FRANK GETS PROMOTED.
[Illustration: A CLIPPER-SHIP LOADING WITH TEA AT HONG-KONG.]
Frank Austin's duties as supercargo were soon over, and he decided to go
ashore and look about him. The moment he was seen looking over the side,
a clamor arose from the Chinese boats around the steamer, which reminded
him of the chorus of monkeys and parrots at Gibraltar.
"Good boatee, my--no upset!"
"Fast sampan--no can catchee!"
"He good, my better!"
"Come see--here allee best sampan!"
Frank was confounded by the uproar, and not less so by observing that
all the boatmen, and boat-women too (for there were plenty of the
latter), seemed to be exactly alike, so that if he picked one, and
happened to lose him, it would be no joke to find him again. As he stood
hesitating, a good-looking Chinese girl hailed him from a neat little
boat with a staring red eye painted on side of its bow.
"Hi! say! My namee Whampoa Sam; washee, keepee state-loom, row boat, can
do all for two bob [fifty cents]. Come tly!"
Such a list of accomplishments was not to be resisted, and Austin at
once took his seat under the stern awning. The young woman spread her
sail, and turned the boat shoreward, steering it with an immense oar.
Away they went, past huge high-pooped junks that looked like monster
rocking-chairs; past stately English steamers, beside which the little
painted sampans seemed mere toys; past big clumsy rice barges, and trim
gigs pulled by sturdy Western sailors. While threading her way through
this maze of shipping as dexterously as any seaman, the girl found time
to answer Frank's eager questions upon all that he saw, down to the
staring eyes on the bow of her boat, which, as she explained, were meant
to "help boatee see go straight, allee same man's eye." The mystery of
her masculine name, which had puzzled Austin not a little, was also
cleared up.
"My Whampoa Sam _wife_; Sam up Canton side now--can catchee more piecee
dollar there. My row boatee till come back. Work boatee, my, allee same
man. Choy! you no b'lieve? Bime-by pickaninny Sam row boatee too, muchee
ploper. Look see!"
[Illustration: LITTLE WHAMPOA STEERS THE BOAT TO SHORE.]
She pushed aside a plank, and hauled out of a box underneath it a little
round-faced "four-year-old," so like a big doll that Frank almost took
him for one, till he saw the child grasp the steering oar in his little
pudgy hands, and actually steer the boat to shore.
"Well," thought our hero, "the Chinese may well be good boatmen, if they
begin as early as that."
But he afterward learned that on the great Chinese rivers thousands of
families live altogether in boats, each of which has an allotted place
of its own. In Canton alone these floating streets have a population of
300,000, and it is common to see two-year-old children toddling about
with small wooden buoys on their backs, fixed there by their careful
mothers in case they should fall overboard, which they do, on an
average, three or four times a day.
For several hundred feet around the great stone quay extended a perfect
army of Chinese boats, clustering together like bees; but Mrs. Sam soon
made her way through them, and Austin leaped ashore. He had hardly done
so when a crowd of sturdy natives surrounded him, with ear-piercing
screams, asking if he wished to "ride in chair." This being a new idea,
he accepted at once, and presently found himself being carried off in a
sedan-chair by four sinewy fellows, who went at a long swinging trot,
like the "palanquin hamals" of British India.
[Illustration: STREET OF STAIRS, HONG-KONG.]
Six more runners were speedily added, for the way now led up a street
made entirely of stairs, like the "Hundred-and-one Steps" at
Constantinople. Then out into the open country, and away toward the
summit of Victoria Peak. Up, up, they went, poor Frank getting so bumped
about that he was sorely tempted to get out and walk; but he reached the
top at last, and saw the whole town, the harbor, and miles upon miles of
the inland country out-spread below him like a map. The trip, when paid
for, proved wonderfully cheap, though the reason given for this made
Frank feel rather "cheap" himself:
"Large piecee man, two bob; small piecee man, _like you_, one bob. All
right--chin-chin!"
During his rambles through the town Austin saw many curious sights. He
was shown through a native bank, where three Chinese "tellers" were
standing ankle-deep in gold, and counting so rapidly that the ring of
the coins sounded like one continuous chime. In another place a house
was being built _from the roof downward_, and he was told that "rain
come, walls muchee hurt, so put up roof first!"
Having now reached the farthest point of his voyage, Frank began to
think about getting home again, and finding that all who had shipped on
the _Arizona_ were entitled, by the terms of their agreement, to a free
passage in the next homeward-bound steamer, he went down to the
company's office to get his ticket.
As he passed the open window a familiar voice from within caught his
ear. It was that of his Captain, who was having a talk with the
company's agent.
"I really don't know whom to send with this cargo," said the agent. "It
_must_ go in a day or two, and none of my clerks can be spared. Do _you_
know of anybody, Gray?"
"Well, there's a young fellow who came out with me, that might do. He's
rather young, certainly, but I put him in charge at Singapore, and he
did very well. Hello! there he is. Austin!"
Frank entered, cap in hand.
"My lad," said the Captain, "we're sending a cargo of tin and opium to
Canton, and you might take it up, unless you'd rather go home."
"I _was_ thinking of going, sir," said Austin; "but if you have anything
for me to do till I can get letters from home, I shall be very glad to
do it."
"All right, my boy. Just look in here to-morrow morning, and we'll
arrange it."
The next morning, sure enough, Frank received his appointment, and set
sail up the river for Canton a few days later, with a handful of the
_Arizona's_ picked men for his crew, and old Herrick as his second in
command--the latter remarking, with a grin, that "'twarn't a bad start
for a youngster to begin his first v'y'ge as coal-heaver, and end it as
Cap'n."
* * * * *
Our hero's farther adventures in China--how he succeeded so well with
his first cargo as to be at once intrusted with a second--how he
received letters from home, reporting all well--how he studied the ins
and outs of the "up-country" trade, and the ways of the Chinese, finding
both very different from what he had imagined--and how he soon got a
good appointment in the office, which he held for several years--would
make too long a story to be told here. But he always bore in mind the
last words of old Herrick, which were:
"Frank, my son, next time you meet a young feller wantin' to run away to
sea, jist you tell him you've tried it yourself, and 'tain't so nice as
it looks. If a lad goes to sea 'cause he's fit for it, and ain't 'fraid
o' _hard work_, well and good; but if he goes 'cause he's quarrelled
with his bread and butter, all along o' stuffin' his head with dime
novels and sich like rubbish, I guess he'll end where you began--in the
coal-hole. Now don't you forget them words o' mine." And Frank never
did.
THE END.
SETTING THE BROOK TO WORK.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
The brook had never done a stroke of work in its life. So long, at
least, as Mart Benson could remember, it had gurgled across the foot of
his father's garden, tumbling heels over head down the little fall in
the middle, as if it knew it had got into some place that didn't belong
to it, and was in a desperate hurry to get out.
Then it made a dive under the fence, into Squire Spencer's orchard, and
then under another fence, and through a low stone archway across the
river road.
That was the end of the brook, for the river let it right in without so
much as saying, "How do you do?"
"It isn't more'n two feet across anywhere," said Mart to himself. "It
isn't so much as that just above the fall, and it's a foot and a half
below the top of the bank. I could make a dam there, and a flume."
Mart was a great whittler.
Mr. Jellicombe, the carpenter, used to say of him that when he wasn't
whittling, it was because he had had to stop to sharpen his knife.
"Well," said Mart, in reply to that, "what's the fun of whittling with a
dull knife? If you want a knife to cut straight and smooth, you've got
to have an edge on it."
So there was always a pretty good edge on his, and it was curious what
things he managed to carve out with it.
He had made a wooden chain out of a long square stick that Mr.
Jellicombe brought to the house to mend a door frame with. He had made
kites, walking-sticks, bats, wooden spoons and forks, a little wagon,
and any number of other things, of which about all that could be said
was that they gave him plenty of good whittling.
But Mart had been to the mill the day before, and had waited there two
hours while his father was having a grist of corn ground. All those two
hours had been spent by Mart with a shingle in one hand and his knife in
the other, but at the end of them there was hardly a notch in the
shingle, and Mart shut up his knife, and put it back in his pocket.
He had been watching the great water-wheel and the flume that brought
the water to it from the pond. He had studied the dam, too, and had been
thinking of the brook in his father's garden.
The more he looked at it now, the clearer he saw that it was high time
for that brook to be doing something.
It was easy enough to gather flat stones and pile them in at the narrow
place at the top of the fall. That was little more than a foot high, to
be sure, but the dam would more than double it.
Then he begged a couple of old raisin boxes at the store where his
father traded, and when the ends were knocked out of them, and they were
firmly set in the top of the little dam, one behind the other, they made
a good enough flume. The end of the foremost one stuck out beyond the
stones, and the water came pouring from it beautifully.
It took all the rest of that day for Mart to get the brook penned in and
compelled to run through the raisin boxes, for he had to keep on putting
stones and sods and dirt behind the dam to strengthen it, as the water
rose higher and higher. It would not do to make a pond of the garden,
but so long as the brook did not overflow its banks it would do no harm.
Sometimes it had run over in the spring, or after very heavy
rain-storms.
The next day Mart hardly went near his new dam, and he was a very
serious and busy boy indeed, considering that he was only thirteen.
A piece of wood had to be found first two and a half inches square, and
about a foot and a half long. It took a great deal of work to shave down
the four corners of that piece of wood till it had eight smooth sides
all just alike. Then Mart was compelled to go over to Jellicombe's
carpenter shop and put his piece of wood in a vise, so it would be held
steady, while he took a saw and sawed a long groove, more than half an
inch deep, in the middle of each one of those eight faces. Jellicombe
told him he had done that job very well.
"Looks like a hub for something. Going to make a wheel this time?"
"I'll show you. May I take your inch auger and bore a hole in each end?"
"Go ahead. If you ain't kerful, you'll split yer timber."
Mart was careful then, but he had trouble before him. He had picked out
a number of very straight shingles, and he was whittling away on these
now as if he was being paid for it. He cut them down to six inches long,
and shaved them at the sides, so that two pieces laid together were just
a foot wide. With a little more whittling after that he fitted them all,
one by one, into the eight grooves in his "hub," and his "water-wheel"
was done. A proud boy was Mart, but he ought to have kept on being
"careful."
"Look out!" said Mr. Jellicombe, as Mart rapped hard on one of the
shingle pieces, to drive it in more firmly; but it was too late.
"Crack!" the hub was split from end to end.
"Got to go to work and make a new one," said Mart, ruefully.
"Guess I wouldn't. Just take a couple of two-inch screws, and screw that
together again. It'll be stronger'n it was before."
That was a capital idea, and it only took a few minutes; to carry it
into effect.
"Make your end pins of hard wood," said Mr. Jellicombe; "and shave 'em
smooth. Then they'll run easy."'
That was easy enough, but one of those "endpins" was made of an old
broom handle, and was more than a foot long.
"I see what you're up to," said the carpenter, with a grin. "You've made
a right down good job of it, too. Grease your journals before you let
'em get wet."
Mart's "journals" for his end pins to run in were two holes he bored in
a couple of boards. When these were stuck up on each side of the lower
end of his flume, and the water-wheel was set in its place, Mart took
off his hat and shouted,
"Hurrah! the brook's at work!"
So it was, for it was rushing fiercely through the two old raisin boxes,
and down upon the wide "paddles" of Mart's wheel, and this was spinning
around at a tremendous rate.
"You've done it!"
"Is that you, Mr. Jellicombe? I didn't know you'd come."
"You've done it. Now what?"
"Why, I'm going to put another wheel on this long end pin, and set
another one above it, and put a strap over both of them."
"Oh, that's it. Going to make a pulley and band. All right. It'll run.
There's plenty of water-power. But what then? Going to build a mill?"
"Guess not. All I care for is, I've set the brook to work."
"Why don't you make it do something, then, now you've found out how?"
"Don't know of anything small enough for a brook like that."
"I'll tell you, then. There's your mother's big churn, that goes with a
crank. You whittle out a wheel twice as large as that, and set it a
little stronger, and raise your dam a few inches, and you can run that
churn."
"Hurrah! I'll do it!"
There was a good deal of busy whittling before Mart finished that second
job, but before two weeks were over there was butter on Mrs. Benson's
dinner table which had actually been churned by the brook at the bottom
of the garden.
HOW THE SECRET WAS STOLEN.
Benjamin Huntsman, a native of Lincolnshire, England, was the inventor
of cast steel. The discovery was kept a great secret, and as the success
it obtained was very great, many efforts were made to find out how it
was prepared.
One cold winter's night, while the snow was falling in heavy flakes, and
Huntsman's manufactory threw its red glare of light over the
neighborhood, a person of the most abject appearance presented himself
at the entrance, praying for permission to share the warmth and shelter
which it afforded. The humane workmen found the appeal irresistible, and
the apparent beggar was permitted to take up his quarters in a warm
corner of the building.
A careful scrutiny would have discovered little real sleep in the
drowsiness that seemed to overtake the stranger; for he eagerly watched
every movement of the workmen while they went through the operations of
the newly discovered process.
He observed, first of all, that bars of blistered steel were broken into
small pieces, two or three inches in length, and placed in crucibles of
fire-clay. When nearly full, a little green glass, broken into small
fragments, was spread over the top, and the whole covered with a closely
fitting cover. The crucibles were then placed in a furnace, and after a
lapse of from three to four hours, during which the crucibles were
examined from time to time, to see that the metal was thoroughly melted,
the workmen lifted the crucible from its place on the furnace by means
of tongs, and its molten contents, blazing, sparkling, and spurting,
were poured into a mould of cast iron. When cool, the mould was
unscrewed, and a bar of cast steel was presented.
The uninvited spectator of these operations effected his escape without
detection, and before many months had passed the Huntsman manufactory
was not the only one where cast steel was produced.
A JOLLY DAY IN THE PARK.
BY F. E. FRYATT.
"Hip, hip, hurrah! to-morrow's my birthday, Miss Eleanor," shouted Harry
Lewis, bursting into my garden like a young hurricane. "Cousin Jack's
coming over from New York, Nell's got a holiday, and father says if
you'll decide and go with us, we may have a jollification somewhere."
"How delightful! Of course I'll go, with the greatest pleasure. Suppose
we choose Prospect Park?"
"Capital! Miss Eleanor, good-by; excuse haste. I'm off to tell Nell, and
hurry mother with the birthday cake and the fixin's."
Old Prob predicted fair weather, and he was as good as his word, for the
sun shone in the bluest of skies, and the morning was fresh and breezy,
when Nell and I stepped into an open car, followed by Harry, Jack, and
the family lunch basket.
Every one looked happy, and even the car horses trotted briskly along
the broad avenue to the Plaza as if they knew we were anxious to be
there.
Arrived at the Park, the two boys put their wise heads together, and
gallantly agreed that I should be captain of the party, a decision they
shortly after announced in an important manner.
"Follow your leader, then," said I, helping Nell into one of the large
phaetons standing near the entrance.
"All right," responded Harry, as the whip cracked, and away dashed the
horses in fine style.
Now we swept past velvety fields and wood-crowned hills; now we rolled
softly under arches of tremulous green; then through miniature valleys
between blossoming heights; now through shadowy forests, and away again
beside open meadows.
"How lovely!" cried Nell, rapturously, as one moment we caught the
glitter of a distant lake, the next the twinkle of a reedy pool overhung
with hazel and alder bushes.
Even the boys were stirred to delight, when, crossing a rustic bridge,
they could look down and see a dashing cascade tumble and foam over
mossy precipices, till it reached a stony basin below, where it lay
golden and clear as a topaz.
On and on we sped, past new wonders of blossoming groves and ferny
hollows, to the end of our ride.
Which way to turn, after we left our basket at the Lodge, we knew not.
Labyrinthine walks met us in every direction, leading to bowers and
dells and wildernesses innumerable.
"Let us take the nearest," said I; and away we went, tripping it gayly,
till the path ended unexpectedly at the loveliest bower imaginable, all
hidden with clambering vines and shrubbery, from which peeped out a
thatched roof, with two odd little peaks, surrounded by bird-houses.
Past its pretty arches, as we sat on the rustic seats, we could look
upon acres of velvety meadow, dotted with wild flowers, and gay with
groups of pleasure-seekers.
Near by, Madam Nurse trundled Miss Baby; yonder, a company of girls
played at "bean bags"; further on, the croquet-players were busy with
mallets and balls; while passing to and fro were troops of
school-children making the most of their weekly holiday.
"Listen!" cried Nell, suddenly, as sounds of music were borne to us on
the breeze.
"It's 'Nancy Lee'; go for it!" shouted Harry, leaping over the railing,
and darting across the meadow.
"Come on; follow the sound, girls," cried Jack, bounding after him.
Nell and I take the path sedately, "hastening slowly," for we can not
help stopping to listen to the soft twitter of the birds, to admire the
golden laburnums; we even wait to let a sparrow hop leisurely down the
walk before us.
We have had time to spare, for when we arrive in sight of the
"merry-go-round" in its pretty pavilion, the musical history of Nancy
Lee is still being repeated.
But a pretty vision greets us. Whirl, whirl, whirl, flies a magic ring
of boys and girls, with their fluttering ribbons, bright eyes, and
tossing curls.
Click, click, clash a score of shining blades, as the eager riders, with
parted lips, lean forward and try to pick off the rings from a
projecting bar.
Now the music begins to die away; the circle moves slower, and slower,
and slower.
"Count your rings!" shouts the man in charge. "The biggest number wins
the free ride."
"Sixteen, eighteen, twenty," calls out Harry, triumphantly, adding, as
he spies Nellie, "There's my sister; give her a ride."
Nothing loath, Nell is strapped on a gray pony, and waits impatiently
for the music. The seats fill, the organ sounds forth, "I'm called
Little Buttercup," and away they float as light as feathers.
"It is well they're so merry," groans the poor horse beneath them in the
cellar, as he treads his weary beat; "they'd find it a sad-go-round if
we changed places."
The noon hour strikes; the merry-go-round man is mortal, and wants his
dinner, which reminds us that it is time to send for the lunch basket.
Choosing a lovely spot under a spreading elm in the meadow, we lay the
cloth, set out our luncheon, brew a pitcher of fine lemonade, and sit
down, the merriest of merry parties.
In the midst of our entertainment four uninvited but welcome visitors
make their appearance. Guess who they are.
A toad came first, and sat blinking at us with the funniest airs
imaginable. Then a robin-redbreast and two sparrows edged their way up
to our table with great caution, winked at us with bright eyes,
concluded we were trustworthy, and ventured to peck at the crumbs we
scattered for them.
[Illustration: PROSPECT PARK, BROOKLYN.--DRAWN BY L. W. ATWATER.]
Gathering up the remnants of our feast, we wended our way to a pretty
summer-house overlooking a small lake, in which sported a multitude of
gold-fish, a pair of swans, some geese, and a bevy of ducks with lovely
rings of red, purple, and gold-green feathers about their necks.
Here Nell and the boys found fine sport throwing crackers into the
water, and watching the ducks and fishes rush for them, but came away in
high disgust because one old drake gave the ducks and fishes hardly any
chance at all, but darted and dived and bobbed about so fast that he
grabbed a dozen pieces to their one.
"Good-by, old greedy; hope you'll never come up again!" cried Jack,
moving away, as the nimble fellow dove head-first till nothing but his
funny tail flirted above the water.
A peep at the deer, pony-rides for the boys, and a drive in the
goat-carriage for Nell, varied our ramble to the Aerial Skating Rink,
which we found on the other side of the Park.
As we came in sight of the elevated square of asphalt pavement, with its
gay cavalcade of skaters flitting to and fro inside the railings, the
boys hurrahed with delight.
"It's perfectly glorious; let's try it," shouted Harry, bounding down
the hill-side, followed closely by Jack.
"I could do that too," said Nell, imitating the movements of the
skaters.
"You shall try," replied I; and a minute later we were inside the
square, bargaining for a lesson on the odd three-wheeled triangular
arrangement, with its horse's head and handled reins.
"Plant your feet firmly on this brace," said the instructor, showing
Nell the iron bar; "hold the reins well in hand, bend your right knee,
and strike out with your foot as if skating; now your left; and away you
go."
Sure enough, off shot Nell, managing to keep up a tolerable speed, then
slacking, then increasing, then coming to a dead halt, as Jack,
shouting, "Clear the track!" bore down on her car, almost upsetting it.
"A miss is as good as a mile," screams Harry, flying by on the other
side, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
"Strike out, little girl!" cries a lad, giving Nell's car a push, and
sending her speeding along. In and out, around and about, they fly, like
mimic charioteers, until, fairly exhausted, they are willing to stop,
and go over to the Rotary Yacht, whose snow-white wings are visible from
the hill-top.
A pleasant walk across the sloping meadow and along by the side of a
small lake brings us to this novel boat, which is merely a great hollow
ring of seats, with oars and rowlocks for calm, and sails for breezy,
weather.
We step in and sit down; the wind, coming in soft puffs from the south,
sends us floating around and around with a dreamy, restful motion that
our tired little charioteers thoroughly appreciate as they lean back and
trail their hands idly through the cool water.
"Come, come," said I at last, "wake up for our row on the lake,
sleepers, and then heigho for home and supper!"
"I was only fooling, Miss Eleanor; I'm fresh as a lark," cried Harry,
leaping nimbly out on the platform.
"So am I," said Jack, lending a hand to Nellie.
"The Rotary Yacht will do for a rest, but this is what I call life,"
exclaimed Harry, as later he and Jack, with even sweep of the oars, sent
our pretty boat skimming over the waters of the lake.
Now we sped around curving shores, and past grassy capes; now we skirted
fairy islands and reedy shallows; then under hollow bridges, that gave
back jolly echoes to Nell's laughter and the dip of the oars.
"Quick, quick--quick, quick," screamed a bevy of ducks, hurrying to
shore, as we rounded a woody bend in the lake, and came upon them with a
rush that sent the water in diamond showers over their backs.
"Tirra-la, tirra-la," whistled a wood-thrush in the grove; "tirra-la,
tirra-la," answered another.
"Ah! that's a warning, children; he sings at sunset. See the light
shooting gold green through the trees; that means that our happy day is
over. And there's another sign; look over your right shoulder--the new
moon."
"Tu-whit, tu-whoo, good-night to you," hooted an owl, as we turned our
boat homeward.
"Don't be alarmed; we are going," sighed Harry, half sad that the jolly
day at Prospect Park was ended.
A BATTLE ON THE BUFFALO RANGE.
Between the half-breeds who form a large portion of the population of
the settlements of the Northwest, along the Red River of the North, and
their neighbors, the Sioux, exists a bitter enmity. Peace is seldom
declared between them, and when parties of Sioux and half-breeds meet,
bloody battles are the result.
Although the half-breeds are more civilized than the Indians, and live
in villages, generally near the forts or trading posts, they depend
largely upon buffalo-meat for their winter food, and upon buffalo-robes,
for which the traders give them guns, powder, shot, blankets, tea,
coffee, sugar, and other necessaries and luxuries of their life. To
obtain this meat and these robes they organize grand buffalo hunts every
summer and fall, each of which lasts for several months, and in which
hundreds of men engage. The hunters travel from their homes to the
distant hunting grounds on horseback; but they take with them long
trains of very curious-looking ox-carts, in which the women and
children, who go with their husbands and fathers on these long trips,
ride, and in which the buffalo-meat and hides are carried home.
The ox-carts, or "Pembina buggies," as they are often called, are very
strong and clumsy, and are made entirely of wood, generally by their
owners. The wooden wheels, turning on the ungreased wooden axles, make
the most horrible creaking and groaning; and when, as is often the case,
several hundred or a thousand of these carts are in one train, the noise
they make can be heard for miles.
Each cart is drawn by a single ox, attached to the rude shafts by a
simple and home-made harness of rawhide, with the aid of which the
patient beast draws a load of a thousand pounds for hundreds of miles,
at the rate of twenty or thirty miles a day.
As they approach the buffalo range, where they expect to find their
game, the hunters know that at any moment they may run across hunting
parties of the Sioux, and for them they keep a sharp look-out night and
day.
Some years ago a brave hunter by the name of Jean Bedell, whose home was
in Pembina, joined one of these great hunting parties, taking with him
his wife and their little child, a baby of but a few months old. The
party to which Jean belonged was so large that they had but little fear
of Indians, and did not guard against being surprised by them as
carefully as usual.
One morning as the brigade broke camp, and the long line of carts moved
slowly away toward Devil's Lake, which could be seen gleaming in the
distance, and near which the hunters felt sure they would find buffalo,
Jean Bedell found that a portion of his harness had given out, and he
must stay behind and mend it. He had just finished his task, and started
on after the carts, the groaning and screeching of which could still be
heard in the distance, when other and more terrible sounds, borne
clearly to his ear, caused him to come to a sudden halt.
The sounds that so startled him were quick shots, almost as steady as
volleys of musketry, and the terrible yell with which the Sioux charges
upon his enemy. Far down the valley the hunter could see sharp flashes
of fire pierce the cloud of dust that hung over the train of ox-carts,
and the dark mass of Sioux warriors charging down the hill-side, lashing
their ponies, firing and yelling as they went.
[Illustration: CUT OFF.--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]
Alone, and cut off from his companions, with his wife and baby to
protect, Jean Bedell had nothing to do but lie down, with his trusty
rifle in hand, powder and bullets by his side, and wait, determined to
sell his life as dearly as possible if worst came to worst.
For hours the hunter watched the fight, while his wife crouched in the
bottom of the cart, with her baby in her arms. He could see that the
carts had been formed in a semicircle, and from behind them his comrades
withstood charge after charge of the Indians, who would dash up to the
barrier of heavy carts, pour in a volley, and sweep away beyond rifle
range, until their own guns were reloaded.
At last, late in the afternoon, the battle came to an end. The Indians,
finding it impossible to drive the hunters from behind their barrier,
suddenly withdrew, and taking their dead with them, disappeared over the
hill down which they had dashed in the morning. They might make another
attack, but for the present all was safe, and Jean Bedell might rejoin
his friends. When he reached them, he found that though they were
rejoiced to have driven off the hated Sioux, their joy was mingled with
much sorrow, for there were many dead to be buried, and many wounded to
be cared for. Among the dead were several of the little children, to
whom stray bullets had found their way; and when Jean Bedell and his
wife saw the poor little bodies, they were very thankful that, on
account of a broken harness, their own darling baby had been kept at a
safe distance from the terrible battle.
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 24, April 13.]
THE STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.
BY EDWARD CARY.