.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 43265
   :PG.Title: Under Wolfe's Flag
   :PG.Released: 2013-07-20
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Rowland Walker
   :DC.Title: Under Wolfe's Flag
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1913
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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UNDER WOLFE'S FLAG
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   .. _`"'STOP!  STOP!  WE'RE COMING DOWN.'" (p. 34)`:

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      :alt: "'STOP!  STOP!  WE'RE COMING DOWN.'" (p. 34)

      "'STOP!  STOP!  WE'RE COMING DOWN.'" (p. `34`_)

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      Under Wolfe's Flag

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      OR

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      THE FIGHT FOR THE CANADAS

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      BY

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      ROWLAND WALKER

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      AUTHOR OF
      "THE OLD MANOR HOUSE," "THE TREASURE GALLEON," ETC.

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      Publishers
      PARTRIDGE
      London 

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      MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN

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      EVERY BOY'S
      LIBRARY

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      *LIST OF TITLES*

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      THE CALL OF HONOUR By Argyll Saxby
      UNDER WOLFE'S FLAG; OR, THE FIGHT FOR THE CANADAS By Rowland Walker
      DICK DALE; THE COLONIAL SCOUT By Tom Bevan
      THE YELLOW SHIELD; OR, A CAPTIVE IN THE ZULU CAMP By Wm. Johnston
      ROGER THE RANGER By E. F. Pollard
      NORMAN'S NUGGET By Macdonald Oxley

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      New Titles to be added periodically.

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      *Every book in this series has been
      specially chosen to meet the critical
      of the Boy of To-day, and the
      Publishers have no fear that he will
      be lacking in his approval of these
      robust and intensely absorbing stories.*

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      Publishers
      PARTRIDGE
      London

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      TO
      THE MEMORY OF
      MY GRANDFATHER,
      A BRAVE AND CHIVALROUS FRONTIERSMAN,
      WHOSE REMARKABLE EARLY ADVENTURES IN THE
      BACKWOODS OF CANADA AND AMERICA
      PROMPTED THE WRITING
      OF THIS BOOK

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      R.W.

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      IN GREAT BRITAIN BY PURNELL AND SONS
      PAULTON, SOMERSET, ENGLAND

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   CONTENTS

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   CHAP.

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I  `THE TROUT-STREAM`_
II  `HOLDING THE FORT`_
III  `A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA`_
IV  `THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOP`_
V  `THE FIGHT WITH THE FRIGATE`_
VI  `PRISONERS OF WAR`_
VII  `OLD QUEBEC`_
VIII  `THE NIGHT-WATCH`_
IX  `THE WHITE EAGLE OF THE IROQUOIS`_
X  `A LONELY FRONTIERSMAN`_
XI  `THE SMOKE SIGNAL`_
XII  `THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS`_
XIII  `THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST`_
XIV  `SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS`_
XV  `THE TRAGIC CIRCLE`_
XVI  `THE PALEFACE HUNTER`_
XVII  `A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE`_
XVIII  `A LOST TRAIL`_
XIX  `THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS`_
XX  `THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM`_

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.. _`THE TROUT-STREAM`:

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   UNDER WOLFE'S FLAG

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   CHAPTER I

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   THE TROUT-STREAM

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"Here's a beauty, Jack!"

"Hold him, Jamie, till I come!"

"Come quickly then, old fellow--he's
slipping away from me!  Quick!  Hang it, the
fellow's gone!  I've missed him, and----"

"Splash!"  The sentence was never
finished, for Jamie, stepping too excitedly on a
treacherous, moss-covered rock in mid-stream,
slipped, and the next instant found himself
sitting down, up to the armpits in the water
which raced past him like a mill-stream.

"Never mind," said his companion, when
the laughter which greeted this mishap had
subsided.  "There's a likely spot, up under the
fall there, where I've landed many a big fish;
let's go and try it."

This "likely spot," however, was a difficult
one, and for any other soul in the tiny village
of Burnside--these two young rascals
excepted--an impossible one.  There, right
under the overhanging rocks, over which a
cascade tumbled twenty feet, into a swirling
pool which formed one of the deepest parts of
the stream, was a narrow ledge, where the
moss grew thick upon the wet, slippery rocks,
but in the cracks and fissures beneath that
ledge, many a lusty trout was hidden.

While the two chums are wending their way
to this "likely spot," which lay at a bend in
the stream, just at the bottom of Hawk
Woods, leaping from boulder to boulder as
they crossed the broken stream, I will briefly
introduce the reader to a little of their previous
history.

Jack Elliot and Jamie Stuart were aged
respectively fifteen and fourteen years.
Only a week ago these two sturdy lads had
been soundly thrashed by Dr. Birch, for
playing truant and indulging in the tempting
but forbidden pastime of "tickling trout"
in the laughing stream, which, descending
from the blue moorlands above, sang its way
down through the densely wooded slopes of
Crow Hill.

Jack was the youngest son of Squire Elliot
of Rushworth Hall, an old but somewhat
dilapidated manor, standing on one of the ridges
of the Pennine Chain.  His eldest brother, who
was now twenty-two, was an ensign in the
celebrated "John Company," and at the
present time was engaged in active service in
India.  His second brother was at Oxford.
Jack was still a scholar (though a dull one) at
the old Elizabethan Grammar School just
above the village, where stern Dr. Birch drilled
little else but Greek and Latin into unwilling
pupils.

Jack's bosom chum and schoolfellow was
Jamie Stuart.  Now, Jamie was an orphan, at
least so far as he knew, for his mother died
on the day that he was born, and his father, a
somewhat daring village character, who once
transgressed the game laws, was considered by
a bench of land-owning gentry as "too
dangerous a character to remain in Burnside, lest
he should lead other folk astray," and was
ultimately transported to the new colonies in
North America, and forbidden to set foot in
England again "on peril of his life," for those
were the days of the cruel game laws, when
sheep-stealing was a hanging business, and to
touch a pheasant meant transportation for life.

All this happened when Jamie was a little
chap of but two years, and so he never
remembered either his father or his mother.
His father was said to be very fond of his little
boy--for despite his transgression, he was a
good father and a brave man, and very much
the type of man that Merry England needed
at that time, to fight her enemies--and his
only request when he was sentenced was, that
before he left the country he might see again
his little boy--a request which the selfish and
hardened magistrates promptly refused.

Years passed away, and village rumours said
that he had escaped from his captors directly
he set foot on American soil, and had taken to
the forest, amongst the Indians tribes that
inhabited the backwoods of Pennsylvania, and
that he had become a great chief amongst
them; but this was perhaps only a rumour, for
no one really knew whether he was dead or
alive.  So little Jamie grew up under the care of
a maiden aunt, who kept a Dame School in the
little village, and being a lady of some
property, when the lad became ten years old, he
was sent to the Old Grammar School.

The time of which I write was the middle of
the eighteenth century, and England was just
laying the foundations of her great future
Empire, which was to be the wonder and envy
of the world.

During the past twenty years, Anson and
his brave sea-dogs, though always outnumbered
in ships and men, had driven the French
and Spaniards from the seas, and had made the
name of England famous all over the world.
On all the seven seas the old flag was supreme,
and was proudly unfurled to every breeze that blew.

Across the burning plains of India, and
under the very palace of the Old Mogul, was
heard the boom of British guns, for against
overwhelming odds Clive was winning brilliant
victories, that would soon end in bringing
the vast Indian Empire, with all its wealth and
treasure, and its multitude of dark-skinned
princes, to do homage at the feet of England's
king.  Nor was this all, for over the Atlantic,
on the shores, the rivers, and the great lakes
of the new world, the long campaign had
already begun, which was to end in the
capture of Quebec, and the wresting of the
Canadas from our inveterate foes across the
Channel.

So the Squire's son and the poacher's son
became fast friends.  All the Squire's efforts
to separate them had failed.  They were
kindred spirits, and there was no mischief or
devilry ever set afoot, either in the school or
the village, in which they did not participate.
All the rules and laws that were ever invented
failed to keep them within bounds.

Their three great enemies were, Dr. Birch,
Old Click, the keeper of Hawk Woods, and
Beagle, the village constable.  The first had
thrashed them a score of times, the second had
threatened to bring the penalties of the game
laws upon them, if they did not desist from
their depredations, whilst the third had once
put them in the stocks, and threatened them
with the lock-up for the next offence.

Thus it happened, on this glorious afternoon
in the early summer of 1757, when the school
bell was calling its unwilling pupils to their
lessons, that these two boys were robbing the
nest of a humble-bee, in a meadow below
the school, extracting the wild honey from
the combs, when the bell suddenly ceased ringing.

"There goes!--that confounded bell has
stopped ringing, Jamie."

"So it has.  Now we're in for it again."

"The second time this week, too," and Jack
sat down and began to whistle, "There's nae
luck aboot the house," while a look of grim
despair settled on the countenance of his
friend.

"And my back's still sore with that last
thrashing.  What shall we do, Jack?"

"Let's go trouting in Hawk Woods."

"And what about Old Click?  He said that
the next time he caught us, he'd take us before
the magistrates."

"Oh, hang the magistrates and Old Click
too!  Why shouldn't we fish there if we like?
Shall we go?"

"Agreed!"

And the next moment they were scampering
across the meadows in the direction of the
woods, taking care to keep under the shelter of
the hedges and walls as much as possible, till
they had entered the friendly cover of the trees.

Hawk Woods was a lovely bit of primeval
forest, that covered both sides of a deep
valley.  In places, the descent was almost
precipitous, right down to the bottom of the
gully, where the burn threaded its way
amongst the rocks, boulders, and fallen
tree-trunks.  It was a bewitching spot.  The
shimmering of a thousand trees, on whose leaves
flashed the sunlight, their brown, aged and
distorted trunks, the huge scattered rocks, and
above all, the music of the stream as it tumbled
half a hundred little cascades, with the
speckled trout leaping amid its whirls and
eddies, made it a charming place.  Who that
has seen that spot can forget it?

This was the place that had wooed these two
boys from their lessons, and here beside the
big cascade we have found them again.

Jamie had tried twice to reach the ledge
behind the falls, by climbing along the face of
the rock, and clinging to the ivy roots, but
there was no foothold.

"It's no use," said Jack, "there's only one
way to get there, and that is by swimming.
We can easily duck, when we come to the fall."

"Then we'll try it, for I'm already wet
through, what with the spray from the falls,
and sitting down in the stream."

They quickly divested themselves of their
clothing, plunged in, swam across the pool,
ducked under the cascade, and reached the
narrow ledge, which was the object of their
immediate ambition, and within a quarter of
an hour they had succeeded in capturing
half-a-dozen fine trout, by the process known as
"tickling," and as they caught them, they
flung them far out on the bank.

Then they swam back, and after drying
themselves in the warm rays of the sun, they
dressed, and prepared to cook their afternoon
meal.

An armful of twigs and broken branches, a
bit of dry grass--these were quickly gathered.
Then Jack struck a spark with his tinder-box,
and there was a fire!  Now the blue smoke was
curling upwards, and hanging like a wreath
over the tree-tops.  Alas, that fatal smoke!
This it was that betrayed them, and was the
means of changing the whole course of their
lives, for other eyes had seen it from afar, and
were hastening to the spot.

In later days, amongst the backwoods of
another continent, when their nearest
neighbours were a scalping party of Algonquins or
fierce Iroquois, they learnt to be more careful
about that thin column of blue smoke which
rose from their evening camp-fire.

But at present they were unconscious of any
such danger.  The feeling that they were most
conscious of at this moment was one of hunger
somewhere amidships, for their outdoor
exercise, and above all, the cold dip, had given
them healthy appetites.  As soon, therefore,
as the fire had burned sufficiently clear, they
laid the spoils of the chase across a rude grid,
made of a few wet sticks.

Then the savoury smell of roasted trout filled
the wood, and when this delicate repast was
ready, our two young heroes feasted sumptuously
on the royal dish of red-spotted trout.
When they had finished their repast, they
washed it down with a copious draught of cold
water from the stream.

"There goes the old magpie back to her
nest.  I wonder if the young ones are hatched
yet.  I'm going aloft to see," said Jamie, and
he immediately began to climb the tall,
straight fir-tree, which stood on the very edge
of a steep slope, about twenty yards away.

When he had shinned some fifteen feet up
the trunk he was able to clasp the lowest
branch, and in another minute he had ascended
to the very top of the tree, and was swaying
dangerously amongst the slender twigs where
the magpie had built her nest.

"How many young ones are there?" called
Jack from the foot of the tree.

"Three and one egg left."

"Good!  Bring the egg down.  It's no
good to the old bird now.  It's sure to be
addled.  Bring it down--you know we
promised to get one for Tiny Tim the lame boy,
who can't climb."

"Why, what's the matter?  Anything wrong?"

"Sh!  Sh!"

Jamie was signalling desperately from the
tree-top to his companion below, and pointing
across the stream, beyond the camp-fire.

"Who is it?" asked Jack, in a hoarse whisper.

"Old Click, I do believe--and--Beagle!"

"Snakes alive!  What now?"

"Better come up the tree.  Quietly now."

Jack was just as expert at climbing as Jamie,
and never sailor-boy shinned up the truck to
the mast-head more quickly or more neatly
than he did up that tall fir-tree.  In another
moment they were both perched aloft, and
hidden amongst the branches.

The two men had seen the smoke from the
distance, as it ascended above the trees, and
suspecting either trespassers or poachers, they
had crept quietly down to the place, and had
reached the neighbourhood of the fire, soon
after the boys had left the spot.

Imagine the feelings of the latter, as from
their lofty perch they looked down upon their
two bitterest enemies, only a stone's throw
away, and effectually cutting off their retreat.
Only a fortnight before, they had been hauled
before the magistrates for this very same
offence, and it had required all the influence of
Jack's father to protect the youngsters from
the penalty of the law.

"The young vagabonds----" Old Click was
saying, as he kicked aside the embers of the
fire.

"Look!  Here be the heads of six foine
trout they have stolen," said Beagle.

"I don't know whether be the worst--Squire's
son or the poacher's son; but this I
know, they be both framing for Wakefield
gaol, or else the gallows."

"How do ye know it be they, Mr. Click?"
asked the constable.  "There be noa evidence
that I con see, as yet."

"How do I know?  Why, there ain't
another rascal in the village who dare come
into the woods and touch either fish or game
since Jem Mason was transported.  Nobody
dare do it, 'cept these two vagabonds, who are
the plague o' my life."

"Aye, the place is wunn'erfully quiet sin' I
copt Jem at his old tricks," said Beagle,
straightening his shoulders, as he recalled that
stirring incident, in which, however, he took a
very small part.

"And I do think, constable, that you ain't
done your duty lately, to let these two rascals
play the pranks they ha' played."

"What's that you say, Mr. Click?" said
Beagle, rather testily.  "What have they done?"

"Why, 'twas only last Friday that Gaffer
John had a dead cat dropped down his
chimney, when he was just cooking his supper,
too, and it was all spoiled.  And who was
it that fired Farmer Giles's hayrick, but
these same 'gallows-birds'?  The young
varmint!"

"First catch your man, Mr. Click, and then
you'll have evidence 'red-hot' that a bench
of magistrates will look at."

"Do you hear that, Jamie?" whispered
Jack.  "They're on our scent for dropping
that dead cat down 'Surly John's' chimney.
He deserved it, too, the skulking old miser,
for turning poor old Betty Lamb out of her
cottage.  I'd do it again.  But fancy blaming
us for firing that hayrick!  Surely he can't
mean it!"

"I'll tell you what, Jack.  This place is
getting too warm for us.  Let's run away and
go to sea, as we always said we should."

"Chance is a fine thing.  Wait till we're
out of this hole.  Wish we'd the chance to
run now, but if we stir they'll see us."

At this point a shrill whistle rang through
the woods and startled them, and before they
had recovered from their surprise, the deep
bay of a hound was heard approaching from
the distance.

"Phew----"  The boys looked at each
other, and for a moment their faces blanched,
as in an undertone these words simultaneously
escaped from their lips.

"Old Click's dog----"

"We're up a tree now, Jack, in more than
one sense."  And they were, for they both
knew the reputation of this wonderful hound.
He could track a poacher for miles, and having
once got the scent, he rarely let it go till he
had run his victim down.  Nearer and nearer
came that deep bay, and soon the trampling of
the shrubs and undergrowth gave notice of its
arrival.

"Here, Charlie.  Good dog.--Seek 'em.--Seek
'em," cried its master.

Instantly the hound began sniffing round
about the embers of the fire, till picking up
the newly-placed scent, it suddenly gave vent
to a peculiar howl, and then dashed directly
towards the stream.  Here it paused abruptly,
and began sniffing the air, then it ran back to
the fire, picked up the scent again, and stopped
once more at the edge of the stream.

"They've crossed the water, that's certain,"
said the keeper.

The boys had watched this with great
consternation.  They had given up all hope of
escape, but when they saw this fine dog twice
baffled by the stream, hope returned in an
overflowing measure.

"There is just a chance," whispered Jack.

The two men crossed the burn, and brought
the dog to the other bank, to see if it could
pick up the trail.  Fortunately, the boys had
paddled a little way up-stream, when they
crossed, and this caused some further delay in
recovering the scent.  Still the keeper
persevered, and in another quarter of an hour, the
hound uttered a joyful little bark, and with
tail erect and nose to the ground, it started
away in the direction of the fir.  Suddenly it
stopped at the foot of the tree, where the
culprits were perched, and began clawing and
scratching at the bark.





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.. _`HOLDING THE FORT`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   HOLDING THE FORT

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Aghast--horrified--the boys looked at each
other in silence.  Most boys would have
blubbered and given up the game.  Not so these
two lads.  Their faces turned a shade paler,
but a stern heroic light shone from their eyes,
as they calmly awaited events.

A moment later the constable and the keeper
came struggling through the brushwood.

"Here they are, Beagle!  Caught at last.
It's the two of them.  The same old birds,"
cried Old Click joyfully, as he caught sight
of the prisoners.  "Good dog!  Good old
Charlie!  There's a dog for you, Beagle!
Not another like him for twenty miles around.
See how he's run the vagabonds to earth!"

"He's a good dog, I admit, Mr. Click, but
he hasn't quite run them to earth yet, seeing
that they're a good forty feet above the
ground; but we've got them tree'd and
cornered this time, proper, eh?"

"Ho, there!  Come down, ye young
varmint.  Come down this minute, or t'ull be
worse for you," shouted the keeper.

"I shall come down when I please," said Jamie.

"All right, you son of a poacher.  I'll sit
down till you do as I tell you.  I don't mind
a rest and a smoke, but I won't move from
this spot till you do come down."

"Won't you move, though?  You old
fox.  You shan't stay there if you have
tree'd us.  Take that, and that," and as he
spoke Jamie hurled with all his might a chunk
of dead wood, which he had torn from a
withered branch.  "I'll teach you to call me
names.  My father was a better man than you,
any day."

The missile hit the keeper on the knee, as
he sat on the grass, and gave him a nasty
shock.  Up he jumped in a rage, and for a
couple of minutes he fairly danced and limped
around the tree, in spite of his determination
a minute ago not to move.  He clenched his
fist and shook it at the youngsters.

"I'll have the law on ye--ye young jackanapes.
What's that, Beagle, but 'battery
and assault,' and what's the penalty for it?"

"Twenty strokes of the birch, Mr. Click,
and ten years' imprisonment, or, more likely,
transportation for life."

"Aye, that's it--transportation.  Like
your father got, you young gallows-bird."

This second taunt about his father made the
blood rush to the lad's face, and he hurled
another chunk of wood at the irate keeper,
which narrowly missed his head, but hit the
hound instead, which set up a frightful yell
and bolted into the wood, and despite all the
blandishments of its master refused to come
anywhere near the zone of fire again.

The boys were as agile as monkeys aloft, and
they quickly got several more pieces of dead
timber ready for their captors.  Things were
turning out much better than they feared, and
they were not having the worst of it, so far, at
least.  How it would all end it was impossible
to say, but there was just this chance, that
they might drive away the two men by their
determined assault, until an opportunity
occurred for them to slip down the tree; and
once on the ground, with even a dozen yards
start, they could easily leave their pursuers
behind.  As for the hound--well, another
chunk of wood would about settle him.

Both the keeper and the constable were now
very chary about showing themselves, after the
narrow escape of the former, for the boys were
so expert with the missiles, and so determined
in their opposition that the two men kept
behind the tree trunks, some twenty or thirty
feet away.  Both boys had their pea-shooters,
with a plentiful supply of dry wicken-berries,
and whenever their opponents showed so much
as an inch of face they were mercilessly pelted.

"You young rascals.  You shall pay dearly
for this.  Do ye know ye're insulting the
law?" cried the constable, trying hard to
dodge the pea-shooters as he spoke.

"Why don't you go home?" called out
Jack.  "If either of you come near the tree
again, we'll break every bone in your body.
We've plenty of wood here."

This game was continued for more than
half-an-hour, at the end of which time the two
men got behind a thick holly bush near by,
and began to consult together.

The next moment the boys would have been
free, for while the keepers were thus engaged,
their prisoners were preparing to slide down
the tree and make a dash for it, when,
observing this, the men rushed towards the tree just
in time to prevent them.

"Come back, Jamie!  Come back----"
cried his companion, hurling at the same
instant another piece of wood at Beagle, who
made a desperate spring, and tried to catch
hold of Jamie's legs, as he hung dangling from
a branch.  The missile took effect, and the
constable quickly retreated, roaring like the
"Bull of Bashan."

The next moment Old Click emerged from
the wood with an armful of bracken, with
which he quickly kindled a fire.  Soon a thick
column of smoke arose, and drifted towards
the tree.  More and more bracken and
brushwood were piled on, and the smoke became
chokingly dense up there in the tree, for the
fire had been lit with the express purpose of
smoking them out.

The boys plied them valiantly with
wood-chunks and wicken-berries, but their
ammunition soon failed them.  The smoke had become
dreadful now.  They were nearly choked with
it, and were already half-blinded.  What
could they do?  Still they held out.  They
mounted to the very top of the tree, and sat
there with their faces buried in their hands to
keep that suffocating smoke from their eyes
and nostrils.

"Coming down now, sir?" asked the
keeper, who had now begun to light another
fire at the root of the tree, for he saw that
there was no more ammunition aloft, but he
had counted without his host.

"No, you villains!  Take that!--and that!"
shouted Jack, at the same time hurling down
through the smoke first one boot and then
another, as a last resort.

The second boot caught Old Click in the
middle of the back as he was stooping down
to tend the fire, and made him give vent to
a yell which resounded through the woods.
This incident evoked a bit of high-sounding
English that I will not here repeat--suffice it
to say that the yell brought Beagle, who had
gone to fetch a woodman's axe, running to
the spot to see what had happened.

The keeper sat down on the grass for a few
moments, and the boys were afraid that they
had killed him, but in a little while he sprang
up again and cried out angrily--

"I'll give you two minutes to come down,
gentlemen.  At the end of that time I shall
cut down the tree."

There was no answer, and at the end of the
two minutes the keeper spoke again.

"Will you come down and go quietly to the
lock-up?"  Still no answer, and the next
moment----

"Chip!--chip!" went the axe, and at every
stroke the tall tree shook.  The trunk was more
than half-way through now, and the whole stem
trembled with the blows, when a voice called
from aloft, through the smoke--

"Stop!  Mr. Click, if you please."

Quite willing to take a brief rest and to
enjoy the discomfort of the youngsters, the
keeper stayed his axe for a moment.

"We'll come down, Mr. Click, if you won't
take us to the lock-up.  We've only had six
of your beastly trout, and they were not worth
two-pence each, but we're willing to pay you
for them, and to come down, if you won't
take us before the magistrates.  We've done
nothing to deserve it," said Jack, as he
prepared to descend.

"Do you hear that, Beagle?  That's what
I call trying to bribe an honest man.  What
do you call it?"

"That's it--bribery and corruption,"
replied the constable.

"The terms of surrender are unconditional,
you young jackanapes."  And with that Click
went to work with the axe again.  The tree
quivered, and gave signs that it was about to
fall.

.. _`34`:

"Stop!  Stop!  We're coming down."  And
then, realising that the game was up, the two
chums quietly slid down the trunk into the
arms of their captors, and were triumphantly
marched off to the lock-up.

It was getting dark when they reached this
ugly little building, but they were unceremoniously
thrust inside, and when the key grated in
the lock and the two men had left them, with
only the rats for their companions, they were
just a little bit "skeered."

"Jamie!  Where are you?" asked Jack,
when they had been left alone in the silence
and the darkness for some minutes.

"Here!  Here!" cried his companion, and
they crept along the wall until they were able
to touch each other.  Then they cowered down
in a corner, against the wall.

"We'll get out of this before morning, else
my name's not Jack Elliot, and then we'll
do that which we've often spoken about.
We'll run away--we'll go to sea--we'll tramp
to Liverpool, and we'll find a ship going
abroad, and we'll get taken aboard
somehow--and--and we'll stick together, and make our
fortunes.  What say you, Jamie?"

"Jack, you're a brick.  Give me your
hand.  I'll go with you, and we'll stick
together.  I've no father and no mother, and
no friends--except you.  All the world's
against us.  Old Click and Beagle have been
trying to catch us for months, and now they've
done it.  They'll brag about it, and the whole
village will laugh at us."

"Yes, they've threatened to turn us out of
school, and now they'll perhaps send us to
prison, just for taking a few trout, as though
God didn't make the trout, and the streams,
and the woods for all of us.  And to-morrow
they'll bring us before the magistrates----"

"Will they, though?  They won't have the
chance.  Just hold this, while I get a light,
and then we'll examine the place," and Jamie
pulled a piece of tar-band out of his pocket,
unravelled the end, and handed it to his
companion.  Next, he took out his tinder-box,
and quickly threw a shower of sparks on to
the tow, which produced a little flame, about
the size of a rushlight.  Then they began to
look around them.

It was a common type of village lock-up,
built of rough, undressed stones from the
neighbouring quarries.  It had massive oaken
doors, which had been securely locked, and
there were no windows, for the only opening
was a small aperture, eighteen inches square,
and about seven feet from the ground, and it
was caged by several rusty iron bars.  The
floor was flagged with stones and covered with
rushes.

The place was used merely as a temporary
lock-up for poachers and other law-breakers
before their transference to the county gaol,
and was situated just outside the village.  In
a few minutes they had examined the doors,
the walls and the floor, but they sought in
vain for any spot that offered a chance of
escape.

"The grating, Jack!  Let's try the grating.
I reckon that's our only chance.  Here,
give me a leg!  Let me climb on to your
shoulders and try the bars."  This was no
sooner said than done.

"Here's luck!  The middle bar is filed
through at one end, and here on the ledge is
a rusty file, thick with cobwebs.  How jolly!
Some one's been at this game before, and it's
never been discovered.  Half the work's been
done for us, but it must have been many years
ago.  I believe if we can file through the other
end of this bar we can squirm through."

"I wonder who did it?"

"Blessings on his head, whoever or
wherever he is.  May he never want a friend!"

It was indeed a long time ago since the file
had been used.  It had lain there for twelve
years hidden by cobwebs and dust, and the
poacher who had used it had been transported.

For the next half-hour the two boys took
turns filing away at that thick iron bar,
standing or kneeling on each other's shoulders.
Suddenly at the end of that time voices were
heard, and then footsteps approaching.

"Sh!  Sh!  Put out the light, Jamie, quick!
Some one is coming."  The light was extinguished,
and the prisoners sat down quietly on
the rush-strewn floor.

Who could it be?  Had the magistrates
sent some one already to remove them to the
county gaol?  If so, their chances of escape
were already cut off.  They determined to
wait quietly and see, for this was all they
could do.

Nearer and nearer came the sounds they had
previously heard.  The footsteps halted
outside the heavy doors.  The rays of light from
a lanthorn flashed through the interstices and
the openings.  Some one was examining the
lock.  Who could it be?  The boys' hearts
quaked with fear lest their efforts at escape
should be foiled.  Then they heard the voices
of their captors.

"They ain't broke gaol yet, Beagle!  The
lock's safe and sound.  We've got them
safe--this time," said Old Click.

"Have you, though?" whispered Jack,
under his breath.

"Hullo, there, ye young varmints!  Who's
master now?  You won't do any more poaching
in Hawk Woods, I'll warrant," said the
keeper, who seemed to have come purposely
to poke fun at them.  Then Jamie pretended
to sob piteously.

"Oh, it's crying ye are, is it?  Ah, well,
it's too late for repentance now.  Ye should
ha' thought o' that before."

"Come away now, Mr. Click.  They're
safe till the morning, anyhow.  Then we can
bring them before the magistrates and have
them whipped, and sent to prison, and perhaps
transported.  Come away," said Beagle.

"I'd like to see the man who would dare
to whip me," cried out Jack, his voice ringing
with anger and defiance.

"Tut, tut! my little man!  When a boy
begins training so early for the gallows, what
can he expect?  Howsoever, 'tis no use
argefying, so I'll just bid ye good-night."  After
which they both went off chuckling and
saying--

"'Twill be a lesson for them.  T' squire and
schoolmaster seemed mightily pleased over it."

To do the janitors justice, however, I must
here say that it was not intended to punish
the lads further than by letting them spend
the night in the lock-up, in the hope that this
might teach them a severe lesson.  To this
course Jack's father and the schoolmaster, who
had been already informed, quite agreed.

The lads, however, took it more seriously,
and felt convinced from precedents within their
memory that the full severity of the law would
be meted out to them, and they determined
to prevent it by escaping and running away
from Burnside and saving their families this
terrible disgrace, for Jamie still looked upon
his aunt as his guardian, and though Jack had
no mother or sisters, he had a father and
brothers.  Besides, they were just at that age
when romance begins; for all their heroes had
commenced life by running away.

As soon, therefore, as their janitors were
out of hearing, they set to work again with
the rusty old file, which by this time had lost
much of its rust and had begun to bite keenly.
It was hard work, but their freedom and their
future were at stake.  They were hungry, too,
for since dinner they had tasted nothing but
those few trout which they had taken from the burn.

It was damp and chilly too, but they did
not feel the cold, for they were aglow with the
exercise and flushed with the promise of victory.

"Hurrah!  It's through at last!" exclaimed
Jamie, as the file slipped and the heavy
bar fell upon the floor with a jangle and a jar.

"Bravo, old fellow!  Well done."

Jamie put the file in his pocket, and swung
himself up by the remaining bars.  There was
now an aperture about eleven inches square,
and though it required a bit of a struggle to
squeeze through that awkward gap, yet they
had both done more difficult things than that
in the past, and so within five minutes they
were both standing in the road outside the
lock-up.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA`:

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   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA

.. vspace:: 2

The village clock in the old church tower
was striking eleven.  It was dreadfully dark,
but the lads were not afraid, and they started
off at a sharp trot, as soon as they had regained
their liberty.  For some distance they followed
the tree-lined road that led away from the
village.  They kept on in silence till they
reached the outskirts of Bogden Woods, then
they took one of the narrow, winding paths
that led down through the thicket, crossed the
stream at the bottom of the dell, and ascended
the opposite hill-side.

Still they kept on--now through the more
open country, over hill and dale, until at the
end of two hours, despite the darkness, they
had put six good miles between themselves
and the lock-up.

At last, fatigued beyond measure, they
halted for a rest below Lin-Crag, one of the
highest peaks in the Pennine Chain.  Here,
on the lower reaches of the moor, they made
for themselves a bed of dried heather, where
they could lie down.

"Here, let us rest awhile, Jack, for I'm
dead beat," said Jamie.

"Right!" said his companion, "No one
will discover us here."

After a short breathing space, they began
to take stock of their possessions.  Alas!
Jamie had but a few pennies and half-pence, a
piece of tar-band and a tinder-box, while Jack
could only find a penknife, a pocket compass
and a sixpence.  This, then, was their
stock-in-trade, and it did not promise them much
luxury on their way to the sea.

"Now," said Jack, "I have an uncle who
is captain of a ship that trades between the
River Plate and Liverpool--Captain Elliot is
his name, and the ship is called the *Ilawara*.
If, when we get to Liverpool, he should
happen to be in port, I am sure that he would
give us both a berth aboard, for once, when
father took me to see him, he advised me to
become a sailor, when I had grown up."

"Capital!  But let's see, how far away is
Liverpool?"

"It must be about sixty miles away, and
almost due west, right over the moors there,
for I've often measured it roughly on the map.
I think that's the west, though I can't
quite see the needle of the compass in the
dark."

"Yes, Jack, that's the west, right over
the moors and over Lin-Crag too, and there
are about twelve miles of moorland, with
plenty of peat-bog, and soft ground, so that
it will not be safe to go much further till
daybreak."

"You're sure that's the west, Jamie?"

"Yes, certain.  Why, look, you don't need
a compass!  There's the North Star, and the
Cassiopean Guards, and right opposite is the
south, and over there must be the east, as
you'll soon see when the day breaks."

"Bravo, Jamie!  You're as good as a compass."

"Then we'll sleep here, and at sunrise
we'll get some food and start for Liverpool,
and there'll be no going back for either of
us.  The die is cast, old fellow.  What say you?"

"The die is cast!  We will not go back."

They both laid themselves down on a couch
of heather, there to spend the rest of the
night, but they were too excited to sleep--the
events of the past twenty-four hours chased
each other through their brains.  Jamie was
nearly dozing off, however, when Jack
suddenly leapt to his feet, and exclaimed----

"Here's a piece of luck, Jamie!"

"Why, what's the matter?  How you did
startle me!" cried the other.

"Just look here!" said Jack, ripping
open the lining of his jacket, and taking out
something that gleamed bright, even in the
starlight.

"Why--it's a guinea!  Where did you get it?"

"I'd forgotten all about it myself.  About
a month ago, Aunt Emma drove over from
Honley, to see father, and when she went
away, she said something about my being a
poor motherless bairn, and she slipped this
into my hand as she left.  She asked me to
buy myself a present with it."

"But you didn't?"

"No!  I had a presentiment that when we
ran away, we should want it, so I just sewed
it into the lining of my coat, and till this
moment, I'd entirely forgotten it."

"We're rich men, Jack.  We are indeed in luck."

They were doubly excited now and quite
unable to sleep, so they talked on about the
future that lay before them, full of golden
promise, when once they reached Liverpool.
Then two hours before the dawn they fell fast
asleep, and they slept so soundly that when at
length they awoke the sun was nearly half-way
to the meridian.  Even then they were
wakened by a rough but kindly voice that
sounded in their ears----

"Here's a pretty sight, Jane!  Come and
see it.  Here are two young gen'elmen,
sleeping out o' doors."  Then giving them both a
hearty shake, he exclaimed, "What's the
meaning o' this, young gen'elmen?  Have
you run away from school?"

Both boys sat up quickly, and rubbed their
eyes.  Then they looked around them,
bewildered and astonished.  Where were they?
How came they here?  Who was this big,
burly-looking farmer before them?

It was a full half minute before they became
fully conscious of all that had happened.  At
length they looked at each other, and then
burst out laughing, for they were both relieved
to find that the intruder was neither Old Click
nor Beagle.  Jane the milkmaid came over to
the spot, leaving the cow that she had been
milking, some twenty yards away.

The boys looked around them again to take
their bearings before they replied to the farmer.
A dozen cattle stood round about, chewing
their cud lazily, and flicking off, with their long
tails, the flies that had already begun to bother
them, while beside the farmer stood his faithful
sheep-dog, which had really first attracted
his master's attention to the spot.  The place
where they had been sleeping was a sheltered
little hollow, where the meadow joined the
moor, while about two hundred yards away
was a long, low farmhouse.

"I see you're running away from school,
gen'elmen," repeated the farmer,
good-humouredly, for there was a twinkle in his
eye.

"Yes, sir," replied Jack, thinking it best
to let it stop at that.

"An' where are you goin' to?"

"Liverpool--to the sea----"

A burst of laughter, like a minor explosion,
came from the farmer.  "Ah, I see.  But
ye'll be glad to get home before to-morrow
night.  I once tried it myself, I did.  Walked
all the way to Liverpool, and when I got
there--ha! ha! ha!--the sea was rough, and I was
'skeered' an' I didn't like the look of it, and
I turned back home, an' I tell ye, that for four
days and for four nights I had nothing to eat,
'cept a few raw turnips.  My poor feet were
that sore an' blistered that I sometimes lay
down and cried, and when at last, after six
days, I limped back into the farm-yard yonder,
my faither said--

"'What!  Home again so soon, Jock?  I
didn't expect ye for anither week, lad!'

"'Could I ha' a basin o' porridge, faither?'
I said meekly.

"'Jock,' he said, 'afore ye touch ony
porridge, ye mun' earn it.  Do ye see that
heap o' stones there?  Well, ye mun' wheel
'em across the yard there afore ye touch ony
porridge here.'

"It was the same heap of stones that I had
refused to wheel, and which had been the
cause o' my setting off to Liverpool.  I were
that tired and faint an' hungry that I were
ready to drop, but I simply said--

"'All right, faither,' and I began the task;
but when I had wheeled a dozen barrow-loads
or so, the old man saw me stagger once or
twice.

"'That'll do!  Porridge is ready, Jock,
lad.'  An' to my dying day I shall never taste
anither meal half so foine as yon basin o'
porridge, an' if ye lads 'll take my advice,
ye'll just turn back, and go home again, for
it'll come to that later, only then ye'll be
footsore and tired and hungry.  But please
yersel's, I don't suppose ye'll listen to an old
man," he added, as he saw a clouded and
uneasy look come over their faces.

"We're not going back," said Jamie
boldly.  "Are we, Jack?"

"No!  We'll die first."

"I thought so.  Maybe you're hungry, and
could do with a little breakfast, lads."

"Indeed, we could, sir, and we're willing to
pay for it."

"Tut! tut!  Come into the house, then."  And
the kindly old man led them to the
farmhouse, where his wife simply said, "Puir
lads," and soon provided for them a substantial
meal.

A large steaming basin of oatmeal porridge
was soon laid before each of them, made
from rich milk, instead of water.  They soon
made short work of this.  Then Jane brought
in a plate of home-made cakes, well-buttered,
but still their hunger did not abate one jot.
The farmer was used to big appetites, and
neither his wife nor Jane expressed any
surprise.  Then their host took out his huge
clasp knife and cut several rashers from a flitch
of bacon that hung suspended from the ceiling.
These were fried along with a few eggs,
and when they had cleared this third dish, the
keen edge was taken from their appetites, and
they declared that they were satisfied.

They thanked the farmer for his great
kindness, and asked him how much they were
indebted to him, but when they offered to
pay, he held up both hands, and exclaimed--

"Not a penny!  Keep your money.  You'll
want it all before long.  It does me good to
see lads with pluck like yours.  Maybe you'll
get further than I did.  I think you're made
of different stuff, and I ha' quite ta'en a fancy
to you.  While we've lads like you, we shall
never want men to fight the Frenchers."

"I have a brother fighting under Clive now,
in India!" exclaimed Jack, with a touch of
family pride.

"Oh, maybe you're Squire Elliot's son, then!"

At this Jack's face fell, for he saw that he
had well-nigh given away his identity.

"Ah well, never mind!  Perhaps ye did
not get on very well with the old squire.  He
was a harder man after your poor mother died."

The mention of his mother gave Jack a
twinge of pain, and caused a lump to rise in
his throat.  His mother's early death had
removed his guardian angel.  Perhaps he
would have been a better lad if she had lived;
more tame and docile, like other boys.

"Puir lad!" exclaimed the farmer's wife;
"and has he no mother then?  He ma' weel
run away."

Jack's tears were very near the surface, but
he forced them back with an effort, for he
considered it a great weakness to give way to his
feelings.

As they left the old farmhouse, yet another
kindness was shown to them, for Jane, secretly
bidden by the farmer's wife, had made up a
bundle of substantial oat-cakes, with a large
piece of cheese, and as they passed out of the
door she handed it to them.

This last act of kindness to these two poor
motherless lads touched their hearts as
perhaps nothing else could have done.  They had
not been used to such kindness, and they
expressed their gratitude, not by words, for they
couldn't speak, but by the great, big tears that
welled up in their eyes, despite their every
effort to keep them back now.  Ah! nothing
penetrates a boy's heart like kindness.

The old farmer pointed out the way, across
the moors, and over Lin-Crag--the way he
had trodden fifty years ago, and soon they
were climbing the steep hill-side, knee-deep
in heather, and following the winding sheep
tracks.  Again and again they turned round
to wave their handkerchiefs at the trio
standing by the farm-yard gate now far beneath
them, until at last, as they stood on the
summit of the crag, the house looked like a little
speck in the distance and soon disappeared.

Then they footed it gaily across the lonely
blue moorlands.  Sometimes they started a
covey of young grouse, hidden amongst the
heather; then the peewits wheeled around
them, uttering plaintive cries, as though
bidding them good-bye.  The scenes of their
childhood, and the landscape on which their
infant eyes had first gazed, were now left
behind.  The little lambs frisked about
playfully, or cropped the short, green patches of
tough grass near the water-courses, while
overhead the larks sang joyously, continuously,
and the sun shone brilliantly down from that
wide expanse of azure dome.

The lads sang, too, blithely, lustily, for
nothing could repress that feeling that was
bubbling up within them; they trod the
earth lightly, for they were in the "Land of
Havilah," which is the "Golden Land of
Youth," where the sun is always shining,
where all the visions and ideals are golden,
the enthusiasm and the energy boundless.
So life with all its charm was opening out to
them, but what was that life to be?

"Let us halt beside this spring, Jamie, for
we have come twelve miles since morning,"
said Jack, about an hour after mid-day.

So they rested awhile, and ate some of the
oat-cakes, and drank at the spring, where
commenced a little stream of clear water, which
sang its way down to the sea.  Soon they left
the wild moorlands behind them, and descending
the western slopes of the Pennines, they
entered the county of Lancaster, and passed
through several hamlets and villages, where
the rude country people spoke a dialect which
they could scarcely understand.

Towards evening their footsteps began to
lag.  They had long ago ceased to sing, or
even to whistle.  They were tired and footsore,
and for the last hour they had trudged on in
silence, for they were both very brave, and
neither would confess fatigue.

That night they slept under a hayrick in
the corner of a field.  They slept soundly, too,
but next morning they were up early, and
after performing their ablutions, and cooling
their blistered feet in a neighbouring pond,
they finished the oat-cakes and cheese, and
started again.

The first day they had covered nearly half
the distance between their home and that rising
little sea-port town of Liverpool, whose docks
and wharves were now crowded with ships from
every part of the globe.  The second day,
however, they were too footsore to travel half
that distance, and they had to break into that
golden guinea to buy food, but they still
persisted and never spake one word about turning
back, and in the afternoon of the fourth day
their hearts beat with joy, as they reached the
top of a little eminence, that is now part and
parcel of the great city of Liverpool, but was
then merely a country lane, and their eyes were
gladdened by a first glimpse of the forest of
masts and spars, that lay in the river beneath
them, while out there--beyond the bar, where
the breakers were rolling in by the
lighthouse--was the sea.

"The sea! the sea!" they both exclaimed.

And in the transport of joy which followed,
tired limbs and blistered feet were forgotten,
for this was their first glimpse of the sea.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOP`:

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   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOP

.. vspace:: 2

Soon they were down by the Mersey's bank,
at a spot where the famous landing-stage has
since been erected.  Then they passed along
the wharves and docks, but recently
constructed, where the big ships, with their
towering masts and spars, came in to unload their
valuable cargoes, for here were ships from the
Levant and the Eastern Archipelagoes, from
Spain and the West Indies, from the Canadas
and the new colonies of America.

Never before had they seen such noble
vessels, nor had they dreamt it possible that
such leviathans could be built.  Never before
had they gazed upon such a vast concourse of
people, rushing hither and thither, shouting,
pushing, loading and unloading, as though
every ship must catch the next tide that flowed.

Their hearts swelled with pride as they
stood and watched a stately barque, fresh from
the River Plate, being warped in to the bank
and made fast.  Some of her swarthy crew
were aloft clewing up the sails, others were
below, stowing away, making fast, or squaring
the yards, singing snatches of songs, but all of
them eager and longing to get ashore and to set
foot in Old England again.

Oh, how they envied these men, who had
sailed those far-away seas and seen those lands
with strangely-sounding names, and islands
that gleamed like gems set in the tropical seas.
East, west, north and south met here with all
their charm and romance, for then Liverpool
was rapidly becoming an emporium for the
sea-borne commerce of the world.

And so the lads forgot the toil and weariness
of the past four days, for they were bewildered
by the strange and wonderful scenes which
were being enacted before them.  They were
both romantic and imaginative, and nothing
of it was lost upon them, for it all was so new.

They forgot that they were hungry and
tired, homeless and friendless, and almost at
the end of their tether.  It was as though the
very ships were speaking to them of the places
whence they came.  They told them of far
eastern seas, of dusky kings and princes, whose
palaces, crowned with minarets and towers,
lined the golden shores of those far-off lands.
They spoke of coral islands which shone like
gems in an emerald sea, of shining strands that
were edged with fronded palms, of rich and
spicy groves that were filled with new and
luscious fruits, of the jungle, the prairie and
the forest.  All these things and more were
out there--in the west, beyond the lighthouse
and the sunset.

The big ship from the River Plate was
alongside now.  The merchants were going aboard
to see the lading, but the sailors, with merry
hearts and other thoughts, were coming
ashore, dancing and singing like huge schoolboys
set at liberty.  One had a parrot that he
carried in a cage, another had brought home
a monkey, while some had strange curios
worked by the natives, but each man seemed
to have brought some present or keepsake for
those at home.  They all seemed so jolly, too,
that the boys made up their minds, there
and then, that they would take the first ship
that offered, whether eastward or westward
bound.

'Twas getting toward evening, and in
another two hours it would be dark, but they
still wandered spellbound about the ships.
Several times they had spoken to sailors and
officers, and each time Jack had asked after his
uncle, Captain Elliot of the *Ilawara*, but no
one seemed to know him.  They had now
begun to wonder where they would have to
spend the night, if no one would take them
aboard.  They were beginning to feel a little
bit uneasy.

In their wanderings they had several times
passed and repassed a fine ship that was almost
ready for sailing, and they now found
themselves close by her again.  The men were
aboard, and several officers were on the
afterdeck, and they had wished very much to hail
them, but so far they had not had the temerity
to do so.

"I wonder where she's going to, Jack?"
said his chum, as they sat down upon a coil of
rope just alongside.

"Out west, somewhere.  To the Americas,
I believe."

"She's going out on this tide.  I heard one
of the men aboard say so.  I wish they'd take us."

"Clear that gangway, lads!  Here comes
the captain, and the pilot, too!" cried one of
the officers.

The lads looked around and saw a smart-looking
officer in uniform coming along the
quay, accompanied by an older man--a veritable
sea-dog, with his arm full of oilskins and
a sou'wester on his head.

"How soon do you hope to reach America,
Captain Forbes?" the pilot was asking.

"In five weeks, if this wind holds."

"Have you got a full crew aboard?"

"We're three hands short of a full complement,
but I don't intend to wait, with this
wind blowing."

"Did you hear that, Jack?  Three hands
short, and sailing to-night," whispered Jamie.

"Now is the time!  Let's try our luck."

"Agreed!"

They boldly approached the captain, and
Jack, acting as spokesman, began somewhat
nervously thus--

"If you please, sir, we want to go to sea."

"What's that?" snapped the captain.
"Who are you?  What do you want?"

"I heard you say, sir, just now, that you
were three hands short aboard your ship.  If
you will take us we will try hard to serve you
in any capacity."

"But, my little man," said the captain,
stooping down, for he was very tall, "I don't
take babies aboard my ship.  You see, we
haven't got any nurses to look after them when
they cry."

The lads drew themselves up to their full
height, and told the captain that they were
fifteen, and that they had walked sixty miles
to reach Liverpool, and that they meant to go
to sea, if not aboard his ship, then aboard some
other vessel.

"Take an old sea-captain's advice, lads.
Don't go to sea till you're twenty, and then
you'll never go at all.  The sea's not exactly
the place for young gentlemen like you.  Go
home to your mothers."

"We've got no mothers, or perhaps we
shouldn't have come here!" said Jack, flushing
up a little at the captain's words.

"Oh, come now, my little bantams.  If
that's so it alters the case.  For the boy who
hasn't got a mother the sea's not a bad place.
Just tell me who you are, and where you come
from?"

So they told him all, for there was a glint of
kindness in that stern face, and a twinkle in
those clear, grey-blue eyes that gained their
confidence.  They even told the story of Old
Click and Beagle, and the lock-up.  When
they described the manner in which they had
held the keepers at bay with the wood-chunks,
till they were burnt out, both the captain and
the old pilot laughed heartily, and when they
had described their long, wearisome tramp to
find Captain Elliot's ship, the skipper clapped
them on the shoulder and said--

"Bravo!  You've got grit and pluck enough
to become admirals.  Captain Elliot, did you say?"

"Yes, sir, Captain Elliot."

"Of what ship?"

"The *Ilawara*.  He is my uncle, and he
promised I should go to sea with him when I
was fifteen.  Do you know him, sir?"

"Why, yes!  We were boys together
aboard the frigate *Monmouth*.  We had many a
fight with the French in those days, and many
a close shave too.  Fancy you being his
nephew."  Then turning to the old pilot, the
captain said, "What say you, William?  Shall
I take the young gamecocks?  I like them,
but the sea's a rough place for young lads."

The pilot brought a pair of kindly eyes to
bear upon the youngsters, as though he envied
their youth and outlook upon life, and longed
to be young again, and then said--

"Take 'em, Captain Forbes.  A voyage will
do them no harm.  'Tisn't as though they
were taken crying from their mothers.  It'll
larn 'em a useful lesson.  'Tis just the way I
went to sea meself.  Take 'em."

"Get aboard, youngsters, and report
yourself to Mr. Rogers, the first mate."

The youngsters did get aboard.  Their
hearts were thumping with pride and glee,
for they had gained their hearts' desire,
and before long they had cleared the Mersey
bar and were standing out to sea, sailing out
into the sunset.  When the pilot went
overboard, he nodded to them, and hoped that
they'd come home some day "Admirals of the Blue."

As soon as his duties permitted, Captain
Forbes himself took them in hand and assigned
them their work.  He supplied them each with
a middy's outfit, enrolled their names on the
ship's books, and gave them a small cabin near
his own.  Although the captain had taken a
special fancy to them, they were not to find it
all honey, however.  They were to help the
men to take in sail, to share in the watches,
to personally attend upon the captain, and to
do much monotonous and arduous work, but
they never shied at it and never disobeyed a
superior officer.  Each day, however, several
hours were set aside for study, and the captain
provided the books and set the lessons, which
were in mathematics, navigation and seamanship.

Captain Forbes took a kind and fatherly
interest in the lads, though he never relaxed
for one moment that stern discipline which is
so necessary for a headstrong youth.  He
taught them that the only way to learn how
to command others was by first learning how
to command themselves.  Nevertheless, to set
matters right at home he had sent a letter by
the pilot, addressed to Jack's father, telling
him where the lads were, and asking him not
to be uneasy on their account, as one voyage
would soon settle whether their future was to
be upon the sea or not.  Under these favourable
conditions our heroes soon got their "sea-legs,"
and made rapid progress in their new
studies, though they never forget the dreadful
fright they received the first time they were
sent aloft in bad weather.

One dark night, in a fierce gale off the Irish
coast, they were ordered to assist the men in
furling the main-top-gallant and main-royal
sails.  The vessel was creaking and straining
beneath them; rolling uneasily in the trough
of the sea.  Long before they reached the
crosstrees their hearts were thumping wildly
and their teeth were chattering with fright,
and for a moment Jack wished that he were
safe ashore, even if in the old village lock-up
again; but the worst was yet to come.

Far down beneath them the slippery decks
seemed black as night, except when a huge
green wave swept it from stem to stern.  The
captain was shouting orders to the men aloft,
as though the lives of all aboard depended upon
a ready compliance, and for a while the men
in the rigging seemed helpless.  The hoarse
voice of the first mate was heard calling to the
men who were struggling at the wheel, and
all seemed confusion.

Still, the lads felt that the eyes of the captain
were upon them, and they did not come down
till their work was done, although when they
reached the yards they thought their last
moment had come, as the canvas filled like a
huge bladder, and nearly hurled them off into
the boiling surf and the destruction that
threatened them below.  They remained at
their posts, assisting the men, hanging on
sometimes by their teeth, until the sails were
dragged in and furled, and the gaskets made
fast and true.

After that experience they soon acquired
more confidence and were easily at home,
whether aloft or below, in fact, if anything,
they preferred to be aloft.  'Tis possible, even,
that they might have adopted the sea as a
profession, and that their names might have come
down to us with some of the illustrious admirals
of that period, but for an incident which
happened when they had been about four weeks
at sea, and which changed the course of their
lives once more.

They were within two hundred leagues of
Cape Cod on the New England coast, and
they were congratulating themselves on having
escaped the vigilance of the enemy's cruisers,
for they had a valuable cargo aboard, destined
for Boston, when the following incident
happened.  Seven bells had just sounded in the
middle watch, and both Jamie and Jack were
on duty, perched on the crosstrees in the
foretop.  It was very cold up there, and they were
both longing for the end of the watch that they
might descend and warm themselves at the
galley fire and appease their ravenous hunger
before turning in for a sleep.  Day was just
breaking away to the east, but ahead it was
still dark and a little cloudy.  Suddenly,
through a rift in the clouds, over there in the
north-west, towards the coast of the French
Canadas, Jamie saw a tiny speck, low down
on the horizon.  He was about to hail the
deck, but first pointed it out to Jack.

"What can it be?"

"Take the glass, Jamie.  My hands are so
numbed and cold I cannot keep it still."

Jamie took the telescope, and steadying
himself for an instant, he leaned against the mast
and held the glass to his eye.  As he brought
it to bear on that speck, the cry involuntarily
burst from his lips--

"A sail!  A sail!"

"Where away?" called the first mate from the deck.

"On the starboard bow, sir, north-west by west."

"What do you make of her?"

"Can't raise her hull yet, sir, but she must
be a big ship, for she carries a good head of
canvas."

Almost instantly the mate was up in the
fore-top, carefully examining the stranger.
As he did so a grave look crossed his face.

"Anything wrong, sir?" queried Jamie.

"I don't like the look of her.  I fear she's
no friend.  We may have to run."  Again
he examined her.  Then, shutting up the glass
with a bang, he said--

"Go down, Elliot, and call the captain."

"Aye, aye, sir."

While the captain was being called, eight
bells sounded the end of the watch, and though
Jack had been eagerly longing for that blessed
sound before, he would now willingly have
remained aloft to watch that distant speck,
which seemed fraught with such danger.

As he reached the deck he met the captain
coming up the companion ladder.  The latter
immediately called out to the first mate, who
had remained aloft--

"Is she showing any colours, Mr. Rogers?"

"Not yet, sir!"

"What do you think she is?"

"She's a cruiser, sir.  Of that I'm pretty
certain, but whether English or French I can't
yet say."

At this alarming news, the captain himself
went aloft and keenly examined the movements
of the stranger for a few minutes, and
then said--

"She's a French cruiser, Mr. Rogers, and
a fast one too.  We must either fight her or
show her a clean pair of heels."

In a few minutes the *Duncan's* course was
altered.  Every stitch of canvas that she could
carry was flung out.  Royals and stuns'ls were
set, and with the foam surging under her bows
she fairly bounded through the water, leaving
a wake astern that was a mile long.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIGHT WITH THE FRIGATE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FIGHT WITH THE FRIGATE

.. vspace:: 2

There was no little excitement aboard when
it became known that the distant sail, "hull
down" upon the horizon, was probably a
French frigate.

"Look at her white canvas, and her large,
square yards!" exclaimed Jamie.  "She must
be a man-of-war, and even if she's only a
frigate she'll carry thirty guns against our ten,
and treble the number of men."

"If she is a Frenchman she'll sink us, that's
certain, though I hope Captain Forbes will
make a fight of it," replied Jack, who could
not entirely suppress a feeling akin to dread,
as he watched the approaching ship.

"There's just a chance that she may be a
friend, after all, for even the English cruisers
do not always show their colours to the quarry
until all chance of escape is cut off."

"It's just possible, of course, for there
should be plenty of them hereabouts.
Mr. Rogers tells me that last year they brought
no less than three hundred French ships and
their crews into English ports."

Breakfast was served as soon as the
excitement aboard the *Duncan* had abated
somewhat, and afterwards the captain assembled
the crew and addressed them as follows--

"Lads, we're now within two hundred
leagues of the New England coast, and we're
carrying a valuable cargo.  'Tis our duty to
save it if we can, but yonder is a fast and
powerful frigate in our wake, who won't show
any colours, though mine have been flying at
the mast-head this half-hour."

"Hurrah! hurrah!" burst from the men,
as they saw the ensign they loved so well
unfurled to the breeze.

"That's right, lads!  I'm glad to see that
you're not ashamed to fight for the old flag,"
exclaimed the captain.

"We'll die for it, captain, if need be!"
shouted several of the men, and no wonder,
for 'tis remarkable the courage that even
a flag inspires in the presence of an enemy,
especially when that enemy dares to insult
it.

"The fact that he has not yet shown his
colours," went on the captain, "means that
we've an enemy in our wake.  Still, if this
breeze holds we may outsail him, but if we
can't do that we've got to fight him."

"Aye! aye! sir!  Let's fight him."

"No Frenchman shall ever take my ship
while I live.  I'll blow her up first.  Mark my
words, lads.  I will!"  This was spoken in
such a fierce, but deliberate manner that the
men all saw that Captain Forbes meant it,
and they responded with a ringing cheer, which
rent the air like a broadside, and filled each
heart with courage and determination.

"So now, lads, let's clear the decks, and
prepare for the worst."

"Aye! aye! sir!"

And the men went to work as only British
tars can work.  They cleared the decks of
everything that was useless in an action.  They
cleaned and loaded the guns, but they did not
as yet open the port-lids to run them out, lest
the lower decks should be swamped, and the
ship delayed.  They ran out the boarding-nets,
and brought up the powder, wads and shot.
They got ready their cutlasses and boarding-pikes,
and in every way possible prepared to
meet a daring foe.

"Tell the men aloft to keep a sharp lookout.
We may sight an English frigate at any
moment, and then we shall see some fun, Mr. Rogers."

"Aye! aye! captain.  That we shall,"
replied the mate.

Slowly the distant frigate gained upon the
*Duncan*, and before noon it could be easily
seen from the deck, though still some five
leagues distant.  Nearer and nearer she came,
and every man aboard the *Duncan* had now
made up his mind that a fight was the only
possible ending, and the sooner it came, the
better.

The second mate, Mr. Hudson, and Jamie
were in the fore-top now, and just before
dinner the captain hailed them, and said--

"Ho, there!  Can you make out her armament yet?"

"Pretty well, sir."

"How many guns does she carry?"

"Twenty-six, I fancy, sir, for I can make
out thirteen portholes on her starboard side."

The captain trod the deck impatiently,
looking anxiously first at the approaching frigate,
and then into the weather quarter, as though
he anticipated a change.

"I fear the wind's dropping, Mr. Rogers,"
he said to the first mate, who paced the deck
beside him.  "We shall have a calm shortly,"
and within another half-hour the wind
moderated, and shortly after that it blew
spasmodically, and the frigate, now only two
leagues away, was "laying on and off," trying
to catch every breath of wind.  The sails then
flapped idly against the masts, and there
followed a dead calm, when both ships lay
helpless upon a mirrored sheet of glass.

A puff of blue smoke broke away from one
of the starboard guns of the enemy, as she
now lay broadside on towards the English ship,
and then--

"Boom!" came a report, rumbling over the water.

At the same instant the French flag was
broken at the mast-head.

"I thought as much, lads!  Now we know
who she is, and what she wants.  That shot is
a demand for surrender.  What are those
other flags he's hanging out, Mr. Hudson?"

"He's signalling, sir.  Wants to know if
we've struck.  What shall I tell him, sir?"

"Tell him we haven't struck yet, but we'll
do so as soon as he comes a little nearer, in the
same way that Englishmen always strike."

At these words, which were heard all over
the ship, a rousing cheer, which the Frenchman
must have heard and wondered at, rang
across the water, for it summed up the feelings
of every man aboard.  Shortly after this, the
event which every one was expecting, from the
captain down to the youngest cabin boy,
happened.

"They're preparing to lower away the
boats, sir.  They mean to cut us out," came
from the fore-top.

"Stand ready, my lads.  Load every gun
with grape-shot, lads, but don't fire till I give
the order."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

One, two, three boats had been lowered, and
filled with armed men.  Each pulled ten oars,
and there were at least thirty men in each boat,
now pulling towards the *Duncan*.

Guns were run out; matches lit; cutlasses
and pikes kept handy; but for the next
half-hour a deep silence pervaded the ship's
company.  The men spoke not, for every order
had been given, except that one for which
they were all waiting; but the glow which was
upon every cheek, and the sparkle which was
in every eye, showed the tense feeling which
animated the men.  It was as though every
man heard the words--

"In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength."


Jamie and Jack were both stationed at the
same gun, one of the twelve-pounders on the
port-side, amidships.  This was their first
action, and they had a strange feeling at this
moment.  It was not fear, for who could fear
with the eye of that brave commander upon
them from the quarter-deck.  It was rather a
feeling of mingled awe and suspense.  Oh,
how slowly the moments crawled!
Five--ten--twenty minutes passed.

They could now hear the swish of the
enemy's oars as they fell in measured strokes
upon the water.  Nearer and nearer they
came.  The first boat was now scarcely a cable's
length away, when--

"Fire!" came in a voice of thunder from the poop.

Every gun that had been brought to bear
belched forth its contents of flame and iron.
The deadly missiles sped on their way, carrying
death and destruction.

As soon as the smoke had cleared away, the
awful effect of this concentrated fire could be
seen.  The first boat was literally blown to
pieces; nothing was left of it but broken
fragments, and the sea seemed full of struggling
creatures, whose cries were pitiful.  The
second and third boats, however, were
untouched, and while one went to the assistance
of the first, the other dashed alongside, and
with a wild cry of vengeance, the men
clambered up the side and attempted to board.

"Repel boarders!  Give it 'em, lads!"
cried the captain, and seizing their pikes and
cutlasses the men left the guns and attacked
the enemy, who came on cheering, led by their
brave officers.  The third boat had stopped
but to pick up a few stragglers, and then
joined their comrades.  There were now sixty
or seventy men attempting to board the
merchantman, but very few of them reached
the deck, for the nets impeded their progress,
and the stalwart defenders hurled them back
into the sea.

The carnage was frightful.  No quarter was
asked, and none was given.  The guns were
silent now.  It was hand-to-hand.  Once the
enemy succeeded in cutting away the nets, and
an intrepid officer, followed by a few men,
gained the deck, but in a trice Captain Forbes
was amongst them, hewing his way with his
long cutlass.  A dozen men sprang to his
assistance, and in less time than it takes to
tell it, the intruders were stretched dead or
wounded upon the deck.

At another time the alarm was given that
the Frenchmen had gained the poop.  Alas,
it was only too true; some of them had
clambered up and in at the stern windows, and had
thus gained the upper deck.  There was not a
moment to spare, for already they were
attempting to turn one of the brass swivels on
the poop upon the crew.

"Follow me, lads!" cried the captain, as
he sprang aft and up the companion ladder,
and every man who could leave his post
followed him, including Jamie and his chum.

A dreadful hand-to-hand fight took place.
The men fought like tigers.  Only two of the
enemy escaped who had reached the poop,
and these were glad to leap into the sea, to
escape those avenging English, who fought
like demons.

While this fierce scuffle was taking place,
something happened that had passed unnoticed
until it was too late.  The wind, which had
dropped to a dead calm, had sprung up and
freshened rapidly from the nor'-east, and the
frigate, receiving the first benefit of the breeze,
had crept in nearer to the ship, and almost
before Captain Forbes could get his vessel
under way, the enemy poured in his first
broadside of thirteen guns, with an awful, crashing
effect.  The ship staggered, and shook from
stem to stern at this fearful impact.  Down
came the foremast, and went over the side,
carrying with it a tangle of wreckage, torn
sails and rigging, giving the vessel a heavy list
to starboard, and killing several men on the
spot.  More than twenty men were killed or
wounded within a few minutes, for broadside
now followed broadside.

"Cut away that rigging, lads!" cried the captain.

They were almost his last words.  As he
seized a hatchet and sprang forward to cut
away the wreckage, a cannon ball shattered his
right arm, and even as he fell, a musket ball
pierced his breast, and he fell upon the
blood-stained deck.  Jack rushed forward to support
him, and tried to staunch his wounds, but the
captain shook his head and lapsed into unconsciousness.

It was a most unequal fight, but the men
still fought on stubbornly.  Half the guns
were dismantled, and there were not enough
unwounded men to serve the rest, but every
gun that could be manned was double-loaded
and fired with such precision, that great havoc
was worked upon the enemy's decks, which
were much more crowded than those of the
English ship.

For another hour the unequal contest
continued, and the French were preparing to
board again, when the *Duncan's* main-top-mast
went over the side with a crash, bringing
down with it the colours, which had till now
floated proudly over the wreckage of the
merchantman.

This crash awoke the captain to consciousness
for a moment, and he noticed the colours,
hanging over the side, as he half raised himself
and endeavoured to assume command.

"The colours! the colours!" he cried.
"Take the ensign aloft, some one!"

Jamie, who was bending over him, heard
and understood.  He seized the ensign,
tattered and torn as it was, and tore it away.
The next moment he sprang into the mizzen
shrouds, for that was the only mast remaining.
Amid a shower of bullets from the French
sharpshooters, he reached the crosstrees.  As
he reached the top-gallant yard a shaft of
pain seemed to grip his left shoulder; still,
up he went, and in another moment he had
made fast the colours above the mizzen-royal yard.

A moment only he stayed there--to wave
his hat in defiance at the enemy, whose bullets
still whistled around him.  This daring act was
not lost upon a gallant foe.  The French
captain ordered his men to cease firing at *ce
brave fils*, and a cheer even broke from the
cruiser's deck as he began to descend.

It was with difficulty that he came down
from that perilous post, for his left arm was
useless owing to the bullet wound in his
shoulder, from which the blood had been
flowing freely.  Everything about was now
becoming blurred and indistinct.

When at last he reached the deck the
captain, supported by Jack and the second mate,
was breathing with great difficulty, but he
beckoned Jamie to him.  Smiling faintly,
and holding out his hand, which the lad
grasped, he was only able to whisper--

"Well done!  We'll go down with colours flying!"

Then he raised his eyes, to look once more
at that tattered ensign, floating bravely at the
mizzen, and even while he gazed at it, still
holding the lad's hand, his eyes became fixed
in death, and that torn flag was the last thing
that he saw on this side.

Thus died a brave sailor, and an English
gentleman, whose courage and fidelity had
perhaps passed unnoticed but for this brief
record.  And they laid him gently against the
foot of the broken main-mast.

"Why, what's the matter, Jamie?  You're
wounded, too!" exclaimed Jack, one of the
few still aboard who remained unwounded.

As Jamie looked at the dead captain the
mists swam before his eyes, and he reeled and
fell beside his leader, his idol and example,
who had died at the post of duty for his ship,
and the honour of his country.

   |  "And how can man die better,
   |    Than facing fearful odds,
   |  For the ashes of his fathers,
   |    And the temples of his gods."
   |

"Wake up, Jamie!  Wake up!  Oh, comrades,
he's dying.  Speak, Jamie!  Speak!"
he cried in an agony of bitterness, quite
heedless of the shots that still flew around; but his
comrade spoke not, for he had swooned away
from weakness and loss of blood.

In Jamie's ears the roar of battle now
seemed afar off, like the murmur of a distant
stream.  The smoke, the enemy and the battle
faded from his vision, for it seemed to him that
he still sat in the old school-house at Burnside,
and Jack was beside him, while Dr. Birch,
book in hand, was speaking of the heroic deeds
of ancient days--of Hector and Achilles, of
Diomed and Ajax, of Æneas and Ulysses.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`PRISONERS OF WAR`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   PRISONERS OF WAR

.. vspace:: 2

"You've fought like Britons, lads!  You've
done all that brave men could do!  It remains
for us but to die like heroes," cried
Mr. Rogers, the first mate, who, though seriously
wounded himself, had led the fight since the
captain fell.

The remnant of the crew cheered these
words of the mate, who was already leaning
on a dismantled gun for support.

And what a remnant it was!  Out of a crew
of fifty, only nineteen men remained alive, and
most of these were wounded.  The condition
of the ship, which had sustained this unequal
contest, was pitiable in the extreme.  Both
the fore-mast and the main-topmast were over
the side, giving the *Duncan* a heavy list to
starboard.  In several places her hull was
almost rent asunder, while her decks forward
were partly awash.  Each instant she
threatened to founder.

The merchantman had fought for three
hours with one of the best French frigates
afloat, and several times she had repelled
boarders.  The enemy's broadsides had ripped
open some of her seams, and there were already
eight feet of water in the hold.  The last gun
was put out of action, owing to the angle of
the decks.

"There's one more shot in the locker,
lads, and by Davy Jones, if the Frenchmen
attempt to board us again I'll send them
aloft!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers, half raising
himself from the gun to look at the frigate,
whose fire had now considerably slackened.

Suddenly the "Cease fire!" was sounded
aboard the French ship, and Jack, leaving
Jamie to the care of a seaman for a moment,
clambered up the steep deck to see what had
happened.

"They're sending a boat, Mr. Rogers!" he
cried.  "She'll be alongside in a minute, sir.
Shall I hail them?"

"Tell them that if they set a foot aboard
my ship I'll fire the powder-magazine and blow
the vessel up," cried the first officer fiercely.

The boat came quickly alongside, and an
officer hailed them.  "Do you strike,
messieurs?  Do you strike?" he called, in a queer
accent, half French, half English.  "If so,
haul down that ensign, messieurs, if you pleeze!"

Jack leapt into the mizzen shrouds.  "Stand
off, messieurs!" he shouted.  "Come aboard
at your peril, and we will blow up the ship!"  At
these words a panic seized the boarders.
Those who were climbing up the side hastily
dropped back again into the boat, which
quickly pulled off, lest the terrible threat
should be carried out.

Then Captain Alexandre, seeing that
nothing was to be gained, and that the *Duncan*
was on the point of foundering, sent his chief
officer with a second boat offering the highest
honours of war.  His respect for a gallant
enemy was such that he did not even ask them
to lower that tattered ensign, which still floated
proudly at the mizzen-top, where Jamie had
made it fast.  The carnage had already been
dreadful, and he knew that unless he offered
honourable terms, men like these would
infinitely prefer to go down with a sinking ship
than lower their colours.

The terms offered to the Englishmen were
as follows: They were to remain prisoners of
war aboard the frigate until she reached
Quebec, when the captain would mention their
honourable and brave conduct to the Governor,
and if he were willing, they should then receive
their liberty.

"And what is the alternative?" asked Mr. Rogers.

"The alternative," replied the Frenchman,
shrugging his shoulders and looking uneasily
around the horizon, as though he half expected
to see an English cruiser appear in the distance,
"is, that you may take your luck aboard this
derelict.  But come, gentlemen, make up your
minds quickly.  The *Sapphire* must sail within
half-an-hour."

The mate cast his eyes around and saw but a
helpless wreck, with piles of dead and wounded
upon her decks.  At that instant the vessel
gave a sudden lurch as though preparing to
descend into the gulfs, and some one cried--

"Look out!  She's going, lads!"

"M'sieur, for the sake of these brave men,
who have wives and children, I accept your
generous conditions, but, for myself, I will
stay with the captain."  And at these words
a deathly pallor spread over the mate's face.
He lifted his hands to his eyes, as though to
shut out the sight of the dead.  Then he
reeled and fell.  They picked him up, but he
was dead.  So they laid him beside his captain
and carried the wounded aboard the frigate.
Jamie and three others were still unconscious
when they reached the frigate's deck.  The
rest stood by to see the last of their old ship.
It was a sight never to be forgotten.  They
could distinctly see the body of Captain
Forbes propped against the stump of the
mast, with more than half of his crew
lying dead beside him, as the derelict went down.

"Hist!  She's going!" came a hollow cry,
which was half a sob, as they clustered around
the bulwarks of the foreigner.

"Stand by to fire a salute!" cried Captain
Alexandre, who was a chivalrous Frenchman.

And as the *Duncan* took her final plunge,
and the tattered ensign went under, the *Sapphire*
paid her last tribute of respect to a valiant
foe by a salute of seventeen guns.

Scarcely had the smoke rolled away and the
last reverberation ceased, when the frigate
turned her head towards the Gulf of
St. Lawrence, and left that lonely, watery grave
behind.

Jamie's wound was not very severe, although
at times it was exceedingly painful, and after
the ball had been extracted from his shoulder,
he soon recovered much of his usual health.

Jack was his constant attendant.  Day and
night he scarcely left him, but nursed him
most assiduously with all the solicitude of a
mother; and no wonder, for Jamie was a hero
now, and with all the ship's company too.
His bravery in carrying the colours aloft on
a sinking ship, with the bullets flying all
around him, and his body a mark for all the
enemy's sharpshooters, his persistence in
completing the task, after a bullet had shattered
his shoulder--this had made him a conspicuous
hero, not only amongst his comrades, but
also amongst the officers and crew of the
*Sapphire*.

Jamie, however, like all true heroes, bore his
triumphs modestly and his wound patiently,
though, to tell the truth, he was just a little
proud of the latter, and especially was he proud
of Captain Forbes' words to him when he
regained the deck--

"Well done!"  He would never forget
those words, spoken as the captain breathed his last.

Jack, however, was just a little envious of
Jamie's first wound, for, strange to say,
although Jack had been in the thick of the fight,
and the men had fallen around him in heaps,
yet he had not received a scratch during the
whole engagement.

What exciting adventures had already fallen
to the lot of these two lads since they left the
old school and village so precipitately!  Yet
even these adventures were but a foretaste,
compared with those that yet awaited them
out there, in the west.

Every day Jamie grew stronger, and as he
and Jack paced the deck they talked of all
these strange events which had happened to
them since they left Burnside.  What was the
old Squire thinking of now, when his last and
youngest son had left him to fight for the
Empire?  What did Old Click and Mr. Beagle
say when they found the village lock-up empty
and the birds flown?  And old Dr. Birch,
what did he think of the truants?

And they laughed over it all, with all the
sang-froid and carelessness of youth, and yet
they grieved when they remembered their
friend, Captain Forbes, in his ocean grave.
They could ill-spare him, yet the memory of
him would always be with them, to spur them
on to brave and manly deeds, for he had died
like an English gentleman, and a brave son
of Empire, fighting to the last for the flag that
he loved, as many a man still would do, before
that great land out there, beyond the ship's
bow--the Canadas--would pass from the hands
of the French, to become, as the ages unfolded,
the greatest jewel in the British Crown.

But what did the future contain for them?
They often asked each other this question, as
at evening they watched that great ball of fire
descend into the azure main.  And when they
had watched that shaft of crimson fade into a
duller glow, they retired to the cabin that had
been allotted to them, and pledged each other
that, come good or ill, they would be friends
and comrades--to the Gates.  And if God
willed it--for at this time they were specially
drawn to think of His mercies and His
watchfulness over them--they would yield their
lives a willing sacrifice, like Captain Forbes,
at the shrine of duty.  For while their country
needed men to fight her battles, whether by
land or sea, even at the farthest bounds of
Empire they would faithfully serve and as
willingly die.

That pledge was never forgotten, and
through all the dangers and misadventures that
befell them, amid the virgin, trackless forests
and the rivers and great lakes of North
America, it was never broken.

Thus the voyage continued, with calm seas
and fair winds, for more than a week, but the
journey to the Gulf was not destined to be
entirely without excitement, for one afternoon,
when the wind had freshened a bit from
the south-east, they were all startled by a
sudden cry from the watch aloft of--

"Sail ho!"

"Where away?" called the officer of the watch.

"To the south-west, low down, sir!"

After a careful examination the sail was
made out to be nothing less than an English
cruiser, on the watch-out for the enemy's
ships, and Captain Alexandre, feeling that after
his recent fight he was in no fit condition to
meet such a foe, crowded on all sail and stood
away N.N.W. with the cruiser in full chase.

All the afternoon the chase continued, and
the cruiser was slowly but surely gaining, and
had it not been that towards evening the
frigate ran into a fog off the Banks of
Newfoundland, there is little doubt but that she
would soon have been overhauled and
compelled to fight, and would in all probability
have been captured.

All night the Frenchman kept on, changing
his course several times to dodge his pursuer,
and next morning, although the fog had lifted,
the English cruiser was nowhere to be seen.

Two days afterwards they entered the Gulf;
leaving Louisburg and the Ile Royale on their
left they stretched across that vast inland sea,
and in another four days entered the
St. Lawrence River.

The lads were charmed by the wonderful
scenery which bordered the river.  The bold
cliffs and headlands, and the forest-lined
banks, the same which Jacques Cartier and his
brave little band of voyagers beheld for the
first time in 1535, when through every inlet in
this great continent they sought a way to the
spicy groves of the East Indies, and the
far-famed and wondrous, but distant, Cathay,
which they fondly imagined lay beyond this
new continent, as in truth it really did.

While the frigate was working her way up
the St. Lawrence, an incident occurred that
was destined to have important consequences
on the after-life of our two heroes.

When the ship was anchored for the night
off one of the small French settlements below
Quebec, a fierce Iroquois chief was brought
aboard as a prisoner.  A great price had been
set upon his scalp by the French Governor, for
he was the greatest chief in all the "Five
Nations," and his people had been the bitterest
enemies of the Canadas, since the days of
Champlain.

"What a fine warrior he is!" said Jack.
"What a pity he is to be put to death when
he reaches Quebec!"

"Fine, indeed!" said one of the soldiers
who had brought him aboard.  "He has taken
more paleface scalps than any man of his race!"

He was a man of powerful stature, with a
defiant look, and an eye as proud and piercing
as that of the eagle had once been, whose long
white feathers now adorned his hair.  Erect
and brave, with a sullen ferocity of demeanour,
he looked scornfully upon his captors, whose
petty tyrannies and insults could not drag
from him an exclamation of anger or pain, for
he seemed possessed of all the stoicism for
which his race was famous.

The fierce and implacable Iroquois, who
formed that wonderful confederation called the
Five Nations, consisting of the Mohawks,
Senecas, Onondagas, Oneidas, and the
Cayugas, and later the Tuscaroras, were the most
powerful of all the Indian tribes.  They were
the deadly enemies of the Canadas, and during
the whole period of the French wars were
the irreconcilable foes of the latter, and
more or less the faithful allies of the English,
though their paleface friends did not always
show them that consideration which was their due.

They jealously guarded the passes and rapids
that lay between Quebec and Mont Royale
(Montreal) and right away to the "Thousand
Islands" and the lakes, they took every
occasion to harass the French, who had come to
steal their lands, to rob them of their
hunting-grounds, and drive them towards the setting sun.

They scalped all the outlying bands of
soldiers who had the misfortune to fall into
their hands; they waylaid the fur-traders and
the *voyageurs*, destroyed the harvests and
burned the villages of the settlers beyond the forts.

So tiresome did they become that at length
a price was paid for every Iroquois scalp that
was brought into Quebec.  It was, therefore,
considered a matter of no small importance
when the renowned "White Eagle," the most
powerful chief of the Iroquois, had been
captured.

Parties of soldiers from the various forts had
been repeatedly dispatched to trap him and to
bring him in dead or alive, but this wily foe,
retreating before his enemies, generally drew
them into the forest and harassed them in the
rear and the van, then cut off their supplies,
and scalped the stragglers, eluding their
vigilance at every turn.

This desperate chief was now chained to one
of the guns on board the *Sapphire*, and for
two days he was the object of cruelty and
ill-treatment, chiefly from those who had brought
him aboard.  He was kept without food or
water.  He was taunted with the fact that
a heavy price was set upon his head, and
that he would soon be tortured or roasted alive.

Though hungry and parched with thirst, he
was too proud to ask his captors for a drink of
water.  He remained sullen and obdurate, and
refused to speak.  Once a tormentor offered
him a pannikin of salt water to drink, and
then, because he refused it, threw it over
him.  But he remained as immovable as a
statue.  Once a marlin-spike was hurled at
him.  A white man would have dodged to
avoid such an unwelcome missile, but this
mighty chief was too proud.  He never winced
or moved a muscle, though the spike went
perilously near his face.

Jack and Jamie both remonstrated, but were
told to mind their own business, and as the
Iroquois had been allied with the English, and
spoke a smattering of their tongue, they were
forbidden to converse with or even to approach
him.  To speak to him was what they both
very much longed to do, for he was the first
real Indian they had seen, and very different
from the wretched specimens who hung about
the settlements of the white men.  They
admired the haughty pride and fearlessness of
this child of the forest.

"He must be parched with thirst," said
Jamie, on the afternoon of the second day.
"I will give him a drink of water, whatever the
Frenchies say."

And he immediately took a pannikin of fresh
water and held it to the chief's mouth, for his
hands were bound.  Before the water could
touch his lips the pannikin was dashed to the
ground, and the boys were ordered away, but
the look of gratitude that came into the chief's
eyes showed that he had understood that a
kindness was intended.

Soon after this the chief was removed to a
cabin for greater security, but next morning,
when the officer in charge of him unlocked the
door, the prisoner was gone and there was no
trace of him.  He had in some mysterious way
slipped his bonds during the night, dropped
through the open porthole into the river, and
made his way to the shore without being
observed.

Great was the consternation on board when
it was found that White Eagle, the terror of
the settlements, had escaped, but though a
search was made for him in every part of the
ship, it was only too evident that he had
obtained his freedom, and was at liberty to
harass his enemies once more.

They had now reached the Ile d'Orleans, a
huge island that lay in mid-stream, just below
the great Falls of the Montmorency.  Now
piles of lofty cliffs fringed the northern bank
of the river, rising sheer out of the water at
high tide.  Then they reached the mouth of
the St. Charles River, while before them,
crowning a lofty summit, with its churches and
houses, ramparts and bastions, stood the city
of Quebec.

The *Sapphire* fired a salute, which was
replied to by one of the forts, and the next
moment she anchored beneath the frowning
guns of the citadel--the Gibraltar of North
America.





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.. _`OLD QUEBEC`:

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   CHAPTER VII


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   OLD QUEBEC

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The old town of Quebec in 1757 was a
picturesque and romantic spot.  Clusters of
pretty white Canadian cottages, many of them
surrounded by gardens and orchards, filled
with apples, pears and vines, transplanted from
Old France, lined the margins of the St. Charles
River, and even the lower town, about
the banks of the St. Lawrence.  Half-a-hundred
churches and convents already raised
their spires heavenward.  The upper town
contained the governor's house, and many palatial
edifices of timber and stone, while high over
all, the frowning citadel crowned the lofty
eminence, looking down upon town and river.

For over two hundred years the children of
the French king had dwelt here, and no white
men had as yet seriously disputed their
possession of this mighty fortress, which was the key
to half a continent; but the sands were
running low.  In her late wars with the sea-dogs
of Britain, France had lost the command of the
seas; her navies, her maritime commerce had
been well-nigh destroyed, and the sea-girt island,
where dwelt the sons of the Saxon and the
Viking, had become the "Mistress of the Seas."

The penalty to be paid by France for this
was shortly to be the cession of all her North
American colonies to the victors, for she that
had failed to command the narrow seas at
home, could not hope to retain her Empire
abroad.  Thus has it ever been with the citadel
of Mansoul; the heart of the Empire.  Make
these impregnable, and all is well.  Weaken
these, through slothfulness, carelessness or
ease, and the borders of the Empire, like dead
branches, are soon lopped away.

As our heroes were compelled to remain in
Quebec for some nine months or more before
they had an opportunity to leave, they did not
grumble, but made the most of their time.
For the first three months they were more or
less the guests of Captain Alexandre, but after
the *Sapphire* put to sea again with a convoy,
they entered the service of a Major Ridout, a
retired army officer, who had become a
fur-trader, which at that time was a very lucrative
business, and entailed an adventurous career.

Major Ridout saw that they were two likely
youths, who would be of great service, out in
the wilds, collecting furs from the Indians.
These distant tribes dwelt hundreds of leagues
in the forests, far away on the shores of the
great lakes, which at this time were practically
unknown, save by a few bold and reckless
adventurers, who frequently paid dearly for their
temerity.

He promised them that when the spring
unlocked the rivers and lakes, they should
accompany him on his travels into the
unknown forests and wilds of the interior, and as
this was the only method that had as yet offered
them a chance of earning a living or making
a fortune, they gladly accepted it.  They were
also anxious to leave Quebec, as measures were
already being concerted to prepare for a siege;
for ugly rumours had come to hand that
Admiral Boscawen in command of a British
squadron had annihilated a French fleet, and
captured a convoy destined for Quebec.

Every preparation, therefore, was made by
General Montcalm and his assistants, lest they
should be besieged by *ces Anglais perfides*.
The lads were, therefore, doubly anxious to
leave the city, lest they should be treated as
prisoners of war, for refusing to take up arms
against their countrymen.

During their stay here they had much
leisure, and made many excursions about
Quebec.  Sometimes they paddled down stream in
one of the major's canoes and visited the Ile
of Orleans, or the Falls of Montmorency, or
up the rapid stream of the River Charles, to
visit some of the friendly Indians.  One day
they were returning down-stream from a visit
to Cape Rouge, some leagues above the city,
on the St. Lawrence, where they had been
camping some three days, fishing for salmon
and hunting the red deer, when suddenly, and
without the slightest warning, a fearful yell
burst from a point of the southern bank, scarce
a hundred yards away.

"Indians!" exclaimed Jack, striking his
paddle into the water with all his might.

"Iroquois!" said Jamie coolly.

A shower of bullets and a flight of arrows
flicked up the water about the canoe.

"Pull for your life, Jamie!  They've been
lying in wait for us.  Lucky we didn't land
there as we had intended."

"Lucky indeed!  They would have had our
scalps by now, and they may have them yet.
Look there!  One, two, three canoes! coming
as fast as they can.  It's all over unless we
can beat them."

They were in a tight corner.  They had been
warned that the Iroquois were watching the
river above Quebec, but they had never dreamt
that they were so near.

The Indians were gaining upon them,
although they were flying rapidly downstream.
They had ceased to yell now, for the
city was only two leagues away, and they were
straining every nerve to overtake the lads
before they could reach safety.  An occasional
bullet struck the canoe, but they did not look
around, for they could hear the splash of the
Iroquois' paddles, and the sound seemed to
come nearer and nearer.

"I can do no more, Jack!  My arm's still
painful from the wound," and Jamie drew in
his paddle.

"Hold on, Jamie!  Don't give in.  In
another five minutes we shall be out of danger.
There's the little cove where we've landed
many a time, just there on the northern bank.
If we can only reach that spot, we can quickly
climb up to the heights, and the Indians will
not dare to follow us there.  Hold on for
another few minutes!"

This was the only chance that offered an
escape from the foe, and Jamie, despite his
wound, which at times of great exertion still
pained him, put in his paddle again.  They
were running rapidly down under the
precipitous northern bank now, and with a skilful
twist of his paddle Jack sent the nose of the
canoe quickly ashore, right up on the narrow
strand, in the cove, at the foot of the cliffs.

The Indians had perceived their intentions,
and with a loud yell had changed their course
to prevent them and cut them off.  The first
canoe was not a dozen yards away, and in
another three seconds would have been beached
alongside theirs, when Jack seized his rifle and,
without taking any precise arm, fired point-blank
into the canoe.  It was loaded with
heavy buck-shot, and the Iroquois at the
steering paddle received half the contents of it.

Nothing could have been better done had the
aim been more skilfully taken.  The paddle
dropped helplessly from his hand, and the
rapid current carried the canoe past the
landing-point.  A savage yell burst from every
Indian within sight.  The lads responded with
a shout of defiance, and then, abandoning
canoe, outfit, rifles and everything they
possessed, they leapt from the boat and swiftly
climbed the steep and narrow ascent, pulling
themselves up by the roots and branches of
trees that grew on this precipitous bank.

This clever and successful shot had gained
them but a few seconds of time, but they
reached the summit unharmed, and after a
brief pursuit, the Indians, who were getting
too near the settlements, retired and gave up
the fruitless chase, and from the Heights of
Abraham, as they looked down upon the river,
they had the satisfaction of seeing their late
enemies pursued in turn by a party of
Algonquins, the active allies of the French.

Spring came at last, unlocking the rivers and
the lakes, and the half-wild fur-traders, with
their Indian guides, were already preparing
to ascend the St. Lawrence, up past Mont
Royale, and the Thousand Islands, across the
great inland sea called Ontario, to the rude
fort of Niagara.

Even here the fatiguing journey would not
end, for after a brief respite, they must shoulder
their packages, and carry their long birch-bark
canoes over the rough portage that led
past the mighty, thundering cataract of
Niagara, near by the hunting-grounds of the fierce
and warlike Senecas.  Then they must place
their canoes again on the upper reaches of the
swift Niagara River, and from thence enter
Lake Erie, pass the outposts of Presqu' Isle,
Miami and Fort Detroit, to the rivers, the
lakes and the forts beyond, where in the
surrounding forests the red man in all his
primeval simplicity hunted, fished, lived and
died.  Even to the far-off lands of the
Kickapoos, the Ojibways and the Winnebagos these
brave fur-traders often ventured, drawn partly
by a desire for gain, and partly, no doubt, by
the added spice of danger and adventure.

Such, then, was the adventure to which our
heroes were committed, as soon as the rivers
were clear of the dangerous ice-floes, and the
Algonquin chief Wabeno arrived with a dozen
of his braves to accompany them as guides and
scouts.  Here was a prospect of adventure
which thrilled the lads, and they anxiously
awaited the arrival of the chief, which was to
be on the first day of the new moon.  They
were to have a share in the enterprise, as a
reward of their services.

"Wake up, Jack!  Here comes the chief,
in all his warpaint, with moccasins and
deer-skin hunting-shirt, and with a girdle of scalps
hanging from his belt," cried Jamie one
morning, rushing into the apartment that served
them both for sleeping purposes.

"Hurrah!" cried his friend.  "I'm coming.
Are the canoes ready?"

"Yes, they're all loaded up and waiting
in the river, by the lower town."

"Glad we're leaving Quebec at last, aren't
you?  By all the preparations that the
Governor's pushing forward, there's going to be a
dreadful fight here some day, and the side that
wins will have Canada for a prize."

"So you want to be out of the fighting, do
you, old boy?  That isn't a bit like you."

"Ah, don't misunderstand me, old fellow.
I mean that I don't want to be cooped up in
here when the fighting takes place, because our
fellows will be outside.  I wouldn't mind a
hand in the storming, fighting under the
British flag, for although the French have been
pretty good to us--at least, some of them--they
didn't treat the rest of the *Duncan's* crew
too well, when they shipped them all back to
England in that leaky old tub."

They had now reached the lower part of the
town, and were approaching the river by one
of the narrow steep streets of which Quebec
has so many, when Jamie, casting up a look
at the frowning, embattled citadel, said--

"That place will want some storming!  A
handful of brave men, well supplied with
ammunition and provisions, might sit tight up
there for years, and defy the armies of the
world."

"You're right, Jamie, and yet, I confess,
I'd like to see another flag up there, wouldn't
you?"

Turning to his companion, Jamie looked
him full in the face, and replied--

"I would, Jack!  And who knows?  We
may help to plant it there, some day.  And,
then, what would they think of us in Burnside?"

"Ah, they'd forget that they once put us in
the lock-up for taking a few trout, and they'd
all turn out to welcome us home; or if we died
they'd put a tablet to our memory in the old
church.  Ha! ha!" laughed Jack.

At this point their conversation, which had
been partly serious and partly jocular, was
interrupted by a sound somewhat unusual at
this early hour, for it was only about five
o'clock in the morning, and the sun had not
long been risen.  Sounds of laughter and much
shouting greeted them, and the next moment
they turned a corner and came upon the
*voyageurs*, as these rough, half-wild fur-traders
are called.  A dozen or so of rough but sturdy
Canadians were bidding good-bye to their
wives and sweethearts, though there seemed to
be more excitement and laughter than tears
and sadness of farewell.  These men, hard as
nails, used to the terrors of the wilderness,
and the hardships of the forests, were dressed
nearly like their Indian allies, who stood
by--Wabeno and his braves.

They wore fur caps, deer-skin hunting-shirts,
moccasins and leggings, worked by the
Indian squaws.  They were all armed with
rifles and long hunting-knives, and one or two
of them, who were probably half-castes, carried
tomahawks as well.  Moored to the bank close
beside them were three very long canoes,
loaded with all the requirements for a six
months' trading outfit, and ready to start.

"*Ah, mes camarades!  Voici ils vient*,"
cried Major Ridout, the leader of the
expedition, and then in loud, ringing tones, he
shouted, "*Aux bateaux!*"--"To the boats!"

In a moment the canoes were filled, Wabeno
and three of his men entering the first, and the
others distributing themselves as arranged.
There were twenty-three all told, and the
youths along with the leader, who was a genial
man, of great experience, born of a Canadian
father and a Scotch mother, entered the last
boat, which was rather larger than the other
two, and had several buffalo robes spread in
the stern sheets.

The last good-bye was said, and to the stirring
notes of a Canadian boat song, the rowers
paddled away, and soon left their friends and
their homes behind.  Alas! how few of them
were ever to see those homes or those friends
again.

They were a merry party at present,
however, and the Indians took turns with the
hardy *voyageurs*, as they paddled quickly
against the rapid stream.  The canoes were
very light, being made of birch bark, for they
had to be carried over rough and sometimes
long portages.  Yet they were very strong and
roomy, and at present were loaded so deeply
that the water was only a few inches below the
gunwales.

After two hours' hard work, pulling against
the stream, the leader gave a quick, sharp
command--

"*À terre!  À terre!*"

This order to land for breakfast was obeyed
with alacrity.  Camp-fires were lit.  The
"billies" were soon boiling, and a hearty
meal of pemmican and bread was washed
down with a drink of water from the river.
After an hour's rest, they continued their
journey.

That night they camped on the northern
bank, in a little clearing of the forest, about
thirty miles above Quebec.  They had hardly
yet approached the danger zone, though small
parties of the Iroquois did sometimes penetrate
thus far.  A watch was set, however, and
campfires were permitted, and after supper the men
chatted and laughed and smoked.  Then a
song was called for--a song with a chorus.
And while the flames from the burning logs
lit up the surrounding pines, one after another
trolled forth a song, and the *voyageurs* took
up the chorus, till the woods resounded with
their voices, and the creatures of the forest
must have wondered what strange beings these
were that disturbed their haunts.

The Indians looked on at all this merriment
with stoic countenances, as though they
disapproved of such light-heartedness, but at last
one of the men cried out--

"Wabeno!  Give us a war-dance!"

Instantly the expression of every Indian
changed.  Wabeno readily acceded to the
request.  A post was driven into the ground,
and a circle formed around it.  A few minutes
sufficed to arrange their fluttering feathers and
scalp-locks, and to paint their faces with red
ochre and white lead.  Then, suddenly,
Wabeno, their chief, with a loud, blood-curdling
yell, leapt into the circle, brandishing his
tomahawk, and began reciting, in a fierce
tone, all the deeds of prowess accomplished by
himself and his ancestors.

A second warrior imitated his example, and
then another, until at length the war-dance
began in real earnest, and the whole pack of
Indians were yelling and whooping, like so
many demoniacs, hacking and tearing at the
wooden post as though they were scalping
an enemy.  When they had thus worked
themselves up into a frenzy, a final whoop
from the chief ended the wild frolic, and
instantly every warrior assumed a mask of
boredom and indifference.  A few minutes more,
and all except the watch were fast asleep,
wrapped in blankets or buffalo robes.

Thus passed the days and nights, until after
they had passed the small fort of Mont Royale.
Then the merriment ceased, for they were in
an enemy's country.  The watch was doubled
every evening, and fires were left unlit, or
extinguished as soon as possible.  Once or twice,
suspecting the near presence of an enemy,
they slept in the canoes.

When they had passed the rapids of La
Chine and Long Sault, several Indian scouts
were thrown out in advance, along either
bank, in order to prevent a sudden attack from
an ambushed foe.  All went well for some
days, although the subdued manner of the
*voyageurs*, and the keen alertness of the
redskins, created an uneasy feeling in the minds
of the youths.  Towards sunset one afternoon
Jack, who had been examining the river bank
some distance ahead of the first canoe,
suddenly exclaimed--

"Look!  Wabeno is signalling!  What has he seen?"





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.. _`THE NIGHT-WATCH`:

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   CHAPTER VIII


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   THE NIGHT-WATCH

.. vspace:: 2

Quickly the canoes were drawn to the bank
and hidden amongst the overhanging bushes.
A moment later a rustling was heard amongst
the branches, and Wabeno stood before them.

"What has my red brother seen?" asked
the major.

"Wabeno has seen the trail of a serpent!"
replied the chief.

"Had the serpent moccasins?"

"Yes!  The moccasins of the Iroquois."

"Humph!  How many?"

The Algonquin held up seven fingers, to
indicate how many footprints he had seen.

"'Tis only a small scalping party, then,
which has passed this way.  We'd better camp
here for the night."

Wabeno insisted, however, that there was
probably a larger party of Iroquois in the
neighbourhood, and was for resting only until
sunset, and then travelling rapidly through the
night in order to reach the lakes as soon as
possible.  He seemed to think, also, that for
several days past they had been watched by the
scouts of the enemy.

As the chief spoke he looked keenly at the
forest on the other side of the stream, as
though he would like to read some fatal secret
which that dense, virgin growth held inviolate;
then, without further words, he turned and
disappeared into the forest, as though to join
his scouts.

"His words seem rather ominous, Jamie,"
said Jack, when he had gone, and they were
busying themselves making fast the canoes and
unloading a few things.

"Yes, I'm sorry that the major paid so little
attention to his words.  He seems to think
that they are only a small band of marauding
Indians who have recently crossed the river,
and that if they do attack us we shall be more
than a match for them.  Well, let's hope he's
right."

"There's something wrong, and I like not
the redskin's uneasiness, old fellow.  He
scents danger, though he won't press his
opinions upon the leader.  He believes it's
more than a scalping party, but he evidently
thinks he's a match for Iroquois cunning."

"Did you notice the way he looked across
the river?  I wonder if that's the quarter he
suspects?  But come, we must lend the men a
hand, for 'twill be dark in a few minutes,"
said Jamie.

Major Ridout took every precaution, however,
against a surprise attack.  All the Indians
except two were sent into the forest to keep a
strict watch.  A few trees were felled and a
rude abattis constructed, which instilled a
certain amount of security into each mind.

Then darkness fell, and one by one the men
stretched themselves on the ground and slept,
with their rifles beside them.  The two
comrades, however, still talked in whispers as they
lay rolled in their blankets.

"Just look at the men, Jack!  How quiet
they all are to-night?  No noise, no
singing or dancing this time.  'Tis my belief
that we're in a tight corner, and if the
Iroquois manage to get in past the scouts,
there won't be a scalp left on any of us at
daybreak."

"Never mind, we can only die once.  The
scouts are sure to give us warning, and then
we'll sell our lives dearly.  We've been in
many a scrape before, old fellow, and we've
always pulled through.  There seems to be a
Providence over us."

"Why, yes, it seems so.  Do you remember
the fight with the French cruiser?"

"Shall I ever forget it?  I thought every
moment would be my last when the broadsides
opened upon us."

"Hush!  What was that?"

The hoot of an owl was distinctly heard
twice, and a moment afterwards it was
answered by the call of the night-raven.  The
first call seemed to come from the depth of
the forest on the other side of the river.

Scarcely had the last sound died away when
the two Indians who remained in the camp,
though apparently fast asleep, sprang to their
feet, seized their rifles and disappeared into the
thicket.  Several of the men half raised themselves,
looked around, and then lay down once more.

For a moment the boys listened in silence,
their faces turned first to the deep gloom of
the forest shades, half expecting to hear from
thence the deadly whoop of the fierce Iroquois,
and to see the rush of savage warriors upon the
sleeping camp, then they looked suspiciously
across the stream that flowed at their feet.

Overhead the stars shone brightly, and the
placid stream reflected their fiery points on its
broad bosom.  Now and again its mirrored
surface was broken by the splash of the salmon
and the large river-trout.

"'Twas only a bird after all, Jack.  Let us
go to sleep.  See, the men are sleeping peacefully."

"If 'twas only a bird, then why did the
Indians leave to join the scouts?"

"I can't say.  Perhaps 'twas only a private
call for extra scouts.  You know the call to
arms is the howl of the coyote, repeated twice.
Besides, 'tisn't likely that the enemy will get
through the scouts without being seen.  An
Indian is all eyes, even in the dark."

The boys laid down again, but though Jamie
was soon asleep Jack remained awake, gazing
up at those bright twinkling points, and
listening acutely for any sound that might come.
Once or twice he raised himself and looked
around.

A ripple in mid-stream caught his attention.
While in the starlight he gazed upon it, it
seemed to come nearer.  Then another ripple,
and another, that spread themselves out wider
and wider, and in the middle of the disturbed
area there appeared a tiny speck, as though a
swimmer were breasting the stream.  But
even as he watched it, it disappeared and was
lost in the darkness.

Five minutes--ten minutes passed, but the
speck, whatever it was, did not reappear.
What could it be?  It would be foolish to
alarm the camp prematurely, so he would just
creep down to the water's edge and make sure.
He threw off his blanket and crawled along
through the reeds and willows.  He had nearly
reached the water when a rustling amongst the
reeds caused his heart to cease beating for an
instant.  What could it be?

Two glaring eyeballs, that glowed like fire,
were fixed upon his, not six feet away.  Jack
instinctively felt for his pistol, when, horror
of horrors, he had left it beside the embers of
the fire.  He drew his hunting-knife from its
sheath, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon
those glaring eye-balls; when the wild
creature, evidently a wolf, attracted to the river
by thirst, suddenly uttered a snarl, turned tail
and made off.

"Thank God!" he gasped.  "Better a wolf
than an Indian."  For though naturally a
brave lad this sudden apparition had given him
a shock that made the perspiration stand out
like beads on his forehead, but he quickly
recovered himself and crept down to the edge
of the stream.

He could just make out the dark, indistinct
outline of the forest on the opposite bank, but
no ripples or dark objects were visible.  Then
he looked down-stream, but nothing could he see.

"I must have been deceived.  What a good
thing I didn't alarm the camp!  How they
would have laughed at me," he muttered.

Just then, however, he cast his eyes
upstream.  As he did so, he started again.  A
long, dark shadow, like a log or a canoe,
half-way across, seemed to be drifting towards the
northern shore on which they were camped.
It was not more than two hundred yards away.
It seemed to crawl along, then close behind it
he saw a similar object, and still another.

What were the scouts doing?  Had they
been betrayed?  What could they be, but
canoes--Indians?  Then the enemy must be
crossing over, and he raised his voice for one
mighty shout of--

"Iroquois."

But even as he uttered that startling cry
the fierce howl of the coyote, repeated twice,
the signal to alarm the camp, came from
the woods, and the crack of a rifle awoke a
hundred echoes and roused the men to a sense
of their danger.

Even as for an instant he lingered beside the
river-bank a blood-curdling yell, the
war-whoop of the Iroquois, rang across the stream
and echoed and re-echoed through the forest.
A dozen rifles spattered out their leaden hail,
for the conflict had begun at last.

Jack rushed back into the camp and found
Major Ridout and the men already in position
behind the logs, prepared to receive the enemy
as soon as they should burst through that thin
line of Algonquin scouts.

"Hullo, Jack!" cried Jamie.  "Where
have you been?  I feared that you were a
prisoner.  Have you been scouting too?"

"Why, yes!  That is, I couldn't sleep, and
I thought I saw a curious object in mid-stream
and went down to see what it was."

"And what did you find?"

"Well, I could no longer see it when I
got there, but just as I was coming away I
happened to look up-stream, and I saw
three canoes crossing over from the southern
bank.

"I wonder why the chief did not discover
them before.  He seems to have been watching
the forest instead of the river!  Hullo!
What's this?"

The sounds of a desperate struggle, a
hand-to-hand fight in the bushes a few yards away,
attracted their attention.  It was too dark,
however, to see anything as yet, although the
dawn would be upon them shortly.

"Stand ready, lads!" cried their leader, and
every man levelled his rifle in the direction
whence the sounds came.

The next moment a wounded Algonquin
rushed into the camp, leaping over the abattis,
and then rolled over on the ground dead.  He
was fearfully gashed, and it was evident that
an attempt had even been made to scalp him.
How he had escaped was a marvel.  The yells
and war-whoops had ceased now, and for a
brief space even the rifles had ceased to speak,
and there was a dead silence.  The men waited
impatiently behind that rude barricade,
reserving their fire.

Suddenly a sharp, short, piercing scream,
broken short, fell upon their ears, as though a
mortal wound had been given and received.

"Ah, Wabeno!  That is the end of
Wabeno!" exclaimed one of the men.

It was indeed Wabeno who uttered that
scream, and it was both his war-cry and his
death-cry, for at that instant he had met
in single combat the Iroquois chief, and the
tomahawk of the greatest warrior within a
hundred leagues of the lakes, had sunk into his
brain and stretched him lifeless.

"Now the Algonquins will scatter like the
leaves of the forest, and we must fight it out
alone, lads.  Oh! that the dawn would
come!" exclaimed the major, casting a brief
look towards the east.

Even as he spoke the first flush of the sunrise
was lighting up the edge of the forest and the
river, but the dawn only revealed to them the
utter hopelessness of their position.  The
enemy were in great numbers, and had almost
completely surrounded them, for though the
river was at their rear it was being eagerly
watched from the opposite bank.

Still, for some reason, the enemy did not
attempt to rush the camp as yet.

"I wonder why they're hanging back,
Jamie," said his comrade, who lay behind the
same log with his rifle at the "ready."

"Perhaps they've had enough scalps already,
and are thinking of going back to their
wigwams."

"Ah," replied one of the *voyageurs*, who
was a regular frontiersman, "that might be
true of any other tribe but the Iroquois;
they'll not be satisfied until their girdles are
full of reeking scalps.  We must teach them a
lesson they'll not forget.  Here goes," and
raising his rifle as he spoke he fired quickly at a
dark figure that was approaching the camp,
leaping quickly from tree to tree.

A yell of pain escaped the Indian as he rolled
over in an agony, and paid with his life for his
temerity.  A wild cry of vengeance came from
the dark aisles of the forest, and a dozen
Iroquois leapt forward to snatch away the dead
body, lest it should fall into the hands of the
palefaces.

This was the opportunity that had long been
waited for, and the order came sharp and
short--

"Fire!"

A dozen flashes of fire burst forth from
behind the barricade, and a hail of bullets was
poured out upon the Indians, and a confused
heap of dead and wounded lay beside their
fallen comrade, but ere the smoke had cleared
away the piercing scream of an eagle rent the
air.  It was the signal for a general attack
given by the Iroquois chief, and before the
palefaces had time to reload their pieces, a
hundred braves leapt from the cover of the
trees, where they had been hidden on three
sides of the camp.

The forest rang with their wild whoops, as,
brandishing their hatchets and tomahawks,
they leapt over the tree trunks and fell upon
the *voyageurs*.  A desperate hand-to-hand
fight ensued.  Frightful blows were given and
received.  Paleface and redskin fought like
demons.  Some of the former, seeing the
hopelessness of prolonging the fight against
such numbers of their fierce and crafty foe,
rushed to the river bank, and launching one
of the canoes pushed off and threw themselves
in, followed by a storm of bullets and arrows.

From that moment the fight was lost, and
even those who thus deserted their comrades
gained nothing but dishonour and death, for
they were quickly overtaken, and killed and
scalped.

The rest of the small band still fought on
bravely against desperate odds, for they were
outnumbered by more than ten to one.
Major Ridout seemed to have the strength of
ten, for single-handed he encountered four
Indians at once, and had stretched two of them
on the ground, and wounded a third, when a
fierce painted warrior, with a plume of eagle's
feathers upon his head, uttered a wild cry and
buried his knife in the brave man's heart.

Where were the lads all this time?  As soon
as the general attack was made, they placed
their backs against a pine-tree that stood
nearly in the middle of the clearing, and
defended themselves against all-comers.  They
were the last survivors of that little band, and
they still fought desperately with their clubbed
muskets, which they wielded with a vigour and
frenzy that had already sent half-a-dozen
Iroquois to the ground.

The end was not far off, however.  They
had both received several nasty wounds, and
Jack was both stunned and bleeding.

"Good-bye, Jamie!" he said, as he sank to
the ground.

Jamie felt that he, too, must soon follow
him, but when Jack fell he stepped across his
body and swung his clubbed musket about so
fiercely that the enemy fell back for a minute.
An Indian hurled a hatchet, which just missed
his head and buried its keen, trembling blade
in the tree behind him.

He looked down at Jack's pale, death-like
face.  He called him by name, but no answer
came, and he feared that his comrade was dead.
The blood was flowing freely from his own
wounds, and he felt himself getting weaker
and weaker.

He was reeling now from sheer weakness and
loss of blood.  He could hardly hold his
musket.  This, then, was to be the end of it
all.  Deserted by the French *voyageurs*, to
be killed and scalped by the cruel Iroquois.

"Never mind!  We will die together," he
mumbled to himself, "fighting to the last."

The Indians were returning now from the
capture of the canoe.  He could see a dozen
or more gesticulating forms, dancing in frenzy
before him.  He could do no more.  He was
falling--falling--such a long way it seemed to
the ground.  Then he felt the sharp steel of
an Indian knife cutting into his flesh, as it was
hurled at him from a distance.

He felt some one clutch his scalp-lock, but
he was unable to resist.  He had become
unconscious and oblivious of all these things.
He seemed to be in another land where,
instead of the dark forest with its interminable
tangle and endless dangers, he roamed with
Jamie beside a broken stream, where the
red-spotted trout leapt in a sunlit burn, the music
of whose waters charmed and soothed his tired
and weary spirit.

"Stay!  He is the paleface brother of
the White Eagle," said a voice that broke his
sub-conscious reverie; and at these words Jack
opened his eyes for an instant and looked into
the face of a mighty warrior whose plumed
eagle crest and haughty features seemed
strangely familiar.





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.. _`THE WHITE EAGLE OF THE IROQUOIS`:

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   CHAPTER IX


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   THE WHITE EAGLE OF THE IROQUOIS

.. vspace:: 2

The Indian who had raised his scalping-knife
drew back, and a plumed and painted
chieftain stepped forward.  It was none other
than the renowned "White Eagle"--the
greatest chief amongst the Six Nations.  The
same daring and unconquered spirit who had
made his escape from the frigate, as she lay
anchored in the river below Quebec.

"Stay!  Let me see the young palefaces,
who do not run like the hares," he commanded.

As he bent over the prostrate youths, he
was unable to restrain a slight, involuntary
start.  A sudden gleam of remembrance
flashed across his countenance, and chased
away for an instant the ferocity of the savage.
He recognised in them the young prisoners
who, aboard the *Sapphire*, had dared to offer
him a drink of water at the risk of losing their
own promised liberty.

Then, in a loud voice which all could hear,
he uttered those words, which caused Jack to
open his eyes for an instant--

"Stay!  He is the paleface brother of the
White Eagle."

The braves quickly gathered around him,
for they were all astounded at these words;
but he continued--

"These are not the children of the Canadas.
They are the friends of the red man, and the
children of the Yengeese.  They come from
the land of the sun-rising.  They were
prisoners with White Eagle, in the big canoe
with wings, in the river of Canada, and when
the children of the French king treated the
Eagle as the squaw of a Delaware, and even
offered him the bitter salt water to drink, the
hearts of these children of Miquon burned
with pity for the red chief, and they offered
him sweet water to quench his thirst, but even
that was not permitted by these dogs of Canada."

"Ugh!  The children of the French Father
are snakes and cowards.  They are singing-birds
which speak a lie," cried one of the warriors.

"The Algonquins are crows, who fly to
their rookeries when they hear the scream of
the eagle," cried another.

"Listen!" continued the chief.  "The
French are women, like the Delawares, and
should wear petticoats.  They offered gold and
fire-water for the scalp of an Iroquois chief, but
the caged eagle despised their threats, and
while his captors slept, his proud spirit burst
the bars, and his strong wings bore him aloft,
back to the hunting-grounds of his fathers."

Exclamations of pride and assent greeted
these words, for the prowess and courage of
their leader were recognised by all of them.

"When the White Eagle of his tribe gained
his freedom once more, his heart went back
to the Yengeese prisoners who had dared to
show him a kindness, and he longed to see
their faces again, for an Iroquois never forgets
a kindness, though he quickly repays an insult,
and now the Manitou has sent hither my
paleface friends.  They are brave, for they do not
run even from my warriors.  The white blood
shall be washed from their veins, and when
their wounds are healed they shall be adopted
into my tribe, for the Great Spirit has said,
that between the children of Miquon and the
red man there shall be peace, and the hatchet
shall be buried so deeply that none shall ever
find it again."

These remarkable words, uttered by the red
chief, contained both wisdom and prophecy,
though expressed in that flowery and boastful
language which has always been a peculiarity
of the North American savage.

Quickly, then, medicinal herbs were
brought from far and near to heal the boys'
wounds, and all the knowledge and skill of the
tribe were used to restore them to life and
health.  Fortunately their wounds were not
serious, and soon they were able to sit up and
to walk, and then they learnt how fortunate they
had been.  They thanked God in that moment
for all His preserving care, and especially that
they were led to do that simple act of kindness
to the great chief aboard the frigate.

In accordance with a peculiar Indian custom,
water was then brought from the river, and
the usual rites of adoption were performed.
When the white blood had been washed away
from their veins, the chief declared them to
be his brothers and members of his tribe.

They were provided with deer-skin shirts
and leggings, embroidered with quills and fine
bead work.  Indian moccasins were placed
upon their feet, and belts of wampum around
their waists, while the feathers of a newly-killed
hawk served as crests or head-gear.  Except
that their faces were a little paler than those
of their companions, they might easily have
been taken for young Indian braves, just
entering upon their first war-path.

Then it only remained to find Indian names
for them, so they called Jamie "Red
Feather," for when they found him his head
and face were covered with blood, as he lay
upon the ground, and so they dyed the hawk-feathers
that served as his crest a deep crimson.
And Jack they called the "Black Hawk,"
for they said, though his face was pale, his
spirit was as fierce, and his eyes as keen, as
the bird of prey whose plumes he bore.  So
they left his feathers black.

"So now we're both Iroquois braves, Black
Hawk!" said Jamie, as soon as they were left
together.

"Yes, and the brothers of White Eagle,
too!" laughed his companion.

"Well, I suppose it's a great honour they've
conferred upon us, so we must not grumble."

"The greatest honour that an Indian can
confer.  And for a time I shouldn't mind it,
at any rate, until we can make our escape to
the settlements of Pennsylvania or Virginia,
if it were not for those horrible, reeking
trophies that our comrades carry at their
girdles."

"Ah! the scalps, you mean----"

"Yes.  Do you know that I've counted no
less than fifteen fresh scalps amongst them,
every one of which was this morning rooted
where God had placed it."

"Horrible!  What can we do?"

"Nothing!"

"Are we the only survivors?"

"Some of the Algonquins escaped, I think,
and a few of the Frenchmen, who made for
the forest, but none of those who entered the
canoe, for there she is.  She was captured and
brought back again."

"And Major Ridout?" asked Jamie.
"What has become of him?  Is he dead, too?"

"I fear so, but all the bodies have been
dragged into the forest and hidden.  I suppose
the chief did that to save us a little pain, for
he probably knows that we are unaccustomed
to such a sight."

"I'm glad to hear that, for it shows that he
possesses a sense of decency and good feeling,
although he's such a mighty redskin chief."

"And 'tis certain that he remembers a
kindness, too, however small," said Jack.
"And it's my opinion that he's not at all a
bad fellow, but as generous as he is brave.
He remembered us at once, and we owe him
our lives, and I intend to thank him when I
get the chance."

"We owe our lives also to the fact that
we stood our ground, when the others ran
away, for if we had taken either to the canoes
or the forest the chief would probably not have
come our way, and we should have been
scalped by his braves."

"So once more the path of duty has been
the path of safety, as old Dr. Birch was so
fond of saying."

"The only pleasant feature, apart from
our marvellous escape, that I can see, is
that the Iroquois as a part of the Six
Nations are allied with the English against
the French in this war, and they speak of
the English king as their Great Father across
the water."

During this time the Indians, who had not
followed the fugitives into the forest, had been
overhauling the three big canoes which belonged
to the fur-traders, and examining their
contents.

They had made a great capture, for the
canoes were deeply laden with provisions,
arms, ammunition and trading goods.  The
first thing that White Eagle did was to pour
out all the fire-water into the river, lest his
men should drink it, for he knew what dire
consequences would ensue to the whole band
if that "devil in solution" were only
permitted to pass their lips.

That night they camped on the same
clearing where the battle had been fought, but
next morning at sunrise they took the
captured canoes along with their own, and paddled
rapidly up-stream towards Lake Ontario.  The
youths were both invited into the chief's
canoe, and as their wounds were still painful,
they took no part in the paddling, but
remained sitting in the bottom of the canoe, or
lying upon the skins which had belonged to
Major Ridout.

The chief and several of his men spoke a
little broken English, and one spoke the
Canadian patois, for he had been a prisoner
amongst the Algonquin tribes for some time,
so that they were able to converse a little
during the day.

Towards evening they reached the "Thousand
Islands," where the St. Lawrence
broadens out into a lake studded with a
multitude of islets, just before it leaves Lake
Ontario.  Here the hand of the great
Landscape Painter seems to have made the "beauty
spot" of the world, and our heroes were
charmed and even roused to a pitch of
enthusiasm, as they passed one green, verdant, or
pine-wooded island after another, while the
setting sun, flinging its last ruddy beams upon
the trees and the water, completed the
enchanting picture.

"'Tis well to be a red man when the Great
Manitou gives His children such hunting and
fishing grounds as these," said Jamie to the
chief, for he had been deeply stirred by the
beauty that surrounded him.

"The Great Spirit loves His red children,"
said the chief solemnly.  "He made for them
the fish in the stream, and the deer in the
forest; but He has forgotten them for a while,
for they have displeased Him, and the children
of the sun-rising have chased them from their
hunting-grounds."

Jamie made no reply, for he saw that the
chief's heart was not a little sad, for they were
approaching Fort Frontenac at the entrance
of the lake, where the presence of the French
behind their wooden palisades was a constant
reminder to the Indians that even the graves
and the hunting-grounds of their fathers were
defiled by the presence of the paleface children
of the Canadas.

That night they camped on one of the
islands, but long before daybreak they
departed and stole swiftly but silently past the
fort, and entered the broad waters of Lake
Ontario.  There was just a chance that some
of the survivors had reached the fort and
alarmed the soldiers, but all was quiet as they
paddled quickly by.  Count Frontenac, who
established the fort, was a clever soldier, but
even to this day his name is remembered with
hatred by the Iroquois for his severity and
cruelty.

And now they were entering their own
country, for the Iroquois claimed as their
homeland all that great tract of country that
lies south of Lake Ontario, from the Hudson
River and Lake Champlain on the east, away
to the ridges of the Blue Mountains behind
Virginia and westward some little way beyond
the Falls of Niagara, and the eastern shores
of Lake Erie; but by right of conquest they
claimed much more, for they had conquered
all the surrounding tribes, from the river of
Canada on the east, to the southern shores of
Lake Michigan on the west, far away
southwards to the Ohio Valley.

At the present time, however, the wigwams
and lodges of the White Eagle were pitched
on the banks of a small stream that flowed
through the forest to the south of the Great Falls.

Though they still thought much of their
late comrades, the youths had now become
more cheerful, and their wounds had nearly
healed, thanks to the kind attention of the
Indians.  They had even begun to admire these
fierce Iroquois who had adopted them.  They
were not nearly so bad as they were described
by the French.  They were lords of nature,
these children of the forest, and had desired
nothing more than to be left alone in their
happy hunting-grounds.  It was the paleface
who had been the intruder and the plunderer.
At first the red men had welcomed the
palefaces, and received them as brothers, but the
baser types of the settlers, the outcasts and
pariahs of the settlements, and especially the
hated "Rum-carriers," had taken advantage
of, and had traded upon, the childishness, the
ignorance and the simplicity of the Indians,
with the result that outrage, vengeance and
border wars had been the result.  The insults
of Champlain were never forgotten by the
Iroquois.  On the other hand the compact
made between Miquon (William Penn) and
the Indians was never broken by the Delawares,
till the white men broke it themselves.

Several times during their progress along
the shores of the lake smoke had been
perceived, rising above the tree-tops in the forest.
The keen eyes of the chief, who was in the
first canoe, never relaxed their vigilance for a
moment, for though they were almost in their
own country, yet at any hour they might be
set upon by a marauding band of French
Indians, who were out for scalps.

Each evening they would draw in to the
bank, set a watch, by posting scouts some
little way into the forest, then, lighting a fire,
they would cook their evening meal.  Oftentimes
this would consist of a fine buck that
had been killed during the day, as they coasted
along by the edge of the forest-lined bank, or
sometimes of the sturgeon and salmon taken
from the lake.

The lads noticed that several times, when
smoke had been observed, that the chief
ordered the boats to make a wide detour, as
though to avoid a possible enemy.  At other
times the boats would pass close in as though
there were no danger.  Jamie was determined
to find out the reason of this, so the next time
that he saw a faint column of blue smoke he
remarked to the chief--

"Look, White Eagle!  There's more
smoke ahead!"

But the chief, who had seen it long before,
merely remarked--

"Iroquois smoke!"

How he could tell the difference between
one smoke and another the lads could never
make out, for he seemed unable to explain it
to them; but that he did know, and could
often tell something of the people who fed the
fire by the tell-tale column of smoke, they
never doubted.

Once, as the White Eagle looked long and
keenly at a very faint column of blue smoke,
about half-a-mile inland, Jamie thought that
for an instant he could trace a somewhat
puzzled and anxious look clouding the face of
the chief; but it passed as quickly as it came,
and the faintest promise of a smile spread over
his countenance, as though the smoke recalled
pleasant memories.

"Is that Iroquois smoke, too, chief?" he asked.

"No Iroquois smoke this time," he replied

"Can it be an enemy, then?"

"No enemy."

"Then who can he be who has lit that fire?"

"Paleface!" ejaculated the chief.





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.. _`A LONELY FRONTIERSMAN`:

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   CHAPTER X


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   A LONELY FRONTIERSMAN

.. vspace:: 2

"Paleface?" exclaimed the lads, standing
up in the canoe, and straining their eyes as if
to catch a glimpse of that mysterious stranger
who was hidden in the depth of the forest.

"Aren't you afraid that we may be attacked?"

"Ugh!" replied the warrior, without moving
a muscle of his dark face, or showing the
slightest trace of alarm.  "Him--great paleface
hunter.  Friend of the Iroquois.  Smoke
peace-pipe with the White Eagle."

As they paddled quickly past the spot Jamie
turned again and again to look at that faint
column of receding smoke, now growing
fainter and fainter.

"Who can this paleface hunter be, so far
away from his home and friends, dwelling
alone in these dark forests?  Perhaps he is an
exile from his country!" murmured the lad
to himself.  Then a strange yearning came
over him.  He longed to go ashore, that he
might join this lonely frontiersman, and share
his hardships and his perils, but he hesitated
to suggest it to the chief, whose face now bore
such a stolid, mask-like look.  And soon the
long, swift strokes of the paddles bore them
past the spot.

There must be something in nature--though
perfectly inexplicable to us, who know
so little of the unseen verities--that transmits
through the ether that surrounds us, feelings
of sympathy and love to kindred souls, just as
in these later days of our civilisation the
wireless message is flung from ship to ship and
coast to coast.  For the fact remains, that just
at this moment the sturdy paleface hunter, as
he stooped to place more pine-wood on his
blazing fire, felt at his very heart a twinge of
pain, so that for an instant his eyes were
blurred, and he saw no longer the blazing fire,
the dark forest, or the pile of beaver skins that
his skilful hands had taken, for another vision
rose before his face.

'Twas the vision of an old-world village, in
a sweet little island that rose out of the main,
far-off; and to him 'twas "Home, sweet
home" still, though his feet must never tread
that land again, for he was an exile, a victim
to the cruel game-laws, that had banished him
from his country.  Here, 'twas true, the whole
forest was his, with all it contained.  The
beaver, the otter, the fish in the streams, and
even the red-spotted deer were his for the
taking; but still his heart stole back again to
that forbidden land.

"Oh, that I might drop a tear and plant a
flower on thy grave, Lisbeth!  Thou wert all
the world to me--a true wife and a friend.
And the bairn?  Oh, my God! the bairn!
Where is he?"

And here this strong man, hardened by
nature to all the toils and dangers of the forest,
the rapids, the wild beasts, and the scalping
parties of red foes, broke down in an agony of
tears and wept, for he thought of his little
blue-eyed laddie of two years; the poor
motherless bairn, as he had last seen him, with
his flaxen curls nestling in his arms.

How often he had longed to go home and
find his boy, to find even if he were yet alive;
but the thought came to him each time--

"How have they taught the lad to regard
his father?  Perhaps they have told him that
I am dead!  Well, maybe 'tis better so!  Or
perhaps they have said, 'He is an exile in a
far-off land, and he will return no more, for
in the eyes of the law he is a criminal.'  Then
so it must remain, lest the father's curse should
blight the lad; but what would I not give to
see my child again after all these years."

Then he flung himself down upon a pile of
skins and wept again.  That night sleep fled
from his eyelids, as it had often done before
when these longings for the homeland had
come over him, but never, never before had
his agony been so great.  He prayed his God
for something he had never dared to ask
before.  It was that he might be permitted,
before he died, to look upon the face of his
child again, even though the lad should not
know him.  And his prayer was answered, for
an angel from the stars above came down and
kissed him, as he lay beneath the silent pines,
and whispered--

"It shall be!"

And he slept, for his cares had fled, and a
deep peace had filled his soul.

Such were thy sons, oh, England!  Their
bold, proud spirits chafed and were cramped
within thy narrow limits, and narrower laws,
made by and for the selfish few, in days,
happily, long past.  And yet they loved their
native land, though exiled from hearth and
home; and when duty called, they lined thy
distant frontiers; they held thy far-flung
borders, and were content to leave their bones
to bleach beside some lonely outpost of the
Empire they helped to build.  But let us for a
while leave this lonely frontiersman, and return
to our friends and their Iroquois companions.

Four days had been spent in navigating
Lake Ontario, and they were now approaching
Niagara, below whose thunderous rapids stood
the French fort that guarded both the river
and the lakes.

Towards evening on the fourth day a
distant speck was seen approaching from the
westward, and the White Eagle, standing in
the bow of the foremost canoe, as he gazed
into the face of the setting sun, permitted a
sudden cry of surprise to escape from his lips--

"Algonquins!"

'Twas only too true, for there, rapidly
approaching and hugging the southern shore of
the lake, was a large party of their hated foes,
in their big canoes of elm-bark.

The discovery appeared to be mutual, for
both parties rent the air with their respective
war-cries, and hastened ashore to make ready
for the coming battle.  Darkness soon settled
over forest and lake, but all through the night
the woods resounded with the dreadful
war-whoops of the Indians, as they chanted their
war-songs, and worked themselves into a
frenzy of fury.

What a night that was for the two young
paleface warriors!  The war fever of the
Iroquois had in a measure entered into their
blood, for they saw in the Algonquins the
allies of France and the enemies of England,
so they prepared to defend themselves in the
morning.

Day dawned at last, and White Eagle and
his braves pressed forward to battle; not
shoulder to shoulder, nor in unresisting
phalanx, as the soldiers of the palefaces fought,
but in true Indian fashion the dark-skinned
warriors leapt from tree to tree, and cover to
cover.  Showers of arrows and bullets rattled
amongst the trees and rocks, and the wild yells
became every moment fiercer and fiercer.
Several warriors had fallen on each side, and a
dozen scalps had been taken, as the frequent
yells of triumph announced.

Deeds of desperate valour were recklessly
performed.  Homeric contests, ending in
frightful wounds or instant death were
frequently engaged in, when suddenly, from
behind the cover of a huge elm-tree, the
Algonquin chief, his plume of black raven feathers
nodding with his frenzied action, rushed into
the open and challenged the Iroquois leader
to single combat.

With a yell of delight White Eagle bounded
into the clearing, and accepted the offer.
Then, instantly, as if by instinct, every weapon
was lowered, and the non-combatants ranged
themselves on either side, in a rude semicircle,
with a rising back-ground of tall pines and
elms, to watch this gladiatorial contest, which
threatened to be both brief and sanguinary.

Then followed a pause, during which the
two chiefs addressed each other in the
figurative but boastful braggadocia, in the use of
which the red men excelled all the other nations
of the world.  The Algonquin chief, whose
name was "Black Raven," began as follows--

"Mingo dog! where are the scalps of the
Iroquois warriors who came to the Canada
River?  Ten of them have not returned to their
tribe, since the snows melted.  My children
went to the lodges of the Maquas and the
Oneidas, but they found only squaws and
children.  The scalps of the Iroquois are in
the wigwams of the Canadas, and the Canada
Father has rewarded his children with many
hatchets, and powder to burn in the face of
their enemies, because they have cleared the
snakes from the woods!  The moccasins of
the Iroquois cannot be found in the forest.
They have been driven from the hunting-grounds
of their fathers, never, never to
return----!"

"Skunk of the Algonquins!" retorted the
Iroquois, "your tongue is forked, like the
serpent that hides its head in the grass, and
your arm is feeble as the squaw of the
Delaware.  The singing-birds have called your
young men from their Canada lodges, so that
my warriors may take their scalps, for before
the sun is amongst the pines, your warriors will
have followed him into the hunting-grounds of
the Great Spirit."

"Iroquois muskrat!  Your tongue is sharper
than your knife!"

"Hark!  What is that sound that I hear?
'Tis the wailing of the squaws in your Canada
lodges, because their young men return no more."

"Iroquois snake!  Skulking fox!" retorted
the Algonquin.  "'Tis to you that the
singing-birds have spoken, but they have spoken
falsely.  Slaves of the Yengeese!  Never more
will your war-whoop be heard in the woods;
never more will you fish the streams and hunt
the deer, for before the sun shall rise the
girdles of my young men will be heavy with
your scalps.  'Tis the Mingoes who are women,
like the Delawares.  They killed my young
men when the face of the Manitou was turned
away from His children in anger, but now
the Great Spirit has delivered you into our
hands, and nevermore shall your squaws behold you."

"Dogs of the Canadas!  The Iroquois are
free and strong as the eagle that soars to the
clouds, but the Algonquins are skunks and
muskrats.  They are slaves to the Canada
palefaces.  Go hunt the deer and the moose
for your French Father, and when, for your
portion, he throws you the offals--be grateful."

The tomahawk of the French Indian whirled
in the air, as, stung by this biting insult to his
tribe, he hurled it at his enemy, and so true
was the aim that it only missed the scalp of
the Iroquois by an inch, for it carried away
half his plume of eagle feathers.

A loud cry of vengeance arose from his
warriors as this deadly missile whizzed past
their leader.

The next instant the wild scream of an eagle,
which was the peculiar war-cry of this
renowned chief, rang through the glades and
across the lake as the leaders closed in deadly
combat.  Like the leap of the panther, when
robbed of its young, was the fierce onset of the
Iroquois chief.  Fifty gleaming knives were
snatched from their sheaths, and held aloft;
but before the warriors on either side could
reach the spot, the tomahawk of the White
Eagle had stretched his opponent upon the
ground, and with keen knife he had already
snatched away the trophy that honour demanded.

Then, amid war-whoops and wild yells of
savage fury, the fierce passions of the warriors
became undammed, and a short but sanguinary
conflict occurred.  The Algonquins, despite
the loss of their leader, fought bravely for a
while, but were at length overwhelmed by the
relentless fury of the Iroquois.  Then they
quickly broke and scattered through the forest,
pursued by their enemy.

Thus ended another of those fierce fights,
so common amongst the Indians tribes in the
middle of the eighteenth century, while all
the time the armies of the two paleface nations
from towards the sun-rising were preparing
for that final death grapple, which was to settle
for ever the destiny of the northern half of
that mighty continent; and to drive the
scattered tribes of the children of the Manitou
ever westward towards the setting sun.

In this brief fight the youths had remained
little more than passive spectators, for they
soon saw how the conflict must end, and that
without their help the Iroquois, although
outnumbered, would secure the victory.

"I do wish, Jack, that our allies would
desist from that barbarous practice of taking
scalps.  See there! a dozen scalps already hang
at the girdles of our comrades, and even yet
they are not satisfied, but must pursue their
wretched victims into the woods.  Bah!  My
heart sickens at the sight!"

"'Tis Indian nature, Jamie.  Victory
brings them no honour unless the victim's
scalp be taken.  Even the squaws look askance
at the warrior who returns from the war-path
without these hideous trophies hanging at his belt."

"There seems little honour to me in
mangling the corpse of a fallen victim."

"Why, the youth is scarcely regarded as a
man till he has brought home his first scalp.
Their belief is, that the spirit and strength
of the dead man enters into the victorious
brave, and, horrible as it is, and God knows
how I hate it all, 'tis not more horrible than
the deeds of some of the paleface pirates in
the Southern Seas, who sometimes treat their
unfortunate victims in a cruel and barbarous manner."

They had been leaning on their rifles, on a
little rising ground near the lake, watching
the fight and the pursuit, when suddenly
from out the dark aisles of the forest there
came the piercing scream of the eagle once more.

"What can be the matter now?  Surely the
enemy are not returning, reinforced!" cried
Red Feather, quickly bringing his rifle to the ready.

"No.  'Tis the signal for the return of the
braves; evidently White Eagle scents a new
danger, and is anxious to get away."

"What new danger can there be?"

"Why, don't you see that the Algonquins
have taken the route that will lead them to the
French fort at Niagara, where almost every
soldier will turn out to their assistance, when
they hear that the renowned White Eagle is
within twenty miles of the fort?  At least, I
assume that is the cause; but look!  Here
comes the chief himself, and he is making for
the canoes.  Let us speak with him."





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.. _`THE SMOKE SIGNAL`:

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   CHAPTER XI


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   THE SMOKE-SIGNAL

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"What is the matter, chief?" asked Jack.
"What new danger has my red brother discovered?"

"Look!" replied White Eagle, pointing in
the direction of the fort and along the shore
of the lake.  "What does my paleface brother
see yonder?"

Jack strained his eyes in the direction
indicated, but for some seconds even his keen
eyes did not notice anything unusual.  At
length, however, he perceived a thin column
of smoke far away in the distance, rising above
the forest and lake; then a second and a third
column, but so faint as to be nearly indistinguishable.

"I see the smoke from the camp-fires of a
party of hunters, perhaps Yengeese trappers,
but nothing that threatens danger."

The sachem shook his head sagely, as he replied--

"No Yengeese!  It is Algonquin smoke.
A signal to the paleface warriors at the fort,
who will hurry to burn their powder in the
face of White Eagle.  Too much price on
Iroquois scalp!"  And here the chief's face
relaxed into the faintest of smiles, as though he
appreciated the value that was placed upon his
head by the French, and considered it a great
honour and a tribute to his prowess and the
impotence of his enemies.

Then for an instant his face became clouded
and a momentary wave of irresolution passed
over his countenance.  To escape the net that
was being drawn around him was comparatively
easy, but to convey all the plunder of the
expedition safely to the lodges of the Iroquois
was another matter.  His resolution, however,
was quickly taken.  They were now within ten
miles of the mouth of a stream, called "Twelve
Mile Creek," that entered the forest south of
Lake Ontario, and only a dozen miles from
the fort.  To gain that creek, to take the
loaded canoes up the stream against the rapids
and rifts, and then to make a portage of four
miles to gain the Niagara River above the fort,
was the daring resolve of the White Eagle.

It was a piece of daring that was worthy of
an Iroquois chief, who had already secured a
reputation for reckless daring that was second
to that of no other chief amongst the Six
Nations.  The great danger lay in the fact that
at one bend in the stream they would be within
seven or eight miles of the fort, with all the
possibilities of being ambushed by their hated
foes and also by the Frenchers.

The whole party now took to the canoes,
and proceeded as rapidly and as silently as
possible along the shore in a westerly direction.
Soon after mid-day they reached the mouth
of the creek, and without a moment's delay,
except to land a couple of scouts on either
bank, they paddled as quickly as possible up
the narrow stream, while the scouts went ahead
to explore the forest-lined banks and to give
the alarm as soon as they should discover the
slightest sign of the enemy, who could not now
be far away.  To these eager warriors their
progress seemed to be painfully slow.  Fallen
trees sometimes blocked their way.  At other
times the canoes had to be dragged through
the shallows and lifted over rocks.

It was hard work, but the youths bore their
share of all this arduous toil.  It was exciting,
too, for at any moment they might hear the
crack of the Algonquin and French rifles.
Sometimes they were up to their knees in the
water, pushing and lifting the canoes forward.

As they advanced further and further up
the watercourse, for it could hardly be called
a river, the creek narrowed and the trees
overhung and interlaced, shutting out the sun, so
that, though it was little past mid-day, it was
scarcely more than twilight.  Not a word was
spoken for a while, and except for the music
of the stream the forest was as silent as death.
Even the birds had ceased to sing, and the
little squirrels watched them furtively from the
branches overhead, wondering what strange
creatures these were who were toiling so
arduously at the canoes.

Not a signal had come as yet from the scouts,
on whom they were implicitly relying.  They
were getting perilously near to that fatal bend
in the river where if an ambush was in hiding,
it was sure to be.  The Indians exchanged
suspicious glances.  They fingered their knives
and tomahawks uneasily and frequently looked
to the priming of their rifles.

"What is that noise I can hear, rising and
falling, very faintly, like the water of the Big
Salt Lake in a storm, when the Manitou is
angry?" asked Jack of one of the Iroquois
braves, who was called the Panther.

"'Tis the Spirit of the Wacondah in the
caverns under the Great Falls!" answered the
Indian in low and reverent tones.

"Niagara!" whispered Jack to his comrade,
"and only a few miles away."

"Yes.  The Iroquois believe that the Great
Spirit, the God of Thunder, dwells under the
Falls, and they speak of him always in a
whisper, even by their firesides far away."

"Hist!  What was that?"

The crackle of a twig was heard on the
western bank, and the eye of every Indian was
instantly turned in that direction, while many
a hand instinctively grasped its weapon more
tightly.  The bushes parted, and an Iroquois
scout came forth from the cover of the forest
and sought the eye of his chief.  Evidently
he had something of importance to communicate.

White Eagle left the batteaux and
approached him.  Then a few guttural
exclamations passed between them, and the scout
disappeared once more as quietly as he had come.

"Did you hear what he said, Panther?"

"Yes.  The Algonquins, with whom we
fought early this morning, have fallen in with
another party under Le Grand Loup, a
renowned chief, who is White Eagle's greatest
enemy, and they have laid an ambush for us
two miles further up the stream.  In addition,
help is expected from the fort within an hour,"
replied the brave.

"Snakes alive!  What will the chief do?"

"Ugh!  White Eagle no afraid.  The
Wacondah fights for him."

The scouts had done their work bravely and
well.  They had soon discovered the prints of
Algonquin moccasins in the woods.  Some
they found had led towards the bend in the
river where the ambush had been laid.  They
had even penetrated to this spot, past the
enemy's scouts, and had learnt of the juncture
of the two parties.  They had also discovered
the trail of an Indian runner in the direction
of the fort, and had heard the drums of the
French calling the men to arms.

"What's to be done, Jack?  We're scarcely
out of one fix before we're in another."

"It seems so!" said that worthy.  "I
don't know what the Eagle will do, but
something will have to be done, and quickly, if
we're to retain our scalp-locks."

"Look!  What is the chief about?  The
men are dragging the canoes ashore and piling
the brushwood around them."

"Why, he's going to burn them to prevent
them falling into the hands of the enemy.
'Tis certain that we shall never get them past
the next bend; so, after all, our labour has
been in vain."

Jack's surmise was correct.  Without a
moment's hesitation, as soon as the scout had
departed, the sachem ordered the boats to be
so placed that at a given signal they could be
immediately fired by a small party who were
to be left in charge.  The rest were to follow
him and take the enemy unawares in the rear
before the French could arrive to their support.

This plan was put into operation without a
moment's delay, and leaving a small party of
four in charge of the canoes, the rest entered
the forest and moved quickly in the direction
of the enemy.  As they were likely to
encounter the French, the lads decided to
accompany the attacking party.  They had not
proceeded far when the scout met them who
had reported the presence of the enemy.

"The paleface warriors are half-way from
the fort.  What will White Eagle do?  They
will be here before the sun is below the
top-most branches of the pines," said the scout,
addressing the chief.

"Ugh!  Ugh!" merely remarked the
Iroquois; then turning towards the two
paleface warriors who accompanied him, he said--

"My brothers, Black Hawk and Red
Feather, are great warriors from the land of
Wabun.  Can they delay the rifles of the
French Father for one hour till they hear the
scream of the Eagle, while my warriors take
the scalps of the Algonquin dogs, who lie in
wait like the serpent in the grass?"

"Give us but a dozen rifles, chief, and we'll
hold them back for a day!" exclaimed Jack.

"Ugh!  My brother will be a great chief
before the snows have settled upon his head.
Let him chose a dozen rifles from amongst my
braves, and they shall accompany the paleface
chiefs and follow their orders."

A dozen men were quickly chosen, including
the scout and the Panther, and they
at once started out, led by the scout through
the forest in the direction whence the French
must soon come.

Half-a-mile further on they selected a spot
where they could await with advantage the
arrival of the soldiers from the fort.

"Here!  This spot will do!  They will soon
be here.  Let us make ready," said Jamie.
The Indians were soon under cover on either
side of the rough track which led to the fort.

They could now hear plainly the drums of
the advancing army.  Soon they caught a
glimpse of the white uniforms of the French
through the vista of trees.

"There are over a hundred of them, Jamie!
Can we hold them back for an hour?"

"We promised the chief that we would, and
we must keep our promise," said Jamie, whose
lips were compressed and whose brows were
knit, as he narrowly watched the approaching
French.

The drums were silent now as the foe,
with shouldered rifles and martial equipment,
marched boldly forward, threading their
circuitous route through the forest glades.
Careless of any ambush, they came forward
singing and laughing, to show how much they
despised the savage horde they were expecting
shortly to encounter.

Suddenly the sound of distant firing burst
upon them.  Mingled with the shots were
savage yells and whoops, which showed that
the Iroquois had attacked the party at the bend
of the river.  Louder and louder became the din.

"*Avancez, mes camarades!  Allez vite
donc!  Il y a ces diables Iroquois!*"

At this command the French advanced more
quickly, lest the fighting should be all over
before they arrived, and the drums beat out
again bravely.  Their whole attention was
engrossed by the distant firing, and they knew
not that already the head of their column was
entering an ambush, and that fourteen rifles
were levelled at their leading files.

"Fire!" shouted Jack, and a deadly hail
of bullets followed a blinding flash and a report
that echoed through the forest.  Taken thus
suddenly by surprise, the head of the column
staggered and wavered.  Many a man fell to
rise no more.  A panic seized the whole party,
and for a few moments it seemed doubtful
whether their officers would succeed in
rallying them, so susceptible even are the bravest
troops to sudden fright when unexpectedly
ambushed by an unseen foe.

A second volley was poured in upon the
confused mass, and a scene of indescribable
terror prevailed.  Hoarse shouts of command
were heard.  The cries of the wounded and the
wild yells of the Iroquois resounded through
the woods.

The second fire revealed the position of the
Iroquois as well as the paucity of their
numbers, and the French commander shouted out--

"*A moi, camarades!  Suivez-moi!  Voilà
l'ennemi!*" and waving his sword he dashed
towards the revealed ambush followed by half
his troops with fixed bayonets.

Like chaff before the wind the Indians
scattered and sought cover in the deeper shades of
the forest, leaping from tree to tree, and bush
to bush, firing upon the foe, who were
compelled to deploy and enter the thicket in single
file.  This was Indian warfare with a
vengeance, for neither party came into the open.
For an hour this was kept up, and the French,
who could never come to grips with the wily
foe, who always retreated like a phantom
before their bayonets, were compelled to retire,
for their leader had at length come to see that
the whole aim of the enemy was merely to
delay their approach to the Algonquins.

Suddenly, from a distance, the scream of the
Eagle was heard twice in rapid succession.

"Our work is done now, Jamie!  Let's
give the French a final salute and depart."

A parting volley was let loose upon the
enemy, and then the two paleface chiefs led
back their band quickly, and rejoined the
victorious warriors of the Iroquois chief, who
had driven the Algonquins across the river with
great slaughter.  Only two were wounded,
and none were missing, as Jack looked at his
dusky warriors, but of the French quite twenty
had been killed and wounded.





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.. _`THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS`:

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   CHAPTER XII


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   THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS

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"The Algonquins are reeds that bend, but
my paleface brothers are like the oak-tree!"
exclaimed the Iroquois chief, as soon as he
beheld the youths.

Thus briefly did the savage warrior pay a
graceful tribute to the skill and courage of his
friends who had held back the French, and at
the same time refer modestly to his own victory.

"There is no time to lose!" exclaimed Jack.
"The soldiers from the fort are close upon our
heels, we did but delay their approach till we
heard your signal.  What is to be done?  They
are in a mood for vengeance."

"Ugh!  Let the boats be burnt!"

The howl of the wolf, repeated twice, was
given, and the next moment a column of
smoke was observed in the direction of the
canoes, followed by several loud explosions, as
the kegs of gunpowder, which formed part of
the lading, blew up.

The next instant the head of the French
column appeared through the trees, and
White Eagle, seeing the uselessness of
continuing the fight against such overwhelming
odds, withdrew across the stream with his
warriors.

"The Wacondah calls us to our wigwams,"
he said; and now, lightened of their loads, and
carrying only their rifles and scalps, the
Iroquois struck across the forest in a south
easterly direction, and soon put several leagues
between themselves and the French, who
arrived soon afterwards, only to find the ashes
of the fire and the fragments of the canoes
strewn around.

Chagrined and vexed beyond measure that
they had once more been baulked of their prey,
and that the "Iroquois devils" had got the
best of them, they discontinued the useless
pursuit, and returned to the fort.

The Indians travelled quickly, and soon
reached the head waters of the Genesee River,
and on the afternoon of the fifth day, from a
lofty eminence they looked down upon the
lodges and wigwams of their tribe in the
peaceful valley below.

A triumphant yell broke from their lips as
they beheld this welcome sight, for ever
welcome to the soul of the returning warrior is
the lodge that he calls his home.  The village
was quickly deserted by its inhabitants, for
every stripling and maiden, all the squaws and
children came dancing and shouting to receive
them.

With all the agility and suppleness of the
deer, the Indian youths came bounding forth
to caper about the braves, to finger those
gruesome trophies that hung at their girdles, and to
carry their rifles and tomahawks.  Their faces
were radiant with the lofty hero-worship that
burned in their young hearts.  How they
longed to leave the comparative security of
the village and join the war parties!

The maidens, too, well versed in all the art
and coquetry of the forest, their long raven
tresses decked with flowers, their dark eyes
beaming with love, welcomed home their
sweethearts with unfeigned joy.  But there is
always a fly in the honey, and the joy of victory
was somewhat marred by the bitter lamenting
of those squaws whose husbands and sons
returned no more.

A hasty meal was then prepared and set before
the Indians in wooden platters and gourds,
and as soon as this was cleared away by the
attendant squaws, a fire was lit and the braves
seated themselves in a circle and waited
solemnly for the passing round of the
peace-pipe and the council that was to follow.  A
feeling of reverence and awe seemed to pervade
the very atmosphere, and the paleface youths
became not a little uneasy, wondering what
important event was about to happen next.

The two strangers had caused no little
curiosity by their presence, especially amongst
the squaws and striplings, but so far no one had
addressed them personally.  Evidently they
were all waiting for some explanation as to why
these two palefaces returned home with the
braves and were not treated as prisoners.
Their curiosity was soon to be satisfied.

A low murmur of voices ran around the
council fire, and as if by instinct the braves
rose to their feet, and in one place the serried
ranks opened to admit a very aged chief, who
came from one of the lodges near the "painted
post" and slowly made his way to the
assembly.  He was accompanied by several
other aged chiefs, but none amongst them
looked so wise or even so old, by a generation
at least, as the Sagamore, who now toiled
painfully across the ground.

His form had once been straight like the
fir-tree, but it was now bent, and he leaned
heavily on his staff.  His face was covered with
wrinkles, and his white locks carried the snows
of more than a hundred winters.  Not till this
aged chief had taken his seat at the post of
honour amongst the chiefs that formed the
front circle did the Indians deign to follow
his example.

Then the sacred pipe, the calumet, was lit
and solemnly passed from mouth to mouth,
and amid a silence that could almost be felt,
the blue smoke curled upwards around the fire
and scented the still air of the early evening.

At last the White Eagle rose to speak, and
as he did so every eye was intently fixed upon
him; even the squaws, who stood at a respectful
distance from the charmed circle, stayed their
gossip and strained their ears to listen to the
weighty words of this renowned sachem.

"Father, you see that we come not back
with empty hands.  The wigwams of the
Algonquins are empty.  Their squaws and
their children gaze no longer upon their braves,
for the scalps of their warriors hang at the
girdles of my children."

A hum of satisfaction arose from every part
of the circle at these words.

"The Great Spirit has called ten of my
braves to the happy hunting-fields out there
beyond the sunset," continued the chief,
raising his right hand as he spoke and pointing
to where the sun had just set amongst the
pines, leaving a train of red and gold.  "But
they had no wounds upon their backs, for their
faces were never turned away from their
enemies.  Their squaws and their children
shall be provided for.  I have spoken, for the
words of a chief are few!"

A low buzz of conversation went round the
circle as White Eagle resumed his seat, and
many an eye was turned towards the palefaces,
as though some explanation of their presence
was needed.  At length the aged chief rose
slowly, assisted by two other chiefs.

Every voice immediately lapsed into silence
as the old Sagamore, with flowing locks that
were white as the driven snow, began to speak.
So aged was he that the oldest warrior in that
grim circle could scarcely remember him
otherwise than he now was.  The children of his
generation, and the generation that followed
him, had passed away like leaves before the
north wind.

"My children!" he began, and his voice at
first was low and broken, but they listened to
him with all the reverence that awe and
superstition can give.

"Many suns have risen and set since
'Keneu,' the war-eagle of his tribe, led his
people forth to battle.  A hundred winters
have whitened the forests and the plains since
he first followed the trail of the deer.  Then
we were chiefs and sagamores from the shores
of the Great Salt Lake, far back to the Gitche
Gumee and the mountains beyond the plains
where, amid the eternal snows, the Manitou
dwells in the Silence.  Then the forests were
full of deer, the plains were full of herds, and
the streams were filled with fish; and no
paleface was to be found in all the land, for the
Wacondah had placed his red children in a land
of plenty, and the smoke from the council fire
and the calumet, the peace-pipe, rose from
every valley, and beside every stream were
their lodges, for my people were happy."

"Ugh!" came the ready cry of assent from
many a dark-skinned warrior, and many a
furtive glance was cast in the direction of the
two palefaces.

"Then from the land of the sun-rising,"
continued the Sagamore, "in his white-winged
birch canoe, that brought the thunder and the
lightning, came the paleface; and he laid the
forest low before him, and he drove my people
westward, for the face of the Manitou was
turned in anger from his children.  Then we
turned our faces westward, towards the land of
the setting sun, and the regions of the
Home-Wind, and we said--

"'Here we will hunt the red deer and the
beaver, and from these clear streams we will
take the sturgeon and the salmon, and here,
when the Manitou calls us, we will die, where
we see not the smoke of the paleface, nor hear
the sound of his axe.'  Was it well then, chief,
to bring hither the children of the East Wind?"

The old man ceased speaking and sank down
once more upon the rude log that served as
a dais, and the silence became even yet more
intense when the White Eagle rose again and
said--

"Once a mighty paleface came to the lodge
of Keneu.  Hungry and weary, he came from
the land of Wabun, driven here by the cruel
laws of his people, and he brought to us the
thunder and the lightning, and he taught my
people knowledge and wisdom from the sacred
writings in the shining land of Wabun.  He
became the brother and the friend of the red
man, and we taught him to hunt the moose
and the deer and the beaver, and the Great
Sagamore loved him, and gave him a place at
the council fire of my people."

"He is the friend of Keneu, and since many
moons his lodge stands empty; but who are
these?  Are they the children of Miquon?"
abruptly asked the aged chief, "or the children
of the Canadas?"

"They are the children of the Yengeese, and
they raised their hands to help the Eagle when
his wings were pinioned by the French of the
Canadas, and the red man forgets not his
friends, when his fetters are freed, else would
the Manitou be angry.  They are my brothers,
and the white blood has been washed from their
veins.  Will the great father turn them from
his lodge?"

This speech produced a wonderful transformation
in the faces of all who heard it, and
when several other warriors had spoken of the
prowess and courage of Red Feather and Black
Hawk, a gentler look came over the Sagamore's
face as he spoke.

"It is well!" he said.  "The Wacondah
has willed it.  They shall dwell in the lodges of
the Iroquois, and my young men shall teach
them to hunt the swift deer and the beaver."  Then
the council broke up, and the men
repaired to their wigwams.

This formal introduction over, the youths
were shown to a lodge, next the one that
awaited the return of the paleface hunter just
referred to, and during the weeks and months
of their sojourn amongst the tribe they were
treated with all the respect and esteem that
belonged to an Indian brave.  The war hatchet
had been buried for a while, so they joined
the hunting-parties that often scoured the
forests, and they soon became expert in the
arts and crafts of these children of the forest,
until each could handle a canoe, shoot the
rapids and hunt the deer like a true Indian.

"Come with me, my paleface brothers,"
said White Eagle one day, just before the first
snow of winter.  "Come with me and I will
show you how the Manitou provides for his
red children."

So they took their canoes and paddled all
day, and then next day they carried their
canoes over a portage until they reached the
sweet waters of the Tioga River.  As soon as
the sun had gone down the chief took a pine
torch and held it, lighted, over the stream.
Almost immediately a dozen fine salmon,
attracted by the torch, came to the very edge
of the stream.  Then a fire was kindled close
to the bank, and immediately the river seemed
full of living creatures of the finny tribe.

"Look!  What a glorious sight!"
exclaimed Jamie; "the water is alive with
fish."  And it was true, for, attracted by the huge
blaze, they came tumbling over each other,
leaping out of the water by dozens, until the
whole surface glowed and shimmered, green
and red and purple.

Then the Indians who had accompanied
them in order to get a supply for the tribe,
entered the water, and with long spears made
of hard wood, something after the fashion of a
trident, speared and hooked the salmon to their
heart's content.

As the youths stood spellbound, gazing at
this almost miraculous sight, the chief tapped
them on the shoulder and said--

"Does the Manitou fill the rivers of the
palefaces with fish and their forests with furs?"

"We have never seen such plenty, chief,
in the land of the palefaces.  Very often if a
man takes a fish from a stream, or a deer from
the forest, he is sent to prison and sometimes
put to death."

"Humph!" said the chief in a tone of
surprise.  "Now I know why the paleface comes
over the Salt Water to the hunting-grounds
of his red brother."

The lads were so dumfounded by this
unusual sight that their thoughts turned instinctively
to that little burn that sang its way down
through a wood-lined vale far away in another
land, where to land a single fish was a heinous
crime, and yet how they loved that little spot,
now so far away; but the voice of the chief
awoke them from their reverie, saying--

"Come, my brothers, and fill your canoe
with the gifts of the Manitou."

They needed no second bidding, and the
next minute they, too, were enjoying the
magnificent sport.  Very soon all the canoes
were filled, and then after a hearty supper of
fresh salmon, the fish were sorted, dressed and
prepared for drying, after which they were
carried home for the winter's supply.





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.. _`THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST`:

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   CHAPTER XIII


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   THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST

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During their stay amongst the Iroquois,
which had now extended over rather more
than a year, the two English youths had gained
the esteem and friendship of two young
Indians, both the sons of the White Eagle.
Their names were respectively "Young
Eagle" and "Swift Arrow."

The former was a strong and supple youth
of seventeen, sturdy as an oak, but as straight
as a cedar.  His brother, who was a year
younger, had gained his title of "Swift
Arrow" because he was so fleet of foot that
he could overtake the swiftest deer of the
forest with comparative ease.  Both inherited
much of the courage and fearlessness of their sire.

These four companions spent much of their
time, now that the summer had come again,
in hunting and fishing, often staying for weeks
together in the fastnesses of the forest.  They
became well-nigh inseparable.  Many were the
adventures and escapades, and many the
dangers, too, that they braved in each other's
company.

Once, in descending the rapids of a neighbouring
stream, their canoe had struck a rock
which capsized her and hurled all the occupants
into the boiling surf.  This was nothing
unusual, but they were expert swimmers, and
immediately struck out for the bank.  Arrived
there, the Young Eagle missed one of his
paleface friends.  It was Jack, who had struck the
rock in falling and was rendered unconscious,
and carried away down the stream.  The other
two, exhausted with their desperate struggle
in the rapids, were hardly able to reach the
shore; but Young Eagle, arriving there first,
and seeing the unfortunate youth being carried
away, immediately leapt into the boiling surf,
and succeeded, after a desperate struggle, in
saving Jack from drowning.

This brave, unselfish act Jack was able to
repay the week afterwards, for in pursuing a
wounded bear too keenly Young Eagle had
the misfortune to lose his footing, and when
he attempted to rise the bear was just in the
act of tearing him to pieces in its mad wounded
frenzy; when Jack, heedless of the danger
which he himself ran, rushed into the very
"hug" of the wounded bear, and plunged his
long hunting-knife into its heart.  The bear
rolled over upon them both, but the last wound
proved fatal, and the huge monster lay still in
death.

A dozen incidents of this nature had only
cemented the ties which bound these friends
together, and the English youths could
scarcely bear to think of that near future when
they must part from their red brothers, for
much as they loved the forest, they felt
somehow that their life was not to end here, and
their desire to help their country, either on
land or sea, during the present war with the
French, which, though it had commenced on
the continent of Europe, and had been
continued on the high seas, had yet had its echo
in the forests and backwoods of the North
American Colonies, and, indeed, was destined
to have its end there.

Once, during the latter part of the summer
of the year 1759, they had been absent from
their lodges for several weeks, hunting the
shaggy brown bear, the jaguar, the fox, and
the wolf, for their skins, in that part of the
forest which stretched far away from the head
waters of their own streams to the Mohawk
River, when one afternoon they suddenly
struck a fresh trail, which showed the prints
of moccasined feet.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Young Eagle, who
was the first to discover them.

"What is the matter?  Is it the trail of an
enemy or a friend?" demanded Jack.  "By
your demeanour I should say that you've
struck the trail of a serpent."

"I like it not," merely remarked the Indian
youth.

All four of them now got down to the work
of examining the trail.  Every bit of turf,
every leaf or broken twig was carefully
examined.  Then they cautiously followed the
trail, with bent figures and cocked rifles.  At
any moment they might be ambushed, if it
should prove to be an enemy that had passed
that way.

"Why do you suspect that it is an enemy,
when we are so near the hunting-grounds of
the Oneidas and the Mohicans?" asked Red
Feather.

"Look!  This no Iroquois moccasin," said
the Young Eagle, stooping to pick up a
worn-out, discarded moccasin, worked with beads
after the pattern of the French Indians.

They clustered round this piece of evidence,
which seemed incontestable, for a rude attempt
had been made to work even the Lilies of
France on the discarded footgear.

When they had finished their scrutiny of
this moccasin, one word broke from all their
lips--

"Algonquins!"

But what were the fiends doing here, so far
from the River of Canada?  And how many
of them had come from across the lakes?

These were the questions they set themselves
to settle next, as they continued their
keen search for any little trifle which might
help to explain these things, for to the Indian
the forest is an open book, and every twig and
leaf may be a written page.

They followed the trail cautiously for
another quarter of an hour, until they came to a
spot where the footprints showed more deeply
in the soft black earth, and after another
careful examination, Swift Arrow declared that
there were at least fifteen or twenty of the
enemy, and that they must be a war party,
out for scalps, and to harass the enemies of
the Canadas.

"Look!  This is not an Algonquin moccasin
that has left this mark," said Red Feather,
who for some minutes had been examining a
footprint that was both broader and longer
than the rest, and also of a different pattern.
"Here, get down to it, Eagle, and examine it
for yourself."

The young chief did as he was requested,
and measured the print with the palm of his
hand, and compared it with the others.

"You see, the heel mark is deeper than any
of the other prints, as though the man had
walked like this----" and here Jamie imitated
the carriage of a man who plants his heels
firmly on the ground when he walks.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Eagle, rising from
the ground.  "My paleface brother is right.
'Tis not the moccasin of an Indian at all."

"Not an Indian?"

"No!"

"Who, then, can it be?"

"'Tis the moccasin of a paleface that has
left that mark!"

"A paleface?" exclaimed the English
youths, raising their voices above a whisper,
for the first time since the trail had been
discovered.

"Then it must be a French officer who is in
command of the party!" and this seemed to
all of them the solution of the problem.

The trail was a fresh one, too, and the
enemy could not be far away, so they
immediately held a council of war, to decide what
had best be done.  But the sun had set and it
was almost dark, and they were compelled to
camp in a little bower near by, where the
overhanging trees afforded them a secluded spot,
not easy for an enemy to find.

They did not light a fire, lest it should
discover their position to the enemy.  In silence
they ate their evening meal, which consisted
of a little dried venison.  Then they resolved
to wait till morning before they followed the
trail further.

"Let my paleface brothers sleep, and Young
Eagle and Swift Arrow will watch," said the
young chief.

"That's not quite fair," said Jamie, "for
you'll never wake us till sunrise, and you must
be just as much fatigued as we are, for you did
more than your share in carrying the canoes
at the portage."

"Young Eagle all ears and eyes when an
enemy is near.  He feels not fatigue.  Let my
brothers sleep."

The English youths had to give way, for
they had to confess that though they had learnt
many things during their sojourn amongst the
Iroquois, yet their sense of alertness and
keenness of perception could in no wise be matched
against these children of the forest.  Soon,
therefore, the young palefaces were fast asleep
upon a bed of leaves and spruce branches,
unconscious of the dangers that surrounded them.

They had been asleep perhaps for an hour,
when the cry of a night-hawk, followed by the
howl of a coyote, was heard in the distance.
On hearing these the Young Eagle gave a
significant look at Swift Arrow, and without
speaking a word, the latter arose, quietly
pushed aside the branches, and disappeared
into the forest in the direction of the sounds.

It was quite dark now, for there was no
moon, and the stars showed but faintly through
the thick foliage of the trees overhead.

An hour passed--two hours--but the Indian
youth returned not.  Had he scented danger?
Was the enemy lurking near?  Then why did
he not return?  Surely nothing had happened
to him.  The young chief noticed that Jamie's
sleep began to be troubled.  Once or twice he
had murmured something in his sleep, and
Young Eagle had touched his lips, as if to close
them, lest the sounds might betray them.

"The Wacondah is speaking to my paleface
brother," said the young chief inwardly, "for
his sleep is still troubled."

The lad's slumbers were indeed troubled,
and yet 'twas only a dream, that he had often
dreamt before.  His brain had often been
puzzled as to why this particular dream should
recur to him so often.  He dreamt that he was
a little bairn again, far away across the Big
Salt Lake, in the Homeland; and that a rough
but kindly man took him on his knee, and
spoke to him in tones of melting tenderness.
"Poor motherless bairn!" he said, and the
tears rained down his rough face.  But the
little child, with sunshine in his bonny face,
and laughter in his bright blue eyes, crowed
and chuckled, and pulled the rough man's
beard.

It was at this point that Young Eagle had
placed his hand on the lips of his sleeping
companion, causing him to start, and to open his
eyes for an instant, but he quickly closed them
again.

Then his dream continued, but it changed
suddenly.  Side by side with Jack, and his
two dusky companions, he ranged the forest,
hunting the bear, and trapping the beaver in
his lodges of bark and logs, when suddenly
they came upon an Indian camp in a little
clearing of the forest, and there with his back
to an elm-tree, tied hand and foot, was an old
paleface hunter, undergoing torture at the
hands of a band of cruel red men.

Bravely he suffered it all, like a hero, and
not a cry of pain escaped his lips.  A dozen
arrows, knives and hatchets pierced the tree
about his head and face, and although the
*coup de grâce* had not been given, yet the
blood flowed freely from several wounds.  His
lips were compressed, and not a groan escaped
them, but inwardly he prayed to God that
death might bring him release from this slow
and cruel torture.

A fierce-looking chief taunted him with
being a paleface snake, and a Yengeese, and
urged his warriors to prolong the torture.

"Let us see if a cursed Yengeese has red
blood in his veins, or whether he has the heart
of a Delaware," he cried.

"Your tongue is forked, Muskrat, and your
warriors tremble at the sight of a paleface, so
that their knives cannot find his heart!" cried
the hunter, in the hope of urging his enemies
to end his torture by a fatal blow.

"My young men wish to know if a Yengeese
can bear pain like a red warrior."

"Your young men are squaws!  Go tell
your Canada Father to find them petticoats!"

This stinging insult brought a shower of
tomahawks and knives about his head.  One of
them pierced his arm, and pinioned it to the
tree, but he bore the pain bravely, and smiling
grimly back upon his captors, said--

"Let your young men come nearer, chief,
so that a paleface may show them where lies his
heart, for they are weak and unsteady with the
fire-water of the Canadas, and they miss their mark."

The chief lifted up his hand, and said--

"The Great Spirit has given the paleface
the heart of a red man, so that he fears not the
hatchet and the tomahawk.  Let us see if he
fears the spirit of the flames."

A shout of hellish delight greeted this
suggestion of their leader, and the Indians
scattered into the forest to collect brushwood
and dead timber, for an Indian delights in
prolonging the torture of his prisoner.

Quickly the faggots were piled at the feet
of the hunter, and the match was about to be
applied, when the intense agony and suspense
of the moment burst open the gates of
slumber, and Jamie opened his eyes, and awoke
suddenly.

The first faint tinge of dawn was lighting up
the eastern horizon.  He sprang to his feet,
immensely relieved, and murmuring to himself--

"Thank God!  'Twas only a dream, then!
And yet it was the same face that I have
seen so often in my dreams.  What can it mean?"

Then he turned and beheld the Young
Eagle and the sleeping form of Black Hawk,
but Swift Arrow was missing.  He forgot his
troubled sleep in an instant when he
remembered that Young Eagle had watched with
sleepless vigilance throughout the whole night,
and said--

"My red brother is too kind.  He should
have called me, and let me watch, while he slept."

"Hist!" remarked the other, rising
suddenly, and holding up a finger to indicate
silence, as a slight rustle was heard amongst
the bushes a few yards away.  Both instinctively
grasped their rifles, and stood ready for
whatever foe might suddenly appear.

The branches parted, and Swift Arrow
stepped quietly into the opening.  This brave
youth had spent the night in the forest,
sometimes lying still as a log, at other times
crawling and wriggling like a snake, or crouching
like a panther.  He had discovered the scouts
of a cruel enemy, within ten arrow-flights of
their present abode.  He had done more.

He had succeeded in passing the scouts
unobserved, and in penetrating to the very edge
of the hostile camp.  His unsleeping vigilance
had saved the lives of his comrades, and he had
even covered up his own tracks in returning to
the camp, by taking a circuitous route and
wading for some distance in the bed of a little
stream, and had so well timed his efforts that
he reached the camping-ground just as dawn
was breaking.

Beyond the customary "Ugh!" he
remained silent; though even Jack, who had now
awakened, could see that he had something
of importance to communicate, but he seemed
already possessed of all the restraint of his
tribe, and quietly sat down with the rest to a
breakfast, which consisted of a little pemmican
and hominy, which was soon finished.

"My brother has seen an enemy?" said
Young Eagle, when the meal was over.

"Ugh!" replied Swift Arrow, as though
he considered the news of little importance and
scarcely worth the telling.

"Swift Arrow will tell us what he has
seen?" said Jack, and then the young warrior
spoke briefly and as follows--

"Ten arrow-flights towards the sun-rising
is an Algonquin camp, of twenty-four
braves--and one prisoner...."

"And the prisoner?  Who--what is he?"
asked Jamie, remembering his dream.

"It is the great paleface hunter, the friend
of White Eagle."





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.. _`SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS`:

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   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS

.. vspace:: 2

"The paleface hunter, did my brother say?
Is he the prisoner?" exclaimed Jamie, leaping
to his feet, trembling with suppressed excitement.

"Hist! my brother forgets that an enemy
is near!" said Young Eagle, raising his finger
to request caution.

At this moment, after several cabalistic
signs, Swift Arrow left the camp and quietly
disappeared in the forest, and Jamie, expressing
regret at permitting his feelings to gain
the mastery over him at such a moment,
resumed his seat on the ground.

"Whither away, Swift Arrow?" called
Jack softly, as the Indian youth glided past
him, but he either did not hear him, or heeded
not his question.

"Swift Arrow has gone to the wigwams of
the White Eagle, to say that his friend is in
the hands of the Algonquins," said the Young
Eagle, who had now assumed all the gravity
and demeanour of an Iroquois chief.

"Phew!  That means a journey of sixty
miles at least.  Rather a long step for a lad,
who hunted all day yesterday and scouted all
last night.  When will he get there?"

"When the sun touches the tree-tops
to-morrow White Eagle will know!" replied the
young chief.

"Then he will come with all the warriors
who are not away hunting, and fight the
Algonquins?" asked Jamie.

"Ugh!" said the Indian, signifying yes.

"Perhaps that may be too late to save the
paleface.  I fear they will have put him to
death," said Jamie gloomily.  "Cannot we
go and save him now?"

"Why, what's the matter, old chap?  You
seem very despondent," said Jack, as his
comrade heaved a sigh deep enough to break his
heart.  "Do you despair of your life, that you
want to throw it away so cheaply?  If we are
discovered by yonder crew, our lives are not
worth a toss, and our scalps will be carried to
the Canada lodges."

"The Wacondah has spoken to my brother,
and his heart is heavy," said the Indian, looking
straight at Red Feather with his piercing eyes.

"What is it, Jamie?  Out with it.  We
agreed that there should be no secrets between
us," said Jack, half in jest and half in earnest.

"Jack," said his friend solemnly, "I
dreamt last night that I saw this paleface
hunter in the clutches of the Algonquins.  He
was bound to a tree, and they were practising
upon him every conceivable torture that even
a red devil can invent.  I saw him pierced and
wounded, and the blood flowing freely from
his head and face.  Then, having tormented
him to the utmost bounds, and finding that his
brave heart quailed not beneath it all, they
brought faggots and brushwood and kindled
them at his feet.  They were going to burn
him to death, yes, roast him alive, while they
danced around him in mad delight.  But just
as they kindled the fire, and my heart was
bursting with grief and agony, because I was
unable to help, I awoke, for I could bear it
no longer.  Then Swift Arrow returned and
told what he himself had seen, but I believe
that I saw even more than he did, for he saw
not the tortures--and--and--I fear that we
shall be too late when the chief arrives with
his braves.  That is why I wished to go
straight to the camp now, and what is more,
the face of that hunter is as familiar to me as
your own, that is by night, for I have often
dreamt of him before, but by daylight his
features become indistinct, and I cannot recall
his face.  So now that is why my heart is so
heavy!  Cannot we do anything to save him?"

This last question was addressed to the young
chief, who had been a serious listener to all that
Jamie had just said, for the Indians take
dreams very seriously, and treat them as messages
from the Manitou.

"The Grey Badger is a great hunter, and
his rifle has often left its mark upon the
Algonquins, as well as the bear and the panther.
Red men no kill him quickly.  He is too great
a prize.  They will keep him till the new
moon, and then kill him," replied the Indian.

"When is the new moon?" asked Red Feather hastily.

"Two days!"

"And when will our friends arrive?"

The young chief made the circle of the
sun's course twice, and then pointed to the
zenith.

"Then there is just a chance that we may be
able to save him after all."

"Yes.  For why should the Wacondah
speak a lie?" said the Indian earnestly.

"What do you mean?  I don't understand you!"

"Why, Jamie, it's as clear as noon-day what
he means.  He says, 'Why should the Wacondah
speak a lie?'  That is, if the Great Spirit
has put it into your heart to save this paleface
hunter, why should he withhold the means to
do it, when He is all-powerful?  The lad's
faith in his God is greater than your own.  So
cheer up, and we'll save him yet, or we'll know
the reason why."

"Young Eagle, I thank you.  You have
lifted a load from my heart, and your faith is
greater than mine, though I have been bred
in a Christian country," said Jamie.

"Ugh!  My paleface brother has often told
me of the sacred writings in the land of the
sun-rising, and how the Great Spirit has
spoken to his white children; why, then,
should he disbelieve the words of the Wacondah?"

This conversation was suddenly interrupted
by an Indian whoop, which seemed to come
from the distant camp.

"What can that mean?  Listen!  There
it comes again," said Jack.  This time it was
repeated from several quarters.

"It simply means that they have been joined
by another party of their friends," said the
Indian.

"What can they be doing so far away from
their own hunting-grounds?"

"Depend upon it, they are here for no good.
They're out for scalps, and to harass their
inveterate foes, the Iroquois, and any Yengeese
woodsmen they can lay hands upon."

"Must we remain here, like rats in a hole,
Young Eagle?  Is there nothing that we can
do?" said Jack.

"Yes!  We must watch all their movements,
and if they move, follow them, leaving
a broad trail that White Eagle can follow in
the dark."

"Lead the way, then, Eagle, and we'll
follow your trail."

Then they crept stealthily from their lair,
and cautiously advanced through the tangled
forest, in the direction of the camp, for now
that the enemy were excited by the arrival of
their allies perhaps they would be a little off
their guard.

Soon they struck the trail that they had
seen on the previous evening, and followed it
carefully; sometimes creeping on their hands
and knees, crawling through the brushwood,
watching furtively the while for any signs of
the outlying scouts who were sure to be
guarding the camp.

Suddenly the hiss of a serpent caused them
to start.  It came from the direction of the
young Indian, who was but a few paces in
advance, and was the signal for them to halt
and lie still.  Immediately they became as
dead logs, hugging the ground.

Had the Eagle seen the first scout?

Yes, surely!  What was that dark object
creeping through the forest, not fifty yards
away?  Was it not the skulking form of a
redskin prowling about like a wolf, and all the
while coming nearer and nearer.  He had
evidently not seen them as yet, for he still
continued to approach, but he seemed so wary
and so alert that if he continued he must
discover them within another minute.  Jamie
covered him with his rifle, but he was too wise
to shoot, unless all other measures failed, as
the crack of a rifle so near the camp would
alarm the whole party and bring the
Algonquins upon them in a moment.

Slowly, slowly the seconds passed, and each
one seemed in itself an age.  They scarcely
dared to breathe, lest the slightest sound or
movement should attract the attention of the scout.

He was only ten paces from the young chief
when he halted, as though his suspicions had
been aroused.  He was looking full in the
direction of his enemies, when some fluttering
object in a bush, near the Iroquois lad, caught
his attention.  He would examine that
particular bush before giving the alarm, so he
advanced cautiously, looking warily around him.

He was a young warrior, perhaps out for his
first scalp.  How kingly it would be to return
to the camp with a scalp at his girdle, and
without boasting, quietly to take his place at
the council fire, while all eyes were fixed upon
that trophy which he had won, unaided and alone.

The dark-eyed Indian maidens, too--how
they would glance at him with love-lit eyes and
point out the trophy, and sing of his courage
when he returned home.  Perhaps these
thoughts were in his mind as he approached the
bush.  One thing, however, he must avoid,
that was, creating a false alarm and thereby
making himself a laughing-stock amongst his
comrades by mistaking a tree or a log for an enemy.

This temerity cost him dear.  To reach the
bush which had aroused his suspicions, he had
to pass within a few feet of Young Eagle.  As
he did so, the latter made a sudden bound, like
a panther springing upon his prey, and cleft
his skull with his keen hatchet.

Without a groan even, the Algonquin sank
to the ground, and his spirit passed to the
hunting-grounds of his people.  The youths
turned their faces away, whilst the young chief
secured his first scalp.  Having obtained this
trophy, he next dragged the lifeless form of
the scout into the forest and hid it away
amongst the bushes, lest its discovery should
bring down upon them a swarm of hornets, in
the shape of the inmates of the neighbouring
camp.  Then he proudly retraced his steps in
the direction of his companions, who were
eagerly awaiting his return.

"Was it well done, Young Eagle, to risk
all our lives and our chances of saving the
hunter for a single scalp?" asked Jamie, who
felt somehow that his redskin friend might
have left the scalp alone, for the present, at any
rate, forgetting in his anxiety to save the
paleface that an Indian will go without food
willingly for a whole week in order to obtain one
scalp.

"Young Eagle is a warrior!  He saw only
an Algonquin dog!"

"But prudence is a virtue, even in a great
warrior!"

"Let him alone, Jamie.  For an Indian to
leave an enemy's scalp behind is a disgrace, and
just as dishonourable as for a paleface to leave
his ensign in the hands of the enemy," said Jack.

Their present position was one of great
danger, though for the moment the death of
the scout had reduced the chances of their
being discovered.  Nevertheless, their only
chance to avoid the enemy was to find a spot
where they could lie hidden till dark, for the
scout would be sure to be missed shortly, and
then a search would be made for him.

A spot was found not twenty yards away, on
the edge of a little rivulet that ran through the
forest.  They, therefore, took a circuitous
route to this stream, and then walked cautiously
down the bed of the rivulet, so that the
water would wash away their footprints in the
sandy bottom.  Having gained this secluded
spot, they were hidden from sight of an
approaching enemy, owing to the branches of
the willows and alders drooping to the ground
and meeting the tangled undergrowth, and
they could yet watch the surrounding forest
through the interstices of the branches.

Here they lay hidden during the rest of that
day.  As the afternoon wore on they several
times heard the whoops and yells of the
Algonquins, and once they heard the report of a rifle,
and Jamie feared that it denoted the end of the
paleface prisoner, but the young chief said that
that was very unlikely.

This close confinement at length became
very irksome, and the youths were so wearied
and impatient that it needed all the influence
and sagacity of the Indian to urge them to
remain till sunset.  How wise this counsel was
will shortly be seen.

"Hist!  What does that mean, Young
Eagle?" said Jamie, when rather late in the
afternoon a sound very much like the
"cawing" of a rook was heard to proceed from a
spot scarce a hundred yards away.  No answer
was given, and the sound was repeated twice;
each time it sounded a little nearer.

The Indian did not speak, for he was keenly
scrutinising the forest in the direction of the
sound, and at the same time unconsciously
fingering his tomahawk, while his every sense
seemed alert.

"'Tis another scout who seems to expect a
reply from his fallen comrade, I fear, Jamie,"
said Jack, "and he can't understand why he
gets no answer."

"Ah!  He is becoming suspicious.  He is
searching for him, and--and--he's coming this
way," whispered Jamie.

"Look!  I can see him now through the
trees.  What if he finds his dead comrade?
Hist!  He's looking this way."

Nearer and nearer came the Algonquin.  He
was within forty yards now, and within twenty
feet of where his companion had been slain.
Suddenly he started and a half-smothered
exclamation escaped his lips.  He was looking
at the ground, examining it carefully.  He
knelt down and carefully removed the turf and
leaves, raising his head every few seconds, as
though expecting to see his comrade.

Had he discovered a trail, or something
worse?  He was only thirty feet away from
the mangled corpse of the first scout.  He was
only ten feet away from the spot where the
death-blow had been given.  It was the trail
of his lost comrade that he had discovered, but
what next?

It was a moment fraught with intense excitement
for the watchers.  The issues to these
three adventurers were life or death.  Once he
discovered the truth that was hidden in those
bushes, a single call for assistance would fill
the forest with blood-thirsty hornets, and all
would be lost.

What could be done?  He was too far away
to be dispatched like his comrade, and a
rifle-shot would alarm the camp.  Step by step he
advanced.  Then his eager eyes caught sight
of the fresh blood-marks and evidences of the
recent scuffle.

The Indian gazed at the red spots, and
followed their trail to the bushes.  Then, as his
eyes caught sight of the mangled corpse, he
uttered a blood-curdling yell that made the
dark aisles of the forest resound.  At the same
instant Jamie's rifle spoke out, and the Indian
fell to the ground.

Five seconds had scarcely passed when from
the camp there came the answering yell.  It
was a wild, fierce cry of revenge that brought
the whole pack upon their trail.





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.. _`THE TRAGIC CIRCLE`:

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   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE TRAGIC CIRCLE

.. vspace:: 2

There was not a moment to lose.  The two
youths seized their rifles and plunged into the
forest.

"This way, Jack.  Come!"

"Lead on, quickly!"

Young Eagle remained but a few seconds
to take the victim's scalp and to give the
defiant war-whoop of the Iroquois, and then
he, too, followed in their trail.

On they went.  Their only chance of saving
their lives now lay in putting as great a
distance as possible between themselves and their
pursuers, and in keeping up the race till dusk.
'Twas getting dark already, but they stumbled
on through the tangled undergrowth, over
fallen trunks lying prostrate across their pathway.

Several times they heard the yells of the
Algonquins, and once they heard the crack of
a rifle, followed by an Iroquois yell.

"Listen!  That's Young Eagle's rifle, I'll
swear.  He's either missed our trail, or he's
purposely misled them to give us a chance of
getting away."

"Then I fear it's all up with him," cried
Jamie, who was a little way in advance.
"That second scalp has cost him too dear."

'Twas getting quite dark now, and they
were compelled to slacken their pace, partly
from sheer exhaustion, and partly because they
were constantly being tripped up by ground
vines, trailers and fallen trunks.

Once they got separated, and Jamie thought
that he heard Jack call him.  He halted
and listened, but hearing the swish of branches
close behind him he thought that his comrade
was following, and continued for another ten
minutes, when, coming to a little clearing, he
glanced back, but saw no one following.

"Jack!" he called softly.  "Where are
you?" but no answer came back from the gloom.

Again he called--louder still, but only the
cry of the night-raven and the screech of an
owl gave reply.  Then he retraced his footsteps
across the clearing, but he failed even to
discover the spot where he had left the forest.
Five--ten minutes he remained there, searching
for his own trail, but in the darkness he
had lost his bearings, and not only Jack, but
he himself was lost!--lost!

Endless leagues of trackless forest, of brown
tree-trunks, and dark, dank undergrowth,
closing in upon him like a thick screen,
separated him from the nearest habitation, and even
the nearest fort.  What was to become of him?

In his despair he threw himself down upon a
rough, raised bank that ran part way round
the clearing; then he remembered that fancied
cry, back there by the swamp, when he had
thought for an instant that Jack had called him
by name.

"'Twas not fancy, after all!" he
murmured.  "It was Jack calling for help; it
must have been.  Perhaps he sank in the
swamp, or perhaps the Indians attacked him
from the rear suddenly and quietly and he died
calling my name."

Then the agony of his soul knew no bounds,
for he felt that he had wilfully deserted his
comrade, and in his despair he longed to die.

"Ah--to die!  That would be easy, if only
Jack were here.  We have too often faced
death together to be afraid, but this wild
loneliness unmans me," and here the lad broke
down and sobbed in his bitterness.

This weakness, if such it can be called, was
of short duration, however, for certain sounds
fell upon his ear in the stillness, that told him
something or somebody was approaching.  A
rustling amongst the branches, a heavy but
stealthy tread amongst the tangled undergrowth.
All this came from the forest not
fifty feet away.

There was just enough light to see half-way
across the small clearing.  His every faculty
became alert, and he instinctively raised his
rifle, examined its priming, and fixed his eyes
at that spot where the object must leave the
forest to enter the clearing.

Perhaps it was Jack--at last.  Should he
call?  Better wait and see.  Perhaps it was an
Indian, though the footfall seemed too heavy.
What could it be?

The next instant a shaggy head was thrust
out from amongst the bushes, scarce twenty
feet away from where he sat, and then a
huge brown bear shambled into the clearing,
stopping every few yards to raise his snout,
and to sniff the air, as though it scented
danger.

Jamie's left hand slid down, almost unconsciously,
to feel if his hunting-knife were there,
lest his rifle should fail him.  The bear caught
the movement, quick as it was, and looked
suspiciously in the direction of the youth.

Having reached the middle of the clearing,
the huge monster reared itself up on its hind
legs, and beating the air with its fore-paws,
began to advance in the direction of Jamie.

Jamie forgot every other danger in the face
of this new one that now threatened.  He forgot
also all his fears, in his desire to overcome
the bear.  'Twas to be a fair fight and no
favour, and unless he killed "Bruin," then the
beast would kill him.

With steady eye and steady nerve Jamie
levelled his rifle, as the bear shambled towards
him, uttering a low growl, and preparing to
hug his victim in a fatal embrace.  The youth
knew the vulnerable spot in that thick, shaggy
hide, and if he could only place his bullet there
it would end the combat, but on a dark night
like this could he do it?

He was about to pull the trigger when
a strange diversion, entirely unexpected,
occurred.

A plumed and painted warrior, from the
Algonquin camp, hot upon the trail of the
young paleface, quickly entered the clearing
and almost rushed into the embrace of the
huge monster.  Discovering his mistake, and
uttering a sudden exclamation of horror, the
warrior fell back in dismay, and dashed into
the forest, followed by Bruin, who left his
erstwhile enemy and suffered him to escape.
The branches closed upon the bear and the
Indian, and they were hidden from sight.

"Thank God I didn't fire!" exclaimed
Jamie, as he slipped quietly into the forest in
another direction, thanking Heaven for this
double escape, and taking hope, for he felt
that God had not deserted him, and would
somehow deliver him from his still terrible
plight.

On he stumbled in the darkness, till he came
to a little stream.  Here he stooped to quench
his burning thirst and to bathe his face, for
he was fevered with excitement, after the
quick transitions of feeling he had undergone
since they alarmed the camp.

Then he followed the path of the brook some
little way, hiding the trail of his moccasins in
the bed of the stream, for unlike the soft, oozy
mould of the forest the water yields no secret.
Then, after a while, he struck into the forest
again.  Forward he went, lest the murdering
Algonquins should discover his trail once more,
and a tomahawk end his career.  Once or twice
he thought he heard the stealthy tread of an
Indian behind him, but he stayed not in his
fierce flight.

The moon was rising now, and it was becoming
much lighter, and Jamie was able to make
more rapid progress; but he was becoming
exhausted, and felt that he must stop soon,
when suddenly he noticed that the giant pines
and firs were becoming fewer and fewer, and
the undergrowth less tangled.

A tiny red glow--the glow of a camp-fire,
appeared through the trees, and the next
moment he halted breathlessly on the outskirts
of a deserted camp.

Now at length help is at hand, he thought,
and he prepared to enter the place.

Horror of horrors!  It was the same camp
from which he had so blindly fled two hours
before.  Some malevolent deity had led his
bewildered footsteps in a tragic circle, a
mistake not uncommon, even for experienced
travellers, who crossed the forest hastily, and
without due precaution.

Where was now the Providence that had
guided his footsteps?  He almost cursed his
ill-luck and his bad fortune, and yet, as kindly
fate would have it, this was the best thing that
could have happened to him.

He had indeed been guided by Providence,
for while both Jack and Young Eagle had been
made prisoners, Jamie, by walking up the
watercourse, and unconsciously doubling back
upon the deserted camp, had thrown even
the quick-witted Algonquins off the scent,
who never suspected such cunning in a paleface.

I have said that the camp was deserted,
although the fire still burned, and the evening
meal remained untouched, for at the first
sound of that fatal cry from the woods every
inmate of the camp, except the paleface
prisoner, started in pursuit of the daring
enemy who had scalped their warrior.  In this
sudden call to arms the prisoner was for a while
forgotten, as we shall shortly see.

Jamie's heart sank with dismay as he beheld
the fatal error he had made.  Wearied and
exhausted, he was ready to sink and perish,
but even thus a new feeling of terror seized
him, the terror of the returning Algonquins.
What if they discovered him here?

Once more he plunged into the thicket, for
a strange new strength had come to him, but
it was the strength of despair, occasioned by fear.

Torn, lacerated and bleeding, his hair dishevelled,
and his clothes in tatters, he rushed
madly away from the spot.  Whither he went
he cared not.  Anywhere--away from that
terrible camp.  He rushed blindly on, until at
the end of half-an-hour he sank down, utterly
exhausted, beneath the friendly shelter of an
elm-tree, and careless now whether the wild
beasts or the Algonquins tracked him to his doom.

His brain reeled; his heart beat wildly, and
he swooned away rather than sank into sleep;
but soon his breathing became more regular,
and his slumber more peaceful.

The moon rose above the topmost branches,
climbed to the meridian, and sank once more
amongst the pines.  Then the golden orb of
day unbarred his eastern shutters, tinged the
far horizon with saffron and yellow, and flooded
the landscape of forest, and river, and lake,
with gold, but still the youth slept on.  Would
he never awake?

At length, when the sun was high above
the tree-tops, Jamie stretched himself, then
opened his eyes.  As he did so his first gaze
fell upon a man, somewhat past middle-age,
but still strong and sturdy.  He was in the garb
of a hunter, for he wore a hair-fringed hunting-shirt,
moccasins, and Indian leggings, while on
his head was a beaver cap.

Jamie started, but felt relieved when he saw
it was no redskin that bent over him.

This man sat upon a fallen tree-trunk,
against which leaned his rifle also.  His arms
were folded across his broad chest, and while
he vigorously puffed wreaths of smoke from
his pipe, he was complacently looking at the
lad, as though he had been keeping watch.

"The same face----" murmured Jamie.
"It is--it must be--the great paleface hunter!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PALEFACE HUNTER`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE PALEFACE HUNTER

.. vspace:: 2

Jamie half rose from the ground, rubbed his
eyes, and appeared surprised and mystified at
this unexpected turn of events.

"Am I still dreaming?" he wondered.  "I
have seen this man many a time in my dreams,
but never, to my knowledge, have I seen him
before in the flesh.  Who can he be, that he
thus haunts me, asleep and awake?"

"So you've woke up at last, youngster!  I
was beginning to fear that you might never
wake again," said the stranger, in a kindly and
not unfamiliar voice that awoke the echoes of
memory.

"Then you've been watching over me?
Guarding me, perhaps, whilst I slept?"

The stranger nodded assent.

"Who are you?  Tell me your name, that
I may thank you, for friends are not too
numerous hereabouts, and I have already lost
two comrades since I came on this trail.  Tell
me who you are, if you please?" for the lad
saw by the stranger's kindly manner, his
honest, sunburnt face, and his clear but
piercing eyes, that he was no enemy.

"My real name doesn't matter, my lad,
though I am well known in these parts, for
the Indians on this side the lakes know me for
a trapper, and they call me the 'Paleface
Hunter,' and sometimes the 'Grey Badger.'

"But how came you here?"

"This is my home--this forest!  I have
lived here for fifteen years," said the trapper,
indicating the wide stretch of forest land with
a broad sweep of his hand.

"And how did you happen to find me, just
when I needed a friend, too?  When I sank
down last night I never expected to see the
light of another sun."

"I stumbled across you here at dawn.  You
were fast asleep, and I saw by your torn clothes
and the scratches and flesh wounds on your
hands and face that the Indians had been hot
on your trail.  I half feared to find your
scalp-lock missing, but when I examined you I found
that you were living, but so exhausted and
dead-beat that to wake you up might finish
you, so I just carried you in here, covered up
your trail, and waited for you to awake."

"And for four hours," replied Jamie softly,
and with tears in his voice--"for four hours,
since dawn, you have watched over me like
a child in a cradle, though any moment
the Algonquins might have discovered your
trail."

"Tut! tut! my lad!  That's nothing----"

"Paleface--if I may so call you--you have
saved my life, and I thank you with all my
heart, though last night, when I lost my best
friend, I cursed my fate and wished to die."

"'Tis more likely you who have saved my life."

"How so?"

"Was it you who fired that shot last evening
just before sunset?"

"Which shot?"

"The one that alarmed the camp!";

"You mean when the scout was----"

"Scalped."

"Yes, I fired it."

"Who took the scalp?  I reckon that is not
your gift, my lad."

Jamie shuddered at the remembrance, and
said, "No.  I should hope not."

"Then you were not alone?  Who was the
redskin that was with you?"

"An Iroquois youth, named 'Young Eagle.'"

"The son of White Eagle, the great chief?"

"The same.  There was another also--a
young paleface friend of mine.  We lost each
other in the forest, after dark, when the
redskins were hot on our trail.  After that I
missed my way, and wandered back to the
camp in mistake.  Then, filled with terror and
despair, I plunged madly back into the forest,
until I sank exhausted, where you found me;
but tell me, trapper, how did I save your life?
for 'tis all a mystery to me."

"When you fired that shot at sunset, I was
in a tight corner, for I was a prisoner in the
Algonquin camp.  Red Wolf, the Algonquin
chief, is a great enemy of mine.  Long he has
tried to trap me, but I have always been able
to circumvent him.  This time he took me
unawares.  He and six of his braves pounced
upon me suddenly in the forest three days ago,
when I was splitting a few logs for my fire,
and before I had a chance to defend myself I
was tied up."

"And they tortured you, did they not?"
asked Jamie.

"See here what the fiends did!" and the
hunter showed a dozen scars and open wounds
that had not yet healed.

"The monsters!  How did you escape?"

"You know their custom of torturing their
prisoners from sunset till dawn."

"Yes."

"Well, after all this they made a fire, and
after a few more tortures I believe the
varmint would have burnt me to death, for one
fiend had made an iron red-hot, with which to
sear and brand me, when suddenly the
half-uttered yell of their scout, followed by the
crack of your rifle, burst upon their ears."

"Yes!  yes!  What happened then?" asked
Jamie impatiently.

"Why, every man Jack of them seized their
rifles and tomahawks, and bolted out of the
camp to the help of the scout, leaving me
alone, bound hand and foot to a tree."

"And how did you free yourself?"

"Why, the scamp who had been threatening
to brand me, when he bolted with the rest,
dropped the hot iron at my feet, so that it
burnt this hole in my moccasin.  See here.
The opportunity was too good to be lost, so I
wriggled and shuffled my feet till the iron
came in contact with the lowest thong.  It
was burnt through in less than a minute, and
in another five minutes I was free."

"That was worthy of a trapper and a
frontiersman.  The implement of torture was
a blessing in disguise."

"I didn't remain long in the camp, I can
tell you, for at any moment the redskins might
have returned, and there is no doubt that they
would have scalped me on the spot, in revenge
for what the Young Eagle had done.  I was
unable to walk for a few minutes, so tightly
had they bound me; but I rubbed and chafed
my limbs till the circulation was restored, and
then I seized my rifle and knife and walked
off.  At dawn I stumbled across you, and--here
we are; a match for a dozen Indians yet,
let them come when they will," and the
trapper laughed silently.

"Paleface, I'm glad to have met you," said
Jamie, rising from the ground and extending
his hand to his new friend.  "I have had so
many unhappy experiences during the past
twenty-four hours, that I had begun to doubt
the Providence which has delivered me so
often, but I shall never doubt again, for God
has never failed me yet."

There was something very much like a tear
that trickled down the rough face of the
trapper as he grasped the extended hand and
said, in quiet but earnest tones--

"He never will fail you--if you trust Him."

"If only my two comrades were alive I
should be the happiest creature in all this wide
forest."

"They are both alive."

"What!" exclaimed the lad.  "Both alive?
How do you know that?"

"Before dawn I heard the Indians return
to camp, and their yells of triumph told me
that they had either brought in prisoners or
scalps.  Being anxious to know whether their
prisoners were Indians or Yengeese, I crept
back again to the edge of the camp."

"Indeed!" interposed Jamie, interrupting
the narrative.  "Weren't you afraid of being
captured again?"

"Tut! tut!  He'll be a smart Indian who
can catch an old trapper twice."

"Well, what did you discover?"

"Before I reached the spot I heard a fierce
yell of anger.  That I knew to be caused by
the discovery that I had escaped.  When at
last I reached a little rising ground overlooking
the camp, where the shrub was very thick, I
saw two prisoners tied to the self-same tree to
which I had been tied but a few hours before."

"What were they like?"

"One was an Indian youth.  I knew him
at once.  He was the eldest son of White
Eagle, and the other was a stranger to me.
He was a paleface in the garb of an Indian
hunter, and he must have been your
companion.  This only I discovered, for my stay
was a brief one, and the reason why I have
remained in the vicinity of the Algonquins is
because I have been hopeful that an opportunity
will occur to save them, else they will
either be tortured to death, or carried to the
Canada lodges."

"You fill me with joy and with hope,
trapper.  We must and will save them!
Nothing shall prevent us!" exclaimed Jamie,
who was overjoyed at this good news.

"If only we had White Eagle and twenty
of his Iroquois braves here we might do
something, before it is too late."

"White Eagle will be here with some of his
warriors by noon to-morrow," replied the lad.

"What's that you say?  Who has gone for him?"

"Swift Arrow.  We dispatched him at
dawn yesterday, as soon as we found that you
were a prisoner."  And then Jamie told the
old man all he knew--how they had struck the
trail of the Algonquins, how the Indian lad
had scouted all night, and had crept up to the
enemy's camp, and reported that they held as
a prisoner a great paleface hunter, who was
the friend of White Eagle, and how Swift
Arrow had departed for assistance.  He told
all, except his dream.

The hunter was bewildered when he heard
all this, but merely remarked--

"Swift Arrow.  I know the lad.  He has
the swiftest foot in all the Six Nations, and he
will bring the warriors back, but whether they
will arrive in time is another matter.  And
now there is something for us to do."

"What can we do, trapper?  Speak, for I
am ready.  Inaction alone is inglorious, while
my comrades are in the hands of those fiends.
What can we do?"

"We must hold the trail till the chief comes
up.  The Algonquins are pretty sure to clear
off quickly, for they are in the hunting-grounds
of the Iroquois, and my escape will have
hurried their departure.  Probably they are
already preparing to move.  Let us go.  But
stay, you are famished, and cannot stand a
long journey.  We must have breakfast, and
then we will hasten, lest the game should slip
through our hands."

They made a hasty breakfast of some dried
venison and half-cooked hominy, which the
trapper bad snatched from a cooking-pot
when he hurried away from the deserted camp;
then feeling much refreshed by this rude but
welcome meal, they shouldered their rifles and
departed in the direction of the camp.

They cautiously continued their way
through the forest, sometimes wading in
narrow streams in order to hide their trail;
sometimes crawling on all fours through the
dense undergrowth, till they reached the
outskirts of the camp.

Not a word was spoken during this tedious
journey, which took upwards of an hour, lest
a solitary sentinel should discover their
approach.  Once, indeed, they passed within a
hundred feet of a scout, without even raising
his suspicions.  At length they paused for a
moment to rest at the bottom of a little
densely-wooded hillock, scarce an arrow-flight
from the camp.  They were entirely hidden in
the thick shrub, and were so close to the enemy
that they could hear the voices of the Indians,
and see the blue smoke curling up from their
fire, though the fire itself they could not see,
because of the little brow or hillock that
intervened.

Then they crawled from their hiding-place,
through the brush to the top of the brow, and
looked down upon the encampment.  They
doffed their beaver caps, and only permitted
their eyes to peep for an instant at the scene
below, lest the sharp glance of a warrior should
chance to see them, but what a thrill came to
Jamie's heart!

Thirty or forty braves were standing or lying
about, some of them in little groups occasionally
pointing to the forest.  Others were
examining their rifles and knives, as though
expecting to be attacked.  A few were hanging
over the remains of a feast, the remnants
of a deer.  But what remained longest in
Jamie's memory, during that brief glance, and
excited his feelings most, was the sight of his
two comrades bound to a huge tree near the
middle of the camp.  Whether they had
already suffered torture or not, or were merely
waiting helplessly until such time as pleased
their captors to commence their vile and
fiendish practices, he knew not; but his own
feelings were roused to such a pitch of fury by the
sight that it needed all his strength of will to
command his feelings, and to restrain his desire
to rush forward and liberate the prisoners.

Just at that moment a hand was placed upon
his shoulder, and a voice whispered--

"Come!"

He turned and followed the trapper quietly
until they were once more ensconced in their
late hiding-place.

They were not a moment too soon, for
scarcely had they hidden themselves when a
scout came along, peering amongst the trees
and bushes, as though expecting to find an
enemy behind every cover.  Suddenly he
stopped almost opposite to them, and looked
suspiciously at the ground.

Something unusual had evidently attracted
his attention.  What was it?  He was within
a few feet of their trail.  Had he discovered it?
It was a critical moment for the two palefaces.
A single movement, however slight, would
betray them.  It was dangerous to breathe
even, or to stir an inch, for the crackling of a
twig would have been fatal.  Their very lives
hung on a slender thread.





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.. _`A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE`:

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   CHAPTER XVII


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   A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE

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It was a period of awful suspense, and the
two palefaces held their breath for a moment
as they watched the scout keenly.

What was it that had attracted the attention
of the Algonquin?

He stooped down and picked up something
that lay upon the ground.  It was a broken
scalping-knife that had evidently been dropped
or lost in some scuffle long, long ago, for it
was thick with rust.  He gazed at it for some
seconds, turning it round, then flung it away
into the forest.  The next instant he ascended
the hillock and disappeared, entering the camp.

Fortune had once more favoured Jamie and
his friend, for the discovery of the scalping-knife
had both arrested and deflected the course
of the scout, when he was only a few feet away
from the fresh trail of the two palefaces.  Had
he continued on his original course, he could
scarcely have failed to discover the prints of
their moccasins, and a very awkward situation
would have arisen.  The alarm once given,
fifty braves would have been upon them within
a minute.

The sound of voices now reached them more
frequently, and it was evident from the
commotion that was going on that some movement
was imminent.  Once the piercing cry of the
hawk was heard to come from over the hillock.

"They're moving the camp, and that's the
signal for the scouts to draw in.  They'll be
gone in half-an-hour," whispered the hunter.

"Hadn't we better prepare to follow?" said Jamie.

"No.  We shall gain nothing by being too
eager.  Besides, we have still got several
incoming scouts in our rear.  We must keep
closely to cover till they have passed."

This precaution was a very necessary one,
for within half-an-hour no less than three
scouts passed within a hundred yards of them,
each going in the direction of the camp.

Another hour passed away, and the sounds
they had previously heard became fainter and
then died away.  At length the trapper rose
from his crouching position in the brushwood
and said--

"Let us go!"

They now crept carefully through the long
grass that partially clothed the hillock, until
they could peer over the brow and obtain a
view of the camp.

The place was deserted, for the Indians had
gone and taken their prisoners with them.
The fire was still burning, and several half-cooked
pieces of venison and bear's flesh lay
about, also several broken utensils and a pair of
cast-off moccasins.

"Whither have they gone, think you?"
asked Jamie.

"Back to the Canadas, and we must follow them."

"They cannot have killed their prisoners,
then, or we should have heard them, and there
would have been traces of blood."

"See.  Here is the tree to which they were
tied.  The thongs have been so tight that
they have cut into the bark."

"Yes.  That means that they will have to
travel slowly, unless they kill their prisoners,
for they will scarcely be able to walk fast yet
awhile."

The trapper looked anxiously up at the sun,
which was now declining, and had reached the
topmost branches of the trees on the western
side of the forest; then he proceeded to
examine the prints of the Algonquin moccasins,
following them a little way into the forest
for the purpose, while Jamie still examined the
ground about the root of the giant elm-tree to
see if he could find traces of blood.

There were several spots of blood about
the tree and several splashes of it on the
bark.  There were also many deep cuts and
gashes, and an arrow still remained fast in the
wood about six feet from the ground, as
though they had practised the same cruelties
upon the lads that they had essayed upon the hunter.

"Only to think," muttered Jamie between
his teeth, "that an hour ago both Jack and
Young Eagle were tied up here, expecting a
cruel and lingering death from their captors.
What were their thoughts?  Oh, if they could
only have known that help was so near!
Hullo!  Where is the trapper?  He has
disappeared!" and the lad was suddenly
awakened from his reverie by becoming conscious
that the hunter was nowhere to be seen.

After a few minutes' search he found the old
man some little way in the forest, examining
very keenly the trail of the Algonquins.

"Well, what do you make of it?" he asked.

The trapper still continued for another
minute to examine the prints of the departing
redskins, and then he said, speaking very
slowly as though he had come to his conclusion
only after much thought--

"They are making tracks for one of the
streams that flows into Lake Seneca, where
they have probably left their canoes hidden in
the forest; then they will pass down the lake
to the Seneca River, and from thence into
Lake Ontario and thus to the Canadas."

"Then what chance shall we have of recovering
the prisoners?  Where can we overtake them?"

"Not till we reach the Seneca Falls, I fear,"
replied the trapper.  "Some distance below
the outlet of the lake there is a portage past
the Falls where they must land to carry their
canoes to the river below.  That is the spot
where we must surprise them.  By that time
the Eagle will be with us and some of his braves."

"That sounds all right, but what about the
prisoners?  I had hoped that something might
have been done to rescue them before then,"
said Jamie.

"The lads are safe for another three days,
at any rate, unless they attempt to escape, for
it now seems more than likely that they are to
be carried off to the Canadas."

"What is that picture that you are drawing,
trapper?" for the old hunter had stripped a
large piece of bark from a birch-tree, and on
the inner side had begun to draw a few rough
pictures.  It contained a cryptic message in
the Indian style of "picture-writing," by
which these children of the forest spoke to each
other at a distance.

It depicted the whole length of Lake
Seneca, and the Falls in the river below, then
a badger and a feather, representing the Grey
Badger and Red Feather following up a trail,
while a few wigwams ahead represented the
departing Algonquins.  Next a White Eagle
making a swift curve towards the Falls
completed the picture, and the message was
complete.

"It is a message to the White Eagle, to ask
him to make direct for the Falls and there to
prepare an ambush for the foes," replied the
trapper.

"Capital!  He'll understand that, easily
enough, when he reaches here at noon to-morrow."

"Yes.  The meaning will be as plain as a
pikestaff when he sees it.  He'll probably be
at the Falls long before us, for he'll travel
day and night when he scents the game he's
after.  And now let us start, while the trail is
warm."

The piece of bark was fastened to a tree, and
they departed quickly.  Night soon overtook
them, and they camped for a brief while in
the forest.  A drink of water and a piece of
bear's flesh, which they had brought from the
Algonquin camp, sufficed for supper, and then
they lay down to sleep, but Jamie thought
that he had only just closed his eyelids when
a hand was laid on his shoulder and the hunter
said--

"Come!  The dawn is breaking, and there
is the promise of a fine day."

All that day they followed the trail; not
without difficulty, for although in the soft soil
of the forest the moccasins had left a deep
print, yet at times, where the earth was dry
and barren from lack of moisture, or where
the redskins had followed the beds of the
streams, wading in the water, the trail became
difficult and the progress slower.  There was
also another danger that made them proceed
with care.  The Algonquins might have placed
scouts in their rear, and at any moment an
ambush might be sprung upon them.

"If only we could reach the canoes first and
set them adrift, we could then delay and
harass them," said Jamie.

"No! no!  That would never do," replied
his companion.  "Our business is to locate
them and then to make a detour, joining our
companions at the Falls, without letting them
discover our presence.  Once they find that
they are being tracked, the prisoners' lives are
endangered, for to facilitate their progress
they will kill the prisoners."

"See, here is a broken twig, and the leaves
have scarcely withered, showing that it cannot
be more than a few hours since they passed
this way," said the lad, who was now keenly
alert for every little sign that would guide them.

"Yes, and here is a deeper print in the soft
earth, as though one of the prisoners had gone
slightly out of his way to leave it for our
assistance."

"You are right, trapper!  That is the mark
of the Young Eagle's moccasin, for here is the
little patch on the left heel that he repaired but
two days ago, when he had burned a hole in
his moccasin by standing too near the fire.
But look here!  What does this mean?"

And a few feet further on they both stood
still and gazed at several splashes of blood
which had dyed the ground.

"The villains!  One of them has inflicted a
wound on Young Eagle, probably for snapping
the twig, or leaving a footprint in the
soft mould, which shows that they will be
watched in future, and that we shall have no
more signs."

"The wretches!"

"I hope White Eagle will not miss our
trail, should he decide to follow us, rather
than go direct to the falls," said Jamie, when
the day had worn on into the afternoon.

"There is no fear of that.  White Eagle is
the greatest chief in all the Six Nations, and
he could follow the trail of a humming-bird.
Besides, look there.  I have left him a trail
that he could follow in the dark," and for
about the twentieth time the trapper barked a
tree with his knife in a peculiar manner, which
evidently had a significant meaning for one
who was versed in the secret code of the forest.

The ground hardened again now, and the
trail almost disappeared, and sometimes failed
altogether, so that a full hour was spent
hunting for some hidden clue.  At length Jamie
exclaimed--

"Here is something, trapper!  A broken
file that Jack has purposely dropped to guide us."

"A broken file?" queried the other.

"Yes.  Rather a strange thing to carry in
the forest, but--but--he used it to sharpen
his knife, and such things," said Jamie,
reddening a little as he remembered the history
of that little file in the old country.  It was
the one which had secured their escape from
the lock-up two years ago, and Jack had kept
it as a memento, saying--

"It has brought us luck once; it may do so
again.  At any rate, it is sure to be useful, and
I will keep it."

The hunter carefully examined the file, and
then passed it over to his friend.  He, too,
remembered to have seen a file exactly like
that once--long ago--in a little land across the
sea, but all the secrets and memories that it
recalled were painful ones.

"Well, here's the trail, let us follow it,"
exclaimed Jamie.  "It's as good as following
a paper-chase through the woods at Burnside,
I do declare."

"Where did you say?"

"Burnside!  In the old country."

The old man looked long and keenly at the
youth, whose features were now so brown and
tanned that he was more like a redskin than
a paleface.  Then he was about to speak
further, but he checked himself, for at that
instant, when they had only followed the
newly-discovered trail for a hundred yards or so--

"Whisht!" went an arrow so close to them
that it pierced Jamie's beaver hat and pinned
it to the bark of a tree.

In a second they had gained the shelter of
a friendly elm, whose huge trunk offered cover
for them both.  Scarcely had they done so when--

"Whisht!" went a second arrow, and a
third, both perilously near.

"I can see him, trapper," whispered Jamie,
as he caught sight of a dark shadow behind a
tree fifty yards away, just as the third winged
messenger whizzed by.

The trapper had seen that dark form too,
and had covered it with his rifle, but he
hesitated to fire, and looked behind him uneasily
once or twice, as though conscious that some
one was advancing from the rear.  Were they
trapped?  Had the stalkers themselves been
stalked?

He was not mistaken, for a dark figure was
flitting from tree to tree behind them, and each
instant coming nearer.

Who could it be?

"Keep your gun levelled at that red devil
in front, lad.  There's some one approaching
from behind!  Whether friend or foe, I
know not, but I'll soon find out," said the
hunter.

Jamie did as he was bid, and before long the
opportunity he sought was offered to him.
He caught sight of the Algonquin again.  As
he stood fitting another arrow to his string, his
right arm was exposed.

"Bang!" a flash of flame spurted from
Jamie's rifle.  The leaden messenger found its
mark, and the Indian's arm fell helpless at
his side, even as he prepared to shoot.  With
a yell of pain the scout plunged into the thicket
and disappeared.

The next moment a dark figure bounded
from the cover of a tree in the rear and quickly
advanced.  The trapper had him covered with
his rifle, but the instant he caught sight of his
face he dropped the piece and said--

"Welcome, Swift Arrow!"





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.. _`A LOST TRAIL`:

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   CHAPTER XVIII


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   A LOST TRAIL

.. vspace:: 2

"Swift Arrow?" exclaimed Jamie,
lowering his smoking rifle, as he almost rushed
forward to greet his companion, in a truly
English fashion, for he was heartily glad to see
him again.

The Indian, however, remained cold and
reserved, and his only response to the warm
greeting of his paleface friend was the customary
"Ugh!" which seems at times to be the
only stock-in-trade of the Red Indians.  The
fact was, the youth was on his first war-path,
and at such a time the practice of his tribe
demanded deeds, not words.

"My red brother has the speed of a deer
and the heart of a lion.  He has seen the White
Eagle, and has brought us tidings.  Let him
speak, and the palefaces will listen to his
words," said the trapper.

After the usual pause demanded by Indian
convention, the youth replied--

"White Eagle, with thirty braves, will
reach the Seneca Falls at sunset.  Will the
palefaces continue to follow the Algonquin trail?"

"Yes," the scouts replied.

And then, without another word, Swift
Arrow turned away and disappeared into the
forest, almost in the direction in which he had come.

Though Jamie was now fairly acquainted
with Indian manners and customs, he was
rather taken aback with this abrupt departure,
and would have called him back again, but the
trapper said--

"Leave him alone, lad.  He is only following
the traditions of his race.  He has followed
our trail, and delivered the chief's message,
and is now probably going to rejoin White
Eagle.  He has discharged his duty with a
fidelity that many a white man might envy."

"He must be tired!"

"Yes, during the last fifty hours he must
have traversed near a hundred and fifty miles
of forest and streams, and I doubt very much
whether he has tasted food during the whole
journey."

"Hunter, I have lived amongst the red men
a little while now, and I have often discovered
amongst them a sense of honour and an unselfish
spirit that I have never seen surpassed
by the members of more civilised races."

"I'm glad to hear you say it, lad.  During
the last fifteen years my truest friend has been
a red man."

"You mean the White Eagle?"

"I do!"

"He is a great chief.  I owe him my life.
But for him my scalp would now be hanging
at the girdle of one of his braves.  I knew he
would come to your rescue, too, if he only
knew of your danger."

"Come to my rescue?  He would have
crossed the lakes and the plains to the
mountains beyond, even to the utmost bounds of the
Oregon River, if he had but known that my
life was in danger, and he would not have
expected the slightest reward; but come, let
us break our fast that we may follow the trail."

"Look, trapper.  There is our dinner, and
a right royal one, too," said Jamie, pointing
to several wild turkeys that were feeding in
the half-dried bed of a little stream near by.

The hunter raised his rifle to his shoulder
quickly, and fired, and one of the birds fell
over, struggled for a few seconds, and then lay
still with its claws in the air.  Jamie rushed off
to secure it, and quickly dressed it while the
trapper lighted a fire, and in a few minutes this
fine fat bird was roasting on a spit, scenting
the forest with the smell of roast turkey, and
promising to allay every pang of hunger.

They made a hearty repast, and then washed
it down with a drink at the little stream, before
they continued their march.  They had a trail
now that a child could have followed, for at
very frequent intervals there were splashes of
blood, which marked the ground and showed
the track of the wounded Algonquin, so that
they were able to move rapidly and without
any loss of time for several miles.

"We must keep a sharp look-out for scouts
now, trapper, for the varlets know that we are
on their track."

"That will only make them hurry forward,
and I don't think that they will place many
scouts in their rear.  The only thing that I
fear is that they will not camp to-night, but
press on in order to get to the Canadas as
quickly as possible.  In that case, should the
chief be detained, they may pass the Falls
before he gets there, and reach Ontario.  So
we must follow close.  We cannot be far from
Lake Seneca now."

"Cannot we follow them there?"

"No.  They will be safe behind the guns of
the Frenchers."

"Is it true then, hunter, that all the
Canada Indians look up to Louis as their king,
and call him their 'Great French Father'
across the water, and that they are in league
with him to drive all the English from the
Americas, and to make it a great French Empire?"

"'Tis even so, my lad!  And 'tis my firm
belief that the Canada war-parties, like the
one whose trail we are now following, are sent
to stir up strife, to tomahawk and scalp the
English settlers, to destroy their harvests and
burn their houses, by the Frenchers at Quebec
and the frontier forts; but they defeat their
own objects, for they have lately stirred up all
the tribes of the Iroquois as well as the
Delawares to become the active allies of the
English."

"And what will be the end of it all, trapper?"

"The end of it will be, that the Frenchers
themselves before long will be driven out of
Canada, just as they have lately been driven
out of India, by a few determined Englishmen,
under that brilliant merchant-soldier, Clive."

"Indeed!  Do you think it possible to drive
the French out of Quebec?  They have made
the place impregnable.  When I left there
they ridiculed the idea that the English would
ever attempt to take it."

"Time will show," said the trapper.  "Do
you know that even now a British fleet is
holding the river, and an English army is encamped
about Quebec?"

"Is it possible?  How I should like to be
there and to serve under Wolfe's flag; but
how did you learn all this in the forest?"

"Even the forest can speak to those who
have ears to listen.  Why did the Algonquins
depart so rapidly, and make no attempt to
recapture me, when the price of fifty
beaver-skins has been set upon my scalp by the
Canadas during the past five years?  They
could not know then that the Iroquois were
upon their trail."

"Why, indeed; unless they were summoned
hastily back to their own country, or was it
that they feared the wrath of the Senecas and
the Cayugas, whose hunting-grounds they had
invaded?"

"Partly that, perhaps, for the Senecas, like
all the other tribes of the Six Nations, are a
fierce and warlike race; but there was another
reason."

"What was it?"

"Listen!  The night before I escaped, a
messenger, with a war-hatchet all covered with
blood, entered the Algonquin camp.  He also
carried a broad belt of wampum, and the skin
of a rattlesnake filled with arrows; while his
tomahawk was stained a deep red, in token of
war.  He was received with great deference,
and when he had handed the war-belt to the
Algonquin chief, he declared that a fierce and
bloody war had broken out between the French
Father and the children of Miquon, and that
the former needed all his red children to come
and assist him.  He promised them 'a great
plenty' of paleface scalps if they would come;
but if they refused, then, if the English won,
they would take from the children of the
Manitou all their hunting-grounds, and burn
their wigwams and lodges to the ground, until
the prints of their moccasins should no longer
be found in the forests.

"When the messenger had finished speaking
he showered the arrows upon the earth, and
then flung the blood-red hatchet upon the
ground, saying--

"'Even now the River of Canada is full of
big canoes that carry the thunder and the
lightning, and the paleface warriors from over
the great Salt Lake, led by a mighty chieftain
named Le Loup [Wolfe], have settled around
the fortress of Canada, like a swarm of locusts.
Come, my brothers!  Who will take up the
hatchet to fight for the Great Canada Father?'

"After a long pause, as if to give due weight
and consideration to this important message,
the Algonquin chief arose from his seat by the
council fire, and made a brief but solemn
speech, which, after extolling the prowess of
his ancestors and himself, ended in a promise
to return and assist the French, as soon as the
scattered members of the party returned, and
the scouts were called in.  He then proceeded
slowly to the spot where the hatchet was half
buried, and solemnly took it up.

"A wild burst of savage yells greeted this
action, and the evening was given up to a
war-dance.  Next day, while the parties were
coming in, one of the scouts was scalped, as
you know, by Young Eagle, and the departure
was delayed another day.

"Thus it was," continued the trapper,
"that I learnt of the arrival of Wolfe, and
that the plight of the French was so bad that
all their Indian allies had been called in to
assist them, with a promise of a 'great plenty'
of paleface scalps.  A promise which never
fails to attract a red man."

This was news that fired Jamie's soul.
What would he not give to join his countrymen,
and to help in wresting the Canadas from
the French?  At that moment he envied the
smallest drummer-boy in Wolfe's army the
part he was to play in the siege.

"If only Jack were free," he said to
himself, "we would start for Quebec to-morrow,
and offer our services; and Jack shall be free,
if brave men can save him!"  Then overtaking
the trapper, who was a few yards in
advance, for during this conversation they
had been following the trail in single file, he
said--

"In another two hours the sun will be entering
the pines.  I shall be glad when we reach
one of the streams that flows into the lake.
Surely we cannot be far away now!"

The hunter at that instant halted suddenly,
and exclaimed, "The varmint!"

"What's the matter?" inquired Jamie,
noting the anxious look on the face of his
companion.

"They have misled us.  This is a false trail.
Several of the Algonquins have come this way
in order to mislead us, and then doubled back,
walking backwards.  It must be so, for
look--the trail ends here."

It was only too true.  For nearly a mile,
through tangled forest, across streams and
open glades, they had followed a false trail.

"That comes of talking too much.  Your
Indian, when he is on the warpath, doesn't spill
a word, except his blessed 'Ugh!', for he keeps
his nose down to the trail.  However, there is
no help for it.  We must go back till we strike
the main trail again."  This all took valuable
time, but at last they discovered the spot where
the tracks diverged, and they got the scent
once more.  The real trail had been so neatly
covered up, for fifty yards or more, and the
false one left open, that it was no wonder that
the mistake was made.

Even here their difficulties did not end, for
within another quarter of an hour they came
to a spot where several small streams met, and
here also the trail ended abruptly, and although
they examined each bank for some distance
they were unable to discover any clue as to the
route taken by the Algonquins.

Time was precious, and a full half-hour had
already been wasted here, when the trapper,
who had carefully examined each of the bigger
streams, turned his attention to the third,
which was a mere rivulet.  Proceeding twenty
yards up the bank of the stream, he dammed
up the rivulet with a few stones, backed by
earth-sods, and turned it temporarily out of its
course, so that almost immediately it ran dry.
Then, following the dried-up bed of the
stream, he soon perceived the print of a
moccasin, that had only been half-washed away
by the water.

"Look!" he said, "even the water sometimes
gives up its secrets.  Here is the trail--let
us follow it."

Half-a-mile further on they came to a place
where the whole band had left the stream, and
struck into the forest again, and just as the
sun was getting low amongst the trees they
struck a larger stream that was capable of
bearing a canoe.

"They have taken to the water!  See,
here are the marks made by the bows of the
canoes, as they pushed off," said the trapper.

"And here is the spot where the boats were
hidden amongst the bushes!" exclaimed Jamie.

"Yes.  Let us look around and see if by any
chance they have left us a spare canoe, for if I
am not mistaken they have left nearly a dozen
of their warriors in the Iroquois forests."

A diligent search was made, but no trace of
a canoe could be found anywhere.  The only
thing they could find was a spare paddle, which
the trapper took along with him, saying--

"A paddle without a canoe is not worth
much, but if we discover a canoe and haven't
got a paddle, we shall not be much better off."

They had not proceeded far down the bank
of the stream when the keen eyes of the
hunter, despite the failing light, perceived a
stranded canoe on the other side of the river.

"I thought so!" he exclaimed.  "The
rascals had one canoe too many, but to prevent
us using it they set it adrift, and the current
has landed it across there.  I will fetch it."

"No, no!" said Jamie.  "I'll fetch it,"
and, throwing off his hunting shirt, he plunged
into the stream, and swam across to where the
canoe had gone ashore, jammed between two
rocks.  He had taken the paddle with him, and
he quickly returned in the canoe, which was
none the worse for its little adventure, except
that there was a small hole in the bow, which
the trapper soon repaired.

"There is no time to lose.  We must
hasten; for unless the Algonquins camp
somewhere along the lake, we shall be too late,"
said the hunter.

The sun had set half-an-hour ago, as they
paddled swiftly down stream; but there was
still a crimson glow from amongst the pines
on the western side of the river.  Sometimes
they skimmed along with the current without
putting in the paddle, the next moment they
danced and twisted amongst the rapids; but
the trapper piloted the canoe safely amongst
the rocks, the eddies and the swirls, ever
seeking the most sheltered spots.

Suddenly, a bend in the river revealed to
them the opening of the lake, and in another
moment they were skimming along its glassy
surface, close in-shore.  This narrow lake is
thirty-five miles long, and from one to three
miles broad, and long before they had covered
half its length darkness fell, but they slackened
not their efforts.  They paddled in turn,
quietly but swiftly, ever keeping a careful
watch lest they should discover the camp-fire
of the enemy.

They were approaching a headland that
jutted out some little way into the lake, and
were scarce a dozen yards from the thick
bushes which overhung the bank, when the
screech of an owl reached their ears from the
shore.

Jamie, who held the paddle, stayed his hand
for a moment, and peered into the darkness.
A dark shadowy form was standing on a rock
at the very edge of the water, with an uplifted
hand that indicated danger.

He knew that form and that call too well
to hesitate.  "It is Swift Arrow," he whispered;
and drove the canoe in gently towards
the shore.





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.. _`THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS`:

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   CHAPTER XIX


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   THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS

.. vspace:: 2

What new danger threatened them now?
As they drew ashore at a spot where the
bushes parted to allow the rock to jut into the
water, Jamie was about to inquire from the
Indian youth what was the matter, and how he
had managed to strike their trail again, at a
moment when perhaps they most needed his
presence, but a low "Hist!" which came
from the dark figure upon the rock, silenced
him.  Evidently the lad had feared for their
safety, and at great peril had come to save
them, or at any rate to make them conscious
of the approaching danger.

Silently, they landed on the margin of the
forest, and crept ashore.  The rustle of a leaf,
the snapping of a twig might betray their
presence to a lurking scout, though as yet they
knew not what danger threatened.

"The Wacondah has made Swift Arrow
his messenger, in order to save our scalps.
Swift Arrow will now speak," whispered the hunter.

Then in a low, soft, musical voice,
untouched by excitement at the nearness of
danger, or emotion at seeing his friends again,
the Indian pointed to the dark headland,
scarce a hundred yards further along the lake,
and said--

"Swift Arrow has kept watch for his friends.
There is the Algonquin camp, and their
scouts are close to us; watching both the lake
and the forest.  A singing-bird has spoken to
them, and they think White Eagle is behind
them.  Before daybreak, they will enter the
Seneca River, at the outlet of the lake, on their
way back to the Canadas."

"But must we remain here till they are
gone?" asked Jamie.

"No," smiled the youth.  "Swift Arrow
will now lead his paleface friends out of danger,
and pilot them safely to the spot where the
White Eagle awaits the Algonquins, at the
portage by the Seneca Falls."

Saying this, he stepped into the canoe and
took the paddle, motioning the others to lie
down in the bottom of the craft, and then
noiselessly pushed off from the bank.  The
Indian did not attempt to continue the former
direction, but paddled cautiously back a little
way, hugging the shore; then he struck
directly across the lake, which is here about
two miles broad, and having approached the
opposite bank, he turned the head of the canoe
once more towards the outlet of the lake, and
paddled swiftly.

This manoeuvre succeeded perfectly, and
they got away unobserved.  Taking turns at
the solitary paddle, they soon reached the
outlet, and entered the swift stream which
takes its name from the lake.  Now they were
piloted swiftly and safely past the rapids,
aided only by the light of the stars, and the
daring skill of the Indian.

Two hours before dawn, a dull roar fell upon
their ears.  It was the cataract, where the
whole river tumbles in a frenzy of froth and
foam down a chasm of fifty feet, forming the
far-famed Seneca Falls.

The canoes were drawn to the bank at the
portage, and as they stepped ashore, the dark,
shadowy forms of several painted warriors
emerged from the cover of the trees.  They
were the Iroquois scouts, who were keenly
watching for the approach of the enemy.
Then a powerful and haughty chief
confronted them.  It was the White Eagle
himself, but the stern stoicism of his countenance
relaxed for a moment as he greeted his two
paleface friends.

"The paleface hunter is welcome to the
camp of the Iroquois.  Many moons have
passed since White Eagle and his friend
hunted the red deer, and struck the trail of
the moose together," said the chief.

"The home of the Grey Badger is in the
wigwams of the Iroquois, and when he has
struck his Canada enemies, he will return to
his seat at the council fire of the White
Eagle," replied the hunter.

"Ugh!  It is well!  I feared that the
Canada snakes had charmed away my friend,
but then I remembered that the Grey Badger
is too great a warrior to permit his scalp to
hang upon the poles of their lodges."

"It was a mighty close shave this time,
chief.  I didn't expect to see my red friends
again."

"Bah!  The river is now netted for the
Canada salmon.  My braves will take 'plenty'
scalp before another sunset.  Come!  My
warriors will watch."

A couple of Indians took up the canoe and
carried it to the other end of the portage,
while several others eliminated from the soft
bank the marks made by the bow of the boat
and the prints of the moccasins.  This
precaution was adopted to prevent an alarm being
given to the Algonquins, who were shortly
expected.  Then the party retired within the
precincts of the forest, there to await the
coming of the dawn.

Dawn came at last--towards the sun-rising
a faint yellow streak lit up the horizon.  Next,
a saffron tint flushed the sky, and then the
stars faded and disappeared, as the gates of the
morning were unbarred, and a hundred
streamers of flashing, roseate hues flooded the
blue vault of heaven.  Myriads of songsters
awoke the stillness of the forest, for the day
had come, and the dark curtain of night rolled
westward.

Another two hours passed, and then the
hawk-eyed vigilance of the watchers was
rewarded by a first glimpse of the enemy.
The dull, constant roar of the cataract in their
ears prevented their hearing the sound of the
approaching paddles, or the crunching of their
birch-bark canoes upon the beach, but long
ere this, the Iroquois scouts had reported the
enemy in sight, and every one was ready for
the approaching fight.

The portage was a short one, and the chief
had spread his warriors over the whole length
in order to prevent the escape of any of the
Algonquins.  A few scouts headed the party,
then came the Indians carrying the five canoes,
and after them, the two prisoners, their arms
bound with thongs, walking between a couple
of braves with tomahawks in their hands.

Every one now eagerly awaited the signal
for the combat.  The advance party had
reached a point about half-way over the
ground, when the shrill scream of an eagle
rose in the air.  At the same instant, the
clatter of a dozen rifles, and the fierce war-cry
of the thirty Iroquois, burst upon the ear.
The very trees about the unfortunate
Algonquins seemed to turn into frenzied warriors,
who, brandishing their tomahawks, rushed
upon their foe.  The canoes were thrown to
the ground, and in the confusion which
followed, brave deeds were done.  A fierce
hand-to-hand fight ensued, but the Algonquins,
mowed down by that first fire, and
hopelessly outclassed, were driven nearer and
nearer to that perilous brink, where leapt the
mighty cataract into the foaming rapids and
whirlpools below.

A few bold spirits, rather than leave their
scalps in the hands of their enemies, leapt into
the chasm beneath, and were never seen again.
Except these, not a soul escaped the vengeance
of the Iroquois.

The two braves in charge of the prisoners
were the first to fall, for from their first
landing they had been covered by the rifles of
the hunter and Jamie.  The latter then drew
his hunting-knife from its sheath, and rushing
forward, cut the thongs that bound the two
prisoners, and quickly drew them out of the
*mêlée* into a place of safety, and left the
contest to the Iroquois, for he had no doubt
whatever of what the result would be, and
taking scalps was not exactly to his liking.

Meanwhile, the White Eagle wielded his
tomahawk with all the strength and fury of
an Iroquois chief.  He fought his way to where
Red Wolf was heading and encouraging his
braves, and hewed him down.  It was quickly
over, and in less than a quarter of an hour the
Iroquois were masters of the field.

"Thanks, Jamie!  You have saved my life,
and I can never repay you.  I had given up
all hope of escape.  So rigidly were we watched
that there was not the slightest opportunity
for us to gain our freedom.  We were to have
been tortured and put to death at sunset, at
soon as we had reached the shambles of Fort
Oswego, for you know the French have taken
the place, after a dreadful slaughter, and now
claim to be masters of both shores of the lake.
Still, all that is past now, and I am thankful
to be with my friends once more.  Jamie, old
fellow, how can I thank you for all this?"

"You've had a narrow squeak, Jack, but
you must thank the hunter here, and Swift
Arrow, who I believe has not taken food
since you were made a prisoner.  Come!"
and Jamie led his old comrade towards the others.

"Let me introduce you to the 'Great
Paleface Hunter' who held your trail till
the White Eagle could arrive with his braves."

"What! the Grey Badger, the friend of the chief?"

"The same.  He is a mighty paleface, and
I have learnt to love him already.  He is the
most renowned hunter in all the forests south
of the lakes."

So, while the Indians harvested the spoils of
the enemy, the three palefaces lit a fire, and
cooked a breakfast from a large salmon,
speared in the river below, satisfied the pangs
of hunger at a spot a little apart from the
braves, near by the lower end of the portage,
and then talked for an hour about all the
news that had filtered through the forest
relative to the great conflict, which was
already raging so fiercely on both banks of
the St. Lawrence.

The youths listened with pent-up feelings,
while the hunter told all he had heard from
passing *voyageurs* and Indian runners of the
disasters that had befallen the English arms of
late.  He described the disaster of
Ticonderoga, the fall of Fort Oswego, and the
partial success of Dieskau, but when he spoke
of the capture of Fort William Henry and the
frightful massacre which followed, the lads
sprang to their feet, and declared in one
breath--

"We will go and offer our services to
General Wolfe, for our country needs us!"

The light of battle was in their eyes, the
courage of manhood mounted to their brows,
as they clasped each other's hand across the
fire, and repeated their promise to join the
English lines; then, turning to the trapper,
who remained seated by the fire, smoking
calmly and puffing the blue smoke from an
Indian calumet, Jamie said--

"Say, hunter!  Will you join us on yet
another trail, where the game shall be, not
redskins, but the recreants of Montcalm, and
the reward, not Indian scalps, but the honour
of the old flag, or--a soldier's grave?"

"Lads," he replied, "my country has not
been over kind to me.  I am an exile from my
native land, and yet I have never committed a
crime.  My conscience is clear; but I, too, feel
my country's call, and I know her need, and
it shall never be said of me that I shirked the
call of duty, when already so many exiles have
left their bones to bleach in the forest, for the
land that has denied to them a hearth and a
home.  I will go!  Let us bid good-bye to the
chief and his braves."

The parting scenes between the White
Eagle and the hunter, the paleface youths
and their Indian friends, was affecting in the
extreme, when it became known that they
were now about to part, and perhaps for ever.
All the rich memories of their forest life were
brought back to them, and to the palefaces
especially the fidelity of their red brothers,
their lofty characters, despite their many
failings, their simple faith in the Great Spirit,
the Wacondah of their race; their comradeship
in hunting the red deer and the shaggy
brown bear amid all the savage scenery of
mountain and forest, and taking from the
streams and lakes the salmon and the sturgeon,
or descending wild rapids and torrents in
their frail birch-bark canoes, with these
children of the Manitou--all this they recalled,
and forsook it with a pang of regret; but
another voice was calling to them, and their
beating hearts were but responding to the call
of Duty.

At last, they stood by their canoe ready to
depart, at the lower end of the portage, below
the Falls; and the Indians were standing
around them, sad and melancholy, for their
grief had for once broken down their manly
reserve, and the stoic mask, which had enabled
some amongst them to endure torture without
flinching, could not now keep back the
moisture from many an eye.

Listen! the great chief, in prophetic strain,
is speaking his last solemn words of farewell--

"The face of the Manitou is hid behind a
cloud, and the hearts of his red children are
sad.  Nevermore will the Great Paleface
Hunter, the friend of the White Eagle, hunt
the deer in the hills of the Iroquois.
Nevermore will he sit at the council fire of my
people, and smoke the calumet, while his red
brothers listen to the wisdom that falls from
his lips like the dew from heaven.  Nevermore
will he speak to us of the sacred writings that
the Wacondah has given to the children of the
Sun-rising!

"When his canoe has sailed into the regions
of the East-wind, then shall my people be
scattered like the leaves in autumn, and the
few that remain, to fish the streams and hunt
the moose and the elk, will be but as blasted
pines, where the fires of the forest have raged."

"Nay, chief!  The sun will shine again, and
I shall return if the Manitou wills it," urged
the hunter, as he flicked the water impatiently
with his paddle.

"The Wacondah has said it!  My paleface
brother shall nevermore look upon the face of
the White Eagle."

"Then I shall look for my red friend in
the happy hunting-grounds of the Manitou.
Good-bye!"

The next moment the canoe shot into the
stream, and began to descend rapidly towards
the great lake.  A last long look was cast
behind, a last adieu waved to their friends,
who stood watching till they passed from view,
then the low murmur of the Falls ceased as
they sped on their way.

Soon, they passed the ruins of Fort Oswego,
and entered Lake Ontario.  Then they
stretched across the lake to the Thousand
Islands, and entered the St. Lawrence and
stole quietly past the French post at Fort
Frontenac.  Then for hundreds of miles they
were carried by the swift current of the Canada
River, down past Mont Royale, and the mouth
of the Ottawa River, past Trois Rivières,
until one day they heard the sounds of heavy
firing, as though a battle were in progress.

'Twas early in September 1759, and the
guns of Quebec were firing at the English
ships and batteaux, as they passed the citadel,
to gain the upper reaches of the river.  As
they passed the next bend in the river, they
saw the French warships which had retreated
up the stream, away from those terrible
English.  They also perceived on the heights
to the left, in the vicinity of Cape Rouge, the
sentries of Bougainville's detachment, and
here they ran a narrow escape of capture,
being taken by the French for spies.

Before sunset on the eleventh of September,
they espied with great joy, on the southern
bank, the white tents and the red coats of
Wolfe's army.





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.. _`THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM`:

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   CHAPTER XX


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   THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM

.. vspace:: 2

"Halt!  Who goes there?"

It was a burly Highlander, an outpost sentry
of the British army, that challenged the three
paleface scouts.

"Friends!" cried Jamie.

"Then ye'll just gi'e me the password,"
replied the soldier, levelling his musket at the
youth who had acted as spokesman.

"I do not know the password," said Jamie,
boldly confronting the levelled firearm.  "We
have just come in from the frontier to offer our
services to General Wolfe."

"Then ye'll just ground your arms, and bide
a wee, till I call the sergeant!"

The sergeant in charge of the party came
up in response to the sentry's call, and while
he was engaged in conversing with the
strangers, an aide-de-camp to General Wolfe,
who was a field officer in the Royal Americans,
galloped by.  Seeing three men in the garb of
the forest, and knowing the value of such
hardy, trained frontiersmen, having seen a
good deal of such service himself, he reined in
his charger, received the salute of the sergeant,
who, on being requested, reported the business
of the strangers.

"Look here!  Do you fellows know anything
of Quebec, or the river and the forts?"
asked the field officer.

"Yes, sir!" replied Jamie.  "Two of us
lived there for nearly twelve months as nominal
prisoners of the French."

"Indeed?  When did you leave there?"

"Last spring, sir."

"Do you know the river this side of the city?"

"Every creek and cove, sir, between Cape
Rouge and the narrows."

"That will do!  Shoulder your rifles and
come with me."

Then, putting as much dignity into their
carriage as their rough appearance would
permit, the three scouts followed the officer.
They passed through several lines of sentries,
but they were not challenged further, as the
aide-de-camp gave the password at each
barrier.

They soon entered the inner camp and
passed between rows of white tents.  Groups
of Highlanders, Anstruthers, and Grenadiers
in their scarlet uniforms were sitting about the
camp-fires, seeing to their equipment, cooking
rations, etc.  Others were just landing from
the transports and batteaux which lay in the
river opposite the camp.

Despite their deer-skin shirts, Indian moccasins
and beaver caps, there was a deep bronze
upon the faces of the strangers, and a keen
alertness about their movements, and especially
their eyes, that bespoke them real scouts
of the backwoods and pioneers of the Empire,
with an experience that few could boast, even
amongst those five thousand red-coats that
were the flower of the British army; and many
a soldier lifted his eyes to gaze after them as
they passed by.

Having reached the vicinity of the General's
tent, the field officer handed them over to an
orderly of Monckton's Grenadiers, with orders
to find them quarters and rations until the
General expressed his pleasure concerning
their offer of service.

All that day they remained in the camp,
but no message came from the commander.
Evidently he was busy with more important
duties, and could not be bothered about the
services of a few rude frontiersmen; but next
morning, towards noon, the field officer
returned in person and said--

"General Wolfe desires to speak with you.
Come with me!"

Jamie's heart beat wildly at the thought of
speaking with this great soldier, the darling
and the genius of the whole army.  They
arrived at the large tent which served as the
head-quarters of the staff.  A sentry barred
the way till the password was repeated, and
then, following the officer, they entered, Jamie
first, then Jack, and last of all the hunter.

All three quickly brought their hands to the
salute as they stood before a large table, at
which sat three officers of high rank.  They
were Generals Murray, Monckton and Townshend,
and although unknown to the youths,
who wondered which of the three was Wolfe,
they have each left an honoured name on the
scroll of Empire.

But who was that pale, ascetic-looking
invalid, reclining on a couch beside General
Murray?  Surely he was no soldier!  He was
weak and sickly, and appeared to be suffering
from some painful malady.  What was he
doing here? wondered Jamie, giving him a
passing glance, and then directing his attention
to the three officers, who were conversing
amongst themselves, and examining charts and
maps with such intensity that they scarcely
seemed as yet to have noticed the newcomers.

Suddenly the invalid on the couch said something,
and instantly the three soldiers ceased
their conversation, dropped the charts and
maps, and listened to his every word with
marked reverence and respect.

"Murray," he said, "which are the two
scouts who were prisoners in Quebec till last
spring?  Let them come to me."

The aide-de-camp indicated Jamie and Jack,
and then General Murray approached them
and said--

"Step forward!  General Wolfe desires to
speak with you," at the same time making a
respectful gesture in the direction of the couch.

"General Wolfe!  Could that feeble person
be the great soldier on whom England relied
to win the Canadas from the French?"
thought Jamie, as he stepped forward and
saluted the invalid.  He was amazed and
dumfounded.  It was well for him at that
moment that he had learnt something of the
Indian virtue of hiding his feelings, or his face
might have shown something of his disappointment.

"Why, you are quite a lad!  Come, let me
look at you!  There, that will do!  I like
your face, and yours, too."

"Thank you, General!"

"Now tell me what you know of Quebec,
and when you landed there, and when you left,
and how."

Then Jamie, acting as spokesman for the
two, told him briefly but clearly his history,
commencing with the sea-fight, his capture,
and how he spent his time at Quebec, his
adventure with the Iroquois on the St. Lawrence,
and his escape by the steep pathway
that led up on to the Plains of Abraham, and
how that Jack had accompanied him in that
and all the other adventures he had met with
on the frontiers.

"Good!" exclaimed the General, into
whose eyes the fire had leapt as the lad
described his adventures, especially the fight
with the French frigate.

"Pass me that chart of the river and the
Plains, Monckton.  There, that will do!  Just
show me, lad, the spot where you landed that
day and climbed to the Plains.  Here, take
hold of this chart!"

Jamie took the chart, spread it out on the
ground, and knelt down by the couch.

"There," he said, pointing to a tiny dent
in the northern shore, "is the spot where we
made our escape.  It is a league or so above
the city."

"And if I sent you down there with a boat
in the dark, could you find it again?" said the
General in a soft voice.

"Yes, sir, I could!"

"And if I ordered you to land a boat-load
of soldiers on the top of the cliffs there before
dawn to-morrow morning, how would you set
about it?"

Jamie flushed with pride at the thought of
such a commission, but he answered quietly
and firmly--

"General, if you trusted that boat to me I
would wait till the second ebb tide to-night,
then, under cover of darkness, I would drop
down with the current, keeping in mid-stream
till nearly opposite the cove, then, edging in
to the northern bank, I would run the boat
ashore at the inlet, and lead the men up on
to the Plains two hours before dawn."

"By George, Townshend, he'll do!  Let
him have a seat in the first boat, and his
companions too.  But see that they are kept in
charge of the orderly, and not permitted
outside the lines till I send for them."

"Yes, sir."

"By the way, Monckton, is there a guard
at that point above the cove?"

"Vergois' guard is stationed there, sir.  It
is part of Bougainville's command."

"My lad," said the General, half rising from
the couch and putting his hand on Jamie's
shoulder, "it is a very important duty that I
am entrusting to you to-night.  I am going
to put you in the first boat, along with the
other guides, as your knowledge of the spot
may be useful, and it is of the first importance
that we should not pass that cove in the
darkness.  The safety of the British army, to a
great extent, will be entrusted to you, and
perhaps--who knows?--the destiny of Canada.
You will be kept under the charge of the
orderly till nightfall, as there are plenty of
spies about the camp.  If you do your duty
this night, your King and your country will
be grateful to you.  Good-bye!"

Darkness came at length on that famous
12th of September, 1759, and as soon as the
northern bank disappeared in the gloom of
evening, the English camp was astir with quiet
and concealed movements.  Only to a few was
the plan of campaign known, for in the
rapidity and secrecy of the movement lay the
only chance of success--for against the
English the odds were desperate.  Wolfe,
however, was so far recovered from his sickness
that he was able to command in person, and
the inspiration that this knowledge gave to the
men was equivalent to the addition of an army corps.

An officer who took part in the events of
that night has left it on record that despite
the reverse at the Montmorency six weeks
before, "the men were uncommonly eager and
difficult to restrain, and yet," he added,
speaking to a comrade a few hours before the
event, "if we succeed in scaling and capturing
that rock-crowned citadel, I shall think little
in future of Hannibal leading his army over
the Alps."

At nine o'clock thirty boats collected from
the warships and transports, rendezvoused in
a line in front of Admiral Holmes' flagship.
Then the last "general order" issued by
Wolfe was read to the troops by the generals
in command.  It contained these striking
words--

"Now is the time to strike a stroke which
will determine the fate of Canada."

Then fifteen hundred men, the forlorn hope
of the expedition, selected chiefly from the
Highlanders, the Anstruthers and the Light
Infantry, were crowded into the boats, and now
nothing remained but the final issue, as the
troops calmly waited for the second ebb tide,
which was to carry them down-stream.

At one o'clock the tide ebbed, and the order
was given to cast off.  Not a soldier or a sailor
remained behind who was not cursing his
ill-luck that he had not been chosen to go ahead
in the boats.  The order had been given for
silence, and nothing could be heard but the
gurgling of the water as it washed the sides
of the boats; but the excitement, though
suppressed, must have been intense as the men
grasped their muskets and lay close together,
looking at the stars above or those rugged
heights, which ever and anon loomed darkly
from the northern shore.

Jamie, with his two companions, was in the
first boat eagerly scanning that dark outline
and noting every headland, watching for that
little indentation just between St. Nichol and
Le Foulton, where he and Jack had so often
landed their little fishing canoe during their
enforced stay in Quebec.

Suddenly a low voice broke upon their ears
from the stern sheets of the next boat, which
was only a dozen feet away.  It was the voice
of Wolfe reciting to his officers and to a young
midshipman, named Robinson, who has left
the incident on record.  He was quoting from
memory the stanzas from "Gray's Elegy"--

   |  "The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
   |

"Gentlemen," Jamie heard him say, "I
would rather have written those lines than take
Quebec to-morrow."  And every English
schoolboy now knows how strangely
prophetic and appropriate were those lines.

They were now rapidly approaching the
little cove, and Jamie signalled to the steersman
of his boat to edge in a little closer to
the northern shore, which now towered above
them like a great barrier.  As he did so the
voice of a sentry came through the gloom from
the heights above--

"*Qui vive?*"

"*La France!*" replied a captain of the
Highlanders from Jamie's boat.

"*A quel régiment?*" came back from the
heights.

"*De la Reine!*" answered the Highlander.

The sentry appeared satisfied, as the Queen's
regiment formed part of Bougainville's
command, which had been sent further up the
bank in order to watch Wolfe's movements.

Shortly afterwards they were challenged
again, but a few more adroit answers saved the
situation.

"This is the spot," whispered Jamie, and
the boat was run upon the bank in the little
sandy cove beneath the cliffs, and a hundred
men were quickly clustered upon the little
beach.  Wolfe was amongst the first to land,
and as he looked up at the rugged heights he
shook his head and coolly remarked--

"You can try it, but I don't think you'll
get up."

The next moment Jamie and his
companions, closely followed by twenty
volunteers, were climbing the precipitous front,
dragging themselves up by the roots and
branches of the shrubs and trees which
overhung the steep ascent.  For another moment
those below waited with breathless suspense.
Then quick, ringing shots were heard, as those
few determined men overpowered the small
French guard at the top.  This was followed
by a thin British cheer, and immediately the
Highlanders below, with the Light Infantry
and the others, clambered up the apparently
impossible heights and gained the plains above.

At dawn fifteen hundred men stood upon
the Plains of Abraham, and then the ships,
which had dropped down the river behind the
boats, landed the rest of the army.  When
the sun rose on the 13th of September, the
watch on the citadel beheld with amazement
the red coats of the British army forming up
into lines--and preparing for battle.

Swift couriers had carried the tidings across
the St. Charles to Montcalm, and the roll of
drums was heard amid his camp, and soon
the French division were pouring across the
bridge of boats.  At nine o'clock, the armies
were facing each other on the Plains above the
city.  Then the rattle of musketry began as
the French sharpshooters lined the bushes
and entrenchments previously prepared to the
north-west of the city.

On came the columns of Montcalm, firing
and shouting in an inspiriting manner, led by
their renowned leader in person.

How different those thin red lines of
Highlanders, Grenadiers and hardy colonial levies.
An ominous silence hung like a cloud over the
English ranks.  It was the silence that
presages the storm--the calm, still waters of
a dam about to burst its bounds and spread
havoc and death.

As the French fire became more effectual,
the gaps in the English ranks became frequent,
but they were filled in silence as the rear men
stepped to the front.  In those ranks scarce
a word was spoken, and as yet not a shot had
been fired.  Officers of Montcalm have since
said that this ominous silence cast a chill over
the French columns that half decided the issues
of the day.

Not till the French were within forty yards
was the word given to fire, then simultaneously
the long line of muskets were brought to the
level, and from end to end of the English ranks
a crashing blaze of leaden hail was poured upon
the enemy.  The columns of Montcalm reeled
and staggered before this dreadful impact.  A
second volley was fired, and then, before the
smoke had rolled away, or the enemy had had
an opportunity to reform his shattered ranks,
a deafening cheer rang from end to end of the
Plains.  The flood of British fury was at
length undammed, and trampling the dead and
dying they swept the shattered columns before
them in one mad, wild stampede.  The Highlanders,
wielding their terrible broadswords,
chased the fugitives right up to the gates of
the city and across the St. Charles River.

The defeat was crushing and absolute, and
in that moment of victory the destiny of
Canada was settled, but the cheers of the
victors were silenced as the sad news passed
from rank to rank that Wolfe had fallen.  In
the heat of the fight, leading on the
Grenadiers, his wrist had been shattered by a ball.
He quickly bound it in a handkerchief, and
continued the fight.  A second ball pierced his
side, but he stayed not.  Then a bullet entered
his breast, and he reeled and fell.

Four soldiers raised him up, and carrying
him to the rear laid him gently upon the grass.
He appeared to be unconscious, but when a
soldier near him exclaimed--

"See how they run!"

"Who run?" asked the dying soldier,
opening his eyes.

"The enemy, sir!  They give way everywhere!"
was the reply.

"Then tell Colonel Burton to march
Webb's regiment down to Charles River to
cut off their retreat from the bridge.  Now,
God be praised!  I will die in peace," were
the last words of General Wolfe.  That
day England gained an Empire, but lost a hero.

The three scouts had finished their task when
they led the forlorn hope up the precipice and
on to the Plains, but they were not to be
denied a share in the fight, for they had
received permission to join the ranks of the
centre column, which was under the personal
command of Wolfe, and bore the brunt of the
fight on that never-to-be-forgotten morning.
They were in the forefront of that wild rush to
the bridge, where the fight was thickest, and
where many hundreds were hurled into the
St. Charles River, and where Montcalm's
retreat was effectually blocked and victory
made secure.

The battle was over now, for though one
of the most glorious, it was one of the briefest
in history, and though they had lost each other
in the pursuit, the three comrades were glad
to rejoin the ranks at the roll-call on the Plains
and find each other alive and well, except for
minor wounds, though the joy of victory was
damped and a chill went to every heart when
the word was passed down the ranks that their
illustrious leader had fallen.

Next morning General Townshend passed
to the head of every regiment in succession,
and thanked the troops for their brilliant
services, and soon afterwards one of his
aide-de-camps approached the scouts and requested
their immediate presence in the General's tent.
They followed him, wondering that he had not
forgotten them altogether in the excitement
of so great a victory.  When they stood in
his presence they saluted and waited for him
to speak.

"Jamie Stuart and Jack Elliot!" said
General Townshend, and instantly several
other officers, who had been busily engaged
writing dispatches for England, rose and stood
at attention.  "In the name of His Most
Gracious Majesty, King George the Second,
I thank you for the eminent services you have
rendered to your country.  I have appointed
you both from this day to be ensigns in the
Royal Americans.  Here are your commissions.
Right nobly have you won them.  May
you be spared long to serve your country!
God save the King!"

The youths were overwhelmed with this
generous tribute from so great a soldier.  They
could find no words to express their gratitude
for this signal honour conferred upon them.
A commission in His Majesty's victorious
army seemed too great a reward for their poor
services, so each raised his hand to the salute
again and repeated the General's words--

"God save the King!"

The General then turned to the hunter, who
had been an interested and sympathetic witness
of this stirring scene, but as he spake his
voice softened, for he had noticed that down
the bronzed cheek of the old man there trickled
a tear.

"Frontiersman, what is your name?" he asked.

There was a pause, and for a few seconds the
hunter's eyes were turned to Jamie, and a
strange far-away look came into his face.
Then in a half-broken voice he answered--

"John Stuart of Burnside!  An exile!"

"Father!" burst from Jamie's lips, and the
next instant the paleface hunter and his son
were hugging each other with joy.

The next moment General Townshend
advanced to the hunter, and pinning the
King's medal upon his breast, he said--

"He is no longer an exile who wears this
honoured decoration.  John Stuart, I thank
you for the work you have already done, but
there are still further services that I wish to
ask of you.  I understand that your knowledge
of the river and the forest from this point to
Mont Royale is unsurpassed by that of any
person in the camp.  Your knowledge will
shortly be invaluable to us.  I appoint you as
Frontiersman and Chief Guide to the British
Army in the Canadas, and, furthermore, I
desire to say that His Majesty shall be
reminded after the war of the important
services which I trust you will then have
rendered to your country."

"General," said the hunter, "I am an
exile from my native land, but I have never
committed a crime, and my conscience is clear.
England has treated me unkindly, but I love
my country, and without any thought of
reward I freely offer you my services.  If
necessary, I will gladly die for my country."

"Thank you, Frontiersman!" said the
General, touched by these words.  "A grateful
country will not forget your devotion to her
interests in the hour of her need.  May every
son of Britain likewise forget his private
wrongs in England's hour of danger."

Four days later, on that memorable 17th of
September, 1759, the white flag was hung out
from the citadel at Quebec, and on the next
day the Gibraltar of North America passed for
ever from its old masters into the hands of
Britain.

"Look, Jack!  The French ensign is
coming down," said Jamie, and they both looked
towards the citadel, and a moment afterwards,
amid the clash of martial music, the salute of
the batteries, and the wild cheering of the
soldiers, the English flag waved proudly over
the fort and the river.

"There, Jamie, our dream has come true,
it's the old flag at last, and, thank God, we
have helped to plant it there."

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After the fall of Quebec, the paleface hunter
and the two youths accompanied the army in
its victorious march upon Mont Royale, and
when the war was over they returned to
England.  Jack survived his two brothers, and in
time became the Squire of Burnside, and I
find that to John Stuart, Esquire, of
Burnside, Yorkshire, a grant of Crown land was
made for his services to his country, and that
the old farmhouse, which still stands, above
the wood and the trout-stream, was built by
him and his son Jamie in 1775.  And there
they lived happily for many years, and there
Jamie's descendants live to this day, for only
two years ago, while visiting his ancestral home
and poring over ancient deeds and the old
family Bible, with its records and dates, the
author discovered this forgotten story of
adventure and peril.

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