediately disarmed and bound to atree, and his captor returned to the fight. 

The battle continued, one party after the other being forcedback. In the end, the movements of the struggling foes weresuch as to bring the tree to which Putnam was bound directlybetween their lines. He was like a target for both parties. Balls flew past him from either side. Many of them struckthe tree, while his coat was pierced by more than onebullet. So obstinate was the contest that for an hour thebattle raged about him, his peril continuing extreme. Norwas this his only danger. During the heat of the conflict ayoung Indian hurled a tomahawk several times at his head, out of mischief more than malice, but with such skilful aimthat the keen weapon more than once grazed his skin andburied its edge in the tree beside his head. With stillgreater malice, a French officer of low grade levelled hismusket at the prisoner's breast and attempted to dischargeit. Fortunately for Putnam it missed fire. The prisonervainly solicited more merciful treatment. The heartlessvillain thrust the muzzle of his gun violently against thecaptive's ribs, and in the end gave him a painful blow onthe jaw with the butt-end of his piece. 

The battle ended at length in the triumph of theprovincials. They drove the French from the field. But theyfailed to rescue Putnam. Before retiring, the Indian who hadmade him captive untied him, and forced him to accompany theretreating party. When a safe distance had been reached, theprisoner was deprived of his coat, vest, shoes, andstockings, his shoulders were loaded with the packs of thewounded, and his wrists were tied behind him as tightly asthey could be drawn. In this painful condition he was forcedto walk for miles through the woodland paths, until theparty halted to rest. 

By this time his hands were so swollen from the tightness ofthe cord that the pain was unbearable, while his feet bledfreely from their many scratches. Exhausted with his burdenand wild with torment, he asked the interpreter to beg theIndians either to loose his hands or knock him on the head, and end his torture at once. His appeal was heard by aFrench officer, who immediately order his hands to beunbound and some of his burden to be removed. Shortlyafterwards the Indian who had captured him, and who had beenabsent with the wounded, came up and expressed greatindignation at his treatment. He gave him a pair ofmoccasins, and seemed kindly disposed towards him. 

Unfortunately for the captive, this kindly savage wasobliged to resume his duty with the wounded, leaving Putnamwith the other Indians, some two hundred in number, whomarched in advance of the French contingent of the partytowards the selected camping-place. On the way theirbarbarity to their helpless prisoner continued, culminatingin a blow with a tomahawk, which made a deep wound in hisleft cheek. 

This cruel treatment was but preliminary to a more fatalpurpose. It was their intention to burn their captive alive. No sooner had they reached their camping-ground than theyled him into the forest depths, stripped him of his clothes, bound him to a tree, and heaped dry fuel in a circle roundhim. While thus engaged they filled the air with the mostfearful sounds to which their throats could give vent, apandemonium of ear-piercing yells and screams. The pileprepared, it was set on fire. The flames spread rapidlythrough the dry brush. But by a chance that seemedprovidential, at that moment a sudden shower sent itsrain-drops through the foliage, extinguished the increasingfire, and dampened the fuel. 

No sooner was the rain over than the yelling savages appliedtheir torches again to the funeral pile of their livingvictim. The dampness checked their efforts for a time, butat length the flames caught, and a crimson glow slowly madeits way round the circle of fuel. The captive soon felt thescorching heat. He was tied in such a way that he could movehis body, and he involuntarily shifted his position toescape the pain, --an evidence of nervousness that affordedthe highest delight to his tormentors, who expressed theirexultation in yells, dances, and wild gesticulations. Thelast hour of the brave soldier seemed at hand. He strove tobring resolution to his aid, and to fix his thoughts on ahappier state of existence beyond this earth, thecontemplation of which might aid him to bear withoutflinching, a short period of excruciating pain. 

At this critical moment, when death in its most horrid formstared him in the face, relief came. A French officer, whohad been told of what was in progress, suddenly boundedthrough the savage band, kicked the blazing brands to rightand left, and with a stroke of his knife released theimperilled captive. It was Molang himself. An Indian whoretained some instincts of humanity had informed him of whatwas on foot. The French commander reprimanded his barbarianassociates severely, and led the prisoner away, keeping himby his side until he was able to transfer him to the care ofthe gigantic Indian who had captured him. 

This savage seemed to regard him with feelings of kindness. He offered him some biscuits, but finding that the wound inhis cheek and the blow he had received on the jaw preventedhim from chewing, he soaked them in water till they could beswallowed easily. Yet, despite his kindness, he tookextraordinary care that his prisoner should not escape. Whenthe camp was made, he forced the captive to lie on theground, stretched each arm at full length, and bound it to ayoung tree, and fastened his legs in the same manner. Then anumber of long and slender poles were cut and laid acrosshis body from head to foot, on the ends of which lay severalof the Indians. 

Under such circumstances escape could not even be thoughtof, nor was a moment's comfort possible. The night seemedinfinitely extended, the only relief that came to theprisoner, as he himself relates, being the reflection ofwhat a ludicrous subject the group, of which he was thecentral figure, would have made for a painter. 

The next day he was given a blanket and moccasins, andallowed to march without being loaded with packs. A littlebear's meat was furnished him, whose juice he was able tosuck. At night the party reached Ticonderoga, where he wasplaced in charge of a French guard, and his sufferings cameto an end. The savages manifested their chagrin at hisescape by insulting grimaces and threatening gestures, butwere not allowed to offer him any further indignity orviolence. After an examination by the Marquis de Montcalm, who was in command at Ticonderoga, he was sent to Montreal, under charge of a French officer, who treated him in ahumane manner. 

Major Putnam was a frightful object on reaching Montreal, the little clothing allowed him being miserably dirty andragged, his beard and hair dishevelled, his legs torn bythorns and briers, his face gashed, blood-stained, andswollen. Colonel Schuyler, a prisoner there, beheld hisplight with deep commiseration, supplied him with clothingand money, and did his utmost to alleviate his condition. 

When shortly afterwards an exchange of prisoners was beingmade, in which Colonel Schuyler was to be included, he, fearing that Putnam would be indefinitely held should hisimportance as a partisan leader become known, used a skilfulartifice to obtain his release. Speaking to the governorwith great politeness and seeming indifference of purpose, he remarked, --

"There is an old man here who is a provincial major. He isvery desirous to be at home with his wife and children. Hecan do no good here, nor anywhere else. I believe yourexcellency had better keep some of the young men, who haveno wives or children to care for, and let this old fellow gohome with me. "

His artifice was effective. Putnam was released, and leftMontreal in company with his generous friend. He tookfurther part in the war, at the end of which, at the Indianvillage of Cochuawaga, near Montreal, he met again theIndian whose prisoner he had been. The kindly savage wasdelighted to see him again, and entertained him with all thefriendship and hospitality at his command. At a later date, when Putnam took part in the Pontiac war, he met again thisold chief, who was now an ally of the English, and whomarched side by side with his former prisoner to do battlewith the ancient enemies of his tribe. 

A GALLANT DEFENCE. 

The relations between the Indians and the European colonistsof America were, during nearly the whole colonial and muchof the subsequent period, what we now suggestively entitle"strained. " There were incessant aggressions of thecolonists, incessant reprisals by the aborigines, while thewarring whites of America never hesitated to use thesesavage auxiliaries in their struggles for territory andpower. The history of this country is filled with details ofIndian assaults on forts and settlements, ambushes, massacres, torturings, and acts of duplicity and ferocityinnumerable. Yet every instance of Indian hostility hasended in the triumph of the whites, the advance of the armyof colonization a step further, and the gradual subjugationof American savagery, animate and inanimate, to thebeneficent influences of civilization. 

These Indian doings are frequently sickening in theirdetails. The story of America cannot be told without them. Yet they are of one family, and largely of one species, andan example or two will serve for the whole. In our next talethe story of an Indian assault on the Daniel Boonestronghold in Kentucky will be told. We purpose now to givethe interesting details of an attack on Fort Henry, a smallfrontier work near where Wheeling now stands. 

This attack was the work of Simon Girty, one of the mostdetestable characters that the drama of American historyever brought upon the stage. He was the offspring of crime, his parents being irredeemably besotted and vicious. Oftheir four sons, two, who were taken prisoner by the Indianat Braddock's defeat, developed into monsters of wickedness. James was adopted by the Delawares, and became the fiercestsavage of the tribe. Simon grew into a great hunter amongthe Senecas, --unfortunately a hunter of helpless humanbeings as much as of game, --and for twenty years his namewas a terror in every white household of the Ohio country. He is spoken of as honest. It was his one virtue, the soleredeeming leaven in a life of vice, savagery, and cruelty. 

[Illustration: INDIAN ATTACK AND GALLANT DEFENCE. ]

In the summer of 1777 this evil product of frontier lifecollected a force of four hundred Indians for an assault onthe white. His place of rendezvous was Sandusky; hisostensible purpose to cross the Ohio and attack the Kentuckyfrontier settlements. On reaching the river, however, hesuddenly turned up its course, and made all haste towardsFort Henry, then garrisoned by Colonel Sheppard, with aboutforty men. 

The movements of Girty were known, and alarm as to theirpurpose was widely felt. Sheppard had his scouts out, butthe shrewd renegade managed to deceive them, and to appearbefore Fort Henry almost unannounced. Happily, the coming ofthis storm of savagery was discovered in time enough topermit the inhabitants of Wheeling, then composed of sometwenty-five log huts, to fly for refuge to the fort. 

A reconnoitring party had been sent out under Captain Mason. These were ambushed by the cunning leader of the Indians, and more than half of them fell victims to the rifle and thetomahawk. Their perilous position being perceived, a partyof twelve more, under Captain Ogle, sallied to their rescue. They found themselves overwhelmingly outnumbered, and eightof the twelve fell. These untowards events frightfullyreduced the garrison. Of the original forty only twelveremained, some of them little more than boys. Within thefort were this little garrison and the women and children ofthe settlement. Outside raged four hundred savage warriors, under a skilful commander. It seemed absolute madness toattempt a defence. Yet Colonel Sheppard was not one of themen who lightly surrender. Death by the rifle was, in hisview, better than death at the stake. With him were two men, Ebenezer and Silas Zane, of his own calibre, while the wholegarrison was made up of hearts of oak. 

As for the women in the fort, though they were of little usein the fight, they could lend their aid in casting bullets, making cartridges, and loading rifles. Among them was one, Elizabeth Zane, sister of the two men named, who was toperform a far more important service. She had just returnedfrom school in Philadelphia, knew little of the horrors ofborder warfare, but had in her the same indomitable spiritthat distinguished her brothers. A woman she was of heroicmould, as the events will prove. 

It was in the early morning of September 26 that Girtyappeared before the fort. A brief period sufficed, in themanner related, to reduce the garrison to a mere handful. Sure now of success, Girty advanced towards the palisadeswith a white flag, and demanded an unconditional surrender. 

Colonel Sheppard was ready with his answer. He had alreadyfelt the pulse of his men, and found that it beat with thesame high spirit as his own. He mounted upon the ramparts, stern and inflexible, and hurled back his reply, --

"This fort shall never be surrendered to _you_, nor to anyother man, while there is an American left to defend it. "

"Are you mad, man?" cried Girty. "Do you know our force? Doyou know your own? Resistance is folly. "

"I know _you_, Simon Girty. That is enough to know. You havemy answer. "

In a rage, Girty hurled back a volley of dark threats, thenturned away, and ordered an instant attack. Unluckily forthe garrison, some of the deserted log-huts weresufficiently near to shelter the Indians, and enable them toassault the fort under cover. They swarmed into thesehouses, and for six hours kept up an incessant fire on theworks, wasting their bullets, as it proved, for none of themdid harm to fort or man. As for the defenders, they had noammunition to waste. But most of them were sharp-shooters, and they took good care that every bullet should tell. Nearly every report from behind the walls told a story ofwound or death. As good fortune willed, the savages had noartillery, and were little disposed to hazard their duskyskins in an assault in force on the well-defended walls. 

At midday the attack temporarily ceased. The Indianswithdrew to the base of Wheeling Hill, and the uproar ofyells and musketry was replaced by a short season of quiet. It was a fortunate reprieve for the whites. Their powder wasalmost exhausted. Had the assault continued for an hourlonger their rifles must have ceased to reply. 

What was to be done? The Indians had withdrawn only for restand food. They would soon be at their threatening workagain. Answer to them could not long be continued. When thefire from the fort ceased all would be over. The exultantsavages would swarm over the undefended walls, and tortureand outrage be the lot of all who were not fortunate enoughto die in the assault. 

Ebenezer Zane looked wistfully at his house, sixty yardsaway. 

"There is a keg of powder within those walls, " he said. "Ifwe only had it here it might mean the difference betweensafety and death. "

"A keg of powder!" cried Colonel Sheppard. "We must have it, whatever the danger!" He looked out. The Indians were withineasy gunshot. Whoever went for the powder ran the mostimminent risk of death. The appearance of a man outside thegates would be the signal for a fierce fusillade. "But wemust have it, " he repeated. "And we can spare but one manfor the task. Who shall it be? I cannot _order_ any one tosuch a duty. What man is ready to _volunteer_?"

Every man, apparently; they all thronged forward, each eagerfor the perilous effort. They struggled, indeed, so long forthe honor that there was danger of the Indians returning tothe assault before the powder was obtained. 

At this interval a woman stepped forward. It was ElizabethZane. The fire of a noble purpose shone on her earnest face. 

"But one man can be spared to go, you say, ColonelSheppard, " she remarked. "In my opinion no man can be sparedto go. Let me go for the powder. My life is of much lessimportance to the garrison than that of a man. "

Colonel Sheppard looked at her with eyes of admiration, andthen peremptorily refused her request. This was work formen, he said, not for women. She should not sacrificeherself. 

It was every one's duty to do their share, she replied. Allwere alike in danger. The walls were not half manned. If shefell, the gap would be small; if a man fell, it would belarge. 

So earnest were her solicitations, and so potent herarguments, that Colonel Sheppard finally yielded a reluctantconsent. It was given none too soon. There was little timeto spare. The gate was opened and the brave woman walkedfearlessly out. 

She had not gone a step beyond the shelter of the fortbefore the Indians perceived her. Yet the suddenness of herappearance seemed to paralyze them. They stood and watchedher movements, as she walked swiftly but steadily over thespace leading to her brothers' house, but not a gun waslifted nor a voice was raised. So far the expedient ofsending a woman had proved unexpectedly successful. Thesavages gazed at her in blank amazement, wondering at herpurpose. 

She entered the house. An anxious minute or two passed. TheIndians still had not stirred. The eyes of the garrison werefixed with feverish anxiety on the door of that small hut. Then they were relieved by the reappearance of the devotedgirl, now clasping the precious keg of powder in her arms. 

It was no time now to walk. As rapidly as she could run, with the weight in her arms, she sped over the open space. Speed was needed. The Indians had suddenly come to arealizing sense of the woman's purpose, and a volley ofbullets swept the space over which she fled. 

Not one touched her. In a minute she had reached the fort. Ashout of enthusiastic welcome went up. As the gate closedbehind her, and she let fall the valuable prize from herunnerved arms, every hand was stretched to grasp hers, and achorus of praise and congratulation filled the air. 

"We have a heroine among us; we will all be heroes, andconquer or die, " was the universal thought. 

It was a true one; Elizabeth Zane's was one of those raresouls which seem sent on earth to make man proud of hisrace. 

At half-past two the assailants returned to the attack, availing themselves, as before, of the cover of the huts. After a period spent in musketry, they made an assault inforce on the gate of the fort. They were met by theconcentrated fire of the garrison. Six of them fell. Theothers fled back to their shelter. 

Until dark the fusillade continued. After darkness hadfallen the assailants tried a new device. Lacking artillery, they attempted to convert a hollow maple log into a cannon. They bound this as firmly as possible with chains, then, with a ludicrous ignorance of what they were about, theyloaded it to its muzzle with stones, pieces of iron, andother missiles. This done, they conveyed the impromptucannon to a point within sixty yards of the fort, andattempted to discharge it against the gates. 

The result was what might have been anticipated. The logburst into a thousand pieces, and sent splinters andprojectiles hurtling among the curious crowd of duskywarriors. Several of them were killed, others were wounded, but the gates remained unharmed. This was more than thesavages had counted on, and they ceased the assault for thenight, no little discouraged by their lack of success. 

Meanwhile tidings of what Girty and his horde were about hadspread through the settlements, and relief parties werehastily formed. At four o'clock in the morning fourteen menarrived, under command of Colonel Swearingen, and foughttheir way into the fort without losing a man. At dawn aparty of forty mounted men made their appearance, MajorMcCullough at their head. The men managed to enter the fortin safety, but the gallant major, being unluckily separatedfrom his band, was left alone outside. 

His was a terribly critical situation. Fortunately, theIndians knew him for one of their most daring and skillfulenemies, and hated him intensely. Fortunately, we say, forto that he owed his life. They could easily have killed him, but not a man of them would fire. Such a foeman must not dieso easily; he must end his life in flame and torture. Suchwas their unspoken argument, and they dashed after him withyells of exultation, satisfied that they had one of theirchief foes safely in their hands. 

It seemed so, indeed. The major was well mounted, but theswift Indian runners managed to surround him on three sides, and force him towards the river bluffs, from which escapeseemed impossible. 

With redoubled shouts they closed in upon him. The major, somewhat ignorant of the situation, pushed onward till hesuddenly found himself on the brow of a precipice whichdescended at an almost vertical inclination for a hundredand fifty feet. Here was a frightful dilemma. To right andleft the Indian runners could be seen, their lines extendingto the verge of the cliff. What was to be done? surrenderto the Indians, attempt to dash through their line, or leapthe cliff? Each way promised death. But death by fall waspreferable to death by torture. And a forlorn hope of liferemained. The horse was a powerful one, and might make thedescent in safety. Gathering his reins tightly in his righthand, while his left grasped his rifle, McCullough spurredthe noble animal forward, and in an instant was over thebrow of the cliff, and falling rather than dashing down itssteep declivity. 

By unlooked-for good fortune the foot of the bluff wasreached in safety. Into the creek dashed horse and man, andin a minute or two the daring fugitive was across and safefrom his savage pursuers. 

The Indians returned disappointed to the vicinity of thefort. Here they found that their leader had decided onabandoning the assault. The reinforcements received, and theprobability that others were on the way, discouraged therenegade, and Girty led his horde of savages away, firstdoing all the harm in his power by burning the houses of thesettlement, and killing about three hundred cattle belongingto the settlers. 

The defence of Fort Henry was one of the most striking forthe courage displayed, and the success of the defenders, ofthe many gallant contests with the Indian foe of that age ofstirring deeds. Aside from those killed in ambush, not a manof the garrison had lost his life. Of the assailants, fromsixty to one hundred fell. Simon Girty and his Indians hadreceived a lesson they would not soon forget. 

DANIEL BOONE, THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY. 

The region of Kentucky, that "dark and bloody ground" ofIndian warfare, lay long unknown to the whites. No Indianseven dwelt there, though it was a land of marvellous beautyand wonderful fertility. For its forests and plains soabounded with game that it was used by various tribes as ahunting-ground, and here the savage warriors so often met inhostile array, and waged such deadly war, that not the mostdaring of them ventured to make it their home. And the namewhich they gave it was destined to retain its sombresignificance for the whites, when they should invade theperilous Kentuckian wilds, and build their habitations inthis land of dread. 

In 1767 John Finley, a courageous Indian trader, pushed farinto its depths, and returned with thrilling stories of hisadventures and tempting descriptions of the beauty andfertility of the land. These he told to Daniel Boone, anadventure-loving Pennsylvanian, who had made his way toNorth Carolina, and built himself a home in the virginforest at the head-waters of the Yadkin. Here, with hiswife, his rifle, and his growing family, he enjoyed hisfrontier life with the greatest zest, until the increasingnumbers of new settlers and the alluring narrative ofFinley induced him to leave his home and seek again theuntrodden wilds. 

On the 1st of May, 1769, Finley, Boone, and three othersstruck boldly into the broad backbone of mountain-land whichlay between their old home and the new land of promise. Theyset out on their dangerous journey amid the tears of theirfamilies, who deemed that destruction awaited them, andvainly besought them to abandon the enterprise. Forward, fordays and weeks, pushed the hardy pioneers, their riflesproviding them with game, their eyes on the alert againstsavages, until, after what seemed months of toil, themountains were passed and the fertile plains and extendedforests of Kentucky lay before them. 

"We found everywhere" says Boone, "abundance of wild beastsof all sorts, through this vast forest. The buffalo weremore frequent than I have seen cattle in the settlements, browsing on the leaves of the cane, or cropping the herbageof these extensive plains, fearless, because ignorant of theviolence of man. In this forest, the habitation of beasts ofevery kind natural to America, we practised hunting withgreat success until the 22d day of December following. "

On that day Boone and another were taken prisoner by a partyof Indians. Seven days they were held, uncertain as to theirfate, but at length, by a skilful artifice, they escaped andmade their way back to their camp, only to find it deserted, those whom they had left there having returned to NorthCarolina. Other adventurers soon joined them, however, Boone's brother among them, and the remainder of the winterwas passed in safety. 

As regards the immediately succeeding events, it willsuffice to say that Squire Boone, as Daniel's brother wascalled, returned to the settlements in the spring forsupplies, the others having gone before, so that the daringhunter was left alone in that vast wilderness. Even his doghad deserted him, and the absolute solitude of naturesurrounded him. 

The movements we have described had not passed unknown tothe Indians, and only the most extraordinary caution savedthe solitary hunter from his dusky foes. He changed his campevery night, never sleeping twice in the same place. Oftenhe found that it had been visited by Indians in his absence. Once a party of savages pursued him for many miles, until, by speed and skill, he threw them from his trail. Many andperilous were his adventures during his three months oflonely life in the woods and canebrakes of that fear-hauntedland. Prowling wolves troubled him by night, prowlingsavages by day, yet fear never entered his bold heart, andcheerfulness never fled from his mind. He was the truepioneer, despising peril and proof against loneliness. Atlength his brother joined him, with horses and supplies, andthe two adventurers passed another winter in the wilderness. 

Several efforts were made in the ensuing years to people thecountry, but numbers of the settlers were slain by theIndians, whose hostility made the task so perilous that apermanent settlement was not made till 1775. The place thensettled--a fine location on the Kentucky River--was called, in honor of its founder, Boonesborough. Here a small fortwas built, to which the adventurer now brought his family, being determined to make it his place of abode, despite hisdusky foes. "My wife and daughter, " he says, "were the firstwhite women that ever stood on the banks of Kentucky River. "

It was a dangerous step they had taken. The savages, furiousat this invasion of their hunting-grounds, were ever on thealert against their pale-faced foes. In the following springBoone's daughter, with two other girls, who hadthoughtlessly left the fort to gather flowers, were seizedby ambushed Indians and hurried away into the forest depths. 

Their loss was soon learned, and the distracted parents, with seven companions, were quickly in pursuit through thefar-reaching forest. For two days, with the skill of trainedscouts, they followed the trail which the girls, truehunters' daughters, managed to mark by shreds of theirclothing which they tore off and dropped by the way. 

The rapid pursuers at length came within sight of the campof the Indians. Here they waited till darkness descended, approaching as closely as was safe. The two fathers, Booneand Calloway, now volunteered to attempt a rescue undercover of the night, and crept, with the acumen of practisedfrontiersmen, towards the Indian halting-place. Unluckilyfor them they were discovered and captured by the Indians, who dragged them exultingly to their camp. Here a councilwas quickly held, and the captives condemned to suffer thedreadful fate of savage reprisal, --death by torture andflame. 

Morning had but fairly dawned when speedy preparations weremade by the savages for their deadly work. They had no timeto waste, for they knew not how many pursuers might be ontheir trail. The captives were securely bound to trees, before the eyes of their distracted daughters, and fagotshastily gathered for the fell purpose of their foes. 

But while they were thus busied, the companions of Boone andCalloway had not been idle. Troubled by the non-return ofthe rescuers, the woodsmen crept up with the first dawn ofday, saw the bloody work designed, and poured in a suddenstorm of bullets on the savages, several of whom werestretched bleeding upon the ground. Then, with shouts ofexultation, the ambushed whites burst from their covert, dashed into the camp before the savages could wreak theirvengeance on their prisoners, and with renewed rifle-shotssent them away in panic flight. A knife-stroke or tworeleased the captives, and the party returned in triumph tothe fort. 

The example of Boone and his companions in making theirhomes on Kentucky soil was soon followed by others, andwithin a year or two a number of settlements had been made, at various promising localities. The Indians did not viewwith equanimity this invasion of their hunting-grounds. Their old battles with each other were now replaced bypersistent hostility to the whites, and they lurkedeverywhere around the feeble settlements, seizingstragglers, destroying cattle, and in every way annoying thedaring pioneers. 

In April, 1777, a party of a hundred of them fiercelyattacked Boonesborough, but were driven off by the rifles ofthe settlers. In July they came again, now doubled innumbers, and for two days assailed the fort, but with thesame ill-success as before. Similar attacks were made on theother settlements, and a state of almost incessant warfareprevailed, in which Boone showed such valor and activitythat he became the terror of his savage foes, who, incompliment to his daring, christened him "The GreatLong-Knife. " On one occasion when two Indian warriorsassailed him in the woods he manoeuvred so skilfully as todraw the fire of both, and then slew the pair of them, theone with his rifle, the other, in hand-to-hand fight, withhis deadly hunting-knife. 

But the bold pioneer was destined soon to pass through anexperience such as few men have safely endured. It was nowFebruary, 1778. For three years the settlers had defiedtheir foes, Boone, in despite of them, hesitating not totraverse the forest alone, with rifle and hunting-knife, inpursuit of game. In one of these perilous excursions hesuddenly found himself surrounded by a party of a hundredShawnese warriors, who were on their way to attack his ownfort. He fled, but was overtaken and secured. Soon after, the savages fell in with a large party of whites who weremaking salt at the Salt Lick springs, and captured them all, twenty-seven in number. 

Exulting in their success, the warriors gave up theiroriginal project, and hastened northward with theirprisoners. Fortunately for the latter, the Revolutionary Warwas now in full progress, and the Indians deemed it moreadvantageous to themselves to sell their prisoners than totorture them. They, therefore, took them to Detroit, whereall were ransomed by the British except Boone. The governoroffered a large sum for his release, but the savages wouldnot listen to the bribe. They knew the value of the man theyheld, and were determined that their illustrious captiveshould not escape again to give them trouble in field andforest. 

Leaving Detroit, they took him to Chillicothe, on the LittleMiami River, the chief town of the tribe. Here a grandcouncil was held as to what should be done with him. Boone'sfate trembled in the balance. The stake seemed his destineddoom. Fortunately, an old woman, of the family of Blackfish, one of their most distinguished chiefs, having lost a son inbattle, claimed the captive as her adopted son. Such a claimcould not be set aside. It was a legal right in the tribe, and the chiefs could not but yield. They were proud, indeed, to have such a mighty hunter as one of themselves, and theman for whose blood they had been hungering was now treatedwith the utmost kindness and respect. 

The ceremony of adoption into the tribe was a painful one, which Boone had to endure. Part of it consisted in pluckingout all the hairs of his head with the exception of thescalp-lock, of three or four inches diameter. But the shrewdcaptive bore his inflictions with equanimity, and appearedperfectly contented with his lot. The new son of the tribe, with his scalp-lock, painted face, and Indian dress, and hisskin deeply embrowned by constant exposure to the air, couldhardly be distinguished from one of themselves, while hisseeming satisfaction with his new life was well adapted tothrow the Indians off their guard. His skill in all manlyexercises and in the use of arms was particularly admired byhis new associates, though, as Boone says, he "was carefulnot to exceed many of them in shooting, for no people aremore envious than they in this sport. "

His wary captors, however, were not easily to be deceived. Seemingly, Boone was left free to go where he would, butsecretly he was watched, and precautions taken to preventhis escape. He was permitted to go out alone to hunt, butthe Indians always carefully counted his balls and measuredhis charges of powder, determined that he should have noneto aid him to procure food in a long flight. Shrewd as theywere, however, Boone was more than their match. In hishunting expeditions he cut his balls in half, and used verysmall charges of powder, so that he was enabled to bringback game while gradually secreting a store of ammunition. 

And thus the days and weeks went on, while Daniel Booneremained, to all outward appearance, a contented Shawneewarrior. But at length came a time when flight grewimperative. He had been taken to the salt-licks with a partyof Indians to aid them in making salt. On returning toChillicothe he was alarmed to see the former peaceful aspectof the village changed to one of threatened war. A band offour hundred and fifty warriors had been collected for ahostile foray, and to his horror he learned thatBoonesborough was the destined point of attack. 

In this fort were his wife and children. In the presentstate of security of the inmates they might easily be takenby surprise. He alone could warn them of their danger, andto this end he must escape from his watchful foes. 

Boone was not the man to let the anxiety that tore his heartappear on his face. To all seeming he was careless andindifferent, looking on with smiling face at theirwar-dances, and hesitating not to give them advice inwarlike matters. He knew their language sufficiently tounderstand all they said, but from the moment of hiscaptivity had pretended to be entirely ignorant of it, talking to them only in the jargon which then formed themedium of communication between the red men and the whites, and listening with impassive countenance to the mostfear-inspiring plans. They, therefore, talked freely beforehim, not for a moment dreaming that their astute prisonerhad solved the problem of their destination. As for Boone, he appeared to enter with whole-souled ardor into theirproject and to be as eager as themselves for its success, seeming so fully in sympathy with them, and so content withhis lot, that they absorbed in their enterprise, became lessvigilant than usual in watching his movements. 

The time for the expedition was at hand. Whatever theresult, he must dare the peril of flight. The distance to betraversed was one hundred and sixty miles. As soon as hisflight should become known, he was well aware that a host ofIndian scouts, thoroughly prepared for pursuit and full ofrevengeful fury, would be on his track. And there would beno further safety for him if captured. Death, by the mostcruel tortures the infuriated savages could devise, was sureto be his fate. 

All this Boone knew, but it did not shake his resolute soul. His family and friends were in deadly peril; he alone couldsave them; his own danger was not to be thought of in thisemergency. On the morning of June 16 he rose very early forhis usual hunt. Taking the ammunition doled out to him byhis Indian guards, he added to it that which he had secretedin the woods, and was ready for the desperate enterprisewhich he designed. 

Boone was now forty-three years of age, a man of giant frameand iron muscles, possessed of great powers of endurance, amaster of all the arts of woodcraft, and one of the mostskilful riflemen in the Western wilds. Keen on the trail, swift of foot, and valorous in action as were the Indianbraves, there was no warrior of the tribe the equal inthese particulars of the practised hunter who now meditatedflight. 

On the selected morning the daring woodsman did not waste amoment. No sooner had he lost sight of the village than heheaded southward at his utmost speed. He could count on butan hour or two to gain a start on his wary foes. He wellknew that when the hour of his usual return had passedwithout his appearance, a host of scouts would follow inswift pursuit. Such was the case, as he afterwards learned. No sooner had the Indians discovered the fact of his flightthan an intense commotion reigned among them, and a largenumber of their swiftest runners and best hunters were putupon his trail. 

By this time, however, he had gained a considerable start, and was pushing forward with all speed taking the usualprecautions as he went to avoid making a plain trail, butlosing no time in his flight. He dared not use hisrifle, --quick ears might be within hearing of its sound. Hedared not kindle a fire to cook game, even if he had killedit, --sharp eyes might be within sight of its smoke. He hadsecured a few cuts of dried venison, and with this as hisonly food he pushed on by day and night, hardly taking timeto sleep, making his way through forest and swamp, andacross many streams which were swollen by recent rains. Andon his track, like blood-hounds on the scent of theirvictims, came the furious pursuers now losing his trail, now recovering it; and, as they went, spreading out over awide space, and pushing steadily southward over the generalroute which they felt sure he would pursue. 

At length the weary fugitive reached the banks of the OhioRiver. As yet he had not seen a foe. As yet he had not fireda gun. He must put that great stream, now swollen to ahalf-mile in width by the late rains, between him and hisfoes ere he could dare for a moment to relax his vigilance. 

Unluckily, expert as he was in woodcraft, Boone was a poorswimmer. His skill in the water would never carry him acrossthat rushing stream. How to get across had for hours been tohim a matter of deep anxiety. Fortunately, on reaching itsbanks, he found an old canoe, which had drifted among thebushes of the shore, and stranded there, being full of waterfrom a large hole in its bottom. 

The skilled hunter was not long in emptying the canoe andclosing the hole. Then, improvising a paddle, he launchedhis leaky craft upon the stream, and succeeded in reachingthe southern shore in safety. Now, for the first time, didhe feel sufficiently safe to fire a shot and to kindle afire. He brought down a wild turkey which, seasoned withhunger, made him the most delicious repast he had evertasted. It was the only regular meal in which he indulged inhis flight. Safety was not yet assured. Some of his pursuersmight be already across the river. Onward he dashed, withunflagging energy, and at length reached the fort, afterfive days of incessant travel through the untrodden wilds. 

He was like a dead man returned to life. The people at thefort looked at him with staring eyes. They had long givenhim up for lost, and he learned, much to his grief, that hiswife and children had returned to their old home in NorthCarolina. Just now, however, there was no time for sorrow, and little time for greeting. The fort had been neglected, and was in bad condition. The foe might even then be near athand. There was not a moment to spare. He put the menenergetically to work, and quickly had the neglecteddefences repaired. Then determined to strike terror into thefoe, he led a party of men swiftly to and across the Ohio, met a party of thirty savages near the Indian town of PaintCreek, and attacked them so fiercely that they were put torout. 

This foray greatly alarmed the Indians. It put courage intothe hearts of the garrison. After an absence of seven daysand a journey of a hundred and fifty miles, Boone and hislittle party returned, in fear lest the Chillicothe warriorsmight reach the fort during his absence. 

It was not, however, until August that the Indians appeared. They were four hundred and forty-four in number, led byCaptain Duquesne and other French officers, and with Frenchand British colors flying. There were but fifty men in thefort. The situation seemed a desperate one, but underBoone's command the settlers were resolute, and to thesummons to surrender, the daring commander returned thebold reply, "We are determined to defend our fort while aman of us lives. "

The next proposition of Duquesne was that nine of thegarrison should come out and treat with him. If they couldcome to terms he would peacefully retire. The veteranpioneer well knew what peril lurked in this speciouspromise, and how little safety they would have in trustingtheir Indian foes. But, moved by his bold heart and daringlove of adventure, he assented to the dangerous proposition, though not without taking precautions for safety. Heselected nine of the strongest and most active of his men, appointed the place of meeting in front of the fort, at onehundred and twenty feet from the walls, and stationed theriflemen of the garrison so as to cover the spot with theirguns, in case of treachery. 

These precautions taken, Boone led his party out, and wasmet by Duquesne and his brother officers. The terms proposedwere liberal enough, but the astute frontiersman knew verywell that the Indians would never assent to them. As theconference proceeded, the Indian chiefs drew near, andBlackfish, Boone's adopted father, professed the utmostfriendship, and suggested that the treaty should beconcluded in the Indian manner, by shaking hands. 

The artifice was too shallow to deceive the silliest of thegarrison. It was Blackfish's purpose to have two savagesseize each of the whites, drag them away as prisoners, andthen by threats of torture compel their comrades tosurrender the fort. Boone, however, did not hesitate toassent to the proposition. He wished to unmask his wilyfoes. That done, he trusted to the strength of himself andhis fellows, and the bullets of his riflemen, to bring hisparty in safety back to the fort. 

It proved as he expected. No sooner had they yielded theirhands to the Indians than a desperate attempt was made todrag them away. The surrounding Indians rushed to the aid oftheir fellows. From behind stumps and trees, a shower ofbullets was poured upon the fort. But the alert pioneerswere not taken by surprise. From the rifles of the garrisonbullets were poured back. Boone easily shook off hisassailant, and his companions did the same. Back to the fortthey fled, bullets pattering after them, while the keenmarksmen of the fort sent back their sharp response. In afew seconds the imperilled nine were behind the heavy gates, only one of their number, Boone's brother, being wounded. They had escaped a peril from which, for the moment, rescueseemed hopeless. 

Baffled in their treachery, the assailants now made a fierceassault on the fort, upon which they kept up an incessantfire for nine days and nights, giving the beleagueredgarrison scarcely a moment for rest. Hidden behind rocks andtrees, they poured in their bullets in a manner far morebrisk than effectual. The garrison but feebly responded tothis incessant fusillade, feeling it necessary to husbandtheir ammunition. But, unlike the fire of their foes, everyshot of theirs told. 

During this interval the assailants began to undermine thefort, beginning their tunnel at the river-bank. But the claythey threw out discolored the water and revealed theirproject, and the garrison at once began to countermine, bycutting a trench across the line of their projected passage. The enemy, in their turn, discovered this and gave up theattempt. Another of their efforts was to set fire to thefort by means of flaming arrows. This proved temporarilysuccessful, the dry timbers of the roof bursting intoflames. But one of the young men of the fort daringly sprangupon the roof, extinguished the fire, and returned unharmed, although bullets had fallen like hailstones around him. 

At length, thoroughly discouraged, the enemy raised thesiege and departed, having succeeded only in killing two andwounding four of the garrison, while their dead numberedthirty-seven, and their wounded a large number. One of thesedead was a negro, who had deserted from the fort and joinedthe Indians, and whom Boone brought down with a bullet fromthe remarkable distance, for the rifles of that day, of fivehundred and twenty-five feet. After the enemy had gone therewere "picked up, " says Boone, "one hundred and twenty-fivepounds' weight of bullets, besides what stuck in the logs ofthe fort, which certainly is a great proof of theirindustry, " whatever may be said of their marksmanship. 

The remainder of Daniel Boone's life we can give but inoutline. After the repulse of the enemy he returned to theYadkin for his family, and brought them again to his chosenland. He came back to find an Indian war raging along thewhole frontier, in which he was called to play an activepart, and on more than one occasion owed his life to hisstrength, endurance, and sagacity. This warfare continuedfor a number of years, the Indians being generallysuccessful, and large numbers of soldiers falling beforetheir savage onsets. At length the conduct of the war wasintrusted to "Mad Anthony" Wayne, whose skill, rapidity, anddecision soon brought it to an end, and forced the tribes toconclude a treaty of peace. 

Thenceforward Kentucky was undisturbed by Indian forays, andits settlement went forward with rapidity. The intrepidBoone had by no means passed through the fire of warunharmed. He tells us, "Two darling sons and a brother haveI lost by savage hands, which have also taken from me fortyvaluable horses and abundance of cattle. Many dark andsleepless nights have I been a companion for owls, separatedfrom the cheerful society of men, scorched by the summers'sun, and pinched by the winter's cold, an instrumentordained to settle the wilderness. "

One wilderness settled, the hardy veteran pined for more. Population in Kentucky was getting far too thick for hisideas of comfort. His spirit craved the solitude of theunsettled forest, and in 1802 he again pulled up stakes andplunged into the depths of the Western woods. "Too muchcrowded, " he declared; "too much crowded. I want moreelbow-room. "

His first abiding place was on the Great Kanawha, where heremained for several years. Then, as the vanguard of thearmy of immigrants pressed upon his chosen home, he struckcamp again, and started westward with wife and children, driving his cattle before him, in search of a "promisedland" of few men and abundant game. He settled now beyondthe Mississippi, about fifty miles west of St. Louis. Herehe dwelt for years, hunting, trapping, and enjoying life inhis own wild way. 

Years went by, and once more the emigrant army pressed uponthe solitude-loving pioneer, but he was now too old forfurther flight. Eighty years lay upon his frosted brow, yetwith little diminished activity he pursued his old mode oflife, being often absent from home for weeks on huntingexpeditions. Audubon, the famous ornithologist, met him inone of these forays, and thus pictures him: "The stature andgeneral appearance of this wanderer of the Western forests, "he says, "approached the gigantic. His chest was broad andprominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in everylimb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise, and perseverance, and, whenever he spoke, thevery motion of his lips brought the impression that whateverhe uttered could not be otherwise than strictly true. "

Mr. Irving tells a similar story of him in his eighty-fifthyear. He was then visited by the Astor overland expeditionto the Columbia. "He had but recently returned from ahunting and trapping expedition, " says the historian, "andhad brought nearly sixty beaver skins as trophies of hisskill. The old man was still erect in form, strong in limb, and unflinching in spirit; and as he stood on the river bankwatching the departure of an expedition destined to traversethe wilderness to the very shores of the Pacific, veryprobably felt a throb of his old pioneer spirit, impellinghim to shoulder his rifle and join the adventurous band. "

Seven years afterwards he joined another band, that of theheroes who have gone to their rest. To his last year hecarried the rifle and sought the depths of the wood. Atlast, in 1818, with no disease but old age, he laid down hislife, after a most adventurous career, in which he had wonhimself imperishable fame as the most daring, skilful, andsuccessful of that pioneer band who have dared the perils ofthe wilderness and surpassed the savage tenants of theforest in their own chosen arts. 

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 

It was night at Boston, the birthnight of one of the leadingevents in the history of the world. The weather was balmyand clear. Most of the good citizens of the town were attheir homes; many of them doubtless in their beds; for earlyhours were kept in those early days of our country'shistory. Yet many were abroad, and from certain streets ofthe town arose unwonted sounds, the steady tread of marchingfeet, the occasional click of steel, the rattle ofaccoutrements. Those who were within view of Boston Commonat a late hour of that evening of April 18, 1775, beheld anunusual sight, that of serried ranks of armed men, who hadquietly marched thither from their quarters throughout thetown, as the starting-point for some secret and mysteriousexpedition. 

At the same hour, in a shaded recess of the suburb ofCharlestown, stood a strongly-built and keen-eyed man, withhis hand on the bridle of an impatiently waiting horse, hiseyes fixed on a distant spire that rose like a shadowthrough the gloom of the night. Paul Revere was the name ofthis expectant patriot. He had just before crossed theCharles River in a small boat, rowing needfully through thedarkness, for his route lay under the guns of a Britishman-of-war, the "Somerset, " on whose deck, doubtless werewatchful eyes on the lookout for midnight prowlers. Fortunately, the dark shadows which lay upon the water hidthe solitary rower from view, and he reached the oppositeshore unobserved. Here a swift horse had been provided forhim, and he was bidden to be keenly on the alert, as a forceof mounted British officers were on the road which he mightsoon have to take. 

[Illustration: THE OLD NORTH CHURCH, BOSTON. ]

And still the night moved on in its slow and silent course, while slumber locked the eyes of most of the worthy peopleof Boston town, and few of the patriots were afoot. Butamong these was the ardent man who stood with his eyesimpatiently fixed on the lofty spire of the Old NorthChurch, and in the town itself others heedfully watched thesecret movements of the British troops. 

Suddenly a double gleam flashed from the far-off spire. Twolighted candles had been placed in the belfry window of thechurch, and their feeble glimmer sped swiftly through theintervening air and fell upon the eyes of the expectantmessenger. No sooner had the light met his gaze than PaulRevere, with a glad cry of relief, sprang to his saddle, gave his uneasy horse the rein, and dashed away at aswinging pace, the hoof-beats of his horse sounding like thehammer-strokes of fate as he bore away on his vital errand. 

A minute or two brought him past Charlestown Neck. But notmany steps had he taken on his onward course before peril tohis enterprise suddenly confronted him. Two British officersappeared in the road. 

"Who goes there? Halt!" was their stern command. 

Paul Revere looked at them. They were mounted and armed. Should he attempt to dash past them? It was too risky andhis errand too important. But there was another road nearby, whose entrance he had just passed. With a quick jerk atthe rein he turned his horse, and in an instant was flyingback at racing speed. 

"Halt, or we will fire!" cried the officers, spurring theirhorses to swift pursuit. 

Heedless of this command the bold rider drove headlong back, his horse quickly proving his mettle by distancing those ofhis pursuers. A few minutes brought him to the entrance tothe Medford Road. Into this he sharply wheeled, and wasquickly away again towards his distant goal. Meanwhile oneof the officers, finding himself distanced, turned his horseinto the fields lying between the two roads, with thepurpose of riding across and cutting off the flight of thefugitive. He had not taken many steps, however, before hefound his horse floundering in a clay-pit, while Revere onthe opposite road shot past, with a ringing shout of triumphas he went. 

Leaving him for the present to his journey, we must returnto the streets of Boston, and learn the secret of thismidnight ride. 

For several years previous to 1775 Boston had been in thehands of British troops, --of a foreign foe, we may almostsay, for they treated it as though it were a captured town. Many collisions had occurred between the troops and thecitizens, the rebellious feeling growing with every hour ofoccupation, until now the spirit of rebellion, like acontagious fever, had spread far beyond its point of origin, and affected townsmen and farmers widely throughout thecolonies. In all New England hostility to British rule hadbecome rampant, minute-men (men pledged to spring to arms ata minute's notice) were everywhere gathering and drilling, and here and there depots of arms and ammunition had hastilybeen formed. Peace still prevailed, but war was in the air. 

Boston itself aided in supplying these warlike stores. Underthe very eyes of the British guards cannon-balls and musketswere carried out in carts, covered by loads of manure. Market-women conveyed powder from the city in theirpanniers, and candle-boxes served as secret receptacles forcartridges. Depots of these munitions were made near Boston. In the preceding February the troops had sought to seize oneof these at Salem, but were forced to halt at Salem bridgeby a strong body of the people, led by Colonel Pickering. Finding themselves outnumbered, they turned and marchedback, no shot being fired and no harm done. 

Another depot of stores had now been made at Concord, aboutnineteen miles away, and this General Gage had determined todestroy, even if blood were shed in so doing. Rebellion, inhis opinion, was gaining too great a head; it must be putdown by the strong arm of force; the time for mild measureswas past. 

Yet he was not eager to rouse the colonists to hostility. Itwas his purpose to surprise the patriots and capture thestores before a party could be gathered to their defence. This was the meaning of the stealthy midnight movement ofthe troops. But the patriot leaders in Boston were toowatchful to be easily deceived; they had their means ofobtaining information, and the profound secret of theBritish general was known to them before the evening had faradvanced. 

About nine o'clock Lord Percy, one of the British officers, crossed the Common, and in doing so noticed a group ofpersons in eager chat. He joined these, curious to learn thesubject of their conversation. The first words he heardfilled him with alarm. 

"The British troops will miss their aim, " said a garruloustalker. 

"What aim?" asked Percy. 

"The cannon at Concord, " was the reply. 

Percy, who was in Gage's confidence, hastened to thehead-quarters of the commanding general and informed him ofwhat he had overheard. Gage, startled to learn that hisguarded secret was already town's talk, at once set guardson all the avenues leading from the town, with orders toarrest every person who should attempt to leave, while thesquad of officers of whom we have spoken were sent forwardto patrol the roads. 

But the patriots were too keen-witted to be so easilychecked in their plans. Samuel Adams and John Hancock, thepatriot leaders, fearing arrest, had left town, and werethen at Lexington at the house of the Rev. Jonas Clarke. Paul Revere had been sent to Charlestown by the patrioticDr. Warren, with orders to take to the road the moment thesignal lights in the belfry of the old North Church shouldappear. These lights would indicate that the troops were onthe road. We have seen how promptly he obeyed, and hownarrowly he escaped capture by General Gages' guards. 

On he went, mile by mile, rattling down the Medford Road. Atevery wayside house he stopped, knocked furiously at thedoor, and, as the startled inmates came hastily to thewindows, shouted, "Up! up! the regulars are coming!" andbefore his sleepy auditors could fairly grasp his meaning, was away again. 

It was about midnight when the British troops left Boston, on their supposed secret march. At a little after the samehour the rattling sound of hoofs broke the quiet of thedusky streets of Lexington, thirteen miles away. 

Around the house of the Rev. Mr. Clarke eight minute-men hadbeen stationed as a guard, to protect the patriot leaderswithin. They started hastily to their feet as the messengerrode up at headlong speed. 

"Rouse the house!" cried Revere. 

"That we will not, " answered the guards. "Orders have beengiven not to disturb the people within by noise. "

"Noise!" exclaimed Revere; "you'll have noise enough beforelong; the regulars are coming!"

At these startling tidings the guards suffered him toapproach and knock at the door. The next minute a window wasthrown up and Mr. Clarke looked out. 

"Who is there?" he demanded. 

"I wish to see Mr. Hancock, " was the reply. 

"I cannot admit strangers to my house at night withoutknowing who they are. "

Another window opened as he spoke. It was that of JohnHancock, who had heard and recognized the messenger's voice. He knew him well. 

"Come in, Revere, " he cried; "we are not afraid of you. "

The door was opened and Revere admitted, to tell hisalarming tale, and bid the patriot leaders to flee from thatplace of danger. His story was quickly confirmed, forshortly afterwards another messenger, William Dawes by name, rode up. He had left Boston at the same time as Revere, butby a different route. Adams was by this time aroused and hadjoined his friend, and the two patriot leaders, feelingassured that their capture was one of the purposes of theexpedition, hastily prepared for retreat to safer quarters. While they did so, Revere and Dawes, now joining company, mounted again, and once more took to the road, on theirmidnight mission of warning and alarm. 

Away they went again, with thunder of hoofs and rattle ofharness, while as they left the streets of Lexington behindthem a hasty stir succeeded the late silence of that quietvillage. From every house men rushed to learn the news; fromevery window women's heads were thrust; some armed minute-menbegan to gather, and by two o'clock a hundred and thirty ofthese were gathered upon the meeting-house green. But no foeappeared, and the air was chilly at this hour of the night, so that, after the roll had been called, they weredismissed, with orders to be ready to assemble at beat ofdrum. 

Meanwhile, Revere and his companion had pushed on towardsConcord, six miles beyond. On the road they met Dr. SamuelPrescott, a resident of that town, on his way home from avisit to Lexington. The three rode on together, themessengers telling their startling story to their newcompanion. 

It was a fortunate meeting, as events fell out, for, as theypushed onward, Paul Revere somewhat in advance, the group ofBritish officers of whom he had been told suddenly appearedin the road before him. Before he could make a movement toescape they were around him, and strong hands were upon hisshoulders. The gallant scout was a prisoner in Britishhands. 

Dawes, who had been closely behind him, suffered the samefate. Not so Prescott, who had been left a short distancebehind by the ardent messengers. He sprang over theroad-side wall before the officers could reach him, andhastened away through the fields towards Concord, bearingthither the story he had so opportunely learned. 

The officers had already in their custody three Lexingtonmen, who, in order to convey the news, had taken to the roadwhile Revere and Dawes were closeted with the patriotleaders at Mr Clarke's. Riding back with their prisoners toa house near by, they questioned them at point of pistol asto their purpose. 

Revere at first gave evasive answers to their questions. Butat length, with a show of exultation, he said, --

"Gentlemen, you have missed your aim. "

"What aim?" they asked. 

"I came from Boston an hour after your troops left it, "answered Revere. "And if I had not known that messengerswere out in time enough to carry the news for fifty miles, you would not have stopped me without a shot. "

The officers, startled by this confident assertion, continued their questions; but now, from a distance, theclang of a bell was heard. The Lexington men cried out atthis, --

"The bells are ringing! The towns are alarmed! You are alldead men!"

This assertion, which the sound of the bells appeared toconfirm, alarmed the officers. If the people should rise, their position would be a dangerous one. They must maketheir way back. But, as a measure of precaution, they tookRevere's horse and cut the girths and bridles of the others. This done, they rode away at full speed, leaving their latecaptives on foot in the road. But this the two messengerslittle heeded, as they knew that their tidings had gone onin safe hands. 

While all this was taking place, indeed, Prescott hadregained the road, and was pressing onward at speed. Hereached Concord about two o'clock in the morning, andimmediately gave the alarm. As quickly as possible the bellswere set ringing, and from all sides people, roused by themidnight alarum, thronged towards the centre square. As soonas the startling news was heard active measures were takento remove the stores. All the men, and a fair share of thewomen, gave their aid, carrying ammunition, muskets, cartridges, and other munitions hastily to the nearestwoods. Some of the cannon were buried in trenches, overwhich a farmer rapidly ran his plough, to give it the aspectof a newly-ploughed field. The militia gathered in all hastefrom neighboring villages, and at early day a large body ofthem were assembled, while the bulk of the precious storeshad vanished. 

[Illustration: THE SPIRIT OF '76. ]

Meanwhile, momentous events were taking place at Lexington. The first shots of the American Revolution had been fired;the first blood had been shed. It was about four o'clockwhen the marching troops came within sight of the town. Until now they had supposed that their secret was safe, andthat they would take the patriots off their guard. But thesound of bells, clashing through the morning air, told adifferent tale. In some way the people had been aroused. Colonel Smith halted his men, sent a messenger to Boston forre-enforcements, and ordered Major Pitcairn, with sixcompanies, to press on to Concord with all haste and securethe bridges. 

News that the troops were at hand quickly reached Lexington. The drums were beaten, the minute-men gathered, and as thecoming morning showed its first gray tinge in the east, itgave light to a new spectacle on Lexington green, that of aforce of about a hundred armed militiamen facing five or sixtimes their number of scarlet-coated British troops. 

It was a critical moment. Neither party wished to fire. Bothknew well what the first shot involved. But the moment ofprudence did not last. Pitcairn galloped forward, sword inhand, followed quickly by his men, and shouted in ringingtones, --

"Disperse, you villains! Lay down your arms, you rebels, anddisperse!"

The patriots did not obey. Not a man of them moved from hisranks. Not a face blanched. Pitcairn galloped back and badehis men surround the rebels in arms. At this instant someshots came from the British line. They were instantlyanswered from the American ranks. Pitcairn drew his pistoland discharged it. 

"Fire!" he cried to his troops. 

Instantly a fusillade of musketry rang out upon the morningair, four of the patriots fell dead, and the other, moved bysudden panic, fled. As they retreated another volley wasfired, and more men fell. The others hid behind stone wallsand buildings and returned the fire, wounding three of thesoldiers and Pitcairn's horse. 

Such was the opening contest of the American Revolution. Those shots were the signal of a tempest of war which wasdestined to end in the establishment of one of the greatestnations known to human history. As for the men who lay deadupon Lexington green, the first victims of a great cause, they would be amply revenged before their assailants setfoot again on Boston streets. 

The troops, elated with their temporary success, now pushedon briskly towards Concord, hoping to be in time to seizethe stores. They reached there about seven o'clock, but onlyto find that they were too late, and that most of thematerial of war had disappeared. They did what damage theycould, knocked open about sixty barrels of flour which theyfound, injured three cannon, threw some five hundred poundsof balls into wells and the mill-pond, and set fire to thecourt-house. A Mrs. Moulton put out the flames before theyhad done much harm. 

The time taken in these exercises was destined to be fatalto many of those indulging in them. Militia were nowgathering in haste from all the neighboring towns. TheConcord force had withdrawn for re-enforcements, but aboutten o'clock, being now some four hundred strong, the militiaadvanced and attacked the enemy on guard at North Bridge. Asharp contest ensued. Captain Isaac Davis and one of his menfell dead. Three of the British were killed, and severalwounded and captured. The bridge was taken. 

Colonel Smith was in a quandary. Should he stand his ground, or retreat before these despised provincials? Should veteranBritish troops fly before countrymen who had never fired gunbefore at anything larger than a rabbit? But these despisedcountrymen were gathering in hordes. On every side theycould be seen hasting forward, musket or rifle in hand. Prudence just then seemed the better part of valor. Abouttwelve o'clock Colonel Smith reluctantly gave the order toretreat. 

It began as an orderly march; it ended as a disorderlyflight. The story of Lexington had already spread far andwide and, full of revengeful fury, the minute-men hastenedto the scene. Reaching the line of retreat, they hid behindhouses, barns, and road-side walls, and poured a gallingfire upon the troops, some of whom at every moment felldead. During that dreadful six miles' march to Lexington, the helpless troops ran the gantlet of the most destructivestorm of bullets they had ever encountered. On Lexingtonbattle-green several of them fell. It is doubtful if a manof them would have reached Boston alive but for the cautiousdemand for re-enforcements which Colonel Smith had sent backin the early morning. 

Lord Percy, with about nine hundred men, left Boston aboutnine o'clock in the morning of the 19th, and a short timeafter two in the afternoon reached the vicinity ofLexington. He was barely in time to rescue the exhaustedtroops of Colonel Smith. So worn out were they with fatiguethat they were obliged to fling themselves on the ground forrest, their tongues hanging from their mouths throughdrought and weariness. 

Little time could be given them for rest. The woods swarmedwith militiamen, who scarcely could be kept back by thehollow square and planted cannon of Lord Percy's troops. Ina short time the march was resumed. The troops had burnedseveral houses at Lexington, a vandalism which added to thefury of the provincials. As they proceeded, the infuriatedsoldiers committed other acts of atrocity, particularly inWest Cambridge, where houses were plundered and severalunoffending persons murdered. 

But for all this they paid dearly. The militia pursued themalmost to the very streets of Boston, pouring in a hot fireat every available point. On nearing Charlestown thesituation of the British troops became critical, for theirammunition was nearly exhausted, and a strong force wasmarching upon them from several points. Fortunately forthem, they succeeded in reaching Charlestown before theycould be cut off, and here the pursuit ended as no longeravailable. The British loss in killed, wounded, and missingin that dreadful march had been nearly three hundred; thatof the Americans was about one hundred in all. 

It was a day mighty in history, the birthday of theAmerican Revolution; the opening event in the history of theUnited States of America, which has since grown to soenormous stature, and is perhaps destined to become thegreatest nation upon the face of the earth. That midnightride of Paul Revere was one of the turning-points in thehistory of mankind. 

THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 

Down from the green hills of Vermont came in all haste acompany of hardy mountaineers, at their head a large-framed, strong-limbed, keen-eyed frontiersman, all dressed in thehomespun of their native hills, but all with rifles in theirhands, a weapon which none in the land knew better how touse. The tidings of stirring events at Boston, spreadingrapidly through New England, had reached their ears. Thepeople of America had been attacked by English troops, bloodhad been shed at Lexington and Concord, war was begun, astruggle for independence was at hand. Everywhere thecolonists, fiery with indignation, were seizing their armsand preparing to fight for their rights. The tocsin hadrung. It was time for all patriots to be up and alert. 

On the divide between Lakes George and Champlain stood afamous fort, time-honored old Ticonderoga, which had playedso prominent a part in the French and Indian War. It wasfeebly garrisoned by English troops, and was well suppliedwith munitions of war. These munitions were, just then, ofmore importance than men to the patriot cause. The instantthe news of Lexington reached the ears of the mountaineersof Vermont, axes were dropped, ploughs abandoned, riflesseized, and "Ticonderoga" was the cry. Ethan Allen, a leaderin the struggle which had for several years been maintainedbetween the settlers of that region and the colony of NewYork, and a man of vigor and decision, lost no time incalling his neighbors to arms, and the Green Mountain boyswere quickly in the field. 

[Illustration: ETHAN ALLEN'S ENTRANCE, TICONDEROGA. ]

Prompt as they had been, they were none too soon. Others ofthe patriots had their eyes on the same tempting prize. Other leaders were eagerly preparing to obtain commissionsand raise men for the expedition. One of the first of thesewas Benedict Arnold, who had been made colonel for thepurpose by the governor of Massachusetts, and hastened tothe western part of the colony to raise men and take commandof the enterprise. 

He found men ready for the work, Green Mountain men, withthe stalwart Ethan Allen at their head, but men by no meansdisposed to put themselves under any other commander thanthe sturdy leader of their choice. 

Only a year or two before Allen, as their colonel, had ledthese hardy mountaineers against the settlers from New Yorkwho had attempted to seize their claims, and driven out theinterlopers at sword's point. The courts at Albany haddecided that the Green Mountain region was part of thecolony of New York. Against this decision Allen had stirredthe settlers to armed resistance, thundering out against thefulminations of the lawyers the opposite quotation fromScripture, "The Lord is the God of the hills, but He is notthe God of the valleys, " and rousing the men of the hillsto fight what he affirmed to be God's battle for the right. In 1774, Governor Tryon, of New York, offered a reward ofone hundred and fifty pounds for the capture of Allen. Theinsurgent mountaineers retorted by offering an equal rewardfor the capture of Governor Tryon. Neither reward had beenearned, a year more had elapsed, and Ethan Allen, at thehead of his Green Mountain boys, was in motion in a greatercause, to defend, not Vermont against New York, but Americaagainst England. 

But, before proceeding, we must go back and bring up eventsto the point we have reached. The means for the expeditionof the Green Mountain boys came from Connecticut, whence asum of three hundred pounds had been sent in the hands oftrusty agents to Allen and his followers. They were found tobe more than ready, and the Connecticut agents started inadvance towards the fort, leaving the armed band to follow. One of them, Noah Phelps by name, volunteered to enter thefort and obtain exact information as to its condition. Hedisguised himself and entered the fort as a countryman, pretending that he wanted to be shaved. While hunting forthe barber he kept his eyes open and used his tongue freely, asking questions like an innocent rustic, until he hadlearned the exact condition of affairs, and came out with aclean face and a full mind. 

Allen was now rapidly approaching, and, lest news of hismovement should reach the fort, men were sent out on allthe roads leading thither, to intercept passers. On the 8thof May all was ready. Allen, with one hundred and forty men, was to go to the lake by way of Shoreham, opposite the fort. Thirty men, under Captain Herrick, were to advance toSkenesborough, capture Major Skene, seize boats, and dropdown the lake to join Allen. 

All was in readiness for the completion of the work, when anofficer, attended by a single servant, came suddenly fromthe woods and hurried to the camp. It was Benedict Arnold, who had heard of what was afoot, and had hastened forward toclaim command of the mountaineers. 

It was near nightfall. The advance party of Allen's men wasat Hand's Cove, on the eastern side of the lake, preparingto cross. Arnold joined them and crossed with them, but onreaching the other side of the lake claimed the command. Allen angrily refused. The debate waxed hot; Arnold had thecommission; Allen had the men: the best of the situation laywith the latter. He was about to settle the difficulty byordering Arnold under guard, when one of his friends, fearing danger to the enterprise from the controversy, suggested that the two men should march side by side. Thiscompromise was accepted and the dispute ended. 

By this time day was about to break. Eighty-three men hadlanded, and the boats had returned for the rest. But therewas evidently no time to lose if the fort was to besurprised. They must move at once, without waiting for theremainder of the party. A farmer's boy of the vicinity, whowas familiar with the fort, offered to act as guide, and ina few minutes more the advance was begun, the two leaders atthe head, Allen in command, Arnold as a volunteer. 

The stockade was reached. A wicket stood open. Through thisAllen charged followed by his men. A sentry posted theretook aim, but his piece missed fire, and he ran backshouting the alarm. At his heels came the two leaders, atfull speed, their men crowding after, till, before a man ofthe garrison appeared, the fort was fairly won. 

Allen at once arranged his men so as to face each of thebarracks. It was so early that most of those within werestill asleep, and the fort was captured without thecommander becoming aware that any thing unusual was goingon. His whole command was less than fifty men, andresistance would have been useless with double their numberof stalwart mountaineers on the parade-ground. 

Allen forced one of the sentries who had been captured toshow him the way to the quarters of Captain Delaplace, thecommander. Reaching the chamber of the latter, the militialeader called on him in a stentorian voice to surrender. Delaplace sprang out of bed, and, half dressed, appearedwith an alarmed and surprised face at the door. 

"By whose authority?" he demanded, not yet alive to thesituation. 

"In the name of the great Jehovah and the ContinentalCongress!" roared out the Green Mountaineer. 

Here was a demand which backed as it was by a drawn swordand the sound of shouts of triumph outside, it would havebeen madness to resist. The fort was surrendered withscarcely a shot fired or a blow exchanged, and its largestores of cannon and ammunition, then sorely needed by thecolonists besieging Boston, fell into American hands. Thestores and military material captured included a hundred andtwenty pieces of cannon, with a considerable number of smallarms and other munitions of high value to the patriot cause. 

While these events were taking place, Colonel Seth Warnerwas bringing the rear-guard across the lake, and wasimmediately sent with a hundred men to take possession ofthe fort at Crown Point, in which were only a sergeant andtwelve men. This was done without difficulty, and a hundredmore cannon captured. 

The dispute between Arnold and Allen was now renewed, Massachusetts supporting the one, Connecticut the other. While it was being settled, the two joined in an expeditiontogether, with the purpose of gaining full possession ofLake Champlain, and seizing the town of St. Johns, at itshead. This failed, reinforcements having been sent fromMontreal, and the adventurers returned to Ticonderoga, contenting themselves for the time being with their signalsuccess in that quarter, and the fame on which they countedfrom their daring exploit. 

The after-career of Ethan Allen was an interesting one, andworthy of being briefly sketched. Having taken Ticonderoga, he grew warm with the desire to take Canada, and, onSeptember 25, 1775, made a rash assault on Montreal with aninadequate body of men. The support he hoped for was notforthcoming, and he and his little band were taken, Allen, soon after, being sent in chains to England. 

Here he attracted much attention, his striking form, hisardent patriotism, his defiance of the English, even incaptivity, and certain eccentricities of his manner andcharacter interesting some and angering others of those withwhom he had intercourse. 

Afterwards he was sent back to America and held prisoner atHalifax and New York, in jails and prison-ships, being mostof the time harshly treated and kept heavily ironed. He wasreleased in 1778. 

A fellow-prisoner, Alexander Graydon, has left in hismemoirs a sketch of Allen, which gives us an excellent ideaof the man. "His figure was that of a robust, large-framedman worn down by confinement and hard fare. . . . His style wasa singular compound of local barbarisms, scriptural phrases, and Oriental wildness. . . . Notwithstanding that Allen mighthave had something of the insubordinate, lawless, frontierspirit in his composition, he appeared to me to be a man ofgenerosity and honor. "

Among the eccentricities of the man was a disbelief inChristianity, --much more of an anomaly in that day than atpresent, --and a belief in the transmigration of souls, itbeing one of his fancies that, after death, his spiritualpart was to return to this world in the form of a largewhite horse. 

On his release he did not join the army. Vermont haddeclared itself an independent State in 1777, and soughtadmittance to the Confederation. This New York opposed. Allen took up the cause, visited Congress on the subject, but found its members not inclined to offend the powerfulState of New York. There was danger of civil war in themidst of the war for independence, and the English leaders, seeing the state of affairs, tried to persuade Allen and theother Green Mountain leaders to declare for the authority ofthe king. They evidently did not know Ethan Allen. He wasfar too sound a patriot to entertain for a moment such athought. The letters received by him he sent in 1782 toCongress, and when the war ended Vermont was a part of theUnion, though not admitted as a State till 1791. Allen wasthen dead, having been carried away suddenly by apoplexy in1789. 

THE BRITISH AT NEW YORK. 

Before the days of dynamite and the other powerfulexplosives which enable modern man to set at naught the mostrigid conditions of nature, warfare with the torpedo waslittle thought of, gunpowder being a comparatively innocentagent for this purpose. In the second period of theRevolutionary War, when the British fleet had left Bostonand appeared in the harbor of New York, preparatory to anattack on the latter city, the only methods devised by theAmericans for protection of the Hudson were sunken hulks inthe stream, _chevaux-de-frise_, composed of anchored logs, and fire-ships prepared to float down on the foe. All theseproved of no avail. The current loosened the anchored logs, so that they proved useless; the fire-ships did no damage;and the batteries on shore were not able to hinder certainships of the enemy from running the gantlet of the city, andascending the Hudson to Tappan Sea, forty miles above. Allthe service done by the fire-ships was to alarm the captainsof these bold cruisers, and induce them to run down theriver again, and rejoin the fleet at the Narrows. 

It was at this juncture that an interesting event tookplace, the first instance on record of the use of atorpedo-vessel in warfare. A Connecticut officer namedBushnell, an ingenious mechanician, had invented during hiscollege-life an oddly-conceived machine for submarineexplosion, to which he gave the appropriate name of "TheAmerican Turtle. " He had the model with him in camp. Areport of the existence of this contrivance reached GeneralPutnam, then in command at New York. He sent for Bushnell, talked the matter over with him, examined the model, and wasso pleased with it that he gave the inventor an order toconstruct a working-machine, supplying funds for thispurpose. 

Bushnell lost no time. In ten days the machine was ready. Itwas a peculiar-looking affair, justifying its name by itsresemblance to a large ocean-turtle. In the head, or frontportion, was an air-tight apartment, with a narrow entrance. It was claimed to be capable of containing fresh air enoughto support life for half an hour. The bottom of the machinewas ballasted with lead. Motion was obtained from an oar, adapted for rowing backward or forward, while a rudder undercontrol of the operator served for steering purposes. In thebottom was a valved aperture, into which water could beadmitted when it was desired to sink the machine; while thewater could be ejected by two brass pumps when the operatorwished to rise again. 

The torpedo arrangement consisted of two pieces of oaktimber, hollowed out and filled with powder, the spacecontaining a clock-work arrangement that could be set to runany time desired, and a contrivance for exploding the powderwhen the time expired. This torpedo was fixed in the rear ofthe vessel, and was provided with a strong screw, thatcould be turned by the operator, so as to fasten it underthe bottom of a ship or in other desired location. So far asappeared, the contrivance was not unpromising. It failed inits purpose, but solely, if the word of the operator may betaken, from the absence of an indispensable article ofsupply. What this was will appear in the sequel. 

Captain Bushnell's brother had volunteered for the perilousenterprise. A sudden sickness prevented him, and his placewas taken by a venturesome New London sergeant named AbijahShipman, or, as rechristened by his companions, "Long Bige. "He was an amphibious chap, half sailor, half soldier, long, thin, and bony, and not wanting in Yankee humor. He hadcourage enough to undertake any enterprise, if he could onlybe primed with rum and tobacco, articles which he deemed theleading necessaries of life. 

It was an early hour of a July morning. The sun had notappeared on the eastern horizon. By a wharf-side on theHudson floated the strange marine monster whose powers wereabout to be tested. On the shore stood Putnam and many otherofficers. In their midst was Abijah Shipman, ready to starton his dangerous enterprise. It was proposed to tow thenondescript affair into the stream, set it adrift on thetide, and trust to Abijah's skill to bring it under thebottom of the "Eagle, " Admiral Howe's flag-ship, which hadbeen chosen for the victim. If the magazine could beattached to the bottom of this vessel, she must surely bedestroyed. But certainly the chances seemed greatly againstits being thus attached. 

Everything was ready. Abijah stepped on board his craft, entered the air-tight chamber, closed the cover, and wasabout to screw it down, when suddenly it flew open again, and his head emerged. 

"Thunder and marlinspikes!" he exclaimed, "who's got a cudof tobacco? This old cud won't last, anyhow. " And he threwaway the worn-out lump on which he had been chewing. 

A laugh followed his appeal. Such of the officers as usedthe weed felt hastily in their pockets. They were empty ofthe indispensable article. There was no hope for Abijah;daylight was at hand, time was precious, he must sail shortof supplies. 

"You see how it is, my brave fellow, " said Putnam. "WeContinental officers are too poor to raise even a tobaccoplug. Push off. To-morrow, after you have sent the 'Eagle'on its last flight, some of our Southern officers shallorder you a full keg of old Virginia weed. "

"It's too bad, " muttered Abijah, dejectedly. "And mind you, general, if the old 'Turtle' doesn't do her duty, it's all'long of me goin' to sea without tobacco. "

Down went Abijah's head, the cover was tightly screwed intoplace, and the machine was towed out into the channel andcast loose. Away it floated towards the British fleet, whichlay well up in the Narrows. The officers made their way tothe Battery, where they waited in much suspense the resultof the enterprise. 

An hour slowly moved by. Morning broke. The rim of the sunlifted over the distant waters. Yet the "Eagle" still rodeunharmed. Something surely had happened. The torpedo hadfailed. Possibly the venturesome Abijah was reposing in hisstranded machine on the bottom of the bay. Putnam anxiouslyswept the waters in the vicinity of the "Eagle" with hisglass. Suddenly he exclaimed, "There he is!" The top of the"Turtle" had just emerged, in a little bay a short distanceto the left of Howe's flag-ship. 

It was seen as quickly by the sentinels on the "Eagle, " whofired at the strange aquatic monster with such good aim thatAbijah popped under the water as hastily as he had emergedfrom it. On board the "Eagle" confusion evidently prevailed. This strange contrivance had apparently filled the marinerswith alarm. There were signs of a hasty effort to get underweigh, and wings were added to this haste when a violentexplosion took place in the immediate vicinity of the fleet, hurling up great volumes of water into the air. The machinehad been set to run an hour, and had duly gone off at itsproper time, but, for some reason yet to be explained, notunder the "Eagle. " The whole fleet was not long in gettingup its anchors, setting sail, and scurrying down the bay toa safer abiding-place below. And here they lay until the dayof the battle of Long Island, not venturing again withinreach of that naval nondescript. 

As for the "Turtle, " boats at once set out to Abijah'srelief and he was taken off in the vicinity of Governor'sIsland. On landing and being questioned, he gave, in his ownodd way, the reasons of his failure. 

"Just as I said, gen'ral, " he remarked "it all failed forthe want of that cud of tobacco. You see, I am narvouswithout tobacco. I got under the 'Eagle's' bottom, butsomehow the screw struck the iron bar that passes from therudder pintle, and wouldn't hold on anyhow I could fix it. Just then I let go the oar to feel for a cud, to steady mynarves, and I hadn't any. The tide swept me under hercounter, and away I slipped top o' water. I couldn't manageto get back, so I pulled the lock and let the thunder-boxslide. That's what comes of sailin' short of supplies. Say, can't you raise a cud among you _now_?"

There is another interesting story to tell, in connectionwith the British occupation of New York, which may be fitlygiven here. The battle of Long Island had been fought. TheAmerican forces had been safely withdrawn. Washington hadmoved the main body of his army, with the bulk of thestores, from the city, leaving General Putnam behind, incommand of the rear-guard. 

Putnam's position was a perilous one. The configuration ofManhattan Island is such that the British could land a forcefrom the East River, throw it across the narrow width of theisland, and cut off retreat from below. The only trust layin the shore batteries, and they proved useless. 

A British landing was made at Kip's Bay, about three milesabove the city, where were works strong enough to have keptoff the enemy for a long time, had they been well defended. As it was, the garrison fled in a panic, on the bareappearance of the British transports. At the same time threeships of war moved up the Hudson to Bloomingdale, andattacked the works there. 

The flight of the Kip's Bay garrison left Putnam in the mostimminent peril. He had about three thousand men, and adangerous incumbrance of women, children, camp-followers, and baggage. The weather was very hot, the roads werenarrow; everything tended to make the retreat difficult andperilous. The instant he heard of the unlooked-for cowardiceof the Kip's Bay garrison and the landing of the enemy, heput his men in motion, and strained every nerve to push thempast the point of danger before his channel of escape shouldbe closed. 

Safety seemed a forlorn hope. The British had landed inforce above him. A rapid march would quickly bring them tothe Hudson. The avenue of exit would be closed. The dangerof capture was extreme. It was averted by one of thosestriking incidents of which so many give interest to thehistory of war. In this case it was a woman whose coolnessand quick wit proved the salvation of Putnam's imperilledarmy. 

Sir Henry Clinton, having fairly landed his men at Kip'sBay, put them quickly into motion to cut off Putnam'sretreat. In his march for this object, his route lay alongthe eastern side of Murray Hill, where was the residence ofMrs. Murray, mother of Lindley Murray, the grammarian, and amost worthy old Quaker lady. Putnam had sent her word, sometime before, of his perilous situation, begging her, ifpossible, to detain General Clinton, by entertaining him andhis officers. If their march could be hindered for an hourit would be an invaluable service. 

The patriotic old lady was quick to respond. Many of theBritish officers knew her, and when she appeared, with awelcoming smile, at her door, and cordially invited them tostep in and take a friendly glass of wine, the offer was tootempting to be refused. Exhausted with the heat and with thelabor of disembarking, they were only too glad to halt theircolumns for a short rest, and follow her into hercomfortable dining-room. Here Mrs. Murray and the ladies ofher family exerted themselves to entertain their guests. Thewine proved excellent. The society and conversation of theladies were a delightful change from the duties of the camp. The minutes became an hour before the guests dreamed of theflight of time. 

At length a negro servant, who had been on the lookout fromthe housetop, entered the room, made a significant sign tohis mistress, and at once withdrew. Mrs. Murray now rose, and with a meaning smile turned to her titled guest. 

"Will you be kind enough to come with me, Sir Henry?" sheasked. "I have something of great interest to show you. "

"With pleasure, " he replied, rising with alacrity, andfollowing her from the room. 

She led the way to the lookout in the upper story, andpointed to the northern side of the hill, where could beseen the American flag, proudly waving over the ranks of theretiring army. They were marching in close array into theopen plain of Bloomingdale. 

"How do you like the prospect, Sir Henry?" she calmlyinquired. "We consider the view from this side an admirableone. "

What Sir Henry replied, history has not recorded. No doubtit lacked the quality of politeness. Down the stairs herushed, calling to his officers as he passed, leaped uponhis horse, and could scarcely find words in his nervoushaste to give orders for pursuit. 

He was too late. The gap was closed; but nothing, exceptsuch baggage and stores as could not be moved, remained inthe trap which, if sprung an hour earlier, would have caughtan army. 

Only for Mrs. Murray's inestimable service, Putnam and hismen would probably have become prisoners of war. Her namelives in history among those of the many heroines who soably played their part in the drama of American liberty, andwho should hold high rank among the makers of the AmericanCommonwealth. 

A QUAKERESS PATRIOT. 

In Philadelphia, on Second Street below Spruce, formerlystood an antiquated mansion, known by the name of "Loxley'sHouse, " it having been originally the residence ofLieutenant Loxley, who served in the artillery underBraddock, and took part in his celebrated defeat. During theRevolution this house was the scene of an interestinghistorical incident, which is well worth relating. 

At that time it was occupied by a Quaker named Darrah, orperhaps we should say by his wife Lydia, who seems to havebeen the ruling spirit of the house. During the Britishoccupation of Philadelphia, when patriots and royalistsalike had to open their mansions to their none too welcomeguests, the Darrah mansion was used as the quarters of theBritish adjutant-general. In that day it was somewhat "outof town, " and was frequently the scene of privateconferences of the higher officers, as being somewhatsecluded. 

On one chill and snowy day, the 2d of December, 1777, theadjutant-general appeared at the house and bade Mrs. Darrahto prepare the upper back room for a meeting of his friends, which would take place that night. 

"They may stay late, " he said, and added, emphatically, "besure, Lydia, that your family are all in bed at an earlyhour. When our guests are ready to leave the house I willgive you notice, that you may let us out and extinguish thefire and candles. "

Mrs. Darrah obeyed. Yet she was so struck by the mysterywith which he seemed inclined to surround the projectedmeeting, that she made up her mind to learn, if possible, what very secret business was afoot. She obeyed his ordersliterally, saw that her people were early in bed, and, afterreceiving the officers, retired herself to her room, but notto sleep. This conference might presage some peril to theAmerican cause. If so, she wished to know it. 

When she deemed the proper time had come, she removed hershoes, and in stocking feet stole softly along the passageto the door of the apartment where the officers were inconsultation. Here the key-hole served the purpose to whichthat useful opening has so often been put, and enabled herto hear tidings of vital interest. For some time only amurmur of voices reaches her ears. Then silence fell, followed by one of the officers reading in a clear tone. Shelistened intently, for the document was of absorbinginterest. It was an order from Sir William Howe, arrangingfor a secret attack on Washington's camp at Whitemarsh. Thetroops were to leave the city on the night of the 4th undercover of the darkness, and surprise the rebels beforedaybreak. 

The fair eavesdropper had heard enough. Rarely had key-holelistener been so well rewarded. She glided back to her room, and threw herself on her bed. She was none too soon. In afew minutes afterwards steps were heard in the passage andthen came a rap upon her door. The fair conspirator was notto be taken unawares; she feigned not to hear. The rap wasrepeated a second and a third time. Then the shrewd womanaffected to awake, answered in a sleepy tone, and, learningthat the adjutant-general and his friends were ready toleave, arose and saw them out. 

[Illustration: THE OLD STATE HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA. ]

Lydia Darrah slept no more that night. The secret she hadlearned banished slumber. What was to be done? This thoughtfilled her mind the night long. Washington must be warned;but how? Should she trust her husband, or some other memberof her family? No, they were all leaky vessels; she wouldtrust herself alone. Before morning she had devised a planof action, and for the first time since learning thateventful news the anxious woman gave her mind a moment'srest. 

At early dawn she was astir. Flour was needed for thehousehold. She woke her husband and told him of this, sayingthat she must make an early journey to Frankford to supplythe needed stores. This was a matter of ordinary occurrencein those days, the people of Philadelphia being largelydependent upon the Frankford mills for their flour, andbeing obliged to go for it themselves. The idea ofhouse-to-house delivery had not yet been born. Mr. Darrahadvised that she should take the maid with her, but shedeclined. The maid could not be spared from her householdduties, she said. 

It was a cold December morning. The snow of the day beforehad left several inches of its white covering upon theground. It was no very pleasant journey which lay beforeMrs. Darrah. Frankford was some five miles away, and she wasobliged to traverse this distance afoot, and return over thesame route with her load of flour. Certainly comfort was notthe ruling consideration in those days of our forefathers. Aten-mile walk through the snow for a bag of flour would bean unmentionable hardship to a nineteenth-century housewife. 

On foot, and bag in hand, Mrs. Darrah started on her journeythrough the almost untrodden snow, stopping at GeneralHowe's head-quarters, on Market Street near Sixth, to obtainthe requisite passport to leave the city. It was still earlyin the day when the devoted woman reached the mills. TheBritish outposts did not extend to this point; those of theAmericans were not far beyond. Leaving her bag at the millto be filled, Mrs. Darrah, full of her vital mission, pushedon through the wintry air, ready to incur any danger ordiscomfort if thereby she could convey to the patriot armythe important information which she had so opportunelylearned. 

Fortunately, she had not far to go. At a short distance outshe met Lieutenant-Colonel Craig, who had been sent out byWashington on a scouting expedition in search ofinformation. She told him her story begged him to hasten toWashington with the momentous tidings and not to reveal hername and hurried back to the mill. Here she shouldered thebag of flour, and trudged her five miles home, reachingthere in as reasonably short a time as could have beenexpected. 

Night came. The next day passed. They were a night and dayof anxious suspense for Lydia Darrah. From her window, whennight had again fallen, she watched anxiously for movementsof the British troops. Ah! there at length they go, longlines of them, marching steadily through the darkness, butas noiselessly as possible. It was not advisable to alarmthe city. Patriot scouts might be abroad. 

When morning dawned the restless woman was on the watchagain. The roll of a drum came to her ears from a distance. Soon afterwards troops appeared, weary and discontentedwarriors, marching back. They had had their night's journeyin vain. Instead of finding the Americans off their guardand an easy prey, they had found them wide awake, and readyto give them the hottest kind of a reception. Aftermanoeuvring about their lines for a vulnerable point, andfinding none, the doughty British warriors turned on theirtrack and marched disconsolately homeward, having had theirlabor for their pains. 

The army authorities were all at sea. How had thisinformation got afoot? Had it come from the Darrah house?Possibly, for there the conference had been held. Theadjutant-general hastened to his quarters, summoned the fairQuakeress to his room, and after locking the door againstintrusion, turned to her with a stern and doubting face. 

"Were any of your family up, Lydia, " he asked, "on the nightwhen I had visitors here?"

"No, " she replied; "they all retired at eight o'clock. "

This was quite true so far as retiring went. Nothing wassaid about a subsequent rising. 

"It is very strange, " he remarked, musingly. "You, I know, were asleep, for I knocked at your door three times beforeyou heard me; yet it is certain that we were betrayed. I amaltogether at a loss to conceive who could have givenWashington information of our intended attack. But onarriving near his camp we found him ready, with troops underarms and cannon planted, prepared at all points to receiveus. We have been compelled to turn on our heels, and marchback home again, like a parcel of fools. "

As may well be surmised, the patriotic Lydia kept her owncounsel, and not until the British had left Philadelphia wasthe important secret of that signal failure made known. 

THE SIEGE OF FORT SCHUYLER. 

All was terror in the valley of the Mohawk, for its fertilefields and happy homes were threatened with the horrors ofIndian warfare. All New York State, indeed, was in danger. The hopes of American liberty were in danger. The deadliestperil threatened the patriotic cause; for General Burgoyne, with an army of more than seven thousand men, was encampedat St. John's, at the foot of Lake Champlain, prepared tosweep down that lake and Lake George, march to the valley ofthe upper Hudson, driving the feeble colonial forces fromhis path, and by joining with a force sent up the Hudsonfrom New York City, cut off New England from the remainingcolonies and hold this hot-bed of rebellion at his mercy. Itwas a well-devised and threatening scheme. How disastrouslyfor the royalists it ended all readers of history know. Withthis great enterprise, however, we are not here concerned, but with a side issue of Burgoyne's march whose romanticincidents fit it for our pages. 

On the Mohawk River, at the head of boat-navigation, stood afort, built in 1758, and named Fort Stanwix; repaired in1776, and named Fort Schuyler. The possession of this fortwas important to General Burgoyne's plan. Its defence was ofvital moment to the inhabitants of the Mohawk Valley. Interest for the time being centred round this outpost ofthe then almost unbroken wilderness. 

On one side Lieutenant-Colonel St. Leger was despatched, atthe head of seven hundred rangers, to sail up the St. Lawrence and Lake Ontario to Oswego, and from that point tomarch southward, rousing and gathering the Indians as hewent, capture Fort Schuyler, sweep the valley of the Mohawkwith the aid of his savage allies, and join Burgoyne atAlbany when his triumphant march should have reached thatpoint. 

On the other side no small degree of haste and consternationprevailed. Colonel Gansevoort had been placed in command atthe fort with a garrison of seven hundred and fifty men. Buthe found it in a state of perilous dilapidation. Originallya strong square fortification, with bomb-proof bastions, glacis, covered way, and ditch outside the ramparts, it hadbeen allowed to fall into decay, and strenuous efforts wereneeded to bring it into condition for defence. 

Meanwhile, news of the coming danger had spread widelythroughout the Mohawk Valley, and everywhere the most livelyalarm prevailed. An Oneida Indian brought the news to thefort, and from there it made its way rapidly through thevalley. Consternation was wide-spread. It was too late tolook for aid to a distance. The people were in too great apanic to trust to themselves. That the rotten timbers of theold fort could resist assault seemed very doubtful. If theywent down, and Brant with his Indians swept the valley, forwhat horrors might they not look? It is not surprisingthat, for the time, fear drove valor from almost every heartin the imperilled region. 

Up Lake Oneida came the enemy, now seventeen hundred strong, St. Leger with his rangers having been joined by Johnson, Butler, and Brant with their Tories and Indians. Every tribeof the Iroquois had joined the invaders with the exceptionof the Oneidas, who remained faithful to the colonists. 

On the 2d of August, 1777, Brent with his savage followersreached and invested the fort, the plumed and moccasined foesuddenly breaking from the forest, and with their wildwar-whoops seeking to intimidate the beleaguered garrison. On the next day came St. Leger with his whole force. On the4th the siege commenced. Bombs were planted and threw theirshells into the fort; the Indians, concealed behind bushesand trees, picked off with their arrows the men who werediligently employed in strengthening the parapets; andduring the evening the savages, spreading through the woods, sought, by frightful yells, to drive all courage from thehearts of the defenders. 

Meanwhile, aid was approaching. The valor of the patriots, which fled at the first threat of danger, had returned. Theenemy was now almost at their doors; their helpless familiesmight soon be at the mercy of the ruthless savages; whenGeneral Herkimer, a valiant veteran, called for recruits, armed men flocked in numbers to his standard. He wasquickly at the head of more than eight hundred men. He senta messenger to the fort, telling Gansevoort of his approach, and bidding him to discharge three signal-guns to show thatthe tidings had reached him. His small army was called to ahalt within hearing of the guns of the fort, as he deemed itthe part of prudence to await the signal before advancing onthe foe. 

Unfortunately for the brave Herkimer, his men, latelyover-timid, were now over-bold. His officers demanded to beled at once to the fort. Two of them, Cox and Paris by name, were impertinent in their demands, charging the veteran withcowardice. 

"I am placed over you as a father and guardian, " answeredHerkimer, calmly, "and shall not lead you into difficulties, from which I may not be able to extricate you. "

But their importunities and taunts continued, and at lengththe brave old man, angered by their insults, gave the word"March on!" He continued, "You, who want to fight so badlynow, will be the first to run when you smell burnt powder. "

On they marched, in tumultuous haste, and with the lack ofdiscipline of untrained militia. It was now August 6, twodays after the beginning of the siege. Indian scouts lurkedeverywhere in the forest, and the movements of the patriotarmy were closely watched. St. Leger was informed of theirnear approach, and at once took steps to intercept theiradvance. 

Heedless of this, and of the cautious words of theircommander, the vanguard pressed hastily on, winding alongthe road, and at length entering a deep curving ravine, overwhose marshy bottom the road way was carried by a causewayof earth and logs. The borders of the ravine were heavilytimbered, while a thick growth of underwood masked itssloping sides. 

Utterly without precaution, the militia pushed forward intothis doubtful passage, until the whole body, with theexception of the rear-guard, had entered it. Behind themcame the baggage-wagons. All was silent, unnaturally silent, for not even the chirp of a squirrel nor the rustle of aprowling ground-animal broke the stillness. The fort was notfar distant. The hurrying provincials hoped soon to jointheir beleaguered friends. 

Suddenly, from the wooded hill to the west, around which theravine curved in a semicircle, rose a frightful sound, --theIndian war-whoop from hundreds of savage throats. Hardly hadit fallen on the startled ears of the patriots when thesharp crack of musketry followed, and leaden missiles werehurled into the crowded ranks. Arrows accompanied them, andspears and tomahawks came hurtling through the air hurledwith deadly aim. 

The patriot army had fallen into a dangerous ambuscade. Herkimer's prediction was fulfilled. The rear-guard, onhearing the warlike sounds in front, turned in panic flight, leaving their comrades to their fate. No one can regret tohear that they were pursued by the Indians, and sufferedmore than if they had stood their ground. 

As for the remainder of the force, flight was impossible. They had entered a trap. It was fight or fall. Bullets, arrows, war-axes hurtled through their ranks. Frightfulyells still filled the air. Many fell where they stood. Herkimer was severely wounded, his horse being killed andhis own leg shattered. But, with a composure and coolcourage that have rarely been emulated, he ordered thesaddle to be taken from his horse and placed against a largebeech-tree near by. Here seated, with his men falling andthe bullets of the enemy whistling perilously near, hesteadily gave his orders while many of those who had calledhim coward were in full flight. During the heat of theaction he took his tinder box from his pocket, calmlylighted his pipe, and sat smoking as composedly as though byhis own fireside. A striking spectacle, that old man, sitting in the midst of hottest battle, with the life bloodoozing from his shattered leg, smoking and giving his orderswith the quiet composure of one on dress-parade! It is oneof the most imposing pictures in the portrait-gallery ofAmerican history. 

The battle went on. If it was to be fight or fall, the bravefrontiersmen decided it should be fight. Great confusionreigned at first, but courage soon returned, and though menfell in numbers, the survivors stood their ground likeveterans. For nearly an hour the fierce affray continued. The enemy surrounded the provincials on all sides, and werepressing step by step closer. The whole force might havebeen slain or captured, but for a wise suggestion of one oftheir number and an admirable change in their line ofbattle. Each small group was formed into a circle, and thusthey met the enemy at all points. This greatly increasedtheir defensive powers. So destructive now became their firethat the British soldiers rushed upon them in rage, seekingto break their line by a bayonet charge. They were boldlymet, and a hand-to-hand death-struggle began. 

At this moment a heavy thunder-peal broke from the darkeningskies. Down poured the rain in drenching showers. Lightningfilled the air. Crash after crash of thunder rolled throughthe sky. Checked in their blood-thirst by the fury of theelements, the combatants hastily separated and ran for theshelter of the trees, vanquished by water where fire hadfailed to overcome their rage. 

The affair so far had not been unlike that of Braddock'sdefeat, some twenty years before. But these were Americanmilitia, not British regulars, frontiersmen who knew toomuch of Indian fighting to stand in their ranks and be shotdown. They had long since taken to the trees, and fought thesavages in their own way. To this, perhaps, may be ascribedthe difference in result from that of the Braddock fight. 

After the rain, the patriots gained better ground andadopted new and useful tactics. Before, when the Indiansnoticed a shot from behind a tree, they would rush forwardand tomahawk the unlucky provincial before he could reload. But now two men were placed behind each tree, so that whenthe whooping savage sprang forward with his tomahawk asecond bullet was ready to welcome him. The fire from theAmerican side now grew so destructive that the Indians beganto give way. 

A body of Johnson's Greens came up to their support. Thesewere mostly loyalist refugees from the Mohawk Valley, towhom the patriot militia bore the bitterest enmity. Recognizing them, the maddened provincials leaped upon themwith tiger-like rage, and a hand-to-hand contest began, inwhich knives and bayonets took the place of bullets, and thecontest grew brutally ferocious. 

At this moment a firing was heard in the direction of thefort. New hope sprung into the hearts of the patriots. Wasaid coming to them from the garrison? It seemed so, indeed, for soon a body of men in Continental uniform came marchingbriskly towards them. It was a ruse on the part of the enemywhich might have proved fatal. These men were JohnsonGreen's disguised as Continentals. A chance revealed theircharacter. One of the patriots seeing an acquaintance amongthem, ran up to shake hands with him. He was seized anddragged into their ranks. Captain Gardenier, perceivingthis, sprang forward, spear in hand, and released his man;but found himself in a moment engaged in a fierce combat, inwhich he killed two of his antagonists and wounded another, but was himself seriously hurt. 

"For God's sake, captain, " cried some of the militia, "youare killing our own men!"

"They are not our own men, they are Tories!" yelled backthe captain. "Fire away!"

Fire they did, and with such deadly effect that numbers ofthe disguised Tories fell, and nearly as many Indians. In aninstant the battle was violently raging again, with roar ofrifles, clash of steel, yells of combatants, and the wildwar-whoops of the savages. 

But the Indians by this time had enough of it. The stubborndefence of the provincials had sadly thinned their ranks, and seeing the Tories falling back, they raised their cry ofretreat, "Oonah! Oonah!" and at once broke and fled. TheTories and regulars, dismayed by their flight, quicklyfollowed, the bullets of the provincials adding wings totheir speed. 

Thus ended one of the hottest and most deadly, for thenumbers engaged, of the battles of the Revolution. Of theprovincials, less than half of them ever saw their homesagain. The loss of the enemy was probably still heavier. General Herkimer died ten days after the battle. Themilitia, despite the well-laid ambuscade into which they hadmarched, were the victors, but they had been so severelyhandled that they were unable to accomplish their design, the relief of the fort. 

As for the garrison, they had not been idle during thebattle. The sound of the combat had been borne to theirears, and immediately after the cessation of the rainColonel Willett made a sally from the fort, at the head oftwo hundred and fifty men. The camp of the enemy had beendepleted for the battle, and the sortie proved highlysuccessful. The remnants of Johnson's regiment were soondriven from their camp. The Indian encampment beyond wasdemolished, its savage guards flying in terror from "theDevil, " by which expressive name they called ColonelWillett. Wagons were hurried from the fort, camp equipage, British flags, papers, and the effects of the officersloaded into them, and twenty-one loads of this useful spoiltriumphantly carried off. As the victorious force wasreturning, Colonel St. Leger appeared, with a strong body ofmen, across the river, just in time to be saluted by ashower of bullets, the provincials then retiring, withoutthe loss of a man. The setting sun that day cast its lastrays on five British standards, displayed from the walls ofthe fort, with the stars and stripes floating proudly abovethem. The day had ended triumphantly for the provincials, though it proved unsuccessful in its main object; for thefort was still invested, and the rescuing force were in nocondition to come to its aid. 

The investment, indeed, was so close that the garrison knewnothing of the result of the battle. St. Leger tookadvantage of this, and sent a white flag to the fort withfalse information, declaring that the relief-party had beenannihilated, that Burgoyne had reached and captured Albany, and that, unless the fort was surrendered, he could not muchlonger restrain the Indians from devastating the valleysettlements with fire and tomahawk. 

This story Gansevoort did not half believe, and answeredthe messenger with words of severe reprobation for histhreat of an Indian foray. 

"After you get out of this fort, " he concluded, "you mayturn around and look at its outside, but never expect tocome in again, unless as a prisoner. Before I would consentto deliver this garrison to such a murdering set as yourarmy, by your own account, consists of, I would suffer mybody to be filled with splinters and set on fire, as youknow has at times been practised by such hordes of women-andchildren-killers as belong to your army. "

After such a message there was no longer question ofsurrender, and the siege was strongly pushed. The enemy, finding that their guns had little effect on the sod-work ofthe fort, began a series of approaches by sapping andmining. Colonel Gansevoort, on his part, took an importantstep. Fearing that his stock of food and ammunition mightgive out, he determined to send a message to GeneralSchuyler, asking for succor. 

Colonel Willet volunteered for this service, LieutenantStockwell joining him. The night chosen was a dark andstormy one. Shower followed shower. The sentinels of theenemy were not likely to be on the alert. Leaving the fortat the sally-port at ten o'clock, the two messengers crepton hands and knees along a morass till they reached theriver. This they crossed on a log, and entered a dense woodwhich lay beyond. No sentinel had seen them. But they losttheir way in the darkness, and straggled on blindly untilthe barking of a dog told them that they were near an Indiancamp. 

Progress was now dangerous. Advance or retreat alike mightthrow them into the hands of the savage foe. For severalhours they stood still, in a most annoying and periloussituation. The night passed; dawn was at hand; fortunatelynow the clouds broke the morning-star shone in the east, andwith this as a guide they resumed their journey. Theirexpedition was still a dangerous one. The enemy might striketheir trail in the morning light. To break this they now andthen walked in the bed of a stream. They had set out on thenight of the 10th. All day of the 11th they pushed on, witha small store of crackers and cheese as their only food. Another night and day passed. On the afternoon of the 12th, nearly worn out with hardship, they reached the settlementof the German Flats. Here horses were procured, and theyrode at full speed to General Schuyler's head-quarters atStillwater. 

Schuyler had already heard of Herkimer's failure, and waslaying plans for the relief of the fort. His purpose wasopposed by many of his officers, who were filled with fearof the coming of Burgoyne. Schuyler was pacing the floor inanxious thought when he heard the low remark, --

"He means to weaken the army. "

Schuyler turned towards the speaker, so angry that he bitinto pieces a pipe he was smoking, and exclaimed, --

"Gentlemen, I shall take the responsibility; where is thebrigadier that will take command of the relief? I shall beatup for volunteers to-morrow. "

General Arnold, one of the boldest and most impulsive men inthe army, immediately asked for the command. The nextmorning the drums beat, and before noon eight hundredvolunteers were enrolled. Arnold at once advanced, but, feeling that his force was too weak, stopped at Fort Daytontill reinforcements could reach him. 

And now occurred one of the most striking events in thehistory of the war, that of the defeat of an invading armyby stratagem without sight of soldier or musket. It is to betold from two points of view, that of the garrison, and thatof the army of relief. As regards the garrison, itssituation was becoming critical. St. Leger's parallels wereapproaching the fort. The store of provisions was runninglow. Many of the garrison began to hint at surrender, fearing massacre by the Indians should the fort be taken byassault. Gansevoort, despairing of further successfulresistance, had decided upon a desperate attempt to cutthrough the enemy's lines. Suddenly, on the 22d, there camea sudden lull in the siege. The guns ceased their fire;quick and confused movements could be seen; there were signsof flight. Away went the besiegers, Indians and whitesalike, in panic disarray, and with such haste that theirtents, artillery, and camp equipage were left behind. Theastonished garrison sallied forth to find not a foeman inthe field, yet not a sign to show what mysterious influencehad caused this headlong flight. It was not from the faceof an enemy, for no enemy was visible, and the mystery wastoo deep for the garrison to fathom. 

To learn the cause of this strange event we must return toArnold and his stratagem. He had, on learning the peril ofthe fort, been about to advance despite the smallness of hisforce, when an opportunity occurred to send terror inadvance of his march. There were in his hands several Toryprisoners, among them an ignorant, coarse, half-idioticfellow named Hon-Yost Schuyler, who had been condemned todeath for treason. His mother pleaded for his life, castingherself on her knees before Arnold, and imploring for herson with tears and entreaties. She found him at firstinexorable, but he changed his tone and appeared to softenas a fortunate idea came to his mind. 

Her son's life should be spared, but upon conditions. Thesewere, that he should go to Fort Schuyler and, by stories ofthe immense force upon the march, endeavor to alarm St. Leger. Hon-Yost readily consented, leaving his brother as ahostage in Arnold's hands. 

The seemingly foolish fellow was far from being an idiot. Before leaving the camp he had several bullet-holes shotthrough his coat. He arranged also with a friendly OneidaIndian to follow and confirm his tale. Thus prepared, he setout for St. Leger's camp. Reaching it, he ran breathlesslyamong the Indians, seemingly in a state of terror. Many ofthe savages knew him, and he was eagerly questioned as towhat had happened. 

The Americans were coming, he replied; numbers of them, hosts of them; he had barely escaped with his life; he hadbeen riddled with bullets. He pointed to his coat inevidence. How many were there? he was asked. Hon-Yost, inreply, shook his head mysteriously, and pointed to theleaves on the trees. 

His seeming alarm communicated itself to the Indians. Theyhad been severely dealt with at Oriskany. The present siegedragged on. They were dissatisfied. While the chiefs debatedand talked of flight, the Oneida appeared with severalothers of his tribe whom he had picked up on the way. Thesetold the same story. A bird had brought them the news. Thevalley was swarming with soldiers. The army of Burgoyne hadbeen cut to pieces, said one. Arnold had three thousand men, said another. Others pointed to the leaves, as Hon-Yost haddone, and meaningly shook their heads. 

The panic spread among the Indians. St. Leger stormed atthem; Johnson pleaded with them; but all in vain. Drink wasoffered them, but they refused it. "The pow-wow said we mustgo, " was their answer to every remonstrance, and go theydid. 

"You said there would be no fighting for us Indians, " said achief. "We might go down and smoke our pipes. But many ofour warriors have been killed, and you mean to sacrifice usall. "

Oaths and persuasions proved alike useless. The councilbroke up and the Indians took to flight. Their paniccommunicated itself to the whites. Dropping everything buttheir muskets, they fled in terror for their boats on OneidaLake, with such haste that many of them threw away arms andknapsacks in their mad flight. 

The Indians, who had started the panic, grew merry on seeingthe wild terror of their late allies. They ran behind them, shouting, "They are coming, they are coming!" and thus addedwings to their flight. They robbed, stripped, and evenkilled many of them, plundered them of their boats, andproved a more formidable foe than the enemy from whom theyfled. 

Half-starved and empty-handed, the whites hurried to Oswegoand took boat on the lake for Montreal, while their Indianallies, who had proved of more harm than good, went merrilyhome to their villages, looking upon the flight as astupendous joke. 

When Arnold, hearing of what had happened, hurried to thefort, the enemy had utterly vanished, except a few whomGansevoort's men had brought in as prisoners. Hon-Yost sooncame back, having taken the first opportunity to slip awayfrom the flying horde. He had amply won his pardon. 

Thus ended the siege of Fort Schuyler; in its way, considering the numbers engaged, the most desperate andbloody struggle of the Revolution, and of the greatestutility as an aid to the subsequent defeat of Burgoyne. Asregards its singular termination, it is without parallel inthe history of American wars. Hon-Yost had proved himselfthe most surprising idiot on record. 

ON THE TRACK OF A TRAITOR. 

While Major André was dying the death of a spy, GeneralArnold, his tempter and betrayer, was living the life of acherished traitor, in the midst of the British army at NewYork. This was a state of affairs far from satisfactory tothe American authorities. The tool had suffered; the schemerhad escaped. Could Arnold be captured, and made to pay thepenalty of his treason, it would be a sharp lesson ofretribution to any who might feel disposed to follow hisbase example. 

Washington had his secret correspondents in New York, andfrom them had learned that Arnold was living in quartersadjoining those of Sir Henry Clinton, at but a shortdistance from the river, and apparently with no thought ofor precaution against danger. It might be possible to seizehim and carry him away bodily from the midst of his newfriends. 

Sending for Major Henry Lee, a brave and shrewd cavalryleader, Washington broached to him this important matter, and submitted a plan of action which seemed to him topromise success. 

"It is a delicate and dangerous project, " he said. "Muchdepends on our finding an agent fit for such hazardous work. You may have the man in your corps. Whoever volunteers forthis duty will lay me under the greatest personalobligation, and may expect an ample reward. But no time isto be lost. He must proceed, if possible, to-night. "

"Not only courage and daring, but very peculiar talent, areneeded for such an enterprise, " said Lee. "I have plenty ofbrave men, but can think of only one whom I can recommendfor such a duty as this. His name is John Champe; his rank, sergeant-major, but there is one serious obstacle in theway, --he must appear to desert, and I fear that Champe hastoo high a sense of military honor for that. "

"Try him, " said Washington. "The service he will do to hiscountry far outweighs anything he can do in the ranks. Rumorsays that other officers of high rank are ready to followArnold's example. If we can punish this traitor, he willhave no imitators. "

"I can try, " answered Lee. "I may succeed. Champe is notwithout ambition, and the object to be attained is a greatone. I may safely promise him the promotion which heardently desires. "

"That will be but part of his reward, " said Washington. 

Lee sent for Champe. There entered in response a young man, large and muscular of build, saturnine of countenance; agrave, thoughtful, silent person, safe to trust with asecret, for his words were few, his sense of honor high. Inall the army there was not his superior in courage andpersistence in anything he should undertake. 

It was no agreeable surprise to the worthy fellow to learnwhat he was desired to do. The plan was an admirable one, he admitted, it promised the best results. He did not carefor peril, and was ready to venture on anything that wouldnot involve his honor; but to desert from his corps, to winthe scorn and detestation of his fellows, to seem to playthe traitor to his country, --these were serious obstacles. He begged to be excused. 

Lee combated his objections. Success promised honor tohimself and to his corps, the gratitude of his country, thegreatest service to his beloved commander-in-chief. Desertion, for such a purpose, carried with it no dishonor, and any stain upon his character would vanish when the truthbecame known. The conference was a long one; in the endLee's arguments proved efficacious; Champe yielded, andpromised to undertake the mission. 

The necessary instructions had already been prepared byWashington himself. The chosen agent was to deliver lettersto two persons in New York, who were in Washington'sconfidence, and who would lend him their assistance. He wasto use his own judgment in procuring aid for the capture ofArnold, and to lay such plans as circumstances shouldsuggest; and he was strictly enjoined not to kill thetraitor under any circumstances. 

All this settled, the question of the difficulties in theway arose. Between the American camp and the British outpostwere many pickets and patrols. Parties of maraudingpatriots, like those that had seized André, might be in theway. Against these Lee could offer no aid. The desertionmust seem a real one. All he could do would be to delaypursuit. For the rest, Champe must trust to his own skilland daring. 

Eleven o'clock was the hour fixed. At that hour the worthysergeant, taking his cloak, valise, and orderly-book, andwith three guineas in his pocket, which Lee had given him, secretly mounted his horse and slipped quietly from thecamp. 

Lee immediately went to bed, and seemingly to sleep, thoughhe had never been more wide awake. A half-hour passed. Thena heavy tread was heard outside the major's quarters, and aloud knock came upon his door. It was some time before hecould be aroused. 

"Who is there?" he asked, in sleepy tones. 

"It is I, Captain Carnes, " was the reply. "I am here fororders. One of our patrols has just fallen in with adragoon, who put spurs to his horse on being challenged, andfled at full speed. He is a deserter, and must be pursued. "

Lee still seemed half asleep. He questioned the officer in adrowsy way, affecting not to understand him. When at lengththe captain's purpose was made clear to his seemingly drowsywits, Lee ridiculed the idea that one of his men haddeserted. Such a thing had happened but once during thewhole war. He could not believe it possible. 

"It has happened now, " persisted Captain Carnes. "The fellowis a deserter, and must be pursued. "

Lee still affected incredulity, and was with difficultybrought to order that the whole squadron should bemustered, to see if any of them were missing. This done, there was no longer room for doubt or delay. Champe, thesergeant-major, was gone, and with him his arms, baggage, and orderly-book. 

Captain Carnes ordered that pursuit should be made at once. Here, too, Lee made such delay as he could without arousingsuspicion; and when the pursuing party was ready he changedits command, giving it to Lieutenant Middleton, atender-hearted young man, whom he could trust to treatChampe mercifully if he should be overtaken. These variousdelays had the desired effect. By the time the partystarted, Champe had been an hour on the road. 

It was past twelve o'clock of a starry night when Middletonand his men took to horse, and galloped away on the track ofthe deserter. It was a plain track, unluckily; a trail thata child might have followed. There had been a shower atsunset, sharp enough to wash out all previous hoof-marksfrom the road. The footprints of a single horse were allthat now appeared. In addition to this, the horse-shoes ofLee's legion had a private mark, by which they could bereadily recognized. There could be no question; those footprints were made by the horse of the deserter. 

Here was a contingency unlooked for by Lee. The pursuitcould be pushed on at full speed. At every fork orcross-road a trooper sprang quickly from his horse andexamined the trail. It needed but a glance to discover whatroad had been taken. On they went, with scarce a moment'sloss of time, and with sure knowledge that they were on thefugitive's track. 

At sunrise the pursuing party found themselves at the top ofa ridge in the road, near the "Three Pigeons, " a road-sidetavern several miles north of the village of Bergen. Lookingahead, their eyes fell on the form of the deserter. He wasbut half a mile in advance. They had gained on him greatlyduring the night. 

At the same moment Champe perceived them. Both partiesspurred their horses to greater speed, and away wentfugitive and pursuers at a rattling pace. The roads in thatvicinity were well known to them all. There was a short cutthrough the woods from near the Three Pigeons to the bridgebelow Bergen. Middleton sent part of his men by this routeto cut off the fugitive, while he followed the main roadwith the rest. He felt sure now that he had the deserter, for he could not reach the British outposts without crossingthe bridge. 

On they went. No long time elapsed before the two divisionsmet at the bridge. But Champe was not between them. The traphad been sprung, but had failed to catch its game. He had insome strange manner disappeared. What was to be done? Howhad he eluded them?

Middleton rode hastily back to Bergen, and inquired if adragoon had passed through the village that morning. 

"Yes; and not long ago. "

"Which way did he go?"

"That we cannot say. No one took notice. "

Middleton examined the road. Other horses had been out thatmorning, and the Lee corps footprint was no longer to beseen. But at a short distance from the village the trailagain became legible and the pursuit was resumed. In a fewminutes Champe was discovered. He had reached a point nearthe water's edge, and was making signals to certain Britishgalleys which lay in the stream. 

The truth was that the fugitive knew of the short cut quiteas well as his pursuers, and had shrewdly judged that theywould take it, and endeavor to cut him off before he couldreach the enemy's lines at Paulus Hook. He knew, besides, that two of the king's galleys lay in the bay, a mile fromBergen, and in front of the small settlement of Communipaw. Hither he directed his course, lashing his valise, as hewent, upon his back. 

Champe now found himself in imminent peril of capture. Therehad been no response from the galleys to his signals. Thepursuers were close at hand, and pushing forward with shoutsof triumph. Soon they were but a few hundred yards away. There was but one hope left. Champe sprang from his horse, flung away the scabbard of his sword, and with the nakedblade in his hand ran across the marshy ground before him, leaped into the waters of the bay, and swam lustily for thegalleys, calling loudly for help. 

A boat had just before left the side of the nearest galley. As the pursuers reined up their horses by the side of themarsh, the fugitive was hauled in and was swiftly rowed backto the ship. Middleton, disappointed in his main object, took the horse, cloak, and scabbard of the fugitive andreturned with them to camp. 

"He has not been killed?" asked Lee, hastily, on seeingthese articles. 

"No; the rascal gave us the slip. He is safely on a Britishgalley, and this is all we have to show. "

A few days afterwards Lee received a letter from Champe, ina disguised hand and without signature, transmitted througha secret channel which had been arranged, telling of hissuccess up to this point, and what he proposed to do. 

As it appeared, the seeming deserter had been well receivedin New York. The sharpness of the pursuit and theorderly-book which he bore seemed satisfactory proofs of hissincerity of purpose. The captain of the galley sent him toNew York, with a letter to Sir Henry Clinton. 

Clinton was glad to see him. For a deserter to come to himfrom a legion so faithful to the rebel cause as that ofMajor Lee seemed an evidence that the American side wasrapidly weakening. He questioned Champe closely. Thetaciturn deserter answered him briefly, but with such a showof sincerity as to win his confidence. The interview endedin Clinton's giving him a couple of guineas, and bidding himto call on General Arnold, who was forming a corps ofloyalists and deserters, and who would be glad to have hisname on his rolls. This suggestion hit Champe's viewsexactly. It was what had been calculated upon by Washingtonin advance. The seeming deserter called upon Arnold, whoreceived him courteously, and gave him quarters among hisrecruiting sergeants. He asked him to join his legion, butChampe declined, saying that if caught by the rebels in thiscorps he was sure to be hanged. 

A few days sufficed the secret agent to lay his plans. Hedelivered the letters which had been given him, and madearrangements with one of the parties written to for aid inthe proposed abduction of Arnold. This done, he went toArnold, told him that he had changed his mind, and agreed toenlist in his legion. His purpose now was to gain freeintercourse with him, that he might learn all that waspossible about his habits. 

Arnold's quarters were at No. 3 Broadway. Back of the housewas a garden, which extended towards the water's edge. Champe soon learned that it was Arnold's habit to seek hisquarters about midnight, and that before going to bed healways visited the garden. Adjoining this garden was a darkalley, which led to the street. In short, all thesurroundings and circumstances were adapted to the design, and seemed to promise success. 

The plan was well laid. Two patriotic accomplices werefound. One of them was to have a boat in readiness by theriver-side. On the night fixed upon they were to concealthemselves in Arnold's garden at midnight, seize and gaghim when he came out for his nightly walk, and take him byway of the alley, and of unfrequented streets in thevicinity, to the adjoining river-side. In case of meetingany one and being questioned, it was arranged that theyshould profess to be carrying a drunken soldier to theguard-house. Once in the boat, Hoboken could quickly bereached. Here assistance from Lee's corps had been arrangedfor. 

[Illustration: THE BENEDICT ARNOLD MANSION. ]

The plot was a promising one. Champe prepared for it byremoving some of the palings between the garden and thealley. These he replaced in such a way that they could betaken out again without noise. All being arranged, he wroteto Lee, and told him that on the third night from that date, if all went well, the traitor would be delivered upon theJersey shore. He must be present, at an appointed place inthe woods at Hoboken, to receive him. 

This information gave Lee the greatest satisfaction. On thenight in question he left camp with a small party, takingwith him three led horses, for the prisoner and his captors, and at midnight sought the appointed spot. Here he waitedwith slowly declining hope. Hour after hour passed; the graylight of dawn appeared in the east; the sun rose over thewaters; yet Champe and his prisoner failed to appear. Deeplydisappointed, Lee led his party back to camp. 

The cause of the failure may be told in a few words. It wasa simple one. The merest chance saved Arnold from the fatewhich he so richly merited. This was, that on the very daywhich Champe had fixed for the execution of his plot, Arnoldchanged his quarters, his purpose being to attend to theembarkation of an expedition to the south, which was to beunder his command. 

In a few days Lee received a letter from his agent, tellingthe cause of failure, and saying that, at present, successwas hopeless. In fact, Champe found himself unexpectedly inan awkward situation. Arnold's American legion was to formpart of this expedition. Champe had enlisted in it. He wascaught in a trap of his own setting. Instead of crossing theHudson that night, with Arnold as his prisoner, he foundhimself on board a British transport, with Arnold as hiscommander. He was in for the war on the British side; forcedto face his fellow-countrymen in the field. 

We need not tell the story of Arnold's expedition toVirginia, with the brutal incidents which history relatesconcerning it. It will suffice to say that Champe formedpart of it, all his efforts to desert proving fruitless. Itmay safely be said that no bullet from his musket reachedthe American ranks, but he was forced to brave death fromthe hands of those with whom alone he was in sympathy. 

Not until Arnold's corps had joined Cornwallis at Petersburgdid its unwilling recruit succeed in escaping. Taking to themountains he made his way into North Carolina, and was notlong in finding himself among friends. His old corps was inthat State, taking part in the pursuit of Lord Rawdon. Ithad just passed the Congaree in this pursuit when, greatlyto the surprise of his old comrades, the deserter appearedin their ranks. Their surprise was redoubled when they sawMajor Lee receive him with the utmost cordiality. A fewminutes sufficed to change their surprise to admiration. There was no longer occasion for secrecy. Champe's story wastold, and was received with the utmost enthusiasm by his oldcomrades. So this was the man they had pursued so closely, this man who had been seeking to put the arch-traitor withintheir hands! John Champe they declared, was a comrade to beproud of, and his promotion to a higher rank was the plainduty of the military authorities. 

Washington knew too well, however, what would be the fate ofhis late agent, if taken by the enemy, to subject him tothis peril. He would have been immediately hanged. Champewas, therefore, discharged from the service, after havingbeen richly rewarded by the commander-in-chief. WhenWashington, seventeen years afterwards, was preparingagainst a threatened war with the French, he sent to Lee forinformation about Champe, whom he desired to make a captainof infantry. He was too late. The gallant sergeant-major hadjoined a higher corps. He had enlisted in the grand army ofthe dead. 

MARION, THE SWAMP-FOX. 

Our story takes us back to the summer of 1780, a summer ofwar, suffering, and outrage in the States of the South. General Gates, at the head of the army of the South, wasmarching towards Camden, South Carolina, filled withinflated hopes of meeting and defeating Cornwallis. How thishopeful general was himself defeated, and how, inconsequence, the whole country south of Virginia fell underBritish control, history relates; we are not here concernedwith it. 

Gates's army had crossed the Pedee River and was pushingsouthward. During its march a circumstance occurred whichgave great amusement to the trim soldiery. There joined thearmy a volunteer detachment of about twenty men, such aheterogeneous and woe-begone corps that Falstaff himselfmight have hesitated before enlisting them. They were amosaic of whites and blacks, men and boys, their clothestatters, their equipments burlesques on military array, their horses--for they were all mounted--parodies on thenoble war-charger. At the head of this motley array was asmall-sized, thin-faced, modest-looking man, his uniformsuperior to that of his men, but no model of neatness, yetwith a flashing spirit in his eye that admonished the amusedsoldiers not to laugh at his men in his presence. Behind hisback they laughed enough. The Pedee volunteers were asource of ridicule to the well-clad Continentals that mighthave caused trouble had not the officers used every effortto repress it. 

As for Gates, he offered no welcome to this ragged squad. The leader modestly offered him some advice about themilitary condition of the South, but the general in commandwas clothed in too dense an armor of conceit to be open toadvice from any quarter, certainly not from the leader ofsuch a Falstaffian company, and he was glad enough to getrid of him by sending him on a scouting expedition inadvance of the army, to watch the enemy and report hismovements. 

This service precisely suited him to whom it was given, forthis small, non-intrusive personage was no less a man thanFrancis Marion, then but little known, but destined tobecome the Robin Hood of partisan warriors, the celebrated"Swamp-Fox" of historical romance and romantic history. 

Marion had appeared with the title of colonel. He left thearmy with the rank of general. Governor Rutledge, who waspresent, knew him and his worth, gave him a brigadier'scommission, and authorized him to enlist a brigade forguerilla work in the swamps and forests of the State. 

Thus raised in rank, Marion marched away with his motleycrew of followers, they doubtless greatly elevated indignity to feel that they had a general at their head. Thearmy indulged in a broad laugh, after they had gone, atMarion's miniature brigade of scarecrows. They laughed atthe wrong man, for after their proud array was broken andscattered to the winds, and the region they had marched torelieve had become the prey of the enemy, that modestpartisan alone was to keep alive the fire of liberty inSouth Carolina, and so annoy the victors that in the endthey hardly dared show their faces out of the forts. TheSwamp-Fox was to pave the way for the reconquest of theSouth by the brave General Greene. 

No long time elapsed before Marion increased hisdisreputable score to a brigade of more respectableproportions, with which he struck such quick and tellingblows from all sides on the British and Tories, that no nestof hornets could have more dismayed a marauding party ofboys. The swamps of the Pedee were his head-quarters. Intheir interminable and thicket-hidden depths he foundhiding-places in abundance, and from them he made rapiddarts, north, south, east, and west, making his presencefelt wherever he appeared, and flying back to shelter beforehis pursuers could overtake him. His corps was constantlychanging, now swelling, now shrinking, now little largerthan his original ragged score, now grown to a company of ahundred or more in dimensions. It was always small. Theswamps could not furnish shelter and food for any large bodyof men. 

Marion's head-quarters were at Snow's Island, at the pointwhere Lynch's Creek joins the Pedee River. This was a regionof high river-swamp, thickly forested, and abundantlysupplied with game. The camp was on dry land, but around itspread broad reaches of wet thicket and canebrake, whosepaths were known only to the partisans, and their secretssedulously preserved. As regards the mode of life here ofMarion and his men, there is an anecdote which will pictureit better than pages of description. 

A young British officer was sent from Georgetown to treatwith Marion for an exchange of prisoners. The Swamp-Foxfully approved of the interview, being ready enough to ridhimself of his captives, who were a burden on his hands. Buthe was too shrewd to lay bare the ways that led to his camp. The officer was blindfolded, and led by devious pathsthrough canebrake, thicket, and forest to the hidden camp. On the removal of the bandage from his eyes he looked abouthim with admiration and surprise. He found himself in ascene worthy of Robin Hood's woodland band. Above him spreadthe boughs of magnificent trees, laden with drooping moss, and hardly letting a ray of sunlight through their crowdingfoliage. Around him rose their massive trunks, like thecolumns of some vast cathedral. On the grassy or moss-cladground sat or lay groups of hardy-looking men, no two ofthem dressed alike, and with none of the neat appearance ofuniformed soldiers. More remote were their horses, croppingthe short herbage in equine contentment. It looked like acamp of forest outlaws, jovial tenants of the merrygreenwood. 

The surprise of the officer was not lessened when his eyesfell on Marion, whom he had never seen before. It may bethat he expected to gaze on a burly giant. As it was, hecould scarcely believe that this diminutive, quiet-lookingman, and this handful of ill-dressed and lounging followers, were the celebrated band who had thrown the whole Britishpower in the South into alarm. 

Marion addressed him, and a conference ensued in which theirbusiness was quickly arranged to their mutual satisfaction. 

"And now, my dear sir, " said Marion, "I should be glad tohave you dine with me. You have fasted during your journey, and will be the better for a woodland repast. "

"With pleasure, " replied the officer. "It will be a new andpleasant experience. "

He looked around him. Where was the dining-room? where, atleast, the table, on which their mid-day repast was to bespread? Where were the dishes and the other paraphernaliawhich civilization demands as the essentials of a moderndinner?--Where? His eyes found no answer to this mentalquestion. Marion looked at him with a smile. 

"We dine here in simple style, captain, " he remarked. "Praybe seated. "

He took his seat on a mossy log, and pointed to an oppositeone for the officer. A minute or two afterwards the camppurveyor made his appearance, bearing a large piece of bark, on which smoked some roasted sweet potatoes. They came froma fire of brushwood blazing at a distance. 

"Help yourself, captain, " said Marion, taking a swollen andbrown-coated potato from the impromptu platter, breaking itin half, and beginning to eat with a forest appetite. 

The officer looked at the viands and at his host with eyesof wonder. 

"Surely, general, " he exclaimed, "this cannot be yourordinary fare?"

"Indeed it is, " said Marion. "And we are fortunate, on thisoccasion, having company to entertain, to have more than ourusual allowance. "

The officer had little more to say. He helped himself to therural viands, which he ate with thought for salt. Onreturning to Georgetown he gave in his report, and thentendered his commission to his superior officer, saying thata people who could fight on roots for fare could not be, andought not to be, subdued, and that he, for one, would notserve against them. 

Of the exploits of Marion we can but speak briefly; theywere too many to be given in detail. His blows were sosharply dealt, in such quick succession, and at such remotepoints, that his foes were puzzled, and could hardly believethat a single band was giving them all this trouble. Theirannoyance culminated in their sending one of their bestcavalry leaders, Colonel Wemyss, to surprise and crush theSwamp-Fox, then far from his hiding-place. Wemyss got onMarion's trail, and pursued him with impetuous haste. Butthe wary patriot was not to be easily surprised, nor wouldhe fight where he had no chance to win. Northward heswiftly made his way, through swamps and across deepstreams, into North Carolina. Wemyss lost his trail, foundit, lost it again, and finally, discouraged and revengeful, turned back and desolated the country from which he haddriven its active defender, and which was looked on as thehot-bed of rebellion. 

Marion, who had but sixty men in his band, halted the momentpursuit ceased, sent out scouts for information, and in avery short time was back in the desolated district. Thepeople rushed, with horse and rifle, to his ranks. Swiftlyhe sped to the Black Mingo, below Georgetown, and here fellat midnight on a large body of Tories, with such vigor andsuccess that the foe were almost annihilated, while Marionlost but a single man. 

The devoted band now had a short period of rest, the Britishbeing discouraged and depressed. Then Tarleton, thecelebrated hard-riding marauder, took upon himself thedifficult task of crushing the Swamp-Fox. He scoured thecountry, spreading ruin as he went, but all his skill andimpetuosity were useless in the effort to overtake Marion. The patriot leader was not even to be driven from his chosenregion of operations, and he managed to give his pursuersome unwelcome reminders of his presence. At times Tarletonwould be within a few miles of him, and full of hope ofovertaking him before the next day's dawn. But, while he wasthus lulled to security, Marion would be watching him fromthe shadows of some dark morass, and at midnight the Britishrear or flank would feel the sharp bite of the Swamp-Fox'steeth. In the end, Tarleton withdrew discomfited from thepursuit, with more hard words against this fellow, who"would not fight like a gentleman or a Christian, " than hehad ever been able to give him hard blows. 

Tarleton withdrawn, Marion resumed all his old activity, hisaudacity reaching the extent of making an attack on theBritish garrison at Georgetown. This was performed inconjunction with Major Lee, who had been sent by GeneralGreene to Marion's aid. Lee had no little trouble to findhim. The active partisan was so constantly moving about, nowin deep swamps, now far from his lurking-places, that friendand foe alike were puzzled to trace his movements. They metat last, however, and made a midnight attack on Georgetown, unsuccessful, as it proved, yet sufficient to redouble thealarm of the enemy. 

In the spring of 1781 we find Colonel Watson, with a forceof five hundred men, engaged in the difficult task of"crushing Marion. " He found him, --unlike thepredecessors, --but, as it proved, to his own cost. Marionwas now at Snow's Island, whence he emerged to strike aquick succession of heavy blows at such different pointsthat he appeared to be ubiquitous. His force met that ofWatson unexpectedly, and a fight ensued. Watson had theadvantage of field-pieces, and Marion was obliged to fallback. Reaching a bridge over the Black River, he checkedhis pursuers with telling volleys long enough to burn thebridge. Then a peculiar contest took place. The two forcesmarched down the stream, one on each side, for ten miles, skirmishing across the water all the way. Darkness ended thefight. The two camps were pitched near together. For tendays Watson remained there, not able to get at Marion, andso annoyed by the constant raids of his active foe that inthe end he made a midnight flight to escape destruction indetail. Marion pursued, and did him no small damage in theflight. Watson's only solace was the remark, already quoted, that his troublesome foe would not "fight like a gentlemanor a Christian. "

Major Lee tells an amusing story of an incident thathappened to himself, on his march in search of Marion. Hehad encamped for the night on Drowning Creek, a branch ofthe Pedee. As morning approached, word was brought to theofficer of the day that noises were heard in front of thepickets, in the direction of the creek. They seemed like thestealthy movements of men. Now a sentinel fired, the buglessounded for the horse patrols to come in, and the wholeforce was quickly got ready for the coming enemy. But noenemy appeared. Soon after another sentinel fired, and wordcame that an unseen foe was moving in the swamp. The troopsfaced in this direction, and waited anxiously for the comingof dawn. Suddenly the line of sentinels in their rear firein succession. The enemy had undoubtedly gained the roadbehind them, and were marching on them from that direction. The line again faced round. Lee went along it, telling hismen that there was nothing left but to fight, and biddingthem to sustain the high reputation which they had longsince won. The cavalry were ordered not to pursue a flyingforce, for the country was well suited for concealment, andthey might be tempted into an ambuscade. 

When day broke the whole column advanced with great caution, infantry in front, baggage in centre, cavalry in rear. Wherewas the foe? None appeared. The van officer carefullyexamined the road for an enemy's trail. To his surprise andamusement, he found only the tracks of a large pack ofwolves. 

These animals had been attempting to pass the camp at pointafter point, turned from each point by the fire of thesentinels, and trying the line on all sides. Great merrimentfollowed, in which pickets, patrols, and the officer of theday were made the butt of the ridicule of the whole force. 

We shall close with one interesting story in which Marionplayed the leading part, but which is distinguished by anexample of womanly patriotism worthy of the highest praise. The mansion of Mrs. Rebecca Motte, a rich widow of SouthCarolina, had been taken possession of by the Britishauthorities, she being obliged to take up her residence in afarm-house on her lands. The large mansion was convertedinto a fort, and surrounded by a deep ditch and a highparapet. A garrison of one hundred and fifty men, underCaptain McPherson, was stationed here, the place beingre-named Fort Motte. 

This stronghold was attacked, in May, 1781, by Marion andLee, then in conjunction. Lee took position at thefarm-house, and posted his men on the declivity of the plainon which the fort stood. Marion cast up a mound, placed onit the six-pounder they had brought with them, and preparedto assail the parapet while Lee made his approaches. McPherson had no artillery. 

Their approaches were made by a trench from an adjacentravine. In a few days they were near enough to be justifiedin demanding a surrender. McPherson refused. The sameevening word reached the Americans that Lord Rawdon wasapproaching. On the following night the light of hiscamp-fires could be seen on the neighboring hills of theSantee. The garrison saw them as well as the assailants, andwere filled with renewed hope. 

What was to be done? The besiegers must succeed quickly orretreat. Lee was not long in devising an expedient. Themansion of Mrs. Motte was shingled and the shingles verydry. There had been no rain for several days, and the sunhad poured its rays warmly upon them. They might be set onfire. Lee suggested this to Mrs. Motte, with much dread asto how she would receive it. Her acquiescence was socheerful that his mind was relieved. The patriotic womanexpressed herself as ready to make any sacrifice for hercountry. 

Lee told his plan to Marion, who warmly approved it. It wasproposed to do the work by means of arrows carrying flamingcombustibles. As it proved, however, the only bows andarrows they could find in the camp were very inferiorarticles. 

"They will never do, " said Mrs. Motte. "I can provide youwith much better. I have in the house an excellent bow and abundle of arrows, which came from the East Indies. They areat your service. "

She hastened from the room, and quickly returned with theweapons, which she handed to Lee as cheerfully as though shelooked for some special benefit to herself from their use. Word was sent to McPherson of what was intended, and thatRawdon had not yet crossed the Santee. Immediate surrenderwould save many lives. The bold commandant still refused. 

At midday, from the shelter of the ditch, Nathan Savage, oneof Marion's men, shot several flaming arrows at the roof. Two of them struck the dry shingles. Almost instantly thesewere in a flame. The fire crept along the roof. Soldierswere sent up to extinguish it, but a shot or two from thefield-piece drove them down. 

There was no longer hope for McPherson. He must surrender, or have his men burned in the fort, or decimated if theyshould leave it. He hung out the white flag of surrender. The firing ceased; the flames were extinguished; at oneo'clock the garrison yielded themselves prisoners. An hourafterwards the victorious and the captive officers wereseated at an ample repast at Mrs. Motte's table, presidedover by that lady with as much urbanity and grace as thoughthese guests were her especial friends. Since that day Mrs. Motte has been classed among the most patriotic heroines ofthe Revolution. 

This is, perhaps, enough in prose, but the fame of Marionand his men has been fitly enshrined in poetry, and it willnot be amiss to quote a verse or two, in conclusion, fromBryant's stirring poem entitled "Song of Marion's Men. "

 Our band is few, but true and tried Our leader frank and bold: The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass; Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. 

 Well knows the fair and friendly moon The band that Marion leads, -- The glitter of their rifles, The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlit plain; 'Tis life to feel the night wind That lifts his tossing mane. A moment in the British camp, -- A moment, --and away Back to the pathless forest Before the peep of day. 

 Grave men there are by broad Santee, Grave men with hoary hairs; Their hearts are all with Marion, For Marion are their prayers. And lovely ladies greet our band With kindliest welcoming, With smiles like those of summer, And tears like those of spring. For them we wear these trusty arms, And lay them down no more Till we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore. 

THE FATE OF THE PHILADELPHIA. 

It was a mild evening on the Mediterranean, the wind light, the sea smooth, the temperature--though the season was thatof midwinter--summer-like in its geniality. Into the harborof Tripoli slowly glided a small, two-masted vessel, all hersails set and moderately well filled by the wind, yet movingwith the tardiness of a very slow sailer. A broad bay laybefore her, its surface silvered by the young moon whosecrescent glowed in the western sky. Far inward could bedimly seen the masts and hull of a large vessel, its furledsails white in the moonlight. Beyond it were visible distantlights, and a white lustre as of minaret tops touched by themoonbeams. These were the lights and spires of Tripoli, aMoorish town then best known as a haunt and stronghold ofthe pirates of the Mediterranean. All was silence, allseemingly peace. The vessel--the ketch, to give it itsnautical name--moved onward with what seemed exasperatingslowness, scarcely ruffling the polished waters of the bay. The hours passed on. The miles lagged tardily behind. Thewind fell. The time crept towards midnight. The only lifevisible in the wide landscape was that of the gliding ketch. 

But any one who could have gained a bird's-eye view of thevessel would have seen sufficient to excite his distrust ofthat innocent-seeming craft. From the water-side only ten ortwelve men could be seen, but on looking downward the deckswould have been perceived to be crowded with men, lying downso as to be hidden behind the bulwarks and other objectsupon the deck, and so thick that the sailors who wereworking the vessel had barely room to move. 

This appeared suspicious. Not less suspicious was the factthat the water behind the vessel was ruffled by draggingobjects of various kinds, which seemed to have something todo with her slowness of motion. As the wind grew lighter, and the speed of the vessel fell until it was moving atbarely a two-knots' rate, these objects were drawn in, andproved to be buckets, spars, and other drags which had beentowed astern to reduce the vessel's speed. Her tardiness ofmotion was evidently the work of design. 

It was now about ten o'clock. The moon hovered on thewestern horizon, near its hour of setting. The wind wasnearly east, and favorable to the vessel's course, but wasgrowing lighter every moment. The speed of the ketchdiminished until it seemed almost to have come to rest. Ithad now reached the eastern entrance to the bay, the passagehere being narrowed by rocks on the one hand and a shoal onthe other. Through this passage it stole onward like aghost, for nearly an hour, all around being tranquil, nothing anywhere to arouse distrust. The craft seemed acoaster delayed by the light winds in making harbor. 

The gliding ketch had now come so near to the large vesselin front, that the latter had lost its dimness of outlineand was much more plainly visible. It was evidently noMoorish craft, its large hull, its lofty masts, its traceryof spars and rigging being rather those of an English orAmerican frigate than a product of Tripolitan dock-yards. Its great bulk and sweeping spars arose in striking contrastto the low-decked vessels which could be seen here and therehuddled about the inner sides of the harbor. 

A half-hour more passed. The ketch was now close aboard thefrigate-like craft, steering directly towards it. Despitethe seeming security of the harbor, there were sentriesposted on the frigate and officers moving about its deck. From one of these now came a loud hail in the Tripolitantongue. 

"What craft is that?"

"The Mastico, from Malta, " came the answer, in the samelanguage. 

"Keep off. Do you want to run afoul of us?"

"We would like to ride beside you for the night, " came theanswer. "We have lost our anchors in a gale. "

The conversation continued, in the Tripolitan language, asthe ketch crept slowly up, an officer of the frigate and thepilot of the smaller vessel being the spokesmen. A number ofMoorish sailors were looking with mild curiosity over thefrigate's rails, without a moment's suspicion that anythingwas wrong. The moon still dimly lit up the waters of thebay, but not with light enough to make any object verydistinct. 

As the ketch came close a boat was lowered with a line, andwas rowed towards the frigate, to whose fore-chains the endwas made fast. At the same time the officer of the largevessel, willing to aid the seemingly disabled coaster, ordered some of his men to lower a boat and take a line fromthe stern to the ketch. As the boat of the latter returned, it met the frigate's boat, took the line from the hands ofits crew, and passed it in to the smaller vessel. 

The ketch was now fast to the frigate bow and stern. Thelines were passed to the men lying on the deck, none of whomwere visible from the frigate's rail, and were slowly passedfrom hand to hand by the men, the coaster thus beingcautiously drawn closer to the obliging Moorish craft. 

All this took time. Foot by foot the ketch drew nearer, hermotion being almost imperceptible. The Moors looked lazilyover their bulwark, fancying that it was but the set of thecurrent that was bringing the vessels together. But suddenlythere was a change. The officer of the frigate haddiscovered that the ketch was still provided with anchors, despite the story that her anchors had been lost in a gale. 

"What is this?" he cried, sternly. "You have your anchors!You have lied to me! Keep off! Cut those fasts there!"

A moment afterwards the cry of "Amerikanos!" was raised inthe ship, and a number of the night-watch drew their knivesand hastened fore and aft to cut the fasts. 

The crew of the Mastico--or the Intrepid, to give it itsproper name--were still more alert. At the first signal ofalarm, their cautious pull on the ropes was changed to avigorous effort which sent the ketch surging through thewater to the side of the frigate, where she was instantlysecured by grappling-irons, hurled by strong hands. 

Up to this moment not a movement or whisper had betrayed thepresence of the men crouched on the deck. The ten or twelvewho were visible seemed to constitute the whole crew of thecraft. But now there came a sudden change. The stirring cryof "Boarders away!" was raised in stentorian tones, and inan instant the deck of the Intrepid seemed alive. Theastonished Moors gazed with startled eyes at a dense crowdof men who had appeared as suddenly as if they had come fromthe air. 

The order to board had been given by an officer who sprangat the same moment for the frigate's chain-plates. Twoactive young men followed him, and in an instant the wholecrew were at their heels, some boarding the frigate by theports, others over the rail, swarming upon her deck like somany bees, while the Moors fell back in panic fright. 

The surprise was perfect. The men on the frigate's deck ranto the starboard side as their assailants poured in on thelarboard, and constant plunges into the water told that theywere hastily leaping overboard in their fright. Hardly ablow had been struck. The deck was cleared in almost aminute after the order to board. The only struggle tookplace below, but this lasted little longer. In less than tenminutes from the time of boarding all resistance was at anend, and the craft was an undisputed prize to the Intrepid'screw. 

And now to learn the meaning of this midnight assault. Thevessel which had been so skilfully captured was the frigatePhiladelphia, of the American navy, which had fallen intothe hands of the Tripolitans some time before. For years theMoorish powers of Africa had been preying upon the commerceof the Mediterranean, until the weaker nations of Europewere obliged to pay an annual tribute for the security oftheir commerce. The United States did the same for sometime, but the thing grew so annoying that war was at lengthdeclared against Tripoli, the boldest of these piraticalpowers. In 1803 Commodore Preble was sent with a fleet tothe Mediterranean. He forced Morocco to respect Americancommerce, and then proceeded to Tripoli, outside whoseharbor his fleet congregated, with a view of blockading theport. 

On October 31 Captain Bainbridge of the Philadelphia, whilecruising about, saw a vessel in shore and to windward, standing for Tripoli. Sail was made to cut her off. Thechase continued for several hours, the lead being keptconstantly going to avoid danger of shoals. When about aleague distant from Tripoli it became evident that thefugitive craft could not be overtaken, and the frigate woreround to haul off into deeper waters. But, to the alarm ofthe officers, they found the water in their front rapidlyshoaling, it having quickly decreased in depth from eight tosix and a half fathoms. A hasty effort was now made to wearthe ship, but it was too late; the next instant she struckon a reef, with such force that she was lifted on it betweenfive and six feet. 

This was an appalling accident. No other cruiser was near. The enemy was close at hand. Gunboats were visible near thetown. The moment it was discovered that the frigate was introuble these dogs of war would be out. Captain Bainbridgegave orders to lighten the ship with all speed. All but afew of her guns were thrown overboard. The anchors were cutfrom the bows. The water-casks in the hold were started, andthe water pumped out. All heavy articles were thrownoverboard, and finally the foremast was cut away. But allproved in vain. The ship still lay immovable on the rocks. The gunboats of the enemy now surrounded her, and weregrowing bolder every minute. There was nothing for it butsurrender. Resistance could only end in the death of all onboard. 

But before hauling down his flag, Captain Bainbridge had themagazine drowned, holes bored in the ship's bottom, thepumps choked, and every measure taken to insure her sinking. Then the colors were lowered and the gunboats tookpossession, three hundred and fifteen prisoners beingcaptured. The officers were well treated by the bashaw ofTripoli, but an enormous ransom was demanded for them, andall signs of an inclination to peace disappeared. 

Captain Bainbridge's efforts to sink the Philadelphia provedineffectual. During a high wind the prize was got off thereef, her leaks stopped, and she taken in triumph to thecity. Her guns, anchors, and other articles were raised fromthe reef, the ship was moored about a quarter of a mile fromthe bashaw's castle, and her injuries repaired, it being theintention to fit her for sea as a Tripolitan cruiser. 

These were the events that preceded the daring attempt wehave detailed. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur had volunteered tomake an effort to destroy the vessel, with the aid of arecently-captured ketch, called the Mastico. This, renamedthe Intrepid, manned with a crew of seventy-six men, hadentered the harbor on the evening of February 3, 1804. Whatfollowed, to the capture of the frigate, has been told. Thesucceeding events remain to be detailed. 

Doubtless Lieutenant Decatur would have attempted to carryoff the prize had it been possible. His orders, however, were to destroy it, and the fact that there was not a sailbent or a yard crossed left him no alternative. The commandwas, therefore, at once given to pass up the combustiblesfrom the ketch. There was no time to be lost. The swimmingfugitives would quickly be in the town and the alarm given. Every moment now was of value, for the place where they werewas commanded by the guns of the forts and of several armedvessels anchored at no great distance, and they might lookfor an assault the instant their character was determined. 

With all haste, then, officers and men went to work. Theyhad been divided into squads, each with its own duty toperform, and they acted with the utmost promptitude anddisciplined exactness. The men who descended withcombustibles to the cockpit and after-store-rooms had needto haste, for fires were lighted over their heads beforethey were through with their task. So rapidly did the flamescatch and spread that some of those on board had to maketheir escape from between-decks by the forward ladders, theafter-part of the ship being already filled with smoke. 

In twenty minutes from the time the Americans had takenpossession of the ship they were driven out of her byflames, so rapidly had they spread. The vessel had become sodry under those tropical suns that she burned like pine. Bythe time the party which had been engaged in the store-roomsreached the deck, most of the others were on board theIntrepid. They joined them, and the order to cast off wasgiven. It was not an instant too soon, for the daring partywere just then in the most risky situation they had been inthat night. 

The fire, in fact, had spread with such unexpected rapiditythat flames were already shooting from the port-holes. Thehead fast was cast off, and the ketch fell astern. But thestern fast became jammed and the boom foul, while theammunition of the party, covered only with a tarpaulin, waswithin easy reach of the increasing flames. 

There was no time to look for an axe, and the rope wassevered with swords-blows, while a vigorous shove sent theIntrepid clear of the frigate and free from the danger whichhad threatened her. As she swung clear, the flames reachedthe rigging, up which they shot in hissing lines, the ropesbeing saturated with tar which had oozed out through theheat of the sun. 

The Intrepid did not depend on her sails alone for escape. She was provided with sweeps, and these were now got out andmanned with haste, a few vigorous strokes sending the vesselsafely away from the flaming frigate. This done, the crew, as with one impulse, dropped their oars and gave threerousing cheers for their signal victory. 

Their shouts of triumph appeared to rouse the Moors fromtheir lethargy. So rapid and unlooked-for had been theaffair, that the vessel was in full flame before the townand the harbor were awake to the situation. There werebatteries on shore, and two corsairs and a galley wereanchored at no great distance from the Philadelphia, andfrom these now the boom of cannon began. But their fire wastoo hasty and nervous to do much harm, and the men of theIntrepid seized their sweeps again and bowled merrily downthe harbor, their progress aided by a light breeze in theirsails. 

The spectacle that followed is described as of a beauty thatapproached sublimity. The ship, aflame from hull to peak, presented a magnificent appearance, the entire bay wasilluminated, and the flash and roar of cannon were constant, the guns of the Philadelphia going off as they becameheated, and adding to the uproar. She lay so that one of herbroadsides was directed towards the town, thus returning theenemy's fire, while the other sent its balls far out intothe harbor. "The most singular effect of the conflagrationwas on board the ship, for the flames, having run up therigging and masts, collected under the tops, and fell over, giving the whole the appearance of glowing columns and fierycapitals. "

The Intrepid moved on down the harbor, none the worse forthe cannon-balls that were sent after her, and continued hercourse until she reached her consort, the Siren, whichawaited her outside the harbor. Joining company, theyproceeded to Syracuse, where the fleet then lay. 

The exploit we have here described was one of the mostnotable in the annals of the American navy. It was one thatneeded the utmost daring combined with the most exactattention to details, and in both these respects there wasnothing wanting to insure the success of the enterprise. Thehour was well chosen, as that in which the foe would mostlikely be off their guard, and to this we must ascribe theslowness of their assault on the Americans and theuncertainty of their aim. The mode of approach to thefrigate, the skill with which the ketch was laid alongsidewithout exciting suspicion, and the rapidity andcompleteness with which the destruction of the prize wasprepared for, were all worthy of high commendation. As forthe boldness of the enterprise, one has but to consider whatwould have been the fate of the Americans had the attackfailed. Directly under the frigate's guns, and in a harborfilled with gunboats and armed cruisers and surrounded byforts and batteries, escape would have been impossible, andevery man in the Intrepid must have perished. The greatestcourage, coolness, and self-possession, and the most exactdiscipline, alone could have yielded success in the daringproject, and these qualities seem to have been possessed ina high degree. 

The success of this exploit gave Lieutenant Decatur areputation for gallantry which had its share in hissubsequent elevation to the highest rank in the navy. Thecountry generally applauded the feat, and the navy longconsidered it one of its most brilliant achievements, itbeing deemed a high honor among sailors and officers to havebeen one of the Intrepid's crew. The writer of these pagesmay add that it is to him a matter of some interest that thefirst man to reach the deck of the Philadelphia on thatmemorable night was a namesake of his own, MidshipmanCharles Morris. For the credit of the name he is also gladto say that Mr. Morris in time become a commodore in thenavy, and attained a high reputation as an officer both inwar and peace. 

THE VICTIM OF A TRAITOR. 

On the Ohio River, fourteen miles below Marietta, lies abeautiful island, which became, in the early part of thiscentury, the scene of a singular romance. At that time itwas a wild and forest-clad domain, except for a few acres ofclearing near its upper extremity, on which stood a largeand handsome mansion, with spacious out-buildings andsurrounding grounds which were laid out with the finesttaste. The great elms and gigantic sycamore of the West gavegrandeur to the surrounding woodland, and afforded shelterto grazing flocks and herds. Huge water-willows dipped theirdrooping branches into the waves of the Ohio as they ranswiftly by. In front of the mansion were several acres ofwell-kept lawn. In its rear were two acres of flower-garden, planted with native and exotic shrubs. Vine-covered arborsand grottos rose here and there. On one side of the housewas the kitchen garden, stocked with choice fruit-trees. Through the forest-trees an opening had been cut, whichafforded an attractive view of the river for several milesof its course. On the whole, it was a paradise in thewilderness, a remarkable scene for that outlying region, fornot far from the mansion still stood a large block-house, which had, not many years before, been used as a place ofrefuge in the desolating Indian wars. 

Here dwelt Harman Blennerhasset and his lovely wife; he aman of scientific attainments, she a woman of fine educationand charming manners. He was of Irish origin, wealthy, amplyeducated, with friends among the highest nobility. But hehad imbibed republican principles, and failed to findhimself comfortable in royalist society. He had thereforesought America, heard of the beautiful islands of the Ohio, and built himself a home on one of the most charming of themall. 

We have described the exterior of the mansion. Interiorly itwas richly ornamented and splendidly furnished. Thedrawing-room was of noble proportions and admirableadornment. The library was well filled with choice books. The proprietor was fond of chemistry, and had an excellentlaboratory; he enjoyed astronomy, and possessed a powerfultelescope; he had a passion for music, had composed manyairs, and played well on several instruments. He was, in hisway, a universal genius, courteous in manners, benevolent indisposition, yet of that genial and unsuspicious naturewhich laid him open to the wiles of those shrewd enough tomake use of his weak points. 

Mrs. Blennerhasset loved society, and was none too wellpleased that her husband should bury himself and her in thewilderness, and waste his fine powers on undeveloped nature. Such guests of culture as could be obtained were hospitablywelcomed at their island mansion. Few boats passed up anddown the river without stopping at the island, and culturedand noble persons from England and France not infrequentlyfound their way to the far-off home of the Blennerhassets. 

Yet, withal, the intervals between the visits of cultivatedguests were long. Ohio was rapidly filling up withpopulation, but culture was a rare exotic in that pioneerregion, and the inmates of the Blennerhasset mansion musthave greatly lacked visits from their own social equals. 

One day in the spring of 1805 a traveller landed on theisland, as if merely lured thither by the beauty of thegrounds as seen from the river. Mr. Blennerhasset was in hisstudy, whither a servant came to tell him that a gentlemanlystranger had landed, and was observing the lawn. The servantwas at once bidden to invite the stranger, in his master'sname, to enter the house. The traveller courteouslydeclined. He could not think of intruding, begged to beexcused for landing on the grounds, and sent in his card. Mr. Blennerhasset read the card, and his eyes lighted upwith interest, for what he saw was the name of a formerVice-President of the United States. He at once hastened tothe lawn, and with polite insistence declared that Mr. Burrmust enter and partake of the hospitality of his house. 

It was like inviting Satan into Eden. Aaron Burr, for it washe, readily complied. He had made the journey thither forthat sole purpose. The story of Mr. Blennerhasset's wealthhad reached the East, and the astute schemer hoped to enlisthis aid in certain questionable projects he thenentertained. 

But no hint of an ulterior purpose was suffered to appear. Burr was noted for the fascination of his manners, and hishost and hostess were charmed with him. He was unusuallywell informed, eloquent in speech, familiar with all socialarts, and could mask the deepest designs with the mostartless affectation of simplicity. All the secrets ofAmerican political movements were familiar to him, and heconversed fluently of the prospects of war with Spain, theease with which the Mexicans might throw off their foreignyoke, and the possibilities of splendid pecuniary resultsfrom land speculations within the Spanish territory on theRed River. 

This seed sown, the arch deceiver went his way. His firststep had been taken. Blennerhasset was patriotically devotedto the United States, but the grand scheme which had beenportrayed to him seemed to have nothing to do with questionsof state. It was a land speculation open to private wealth. 

Burr kept his interest alive by letters. The Blennerhassetsspent the next winter in New York and Philadelphia, andthere met Aaron Burr again. Not unlikely they came with thatpurpose, for the hopes of new wealth, easily to be made, were alluring and exciting. During that winter it isprobable that a sort of land-speculation partnership wasformed. Very rich lands lay on the Washita River, withinSpanish territory, said Burr, which could be bought for asmall sum. Then, by encouraging immigration thither, theymight be sold at enormous profit. 

This was the Burr scheme as Blennerhasset heard it. Thedupe did not dream of the treasonable projects restingwithin the mind of his dangerous associate. These were, toprovoke revolt of the people of Mexico and the northernSpanish provinces, annex the western United States region, and establish a great empire, in which Burr should be theleading potentate. 

Mr. Blennerhasset, once enlisted in the land-speculationproject, supplied the funds to buy the lands on the Washita, and engaged in operations on a large scale for sendingsettlers to the purchased domain. Colonel Burr came toMarietta and took an active part in these operations. Fifteen large flat-boats were built to convey theimmigrants, their furniture, and such arms as they mightneed for repelling Indians. Five hundred men were fixed asthe number for the first colony, and this number Burrsucceeded in enlisting. Each was to have one hundred acresof land. This was not in itself any great inducement whereland was so plentiful as in Ohio. But Burr did not hesitateto hint at future possibilities. The lands to be colonizedhad been peacefully purchased. But the Mexicans were eagerto throw off the Spanish yoke; war between the United Statesand Spain might break out at any minute; Mexico would beinvaded by an army, set free, and the new pioneers wouldhave splendid opportunities in the formation of a new andgreat republic of the West and South. Burr went further thanthis. He had articles inserted in a Marietta newspaper, signed by an assumed name, in which was advocated thesecession of the States west of the Alleghanies. Thesearticles were strongly replied to by a writer who signedhimself "Regulus, " and with whose views the community atlarge sympathized. His articles were copied by Easternpapers. They spoke of the armed expedition which ColonelBurr was preparing, and declared that its purpose was theinvasion of Mexico. Jefferson, then in the Presidentialchair, knew Burr too well to ignore these warnings. He senta secret agent to Marietta to discover what was going on, and at the same time asked the governor of Ohio to seize theboats and suppress the expedition. 

Mr. Blennerhasset assured the secret agent, Mr. Graham, thatno thought was entertained of invading Mexico. The project, he said, was an eminently peaceful one. But the public wasof a different opinion. Rumor, once started, grew with itsusual rapidity. Burr was organizing an army to seize NewOrleans, rob the banks, capture the artillery, and set up anempire or republic of his own in the valley of the lowerMississippi. Blennerhasset was his accomplice, and as deepin the scheme as himself. The Ohio Legislature, roused toenergetic action by the rumors which were everywhere afloat, passed an act that all armed expeditions should besuppressed, and empowered the governor to call out themilitia, seize Burr's boats, and hold the crews for trial. 

Public attention had been earnestly and hostilely directedto the questionable project, and Burr's hopes were at anend. The militia were mustered at Marietta, a six-pounderwas planted on the river-bank, orders were given to stop andexamine all descending boats, and sentries were placed towatch the stream by day and night. 

While these events were proceeding, Mr. Blennerhasset hadgone to the Muskingum, to superintend the departure of theboats that were to start from that stream. While there theboats were seized by order of the governor. The suspicionsof the people and government were for the first time madeclear to him. Greatly disturbed, and disposed to abandon thewhole project, costly as it had been to him, he hastenedback to his island home. There he found a flotilla of fourboats, with a crew of about thirty men, which had passedMarietta before the mustering of the militia. They werecommanded by a Mr. Tyler. 

Mr. Blennerhasset's judgment was in favor of abandoning thescheme. Mrs. Blennerhasset, who was very ambitious, arguedstrongly on the other side. She was eager to see her husbandassume a position fitting to his great talents. Mr. Tylerjoined her in her arguments. Blennerhasset gave way. It wasa fatal compliance, one destined to destroy his happinessand peace for the remainder of his life, and to expose hiswife to the most frightful scenes of outrage and barbarity. 

The frontier contained hosts of lawless men, men to whomloyalty meant license. Three days after the conversationdescribed, word was brought to the island that a party ofthe Wood County militia, made up of the lowest and mostbrutal men in the community, would land on the island thatvery night, seize the boats, arrest all the men they found, and probably burn the house. 

The danger was imminent. Blennerhasset and all the men withhim took to the boats to escape arrest and possibly murderfrom these exasperated frontiersmen. Mrs. Blennerhasset andher children were left in the mansion, with the expectationthat their presence would restrain the brutality of themilitia, and preserve the house and its valuable contentsfrom destruction. It proved a fallacious hope. ColonelPhelps, the commander of the militia, pursued Blennerhasset. In his absence his men behaved like savages. They tookpossession of the house, became brutally drunk from theliquors they found in the cellar, rioted through itselegantly furnished rooms, burned its fences for bonfires, and for seven days made life a pandemonium of horrors forthe helpless woman and frightened children who had been leftin their midst. 

The experience of those seven days was frightful. There wasno escape. Mrs. Blennerhasset was compelled to witness theruthless destruction of all she held most dear, and tolisten to the brutal ribaldry and insults of the riotingsavages. Not until the end of the time named did reliefcome. Then Mr. Putnam, a friend from the neighboring town ofBelpré, ventured on the island. He provided a boat in whichthe unhappy lady was enabled to save a few articles offurniture and some choice books. In this boat, with her twosons, six and eight years old, and with two young men fromBelpré, she started down the river to join her husband. Twoor three negro servants accompanied her. 

It was a journey of great hardships. The weather was cold, the river filled with floating ice, the boat devoid of anycomforts. A rude cabin, open in the front, afforded the onlyshelter from wind and rain. Half frozen in her flight, thepoor woman made her way down the stream, and at lengthjoined her husband at the mouth of the Cumberland River, which he had reached with his companions, having distancedpursuit. Their flight was continued down the Mississippi asfar as Natchez. 

No sooner had Mrs. Blennerhasset left the island than theslight restraint which her presence had exercised upon themilitia disappeared. The mansion was ransacked. Whateverthey did not care to carry away was destroyed. Books, pictures, rich furniture were used to feed bonfires. Doorswere torn from their hinges, windows dashed in, costlymirrors broken with hammers. Destruction swept the island, all its improvements being ruthlessly destroyed. For monthsthe mansion stood, an eyesore of desolation, until somehand, moved by the last impulse of savagery, set it on fire, and it was burned to the ground. 

What followed may be briefly told. So great was theindignation against Burr that he was forced to abandon hisproject. His adherents were left in destitution. Some ofthem were a thousand miles and more from their homes, andwere forced to make their way back as they best could. Burrand Blennerhasset were both arrested for treason. The latterescaped. There was no criminating evidence against him. Asfor Burr, he had been far too shrewd to leave himself opento the hand of the law. His trial resulted in an acquittal. Though no doubt was felt of his guilt, no evidence could befound to establish it. He was perforce set free. 

If he had done nothing more, he had, by his detestable arts, broken up one of the happiest homes in America, and ruinedhis guileless victim. 

Blennerhasset bought a cotton plantation at Natchez. Hiswife, who had the energy he lacked, managed it. They dweltthere for ten years, favorites with the neighboringplanters. Then came war with England, and the plantationceased to afford them a living. The ruined man returned tohis native land, utterly worn out and discouraged, and diedthere in poverty in 1831. 

Mrs. Blennerhasset became a charge on the charity of herfriends. After several years she returned to the UnitedStates, where she sought to obtain remuneration fromCongress for her destroyed property. She would probably havesucceeded but for her sudden death. She was buried at theexpense of a society of Irish ladies in the city of NewYork. And thus ended the career of two of the victims ofAaron Burr. They had listened to the siren voice of thetempter, and ruin and despair were their rewards. 

HOW THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH WAS INVENTED. 

The year 1832 is only sixty years ago in time, yet sincethen there has been a striking development of conveniences, rapidity of travel, and arrangements for the diffusion ofintelligence. People then still travelled in great part byaid of horses, the railroad having just begun its marvellouscareer. News, which now fly over continents and under oceansat lightning speed, then jogged on at stage-coach rates ofprogress, creeping where they now fly. On the ocean, steamwas beginning to battle with wind and wave, but the oceanracer was yet a far-off dream, and mariners still put theirtrust in sails much more than in the new-born contrivanceswhich were preparing to revolutionize travel. But the wandof the enchanter had been waved; steam had come, and with itthe new era of progress had dawned. And another great agentin the development of civilization was about to come. Electricity, which during all previous time had laughed atbonds, was soon to become man's slave, and to be made hispurveyor of news. It is the story of this chaining of thelightning, and forcing it to become the swift conveyer ofman's sayings and doings, that we have here to tell. 

In the far remote period named--if we measure time bydeeds, not by years--a packet-ship, the Sully, was makingits deliberate way across the Atlantic from Havre to NewYork. Its passenger list was not large, --the ocean had notyet become a busy highway of the continents, --but among themwere some persons in whom we are interested. One of thesewas a Boston doctor, Charles T. Jackson by name. A secondwas a New York artist, named Samuel F. B. Morse. Thelast-named gentleman had been a student at Yale, where hebecame greatly interested in chemistry and some othersciences. He had studied the art of painting under BenjaminWest in London, had practised it in New York, had long beenpresident of the National Academy of the Arts of Design; andwas now on his way home after a second period of residencein Europe as a student of art. 

An interesting conversation took place one day in the cabinof the Sully. Dr. Jackson spoke of Ampère's experiments withthe electro-magnet; of how Franklin had sent electricitythrough several miles of wire, finding no loss of timebetween the touch at one end and the spark at the other; andhow, in a recent experiment at Paris, a great length of wirehad been carried in circles around the walls of a largeapartment, an electro-magnet connected with one end, and anelectric current manifested at the other, having passedthrough the wire so quickly as to seem instantaneous. Mr. Morse's taste for science had not died out during his yearsof devotion to art. He listened with the most earnestattention to the doctor's narrative, and while he did so alarge and promising idea came into being in his brain. 

"Why, " he exclaimed, with much ardor of manner, "if that isso, and the presence of electricity can be made visible inany desired part of the circuit, I see no reason whyintelligence should not be transmitted instantaneously byelectricity. "

"How convenient it would be if we could send news in thatmanner!" chimed in one of the passengers. 

"Why can't we?" exclaimed Morse. 

Why not, indeed? The idea probably died in the minds of mostof the persons present within five minutes. But Samuel Morsewas not one of the men who let ideas die. This one hauntedhim day and night. He thought of it and dreamed of it. Inthose days of deliberate travel time hung heavily on thehands of transatlantic passengers, despite the partialdiversions of eating and sleeping. The ocean grewmonotonous, the vessel monotonous, the passengersmonotonous, everything monotonous except that idea, and thatgrew and spread till its fibres filled every nook and crannyof the inventive brain that had taken it in to bed andboard. 

Morse had abundance of the native Yankee faculty ofinvention. To do, had been plain enough from the start. Howto do, was the question to be solved. But before the Sullysteamed into New York harbor the solution had been reached. In the mind of the inventor, and in graphic words anddrawings on paper, were laid down the leading features ofthat telegraphic method which is used to-day in the greatmajority of the telegraph lines of the world. 

An alphabet of dots and marks, a revolving ribbon of paperto receive this alphabet, a method of enclosing the wires intubes which were to be buried underground, were the leadingfeatures of the device as first thought of. The lastconception was quickly followed by that of supporting thewires in the air, but Morse clung to his original fancy forburying them, --a fancy which, it may here be said, is comingagain into vogue in these latter days, so far as cities areconcerned. 

It is not meant to be implied that the idea of sending newsby electricity was original with Morse. Others had had itbefore him. More than half a century before, Dr. Franklinand some friends had stretched a wire across the SchuylkillRiver and killed a turkey on the other side by electricity. As they ate this turkey, it is quite possible that theyimbibed with it the idea of making this marvellous agent doother work than killing fowl for dinner, and from that timeon it is likely that many had speculated on the possibilityof sending intelligence by wire. Some experiments had beenmade, and with a certain degree of success, but time stillwaited for the hour and the man, and the hour and the manmet in that fertile October day in the cabin of the Sully. 

"If it can go ten miles without stopping, I can make it goround the world, " said Morse to his fellow-passengers, hisimagination expanding in the ardor of his new idea. 

"Well, captain, " he said, with a laugh, on leaving the ship, "should you hear of the telegraph one of these days as thewonder of the world, remember that the discovery was made onboard the good ship Sully. "

The inventor, indeed, was possessed with his newconceptions, mad with an idea, as we may say, and glad toset foot once more on shore, that he might put his plans inpractice. 

This proved no easy task. He was none too well provided withfunds, and the need of making a living was the firstnecessity that presented itself to him. He experimented asmuch as he was able, but three years passed before hisefforts yielded a satisfactory result. Then, with a circuitof seventeen hundred feet of wire, and a wooden clock, adapted by himself to suit his purpose, he managed to send amessage from end to end of this wire. It was not verylegible. He could make some sense of it. His friends couldnot. But all were much interested in the experiment. Manypersons witnessed these results, as shown in a large room ofthe New York University, in 1837. They seemed wonderful;much was said about them; but nobody seemed to believe thatthe apparatus was more than a curious and unprofitable toy, and capitalists buttoned their pockets when the question ofbacking up this wild inventor's fancy with money wasbroached. 

But by this time Mr. Morse was a complete captive to hisidea. Body and soul he was its slave. The question of dailyfare became secondary; that of driving his idea over andthrough all obstacles became primary. His business as anartist was neglected. He fell into want, into almost abjectpoverty. For twenty-four hours he went without food. But notfor a moment did he lose faith in his invention, or remithis efforts to find a capitalist with sufficient confidencein him to risk his money in it. 

Failing with the private rich, he tried to obtain publicsupport, went to Washington in 1838, exhibited his apparatusto interested congressmen, and petitioned for enough moneyfrom the public purse to build a line from Baltimore toWashington, --forty miles only. It is traditionally slow workin getting a bill through Congress. Weary with waiting, Morse went to Europe, to try his new seed in that old soil. It failed to germinate abroad as it had at home. Men withmoney acknowledged that the idea was a scientific success, but could not believe that it might be made a businesssuccess. 

"What would people care for instantaneous news?" they said. "Some might, it is true, but the great mass would be contentto wait for their news in the good old way. To lay miles ofwire in the earth is to bury a large treasure in money. Wecannot see our way clear to getting it back again out of thepockets of the public. Your wires work, Mr. Morse, but, froma business point of view, there's more cost than profit inthe idea. "

It may be that these exact words were not spoken, but theanswer of Europe was near enough to this to send theinventor home disappointed. He began again his weary waitingon the slowly-revolving wheels of the congressionalmachinery. 

March 3, 1843, came. It was the last day of the session. With the stroke of midnight on that day the existingCongress would die, and a new one be born, with which theweary work of the education of congressmen would have to begone over again. The inventor had been given half a loaf. His bill had been passed, on February 23, in the House. Allday of March 3 he hung about the Senate chamber petitioning, where possible, for the other half of his loaf, faintlyhoping that in the last will and testament of the expiringCongress some small legacy might be left for him. 

Evening came. The clock-hands circled rapidly round. Pressure of bills and confusion of legislation grew greaterminute by minute. The floodgates of the deluge are liftedupon Congress in its last hours, and business pours onwardin such an overwhelming fashion that small privatepetitioners can scarcely hope that the doors of the ark ofsafety will be opened to their petty claims. Morse hungabout the chamber until the midnight hour was almost readyto strike. Every moment confusion seemed to grow "worseconfounded. " The work of a month of easy-going legislationwas being compressed into an hour of haste and excitement. The inventor at last left the Capitol, a saddened anddisappointed man, and made his way home, the last shreds ofhope seeming to drop from him as he went. He was almostready to give up the fight, and devote himself for thefuture solely to brush and pencil. 

He slept but poorly that night, and rose the next morningstill depressed and gloomy. He appeared at thebreakfast-table with a face from which the very color ofambition seemed to have been washed out. As he entered theroom he was met by a young lady, Miss Annie G. Ellsworth, daughter of the Commissioner of Patents. The smile on herbeaming face was in striking contrast to the gloom on hisdowncast countenance. 

"I have come to congratulate you, Mr. Morse, " she said, cheerily. 

"For what, my dear friend?"

"For the passage of your bill. "

"What!" he gazed at her amazement. Could she be attempting afoolish and cruel jest? "The passage of my bill!" hefaltered. 

"Yes. Do you not know of it?"

"No. "

"Then you came home too early last night. And I am happy inbeing the first to bring you the good news. Congress hasgranted your claim. "

It was true: he had been remembered in the will of theexpiring Congress. In the last hour of the Senate, amid theroar of the deluge of public business, his small demand hadfloated into sight, and thirty thousand dollars had beenvoted him for the construction of an experimental telegraphline. 

"You have given me new life, Miss Ellsworth, " he said. "Asa reward for your good tidings I promise you that when mytelegraph line is completed, you shall have the honor ofchoosing the first message to be sent over it. "

The inventor was highly elated, and not without reason. Since the morning of the conversation on the ship Sully, eleven and a half years had passed. They had been years ofsuch struggle against poverty and discouragement as only aman who is the slave of an idea has the hardihood to endure. The annals of invention contain many such instances; more, perhaps, than can be found in any other channel of humaneffort. 

To complete our story we have to bring another inventor uponthe stage. This was Ezra Cornell, memorable to-day as thefounder of Cornell University, a man at that time unknown, but filled with inventive ideas, and ready to undertake anytask that might offer itself, from digging a well to boringa mountain tunnel. One day Mr. Cornell, who was at that timeoccupying the humble position of traveling agent for apatent plough, called at the office of an agriculturalnewspaper in Portland, Maine. He found the editor on hisknees, a piece of chalk in his hand, and parts of a ploughby his side, making drawings on the floor, and trying toexplain something to a plough-maker beside him. The editorlooked up at his visitor, and an expression of reliefreplaced the perplexity on his face. 

"Cornell, " he cried, "you're the very man I want to see. Iwant a scraper made, and I can't make Robinson here seeinto my idea. You can understand it, and make it for me, too. "

"What is your scraper to do?" asked Cornell. 

Mr. Smith, the editor, rose from his knees and explained. Aline of telegraph was to be built from Baltimore toWashington. Congress had granted the money. He had taken thecontract from Professor Morse to lay the tube in which thewire was to be placed. He had made a bad bargain, he feared. The job was going to cost more than he had calculated, on. He was trying to invent something that would dig the ditch, and fill in the dirt again after the pipe was laid. Cornelllistened to him, questioned him, found out the size of thepipe and the depth of the ditch, then sat down and passedsome minutes in hard thinking. Finally he said, --

"You are on the wrong tack. You don't want either a ditch ora scraper. "

He took a pencil and in a few minutes outlined a machine, which he said would cut a trench two feet deep, lay the pipeat its bottom, and cover the earth in behind it. The motivepower need be only a team of oxen or mules. These creatureshad but to trudge slowly onward. The machine would do itswork faithfully behind them. 

"Come, come, this is impossible!" cried editor Smith. 

"I'll wager my head it can be done, and I can do it, "replied inventor Cornell. 

He laid a large premium on his confidence in his idea, promising that if his machine would not work he would askno money for it. But if it succeeded, he was to be wellpaid. Smith agreed to these terms, and Cornell went to work. 

In ten days the machine was built and ready for trial. Ayoke of oxen was attached to it, three men managed it, andin the first five minutes it had laid one hundred feet ofpipe and covered it with earth. It was a decided success. Mr. Smith had contracted to lay the pipe for one hundreddollars a mile. A short calculation proved to him that, withthe aid of Ezra Cornell's machine, ninety dollars of thiswould be profit. 

But the shrewd editor did not feel like risking Cornell'smachine in any hands but those of the inventor. He made hima profitable offer if he would go to Baltimore and takecharge of the job himself. It would pay better than sellingpatent ploughs. Cornell agreed to go. 

Reaching Baltimore, he met Professor Morse. They had nevermet before. Their future lives were to be closelyassociated. In the conversation that ensued Morse explainedwhat he proposed to do. An electric wire might either belaid underground or carried through the air. He had decidedon the underground system, the wire being coated by aninsulating compound and drawn through a pipe. 

Cornell questioned him closely, got a clear idea of thescheme, saw the pipe that was to be used, and expresseddoubts of its working. 

"It will work, for it has worked, " said Morse. "While I havebeen fighting Congress, inventors in Europe have beenexperimenting with the telegraphic idea. Short lines havebeen laid in England and elsewhere, in which the wire iscarried in buried pipes. They had been successful. What canbe done in Europe can be done in America. "

What Morse said was a fact. While he had been pushing histelegraph conception in America it had been triedsuccessfully in Europe. But the system adopted there, ofvibrating needle signals, was so greatly inferior to theMorse system, that it was destined in the future to bealmost or quite set aside by the latter. To-day the Morsesystem and alphabet are used in much the greater number ofthe telegraph offices of the world. 

But to return to our story. Cornell went to work, and thepipe, with its interior wire, was laid with much rapidity. Not many days had elapsed before ten miles were underground, the pipe being neatly covered as laid. It reached fromBaltimore nearly to the Relay House. Here it stopped, forsomething had gone wrong. Morse tested his wire. It wouldnot work. No trace of an electric current could be gotthrough it. The insulation was evidently imperfect. What wasto be done? He would be charged with wasting the publicmoney on an impracticable experiment. Yet if he stopped hemight expect a roar of newspaper disapprobation of his wholescheme. He was in a serious dilemma. How should he escape?

He sought Cornell, and told him of the failure of hisexperiments. The work must be stopped. He must try otherkinds of pipe and new methods of insulation. But if thepublic should suspect failure there would be vials of wrathpoured on their devoted heads. 

"The public shall not suspect failure. Leave it to me, " saidCornell. 

He turned to his men. The machine was slowly moving forward, drawn by a team of eight mules, depositing pipe as it went. A section had just been laid. Night was at hand. 

"Hurry up, boys, " cried Cornell, cheerily. "We must layanother length before we quit. "

He grasped the handles of his plough-like machine; thedrivers stirred up the mules to a lively pace; thecontrivance went merrily forward. But the cunning pilot knewwhat he was about. He steered the buried point of themachine against a rock that just protruded from the earth. In an instant there was a shock, a sound of rending wood andiron, a noise of shouting and trampling; and then the lineof mules came to a halt. But behind them were only the ruinsof a machine. That moment's work had converted thepipe-laying contrivance into kindling-wood and scrap-iron. 

The public condoled with the inventor. It was so unluckythat his promising progress should be stopped by such anaccident! As for Morse and his cunning associate, theysmiled quietly to themselves as they went on with theirexperiments. Another kind of pipe was tried. Still thecurrent would not go through. A year passed by. Experimentafter experiment had been made. All had proved failures. Twenty-three thousand dollars of the money had been spent. Only seven thousand remained. The inventor was on the vergeof despair. 

"I am afraid it will never work, " said Cornell. "It looksbad for the pipe plan. "

"Then let us try the other, " said Morse. "If the currentwon't go underground, it may be coaxed to go above-ground. "

The plan suggested was to string the wire upon poles, insulating it from the wood by some non-conductor. Asuitable insulator was needed. Cornell devised one; anotherinventor produced another. Morse approved of the latter, started for New York with it to make arrangements for itsmanufacture, and on his way met Professor Henry, who knewmore about electricity than any other man in the country. Morse showed him the models of the two insulators, andindicated the one he had chosen. Mr. Henry examined themclosely. 

"You are mistaken, " he said. "That one won't work. This isthe insulator you need. " He pointed to Cornell's device. 

In a few words he gave his reasons. Morse saw that he wasright. The Cornell insulator was chosen And now the workwent forward with great rapidity. The planting of poles, andstringing of wires over a glass insulator at their tops, wasan easy and rapid process. And more encouraging still, thething worked to a charm. There was no trouble now inobtaining signals from the wire. 

The first public proof of the system was made on May 11, 1844. On that day the Whig National Convention, then insession at Baltimore, had nominated Henry Clay for thePresidency. The telegraph was being built from theWashington end, and was yet miles distant from Baltimore. The first railroad train from Baltimore carried passengerswho were eager to tell the tidings to their Washingtonfriends. But it carried also an agent of Professor Morse, who brought the news to the inventor at the unfinished endof the telegraph. From that point he sent it over the wireto Washington. It was successfully received at theWashington end, and never were human beings more surprisedthan were the train passengers on alighting at the capitalcity to find that they brought stale news, and that Clay'snomination was already known throughout Washington. It wasthe first public proof in America of the powers of thetelegraph, and certainly a vital and convincing one. 

Before the 24th of May the telegraph line to Baltimore wascompleted, the tests successfully made, and all was readyfor the public exhibition of its marvellous powers, whichhad been fixed for that day. Miss Ellsworth, in compliancewith the inventor's promise, made her more than a yearbefore, was given the privilege of choosing the firstmessage to go over the magic wires. She selected theappropriate message from Scriptures: "What hath Godwrought?" With these significant words began the reign ofthat marvellous invention which has wrought so wonderfullyin binding the ends of the earth together and making onefamily of mankind. 

There were difficulties still in the way of the inventor, severe ones. His after-life lay in no bed of roses. Hispatents were violated, his honor was questioned, even hisintegrity was assailed; rival companies stole his business, and lawsuits made his life a burden. He won at last, butfailed to have the success of his associate, Mr. Cornell, who grew in time very wealthy from his telegraphicenterprises. 

As regards the Morse system of telegraphy, it may be said inconclusion that over one hundred devices have been inventedto supersede it, but that it holds its own triumphant overthem all. The inventor wrought with his brain to goodpurpose in those days and nights of mental discipline abovethe Atlantic waves and on board the good ship Sully. 

THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. 

On the 9th of March, 1862, for the first time in humanhistory, two iron-clad ships met in battle. The occasion wasa memorable one, and its story is well worthy of beingretold in our cycle of historic events. For centuries, forthousands of years, in truth, wooden vessels had beenstruggling for the mastery of the seas. With the first shotfired from the turret of the Monitor at the roof-like sidesof the Merrimac, in the early morning of the day named, thelong reign of wooden war vessels ended; that of ironmonarchs of the deep began. England could no more trust toher "wooden walls" for safety, and all the nations ofEurope, when the echo of that shot reached their ears, feltthat the ancient era of naval construction was at an end, and that the future navies of the world must ride the wavesclad in massive armor of steel. 

On the 8th of March, indeed, this had been shown. On thatday the Merrimac steamed down from Norfolk harbor intoHampton Roads, where lay a fleet of wooden men-of-war, someof them the largest sailing frigates then in the Americannavy. On shore soldiers were encamped, here Union, thereConfederate; and the inmates of the camps, the garrison ofFortress Monroe, the crews of the ships at anchor under itsguns, all gazed with eager eyes over the open waters of thebay, their interest in the coming contest as intense asRoman audience ever displayed for the life and deathstruggle in the gladiatorial arena. Before them lay amightier amphitheatre than that of the Coliseum, and beforethem was to be fought more notable struggle for life anddeath than ever took place within the walls of mighty Rome. 

It was in the afternoon of the 8th, about one o'clock, thatthe long roll sounded in the camps on shore, and the cryresounded from camp to camp, "The Merrimac is coming!" Forseveral weeks she had been looked for, and preparations madefor her reception. The frigates bore a powerful armament ofheavy guns, ready to batter her iron-clad sides, and stronghopes were entertained that this modern leviathan would sooncease to trouble the deep. The lesson fixed by fate for thatday had not yet been learned. 

Down the bay she came, looking at a distance like aflood-borne house, its sides drowned, only its sloping roofvisible. The strange-appearing craft moved slowly, accompanied by two small gunboats as tenders. As she camenear no signs of life were visible, while her iron sidesdisplayed no evidence of guns. Yet within that threateningmonster was a crew of three hundred men, and her armamentembraced ten heavy cannon. Hinged lids closed the gun-ports;raised only when the guns were thrust forward for firing. Asfor the men, they were hidden somewhere under that ironroof; to be felt, but not seen. 

What followed has been told in song and story; it need berepeated here but in epitome. The first assault of theMerrimac was upon the Cumberland, a thirty-gun frigate. Again and again the thirty heavy balls of the frigaterattled upon the impenetrable sides of the iron-cladmonster, and bounded off uselessly into the deep. TheMerrimac came on at full speed, as heedless of thisfusillade as though she was being fired at with peas. As sheapproached, two heavy balls from her guns tore through thetimbers of the Cumberland. They were followed by a stunningblow from her iron beak, that opened a gaping wound in thedefenceless side of her victim. Then she drew off, leavingher broken beak sticking in the ship's side, and beganfiring broadsides into the helpless frigate; raking her foreand aft with shell and grape, despite the fact that she hadalready got her death-blow, and was rapidly filling withwater. 

Never ship was fought more nobly than the doomed Cumberland. With the decks sinking under their feet, the men fought withunflinching courage. When the bow guns were under water, therear guns were made to do double duty. The captain wascalled on to surrender. He sternly refused. The last shotwas fired from a gun on a level with the waves. Then, withsails spread and flags flying, the Cumberland went down, carrying with her nearly one hundred of her crew, theremainder swimming ashore. The water was deep, but thetopmast of the doomed vessel still rose above the surface, with its pennant waving in the wind. For months afterwardsthat old flag continued to fly, as if to say, "TheCumberland sinks, but never surrenders. "

The Congress, a fifty-gun frigate, was next attacked, andhandled so severely that her commander ran her ashore, andsoon after hoisted the white flag, destruction appearinginevitable. Boats were sent by the enemy to take possession, but a sharp fire from the shore drove them off. 

"Is this in accordance with military law?" asked one of theofficers in the camp. "Since the ship has surrendered, hasnot the enemy the right to take possession of her?"

This legal knot was quickly and decisively cut by GeneralMansfield, in an unanswerable decision. 

"I know the d----d ship has surrendered, " he said. "But _we_haven't. " And the firing continued. 

The Merrimac, not being able to seize her prize, opened firewith hot shot on the Congress, and quickly set her on fire. Night was now at hand, and the conquering iron-clad drewoff. The Congress continued to burn, her loaded guns roaringher requiem one after another, as the fire spread along herdecks. About one o'clock her magazine was reached, and sheblew up with a tremendous explosion, the shock being sogreat as to prostrate many of those on the shore. 

So ended that momentous day. It had shown one thingconclusively, that "wooden walls" could no longer "rule thewave. " Iron had proved its superiority in navalconstruction. The next day was to behold another novelsight, --the struggle of iron with iron. 

Morning came. The atmosphere was hazy. Only as the mistslowly lifted were the gladiators of that liquid arenasuccessively made visible. Here, just above the water, defiantly floated the flag of the sunken Cumberland. Theresmoked the still-burning hull of the Congress. Here, up thebay, steamed the Merrimac, with two attendants, the Yorktownand the Patrick Henry. Yonder lay the great hull of thesteam-frigate Minnesota, which had taken some part in thebattle of the day before, but had unfortunately gone ashoreon a mud-bank, from which the utmost efforts failed to forceher off. Other Union naval vessels were visible in thedistance. 

The Merrimac made her way towards the Minnesota, as towardsa certain prey. Her commander felt confident that an hour ortwo would enable him to reduce this great vessel to thecondition of her recent companions. 

Yet an odd sight met his vision. Alongside the Minnesotafloated the strangest-looking craft that human eye had evergazed upon. An insignificant affair it appeared; a"cheese-box on a raft" it was irreverently designated. Thedeck, a level expanse of iron, came scarcely above thesurface. Above it rose a circular turret, capable of beingrevolved, and with port-holes for two great guns, among thelargest up to that time used in naval warfare. 

How this odd contrivance came there so opportunely may bebriefly told. It was the conception of John Ericsson, theeminent Swedish engineer, and was being rapidly built in NewYork while the Merrimac was being plated with thick ironbars in Norfolk. A contest for time took place between thesetwo unlike craft. Spies were in both places, to reportprogress. Fortunately, the Monitor was finished a day or twobefore her competitor. Immediately she steamed away forHampton Roads. The passage was a severe one. Three days wereconsumed, during which the seas swept repeatedly over thelow deck, the men being often half suffocated in theirconfined quarters, the turret alone standing above thewater. As they approached Fortress Monroe the sound ofcannonading was heard. Tarrying but a few minutes at thefort, the Monitor, as this odd vessel had been named, approached the Minnesota, and reached her side at a latehour of the night. 

[Illustration: THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC. ]

And now, with the new day, back to the fray came theMerrimac, looking like a giant in comparison with thisdwarfish antagonist. As she approached, the little craftglided swiftly in front of her grounded consort, like a newDavid offering battle to a modern Goliath. As if in disdainof this puny antagonist, the Merrimac began an attack on theMinnesota. But when the two eleven-inch guns of the Monitoropened fire, hurling solid balls of one hundred andsixty-eight pounds' weight against the iron sides of hergreat opponent, it became at once evident that a new movehad opened in the game, and that the Merrimac had no longerthe best of the play. 

The fight that followed was an extraordinary one, and wasgazed on with intense interest by the throng of spectatorswho crowded the shores of the bay. The Merrimac had no solidshot, as she had expected only wooden antagonists. Hershells were hurled upon the Monitor, but most of them missedtheir mark, and those that struck failed to do any injury. So small was the object fired at that the great shells, as arule, whirled uselessly by, and plunged hissing into thewaves. The massive solid balls of the Monitor were far moreeffective. Nearly every one struck the broad sides of theMerrimac, breaking her armor in several places, andshattering the wood backing behind it. Many times theMerrimac tried to ram her small antagonist, and thus to ridherself of this teasing tormentor, but the active"cheese-box" slipped agilely out of her way. The Monitor inturn tried to disable the screw of her opponent, but withoutsuccess. 

Unable to do any harm to her dwarfish foe, the Merrimac now, as if in disdain, turned her attention to the Minnesota, hurling shells through her side. In return the frigatepoured into her a whole broadside at close range. 

"It was enough, " said the captain of the frigate afterwards, "to have blown out of the water any wooden ship in theworld. " It was wasted on the iron-clad foe. 

This change of action did not please the captain of theMonitor. He thrust his vessel quickly between the twocombatants, and assailed so sharply that the Merrimacsteamed away. The Monitor followed. Suddenly the fugitivevessel turned, and, like an animal moved by an impulse offury, rushed head on upon her tormentor. Her beak struck theflat iron deck so sharply as to be wrenched by the blow. Thegreat hull seemed for the moment as if it would crowd thelow-lying vessel bodily beneath the waves. But no suchresult followed. The Monitor glided away unharmed. As shewent she sent a ball against the Merrimac that seemed tocrush in her armored sides. 

At ten o'clock the Monitor steamed away, as if in flight. The Merrimac now prepared to pay attention again to theMinnesota, her captain deeming that he had silenced histormenting foe. He was mistaken. In half an hour theMonitor, having hoisted a new supply of balls into herturret, was back again, and for two hours more the strangebattle continued. 

Then it came to an end. The Merrimac turned and ran away. She had need to, --those on shore saw that she was saggingdown at the stern. The battle was over. The turretediron-clad had driven her great antagonist from the field, and won the victory. And thus ended one of the strangest andmost notable naval combats in history. 

During the fight the Monitor had fired forty-one shots, andbeen struck twenty-two times. Her greatest injury was theshattering of her pilot-house. Her commander, LieutenantWorden, was knocked senseless and temporarily blinded by theshock. On board the Merrimac two men were killed andnineteen wounded. Her iron prow was gone, her armor brokenand damaged, her steam-pipe and smoke-stock riddled, themuzzles of two of her guns shot away, while water made itsway into her through more than one crevice. 

Back to Norfolk went the injured Merrimac. Here she was putinto the dry-dock and hastily repaired. After that had beendone, she steamed down to the old fighting-ground on two orthree occasions, and challenged her small antagonist. TheMonitor did not accept the challenge. If any accident hadhappened to her the rest of the fleet would have been lost, and it was deemed wisest to hold her back for emergencies. 

On the 10th of May the Confederates marched out of Norfolk. On the 11th the Merrimac was blown up, and only her disabledhull remained as a trophy to the victors. As to hercondition and fighting powers, one of the engineers who hadcharge of the repairs upon her said, --

"A shot from the Monitor entered one of her ports, lodged inthe backing of the other side, and so shivered her timbersthat she never afterwards could be made seaworthy. She couldnot have been kept afloat for twelve hours, and her officersknew it when they went out and dared the Monitor to fighther. It was a case of pure bluff; we didn't hold a singlepair. "

The combat we have recorded was perhaps the most importantin the history of naval warfare. It marked a turning-pointin the construction of the monarchs of the deep, by provingthat the future battles of the sea must be fought behindiron walls. 

STEALING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

On a fine day in April, 1862, a passenger-train drew outfrom Marietta, Georgia, bound north. Those were not days ofabundant passenger travel in the South, except for those whowore the butternut uniform and carried muskets, but thistrain was well filled, and at Marietta a score of men incivilian dress had boarded the cars. Soldierly-lookingfellows these were too, not the kind that were likely toescape long the clutch of the Confederate conscription. 

Eight miles north of Marietta the train stopped at thestation of Big Shanty, with the welcome announcement of "Tenminutes for breakfast. " Out from the train, like bees fromthe hive, swarmed the hungry passengers, and made their waywith all speed to the lunch-counter, followed moredeliberately by conductor, engineer, and brakesmen. Thedemands of the lunch-counter are of universal potency; fewhave the hardihood to resist them; that particular train wasemptied in the first of its ten minutes of grace. 

Yet breakfast did not seem to appeal to all upon the train. The Marietta group of civilians left the train with theothers, but instead of seeking the refreshment-room, turnedtheir steps towards the locomotive. No one noticed them, though there was a Confederate camp hard by the station, well filled with raw recruits, and hardly a dozen stepsfrom the engine a sentinel steadily walked his beat, rifleon shoulder. 

One of the men climbed into the engine. The sentinel paid noheed to him. Another slipped in between two cars, and pulledout a coupling-pin. The sentinel failed to observe him. Agroup of others climbed quickly into an open box-car. Thesentinel looked at them, and walked serenely on. The lastman of the party now strode rapidly up the platform, noddedto the one in the locomotive, and swung himself lightly intothe cab. The sentinel turned at the end of his beat andwalked back, just beginning to wonder what all this meant. Meanwhile famine was being rapidly appeased at thelunch-counter within, and the not very luxurious display offood was vanishing like a field of wheat before an army oflocusts. 

Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rung with warning soundthrough the air. The drowsy tenants of the camp sprang totheir feet. The conductor hurried, out to the platform. Hehad heard something besides the rifle-shot, --the grind ofwheels on the track, --and his eyes opened widely in alarmand astonishment as he saw that the train was broken in two, and half of it running away. The passenger-cars stood wherehe had left them. The locomotive, with three box-cars, wasflying rapidly up the track. The sentinel, roused to a senseof the situation only when he saw the train in actualflight, had somewhat late given the alarm. 

The conductor's eyes opened very wide. The engine, under afull head of steam, was driving up the road. The locomotivehad been stolen! Out from the refreshment-room pouredpassengers and trainmen, filled with surprise and chagrin. What did it mean? What was to be done? There was no otherengine within miles. How should these daring thieves ever beovertaken? Their capture seemed a forlorn hope. 

The conductor, wild with alarm and dreading reprimand, started up the track on foot, running as fast as his legscould carry him. A railroad mechanic named Murphy kept himcompany. To one with a love of humor it would have been anamusing sight to see two men on foot chasing a locomotive, but just then Conductor Fuller was not troubled about theopinion of men of humor; his one thought was to overtake hisrunaway locomotive, and he would have crawled after it if nobetter way appeared. 

Fortune comes to him who pursues her, not to him who waitsher coming. The brace of locomotive chasers had not run downtheir strength before they were lucky enough to spy ahand-car, standing beside the track. Here was a gleam ofhope. In a minute or two they had lifted it upon the rails. Springing within it, they applied themselves to the levers, and away they went at a more promising rate of speed. 

For a mile or two all went on swimmingly. Then suddendisaster came. The car struck a broken rail and was hurledheadlong from the track, sending its occupants flying intothe muddy roadside ditch. This was enough to discourageanybody with less go in him than Conductor Fuller. But in amoment he was on his feet, trying his limbs. No bones werebroken. A mud-bath was the full measure of his misfortune. Murphy was equally sound. The car was none the worse. Withscarce a minute's delay they sprang to it, righted it, andwith some strong tugging lifted it upon the track. With veryfew minutes' delay they were away again, somewhat morecautiously than before, and sharply on the lookout forfurther gifts of broken rails from the runaways ahead. 

Leaving the pair of pursuers to their seemingly hopelesstask, we must return to the score of locomotive pirates. These men who had done such strange work at Big Shanty wereby no means what they seemed. They were clad in thebutternut gray and the slouch hats of the Confederacy, buttheir ordinary attire was the blue uniform of the Unionarmy. They were, in truth, a party of daring scouts, who hadstealthily made their way south in disguise, their purposebeing to steal a train, burn the bridges behind them as theyfled, and thus make useless for a time the only railroad bywhich the Confederate authorities could send troops toChattanooga, then threatened by the Union forces underGeneral Mitchel. 

They had been remarkably successful, as we have seen, at thebeginning of their enterprise. Making their way, by deviousroutes, to Marietta, they had gathered at that place, boarded a train, and started north. The rush of passengersand trainmen into the refreshment-room at Big Shanty hadbeen calculated upon. The presence of a Confederate camp atthat out-of-the-way station had not been. It might haveproved fatal to their enterprise but for the stolidstupidity of the sentinel. But that peril had been met andpassed. They were safely away. Exhilaration filled theirsouls. All was safe behind; all seemed safe ahead. 

True, there was one peril close at hand. Beside the trackran that slender wire, a resting-place, it seemed, forpassing birds. In that outstretching wire their mostimminent danger lurked. Fast as they might go, it couldflash the news of their exploit a thousand-fold faster. Theflight of the lightning news-bearer must be stopped. Thetrain was halted a mile or two from the town, the poleclimbed, the wire cut. Danger from this source was at anend. Halting long enough to tear up the rail to whoseabsence Conductor Fuller owed his somersault, they sprang totheir places again and the runaway train sped blithely on. 

Several times they stopped for wood and water. When anyquestions were asked they were answered by the companion ofthe engineer, James J. Andrews by name, a Union spy byprofession, the originator of and leader in this daringenterprise. 

"I am taking a train-load of powder to General Beauregard, "was his stereotyped answer, as he pointed to the closedbox-cars behind him, within one of which lay concealed thebulk of his confederates. 

For some time they went swimmingly on, without delay ordifficulty. Yet trouble was in the air, ill-fortune awaitingthem in front, pursuing them from behind. They had, by thefatality of unlucky chance, chosen the wrong day for theirwork. Yesterday they would have found a clear track; to-daythe road ahead was blocked with trains, hurrying swiftlysouthward. 

At Kingston, thirty miles from Big Shanty, this trouble cameupon them in a rush. A local train was to pass at thatpoint. Andrews was well aware of this, and drew his trainupon the siding to let it pass, expecting when it had goneto find the road clear to Chattanooga. The train came in ontime, halted, and on its last car was seen waving the reddanger-flag, the railroad signal that another train wasfollowing close behind. Andrews looked at this with nofriendly eyes. 

"How comes it, " he asked the conductor, somewhat sharply, "that the road is blocked in this manner, when I have ordersto take this powder to Beauregard without delay?"

"Mitchel has taken Huntsville, " answered the conductor. "They say he is coming to Chattanooga. We are gettingeverything out of there as quickly as we can. "

This looked serious. How many trains might there be in therear? A badly-blocked road meant ruin to their enterpriseand possibly death to themselves. They waited with intenseanxiety, each minute of delay seeming to stretch almost intoan hour. The next train came. They watched it pass withhopeful eyes. Ah! upon its rear floated that fatal red flag, the crimson emblem of death, as it seemed to them. 

The next train came. Still the red flag! Still hopedeferred, danger coming near! An hour of frightful anxietypassed. It was torture to those upon the engine. It wasagony to those in the box-car, who knew nothing of the causeof this frightful delay, and to whom life itself must haveseemed to have stopped. 

Andrews had to cast off every appearance of anxiety and tofeign easy indifference, for the station people were showingsomewhat too much curiosity about this train, whose crewwere strangers, and concerning which the telegraph had sentthem no advices. The practised spy was full of resources, but their searching questions taxed him for satisfyinganswers. 

At length, after more than an hour's delay, the blockade wasbroken. A train passed destitute of the red flag. The reliefwas great. They had waited at that station like men with thehangman's rope upon their necks. Now the track toChattanooga was clear and success seemed assured. The trainbegan to move. It slowly gathered speed. Up went hope in thehearts of those upon the engine. New life flowed in theveins of those within the car as they heard the grindingsound on the rails beneath them, and felt the motion oftheir prison upon wheels. 

Yet perilous possibilities were in their rear. Their delayat Kingston had been threateningly long. They must guardagainst pursuit. Stopping the train, and seizing theirtools, they sprang out to tear up a rail. Suddenly, as theyworked at this, a sound met their ears that almost causedthem to drop their tools in dismay. It was the far-off bugleblast of a locomotive whistle sounding from the directionfrom which they had come. 

The Confederates, then, were on their track! They had failedto distance pursuit! The delay at Kingston had given theirenemies the needed time! Nervous with alarm, they workedlike giants. The rail yielded slightly. It bent. A fewminutes more and it would be torn from its fastenings. A fewminutes! Not a minute could be spared for this vital work. For just then the whistle shrieked again, now close at hand, the rattle of wheels could be heard in the distance, andround a curve behind them came a locomotive speeding up theroad with what seemed frantic haste, and filled with armedmen, who shouted in triumph at sight of the dismayedfugitives. It was too late to finish their work. Nothingremained to the raiders but to spring to their engine andcars and fly for life. 

We have seen the beginnings of this pursuit. We must now goback to trace the doings of the forlorn-hope of pursuers, Fuller and his companion. After their adventure with thebroken rail, that brace of worthies pushed on in theirhand-car till the station of Etowah was reached. Here, bygood fortune for them, an engine stood with steam up, readyfor the road. Fuller viewed it with eyes of hope. The game, he felt, was in his hands. For he knew, what the raiders hadnot known, that the road in advance would be blocked thatday with special trains, and on a one-tracked road specialtrains are an impassable obstacle. 

There were soldiers at Etowah. Fuller's story of the daringtrick of the Yankees gave him plenty of volunteers. Hefilled the locomotive and its cab with eager allies, anddrove on at the greatest speed of which his engine wascapable, hoping to overtake the fugitives at Kingston. Hereached that place; they were not there. Hurried questionstaught him that they were barely gone, with very few minutesthe start. Away he went again, sending his alarm whistle fardown the road in his front. 

The race was now one for life or death. Andrews and his menwell knew what would be their fate if they were caught. Theydared not stop and fight; their only arms were revolvers, and they were outnumbered by their armed foes. Their onlyhope lay in flight. Away they went; on came their shoutingpursuers. Over the track thundered both locomotives atfrightful speed. The partly-raised rail proved no obstacleto the pursuers. They were over it with a jolt and a jump, and away on the smooth track ahead. 

If the fugitives could have halted long enough to tear up arail or burn a bridge all might have been well; but thatwould take more minutes than they had to spare. A shrewdidea came into Andrews's fertile mind. The three box-carsbehind him were a useless load. One of them might beusefully spared. The rear car of the train was uncoupled andleft behind, with the hope that the pursuers mightunwittingly dash into it and be wrecked. On they went, leaving a car standing on the track. 

Fortunately for the Confederates, they saw the obstructionin time to prepare for it. Their engine was slowed up, andthe car caught and pushed before it. Andrews tried thedevice a second time, another car being dropped. It waspicked up by Fuller in the same manner as before. Onreaching a siding at Resaca station, the Confederateengineer switched off these supernumerary cars, and pushedahead again relieved of his load. 

Not far beyond was a bridge which the raiders had intendedto destroy. It could not be done. The pursuit was too sharp. They dashed on over its creaking planks, having time fornothing but headlong flight. The race was a remarkably evenone, the engines proving to be closely matched in speed. Fuller, despite all his efforts, failed to overtake thefugitives, but he was resolved to push them so sharply thatthey would have no time to damage track or bridges, or takeon wood or water. In the latter necessity Andrews got thebetter of him. His men knocked out the end of the onebox-car they had left, and dropped the ties with which itwas loaded one by one upon the track, delaying the pursuerssufficiently to enable them to take on some fresh fuel. 

Onward again went the chase, mile after mile, over a roughtrack, at a frightful speed, the people along the routelooking on with wondering eyes. It seemed marvellous thatthe engines could cling to those unevenly-laid rails. Theescape of the pursuers, was, indeed, almost miraculous, forAndrews found time to stop just beyond a curve and lay aloose rail on the track, and Fuller's engine ran upon thisat full speed. There came a terrific jolt; the engine seemedto leap into the air; but by a marvellous chance it lightedagain on the rails and ran on unharmed. Had it missed thetrack not a man on it would have lived to tell the tale. 

The position of the fugitives was now desperate. Some ofthem wished to leave the engine, reverse its valves, andsend it back at full speed to meet the foe. Others suggestedthat they should face the enemy and fight for their lives. Andrews was not ready to accept either of these plans. Hedecided to go on and do the work for which they had set out, if possible. He knew the road. There was a covered bridge afew miles ahead. If they could burn this all would be well. He determined to try. 

There was one box-car left. That might serve his purpose. Hehad his men pile wood on its floor, and light this withcoals from the engine. In a minute it was burning. Thedraught made by the rushing train soon blew the fire into aroaring flame. By the time the bridge was reached the wholecar was in a fierce blaze. 

Andrews slowed up and uncoupled this blazing car on thebridge. He stopped the engine just beyond, and he and hiscompanions watched it hopefully. The flames curled fiercelyupward. Dense smoke poured out at each end of the coveredbridge. Success seemed to be at length in their hands. Butthe flames failed to do their work. The roof of the bridgehad been soaked by recent rains and resisted the blazingheat. The roaring flames were uselessly licking the wettimbers when the pursuing engine came dashing up. Fuller didnot hesitate for a minute. He had the heart of a soldier inthe frame of a conductor. Into the blinding smoke his enginewas daringly driven, and in a minute it had caught theblazing car and was pushing it forward. A minute more and itrolled into the open air, and the bridge was saved. Itstimbers had stubbornly refused to burn. 

This ended the hopes of the fugitives. They had exhaustedtheir means of checking pursuit. Their wood had been allconsumed in this fruitless effort; their steam was rapidlygoing down; they had played their last card and lost thegame. The men sprang from the slowed-up engine. The engineerreversed its valves and followed them. Into the fields theyrushed and ran in all directions, their only hope being nowin their own powers of flight. As they sped away the enginesmet, but without damage. The steam in the stolen engine hadso fallen that it was incapable of doing harm. The otherengine had been stopped, and the pursuers were springingagilely to the ground, and hurrying into the fields in hotchase. 

Pursuit through field and forest was as keen andunrelenting as it had been over iron rails. The Union lineswere not far distant, yet not a man of the fugitivessucceeded in reaching them. The alarm spread with greatrapidity; the whole surrounding country was up in pursuit;and before that day ended several of the daring raiders wereprisoners in Confederate hands. The others buried themselvesin woods and swamps, lived on roots and berries, andventured from their hiding-places only at night. Yet theywere hunted with unwearying persistence, and by the end of aweek all but two had been captured. These two had sosuccessfully eluded pursuit that they fancied themselves outof danger, and became somewhat careless in consequence. As aresult, in a few days more they, too, fell into the hands oftheir foes. 

A court-martial was convened. The attempt had been sodaring, and so nearly successful, the injury intended sogreat, and the whole affair so threatening, that theConfederate military authorities could not think ofleniency. Andrews and seven of his companions were condemnedto death and hung. Their graves may be seen to-day in theSoldiers' Cemetery at Chattanooga, monuments to one of themost daring and reckless enterprises in the history of theCivil War. The others were imprisoned. 

AN ESCAPE FROM LIBBY PRISON. 

During the winter of 1864 certain highly interestingoperations were going on in the underground region of thenoted Libby Prison, at Richmond, Virginia, at that time theby no means luxurious or agreeable home of some elevenhundred officers of the United States army. Theseoperations, by means of which numerous captives were to maketheir way to fresh air and freedom, are abundantly worthy ofbeing told, as an evidence of the ingenuity of man and theamount of labor and hardship he is willing to give inexchange for liberty. 

[Illustration: LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND. ]

Libby Prison was certainly not of palatial dimensions oraccommodations. Before the war it had been a tobaccowarehouse, situated close by the Lynchburg Canal, and ashort distance from James River, whose waters ran by in fullview of the longing eyes which gazed upon them from theclose-barred prison windows. For the story which we have totell some description of the make-up of this place ofdetention is a necessary preliminary. The building was threestories high in front, and four in the rear, its dimensionsbeing one hundred and sixty-five by one hundred and fivefeet. It was strongly built, of brick and stone, while verythick partition walls of brick divided it internally intothree sections. Each section had its cellar, one of them, with which we are particularly concerned, being unoccupied. The others were occasionally used. The first floor had threeapartments, one used by the prison authorities, one as ahospital, while the middle one served the prisoners as acooking-and dining-room. The second and third stories werethe quarters of the prisoners, where, in seven rooms, morethan eleven hundred United States officers ate, slept, anddid all the duties of life for many months. It may even besaid that they enjoyed some of the pleasures of life, forthough the discipline was harsh and the food scanty andpoor, man's love of enjoyment is not easily to be repressed, and what with occasional minstrel and theatricalentertainments among themselves, fencing exercises withwooden swords, games of cards, checkers and chess, study oflanguages, military tactics, etc. , and other entertainmentsand pastimes, they managed somewhat to overcome the monotonyof prison life and the hardship of prison discipline. 

As regards chances of escape, they were very poor. A strongguard constantly surrounded the prison, and such attempts atescape as were made were rarely successful. The only onethat had measurable success is that which we have todescribe, in which a body of prisoners played the rôle ofrats or beavers, and got out of Libby by an undergroundroute. 

The tunnel enterprise was the project of a few choicespirits only. It was too perilous to confide to many. Thedisused cellar was chosen as the avenue of escape. It wasnever visited, and might be used with safety. But how to getthere was a difficult question to solve. And how to hide thefact that men were absent from roll-call was another. Thelatter difficulty was got over by several expedients. IfLieutenant Jones, for instance, was at work in the tunnel, Captain Smith would answer for him; then, when Smith waspronounced absent, he would step forward and declare that hehad answered to his own name. His presence served as sureproof that he had not been absent. Other and still moreingenious methods were at times adopted, and the authoritieswere completely hoodwinked in this particular. 

And now as regards the difficulty of entering the cellar. The cooking-room on the first floor contained, in its thickbrick and stone partition, a fireplace, in front of which, partly masking it, three stoves were placed for the cookingoperations of the prisoners. The floor of this fireplace waschosen as the initial point of excavation, from which asloping passage might be made, under the floor of the nextroom, into the disused cellar. 

Captain Hamilton, a stonemason by trade, began theexcavation, removing the first brick and stone from thefireplace. It need scarcely be said that this work was doneonly at night, and with as little noise as possible. By daythe opening was carefully closed, the bricks and stonesbeing so ingeniously replaced that no signs of disturbanceappeared. Thick as the wall was, a passage was quickly madethrough it, presenting an easy route to the cellar below. As for this cellar, it was dark, rarely or never opened, andcontained only some old boxes, boards, straw, and the likedébris, and an abundance of rats. 

The cellar reached, and the route to it carefully concealedby day alike from the prison authorities and the prisonersnot in the secret, the question of the tunnel followed. There were two possible routes. One of these led southward, towards the canal; the other eastward, under a narrowstreet, on the opposite side of which was a yard and stable, with a high board fence on the street side. The oppositeside of the yard faced a warehouse. 

A tunnel was commenced towards the canal. But it quicklystruck a sewer whose odor was more than the workers couldendure. It was abandoned, and a tunnel begun eastward, themost difficult part of it being to make an opening in thethick foundation wall. The hope of liberty, however, willbear man up through the most exhausting labors, and thisfatiguing task was at length successfully performed. Theremainder of the excavation was through earth, and waseasier, though much the reverse of easy. 

A few words will tell what was to be done, and how it wasaccomplished. The tunnel began near the floor of the cellar, eight or nine feet underground. Its length would need to beseventy or eighty feet. Only one man could work in it at atime, and this he had to do while crawling forward with hisface downward, and with such tools as pocket-knives, smallhatchets, sharp pieces of wood, and a broken fire-shovel. After the opening had made some progress two men could workin it, one digging, the other carrying back the earth, forwhich work frying-pans were brought into use. 

Another point of some little importance was the disposal ofthe dirt. This was carelessly scattered over the cellarfloor, with straw thrown over it, and some of it placed inboxes and barrels. The whole amount was not great, and notlikely to be noticed if the officials should happen to enterthe cellar, which had not been cleaned for years. 

The work here described was begun in the latter part ofJanuary, 1864. So diligently was it prosecuted that thetunnel was pronounced finished on the night of February 8. During this period only two or three men could work at once. It was, indeed, frightfully exhausting labor, theconfinement of the narrow passage and the difficulty ofbreathing in its foul air being not the least of thehardships to be endured. Work was prosecuted during part ofthe period night and day, the absence of a man fromroll-call being concealed in various ways, as alreadymentioned. 

The secret had been kept well, but not too well. Someworkers had divulged it to their friends. Others of theprisoners had discovered that something was going on, andhad been let into the affair on a pledge of secrecy. By thetime the tunnel was completed its existence was known tosomething more than one hundred out of the eleven hundredprisoners. These were all placed on their word of honor togive no hint of the enterprise. 

The night of February 8 was signalized by the opening of theoutward end of the tunnel. A passage was dug upwards, and anopening made sufficiently large to permit the worker to takea look outward into the midnight air. What he saw gave him afrightful shock. The distance had been miscalculated; theopening was on the _wrong_ side of the fence; there in fullsight was one of the sentinels, pacing his beat with loadedmusket. 

Here was a situation that needed nerve and alertness. Theprotruded head was quickly withdrawn, and the earth whichhad been removed rapidly replaced, it being packed astightly as possible from below to prevent its falling in. Word of the perilous error was sent back, and as the whisperpassed from ear to ear every heart throbbed with a nervousshock. They had barely escaped losing the benefit of theirweeks of exhausting labor. 

The opening had been at the outward edge of the fence. Thetunnel was now run two feet farther, and an opening againmade. It was now on the inside of the fence, and in a safeplace, for the stable adjoining the yard was disused. 

The evening of the 9th was that fixed upon for flight. At alittle after nine o'clock the exodus began. Those in thesecret made their way to the cooking-room. The fireplacepassage was opened, and such was the haste to availthemselves of it that the men almost struggled forprecedence. Rules had been made, but no order could bekept. Silence reigned, however. No voice was raised above awhisper; every footstep was made as light as possible. Ithad been decided that fifty men should leave that night, andfifty the next, the prison clerk being deceived at roll-callby an artifice which had been practised more than oncebefore, that of men leaving one end of the line andregaining the other unseen, to answer to the names ofothers. But the risk of discovery was too great. Every manwanted to be among the first. It proved impossible torestrain the anxious prisoners. 

Down into the cellar passed a long line of descending men, dropping to its floor in rapid succession. Around the mouthof the tunnel a dense crowd gathered. But here only one manwas allowed to pass at a time, on account of the bad air. The noise made in passing through told those behind how longthe tunnel was occupied. The instant the noise ceasedanother plunged in. 

The passage was no easy one. The tunnel was little more thanwide enough to contain a man's body, and progress had to bemade by kicking and scrambling forward. Two or threeminutes, however, sufficed for the journey, the one who hadlast emerged helping his companion to the upper air. 

Here was a carriage-way fronting southward, and leading intoCanal Street, which ran along the Lynchburg Canal. Fourguards paced along the south side of the prison within plainview. The risk was great. On emerging from the carriage-waythe fugitives would be in full sight of these guards. Butthe risk must be taken. Watching the street for a moment inwhich it was comparatively clear, one by one they passed outand walked deliberately along the canal, in the directionaway from the prison, like ordinary passers. This dangerousspace was crossed with remarkable good fortune. If theguards noticed them at all, they must have taken them forordinary citizens. The unusual number of passers, on thatretired street, nearly the whole night long, does not seemto have attracted the attention of any of the guards. Onehundred and nine escaped in all, yet not a man of them waschallenged. 

Canal Street once left, the first breath of relief wasdrawn. Those who early escaped soon found themselves inwell-lighted streets, many of the shops still open, andnumerous citizens and soldiers promenading. No one tooknotice of the fugitives, who strolled along the streets insmall groups, laughing and talking on indifferent subjects, and, with no sign of haste, directing their steps towardsthe outskirts of the city. 

As to what followed, there are almost as many adventures torelate as there were persons escaped. We shall confineourselves to the narrative of one of them, Captain Earle, from whose story the particulars above given have beencondensed. With him was one companion, Captain Charles E. Rowan. 

They had provided themselves with a small quantity of food, but had no definite plans. It quickly occurred to them, however, that they had better make their way down thepeninsula, towards Fortress Monroe, as the nearest localitywhere Union troops could probably be found. With the polarstar for guide they set out, having left the perilousprecincts of the city in their rear. 

To travel by night, to hide by day, was their chosen plan. The end of their first night's journey found them in thevicinity of a swamp, some five miles from Richmond. Here, hid behind a screen of brushwood and evergreen bushes, theyspent the long and anxious day, within hearing of the noisesof the camps around the city, but without discovery. 

A day had made a gratifying change in their situation. Theday before they had been prisoners, with no apparentprospect of freedom for months. This day they were free, even if in a far from agreeable situation. Liberty solacedthem for the weariness of that day's anxious vigil. How longthey would remain free was the burning question of the hour. They were surrounded with perils. Could they hope to passthrough them in safety? This only the event could tell. 

The wintry cold was one of their difficulties. Their meagrestock of food was another. They divided this up into verysmall rations, with the hope that they could make it lastfor six days. The second night they moved in an easterlydirection, and near morning ventured to approach a smallcabin, which proved to be, as they had hoped, occupied by anegro. He gave them directions as to their course, and allthe food he had, --a small piece of pone bread. 

That day they suffered much, in their hiding place, fromthe cold. That night, avoiding roads, they made their waythrough swamp and thicket, finding themselves in the morningchilled with wet clothing and torn by briers. Near morningof the third night they reached what seemed to be a swamp. They concluded to rest on its borders till dawn, and thenpass through it. Sleep came to them here. When they wakenedit was full day, and an agreeable surprise greeted theireyes. What they supposed to be a swamp proved to be theChickahominy River. The prospect of meeting this stream hadgiven them much mental anxiety. Captain Rowan could notswim. Captain Earle had no desire to do so, in February. Howit was to be crossed had troubled them greatly. As theyopened their eyes now, the problem was solved. There lay afallen tree, neatly bridging the narrow stream! In less thanfive minutes they were safely on the other side of thisdreaded obstacle, and with far better prospects than theyhad dreamed of a few hours before. 

By the end of the fourth night they found that their sixdays' stock of food was exhausted, and their strength almostgone. Their only hope of food now lay in confiscating achicken from the vicinity of some farm-house, and eating itraw. For this purpose they cautiously approached theout-buildings of a farm-house. Here, while secretly scoutingfor the desired chicken, they were discovered by a negro. They had no need to fear him. There is no case on record ofa negro betraying an escaped prisoner into the hands of theenemy. The sympathy of these dusky captives to slavery couldbe safely counted upon, and many a fugitive owed to them hissafety from recapture. 

"Glad to see you, gemmen, " he cried, courteously. "You'sYankee off'cers, 'scaped from prison. It's all right wid me, gemmen. Come dis way; you's got to be looked arter. "

The kindly sympathy of this dusky friend was so evident thatthey followed him without a thought of treachery. He ledthem to his cabin, where a blazing fire in an old-fashionedfireplace quickly restored that sense of the comfort ofwarmth which they had for days lost. 

Several colored people were present, who surrounded andquestioned them with the warmest sympathy. A guard wasposted to prevent surprise, and the old mammy of the familyhastened to prepare what seemed to them the most deliciousmeal they had ever tasted. The corn-bread _pones_ vanisheddown their throats as fast as she could take them from thehot ashes in which they were baked. The cabbage, fried in askillet, tasted like ambrosia. The meat no game couldsurpass in flavor, and an additional zest was added to it bytheir fancy that it had been furnished by the slave-holder'spantry. They had partaken of many sumptuous meals, butnothing to equal that set before them on the hospitabletable of their dusky hosts. They were new men, with newcourage, when they at length set out again, fully informedas to their route. 

On they went through the cold, following the difficultpaths which they chose in preference to travelled roads, while the dogs, --for the peninsula seemed to them to beprincipally peopled by dogs, --by their unceasing chorus ofbarks, right, left, and in front, kept them in a state ofnervous exasperation. Many times did they turn from theircourse through fear of detection from these vociferousguardians of the night. 

On the fifth day they were visited, in their place ofconcealment, by a snow-storm. Their suffering from cold nowbecame so intolerable that they could not remain at rest, and they resumed their route about four o'clock. Two hoursthey went, and then, to their complete discouragement, foundthemselves back again at their starting-point, and cold, wet, tired, and hungry into the bargain. 

As they stood there, expressing in very plain language theiropinion of Dame Fortune, a covered cart approached. Takingit for granted that the driver was a negro, they hailed him;but to their dismay found that they had halted a white man. 

There was but one thing to do. They told him that they wereConfederate scouts, and asked him for information about theYankee outposts. A short conference ensued, which ended intheir discovering that they were talking to a man of strongUnion sympathies, and as likely to befriend them as thenegroes. This was a hopeful discovery. They now freely toldhim who they really were, and in return received valuableinformation as to roads, being told in addition where theycould find a negro family who would give them food. 

"If you can keep out of the way of rebel scouts fortwenty-four hours more, " he continued, "you will very likelycome across some of your own troops. But you are on verydangerous ground. Here is the scouting-place of both armies, and guerillas and bushwackers are everywhere. "

Thanking him, and with hearts filled with new hope, thewanderers started forward. At midnight they reached thenegro cabin to which they had been directed, where, to theirgreat relief, they obtained a substantial meal ofcorn-bread, pork, and rye coffee, and, what was quite asacceptable, a warming from a bright fire. The friendly blackwarned them, as their late informant had done, of the dangerof the ground they had yet to traverse. 

These warnings caused them to proceed very cautiously, afterleaving the hospitable cabin of their sable entertainer. Butthey had not gone far before they met an unexpected andvexatious obstacle, a river or creek, the Diascon, as thenegroes named it. They crossed it at length, but not withoutgreat trouble and serious loss of time. 

It was now the sixth night since their escape. HithertoCaptain Rowan had been a model of strength, perseverance, and judgment. Now these qualities seemed suddenly to leavehim. The terrible strain, mental and physical, to which theyhad been exposed, and their sufferings from cold, fatigue, and hunger, produced their effect at last, and he becamephysically prostrate and mentally indifferent. CaptainEarle, who retained his energies, had great difficulty inpersuading him to proceed, and before daybreak was obligedto let him stop and rest. 

When dawn appeared they found themselves in an open country, affording poor opportunities for concealment. They feltsure, however, that they must be near the Union outposts. With these considerations they concluded to make theirjourney now by day, and in a road. In truth, Rowan had lostall care as to how they went and what became of them, andhis companion's energy and decision were on the decline. 

Onward they trudged, mile by mile, with keen enjoyment ofthe highway after their bitter experience of by-ways, andsomewhat heedless of consequences, though glad to perceivethat no human form was in sight. Nine o'clock came. Beforethem the road curved sharply. They walked steadily onward. But as they neared the curve there came to their ears a mostdisquieting sound, the noise of hoofs on the hard road-bed, the rattle of cavalry equipments. A force of horsemen wasevidently approaching. Were they Union or Confederate? Wasfreedom or renewed captivity before them? They lookedquickly to right and left. No opportunity for concealmentappeared. Nor was there a moment's time for flight, for thesound of hoof-beats was immediately followed by theappearance of mounted and uniformed men, a cavalry squad, still some hundreds of yards away, but riding towards themat full gallop. 

The eyes of the fugitives looked wistfully and anxiouslytowards them. Thank Heaven! they wore the Union blue! Thoseguidons which rose high in the air bore the Union colors!They were United States cavalry! Safety was assured!

In a minute more the rattling hoofs were close at hand, theband of rescuers were around them; eager questions, gladanswers, heartfelt congratulations filled the air. In a veryfew minutes the fugitives were mounted and riding gladlyback in the midst of their new friends, to be banqueted, feasted, and fêted, until every vestige of their hardshipshad been worn away by human kindness. 

As to their feelings at this happy termination of theirheroic struggle for freedom, words cannot express them. Theweary days, the bitter disappointments, the harsh treatmentof prison life; the days and nights of cold, hunger, andperil, wanderings through swamps and thorny thickets, hopesand despairs of flight; all were at an end, and now onlyfriends surrounded them, only congratulating andcommiserating voices met their ears. It was a feast of joynever to be forgotten. 

A few words will finish. One hundred and nine men hadescaped. Of these, fifty-five reached the Union lines. Fifty-four were captured and taken back to prison. Some ofthe escaped officers, more swift in motion or fortunate inroute than the others, reached the Union lines on theirthird day from Richmond. Their report that others were onthe road bore good fruit. General Butler, then in commandat Fortress Monroe, sent out, on alternate days, theEleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry and the First New York Riflesto patrol the country in search of the escaping prisoners, with tall guidons to attract their attention if they shouldbe in concealment. Many of the fugitives were thus rescued. The adventures of two, as above given, must serve forexample of them all. 

THE SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. 

Naval operations in the American Civil War were particularlydistinguished by the active building of iron-clads. TheNorth built and employed them with marked success; theSouth, with marked failure. With praiseworthy energy and atgreat cost the Confederates produced iron-clad vessels ofwar in Norfolk Harbor, on Roanoke River, in the Mississippi, and elsewhere, yet, with the exception of the one day's raidof ruin of the Merrimac in Hampton Roads, their labor wasalmost in vain, their expensive war-vessels went down in theengulfing waters or went up in flame and smoke. Theirefforts in this direction were simply conspicuous examplesof non-success. We propose here to tell the tale of disasterof the Albemarle, one of these iron-clads, and the greatdeed of heroism which brought her career to an untimely end. 

The Albemarle was built on the Roanoke River in 1863. Shewas of light draught, but of considerable length and width, her hull above the water-line being covered with four inchesof iron bars. Such an armor would be like paper against thegreat guns of to-day; then it served its purpose well. Thecompetition for effectiveness between rifled cannon andarmor plates had not yet begun. 

April, 1864, had arrived before this formidable opponent ofthe Union blockading fleet was ready for service. Then, onemisty morning, down the river she went, on her mission ofdeath and destruction. The opening of her career waspromising. She attacked the Union gunboats and fort atPlymouth, near the mouth of the river, captured one of theboats, sunk another, and aided in forcing the fort tosurrender, its garrison being taken prisoners. It had beenassailed at the same time by a strong land force, and thenext day Plymouth itself was taken by the Confederatetroops, with a heavy Union loss in men and material. 

So far favoring fortune had attended the Albemarle. Enlivened with success, on a morning in May she steamed outinto the deeper waters of Albemarle Bay, confident onplaying the same rôle with the wooden vessels there that theMerrimac had played in Hampton Roads. She failed in thislaudable enterprise. The Albemarle was not so formidable asthe Merrimac. The steamers of war which she was to meet weremore formidable than the Congress and the Cumberland. Shefirst encountered the Sassacus, a vessel of powerfularmament. More agile than the iron-clad, the Sassacus playedround her, exchanging shots, and seeking a vulnerable point. At length, under a full head of steam, she dashed on themonster, striking a blow which drove it bodily half underthe water. Recovering from the blow, the two vessels, almostside by side, hurled 100-pound balls upon each other. Mostof those of the Sassacus bounded from the mailed sides ofher antagonist, like hail from stone walls. But three ofthem entered a port, and did sad work within. In reply theAlbemarle sent one of her great bolts through a boiler ofthe Sassacus, filling her with steam. So far the iron-cladhad the best of the game; but others of the fleet were nownear at hand; the balls which had entered her port had doneserious injury; she was no longer in fighting trim; sheturned and made the best of her way back to Plymouth, firingas she fled. 

This ended her career for that summer. But repairs weremade, and she was put in fighting trim again; anothergunboat was building as a consort; unless something werequickly done she would soon be in Albemarle Sound again, with possibly a different tale to tell from that of herfirst assault. 

At this critical juncture Lieutenant William B. Cushing, avery young but a very bold officer, proposed a daring plan;no less a one than to attack the Albemarle at her wharf, explode a torpedo under her hull, and send her, if possible, to the bottom of the Roanoke. He proposed to use a swiftsteam-launch, run up the stream at night, and assail theiron-clad where she lay in fancied security. From the bow ofthe launch protruded a long spar, loaded at its end with a100-pound dynamite cartridge. The spar could be lowered bypulling one rope, the cartridge detached by pulling another, and the dynamite exploded by pulling a third. 

The proposed exploit was a highly perilous one. TheAlbemarle lay eight miles up the river. Plymouth wasgarrisoned by several thousand soldiers, and the banks ofthe stream were patrolled by sentinels all the way down tothe bay. It was more than likely that none of theadventurers would live to return. Yet Cushing and the crewof seven daring men whom he selected were willing to takethe risk, and the naval commanders, to whom success in suchan enterprise promised the most valuable results, agreed tolet them go. 

It was a dark night in which the expedition set out, --thatof October 27, 1864. Up the stream headed the little launch, with her crew of seven, and towing two boats, eachcontaining ten men, armed with cutlasses, grenades, andrevolvers. Silently they proceeded, keeping to mid-stream, so as to avoid alarming the sentinels on the banks. In thissuccess was attained; the eight miles were passed and thefront of the town reached without the Confederates having aninkling of the disaster in store for them. 

Reaching Plymouth, Lieutenant Cushing came to a quickdecision as to what had best be done. He knew the town well. No alarm had been given. He might land a party and take theAlbemarle by surprise. He could land his men on the lowerwharf, lead them stealthily through the dark streets, leapwith them upon the iron-clad, surprise the officers andcrew, and capture the vessel at her moorings. It was anenterprise of frightful risk, yet Cushing was just the manfor it, and his men would follow wherever he should lead. Alow order was given. The launch turned and glided almostnoiselessly towards the wharf. But she was now only a shortdistance from the Albemarle, on whose deck the lookout waswide-awake. 

"What boat is that?" came a loud hail. 

No reply. The launch glided on. 

"What boat is that?" came the hail again, sharper thanbefore. 

"Cast off!" said Cushing, in a low tone. The two boats wereloosened and drifted away. The plan of surprise was at anend. The vigilance of the lookout had made it impossible. That of destruction remained. The launch was turned again, and moved once more towards the Albemarle. 

They were quickly so close that the hull of the iron-cladloomed darkly above them. Upon that vessel all wascommotion. The unanswered hail was followed by the springingof rattles, ringing of bells, running of men, and shoutingof orders. Muskets were fired at random at the dimly seenblack object. Bullets whizzed past the devoted crew. Lightsbegan to flash here and there. A minute before all had beenrest and silence; now all was noise, alarm, and commotion. 

[Illustration: SINKING OF THE ALBEMARLE. ]

All this did not disconcert the intrepid commander of thelaunch. His main concern at that moment was an unexpectedobstacle he had discovered, and which threatened to defeathis enterprise. A raft of logs had been placed around theiron-clad to protect her from any such attack. There shelay, not fifty feet away; but this seemingly insuperableobstacle intervened. 

What was to be done? In emergencies like that men thinkquickly and to the point. The raft must be passed, or allwas at an end. The logs had been long in the water, anddoubtless were slippery with river slime. The launch mightbe run upon and over them. Once inside the raft, it couldnever return. No matter for that. He was there to sink theAlbemarle. The smaller contingency of losing his own lifewas a matter to be left for an after-thought. 

This decision was reached in a moment's thought. The noiseabove them increased. Men were running and shouting, lightsflashing, landsmen, startled by the noise, hurrying to theriver-bank. Without an instant's delay the launch waswheeled round, steamed rapidly into the stream until a goodoffing was gained, turned again, and now drove straightforward for the Albemarle with all the power of her engines. As she came near bullets poured like hail across her decks. One tore off the sole of Cushing's shoe; another wentthrough the back of his coat; it was perilously close andhot work. The hail came again:

"What boat is that?"

This time Lieutenant Cushing replied. His reply was not inwords, however, but in a howitzer load of canister whichdrove across the Albemarle's deck. The next minute the bowof the launch struck the logs. As had been expected, thelight craft slid up on their slippery surfaces, forcingthem down into the water. The end of the spar almost touchedthe iron hull of the destined victim. 

The first rope was loosened. The spar, with its load, dropped under water. The launch was still gliding onward, and carrying the spar forward. The second cord was pulled;the torpedo dropped from the spar. At this moment a bulletcut across the left palm of the gallant Cushing. As it didso he pulled the third cord. The next instant a surgingcolumn of water was raised, lifting the Albemarle as thoughthe great iron-clad were of feather weight. At the sameinstant a cannon, its muzzle not fifteen feet away, sent itscharge rending through the timbers of the launch. 

The Albemarle, lifted for a moment on the boiling surge, settled down into the mud of her shallow anchorage, nevermore to swim, with a great hole torn in her bottom. Thetorpedo had done its work. Cushing had earned his fame. 

"Surrender!" came a loud shout from Confederate lungs. 

"Never!" shouted Cushing in reply. "Save yourselves!" hesaid to his men. 

In an instant he had thrown off coat, shoes, sword, andpistols, and plunged into the waters that rolled darkly athis feet, and in which he had just dug a grave for theAlbemarle. His men sprung beside him, and struck out boldlyfor the farther shore. 

All this had passed in far less time than it takes to tellit. Little more than five minutes had passed since thefirst hail, and already the Albemarle was a wreck, thelaunch destroyed, her crew swimming for their lives, andbullets from deck and shore pouring thickly across the darkstream. 

The incensed Confederates hastily manned boats and pushedout into the stream. In a few minutes they had captured mostof the swimming crew. One sank and was drowned. One reachedthe shore. The gallant commander of the launch they failedto find. They called his name, --they had learned it fromtheir prisoners, --but no answer came, and the darknessveiled him from view. Had he gone to the bottom? Such mostof the searchers deemed to be his fate. 

In a few minutes the light of a blazing fire flashed acrossthe river from Plymouth wharf. It failed to reveal anyswimming forms. The impression became general that thedaring commander was drowned. After some further search mostof the boats returned, deeming their work at an end. 

They had not sought far or fast enough. Cushing had reachedshore--on the Plymouth side--before the fire was kindled. Hewas chilled and exhausted, but he dared not stop to rest. Boats were still patrolling the stream; parties of searchmight soon be scouring the river-banks; the moments wereprecious, he must hasten on. 

He found himself near the walls of a fort. On its parapet, towering gloomily above him, a sentinel could be seen, pacing steadily to and fro. The fugitive lay almost underhis eyes. A bushy swamp lay not far beyond, but to reachits shelter he must cross an open space forty feet wide infull view of this man. The sentinel walks away. Cushingmakes a dash for life. But not half the space is traversedwhen his backward glancing eye sees the sentinel about toturn. Down he goes on his back in the rushes, trusting totheir friendly shelter and the gloom of the night to keephim from sight. 

As he lies there, slowly gaining breath after his excitedeffort, four men--two of them officers--pass so close thatthey almost tread on his extended form, seeking him, butfailing to see what lies nearly under their feet. They passon, talking of the night's startling event. Cushing daresnot rise again. Yet the swamp must be gained, and speedily. Still flat on his back, he digs his heels into the softearth, and pushes himself inch by inch through the rushes, until, with a warm heart-throb of hope, he feels the welcomedampness of the swamp. 

It proves to be no pleasant refuge. The mire is too deep towalk in, while above it grow tangled briers and thornyshrubs, through which he is able to pass only as before, bylying on his back, and pushing and pulling himself onward. 

The hours of the night passed. Day dawned. He had made someprogress, and was now at a safe distance from the fort, butfound himself still in the midst of peril. Near where he laya party of soldiers were at work, engaged in plantingobstructions in the river, lest the Union fleet shouldfollow its daring pioneers to Plymouth, now that theAlbemarle was sunk, and the chief naval defence of theplace gone. 

Just back from the river-bank, and not far from where helay, a cornfield lifted its yellowed plumes into the air. Cushing managed to reach its friendly shelter unobserved, and now, almost for the first time since his escape, stoodupright, and behind the rustling rows made his way past thesoldiers. 

To his alarm, as he came near the opposite side of thefield, he found himself face to face with a man who glaredat him in surprise. Well he might, for the latetrimly-dressed lieutenant was now a sorry sight, coveredfrom head to foot with swamp mud, his clothes rent, andblood oozing from a hundred scratches in his skin. 

He had no reason for alarm; the man was a negro; the duskyface showed sympathy under its surprise. 

"I am a Union soldier, " said Cushing, feeling in his heartthat no slave would betray him. 

"One o' dem as was in de town last night?" asked the negro. 

"Yes. Have you been there? Can you tell me anything?"

"No, massa; on'y I's been tole dat dar's pow'ful bad workdar, an' de sojers is bilin' mad. "

Further words passed, in the end the negro agreeing to go tothe town, see for himself what harm had been done, and bringback word. Cushing would wait for him under shelter of thecorn. 

The old negro set out on his errand, glad of theopportunity to help one of "Massa Linkum's sojers. " Thelieutenant secreted himself as well as he could, and waited. An hour passed. Then steps and the rustling of the dryleaves of the corn-stalks were heard. The fugitive peepedfrom his ambush. To his joy he saw before him the smilingface of his dusky messenger. 

"What news?" he demanded, stepping joyfully forward. 

"Mighty good news, massa, " said the negro, with a laugh. "Dat big iron ship's got a hole in her bottom big 'nough todrive a wagon in. She's deep in de mud, 'longside de wharf, an' folks say she'll neber git up ag'in. "

"Good! She's done for, then? My work is accomplished?--Now, old man, tell me how I must go to get back to the ships. "

The negro gave what directions he could, and the fugitivetook to the swamp again, after a grateful good-by to hisdusky friend and a warm "God-speed" from the latter. It wasinto a thicket of tangled shrubs that Lieutenant Cushing nowplunged, so dense that he could not see ten feet in advance. But the sun was visible overhead and served him as a guide. Hour by hour he dragged himself painfully onward. At twoo'clock in the afternoon he found himself on the banks of anarrow creek, a small affluent of the Roanoke. 

He crouched in the bushes on the creek-side, peering warilybefore him. Voices reached his ears. Across the stream hesaw men. A minute's observation apprised him of thesituation. The men he saw to be a group of soldiers, sevenin number, who had just landed from a boat in the stream. Ashe watched, they tied their boat to the root of a tree, andthen turned into a path that led upward. Reaching a point atsome distance from the river, they stopped, sat down, andbegan to eat their dinner. 

Here was an opportunity, a desperate one, but Cushing hadgrown ready for desperate chances. He had had enough ofwandering through mire and thorns. Without hesitation helowered himself noiselessly into the water, swam across thestream, untied the boat, pushed it cautiously from the bank, and swam with it down the stream until far enough away to beout of sight of its recent occupants. Then he climbed intothe boat and paddled away as fast as possible. 

There was no sign of pursuit. The soldiers keptunsuspiciously at their mid-day meal. The swamp-linedcreek-sides served well as a shelter from prying eyes. Forhours Cushing pursued his slow course. The sun sank;darkness gathered; night came on. At the same time the waterwidened around him; he was on the surface of the Roanoke. 

Onward he paddled; the night crept on till midnight wasreached; for ten hours he had been at that exhausting toil. But now before his eyes appeared a welcome sight, the darkhull of a Union gunboat. 

"Ship ahoy!" came a loud hail from the exhausted man. 

"Who goes there?" answered the lookout on the gunboat. 

"A friend. Take me up. "

The gunboat was quickly in motion. This might be aConfederate ruse, possibly a torpedo might have been sent toblow them up; they were in dangerous waters. Boats werequickly lowered, and rowed towards the small object on thestream. 

"Who are you?" came the cry, as they drew near. 

"Lieutenant Cushing, or what is left of me. "

"Cushing!" was the excited answer. "And the Albemarle?"

"Will never trouble a Union fleet again. She rests in hergrave on the muddy bottom of the Roanoke. "

Loud cheers followed this stirring announcement. The sailorsbent to their oars, and quickly had the gallant lieutenanton board. Their cheers were heightened tenfold when the crewof the Valley City heard what had been done. In truth, theexploit of Lieutenant Cushing was one that for coolness, daring, and success in the face of seemingly insuperableobstacles has rarely been equalled in history, and thedestruction of the Albemarle ranks with the most notableevents in the history of war. 

ALASKA, A TREASURE HOUSE OF GOLD, FURS, AND FISHES

In 1867, when the far-seeing Secretary Seward purchasedAlaska from the Russian government for $7, 200, 000, there wasan outcry of disapproval equal to that made when Louisianaterritory was purchased from France in 1803. Many of thepeople called the region "Seward's Folly" and said it wouldproduce nothing but icebergs and polar bears, and GeneralBenjamin F. Butler, representative from Massachusetts, saidin the House: "If we are to pay this amount for Russia'sfriendship during the war, then give her the $7, 200, 000 andtell her to keep Alaska. " Representative Washburn, ofWisconsin, exclaimed: "I defy any man on the face of theearth to produce any evidence that an ounce of gold has everbeen found in Alaska. "

To-day Alaska is yielding in gold $10, 000, 000 per year; itsfisheries are among the richest in the world, including morethan half the salmon yield of the United States; its forestsare of enormous value; its fur-seal harvest is without arival; its territory is traversed by one of the greatestrivers of the world, two thousand miles long and with morethan a thousand miles of navigable waters, and it promisesto become an important farming and stock-raising region. Asfor extent, it is large enough to cover more than twenty ofour States. In revenue it has repaid the United States theoriginal outlay and several millions more; while, aside fromits gold product, its fisheries have netted $100, 000, 000 andits furs $80, 000, 000 since its acquisition. Seward, then, was wise in looking upon this purchase as the greatestachievement of his life, though he truly said that it wouldtake the country a generation to find out Alaska's value. 

The most dramatic and interesting portion of the story ofAlaska is its gold-mining enterprise, and it is of this, therefore, that we propose to speak. The discovery of placergold deposits in British Columbia led naturally to thesurmise that this precious metal might be found farthernorthward, and as early as 1880 wandering gold-hunters hadmade their way over the passes from Cassiar or inward fromthe coast and were trying the gravel bars of tributaries ofthe Yukon, finding the yellow metal at several places. 

[Illustration: MUIR GLACIER IN ALASKA. ]

The first important find along the Yukon was made on StewartRiver in 1885, about $100, 000 being taken out in twosummers. The next year a good find was made at Forty-MileCreek, finds being made later on Sixty-Mile Creek, BirchCreek, and other streams. On Birch Creek arose Circle City, named from its proximity to the Arctic circle, and growinginto a well-built and well-conducted little town. 

Meanwhile a valuable find had been made on Douglas Island, one of the long chain of islands that bound the westerncoast line, and this has since developed into one of therichest mines in the world. It is not a placer mine, however, but a quartz mine, one needing capital for itsdevelopment and with no charms for the ordinary gold-seeker. The gold is found in a friable and easily worked rock, enabling low-grade ores to be handled at a profit, andto-day fifteen hundred stamps are busy and the mines arehighly profitable. 

The placer miners, however, have no use for gold that restsin quartz veins and has to be obtained by the aid of costlystamping mills. The gold they seek is that on which naturehas done the work of stamping, by breaking up the originalveins into sands and gravels, with which the freed gold ismixed in condition to be obtained by a simple process ofwashing. The wandering miners thus prospected Alaska, following the long course of the Yukon and trying itstributary streams, many of them making a living, a few ofthem acquiring wealth, but none of their finds attractingthe attention of the world, which scarcely knew thatgold-seekers were at work in this remote and almost unknownregion. 

Thus it went on until 1897, when on July 16 a party ofminers arrived in San Francisco from the upper Yukon with alarge quantity of gold in nuggets and dust and a story totell that deeply stirred that old land of gold. On the 17thanother steamer put into Seattle with more miners and$800, 000 in gold dust, nearly all of it the outcome of awinter's work on a small stream known as the Klondike, entering the Yukon about fifty miles above Forty-Mile Creek. 

The discovery of this rich placer region was made in theautumn of 1896 by an Illinois man named George McCormick, who, in the intervals of salmon fishing, tried his hand atprospecting, and on Bonanzo Creek, a tributary of theKlondike, was surprised and overjoyed to find gold in aprofusion never before dreamed of in the Alaskan region. Thenews of the find spread rapidly through Alaska and beforewinter set in the old diggings were largely deserted, aswarm of eager miners poured into the Klondike region, andthe frozen earth was torn and rent in their eagerness toreach its yellow treasures. 

The news of the discovery spread as far and fast as thetelegraph could carry it. The richness of the find surpassedanything ever before found and the whole country was agog. The stories of wonderful fortunes made by miners weretestified to by a display of nuggets and sacks of shininggold in stores and hotels, the find of one man being shownin a San Francisco shop window in the shape of one hundredand thirty thousand dollars worth of gold. 

The old gold-fever broke out again as an epidemic. Such astampede as took place had never before been seen. Thestream of picturesque humanity that poured through Seattleand on to the golden north surpassed the palmy days of '49when California opened its caves of Aladdin. Every steamerthat could be made use of was booked to its full capacity, while many ardent gold-seekers were turned away. Everypassenger and every pound of cargo that could be taken onthese steamers was loaded and the hegira was almostinstantly in full blast. 

As it proved, the new find was in Canadian territory, a fewmiles east of the Alaskan boundary, but the flood of menthat set in was mainly American. Many threw up goodpositions or mortgaged their homes for funds to join the madmigration, oblivious in most cases of the fact that theywere setting out to encounter hardships and arctic extremesof temperature for which their home life had utterlyunfitted them. Warnings were published that those who joinedthe pioneer flood faced starvation or death by freezing orhardship, but the tide was on and could not be turned, andbefore the autumn had far advanced thousands had landed atthe mushroom settlements of Skagway and Dyea, laden with theeffects they had brought with them and proposing to fighttheir way against nature's obstacles over the difficultmountain passes and along the little less difficult lakesand streams to the promised land of gold. A village of loghouses and tents, known as Dawson, had sprung up at themouth of the Klondike, and this was the mecca towards whichthe great pilgrimage set. 

The struggle inland of the first comers was a frightful one. No roads or pack-trails existed over the rough and loftypasses of the coast range of mountains, and it was killingwork to transport the many tons of equipments andprovisions over the nearly impassable Chilkoot and WhitePasses. For those who came too late in the season it wasquite impassable, the trails and rivers were stopped by snowand ice, and numbers had to endure a long and miserablewinter in the primitive coast settlements or straggle backto civilization. 

The terrors of that first year's battle with the unbrokenpasses are indescribable. Thousands of dead pack-horsesmarked the way. And the mountains once crossed and thewaters reached new troubles arose. Boats had to be built forthe long reach of navigation down the chain of lakes and theYukon--many having brought the necessary boat timbers withthem. Six hundred miles of waterways were to be traversed. On some of the short streams connecting the lakes there weredangerous rapids to be run, in which many lost their goodsand some their lives. The early winter added ice to thedifficulties of the way and the Yukon section of the tripwas made by the later comers through miles of drift ice, grinding and ploughing its way to the peril of the boats, orwater travel was checked by the final closing of the streamfor the winter, leaving no resource but a long sledgingjourney over the snow. 

Those who took the long voyage to the mouth of the Yukon andjourneyed by steamer up that stream had their difficultieswith ice and current, and it was not uncommon for them to befrozen in, leaving them the sole expedient of the dog sled, if they elected to proceed to the diggings without theirsupplies. 

Dawson once reached, the trouble and hardship were by nomeans at an end. Having penetrated a total wilderness in anarctic climate, borne on by dreams of sudden fortune, theenthusiastic treasure-seekers found new difficultiesawaiting them. There was no easy task of digging andpanning, as in more favored climes. Winter had locked thegolden treasures with its strongest fetters. The ground waseverywhere frozen into the firmness of rock. In midsummer itthawed no more than three feet down, and eternal frostreigned below. 

To reach the gold-bearing gravels the miners had to buildfires on the frozen surface and keep these going fortwenty-four hours. This would soften the soil to the depthof some six inches. This thrown out, new fires had to bekindled, and thus laboriously the miners burned their waydown to the gold-bearing gravel, usually at a depth offifteen feet. Then other fires were built at the bottom andtunnels made through the five feet or more of "pay-dirt, "which was dug out and piled up to await the coming offlowing water in the spring, when the gold might be washedout in the rockers and sluices employed. 

As may be seen, the buried treasures of these gravel bedswere to be won in these pioneer years only by dint ofexhausting labor and frightful hardship. They would neverhave been found at all had not the bars and shores of thestreams yielded gold at the surface level. Yet theextraordinary richness of these gravels, from which as muchas $50, 000 might be obtained as the result of a winter'swork, excited men's imaginations to the utmost, and thestream of gold-seekers continued year after year untilDawson grew to be a well-built and populous city and theyearly output of the Klondike mines amounted to more than$16, 000, 000. 

The difficulty in reaching the mines grew less year by year. As early as 1898 a railway was begun across the White Pass. It now extends from Skagway more than a hundred milesinland, the lakes and streams being traversed by steamers, so that the purgatory of the early prospectors has beenconverted into the "broad and easy way" of the latersinners. The old method of burning into the frozen soil hasalso been improved on, steam being now used instead of fireand the pay-dirt reached much more rapidly and cheaply byits aid. 

The Klondike region, though largely prospected and worked byAmericans, is not in Alaska, Dawson lying sixty miles eastof the border. The streams of Alaska itself, so far as theyhave yet been worked, are far less promising, and yet Alaskahas a golden treasure house of its own that may yet prove asprolific as the Klondike itself. 

This is at Nome, on the shores of Bering Sea, abouttwenty-five degrees of longitude nearly due west fromDawson, and a hundred and fifty miles north of the mouth ofthe Yukon. Here the sands of the sea itself and of itsbordering shores have proven splendid gold bearers and haveattracted a large population to that inhospitable region, inlatitude sixty-five degrees north; here has grown up a citycontaining 25, 000 inhabitants, and here may be seen the mostnortherly railroad in the world. 

In 1898 a soldier, in digging a well on the beach at Nome, saw in the sands thrown up that alluring yellow glint whichhas led so many men to fortune and so many to death. Thestory of his find came to the ears of an old prospector fromIdaho, who, too ill to go inland, was stranded in themilitary station of Nome. Spade and pan were at once put towork and in twenty days the fortunate invalid found himselfworth $3000 in gold. 

At Nome the gold was first found in the beach sands and evenin the sands of the sea adjoining the beach, old Neptunebeing forced to yield part of the treasures he had taken tohimself. Later, the bench of higher land stretching backfrom the beach and the sides of the down-flowing creeks werefound to be gold-bearing, the bench gravels being from fortyto eighty feet thick, with gold throughout. A heavy growthof moss covers this coastal plain, under which lie thefrozen gravels, which are softened by the use of steam andthus forced to give up their previous freight. That is allwe need say about the gold product of Alaska, further thanto sum up that the territory yields about $10, 000, 000 peryear, or with the Klondike about $25, 000, 000, theseequalling nearly one-third the total production of theUnited States. Here is a fine showing for a region oncedeemed worthless. 

Gold is an alluring subject, but Alaska has other sources ofwealth which enormously exceed its golden sands in value. We have already spoken of the rich products of its fisheriesand furs. The former include several species of salmon, which the Yukon yields in vast numbers; the latter embrace, in addition to the usual fur-bearing animals, the valuablefur-seal of the Aleutian Islands, a species found nowhereelse. To these sources of wealth may be added the vastforests of valuable timber, especially of spruce, hemlock, red and yellow cedar, which are likely to become of greatvalue in the growing extermination of the home forests ofthe United States. 

Alaska also presents excellent opportunities in its coastdistricts for agriculture, most of the hardy vegetables andcereals here yielding good crops. But a more valuableoutlook for the farmer appears to lie in the grazingopportunities of the land. In some localities along thesouth coast the grasses grow in splendid luxuriance, much ofthe grass being six feet high. On the higher elevations andin exposed places the grass is often too low for hay makingbut is admirable for grazing, the cattle that eat it growingvery fat. Of these grass lands there are about 10, 000 squaremiles, of which more than half can be utilized. 

Stock raising, then, is likely to become a leading industry, and especially dairying, there being more meat than isneeded by the sparse population. There are admirable dairysites on the islands and mainland. The reindeer, recentlyintroduced, are likely to prove invaluable to the natives, supplanting in great measure the dog for transportationpurposes, and supplying also food and clothing. Reindeermilk makes excellent cheese, and in a few years there may bedeer-meat for sale outside. 

Such is the story of Alaska. It occupies much the sameposition on the west coast of America as Norway does on thatof Europe, but has four times as wide a habitable area asNorway and a milder climate on its south coast lands. Therefore, as Norway sustains a population of 2, 240, 000, there is no special reason why Alaska may not yet possess apopulation of 3, 000, 000 or 4, 000, 000 and take rank as one ofthe important States of the American Union. 

HOW HAWAII LOST ITS QUEEN AND ENTERED THE UNITED STATES

Up to the year 1898 the United States was confined to thecontinent of North America. In that year it made a greatstride outward over the oceans, adding to its dominion theisland of Porto Rico in the West India waters and thearchipelagoes of the Philippine and Hawaiian Islands in thefar Pacific. Porto Rico and the Philippines were added as aresult of the war with Spain. As to how Hawaii was acquiredit is our purpose here to tell. 

Midway in the North Pacific lies this interesting group ofislands, first made known to the world by Captain Cook, thefamous English discoverer, in 1778, and annexed to theUnited States one hundred and twenty years later. Beforetelling the story of their acquisition a few words as totheir prior history will he in place. 

Called by Captain Cook the Sandwich Islands, after theEnglish Earl of Sandwich, they afterwards became known asthe Hawaiian Islands, from the native name of the largestisland of the group, and are now collectively known asHawaii in their new position as a Territory of the UnitedStates. 

When Captain Cook visited this locality he found the islandsinhabited by a friendly, kind-hearted people, disposed toreceive their visitors in a hospitable spirit. But, in theusual way of sailors and discoverers dealing with theprimitive races, quarrels soon developed, some of thenatives were shot, one of them by Cook himself, and in thefight that followed the great sailor and discoverer lost hislife. 

At that time each of the islands was governed by a chief, orking if we may call him so, who had absolute authority overhis people. Greatest among them was Kamehameha, heir to thethrone of Hawaii, who was present when Captain Cook waskilled. Bold and ambitious and invested by nature withpolitical genius, this chief conceived the idea of makinghimself master of all the islands and subjecting theirchiefs to his rule. 

A shrewd and able man, he was quick to perceive that thestrangers who soon began to visit the islands were farsuperior to the natives in arms and ability and he decidedto use them for his ends. In a fight with some American furtraders a schooner, the "Fair American, " was taken by theislanders, and two Americans, Isaac Davis and John Young, were made prisoners. With them the new chief obtained thecannon, muskets and ammunition of the "Fair American. " Thusequipped, the Napoleon of Hawaii set out on his career ofconquest. 

Kindly treatment made the two Americans, Davis and Young, his faithful friends and subjects, and they proved hismainstay in the work of conquest. It was no easy matter, even with his cannon and muskets. The chiefs of the otherislands resisted him fiercely, and it took many years, withall the stern will and unyielding perseverance of Kamehamehaand the ability and courage of his two able lieutenants, tosubdue them all. Davis and Young were amply rewarded, withhonors and lands, for their services, and some of theirdescendants still dwell on the islands. 

While this work of conquest was going on many vesselsvisited the islands, missionaries made their way thither, Christianity was introduced and idolatry abolished, and manyof the arts of civilization found their way inward. Thensettlers other than missionaries came, many of them fromAmerica, and a white population was added to the aboriginal. Sugar-cane grew in abundance on the islands and sugar-millswere introduced. Other industries were established. Thegreat fertility of the islands attracted speculators, thelands rose in value, and great fortunes were made. Such is, briefly, the industrial history of these islands. 

[Illustration: A NATIVE GRASS HUT, HAWAII. ]

The political history is not without its interest. Fivekings of the name of Kamehameha reigned in succession. Ofthese, Kamehameha III. , under American advice, gave up hisabsolute rule, founded a constitutional government anddistributed the lands among the people. After theKamehamehas came King Lunalio, who ruled but one year, andKalakaua, who ruled from 1874 to 1891 and showed such adisposition to return to absolutism that the people were inconstant dread for their liberties and lands. It was only bya revolt of the people that they regained their rights, forcing him to grant them a new constitution and theirformer liberties and privileges. 

The next and last monarch of Hawaii was a woman, Liliuokalani, the sister of Kalakaua. She was the wife of anEnglishman, Mr. J. O. Dominis, and on a visit to London hadbeen entertained by Queen Victoria. Her rearing andeducation had been under the influence of Americanmissionaries, and the whites of the islands, who had been inconstant fear of the late king, hailed her accession to thethrone with joy, with the expectation that they would havein her a good friend. They soon found themselvesdisappointed. 

The extravagance and ill rule of Kalakaua had left thecountry in a wretched state. It was deeply in debt and themuch needed public improvements were at a standstill. Thecountry had long been divided between two parties, themissionary and the anti-missionary, the former seeking tosave the natives from vice and degradation, the latterencouraging such vicious practices as lotteries and opiumsales for their personal benefit. 

Under Kalakaua these ill weeds had gained full growth andthe new queen soon showed a disposition to encourage them. Her whole nature seemed to change, her former friends werecast aside and new favorites adopted, and though she had apersonal income of about $70, 000, it was far from sufficingfor her needs. 

To add to her income the agents of the Louisiana Lotterywere encouraged and the opium smugglers found littleinterference with their nefarious traffic, while thefrequent changes of the queen's ministers kept the people ina state of doubt and uneasiness. 

At what was called the long term of the legislature lawswere passed favoring the lottery and the opium dealers. Thesession was protracted until the grinding season for thesugar-cane, when a number of the best members were obligedto return to their plantations, and in their absence thelottery and opium bills were rushed through. 

Many of the Christian ladies of Honolulu now called on thequeen and implored her to veto this pernicious legislation, which would turn their country into a den of gambling andinfamy. She wept with them over the situation and the goodladies knelt and prayed that God would help their queen inthe terrible ordeal before her. They left the palace feelingsure that the country was safe from the dread affliction--anhour later the queen signed both bills and they became laws. 

The passage of these bills created intense indignation. Allfelt that it was a piece of treachery and fraud, those whogave the queen any credit for good intentions looking uponher as weak and vacillating and utterly under the influenceof bad advisers. 

As yet, however, no thought of revolution had arisen. It wasimagined that the worst stage had been reached. But when theannouncement was made the next day that the queen was aboutto declare a new constitution the most vivid dread andalarm were aroused. Feeling now secure of a revenue from theproceeds of the lottery and the opium trade, QueenLiliuokalani no longer hesitated to show her hand. Theproposed new constitution was a scheme for a return toabsolute monarchy, one under which every white man on theislands, unless married to a Hawaiian woman, would bedeprived of the right to vote. 

The act was a fatal one to her reign. It precipitated arevolution which quickly brought her queenship to an end. The steps which led to this result are well worth relating. 

The ceremony of proroguing the legislature ended, the queenreturned to the palace with the purpose of immediatelyproclaiming the new constitution. In the procession to thepalace the native society called the "Hui Kalaiaina" marchedin a double line, its president carrying a large packagecontaining the constitution. A throng of Hawaiianssurrounded the palace gates and filled the grounds near thefront entrance to the building, the queen's guard beingdrawn up under arms. 

In the throne room the native society which had escorted thequeen ranged themselves in regular lines, their president, Alapai, having in his hand an address which he proposed todeliver. Most of the native members of the legislature werealso present, some members of the diplomatic corps beingwith them. 

While they waited, the cabinet was assembled in the blueroom, to which they had been summoned by the queen. Here astriking scene took place. Liliuokalani placed before them acopy of the new constitution and bade them sign it, sayingthat she proposed to promulgate it at once. She met with anoutspoken opposition. 

"Your Majesty, we have not read that constitution, " said Mr. Parker, Secretary of Foreign Affairs. "And before we read itwe must advise you that this is a revolutionary act. Itcannot be done. "

An angry reply came from the queen, and an animateddiscussion followed, in which the cabinet officials saidthat a meeting had just been held with the foreignrepresentatives and that if she persisted there was dangerof an insurrection. 

"It is your doing, " she replied. "I would not haveundertaken this step if you had not encouraged me to do so. You have led me to the brink of a precipice and are nowleaving me to take the leap alone. Why not give the peoplethis constitution? You need have no fear. I will bear thebrunt of all the blame afterwards. "

The cabinet stood firm, Mr. Peterson, the Attorney General, repeating:

"We have not read the constitution. "

"How dare you say that, " she exclaimed, "when you have hadit in your possession for a month. "

The dispute grew more violent as it went on. The cabinetdeclined to resign when asked by her to do so, whereupon shethreatened that if they would not accede to her wishes shewould go to the palace door and tell the mob outside thatshe wished to give them a new constitution but that herministers had prevented her from doing so. 

At this threat three of the ministers left the room andescaped from the building. They remembered the fate ofcertain representatives who fell into the hands of aHawaiian mob in 1874. Mr. Parker alone had the courage toremain. He feared that if the queen were left alone shewould sign the instrument herself, and proclaim it to thepeople, telling them that her cabinet refused to comply withher wishes and seeking to rouse against them the wrath ofthe unthinking mob, whose only idea of the situation wasthat the white men were opposing their queen. 

The cabinet stood between two fires, that of the supportersof the queen on the one hand and that of the white people ofHonolulu on the other. The report of the fleeing membersraised the excitement of the latter to the boiling pitch. ACommittee of Safety was at once organized, and held itsfirst meeting with closed doors. 

"Gentlemen, " said a member of this committee, "we arebrought face to face with this question; what shall we do?"

The discussion ended in a motion by the Hon. A. L. Thurston, to the effect that "preliminary steps be taken at once toform a provisional government, with a view to annexation tothe United States of America. "

Meanwhile a sub-committee had waited on the United StatesMinister, Mr. John L. Stevens, asking him to give them thesupport of the United States troops on board the "Boston. "

"Gentlemen, " he replied, "I have no authority to involve theUnited States Government in your revolution. I will requestto have troops landed to protect American life and property, but for no other purpose. "

Left to their own resources, the revolutionary partydetermined to go on with the enterprise, even if their ownlives should be lost in the effort to prevent the tyranny ofthe queen. The Committee of Safety collected and stored armsin convenient places, finally taking all these arms to thebarracks of the committee. 

This brought about the first collision. It was shortly afternoon on January 17, 1893, that three of the revolutionists, John Good, Edwin Benner and Edward Parris, with a man namedFritz, were taking some arms in a wagon to the barracks. Apoliceman, who had been watching the store from which thearms were taken, seized the bridle of the horse and cried:

"Surrender. "

"What shall I do?" asked Benner. 

"Go on!" roared Good. 

Benner made a cut at the policeman with his whip and triedto drive on. The man let go the bridle and blew his whistle, bringing two other policemen quickly to his aid. One triedto climb into the front of the wagon, but was knockedsenseless by Benner, while the other, who attacked in therear, was roughly handled by Parris and Fritz. 

The wagon now drove on, but got entangled in a block of twostreet cars and a truck. Other policemen came running up anda fight ensued, one of the officers putting his hand intohis pocket as if to draw a weapon. 

"Look out, he is going to shoot, " cried a voice from one ofthe cars. 

Good instantly drew his pistol, and crying, "Benner, it'slife or death; if we must, we must, " he fired. 

The policeman fell, with a ball in his shoulder. The wagonby this time had got loose from the block and was drivenfuriously away, reaching the barracks without furthertrouble. 

That wounded policeman constituted the sole list of dead andwounded in the revolution. Men were rapidly gathering aboutthe barracks, two companies of armed men soon marched up, and a proclamation was read to the following effect:

"The Hawaiian monarchical system of government is herebyabrogated. 

"A provisional government for the control and management ofpublic affairs and the protection of the public is herebyestablished, to exist until terms of union with the UnitedStates of America have been negotiated and agreed upon. "

These were the essential clauses of the proclamation thatoverthrew the Hawaiian government, the armed insurgents nowmarching to the palace, where they found no one but ahighly indignant woman, the queen, deserted by all and in aviolent state of excitement. Her soldiers, who were in thepolice station, made no effort to help her, and the onlything needed to complete the work of the revolution was thecapture of this station. This was done without a blow beingstruck and the revolution was complete. In this easy way agovernment more than a century old was overturned and a newone installed in its place. 

But the end was not yet. The United States had still to beheard from. Minister Stevens and Captain Wiltse of the"Boston" had landed troops to protect the interests ofAmerican citizens and from this incident trouble arose. Therevolution in Hawaii took place January 17, 1893, whenPresident Harrison, then in office, had little more than sixweeks to serve. Harrison favored annexation of the new oceanrepublic, a treaty was prepared and sent to the Senate, butbefore it could be acted upon the 4th of March arrived and anew man, with new views, came in to fill the Presidentialchair. 

President Cleveland's views were startlingly new. Hebelieved that the success of the revolution was due to theact of Minister Stevens and Captain Wiltse in landingtroops, that the queen had been illegally removed, and sentthe Hon. Albert S. Willis to Honolulu to unseat PresidentDole of the new republic and restore Queen Liliuokalani tothe throne. 

This would undoubtedly have been done but for the dethronedqueen herself, who showed a sanguinary spirit that put poorMr. Willis, a man of kindly nature and humane sympathies, inan embarrassing situation. The President expected the queen, if restored, to show a spirit of forgiveness to therevolutionists and his agent was decidedly taken aback byher answers to his questions. 

"Should you be restored to the throne, " he asked, "would yougrant full amnesty as to life and property to all thosepersons who have been or who are now in the provisionalgovernment?"

The queen's answer, slowly and hesitatingly given, was:

"There are certain laws of my government by which I shallabide. My decision would be, as the law directs, that suchpersons should be beheaded and their property confiscated. "

Here was a mediæval decision with a vengeance. In spite ofall that Willis could plead, the savagely inclined queenstuck to her ultimatum. The utmost she would yield was thatthese persons "must be exiled or otherwise punished, andtheir property confiscated. "

The tidings of this ultimatum put President Cleveland in anawkward dilemma. The beheading idea was too much for him andthe affair dragged on until the following December, when theex-queen generously consented to let Dole and his friendskeep their heads, on condition of leaving the country andlosing their property. Finally, when told that she could nothave the throne on any such conditions, she experienced achange of heart and agreed to grant full amnesty. 

When news of what was in view reached Honolulu there wasintense excitement. It was expected that marines would belanded from the warship "Philadelphia" and "Adams" torestore the queen and a determination to resist them arose. The capital was entrenched with sand-bag breastworks, thebatteries were manned and armed, and men were stationed tofight. As for President Dole and his cabinet, they were in aquandary. It was finally decided to make only a show ofopposition to the landing of the marines, but after they hadrestored the queen and retired, to capture her again andresume business as a republic. 

Their alarm had no real foundation. There had never been anintention to land the marines. The President knew well thathe had no authority to land marines for such a purpose, andin his message referred the whole matter to Congress--whereit slept. 

Yet the ex-queen and her supporters did not sleep. Findingthat there was no hope of bringing the United States intothe squabble, they organized a counter-revolution of theirown, smuggled arms into the country, and in January, 1895, the new insurrection broke out. Great secrecy wasmaintained. The night of Sunday, January 5, was fixed forthe outbreak. In the evening President Dole and his cabinetand many other officials of the republic would be at theservice in the Central Union Church and it would be easy toblow up the whole government with a bomb. 

Unluckily for the conspirators, their first capture was thatof some whiskey, and inspired by this they began celebratingtheir victory in advance. Yelling and shooting on Sundayafternoon alarmed the authorities and suspicion of somethingwrong was aroused. An attempt to search a suspected housefor arms led to a fight in which one man was killed andothers wounded. News of the insurrection were taken to thechurch and whispered to the members of the National Guardand the government, who slipped quietly out. The pastor, oblivious to this circumstance, went on with his sermon, butuneasiness arose in the congregation, and when at last theclatter of cavalry and the roll of artillery were heardpassing the church all order was at an end. The worshippersrushed into the street in a mass, the preacher following. Within ten minutes a state of peace had been changed intoone of war. 

The most intense excitement prevailed. No one knew anythingof the numbers or location of the enemy. They were at lengthfound, in large force, in the hollow basin or crater ofDiamond Head, so strongly posted that they could not bedislodged from the side of the land. A tug was thereforesent, with a howitzer, to shell them from the sea, while afierce land attack was kept up, and before night on Mondaythey were driven out of their stronghold and in full flight. 

Another fight took place at Punchbowl Hill, in the rear ofHonolulu, lasting an hour, though with little loss. Tuesdaywas spent in searching for the enemy and on Wednesdayanother sharp fight took place, they being again defeated. Before the end of the week the affair was at an end, and theex-queen arrested as one of the conspirators. Her premiseswere found to be a regular magazine of arms and artillery. 

Lilioukalani now found Hawaii too hot to hold her and soughta new home in the United States, and the republic went onpeaceably until 1898, when, the war with Spain then being inprogress and a new President in the chair, a new andsuccessful effort for its annexation was made. The bill forits admission was signed by President McKinley on July 7, and the Hawaiian group became an outlying possession of theUnited States. It was made an American Territory in 1900. 

 THE END.