Project Gutenberg's Harper's Round Table, July 16, 1895, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Harper's Round Table, July 16, 1895 Author: Various Release Date: July 3, 2010 [EBook #33070] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, JULY 16, 1895 *** Produced by Annie McGuire HOW JACK LOCKETT WON HIS SPURS. QUILL-PEN, ESQUIRE, ARTIST. SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES. OAKLEIGH. STORIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. THE CAMERA CLUB THE PUDDING STICK WHIPPOORWILL. MODERN WHALING. INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT THE BEVERLEY GHOST. BICYCLING STAMPS HARPER'S ROUND TABLE Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved. PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK. TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY. VOL. XVI.—NO. 820. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR. [Pg 713] HOW JACK LOCKETT WON HIS SPURS. BY G. T. FERRIS. A STORY OF THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR FOUNDED ON FACT. The chips flew merrily under Jack Lockett's axe to the tune of his whistling, for he was chopping the night's supply of firewood, and the dark was shutting down apace on the cold January day. He had already made the horse and the cows snug in the barn, and his young appetite was sharp set for the supper which would be ready with the finish of his chores. He looked out on the dreary waters of the bay with the gleam of a dull twilight on them, and saw shining through the dusk a white sail skimming shoreward. "Some belated fisherman. Br-r-r, how cold it must be out there!" Jack said to himself, as he breathed on his frosted fingers and smote the wood with still harder strokes. This stalwart lad of fourteen, with his fearless blue eyes and tanned face, looked more than his years, for he lived in parlous times, which ripened men early. His father, Colonel Lockett, of the Connecticut line, was away with the army in winter-quarters at Valley Forge, and his young son had to shoulder a heavy burden. He could not yet carry a firelock in battle, perhaps, but he could toil patiently for his mother and sisters, with many a sigh that there was no beard to his chin, while his brave father faced cold and hunger in camp or the lead and steel of the redcoats in the field. When he had lugged in the last armful of fagots, and sat down at the smoking supper table, the common thought found vent on his lips. "I feel as if I couldn't eat a thing, hungry as I am, mother, when I remember dear old daddy at Valley Forge. They say that General Washington himself has scant rations, and men die every day from hunger. What'll be the end of it all?" "Perhaps the stories belie the truth" (there hadn't been a word from the absent soldier for months), said the mother, trying to keep back the tears. "But look—look, Jack, at the window!" with almost a shriek. "That face! What is it?" The cold had begun to coat the glass with a crystal veil. Somebody stood out there, and by melting the frost with the breath, now looked in on them with shadowy features and gleaming eyes. Jack stared with open mouth at the apparition. Then, with a wild whoop, and a spring which almost upset the table, he yelled, "Why, don't you see it's daddy come home?" and executed a war-dance of joy to the door. Colonel Lockett was almost eaten up by his wife and children before he was permitted to retaliate on the savory dishes of the supper table. He had been all day in an open boat on the water (the unsuspecting Jack had had a glimpse of him), and without food since daybreak. "'Twas unsafe to cross the enemy's lines by land," he said, with a sigh of delicious contentment, sitting before the great blazing crackling hearth and looking into the loving faces of his young people and their mother. "To get through even as far as Sandy Hook was a narrow shave of capture. So, then, 'twas off uniform and on fisherman's suit, lent me by a kind heart, who also gave me a cast in his dory to the Great South Bay. Thence across Long Island to Glen Cove, and 'twas easy there to find a sail-boat to fetch me home over the Sound." "And you didn't know of the British ship Tartar lying off the place here?" said Jack, with wonder and alarm. "Not till too late. And having thus ventured, 'twould have been a coward's job to have gone back," answered the father, with a smile. "But," said Mrs. Lockett, with a face as white as the snow without, "you're not in uniform. Should you be taken?" Even the youngest of the children knew what that meant, and they shuddered with the vision of him they loved standing with the fatal noose about his neck amidst the jeers of a brutal soldiery. "Tut, tut, good wife," quoth the Colonel, gayly. "These be but soldiers' risks, and, trust me, the hemp you fear is not yet spun. And now away with grewsome thoughts. Tell me how you make matters here, for I've long been without news." "Lackaday," said the wife, "'tis but a dull story. All the good-men away, and none but lads and grandfathers to till the fields and care for the women. The Cowboys and the Skinners[1] scour the country like wolves. What the one leaves the other takes. We've suffered with our neighbors, but bear it lightly, dear heart, for thought of you all in the thick of the trouble." "No tongue can speak what the poor fellows endure," said the soldier. "Uniforms in rags, without blankets to keep 'em warm at night, scarcely one good meal a day, shoeless feet that drip blood a-walking post in the snow. His Excellency had me to dinner the night before I left camp. One [Pg 714] tough smoked goose for eight, but 'twas washed down with the General's choice Madeira. Tears came to his brave patient eyes as he talked. 'Oh, for some brave heroic deed,' he said, 'some dashing stroke, something to shoot a thrill of cheer through these downcast spirits! 'Twould be better, methinks, than the coming of a great supply train.' Even his iron soul sometimes falters. And now, Jack, about the Tartar. Does she trouble the country overmuch? I made a long beat to 'scape the look-out." The boy clinched his teeth. "'Tis a brazen jackanapes, that Captain Askew. His boat parties do as much mischief as the Cowboys. There's scarcely a ham left in the place from the Christmas killing. Only two days since I met him swaggering on the beach, and he threatened to impress me on the Tartar for a powder-monkey. There was a scowl on his red face. 'Look ye, you rebel spawn, they say your father calls himself a Colonel under Mr. Washington. Some day I shall come and take ye aboard to serve his Majesty, and introduce ye to his Majesty's faithful servant, the cat.'" The boy stopped, and then started as if something burned him. "Oh, daddy, think of what General Washington said! If we could only—" The same thought leaped like an electric spark between them—brave father and gallant boy. No need of words. Eye flashed it to eye. To capture and destroy the Tartar—a small matter indeed in the sum of the struggle, but might it not be like a spark of flame in dead dry wood to kindle fire and hope? Colonel Lockett lay quietly at home during a whole week. Scarcely a soul seemed to know of his coming. But Jack took long rides, to his mother's wonderment, by night and by day through the country. The secret talks between Jack and his father, the look of excitement that kept his face aglow—some mystery alarmed her. At last she learned with terror of the enterprise afloat to cut out the British ship, and she made the boy's father promise that Jack should not go with the boats. "No! no!" he said to the agonized lad. "You are my faithful Lieutenant ashore, but must stay behind from the attack. Should aught happen to you, what will come to your mother and sisters when I am gone?" Poor Jack bit his lip in silence. 'Twas a hard strain on filial obedience, for his hot young blood had tingled with the thought of what was to come. A large barn stood in a lonely place about three miles from the Lockett house. One night a passer-by would have fancied something strange going on there. Many a horse was hitched to the trees of the adjacent wood, lantern-lights twinkled through the crevices, and every few minutes little groups came up and slipped through the barn-door. When all had gathered, the tall form of Colonel Lockett arose in their midst, and the roll was called to see that none was there except those apprised. "You know what you've come for, friends and neighbors," said he. "We are about to strike a gallant blow for the good cause. It's not too late for those to withdraw who fancy the hazard overbold. For half-armed countrymen to storm a royal ship seems heavy odds of failure. But courage on one side and panic on the other will right the scales. And there are no better weapons than yours for a hand-to-hand fight. A pitchfork with a short handle, a scythe set in a stick, make the best of boarding-pikes. We need no firelocks. The ship must be taken by surprise, and carried with a rush. The decks once swept and the hatches battened down, and she is ours. There is no moon, and the air and sky betoken a great snow- storm brewing. When that comes, whether to-morrow night or later, we attack." And so he gave them stirring words, saying that this feat would ring like the peal of a trumpet. He proceeded to tell off the boat-crews, appoint the officer of each division, and give careful instructions. "And now, old men and beardless boys, it rests with you to do what will set men's hearts thumping when 'tis known," was his parting, as each went his way fired with the thought of a gallant deed to be done. The next night proved propitious. It was a thick, windless snow-storm, and the white smudge of flakes blinded eyesight better than the blackest black. An hour after midnight the four whale-boats which floated the expedition pushed off from the little cove. Jack had gone to the landing to say "good-by" to his father, his head buzzing with things that didn't get to his tongue, and, curiously enough, he had slipped a heavy hatchet under his coat. "It's for you to be hero at home just now," was the Colonel's last word. "Two years hence, if the struggle still goes on, my brave lad shall have a chance to strike a blow." Jack, whose conscience smote him sorely, mumbled something as his father's boat moved out into the storm with muffled oars. But as the last boat slid into deep water the boy gave a spring and landed in the stern, light as a feather. "'Sh! Not a word," said he, in a low voice. "I'm going if I have to swim." The officer of the boat, an old farmer, who had seen service in the French and Indian wars, scratched his gray poll in grave doubt. "Waal, I like yer grit fust rate, and ye come by it naturally. I guess I'll hev to see ye through, ef it is agin the Kurnel's orders. But ye ha'nt no we'p'n?" Jack pulled out his hatchet, and the old chap laughed again to himself. "Blessed ef breed don't tell ary time, when it's a bull-pup." The Tartar lay at anchor two miles off the point, and on such a blind night, with its smother of snow, it was easy to miss the goal. Orders had been strict that the boats should keep bunched together almost within oar's-length. True, the men of the crews knew their waters so well that they might have bragged they could smell their way to the frigate over that smooth black pitch like hounds on the scent. But cocksureness was tricky on such a night. They pulled with slow strokes, straining to catch a sound or a glimpse. It had begun to get intensely cold, and the spit of the snow stung their faces and stiffened their fingers. Jack's young blood was proof against rigor of frost, for his ears sang with a roaring music, as if a pair of sea-shells had been clapped against the sides of his skull. His veins beat like hammer-strokes. He thought he felt a new sensation. "Can it be I'm afraid?" he repeated to himself. No, Jack, fear never comes that way. Fear strikes the coward to a lump of jelly. What you feel now quivering to your finger-tips is the thing which gives fire and mettle to every gallant heart, and nerves the muscles to greater strength. No fighter worth his salt ever failed of this galloping music in his veins on the eve of action. Whisper to that gray beard by your side whether he doesn't feel the same leap of pulse, though his sinews have got stiff at the plough-tail, and his blood sluggish with years since he smelt powder. And don't you remember, too, Jack, that you felt a little of the same sort of thing that time you "pitched in" and "licked" the hulking bully nearly twice your size, for insulting the "school-marm," till he bellowed like a calf? It seemed that more than an hour must have passed. Could they have missed the ship, was the thought of all. This meant failure. There was not the faintest ripple in the dead silence. But hark! there suddenly boomed on the night the sweet muffled notes of a ship's bell, and with it there was a dim flicker to starboard, as of a light shining through a port-hole. Luck was with them, after all, and now the time was close at hand. A denser black loomed against the darkness, vaguely outlining the ship's hull, and the head-boat grated on the long hawser holding the after anchor, thrown out to take up the swing of the ebb-tide. And hark again! Through the cabin windows, suddenly thrown open as if for a breath of fresh air, floated the sounds of laughter and singing, the chorus of a Bacchanalian catch. Captain Askew and his subs, late as it was, were still making merry with song. "Gad! 'tis dark as Erebus," said one of the voices at the grating. "What a night for a cutting-out party!" A dozen strokes parted the boats to port and starboard, and they dashed for the ship's sides. Up they swarmed into the chains and clambered aboard, though not with the sailor's light foot. The watch on deck were asleep or dozing in sheltered nooks. They sprang to arms with a shout, but [Pg 715] were speedily killed or disabled. A dozen lanterns flashed over the decks as the crew tumbled up out of the fo'c's'le hatch, for all others had been spiked down. Half naked, and scarcely awake, they yet fought doggedly. The Captain and his officers trooped out of the cabin, flustered with wine, but loaded to the muzzle with pluck, and fell to with sword and pistol. Colonel Lockett had detailed a dozen picked men with bags of slugs and powder-canisters to make ready and wheel around fore and aft a couple of the deck-carronades. The assailants were in the waist of the ship, and the fury of the assault had begun to drive men-o'-war's men under hatch, for the ship was undermanned, and the crew somewhat outnumbered. Scythe and pitchfork did their work well. It was at this moment that one of the carronades sent its rain of buckshot into the thick of the British sailors and completed the rout. Instantly they had boarded, Jack, swinging his hatchet, looked about for his father, and pressed forward to his side, though the Colonel did not see him, thinking him at home watching with his mother. When Captain Askew made the dash from the cabin the two leaders instinctively knew each other and crossed blades, for Colonel Lockett had snatched a cutlass from a fallen sailor. They cut and parried fiercely on the half-lit deck for a few moments, when the Colonel's foot slipped on the wet wood. That second would have been his last, but Jack's uplifted hatchet fell like lightning on Captain Askew's shoulder, and smote him flat to the deck. With this the battle was ended. Colonel Lockett looked on the lad's panting flushed face with amazement. "Why, Jack, I ordered you not to come. What does this mean? You deserve a good horsewhip— Why, Jack, Jack, you disobedient young villain, you've saved your father's life!" and with tears rolling down his face he clasped the brave lad in his arms. The Tartar was taken up to New Haven, and the Captain, who was only severely wounded, with the other prisoners, delivered over to the Continental officer in charge of the post. When Colonel Lockett returned to Valley Forge, which he did without delay, Washington thanked him in general orders for his brave feat. Jack got his heart's wish, and the last year of the war actually served on the staff of the Commander-in-Chief, young as he was. QUILL-PEN, ESQUIRE, ARTIST. BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS. Jimmieboy had been looking at the picture-books in his papa's library nearly all the afternoon, and as night came on he fell to wondering why he couldn't draw pictures himself. It certainly seemed easy enough, to look at the pictures. Most of them were made with the fewest possible lines, and every line was as simple as could be; the only thing seemed to be to put them down, and in the right place. "Why don't you try?" said somebody. "Eh?" asked Jimmieboy, with a sudden start, for he had supposed he was alone. "I say why don't you try?" replied the strange somebody. "Try what?" queried Jimmieboy, who, not having spoken a word on the subject of drawing pictures, was quite sure that the question did not apply to that matter—in which certainly he was very much mistaken, as the strange somebody's next remark plainly showed. "Try drawing pictures yourself?" said the voice. "I can't draw," said Jimmieboy, peering over into the corner whence the voice came, to see who it was that had spoken. "You can't tell unless you try," said the voice. "A man might do a million things If he would be less shy, That all his life he never does, Because he will not try. "Why don't you try?" "Who are you, anyhow?" asked Jimmieboy. "Tell me that, and maybe I will try." "Why, you know me," said the voice. "I am the Quill-pen over here on your mamma's table. Don't you remember how you nearly drowned me in the ink yesterday?" "I didn't want to drown you," said Jimmieboy, apologetically. "I wanted you to write a letter for me to my Uncle Periwinkle, asking him to send me everything he thought I'd like as soon as he could." The Pen laughed. "I'll do it some time—along about Christmas, perhaps," he said. "But about this picture business. I think you could make pictures." "Can you make 'em?" queried Jimmieboy. "I never tried, so I don't know," answered the Pen. "Then you try, and let's see how trying works," suggested Jimmieboy. "I'll get a piece of paper for you." "I'm afraid we can't," said the Pen. "I'm very dry, and don't think I could make a mark, unless you get me a glass of ink. "For just as skates are not much use Without a skating rink, So pens—of steel or quills of goose— Are worthless without ink." "Oh, I'll get plenty of ink," returned Jimmieboy, "though I think water would be saferer. Water would look pleasanter on the carpet if we upset it." "I can't make a mark with water," laughed the Pen. "How do you know?" asked Jimmieboy. "Did you ever try?" "No, I never tried. Because why? What's the use?" replied the Pen. "I do not try to touch the sky Or jump upon the stars; I do not try to make a pie [Pg 716] ZEBRA. ZEBRA. Of rusty iron bars; I do not try to change into A baby elephant, Because I know—and always knew— 'Tis useless, for I can't." "That's all very good," retorted Jimmieboy; "but a minute ago you were saying that "'A man might do a million things, If he would be less shy, That all his life he never does, Because he will not try.'" "You've got me there," said the Pen, with a smile. "Perhaps we had better use water. Now that I think of it, I have enough dried ink on me to make a mark if I am moistened up a bit with water. You get the water and the paper, and I'll see what I can do." Jimmieboy ran into the dining-room and brought a glass brimming over with water to the Pen, and in another minute he had a large pad of paper ready. "NOW," SAID THE PEN, "LET US BEGIN." "NOW," SAID THE PEN, "LET US BEGIN." "Now," said the Pen, "let us begin. What shall I draw first?" "I don't know," Jimmieboy replied. "Why not make a—er—a zebra.'" "What's a zebra?" asked the Pen, who had never been to the circus, as Jimmieboy had, and who was therefore, of course, ignorant about some things of very great importance. "Is it a piece of furniture?" "The idea!" laughed Jimmieboy. "Of course not. It's a sort of a small animal like a horse, and has—" "Oh, I know," interrupted the Pen. "Here's one." Then he dipped his head lightly into the water, and wiggled himself about on the pad for a minute. "There," he said, "How's that for a zebra?" Jimmieboy laughed long and loud. "What on earth are those wiggle-waggles all over him?" he asked. "Those are the Zees," explained the Quill. "Isn't that right?" "No!" roared Jimmieboy. "He hasn't a Z to his name." "Oh yes, he has," replied the Quill. "I know that much, anyhow. I have written many a zebra, though I never drew one before. They always begin with a Z, and end with a bray—like a donkey." "I don't mean it that way. I mean he hasn't any Zees printed on him," explained Jimmieboy. "He's striped like the American flag." "Why didn't you say so in the beginning?" said the Quill. "I was going to, but you interrupted me, and said you knew all about it, and I supposed you did," said the boy. "Well, let's try it again. He's a horse that looks like the American flag, you say?" "Yes," said Jimmieboy—a little dubiously, however. He thought perhaps the zebra more closely resembled a piece of toast, but as he had mentioned the flag, he thought it would be better to stick to it. "How is this!" asked the Quill, presenting the following picture to Jimmieboy. "Is that any more like a zebra?" "It's the most ridiculous thing I ever saw," said Jimmieboy. "I didn't say he had stars on him." "I know you didn't," retorted the Pen. "But that square might pass for a chest-protector, if any body ever criticised it." "Well, it isn't anything like a Zebra," said Jimmieboy, firmly. "You'd better try making an elephant." ZEBRA. ZEBRA. L-EPHANT. L-EPHANT. THE SWARM OF BEES. THE SWARM OF BEES. THE OSTRICH. THE OSTRICH. THE MON-KEY. THE MON-KEY. "That's easy," returned the Quill. "I never saw an elephant, but I've heard what they look like. Sort, of like pigs, with two tails, big flop ears, and paper-cutters for teeth, and great big huge large legs that look like bolsters. Oh, I can draw an elephant with my eyes shut." This the Pen proceeded to do at once, and here is his idea of the L-ephant. "That's more like an elephant than either of the two zebras was like a zebra," said Jimmieboy, with a grin. "Thank you," said the Pen, simply. "Which part have I done best, the L or the 'ephant?" "Well, it's hard to say," smiled Jimmieboy. "I think the hair on his forehead is very much like that of the elephants I have seen, and then you've got his eye just right. I've seen elephants look exactly like that when they have caught sight of a peanut." "How is this for a swarm of bees?" asked the Quill, gratified at his success, and dashing off this little artistic gem in an instant. "Ho!" ejaculated Jimmieboy. "What kind of bees are those? They aren't the honey kind that sting." "No, they are bees you can spell with, and don't sting," returned the Pen. "I like 'em better than the other kind." "Can you draw ostriches?" asked Jimmieboy. "I can try one," said the Pen. "How will this do?" he added, producing the following. "The horse part is all right, but I'm afraid the strich isn't so good," said the artist, as Jimmieboy threw himself on the floor in a paroxysm of laughter. "I never saw a strich, so why should I make a good one? I think it's real mean of you to laugh." "Well, really, Penny," said Jimmieboy, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but that's the worst-looking animal I ever saw. But never mind; it's a better-looking creature than most monkeys." "I never saw a monkey," said the Pen. "How many legs has it?" "Two legs, two arms, a tail, and a head," Jimmieboy answered. "Something like this?" queried the Quill, dashing off a picture complacently— he felt so sure that this time he was right. "Very much like that," Jimmieboy replied, smothering his mirth for fear of offending the Quill, though if you will refer to the drawing you will see that the Quill was quite as inaccurate in his picture of the monkey as he was with his zebras. "I thought I'd get you to admit that that was a good monkey," observed the Quill, regarding his work with pride. "I've seen a good many keys, and, of course, when you said the creature had two legs, two arms, a tail, and a head, I knew that he was nothing but a key to whom had been given those precious gifts of nature. To draw a key is easy, and to provide it with the other features was not hard." Jimmieboy was silent. He was too full of laughter even to open his mouth, and so he kept it tightly closed. "What'll I draw next?" asked the Quill, after a minute or two of silence. "Can you do mountains?" queried Jimmieboy. "What are they?" asked the Quill. "They're great big rocks that go up in the air and have trees on 'em," explained Jimmieboy. The Quill looked puzzled, and then he glanced reproachfully at Jimmieboy. "I think you are making fun of me," he said, solemnly. "No, I'm not," said Jimmieboy. "Why should you think such a thing as that?" "Well, I know some things, and what I know makes me believe what I think. I think you are making fun of me when you talk of big rocks going up in the air with trees on 'em. Rocks are too heavy to go up in the air even when they haven't trees on 'em, and I don't think it's very nice of you to try to fool me the way you have." "I don't mean like a balloon," Jimmieboy hastened to explain. "It's a big rock that sits on the ground and reaches up into the air and has trees on it." "I don't believe there ever was such a thing," returned the offended Quill. "Here's what one would look like if it could ever be," he added, sketching the following: "What on earth!" ejaculated Jimmieboy. "What? Why, a mountain—that's what!" retorted the Quill. "Don't you see, my dear boy, you've just proved you were trying to fool me. I've put down the thing you said a mountain was, and you as much as say yourself that it can't be." "But—how do you make it out? That's what I can't see," remonstrated Jimmieboy. "It's perfectly simple," said the Quill. "You said a mountain was a rock; there's the rock in the picture. You said it had trees on it; those two things that look like pen-wipers on sticks are the trees." "But that other thing?" interrupted Jimmieboy. "That arm? I never, never, never said a mountain had one of those." [Pg 717] MOUNTAIN. MOUNTAIN. A PANSY. A COWSLIP. A POTTED G-RANIUM. A BLUEBIRD. A BLUEBIRD. STEEPLE-CHASING. STEEPLE-CHASING. "Why, how you do talk!" cried the Quill, angrily. "You told me first that the rocks went up in the air, and when I showed you why that couldn't be, you corrected yourself, and said that they reached up into the air." "Well, so I did," said Jimmieboy. "Will you kindly tell me how a rock could reach up in the air, or around a corner, or do any reaching at all, in fact, unless it had an arm to do it with?" snapped the Quill, triumphantly. Again Jimmieboy found it best to keep silent. The Quill, thinking that his silence was due to regret, immediately became amiable, and volunteered the statement that if he knew the names of flowers he thought he could draw some of them. "Pansies, cowslips, and geraniums," suggested Jimmieboy. "Good! Here you are," returned the Quill, rapidly sketching the following: "That pansy," he said, as Jimmieboy gazed at his work, "is a frying-pansy. How is this for a battle scene?" he added, drawing the following singular-looking picture. "Very handsome!" said Jimmieboy. "But—er—just what are those things? Snakes?" "No, indeed," said the Quill. "The idea! Who ever saw a snake with wings? One is a C gull and the other is a J bird." "Can you draw a blue bird?" asked Jimmieboy. "I think so," answered the Quill, as he carefully drew this strange creature. "You haven't given him any wings," said Jimmieboy, after carefully examining the picture. "No: that's the reason he is blue. He has to walk all the time. That's enough to make anybody blue," explained the Quill. "Here's a puzzle for you!" he added. "Guess what it is, and I'll write to your Uncle Periwinkle and tell him if he'll come up here on Saturday with two dollars in his pockets, you will show him where you and he can get the best soda-water made." This is the picture the Quill then presented to Jimmieboy's astonished gaze. "Humph!" said Jimmieboy. "It looks like two men on horseback running after something, but what, I'm sure I don't know." "What does it look like?" asked the Quill. "Nothing that I ever saw." "Nonsense!" returned the Pen. "Does it look like a fox, or a Chinese laundry, or a what?" "It doesn't look like any of 'em," insisted Jimmieboy. "Dear me! How dull you are!" cried the Quill. "Why, boy, it's a church steeple, that's what. Now what is the whole thing a picture of?" "A steeple-chase!" cried Jimmieboy. "Exactly," said the Quill, very much pleased that after all Jimmieboy had guessed it. "And now I'll write that letter to Uncle Periwinkle." And so he wrote; P. S.—Dear Uncle Periwinkle, Come up on Saturday. Bring all the money you've got, and the soda-water we'll have will sail a yacht. If you can't come, send the money, and I'll look after sailing the yacht. Yours affectionately, Jimmieboy. "Will that do?" asked the Quill. "Yes," said Jimmieboy. "And now put it in an envelope, and I'll put it with the letters to be mailed." "Now draw some more," he said, after this had been mailed. But the Quill answered never a word. He had evidently fallen asleep. Strange to say, Uncle Periwinkle never got his letter, and the pictures the Quill made all faded from sight, and so were lost. SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.[2] BY KIRK MUNROE. CHAPTER XXXIX. INVADING A CAPTAIN'S CABIN. [Pg 718] An earthquake could hardly have caused greater consternation in the village of Klukwan than did the boom of that heavy gun as it came echoing up the palisaded valley of the Chilkat. Not many years before the Indians of that section had defied the power of the United States, and killed several American citizens. A gunboat, hurried to the scene of trouble, shelled and destroyed one of their villages in retaliation. From that time on no sound was so terrible to them as the roar of a big gun. While Phil and his companions were chafing at the delay imposed upon them by the greed of the Chilkat Shaman a government vessel arrived in the neighboring inlet of Chilkoot, bearing a party of scientific men who were to cross the mountains at that point for an exploration of the upper Yukon, and the locating of the boundary line between Alaska and Canada. The Princess, learning of its presence, and despairing of assisting her white friends in any other way, secretly despatched a messenger to the Captain of the ship with the information that some Americans were being detained in Klukwan against their will. Upon receipt of this news the Captain promptly steamed around into Chilkat Inlet and as near to its head as the draught of his vessel would allow. As he dropped anchor, there came such a sound of firing from up the river that he imagined a fight to be in progress, and fired one of his own big guns to give warning of his presence. The effect of this dread message was instantaneous. Phil Ryder dropped his uplifted arm. The Chilkat Shaman scuttled away, issued an order, and within five minutes a new and perfectly equipped canoe was marvellously produced from somewhere and tendered to Serge Belcofsky. Five minutes later he and his companions had taken a grateful leave of the Princess, and were embarked with all their effects, including the three dogs. Phil stationed himself in the bow, Serge tended sheet, and Jalap Coombs steered. As before the prevailing northerly wind their long-beaked canoe shot out from the river into the wider waters of the inlet, and they saw, at anchor, less than one mile away, a handsome cutter flying the United States revenue flag, the three friends uttered a simultaneous cry of, "The Phoca!" "Hurrah!" yelled Phil. "Hurrah!" echoed Serge. "Bless her pretty picter!" roared Jalap Coombs, standing up and waving the old tarpaulin hat that, though often eclipsed by a fur hood, had been faithfully cherished during the entire journey. At that moment one of the cutter's boats, in command of a strange Lieutenant, with a howitzer mounted in its bow, and manned by a dozen heavily armed sailors, hailed the canoe and shot alongside. "What's the trouble up the river?" demanded the officer. "There isn't any," answered Serge. "What was all the firing about?" "Celebrating some sort of native Fourth of July. Is Captain Matthews still in command of the Phoca?" "Yes. Does he know you?" "I rather guess he does, and, with your permission, we'll report to him in person." "Pull up the hoods of your parkas," said Phil to his companions, "and we'll give the Captain a surprise party." A minute later one of the Phoca's Quartermasters reported to the Captain that a canoe-load of natives was almost alongside. "Very well; let them come aboard, and I'll hear what they have to say." In vain did the Quartermaster strive to direct the canoe to the port gangway. The natives did not seem to understand, and insisted on rounding up under the starboard quarter, reserved for officers and distinguished guests. One of them sprang out the moment its bow touched the side steps, clambered aboard, pushed aside the wrathful Quartermaster, and started for the Captain's door with the sailor in hot pursuit. "Hold on, you blooming young savage! Ye can't go in there," he shouted, but to heedless ears. As Phil gained the door it was opened by the Commander himself, who was about to come out for a look at the natives. "How are you, Captain Matthews?" shouted the fur-clad intruder into the sacred privacy of the cabin, at the same time raising a hand in salute. "It is awfully good of you, sir, to come for us. I only hope you didn't bother to wait very long at the Pribyloffs." "Eh? What? Who are you, sir? What does this mean? Phil Ryder! You young villain! You scamp! Bless my soul, but this is the most wonderful thing I ever heard of!" cried the astonished Commander, staggering back into the cabin, and pulling Phil after him. "May, daughter, look here!" At that moment there came a yelping rush, and with a chorus of excited barkings Musky, Luvtuk, and big Amook dashed pell-mell into the cabin. After them came Serge, Jalap Coombs, and the horrified Quartermaster, all striving in vain to capture and restrain the riotous dogs. As if any one could prevent them from following and sharing the joy of the young master who had fed them night after night for months by lonely camp-fires of the Yukon Valley! So they flung themselves into the cabin, and tore round and round, amid such a babel of shouts, laughter, barkings, and crash of overturned furniture as was never before heard in that orderly apartment. Finally the terrible dogs were captured, one by one, and led away. May Matthews emerged from a safe retreat, where, convulsed with laughter, she had witnessed the whole uproarious proceeding. Her father, still ejaculating "Bless my soul!" at intervals, gradually recovered sufficient composure to recognize and welcome Serge and "Ipecac" Coombs, as he persisted in calling poor Jalap. The upset chairs were placed to rights, and all hands began to ask questions with such rapidity that no one had time to pause for answers. From the confusion Captain Matthews finally evolved an understanding that the boys were still desirous of reaching Sitka, whereupon he remarked: "Sitka, Sitka. It never occurred to me that you had any desire to visit Sitka. I thought your sole ambition was to attain the North Pole. If you had only mentioned Sitka last summer I might have arranged the trip for you, but now I fear—" At this moment there came a knock at the door, and when it was opened the Quartermaster began to say, "Excuse me, sir, but here's another—" Before he could finish his sentence a small furry object jerked away from him with such force, that it took a header into the room and landed at the feet of the Commander on all fours, like a little bear. "Bless my soul! What's this?" cried Captain Matthews, springing to one side in dismay. "It's a baby!" screamed Miss May, darting forward and snatching up the child. "A darling little Indian in furs. Where did it come from?" "Great Scott!" exclaimed Phil, remorsefully. "To think that we should have forgotten Nel-te!" "Are there any more yet to come?" demanded the Captain. "No, sir; the whole ship's company is present and accounted for," replied Jalap Coombs. "But with your leave, sir, I'll just step out and take a look at our boat, for she's a ticklish craft to navigate, and might come to grief in strange hands." So saying, the honest fellow, who had made an excuse to escape from the cabin, where he felt awkward and out of place, as well as uncomfortably warm in his fur garments, pulled at the fringe of long wolf's hairs surrounding his face, and shuffled away. A few minutes later saw him in the forecastle, where, divested of his unsailorlike parka, puffing with infinite zest at one of the blackest of pipes filled with the blackest of tobacco, and the centre of an admiring group of seamen, he was spinning incredible yarns of his recent and wonderful experiences with snow- shoes and sledges. In the mean time May Matthews was delightedly winning Nel-te's baby affections, while Phil and Serge were still plying the Captain with questions. "Were you saying, sir, that you feared you couldn't take us to Sitka?" inquired Serge, anxiously. "Not at all, my lad," replied the Captain. "I was about to remark that I feared you would not care to go there now, seeing that there is hardly any one in Sitka whom you want to see, unless it is your mother and sisters and Phil Ryder's father and Aunt Ruth." "What!" cried Phil, "my Aunt Ruth! Are you certain, sir?" "Certain I am," replied Captain Matthews, "that if both the individuals I have just mentioned aren't already in Sitka, they will be there very shortly, for I left them in San Francisco preparing to start at once. Moreover, I have orders to carry your father to St. Michaels, where he expects to find you. So now you see in what a complication your turning up in this outlandish fashion involves me." "But how did my Aunt Ruth ever happen to come out here?" inquired Phil. "Came out to nurse your father while his leg was mending, and incidentally to find out what had become of an undutiful nephew whom she seems to fancy has an aptitude for getting into scrapes," laughed the Captain. "Has my father recovered from his accident?" "So entirely that he fancies his leg is sounder and better than ever it was." "And are you bound for Sitka now, sir?" "Certainly I am, and should have been half-way there by this time if I hadn't been delayed by a report of some sort of a row between the Chilkats and a party of whites. Now, having settled that difficulty by capturing the entire force of aggressors, I propose to carry them to Sitka as legitimate prisoners, and then turn them over to the authorities. So, gentlemen, you will please consider yourselves as prisoners of war, and under orders not to leave this ship until she arrives at Sitka." "With pleasure, sir," laughed Phil. "Only don't you think you'd better place us under guard?" "I expect it will be best," replied the Captain, gravely, "seeing that you are charged with seal-poaching, piracy, defying government officers, and escaping from arrest, as well as the present one of making war on native Americans." CHAPTER XL. IN SITKA TOWN. The long-beaked and wonderfully carved Chilkat canoe was taken on the Phoca's deck, the anchor was weighed, and, with the trim cutter headed southward, the last stage of the adventurous journey, pursued amid such strange vicissitudes, was begun. As the ship sped swiftly past the overhanging ice-fields of Davidson Glacier, out of Chilkat Inlet into the broad mountain-walled waters of Lynn Canal, and down that thoroughfare into Chatham Strait, Captain Matthews listened with absorbed interest to Phil's account of the remarkable adventures that he and Serge had encountered from the time he had last seen them at the Pribyloff islands down to the present moment. "Well," said he, when the recital was finished, "I've done a good bit of knocking about in queer places during thirty years of going to sea, and had some experiences, but my life has been tame and monotonous compared with the one you have led for the past year. Why, lad, if an account of what you have gone through in attempting to take a quiet little trip from New London to Sitka was written out and printed in a book, people wouldn't believe it was true. They'd shake their heads and say it was all made up, which only goes to prove, what I never believed before, that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction, after all." "Yes," replied Phil; "and the strangest part of it all is the way that fur-seal's tooth has followed us and exerted its influence in our behalf from the beginning to the very end. Why, sir, if it hadn't been for that tooth you wouldn't have come to Chilkat, and we shouldn't be in the happy position we are at this very moment." "You don't mean to say," cried Captain Matthews, "that it turned up again after your father lost it?" "Oh yes, sir, and it's been with us, off and on, all the time." "Then at last I can have the pleasure of showing it to my daughter. Would you mind letting me have it for a few minutes?" "Unfortunately, sir—" "Now don't tell me that you have gone and lost it again." "Not exactly lost it," replied Phil. "At the same time, I don't know precisely where it is nor what has become of it, only it is somewhere back in Klukwan, where it originally came from, and I have every reason to believe that it is in possession of the principal Chilkat Shaman." "I declare that is too bad!" exclaimed the Captain. "If I had known that sooner I believe I should have kept right on and shelled the village until they gave me the tooth, so strong is my desire to get hold of it." "And so secured to yourself the ill luck of him who steals it," laughed Phil. That afternoon the Phoca turned sharply to the right, and began to thread the swift-rushing and rock-strewn waters of Peril Strait, the narrow channel that washes the northern end of Baranoff Island, on which Sitka is situated. Now Serge stood on the bridge beside his friend, so nervous with excitement that he could hardly speak. Every roaring tide rip and swirling eddy of those waters, every rock with its streamers of brown kelp, every beach and wooded point were like familiar faces to the young Russo-American, for just beyond them lay his home, that dear home from [Pg 719] which he had been more than three years absent. Suddenly he clutched Phil's arm, and pointed to a lofty snow-crowned peak looming high above the forest and bathed in rosy sunlight. "There's Mount Edgecumbe!" he cried; and a few minutes afterward, "There's Verstoroi." Phil felt the nervous fingers tremble as they gripped his arm; and when, a little later the cutter swept from a narrow passage into an island-studded bay, he could hardly hear the hoarse whisper of: "There, Phil! There's Sitka! Dear, beautiful Sitka!" And Phil was nearly as excited as Serge to think that, after twelve months of ceaseless wanderings, the goal for which he had set forth was at last reached. The Phoca had hardly dropped anchor before another ship appeared, entering the bay from the same direction. "The mail-steamer from Puget Sound," announced Captain Matthews. This boat brought but few passengers, for the season was yet too early for tourists; but on her upper deck stood a gentleman and a lady, the former of whom was pointing out objects of interest almost as eagerly as Serge had done a short time before. "It is lovely," said his companion, enthusiastically, "but it seems perfectly incredible that I should actually be here, and that this is the place for which our Phil set out with such high hopes a year ago. Do you realize, John, that it is just one year ago to-day since he left New London? Oh, if we only knew where the dear boy was at this minute! And to think that I should have got here before him!" "Now he will probably never get here," replied Mr. Ryder. "For, on account of that California offer, I shall be obliged to return directly to San Francisco from St. Michaels without even a chance of going up the Yukon, which I know will be a great disappointment to Phil. But look there, Ruth. You have been wanting to see a canoe-load of Indians, and here comes as typical a one as I ever saw. A perfect specimen of an Alaskan dugout, natives in full winter costume, Eskimo dogs, and a sledge." "And, oh!" cried Miss Ruth, "there is a tiny bit of a child, all in furs, just like its father. See? Nestled among the dogs, with a pair of wee snow- shoes on his back too? Isn't he a darling? How I should love to hug him! Oh, John, we must find them when we get ashore; for that child is the very cutest thing I have seen in all Alaska:" By this time the steamer was made fast, and the passengers were already going ashore. When Mr. Ryder and his sister gained the wharf they were surprised to see that the canoe in which they were interested had come to the landing-stage, where its occupants were already disembarking. The next moment she uttered a shriek of horror, for one of them had thrown his arms around her neck and kissed her. "AUNT RUTH, YOU'RE A BRICK! A PERFECT BRICK!" "AUNT RUTH, YOU'RE A BRICK! A PERFECT BRICK!" "Aunt Ruth, you're a brick! a perfect brick!" he cried. "To think of you coming away out here to see me!" Then turning to Mr. Ryder, and embracing that bewildered gentleman in his furry arms, the excited boy exclaimed: "And pop! You dear old pop! If you only knew how distressed I have been about you. If you hadn't turned up, just as you have, I should have dropped everything and gone in search of you." "Oh, Phil! How could you?" gasped Aunt Ruth. "You frightened me almost to death, and have crushed me all out of shape. You are a regular polar-bear in all those furs and things. What do you mean, sir? Oh you dear, dear boy!" At this point Miss Ruth's feelings so completely overcame her that she sank down on a convenient log and burst into hysterical weeping. "There, you young scamp!" cried Mr. Ryder, whose own eyes were full of joyful tears at that moment. "See what you have done! Aren't you ashamed of yourself, sir?" "Yes, pop, awfully. But I've got something that will cheer her up and amuse her. And here's Serge and— No he isn't, either. What has become of Serge? Oh, I suppose he has gone home. Don't see why he needs to be in such a hurry, though. No matter; here's Jalap Coombs. You remember Jalap, father? And here, Aunt Ruth, is the curio I promised to bring you. Look out; it's alive!" With this the crazy lad snatched Nel-te from the arms of Jalap Coombs, who had just brought him up the steps, and laid him in Miss Ruth's lap, saying, "He's a little orphan kid I found in the wilderness, and adopted for you to love." Miss Ruth gave such a start as the small bundle of fur was so unexpectedly thrust at her that poor Nel-te rolled to the ground. From there he lifted such a pitifully frightened little face, with such tear-filled eyes and quivering lip, that Miss Ruth snatched him up and hugged him. Then she kissed and petted him to such an extent that by the time he was again smiling he had won a place in her loving heart second only to that occupied by Phil himself. With this journey's end also came the partings that always form so sad a feature of all journeys' ends. Even the three dogs that had travelled together for so long were separated, Musky being given to Serge, Luvtuk to May Matthews, to become the pet of the Phoca's crew, and big [Pg 720] Amook going with Phil, Aunt Ruth, Nel-te, the sledge, the snow-shoes, and the beautiful white thick-furred skin of a mountain goat to distant New London. Mr. Ryder and Jalap Coombs accompanied them as far as San Francisco. Dear old Serge was reluctantly left behind, busily making preparations to carry out his cherished scheme of returning to Anvik as a teacher. In San Francisco Mr. Ryder secured for Jalap Coombs the command of a trading schooner plying between that port and Honolulu. When it was announced to him that he was at last actually a captain, the honest fellow's voice trembled with emotion as he answered: "Mr. Ryder, sir, and Phil, I never did wholly look to be a full-rigged cap'n, though I've striv and waited for the berth nigh on to forty year. Now I know that it's just as my old friend Kite Roberson useter say; for he allers said, old Kite did, 'That them as waits the patientest is bound to see things happen.'" THE END. OAKLEIGH. BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND. CHAPTER IV. Mr. Franklin's announcement at first almost stunned his children. They could not believe it. Jack and Cynthia were somewhat prepared for it, it is true, but when they heard the news from their father's own lips it was none the less startling. To Edith it came like a thunderbolt. She had never had the smallest suspicion that her father would marry again. She had always supposed that she would be sufficient for him. She would never marry herself, she thought, but would stay at home and be the comfort of his declining years. It had never occurred to her that her father, still a young and good-looking man of barely forty, would be exceedingly likely to marry a second...