went down to our camp. Together with the spoils of the moose, we had
now a full canoe load, and stowing them in, went down the river that
afternoon. Two days after, we arrived at Greenville, at the foot of
Moosehead Lake. There we fell in with a party of tourists--from
Boston, I believe. They pronounced Rod's "big bird" to be a golden
eagle.
C. A. STEPHENS.
WORSHIP OF NATURE.
The green earth sends her incense up
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup,
She pours her sacred wine.
The mists above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.
A HUNTING ADVENTURE.
Tired of the heat and confusion of the city, my friend Clarke and I
left New York one fine morning for a hunting excursion on the
prairies.
At Galena, on the Mississippi, we went aboard a steamer which conveyed
us to St. Paul. Here we fitted out for the trip, and finally, at Sauk
Rapids set our foot for the first time on the prairie.
From the Mississippi, at Sauk Rapids, we struck about north-west
across the prairie for Fort Garry, a Hudson Bay Company's fort, at the
junction of the Assiniboine and Red River, where we replenished some
of our stores; and thence we travelled through the Sioux, or Da-ko-tah
country, until we reached Turtle Mountain.
Our party consisted of Clarke and myself, two French Canadians, whom
we had engaged at St. Paul, and a half-breed, whom we had met on the
frontier before reaching Fort Garry.
One evening, before camping at the base of Turtle Mountain, Clarke and
I gave chase to some buffalo, and I killed one, which I proceeded to
cut up at once by removing the tongue and undercut of the fillet. The
meat I tied to the thongs of my saddle, placed there especially for
that purpose, and I rejoined the camp before nightfall. Clarke came
back shortly afterwards, having killed his buffalo in three or four
shots, and after a long chase. This had delayed him so much, that he
lacked time to cut up his animal; so he marked the spot as well as he
could by its bearings with Turtle Mountain, and he rode homewards to
the camp, intending to go on the following morning, and get the meat
for home consumption.
We cooked and ate our dinners, and rolling ourselves up in our buffalo
robes, we slept most soundly. The following morning, Clarke went out
and fetched his pony, which was picketed near the camp, saddled it,
took his rifle and hunting-knife, and then off he started to look for
the dead buffalo of the previous evening, cut it up, and bring home
some of the meat.
I remained in camp; and as my wardrobe was rather dilapidated from
constant hunting, and the limited number of clothes I had with me, I
proceeded to mend my trousers, which were worn through just where it
might naturally be expected they would first give way. This I could
only do by shortening the legs of the garment. However, the end
justified the means in this case.
These repairs, with other necessary work about our rifles and guns,
occupied the morning very pleasantly; and about midday I went up the
hill behind our camp, where a small bluff, or headland, projected from
it over the vast grassy plain. I took my telescope with me, as every
traveller in those wild regions should always do, when spying out
either the fatness of the land or the possible surrounding dangers.
Far and wide my eye fell over the gentle undulations of the prairie,
but no deer or buffalo could I see.
No; instead of quietly feeding game, I discovered my friend Clarke,
some three or four miles from camp, galloping at the top of his
horse's speed towards us, and five Indians in hot pursuit of him.
Knowing his danger, I of course ran down the bluff as hard as I could
to the camp, and holloaed to the men to make haste and come to the
rescue. I then ran for my pony, which was picketed at a short distance
from our tent; but he was difficult to catch, or had drawn his peg out
of the ground. At any rate, I could not get hold of him; so I gave
him up, and seizing my rifle, darted off as hard as I could to meet my
friend.
[Illustration: {Clarke being pursued by the Indians}]
The men also turned out with their guns; and soon afterwards Clarke
rode up, both he and his pony looking much distressed. Clarke was as
white as a sheet, and his pony was completely blown. The Indians
sheered off on seeing us ready with our rifles. So no shot was fired;
for they never came within range.
I then asked Clarke what had happened; and I give you his story of the
affair.
On leaving camp in the morning, he had gone in search of the dead
buffalo of the previous night. He soon found the carcass; and wishing
to bring home the meat, he got off his pony, tied the animal to the
horns of the buffalo,--as you are always taught to do in the Indian
country,--and straightway began to cut off the pieces of meat which he
wished to bring back to camp. Whilst so employed, he thought he saw
another herd of buffalo not far away; so he finished cutting off the
meat, and rode towards the new herd, on murderous thoughts intent.
He stalked the herd for some distance, until he thought himself
tolerably near, when he looked round the corner of a hillock, and then
to his horror found he had been carefully approaching five Indians,
who were congregated round a dead buffalo, their horses close by, and
the men occupied in cutting up the beast.
Before he could turn to flee out of sight the Indians discovered him.
They were Sioux, and at war with the whites. Instantly they jumped on
their horses and gave chase, fired, no doubt, with the noble zeal to
hang a white scalp in a Sioux lodge. Off went Clarke as hard as his
little pony could carry him, the Indians shouting behind, and
brandishing their guns in the air as they became excited by the chase,
whilst he was thinking of the probability that existed of his scalp
returning to camp, or dangling at the saddle-bow of one of these
bloodthirsty savages.
Clarke supposes that he was five or six miles from camp when the chase
began; and he recollected well throwing the cover away from his rifle,
in preparation for a fight should his pony fall, or the Indians catch
him through the superior speed of their animals.
Imagine the horrible feelings of a young fellow galloping away from
five wild redskins, who not only desire to kill him then and there,
but have, further, the sportsman-like anxiety to strip his scalp, and
hang the dearly-beloved trophy in some filthy lodge, where it will
gradually dry up, and remain the most valued heirloom in the family of
the "Big Snake," or the "Screeching Eagle," or some other no less
happily-named Sioux.
Their horrible shrieks ring in his ears, whilst he anxiously measures
with his eyes the distance betwixt himself and his bloodthirsty
pursuers; he endeavors to estimate his chances of escape, and longs
for the protection of the camp, as Wellington longed for night or
Blucher, knowing that if he falls he will be shot, or tomahawked and
scalped, in the course of a couple of minutes.
No wonder, then, that poor Clarke did look as if he had seen a ghost,
or encountered something even much worse; nor do I believe that during
his subsequent army service he was ever much nearer a horrible death
than during the few minutes which that pursuit lasted.
To conclude the account of this adventure, we covered his return to
camp with our rifles, as I mentioned in the earlier part of this
story; and you may conceive that we kept a very strict watch in the
camp during the night, fearing lest the Sioux should either stampede
us with an increased number of their friends after nightfall, or try
to carry off our horses, and leave us deserted in the midst of the
prairie. However, the night passed off quietly; and often since then
have Clarke and I talked over this memorable adventure.
One step and then another,
And the longest walk is ended;
One stitch and then another,
And the largest rent is mended.
One brick upon another,
And the highest wall is made;
One flake upon another,
And the deepest snow is laid.
NEARLY LOST.
"I know what I shall do!" exclaimed Walter Harrison to about a dozen
other boys, his schoolfellows, who were standing round him. "I shall
just tell 'old Barnacles' that my father and mother wish me to have a
holiday this afternoon, and he can't say 'no' to that. It's the
simplest and best way. If you all agree to it, we shall get a holiday
all around. Who'll go in for my plan?"
"I will! and I! and I!" responded nearly all the boys.
The facts of the case were simply these: There were taking place in a
park close by a series of athletic sports, and this afternoon the
admission was free to any one who chose to go. Of course all the boys
in Mr. Jackson's school were mad to see the sports; but by the time
the school was out the best fun would be over, and the majority of the
boys guessed pretty shrewdly what would be the result of asking their
parents to let them stay away. The grand idea was to induce the master
to give a general holiday, but the question was how that desirable end
was to be brought about. It had been suggested to stay away bodily,
without so much as saying, "With your leave or by your leave;" but as
such a course carried a certainty of punishment in its train, it was
universally rejected. Another idea, which had received some favor, had
been to trip up the poor half-blind schoolmaster, quite by accident,
and by rendering him incapable obtain the desired holiday, but there
had been a majority found to protest against such cruelty; and now
Walter Harrison had suggested his plan. But although most of them were
inclined to adopt it, there were two who resolutely refused to do so.
"Why won't you join us?" asked Walter of these two.
"I sha'n't, because I'm not going to tell a pack of lies for the sake
of a holiday," answered Willie Ford, the younger of the two.
"How good we are!" replied Walter, tauntingly; and then throwing his
cap up into the air, he sang out:
"'There was a curly-headed boy
Who never told a lie;
He knew a trick worth two of that:
That was the reason why.'
"Sly fox!" he said, patting Willie on the back. "He does the 'good'
dodge to perfection, and finds it answers too; don't you, Ford?"
Walter's sallies were received with roars of laughter by the boys.
Willie took no notice of them, although it was a difficult matter to
restrain his anger.
"What a milksop the fellow is!" cried out one of the boys.
"A stupid little muff!" cried another.
"Am I?" cried Willie, his temper now fully roused; "I'll show you
about that. Although I'm not going to tell lies, I'll fight any one of
you. Come now, Harrison, let's have it out together."
Harrison burst out laughing: "Fancy me fighting with a little
cock-sparrow like you! I should like to see myself!"
Willie was about to burst out again, but a friendly hand was laid on
his arm, and his friend Philip said, gently, "Come away, Will; no
fighting about such a trifle as that, lad."
"What a peppery little chap!" called out Walter as Willie turned away
with his friend. "Pepper and sop! Ugh! what a nasty mess!"
The boys followed out their plan, and got their holiday, all except
Willie and Philip and several little fellows who had taken no interest
in the matter.
School over, the two boys rushed off in the hope that they might be in
time to see something. They were too late, however, for the
performances were just coming to an end when they arrived, so they
started for a stroll through the beautiful park, which was not often
open to the public.
"Why, there are our fellows!" said Philip as they suddenly came in
sight of a group of boys on the edge of the magnificent lake.
"What are they up to? They're very busy about something!" exclaimed
Willie.
"Let's go and see," Philip said, in reply.
As they came nearer they could tell that the boys were gesticulating
and shouting to something in the water.
"It can't be one of them gone in and lost his depth," said Willie,
anxiously.
No such thing, as they found when they got close--only a dog that the
boys were amusing themselves by seeing how long they could keep under
water. The creature was making frantic efforts to gain a
landing-place, but as he approached the shore they drove him back with
sticks and stones.
"We're teaching him to swim," cried one as Philip and Willie came up.
"A miserable little mongrel! he can't swim a bit!"
"Why, don't you see," cried Willie, eagerly, "that he's as weak as a
rat? He can scarcely support himself in the water. I should think he's
been starved."
At this moment the dog, being turned back once more, disappeared,
quite close to the shore. With a loud cry of pain and anger, Willie
darted through the boys, and wading into the shallow water succeeded
in enticing the drowning dog toward him. He came out, holding the
dripping creature safely in his arms.
"We must carry it home," he said to Philip, after they had vainly
endeavored to set it upon its feet; and accordingly, they started off
at a good pace, the poor half-drowned animal safely sheltered in
Willie's arms.
Well might his mother be alarmed to see him come home to tea in such a
plight; but when she heard his explanation, she was quite ready to
sympathize with him, and told him he had done bravely and well to
rescue the poor animal. As he seemed none the worse for his wetting,
he was allowed to come down stairs again as soon as he had put on dry
things. Very tenderly the little half-starved dog was fed with warmed
milk. He had fallen into good hands. Willie's father and mother were
kind Christian people, who had taught their children to be gentle and
considerate to the meanest of God's creatures.
"Why, Willie, he's a fine fellow, and only quite a puppy; he will be a
splendid dog when he is fully grown," his father said, when the animal
had recovered sufficiently to be examined.
And so it proved. Bruno, as Willie named him, turned out a splendid
creature. His devotion to the whole family, but especially to Willie,
was quite touching to see. He would obey the slightest gesture of his
young master in every matter except one. As a child once burned dreads
the fire, so Bruno, once nearly drowned, could never be induced to
enter the water.
While Bruno was developing into a handsome dog, Willie, you may be
sure, was not standing still. He had grown into a fine strong lad, and
got beyond poor old Dr. Jackson's school.
To the last day of his stay there he and Walter Harrison never managed
to get on very good terms, and a suspected unfairness in the matter of
obtaining a prize made them part with still greater coldness.
A year or two after he had left school Willie's parents went with
their family to spend the summer months near the sea. Before they had
been in their new quarters many weeks, much to Willie's vexation and
disappointment, he found that Walter and his parents were also staying
in the same town, and quite close to him.
The two lads frequently met, but they could get on no better now than
they had done in the old days. Walter still looked upon Willie as a
contemptible little milksop, and Willie was inclined to consider
Walter's exploits more the result of foolhardiness than bravery.
One day they met on the beach. Walter had come down with a friend to
take a boat.
"Rather rough for rowing," Willie called out as he passed, "but I
suppose you're a good oar."
"What's that to you?" responded Walter, insolently; "I suppose you're
afraid of a little sea."
"I don't see the pleasure of going out when there's any risk," Willie
replied, good-humoredly.
"How precious careful you are over yourself!" replied Walter.
The boat pushed off, and away started the two friends. Willie, not
caring to watch them after the haughty, rude manner in which his
remark had been received, turned away; but before he had gone far his
attention was attracted by a succession of shouts and ejaculations.
The tiny boat had come to grief before they had got much more than
fifty yards from the shore. In the unskilful hands of the two lads the
little bark was a mere plaything in the angry sea. Carried on with a
swiftness they were unable to check, they rushed headlong on to one of
the hidden rocks with which the coast abounded. The boat turned over
and disappeared, leaving its occupants struggling in the water.
There were but few bystanders, and of these no one did more than talk
and gesticulate and ask wildly what was to be done.
The same impulse that had prompted Willie to rescue a drowning dog
now caused him to risk his life in order to save that of the boy who
had always shown so unfriendly a disposition toward him.
Pulling off his coat, he threw it and his hat down on the shore; and
giving Bruno an injunction to guard them, he plunged bravely into the
tempestuous waves. He could swim well, and succeeded with great
difficulty in reaching the spot where Walter had but a moment ago
disappeared, and then began the terrible struggle for life.
Bruno sat by his master's clothes and gazed out over the sea with eyes
which looked almost human in their intelligent anxiety. Presently he
grew restless, and in another moment the faithful creature dashed into
the waves, and made resolutely for the spot where his master was
laboriously engaged in trying to convey one of the drowning lads to
shore.
By the powerful aid of the noble dog Walter and Willie were saved; and
a boat having now put off, Walter's friend was picked up after a
while. What a cheer rent the air when the dog and the two lads gained
the shore I cannot attempt to describe. Willie was never called a
milksop any more, and Bruno was more loved and prized than ever.
[Decoration]
CHARLEY.
I made the acquaintance of my little friend Charley under very unusual
and startling circumstances. I saw a lad about fifteen years of age
clinging desperately for very life to the topmast of a sunken ship. I
will tell you how it happened.
I must go back nearly twenty years. Indeed, I ought to explain that
Charley was a little friend of mine a long time ago; now he's a
grown-up man. Well, twenty years ago I was not very old myself, but my
sister, who is some years older than I am, was already married, and
her husband was very fond of yachting. They lived during a great part
of the year in the Isle of Wight, and there I often used to go to stay
with them.
The "Swallow"--that was the name of my brother-in-law's yacht--was a
beautiful boat, and many happy hours have I passed on board her as she
skimmed merrily over the sparkling water. I delighted to sit on deck,
watching the fishing-boats as they rode bravely from wave to wave, or
sometimes wondering at some large ship as it passed by, on which men
live for weeks and months without ever touching land. We used to sail
long distances, and occasionally be out for several days and nights
together. My brother-in-law's skipper could tell me what country
almost every vessel that we saw was bound for. Some were sailing to
climates where the heat is so great that our most sultry summer in
England is comparatively cold; others were off northward, perhaps
whale-fishing, where they would see huge icebergs and hear the
growling of the polar bears.
We were taking our last cruise of the season. It was already near the
end of October, and the weather was becoming stormy. Passing out of
the Solent into the Channel, we found the sea much rougher than we
expected, and as night came on it blew a regular gale. The wind and
sea roared, the rain poured down in torrents, and the night seemed to
me to be the darkest I had ever known. But on board the "Swallow" we
had no fear. We trusted to the seamanship of our skipper and the
goodness of our vessel, and went to bed with minds as free from fear
as if the sea were smooth and the sky clear.
I awoke just as dawn was breaking, dressed quickly, and throwing a
water-proof cloak over me popped my head up the companion-ladder to
see how things looked. The old skipper was on deck; he had not turned
in during the night. I wished him good-morning, and he remarked, in
return, that the wind was going down, he thought. Looking at the sea,
I observed two or three large fragments of wood floating near, and
they attracted his notice at the same moment.
"Has there been a wreck, captain?" I asked, with a feeling of awe.
"That's about what it is, miss," answered the old seaman.
"Do you think the people are drowned?" I inquired, anxiously.
"Well," replied Captain Bounce, casting, as I thought, rather a
contemptuous glance at me, "people don't in general live under water,
miss."
[Illustration: CHARLEY'S WELCOME HOME.]
"Perhaps they may have had boats," I said, meekly. "Do you think
boats could have reached the shore in such a storm?"
"Well," answered the old captain, "they might have had boats, and they
mightn't; and the boats, supposing they had 'em, might have lived
through the storm, and at the same time they mightn't."
This was not giving me much information, and I thought to myself that
my friend the skipper did not seem so much inclined for a chat as
usual. I turned to look at the sea in search of more pieces of wreck,
when I discovered in the distance a dark speck rising out of the
water. I pointed it out to the skipper at once, who took his glass out
of his pocket, and after looking through it for a moment exclaimed,
"There's something floating there, and a man clinging to it, as I'm
alive!"
As he spoke my brother-in-law came on deck, and also took a look
through the telescope. Then he, the captain and every sailor on board
became eager and excited. You would have thought it some dear friend
of each whose life was to be saved. The yacht was headed in the
direction of the object, the boat was quickly lowered, the captain
himself, with four sailors, jumping into it, and in another minute
they caught in their arms a poor little exhausted and fainting boy as
he dropped from the mast of a large sunken ship. We could now
distinguish the tops of all the three masts appearing above the waves,
for the sea was not deep, and the ship had settled down in an upright
position.
Poor Charley Standish was soon in the cabin of the yacht, and after
swallowing some champagne he revived sufficiently to tell us his
story. The sunken ship was the "Melbourne," bound for Australia, and
this was Charley's first voyage as a midshipman on board. During the
darkness of the night she had been run into by a large homeward-bound
merchantman of the same class. She sank within an hour of the
collision. In the scramble for the boats Charley thought he had but
little chance for finding a place; and as the ship filled and kept
sinking deeper in the water, an instinct of self-preservation led him
to climb into the rigging. Then up he went, higher and higher, even to
the topmast; and at last, when the vessel went down all at once, he
found himself, to his inexpressible relief, still above the surface.
What most astonished us all was that a boy so young should have been
able to hold on for more than an hour to a slippery mast, exposed to
the fury of the wind, and within reach, even, of the lashing waves. We
sailed home at once to the Isle of Wight, and wrote to the boy's
mother, a widow living in London, to tell her of his safety. The boy
himself stayed with us two or three days, until we bought him new
clothes, and then went to his mother. Great was her joy when she once
more clasped him to her loving heart. My brother-in-law took a great
fancy to him. He has watched his career, and seen him at intervals
ever since. Charley Standish is now a chief mate on board a great
merchantman of the same class as the "Melbourne."
THE PARSEES.
The Parsees are supposed to be descendants of the ancient Persians,
who, after the defeat of their King Yezdezerd, the last of the dynasty
of Sassan, by the followers of Mohammed, fled to the mountains of
Khorasan. On the death of Yezdezerd, they quitted their native land,
and putting to sea, were permitted to settle at Sanjan, a place near
the sea-coast, between Bombay and Surat, about twenty-four miles south
of Damaun.
The Parsees are now chiefly settled in Bombay, numbering about one
hundred and fifteen thousand souls, or one fifth of the population.