An hour passed, and Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang were still in the
wooden collars. Charlie and Fred closed their eyes; but, as they did not
succeed in getting any sleep, after ten minutes' endeavour they gave up
the attempt, and had a short conversation in low tones.
Ping Wang was lamenting that he had persuaded the Pages to come to
China, when they heard a shout of 'Foreigners!' and turning their eyes
in the direction from which it came they saw a European approaching. He
wore a beehive hat, but the remainder of his attire was European.
'He is coming towards us!' Fred exclaimed, joyfully.
'But he won't be able to set us free,' Charlie answered.
'He is a missionary,' Ping Wang declared, 'and you may be sure that he
will do all that he possibly can to help us out of our trouble. Come
closer!' he shouted, in Chinese. 'We want to speak to you.'
'I say,' Charlie exclaimed, 'it's Barton, the old "International!"'
'So it is,' Fred said, delightedly, feeling certain that a resourceful
football-player, such as Barton had proved himself to be times
innumerable, would devise some means for freeing them.
'Well,' said Barton, smiling, 'you're collared.' And Charlie and Fred
laughed. 'How did you get in this fix?' Barton continued, seriously; and
Ping Wang related in a few words how they had been arrested. 'This is
very unfortunate,' Barton declared. 'Early this morning one of our
converts saw three men make off with my colleague's horse. I reported
the theft to the Chinese officials, and urged that steps should be taken
to detect the thieves. I suppose that to save the trouble of making
inquiries they arrested you. I received information about an hour ago
that the thieves had been caught, and I came out to see if I knew the
men. Now I must hurry away, and see if I can get you set at liberty. It
will be difficult, I fear; but you may rely on my doing my best.'
[Illustration: "The men unlocked the collars."]
Barton hurried away, leaving the prisoners in much better spirits.
Nearly two hours passed before he returned, and they had begun to fear
that his efforts on their behalf had not been successful.
'Barton's smiling,' Charlie whispered, as the missionary drew near. 'We
are going to be released. I should like to give old Barton a cheer. It
wouldn't be the first I have given him by many a score.'
'Don't talk,' Ping Wang said; and in a few minutes the men who had
arrested them had unlocked the collars, and set them free.
'Come with me,' Barton said, as they rose from their cramped position on
the ground.
'Can you speak Chinese?' he asked the Pages, when they had walked a few
yards; and, on their replying that they only knew a few words, added,
'Then we will speak English. You need not fear that it will arouse
suspicion, for several of our native Christians have learnt English.
By-the-bye, I am sorry to have kept you waiting; the officials knew very
well that they had arrested the wrong men; but when I told them that
such was the case, they flatly contradicted me. However, after we had a
long conversation, they told me that they would set you free, but would
not arrest anybody else. I agreed to that at once, and they seemed quite
as pleased as I was at the result of my interview.'
'We are very grateful to you----' Charlie began, but Barton stopped him.
'My dear fellow, you have nothing to thank me for. In fact, I am the
innocent cause of the hardship you have undergone; for if I had not
complained of our horse having been stolen, you would not have been
arrested. But, I hope,' he continued, 'you have not suffered from the
wooden collars?'
'Our necks have. Mine is horribly stiff.'
'We can remedy that with embrocation. When we reach our house--we shall
soon be there--you had better have a bath at once.'
The Pages and Ping Wang were very pleased when they reached the mission
station, and were able to indulge in the luxury of a warm bath. Having
bathed, rubbed their necks with embrocation, and well shaken their
clothes, they strolled out on to the verandah, where Barton was waiting
for them. He led the way along the verandah, which ran the length of the
building, and turned into a large, airy, plainly furnished dining-room.
At the head of the table sat the senior missionary--a man of about fifty
years of age--and facing him was his wife. An elderly lady and a young
man were the other missionaries, and there were also at the table the
four children of the senior missionary.
After dinner they all went out on the verandah, and there Charlie, by
request, told his new friends why he and Fred were in Su-ching disguised
as Chinamen.
The senior missionary strongly advised the Pages and Ping Wang to give
up their journey, declaring that if they persisted they would probably
meet with worse punishment than the wooden collar.
'But the jewels belong to me,' Ping Wang declared.
'I do not doubt it, but nevertheless, Chin Choo would regard you as a
common thief. Why not ask him to return the idol to you?'
'That would make him think it was more valuable than he had supposed.
Moreover, he has threatened to kill me if ever he has the opportunity.'
'Then why give him an opportunity?'
'I do not mean to. We will wait at Kwang-ngan until we get a chance of
regaining the idol without being found out.'
A little later Ping Wang's cousin arrived at the missionary's house, and
was able to give the travellers some valuable information. He had paid a
visit to Kwang-ngan during the previous week, and had seen Chin Choo on
several occasions. One evening as he passed Chin Choo's house, he
saw--the gate being open--the idol which the mandarin had stolen from
Ping Wang's father, standing in the front room nearest the road.
To discover the room in which Chin Choo kept his stolen idol, Ping Wang
had considered the most difficult part of their undertaking, and now
that the information had been obtained without any exertion on their
part, he felt surer than ever that the jewels would soon be in their
possession.
'Our friends are tired,' the senior missionary said to his colleagues,
about two hours after dinner, 'so we will have the evening service at
once.'
The gong was sounded, and soon the native English-speaking servants
filed into the big room in which the Europeans were assembled. It was
long since the Pages had worshipped among their own people, and as they
listened to the prayers, and joined in the evening hymn, they felt that
this was one of the most peaceful half hours they had ever experienced;
and before rising from their knees, they thanked God, silently but
earnestly, for having brought them safely through so many dangers. Then,
bidding good-night to their kind hosts, they retired to the large
three-bedded room which had been placed at their disposal.
It was their intention to resume their journey early the following
morning; but a few hours after they had turned in, Charlie and Fred were
awakened by hearing Ping Wang groaning.
Jumping out of bed they lighted the lamp and looked anxiously at their
friend.
'What's the matter, old boy?' Charlie asked, but Ping Wang evidently did
not hear.
'He's unconscious,' Fred said. 'Call Barton, for he knows more about
fever than I do.'
Fred soon saw that he had acted wisely in sending for Barton, as the
missionary thoroughly understood what it was necessary to do in such
cases.
For an hour or so there was, however, no improvement in the patient's
condition, and Barton decided to sit up with him.
'No,' Fred said, 'let me sit up. I'm a medical student, and it's my
right to look after the patient.'
'Medical students have plenty of pluck, I know,' Barton replied, with a
smile, 'but they cannot defy nature with impunity. You are completely
fagged out, and if you don't turn in at once I shall have two patients
to-morrow instead of one.'
Charlie and Fred were soon sound asleep, and it was not until nine
o'clock in the morning that Fred awoke. He relieved Barton at once, and
the missionary went away to get a brief rest.
About an hour after Barton had gone out, Ping Wang awoke, and, to the
delight of his two friends, spoke rationally. They forbade him, however,
to talk, and told him that the quieter he kept, the quicker would be his
recovery. He was an excellent patient, and the result of his obedience
was that, in three days, he was able to leave his bed. But his illness
left him very weak, and Barton and Fred agreed that it would be
dangerous for him to attempt to proceed to Kwang-ngan until a fortnight
had elapsed. This prolonged delay was, of course, a disappointment to
the three travellers, but they enjoyed their stay immensely. When Ping
Wang became strong enough to leave the verandah, Barton took him and the
Pages to see his Chinese school. It was a most novel sight; but what
pleased the Pages most was to find that Barton was as popular with his
Chinese pupils as he had been, a few years previously, with thousands of
English schoolboys.
(_Continued on page 334._)
THE HIDDEN ROOM.
'Dreaming again, Millicent, and your hands folded in your lap! Your
father would have to go without shirts if it were left to you!'
Millicent Basset started up from the pleasant rose-covered wall where
she had been sitting, and her fair face flushed at her aunt's sharp
words.
'Indeed, Aunt Deborah, I am very sorry; but the news from Newbury has
driven all other thoughts from my mind. I was wishing I could have been
with Antony and Father, instead of being left at home doing nothing
while they are fighting.'
'There is no call for you to do nothing,' replied Aunt Deborah dryly,
'while work lies ready to your hand. Take your seam indoors to your
chamber, and stir not from it till supper-time. I am going to the
village to see the smith's son; I hear he was sore hurt in the fight.'
Millicent rose with a sigh, and carried her work to her room as she was
bidden. She turned her back resolutely to the window, and set to work to
make up for lost time. A quaint picture she made in the low oak-panelled
room, in her grey dress and white kerchief--for her father, Sir James
Basset, was a staunch Roundhead, and so was Dame Deborah, his sister,
who had ruled his household since the death of his wife.
These were stirring times. The civil war between the Roundheads and
Charles I. was at its height, and two days before, the sound of guns had
been distinctly heard at Wootton Basset, for a battle had been fought at
Newbury, and night had fallen before either side could claim the
victory. Sir James Basset and his son had both been fighting, but had
escaped unhurt, and had gone on with the Parliamentary army to London,
finding means, however, to send a message home about their safety.
Aunt Deborah, with the calmness of a strong nature, after assembling the
family to return thanks for the good news, went quietly on with her
usual duties, expecting every one else to do the same; but to Millicent
this seemed impossible. How could she be expected to sit and stitch
wristbands, when, only six miles away, the sun, shining so quietly in at
the window, was looking down on the battlefield? 'Oh, if I had only been
a man,' she cried, 'to ride forth instead of being left here!'
Hardly had the words crossed her lips before one of the panels in a
dark corner of the room flew back, revealing to her startled eyes a tall
youth, whose long curls and the dainty lace ruffles on his torn and
stained shirt proved him to be one of those young Cavaliers whom
Millicent had often wished to know, but who to Aunt Deborah represented
all that was lawless and wicked. She started to her feet in terror. At
that moment the presence of her aunt, or even of one of the babies, as
she called her nine-year-old twin sisters, would have been a comfort;
but the stranger's voice reassured her.
'Am I speaking to Mistress Millicent Basset?' he asked with a low bow,
which brought the colour to Millicent's face, for few people spoke to
her as if she were grown up.
'Yes, I am Millicent Basset, at your service,' she answered. Then,
plucking up her courage, she added, 'How did you come here, and what
right have you to take the panel out of the wall?'
A smile passed across the young soldier's face. 'Bravely asked,' he
said, 'and easily answered had I time; but I must show you something
first. Do you recognise that?' and, stepping forward, he laid something
on the table beside her.
At that moment hurrying feet and shrill voices were heard in the
passage. It was the twins. Happily in their eagerness they paused for a
moment, disputing which should open the door. Then a strange thing
happened. Millicent had turned from the stranger for a moment as the
children fumbled at the lock; and when she turned her head again he had
vanished, and the panelled wall looked exactly as it had always done.
All that remained to prove that she had not been dreaming was the little
packet he had placed on the table.
Millicent quickly placed her sewing on the packet and swept it into her
lap before she listened to what the excited little girls had to say.
'See, sister,' cried Alison, holding out her apron to show six little
fluffy chickens, 'what my speckled hen has hatched, all unknown to any
one. We do not know where to put them. Will you come out and choose a
place for them?'
'Nay, children, that I cannot do, for I promised Aunt Deborah to stay
here and sew; but I can show you a place from the window. The old
dog-kennel yonder would be a good house for the hen and her brood, and
you can watch for Aunt Deborah and let her see them when she returns.
Run away now, like good little maidens; the chicks will soon grow cold
without their mother, and I have this long seam to stitch before
supper.'
The children ran off well pleased, and Millicent was left alone, feeling
safe from interruption, for she knew she would be warned of Aunt
Deborah's approach by their excited voices. When the door closed behind
them, she went softly to it and drew the bolt. Then she took up the
mysterious little parcel, and was greatly surprised to find it was a
little Testament which belonged to her brother Antony, which he always
carried in his pocket. To make sure she opened it, and there on the
fly-leaf was his name, 'Antony, from Millicent,' and beneath was written
as if in haste: 'I send this by the hand of Ralph de Foulkes; help him
as he helped me.'
(_Continued on page 330._)
[Illustration: "'See what my speckled hen has hatched.'"]
[Illustration: "'I got these easily from the cellar.'"]
THE HIDDEN ROOM.
(_Continued from page 327._)
Millicent sprang to her feet. For the last six months she had added this
name to her prayers, for its unknown owner had saved the life of her
brother at the battle of Hopton Heath, when his side had been routed,
and he--his horse killed under him, and a terrible sword-cut in his
arm--had hidden in a little copse, hardly expecting to escape being
caught and hung as a rebel.
'He was a slight young fellow, like a girl, with a laughing face and
yellow locks hanging on his shoulders. His name was Foulkes, but more
than that I had no time to ask or he to answer; had it not been for him
I had scarce hoped to see you again, sister,' Antony had said in answer
to her eager questions as to what the young man was like; and she had
treasured up the description in her heart. And now here he was at her
side, for no sooner was she seated than the panel flew back and he
stepped into the room.
She held out the little book. 'You are Ralph de Foulkes,' she said, 'and
Antony sent you; but I do not know how you have got behind the woodwork,
or how you dare come to this house--you, a Royalist! If Aunt Deborah
knew!'
Again a smile crossed the young man's face. 'Nay,' he answered, 'but
Aunt Deborah must not know. I trust to you, Mistress Millicent; your
brother said you would help us.'
'Us!' repeated Millicent in surprise; 'is there then another?--where is
he?'
'You know not the secrets of your own house,' answered De Foulkes, and,
stepping back, he showed her that a few steps led from the secret door
to a small, narrow room, lit only by a grating far up in the wall. It
was barely furnished and evidently meant for a hiding-place, as a door
at the further end pointed to another way of escape.
She followed her guide down the steps, and when her eyes became
accustomed to the gloom, she saw an elderly man, wrapped in torn and
stained garments, lying asleep on a low bed in the corner.
''Tis my father,' whispered Ralph; 'he was wounded in the thigh by a
ball at Newbury; but I got him on his horse and set off in the darkness,
hoping to reach Oxford somehow. But we had gone but eight miles when he
fainted and fell from his horse. Some one was riding up behind, and
careless whether it were friend or foe so long as I found help, I cried
out. It was your brother, and he, in gratitude for some slight service
which I did him months ago, held the horse while I lifted my father up,
and then guided us to the entrance to that passage,' pointing to the
door in the corner; ''tis in an old tower a mile hence, and so we
brought him here.'
'Antony brought him! Antony here, and did not tell me?' cried Millicent
hastily.
'He had no time; in truth he laid himself open to suspicion by loitering
so long. But see! my father wakes,' and he hurried forward as the old
man raised himself on his arm and gazed round.
'Water,' he muttered; 'water, Ralph! I feel weak,' and he fell back
again unconscious.
'He has had no food since he left the field, and my water-flagon is
long since empty,' explained Ralph. 'I thought that mayhap you could get
us some food in the night when the household is quiet, for I too am
well-nigh famished.'
'Famished!' cried Millicent impetuously; 'I should think so. I shall go
and get some food this very moment.'
'But stay!' said her companion hastily; 'we are safe so far, but a
little want of caution would ruin all; rather wait than be discovered.'
'Antony said you could trust me,' she said proudly, and she vanished
through the panel, shutting it carefully behind her, leaving Ralph
wondering if he had done rightly in trusting his secret to this
impulsive young girl. There was something in her face, however, which
gave him confidence.
It seemed a long time before he heard a little tap on the wood, and,
drawing back the door, he found her standing with her arms full. In one
hand she held a glass of milk, while under her arm was a flagon, and in
her apron was a large loaf of bread, with some cups and a knife.
'I got these easily from the cellar,' she said, 'but I could not bring
any meat, for old Joan was in the buttery; I must get that at night.'
To Ralph, faint with hunger, what she had brought was food fit for a
king, and he began to feed his father while Millicent slipped away to
her room again.
That night, when every one was asleep, Millicent went up and down the
house without her shoes, flitting about like a ghost from place to
place, taking things here and there which she did not think would be
missed. Some blankets from the great chest in the gallery, a pair of
sheets, an old shirt of Antony's, some soft rags, a good supply of
provisions--anything, in short, that she thought would be of use to the
two occupants of the hidden room, for she knew that she must not visit
them too often, in case her secret was discovered. When she had
collected them in a heap behind the panel, she tapped lightly on the
wood and Ralph came. The tears came into his eyes when he saw the
comforts which she had gathered together.
'May Heaven reward you,' he said, 'for I cannot.'
'Nay,' answered Millicent, ''tis but little to thank me for, as you will
find if you have an appetite like Antony; for there were only one round
of beef and two pasties in the buttery, and I dare not take too much for
fear Martha the cook should notice in the morning; and I must not come
again till to-morrow night, but then I will bring a few eggs--they will
nourish your father.'
And with a sigh of relief Millicent saw him disappear with the things;
and she went to sleep thinking that after all it would not be so
difficult to provide the strangers with food until the old knight was
able to travel, and no one would ever find out.
Alas! her troubles were just beginning, for next evening, while she was
waiting in her room until it was safe to carry food to the fugitives, a
small stone came sharply against the window, and, looking out, she saw a
dark figure standing in the shadow of the great yew-tree.
'Who is there?' she cried softly.
''Tis I, Mistress,' said the figure, moving close up to the window. It
was Mark Field, Antony's own man and foster-brother.
'What brings you here, Mark? Has aught befallen Antony?' she asked in
haste.
'Nay, the young master is well and safe in London, Mistress Millicent,
but he bade me carry this note to you and to deliver it into none other
hands but yours. It is of importance, for he bade me ride like the wind
and spare not my steed, and I was to tell no man I was here, or wait for
an answer, but just give it to thee, get a fresh nag from the stable and
hasten back to London, so that no man might mark my absence; so
good-night, Mistress,' and the honest fellow handed up the paper to
Millicent and vanished in the darkness.
She opened it and read: 'Dearest,--Rumours have got abroad that Sir
Denvil de Foulkes and his son are harbouring near Basset Court. Our
father knows nought of the matter, and is anxious that troopers be sent
to watch the district. They will live at the Court and doubtless search
the house. Set your wits to work, for my honour is at stake. I would
fain have those two escape. The younger had better depart; his
appearance with the King's force would remove suspicion. For the other
you must do your best.--ANTONY.'
Millicent sat still for a long time. The danger was great, but her
courage rose to meet it. If she could prevent it, no harm would come to
the helpless old man in the secret room; neither would the disgrace of
having harboured an enemy fall on her father. No one, so far as she
knew, knew aught of the hidden room. If the soldiers could be kept from
discovering that, all might be well. There seemed only one way to
prevent them doing so. If she were ill and in bed while they were in the
house, they would not search her room too narrowly.
But her conscience told her that she must really be ill, not pretend;
and she gave a shiver as she thought of a mixture of mustard-and-water
which Aunt Deborah had administered to Marjorie once when she mistook
laburnum-pods for peas. She remembered how ill the child was afterwards,
and she thought if she could make herself as ill as that, there would be
no deceit in saying she could not get up.
Having come to this decision she rose, and tapping on the panel, she was
soon talking over the situation with Ralph and his father, whose wound
was healing, although he was not yet able to walk. When he heard the
contents of the letter he was anxious to give himself up, rather than
bring disgrace and danger on the house which had sheltered him; but this
Millicent would not hear of.
Ralph at once began his preparations for his departure, as he felt that
Antony's advice was good, and that if once he were known to have joined
the King at Oxford the search for his father might be given up. Oxford
was only some thirty miles distant, and if he started at once he would
not be far from it at daybreak.
Millicent's heart felt heavy when, after bidding her a courteous adieu
and embracing his father, he vanished along the dark passage which led
to the opening in the woods. She wondered if she would ever meet him
again. She a Puritan, he a Cavalier--their lots seemed to lie so far
apart.
Before the thought had passed he was back in the room again. 'The way is
blocked,' he said; 'the rains have loosened the soil, and there has been
a heavy fall of earth. 'Tis so much the better for you, father; even had
the soldiers not discovered the door in the wainscot, they might have
found the other entrance in the woods. The question is, how am I to get
out?'
'You must get out through my window,' said Millicent; ''tis not far from
the ground, and there is the apple-tree.'
Ralph did not speak as he followed her up the steps and through the room
to where the casement-window stood half open, but he turned before he
swung himself over the sill.
'Hitherto have I dreamt of no fair lady save my mother,' he said; 'she
had ever been my guardian angel. Now your face will mingle with hers in
my memory, and your name with hers in my prayers. These are troublous
times, but if I live I will see you again some time, and meanwhile, as a
remembrance, may I have these?' and he touched a bunch of yellow roses
which she wore in her belt.
Hardly knowing what she did, she placed them in his hand, and a moment
afterwards she was alone. She stood a long time where he left her; then
awaking from her reverie, she went to the buttery, where she mixed and
drank her nauseous draught. Then she went back to her room, and for the
next few hours she felt as ill and miserable as any one could be.
(_Concluded on page 338._)
THE RABBIT AND THE HARE.
'I've been to town,' a Rabbit said,
'O sleepy Mr. Hare,
And if you don't get out of bed
You'll miss the market there.'
'How mean of you!' the other whined;
'You've bought the best, I see,
And in the market I shall find
The worst is left for me.'
The Rabbit mutely turned away
From language so unfair;
He trotted home, and from that day
He shunned the lazy Hare.
'For this,' said he, 'is plain to me,
All lazy folk are prone
To blame their friends, and never see
The fault is theirs alone.'
A MOTOR-CAR OF THE PAST.
Motorists have cause to be thankful they live in a good-natured age. Of
course, they are often blamed for accidents, not always deservedly; but
had they lived in the early part of the nineteenth century, they would
have been much worse off. About that time, several persons constructed
steam carriages, meant to run upon ordinary roads; the popular anger,
however, was so great that they had to give up running them. Nearly
every town and village greeted them with jeers and hostile cries, with
occasional presents of brickbats or stones, and it happened more than
once that a furious mob attacked a party, and tried to break the machine
to pieces.
[Illustration: An Old-fashioned Motor-car.]
Mr. Gurney was a notable contriver of such carriages. He had several, of
different styles, and probably the most remarkable of his experiments
was the making of one with a divided boiler, to relieve the fears which
were common then amongst people to whom steam was a novelty, and who
fancied that a boiler was in great danger of bursting from the pressure
of the steam. Some folk said that Mr. Gurney, who was a doctor, took the
idea of his peculiar boiler from the arteries and veins of the human
body; at any rate, he had a double arrangement of pipes, taking the form
of a horseshoe, and made of welded iron. There were forty pipes, so that
if one burst it could only do a trifling amount of harm, and the damage
was easily repaired. The principle was that of the 'water-tube' boilers
of the present day. Mr. Gurney had also what he called 'separators,'
which returned to the boiler any water that was not needed in the pipes.
A tank supplied water to the boiler by means of a pump with a flexible
hose; coke or charcoal was burnt in the furnace, so that there was very
little smoke, and the machinery moved almost noiselessly. It was
reckoned to be about twelve horse-power, and travelled at any rate
between four and fifteen miles an hour. Inside and outside the vehicle
eighteen or twenty persons could be seated; the guide or conductor sat
in front, and steered the machine by pilot-wheels fastened to a pole,
which went from end to end of the carriage. He had also under his
management a lever which would stop the carriage speedily, and another
to reverse the action of the wheels. The tank, containing about sixty
gallons, and the furnace were placed in what they called the hind boot;
the fore boot contained luggage, if any was carried. Another of Mr.
Gurney's special contrivances was a propeller fixed at the back of the
carriage; it could be made to touch the ground when travelling up a
hill, assisting the steam-power. A few experimental trips were made, but
the carriage was not brought into general use.
J. R. S. C.
WONDERFUL CAVERNS.
X.--THE CLIFF-DWELLERS OF NORTH AMERICA.
One of the tribes which at a very early date sought refuge in cliff
caverns is supposed to have been that of the Pueblo Indians of the Mesa
Verde in Colorado, whose descendants, though not cave-dwellers, are
still found in New Mexico. From the proofs of partial civilisation found
in their deserted homes, we may believe them to have been more refined
and gentler than the savage Apaches and similar fighting tribes who
overcame them, and drove them out to find fresh abiding-places.
[Illustration: Cliff-dwelling, New Mexico, and Cave-pottery (British
Museum).]
Their caves are generally built in with masonry, and had queer-shaped
windows here and there; the floors were smoothed and covered with red
clay beaten hard, whilst occasionally the walls received coats of fine
red and yellow plaster, with stripes of darker colours. The larger caves
were divided into several rooms, and in many there was an 'Estufa,' or
specially warm, dry apartment. The 'Estufa' was always round in form,
and is supposed to have been used for religious purposes. It was
probably a sort of private chapel for one or more families, and the
round shape was most likely a survival of the old round huts or wigwams
wherein their ancestors had dwelt in the old days. Most of these
cave-houses are of rough workmanship, but here and there, especially in
one known as the Cliff Palace, the blocks of stone have been carefully
hewn and put together.
The condition of early races may be largely judged by the pottery they
used, and the Pueblo Indians have left really beautiful specimens of
this ancient craft. The bowls are often of a fine red, with white
patterns outside, and black and red designs inside. The lamps found are
of a curious boat-shaped form, and hold quite a lot of oil. Mummies have
been discovered perfectly preserved in their rock places of burial, each
wrapped in cloth made entirely of feathers.
Besides their cliff homes, the Pueblos, though probably much later, had
another form of settlement, building huge villages on the top of a steep
rock, surrounded with precipices all but inaccessible. The walls of the
houses were sometimes of stone, sometimes of bricks dried in the sun, or
more often of 'adobe,' or in common English, 'mud.' The Indians were
careful to choose a rock on which a spring of water rose, round which
the dwellings clustered. Here, safe in their fortress homes, with a
plentiful supply of provisions, the Pueblos might defy their enemies
below.
Many, both of these rock and cave dwellings, were 'Community houses,' in
which a number of families lived, each owning one or more rooms, very
much after the fashion in which people now-a-days occupy flats in London
and New York. Probably the finest of these combinations of rock and
masonry is that near Beaver Creek in New Mexico, known as Montezuma's
Castle. The foundations of masonry let into the solid rock begin eighty
feet above the valley, and the building is about fifty feet high. It is
in the form of a crescent, and parts of it have five stories, though the
top one cannot be seen from below, as it is close under the roof of the
cavern.
The owners of these top rooms would have had a dull time but for the
projecting roof of number four story, which served them for a balcony
and general look-out. The building has twenty-five rooms of masonry,
besides many rock chambers at the sides and below the castle. The timber
of the houses is still sound, and the rafters which project outside the
walls have the ends burnt off instead of sawn, whilst many of the roofs,
both of mud and thatch, are still perfect.
The building overhangs the canyon, and to reach it ladders were placed
from one shelf of rock to another, all sloping outwards--just the wrong
way for safety; and yet up these giddy stairways not only all supplies
of food, but the solid materials for building this immense structure,
had to be carried.
HELENA HEATH.
AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(_Continued from page 327._)