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Tli‘he White Wizard;

The Great Prophet hf the Seminoles.

BY NED BUNTIJNE.

CHAPTER I.

ALONG the whole southern and western coast
of Florida from the ancient Fort of St. Marks
to Key West, there were no settlements and
only a few Spanish fishing stations at am-

a Bay, Manitee, Boca

rande, and Sunabel. at
the date when We draw
the curtain of the drama
which we offer to the
reader, nearly forty
yeer gigo. b1 _

e was owmg a
terri o ale, from the
south-e. , rolling up the
waves from the Bay of
Mexico—as that portion
inside of the Gulf has
been named—and send-
ing them on the sandy
shore, where the broke
in lofty walls 0 foam.
So fiercely did the tem-
pest rage that the Span-
ish fishermen could not
pursue their avocation!

hey were obliged to lay
their nets out upcn the
inner branch of the
point of Boca Grande,
where their ranche was
established, and seek re-
fuge in the low palmet-
tothatched huts‘built for,
their shelter, which, tho’
located in a ravine,where
the wind had not full
play upon them, seemed

ardly strong enough to
withstand the gale. _

Here, smoking their
cigarettes, they huddled,
some curs) and
ling at t a weather;
others uttering a prayer,
now and then to Ban
Antonio—all discontent-
rd and out of sorts.

Suddenly, however, the

booming of cannonry-v

and that close at hand-—

startled a‘l of them t4-

their feet, and with one

idea they rushed simul-

taneously out to seeth

could be off that coast in

such a storm, and m

the cannon were

0n reachin the elevated

point that unds to the

south the narrow en-

trance to the bay, Wthh

extends far back into the

swamps and wilds of the country they saw a,
large schooner, foretopsail rig, ewdently armed
heavily and with a fu] crew, standingin toward
the coast, under a fearful press of canvas. Arid
only about a mile nearer, but so close to t e
shore that the persons of thOSe on board of her
could be £33"th seen, was a small but beautiful
schooner- t—no more than five or six tons
burthen, and but partially decked over, yet she
rode the sea like a duck, and seemed to cut the
water as a bird cleaves the air. Upon her deck
were three persons—a man, who stood at the
helm, a lm'r‘lv female, who clung to the weather
shroud a few feet before him, and by the hand

. them, seemed

she held a little girl, whose glossy ringlets flut-
tered out like pennons on the gale.

A ainst this boat and its he pies: crew, to the
won er of the Spaniards, the cannonade of the
large, black—sided schooner was directed. To
their surprise, the more, because the schooner
showed no fla , and did not seem, by her looks,
to be either a uarda Costa or a man-of-war.

“ Es mm Pirata—it is a ira. "—they mut—
tered, and, crossing themse ves, they prayed
earnestl for the escape of “ El galetta ('hica”
-—the little schooner—~and some of the more
earnest of them run down to the int, and by
becko and , endeavor to direct the

“sacs, YOU DOG, on. YOU SHALL mm”

fugitives how to run into the narrow channel,
which, having once entered, would place them
in safety for a Exams, d T11th mdan and“? helm 

un ers , an , eep
craft steady for the shore, soon eivxfhow
to steer to make the entrance. eantime the
shot from the pursuing vessel were plowing :1)
the water all around him. Twice had his sm 1
sails been perforated, time after time had the
spray from the hissing shot dashed over him,
yet no spar was touched—amr he, or the woman,
or child hurt, and they now were very close to
the shore.

Though they trembled for it, yet the Span-

iards hoped for that bold steersman’s safety, for
he seemed to bear a charmed life—Death came
‘ so near and yet refrained.

e was now upon the outer ran e of breakers
which broke across the bar—n0 ll his lovely
‘ boat rose upon them—reeling an staggerinr
} before the gale, in she sped through the yeast 0
foam; a moment more and she was in smooth
water. A lad hurrah rose from the li of the
l fishermen, )ut its echoes were hushe< in the
2 fearful burst of the schooner’s whole bromlside
as she rounded to, scarce a half mile ofl’ and
threw a shower of a and cannister a the
‘ hapless fugitives. it a shudder, they turned.
to see its effects. The
oaned and beat their
roasts as they saw the
lovely woman, who had
held the child by the
hand, full to the dock,
and saw the man, who,
lettin go the helm, )er.
mitte his boat to lull 11 )
under the lee of the hen — .
land, spring forward and
raise er in his arms
while great torrents oi
blood gushed out from
her breast and ran in
crimson currents over
her white dress.

They manned several
of their fishin canoes
and hurried o , in spite
of the driving gale, to
offer their assistanc
They found the man, a
young and noble-looking
Eamon, kneeling upon

9 deck and trying to
stanch the wound, but
all in vain, while the
terrified child clung to

the corpse and moaned

“ Mamma, mamma,
speak to One!"

It was a pitiful scene.
They made their rude
~ but well-meant offers 0
aid, and then, for the
first time, he seemed to
be aware that they were
alongside of his boat, for,
with the flerceness of a
maniac, he half raised
her form from the deck
and while his 0 esglared
and his long air blew
out straifiht on the gale,
he shoute -—
“ Ofll off! She is mur-
dered! she ismurdered!"

Then he laid the bod
dewn, trimmed his tag
tered sails sprung to the
helln, and, before an-

other minute had passed,
boat was ii /in like
a gull before 1 e s rm,
far up the bay amid the
thousands of islands
which lay between the
seamen and the “ Big Cypress.’

A wild mystery to hem was in all this.
Never had they seen a more beautiful lady. She
was tall, raven-haired, lovely in feature, and

rfect in form. And costly jewels glittered on

er fingers, bracelets of gold clasped her wrists,
and also were on her fair round arms above the
elbows. By this the deemed her S ianish.

As soon as the oat had lufle in out of
sight of the schooner, the latter" commenced
making si nals for a pilot, having shortened
sail and hove to as near the shore as she
dared. But, had it been possrble for them to
go out to her, there was not one )f those hon-

 

2

The New York Library; - _________ __

 

 

est fishermen who would havc helped to do
further wrong to the wretched fugitive, who
ever he might be, by aiding to bring the
schooner in that she might renew the pur-
cart

Gun after gun did the schooner fire, and,
then. with men at her mast-head. she stood
close in as if to reconnoiter the bar. to see if
it were passable; and though it was, and for
I vessel of larger site than her, for the sea
broke in four fathoms water upon it, and the
men on shore could by signs have easily guid-
ed her across, they would not do it. The
sight which the had witnessed had sickened
their hearts, an more than one pro. or was
uttered that night, that the pirate, or such
they deemed her, would sink before me morn-
in dawned again.

ut, during the night, the tempest slackcn
cd, and when morning came the wind had al-
most died away. Then they saw the low
black hull of the schooner risin and falling
with the swell of the sea, as she ay at anchor
about a mile from shore—her tall spars, with
the canvas close-furled, standin in hold out,
line between them and anion less sky. As
soon asit was fairl light, a boat was lower-
ed from the vesse , manned with an armed
crew, They pulled in upon and over the bar,
taking soundinnrs and bearings as they went,
and soon found that their schooner could,
without difficulty, make the anchorage inside.
They returned to her, and, in a short time, she
was got under way, run in and brought to an
anchor under the same lee where the strang-
er’s boat had lulled u the day before, and
within musket shot of t s huts of the fisher-
men.

The latter were much alarmed, but they
had nothing to be robbed of exce t a few
thousand pounds of dried fish and eir nets
and canoes, so they did not fly, but with many
prayers to their patron saints. awaited the re
sult of whatever might come.

In a little while an armed boat landed (1‘9!!!
the vessel, and one who seemed to“ be .her
commander s rung to the shore. He was
richly dresse , strongly framed, thoroughly:
armed, and his features would not have on
uncomely if passion had not evidently ma e
its throne within his heart.  look was
that of one seeking for a victim with the ardor
of a Malay, wishing for bloody'vengeanccfor
some wrong or fancied injury. Ilia} e was
probably not more than thirty—hisllg their

and complexion sxpzke of AngloSaxon blood. I -
l e.

yith him was a n, sallofwg- acedindividual,
ressed in k,‘avider t1 'ten or n years,
older, who? , snakglike eyes; thin lips,
narrow forehead, and close-shaved: face made
him look, what‘h‘avrurel was, a _villain; 
ably a kind of Judas or mold, rcpdy to be one”
for any one, if money was'in‘,qusstion. " j‘ '

The first comérfim an,‘ 'Ous tone, dc-
manded ,of,th,c" phermefi they did lliict
answer  Tsi'na .‘ ’r a p' 01:. ' ewes rep. , 
toby  c dost 03 the party, a ray-ha: ’
Minorcan, one, Bablo ovas, w 0, among
hisv sompaniM'had the reputation of fearing
neither man. no'r‘the devil. ‘

“ We didn’t’ understand our signal,” said
he, boldly; a main we ha , we had no boat
which could’livefih‘thc surfvvn the bar yes-
terda l”  f"‘.‘ ’  ’

“Yvetyoucould signalize the villain who
crossed by your directionsg‘whep we were

are of his capture l" ' ‘

“ That was not half so bad as. our rdcr-
ng his poor wife I" said the o V-Bfiisrd
'ittcrly. ' ‘ I w / ,

“ His wife! Did he say she was 9‘“. wife,
my dear fellow?” said the indiyidual irgbla'o
quickl catching at the expression. ~  -'. -
. H“, V the insOlent dog n3 mambo“.
allot- ; I know that she was married _ ‘\ L
that’s emu mama the otl(er impatient y. t,

“Then ptain ’Febiger, we must havcthc‘
1mm. or all will, 'fall through, unless ws\cari
prove its'dcathl. M dear felloWVthg ciild
was unhamw..,w it not 7” "" "

“ Whell I bio .whether I'm talking to the

i , devil or not, I’II}answerl” said old Pablo,

grufil .

“ omc—I like that l" said. he 37,110 M Path;

addressed as Captain Fcbigcrysmiling snmly
on Pablo. “ He is a lawyer, and they’re serw
vants to the devil, as a general min ,0. but' I‘

‘ can answer the question as well'as‘ 01' The"
' woman only was
.my spy—glass l”

hurt. I" saw that through

'A prophetic on, looking man! to thsprcacnt d”,
would have enabled hills "Wt 5m.“ We“
II the same category.

'.

l
. .I
u,

e (:11, s e, too, would have been spared l” said
a 0.

“You think so, ch? Well, now, I have a
better heart than you think for, or I should
out off both your cars for your insolence ; but
I like our spirit—it has a spice of the devil
in it, 1i e in own. If ou’ll come aboard the
schooner-t e “ Bell ” I call her—I’ll
give you as good a glass of grog as ever met
thirst lips I”

“ so your rag to drown the recollection
of bad soda in g!

“Well, well, the offer Was kindly meant,
take it as you will. Do cu know anything
about the be up which t e fellow went f”

' “ Noths' ." said Pablo.

“How r docs itcxtend before the main
is reached 2’

“ I don’t know I," lied the Spaniard.

“ Your men, [1&9an

“Know no more than I do I" continued
Pablo.

“ What the devil do you know 1’” cried Fe-
biger, beginning to get angry and show his
natural ferocity again. ,

' “ Nothing, when it suits us; a good deal,
when we want to l”

The strapge captain's hand was on the hilt
of his swo , when the gentleman in black
urged him- to ursue the fugitive and child,
who were, pro ably, fast getting be and pur-
suit, urging, for some reason, that e perb
of the utter must, at all events, be secure
even if the death of the other was not accom-
plished. Curbirig. his anger as best he could,
the captain of e schooner returned to his
boat and went on board of his vessel. In a
short time, four boats, full manned and armed
put of? from the schooner, rowing in the direo
tion which the stranger had taken 9n the day
before.

“ The holy saints keep him and the child
from their devilish clutches,” muttered Pablo,
as he. saw them go off. “ They mean it no
good i! the do find it, and they seem bent on

is life! 'd like to know wh . One thi
is, certain, if ever I can aid him any,

‘.‘ fin?”

: L‘ "Eh/e old man now set his men to work, for

lra‘nohg, though the proprietors lived in; "
vans, where market was found for tho 
when cured " 

l

cnar'rnn. n.

. In a large old stone mansion on t at part of
Manhattan Island known as Joncs‘ Woods—
and now destined to be. the (3an Park, or

or in a s‘pagious’rocm the ” tin . on

,_ Est aver, bri ht glimpses of w 'ch
could be seen throngm the trees which stood
very thick about the ilding—an elderly man
strode to anfro, nervously.

His thin hair wag! kind of dirt yellow, as
if time had whitened it with soil hands ; his
lace was wrinkled, but apparently more with
anxiety than with age; and his small grzy
eyes, in their quick searching glances, look
as if they sought either for a place to hide

something in, or for some secret spot from
which to abstract something. His f'mgors

worked nervously, as he pursued his hurried

Wham! he would mutter‘wor‘ds that exhibit-

ed excitement,‘though his parchment-colored

face showed no more si s of it, than a chunk

of n‘vcr'iceco’vcrsd wit saw-dust. - '

~ The room, des its his own shabb a pear~
ancc, was In ' cent] fitted up; ic car-

c floor, 1'. e furniture very costly

The promenade-of the person thus partiall
- described, Was broken in upon by a colored:

\ servant, who said: ‘
-' “ Msssa ll'ebiger, derc’s a gsmplemen down
in do ’cept‘lon room dat wants to see you.
His name am Aniasa, Quiet." o ,
f 1‘ The hcrrld old "hard ' 'Did you tell him I
‘w in 7" . V I . .
: t‘iNo, sah, but Antigony, de porter, did I"

l the cman’up; perhaps'he-wants todecg
“Inc's ’ ut‘atocks—he dabbles‘ in them as firing
his paltry thousands will‘le‘thim o l" ‘ ‘ '

In'afcw moments Mr. Ainasa ,Euear,m,adc
hisappearancc. " ‘ ‘ ‘*"f ' '
Queer in name, his lot ks surel ,did. not be-
hc his cognamen. nor, judging

 

fined to be during the presenteccntury—or‘
the

hirer" a
_ ,, ",Aa‘n choice 'tin bun u n
“will.  ,1, Fun 8' 8 P°._

“If our heart had been as good as your ’

7hsw’aathcPadi-one or mastcrofthcfis' . '

“The devil take the infernal nigger! Show; 

five years ahead of that. He wore a sun —
brown coat, brushed very clean—~lt had been
brushed so often that it was thread-bare, but
then it was dustless. His vest was elaborate
of embroidery; and over it, a large gold guard
chain was ' played, and to his ifob chain,
which dangled from below, a pound or less of
old seals, keys, and “ charms’ were suspend-
cd. His head was kept erect b one of those
stiff, old-fashioned stocks whic aid-a trebly
' starched collar in putting some coplc to the
torture. His “ checked ” ta oons were re-
narkablc‘for their fit. T ev tightly fitted a
very aldermanic abdomen—they tightly fitted
a pair of legs which seemed all too slender
to support such a ponderous upper-half. He
wore gloves—cotton gloves, black at that—~
and carried an ivory headed cane, which, like
himself, was very large at the top and very
small below. His air was jaunty as that of a
sand-piper on the sea-beach; yet he seemed
to t to make it appear a business one.

“ , my dear friend Febiger, how do you
do? I haven’t seen you on ’Chan e for so
long, I, began to fear ou’d cut as all omen
men altogether; so I t ought I'd drop up and
see you I” cried Mr. Queer, advancing with a
ra 1d step and an extended hand.

‘Deli hted to see you, (oh, what a whop-
per l) to e a seat, Mr. Queer. John; some
wine! You must feel fatigued with your or-
crcise—sit down, sir i” said Mr. Febiger, u
cordially as if the “ old bore” had been his
brother. .

“ And how’s the son, your heir and hopelfil
-—eh, Mr. Febiger 9"

“At sea, sir. He prefers an active life
afloat to a lazy one on shore." ,

“ Ah, yes—and your lovely ward—"

“ Off on a visit to her southern relations I"
said Mr. Febiger, quickly, in a tone that ion-
plied a dislike of such questioning, and the
color began to flush the parchment of his face
also. But Queer did not seem to notice this,
for he continued: . 1.

“ Off south, ch 1’ ,Why, I. didn’t know
that—” .

“ United States stocks have gone down

ain, have the not l’f' almost thundered Mr.

c _' er, who, or some reason or other, didn’t
, like- e track Queer was on.

"Yes, es. Are yous heavy loser? Got
. much on ,ndheh Y" replied Queer, rather at

a loss to account for» the sudden “flashing
up" of his old friend.

“ More than I want l" replied the latter.
testily.

“I’ll take ’em off your hands at ei hty sue
a third. Strange stocks! When I t went
on ’Ghange they were up to a hundred and
twelve and fifteen! How much have you on
hand f” *

“ About a hundred thousand,” said Febiger,
as coolly as if he was telling the truth.

“ What? The figures rather overtop my
limits for the present—for the present, Mr.
Febiger; but, when I get in some outstand-
lngImatters, I’ll call upon ou—depend upon
it, ’11 call upon you. e Wall street men
have to land so much to outsiders, you set.—
securities good.,but yet we never can keep .

aoasand in band—it is wanted 311338 311110-

and, as long as it brings in can! for 6m. why
, ’tis better to keep it me ' 1”

“ Some wine,” said Mr. cbigeg“ Iome 01d

0 bro ht home. :11 non
*“fiyli, oagigtal l” and ghee; inaninstant for-
got stocks and Wall‘strget',» 1‘? uP °d_th°
ambemolorsd juicc,'holding it up to c light
.mcuiomny,‘ with the air of 'a‘ connoxsseur.
«Excellent: I have drank wine wrth Gover-
,.or 01mm. said to be sixty floors old, but

13 a sample to this, ’ , try another

, M ifyou please. Ah, thank ou. Itruns
e; to! joy alon the c annals of an
"old was loo ,making 'm feel young again.
Ah, fiend Fe igcr, on area happy dog-

Maghgppy dog. Too ric to count your money,

a smart, active son, and such‘a nice niece for

a wardl I sup osc the young people will
make a match 0 it, ch?”= , .

“Sir!” thundered Fsbigcr, and his face

«'black as a stom-cloud-f“ 511', I never

" uss [may mattersmxccptwhm familyl"

" “Really;m dear sinisthousan pardons,

‘1' t’ n ' coy—Ionl thought—I—"
5"”  131335110 matter. It is

 

i

m that. his .

'a, “t um Lam very sensitive on. Your
a piggy is quite suficient Take another glass
ofmwinc, air; I see you have spilled yours l"

said Mr. Febiger, resuming his sclf-command.’

“So I have—thank you—so I have," said

 

Mn... ..

 

 

 

 

Queer, extending his glass. “ l was as much
startled at 'our sudden anger a would have
been if I’d mind my heaviest de tor had gone
by the board ; but I was in error. Your
health, sir, and a hope that the ‘ United
States' will rise in the market. It’s all owing
M Nick Biddle. old Jiudon. and foreign spec-
ulations that it don't. It's to their interest to
kee it down and get it out of market, all into
their own hands, to the injury of us smaller
dealers, who are honest, if we don't cut so deep
into financial matters as they do !”

After another glass of wine, and a_few mors
remarks, Mr. Queer de iarted, havmg taker.
care to keep off forbidden ground after this
caution.

“ Cursed fool !” muttered Febiger, after he
had politely bowed Queer out. “What set
him to asking such questions? I believe he
was a friend of her father’s, come to think of
it— es, he made that an excuse for calling to
see er the first tisne that he ever darkened
my door. Well, he has crossed the threshold,
and he never will again!"

The gentleman rung the bell violently. The
servant ap eared. . I ,

“John, 0 you caution Antigonius, and re-
member yourself, thot whenever that man
comes here again, I am not at home, whether
I am in or not."

“ Yes, sah l" and the black withdrew.

Again Mr. F ebiger renewed his nervous
promenade, seeming to be studying out some
project or other, for he occasionally spoke his
thoughts aloud. It seemed that there was
something in Chancery or in the Orphan’s
Court which he wished to get at, but obsta‘
cles were in the way which he could not.
remove as easil as he desired. Such, at
least, would be inferred from the dis minted
sentences which fell from his lips. rt we
will leave him for the present, and won! our
wa to the south—dear, flowery soutIi land
of ssuty and love.

CHAPTER III.

Swiltly over the land-locked waters of that
lovely bay—rapidly threading the channels
that opened between islands clad in Nature’s

audiest hue—the little schooner flew with
her tattered nails—a stern. tearless man at the
helm, the little child now nestling close to his ‘
feet and looking up to him; for it, poor thing,
could at no answer from its mother,.though
oft it 3had called u on her. Her pale lips
were silent now, an the soul—light gone from ,
her dark eyes forever! _

The boat sailed on, and within two hours
from the time he had so rudely repulsed the
kind-hearted fishermen, the stranger was close
into a dark range of heavy forest, which he
knew must be the main land. The sight of a
small smoke, such as would rise from a cam -
fire, induced him to steer for it, and as is
neared the land. he saw that a narrow and ‘
sluggish creek seemed to enter the bay at that
point. Near it, a dozen or more Indians stood,
who gazed Wonderingly at the boat, for such
visits to their forest fastnesses had not been
made often. though sometimes Spanish trad-
ers, in small piraguas, visited the islands and
points alon the coast, to barter cahcoes, and
powder, an lead, for skins, and dried meat,
and fish. . ‘

The stran er boldly ran his schooner up
into the creek, and after running a little way,
so that she could not be readily seen from is
lake, he lufl‘ed her up, lowered his sails, and
ran her bow upon the shore, where, round-
ing, she remained fast and safe as if s e had

on at anchor. _ _ _

Then, wi folded arms, and his little child
by his knee , he stood upon the deck by the
side of his dead wife, and waited the a proach
of the savages, who were slowly a vancing
tom their camp. 01‘ more than . ordinary
height, with a muscular and well-propor-
tioned figure, richly dressed, and armed With
pistols and a heavy niard in his belt, and a
serviceable sword by is side—his eye of blue.
bright and flashing, and no sign 0 .fear upon
his bearded face—he Was one well calculated
to strike Indians with a sense of his superiority.

They came on, and'soon stood u n shank
withina few, feet of him. ,_Theg, ooked first
at him and theboautiful child; . Dc. when they
saw the corseof the lovel woman: lying in
a pool of gblood upon the 691‘: theynttered
exclamation of horror in their own anguage,
and looked upon him in distrust He saw

 

 

 

this, and his fii‘st thought was an explanation.
which might. dispel the thou ht that he was
guilty of an act so base as to s ay a woman

“ Do any of you speak Spanish T” he asked,
in that langua re.

“ Yes !" said a tall and haughty warrior,
who seemed superior to the rest. “ I am Chi
kika, a war-chief. Who are you 1’”

“A mun—pursued by the murderers of my
wife l" he said, pointing to the body on the
deck. “ And your smoke will soon guide them
here—then you may see whether I am a war-
rior or not.”

The chief gave one of his m u an order, and
in a few moments the fire was extinguished

“ Come to the shore—I would talk Witii

ou alone, and hear your story If your heart
is white, We are our friends, and your ene-
mies must not seeli, you while you are with us,
or we will take their seal a," said the chief.

The stran er bade his ittle child stay with
momma, and; at once and fearlessly ste ed on
shore, and retired a art from the other ndians
with Chikika. To ave shown an distrust at
such a moment, would have ruins his cause.

*After some ten or fifteen minutes' conversan

tion, the two returned to the boat, and Chiki-
ka, addressing his warriors, said:

“ Brothers !—the pale face has seen sorrow
and been wron red, but his heartis white. His
wife slce s in death before him. She has been
murdcre by his enemies, and he will keep the
hatchet- sharp till she is avenged. He wants
to dwell with us and be one of us. To live with
us and die with us—to raise the little papoose till
she looks as her mother did. He is a great
Medicine! Our kin Micanopee isvery sick
—thc ale-face Medicine can cure him! He is
rich. e has powder, and lead. and uns, and
linger, and hatchets, and money to uy more
wi .”

A word of approval went from/ lip to lip. -

The chief continued ;

“I adopt him for my brother! Will you
look upon him as a brother and strike hands
as friends ‘3"

An unqualified assent was given by every
warrior present.

“It is well. You are m brother, and I
name you Arpiaka—the ‘W ite Medicine,’ "
continued the chief. I

The ceremony of adoption into the tribe was
to be deferred until the 'art reached the vil-
lage of Micanopce, the lien chief. but to all
intents and p‘i’igioses the stran er was now
adopted, and thoseby his si 9 who would
fight for him to the last gasp.

Lesvin‘ a couple of men to act as sentinels
and wstc the ay, Chikika gave orders for
the other Indians to get into their canoes

make fast to the schooner and tow her up the
river four or five miles, to a higher. country,

where they could encamp more safely from ,

observation, and where the cor wife of Arri-
aka, for by that name, and t at alone, must he
be known, at resent, could be buried. , The
chief went an acid of the little vessel with
his adopted broth‘Gr. ’

I Q I I O Q Q
It was sunset when they laid her in a grave
which they had du beneath a tall magnolia
— a tree 'whosc road-extending branches
would afford shelter to the birds which came
to sing the requiem of her, whose s irit, pure
as the spotless flow is which fills the air
with fragrance, had cd from earth, and left
him alone to whither in his grief. It was a
solemn burial. Wrapped in s robe which he
said she had worn at her bridal, they laid her
ently down, amid sweet branches'and many
gowers, and with such they covered her,‘so
that no earth'should touch her. And then
they raised a mount above her,.and he, whose
griest deep was’fiearless, ca‘rve’d'a name upon
the tree, as he sighed, “ Lost, lost forever!”
That name was—“ Ions.” ' ‘ '
More costly poll and coffin may have sepul-
shred a Econ—yet novai- one, ween, so fit-
ting for e pure and lovely. Man a long
an. of mourners. msv hm followed a great

one of earth to the tomb, but none more so! . ,,

rowful or respectful than that dus train of
scarce two years old, look upon them when
th? laid 1101' mother'dqwnmhs‘ flowers,
an to hear her ask, ‘! Momma sleep-2". Yes,
the sleep that on earth was to know no awak-

in ! . r

firhe evening shadows cams and drew the
Yvail of night over the. bosom of the earth
But the bright-eyed stars looked down through
it, and sent their bright glances in amid a

utlfiu-  .'

 

 

3

flowers and upon the dancing waters. The
Indians withdrew to their camp, and Arpiaka
went with them to a sweet arbor which they
had framed for him amon some wild orange
trees. They had covers it with the broad
leaves of the almetto, so that neither dew nor
rain could fal on him or Ona, and they had
brought soft grasses from the river side and
made his car at and his bed. and over all
s read soft s ins and blankets of feathers.~

nd they had seen that he loved flowers when}
he laid them on his dead wife’s breast, and
flowers they had gathered and twined in with
the orange blossoms all around him. He
kissed his weary child and laid her down to
sleep, and then he left her, for he knew no
harm would come to her—left her to go and
grieve upon the grave of his heart's idol.
whom he could see no non.

CHAPTER W.

Morning dawned upon the Indian camp.

The stars had hid their faces before the glory ’

of the sun, and went to rest while he was
abroad. The warriors rose and bathed in the
crystal water, and builded their fires anew
for the morning meal. The little child woke
in her arbor, for birds were singing overhead
and upon every hand, and the scene was
strange to her. And her wail was heard,
for she found no momma there to hear her lisp
her morning thanks to the Great Preservsr,
nor was her father by her side to still her
new-horn terror.

Chikika sought and found his brother. But
oh, how changed! No wonder that the red
men deemed it a miracle! His hair. a lossy
brown, the night before, had chan 'e to a
snowy white. Oh, tell me not t at tears
speak grief—they emblem joy as well. One
night of sorrow—one night of recurrence to
past joys, lost forever—one night of thought,
realizing how great the loss, had left its re-
cord on his head for life.

When Qua saw her father, she was fri ht-
ened, for at first she did not know him. ut
his voice, bearing kind words of love in
through the ortals of her spotless heart,
told her who e was, and all trembling, she ,
nestled in his bosom, like a dove which fears
the hawk.

“My brother must not grieve—his heart

I must be strong! The s irit of his bride looks

down from the happy nd, and smiles upon
him and hi. child Be a 1mm! Let women

was warriors should not!” said Chikika.

“« t is true l” replied Arpiaka. He kissed
his child, and thenceforwsrd he smiled, nor
let the rief-cloud darken his face, though it
lay con eased within his heart.

The morning meal was prepared, more vs-
ried and profuse than can] have been found
in. the haunts of civilizationffor the waters
had yielded oysters, fish, and turtle; the fo-
rest its turkeys, curlew, and other game, be-
side venison; and such hunters were not of
the kind to £0 hung when earth, air, and
water teeme with all which the s petite

- could crave. And they had bread me e from

the white flour of the powdered Comptoe,’
and fruit—oranges, guavas, bananas, and co-
cos plums. Grapes, too, in rich clusters
hung all around. Lemons and limes to aci-
dulate their fish. Salt, fresh-made from the
ocean. Peppers, tiny but sharp, all at hand,
with which to season their food.
For the Indian, what a paradise was such a
land! Wh should the palafaoe rob him o!
it and sen him, the son of the sunny south,
to freeze on the bleak prairies of the west—
why, oh, God of justice, why? Echo only
answers—WHY ? "'
But allittle after the'brcakfast had been dis.
atclied, one of the sentinels, or scouts, whom
hikiks had left upon_the border of the bay,
came up the creek in his canoe, and said that
four boats'of pale faces Were upon the water,
searching among the islands and along the
shore. ' . " v

-“ The enemies of my brother—they seek his

warriors. It was pithy] w “at.me we on“ . life r2 asked Chlklka.

« Ye. -- the murderers of my'wifc ,— they

3seck‘m blood—the la b {
vchild!"yrsplisd uplift?“ N me o 

u The had better put their hand in the mm

.of-thc.‘ (>0de cobra than seek in brothel

anions the Seminoles!” cried Ohiki a. u w.
“11 $0,113“ wa to meet them I”
! :At his word, is warriors instantly resumol

their arms. Arpiaks now stopped to his boat.

 

 

4:

The New York Library.

 

 

entered its small cabin, and brought out 4
splendid double barreled rifle, which he gun)
to Chikika, and then to each of the other war-
riors he gave a new rifle, telling them to give
their old ones to such of their brothers as had
none, when they got back to their great vil-
lage where Micanopee lay. And to each he
gave a sharp and glittering knife. And from
a keg he filled their horns with powder, anu,
giving them lead, bade them hasten to run
bullets with which to slay his enemies. And
they hastened to do it. Meantime, he loaded
a rifle similar to that which he had given to
his adopted brother, and prepared for action,
if his foes should come upon him. His boat,
which contained many stores of value—for he
had been in search of a home upon this very
shore when pursued by his enemies -- was
drawn close up under some overhanging
bushes, and her masts taken down, so that a
boat could pass close by her and yet the crew
make no discovery.

The sun was well up when they were ready;
in truth, it lacked no more than an hour or
two of noon, when, leaving Ona under charge
of a faithful sentinel in the arbor, Arpiaka
embarked with the rest in canoes, and steered
down toward the bay. The utmost silence
was observed, for though Chikika offered to
send for, and could soon have had, five hun-
dred warriors at hand, Arpiaka would not let
him, and their numbers were far inferior to
those reported 1) the scout as being in the
bay. It was decided not to show themselves
to the' whites, but if the latter found the creek
and entered it, then to attack them from the
banks in ambuscade. where Chikika felt sure

that, even with his small force, he could do-
stroy them.

Soon the party landed near the mouth of
the creek, and hiding their canoes, made re-
parations for a reconn‘m‘sance. Skulking ow
among the dwarf palmettoes which lined the
pebbly shore, they could ,see the schooner’s

oats scouring about from island to island,
and sweeping along the main in their vain
search after Arpiaka and his child. At times
the whites came so near that their shouts and
curses could be plainly heard, and several
times the landed, but they could find no
traces of t ose for whom they sought; and at

last, when the sun began to sink low in the
west. and redden, as if flushed and wen with
the day’s travel, they were seen slowly and
sullenly rowing back toward their own vessel.

Chikika, whose blood had been hot for bat-
tle, eager to avenge Arpiaka’s wrongs, now
returned with his band to remain at their camp
that night, andh prepare for an early start to

1 age.

‘ Micano ee’s v

And ittle Ona’s cry of joy when she nestled
once more upon her father’s breast, was clear
and glad as the song of a bird hailin tho
warm breath of spring. She had misse him
in his-absence

CHAPTER V.

When the boats of the Belladonna returned
from their fruitless search, three of them went
directly to the vessel, but the one in which
the captain and lawyer sat, rowed toward the
shore The sun was just sinkin out of sight,
and the fishermen, having ceased labor for the
dav, stood smoking in rout of their cabins,
while one or two prepared their evening
meal.

“ Why do you smile, fellow?” asked Fabi-
gcr fiercely, seeing honest Pablo Canovas
standing, with a pleased look, among the
rest.

“ To see you come back empty-handcd—to
see that the vultures have sought their prey
in vain l” replied the old 8 aniard.

“ Beware, insoleiit dog; am not as easy in
my humor as I was this morning i”

“ I care not for thy humor— am not thy
slave i" ,

“ No! You ma be less than a slave if on
do not kec a civ to us in your head! ut
I am not ere to ban y words with you or
may of our gang—but to make you an offer!
You a
my ursuit yesterday. To-dcy I have sought
for em in vain—” . I

“And will to-morrow, next day, next year,
forever, I hape i”. cried Pablo. a

“ Silence, dog. OrII‘ll strike your head from
\your shoulders ” cried Febiger, doubl anger-
ed at thewords and interruption. hen he
continued": / .

saw, the man cad child who escaped '

“ I will give ten thousand dollars for that
child alive—ten thousand dollars in hard, el-
low gold, and will add five thousand for im
who sla s the father—his scalp will be the

roof! is probably will come back here sftdl'
have gone with my vessel. Some of you
know the Senor Rafael dc Ribera, of Havana P”

“ Yes— he deals with pirates, smuggleiu,
and cut-throats, and must be a friend of
yours 1" said Pablo.

‘5 He will pay the mono for the child and
scalp if I am not there. on need only ivc
the name of Marcus Fcbigcr, and it wil be
sufficient!” continued the captain. “Now, my
men, there is a chance to earn a small fortune
easier than hauling rotten fish ashore l"

“ An easier wa of earning eternal damna-
tion !” cried Pab o, bitterly. “Accursed be
the hand which touches blood-money! Ac-
cursed be he who would steal a child from its
parent l May his own blood be shed and his
children die in be gary i”

As the old fis erman said this, his head
bored to the evenin breeze, and his hands and
eyes raised toward eaven, he looked like some
venerable prophet invoking the strength of
heaven to aid the helpless and the innocent.

“By the hand that made me, you’ve gone
far enough, old man I” shouted the brutal
Febiger. “Take that for your reward l" and
he raised his heavy cutlas, and with terrific
force it crushed down upon the old man’s head.
half severing the arm which he threw up t:
defend it.

The fishermen :grung to their cabins fo'
what arms they h , but Febi er, backed by

his armed crew, retreated in sa ety to the boat, '

and soon was beyond the reach of the enraged
companions of poor Pablo. The latter was
carried to his cabin, and it was found, fearfully
wounded as he was, that life was still in him
though he who struck the blow, as well as
those who saw it done, behaved him to be
slain out ri ht. He so far recovered as to give
directions ow to staunch the bleeding, for he
had served in the armies of Expand. meja, and
knew considerable of surgery.

As soon as the moon rose, the schooner was
got under way and stood out to sea, followed

y the curses of the honest fishermen, whose
quiet had been thus unwarrantsbly broken in
spon. They had, with one exception, listened
with scorn to the offers of Febiger, and would
have begged or starved before they would
have earned money by such a deed.

One exception. There was a Judas in the
company of Jesus — an Arnold among the
heroes of our Revolution, and in that little
band of fishermen there was one Pedro Picam,
who, for money, would have sold a father to
death, or a sister to shame, though he were so
smooth a dice and had so sofi a tongue, that
none could know him except such as Kiel-cod,
with incriminating sycs, tho outer shc which
‘ hid his true nature from superficial observa-
tion. '

Pedro Picer had heard the offer, and re
corded it in his hssrt—on its black surface, is
crimson letters, it was writ, and be determined
to earn that money if he could. He was

oung, strong, had an ususin’s courage, was
ertilc to invent, and prompt to execute. He
was not much liked by his comrades, for they
had found him treacherous and insincere, but
he was the most useful hand about the macho
—equslly good at mending a broken net or
a leak canoe, and withsl a on ital hunter, as
their rder, well stored with t c flesh of wild
hogs, wild cattle, enison, turkeys, etc, borc
witness to. It is ' ular, yet it is a fact, that
pork or meat of an ‘nd 1s a luxu to fish-
ermen, who, thou they have the c oiccst of
the tiny tribe be on them, seldom touch fish
when they have other food. '

But we will leave the wounded Pablo to the
csrc of his companions, hoping that he may
recover—and we will leave Pedro Picsro to
concoct his plans of villany, while we go sons.
whcrcclscinsssrchofmattsrsofintcrsst.

;

——_

OHAPTER VI.

 

On the next morning their wardrobes, much 1

improved by some candy “0”” “6 om  fixed upon him advan

meats-which Arpiaka had given them, the In-
dians prepared to return to the village of their
head chief, or king, Micanopee, who was ly-
ing so sick that it was thought no con'uration
could save him, or medicine, culled om the
forest, give relief. As on the day before, the

 

canoes united in a string, and took Arpiaks’s

 

little schooner in tow, she being sharp and
light of draught, sliding along very easily after
their strong and well-plied addles._ Chikika,
who, with a dclicac whic 1 did him honor,
had caused some 0 his men to remove the
blood stains from the schooner’s deck, remained
on board with Arpiaka.

For many miles they kept steadily on, the
creek at times spreading out in large la oons,
then narrowing etween high banks, an leav-
ing them bare space to pass — now crook-
ing and forking off into different channels,
which would have utterly confused a stran fer—-
then, again, so shortly turning to the rig t or
left, that any one twenty feet from the turn
would believe he had got to the end of the
creek, and feel inclined to go back if he were
unacquainted ; for the water was so still and
slugguish, that its course could scarcely be
observed. Up this creek, only ausing ones,
about noonda , to take a htt c food, they
steadily padd ed, until almost night, when,
after passing through a dense and gloomy
swam of cypress, the suddenly emerged into
a smal), but very love y crescent-shaped lake,
and then Arpiaka. saw what might well have
been termed an Indian city, rather than a v11-
lage. The whole opposite bank of the half-
moon-shaped lake was covered With neat
houses, made of stripped poles, and thatched
with palmetto ; and in their airy lightness, or
light airiness, admirably adapted to that de-
licious climate, where no frost comes to blight
the bud or wilt the flower.

To the ri ht and left, far as the eye could
reach, were elds in which grew corn, melons,
tobacco, and fruits of every kind ; and cattle
and horses, guarded by small boys, could be
seen grazing in amongst them.

As the boats approached the .shore, hun-
dreds of the bright-skinned inhabitants. of all
ages and both sexes, gathered down upon the
beach ; for Cliikika, proud of his adopted bro-
t‘her and his wraith, had raised the masts of
the schooner before she entered the lake, and
Ar iaka, to lease him, had decked her out
wit flags, 0 which he had several on board.
And the more to please him, he had mounted
a small brass swivel. which was fired, With a

louder report probably than had cvci echoed
over those waters before.

The schooner soon was moored to the land,
and Chikika, leaving afiguard upon the schooner
to keep the curious o , led his pale-faced bro-
ther on shore, and, amid the silent and won-
dering multitude, took him to his own lodge,
which was next in size and elegance to that of
the sick king, and had several apartments, in
which were found his wives, five in number,
one of whom was of pure Spanish blood. She
was the mother of his eldest boy and his fa-
vorite, and it was through her that he had be-
come so proficient in the Spanish language.
She had met him at a fishing macho, loved
him, and fled to the forest, and she did not re-
gret her choice, for he was very kind to her.

To this woman Maraquita, Arpiaka con
fidcd his little one for a time, while he and
Chikika should visit the sick king, who was
rcpprted, by his attendants and the sub-chiefs.
to a much worse, and wildly raving. Arpiaks
first sent Chikika back to the schooner for his
well-stocked medicine chest, from which he
selected several‘ articles which he thought
might be useful, for he was a man of educa-
tion, and a finished chemist, and well acquaint-
ed with the nature and use of medicine and its
effects.

Before A inks reached the grand lodge ol
the king wi the chief, they could hear, even
at some distance, his wild rsvings, which were
none lessened by the drumming of the chief
conjurcr or physician, who sat before the
lodge, beating his drum to drive off the Evil
Spirit which afflicted his master. A word from
Arpiaka to Chikika and the infernal din was

stopped.
ey cased in to the inner aportrnent,
which h been closed up with mats, and was
as hot as an oven, and there found the old
chief literally ravin like a maniac, if, indeed,
he was not one. s was held down by four
stout warriors, else he woald have ran raving
 ledge' larg hste

iaka with his 6, g‘ nin e c
rp ’ cod toward the ingalid,
his pals face, long white hair, and tall fi

1in him an air of majestic dignity, the ing

suddenly ceased his rsvin , and the limbs
which, with straining musc es, had striven to
free themselves from the grasp of the strong
men. sunk peacefufllyndown upon the couch.
Amiaka never let ‘ gaze leave the (we of

‘ ,

_  .ln. A“.-.

 

 

 

A! _ is.._.,.i. .

 

 

Thehwhiie Wizard.

 

, 5

 

 

the sick man ; but he took hold ofoue of his
hands, and with his right hand coiniucncml
gently soothinr the throbbing nerves of the
sick man‘s hea . Then he spoke to Chiki'ka.
and Dads him tear away the close mattin

from the sides of the lodge, and to let the coo
air come in upon the patient, through the net-
work of poles and Vines outside. This was
done; but he kept the hand of his patient,
never moved his gaze, and continued passing
his hand gently over his bow and temples.
For a time, though without speaking, the sick
king returned his gaze ; but in a little while
his eyes began to droop, and soon he slept as
quiet as a babe upon its mother's bosom.

“ He comes from the Great Spirit, this me-
dicine-man," murmured the warriors who had
seen this done ; “ he can bring the dead to life 1”

Arpiaka now took a little phial from his
pocket, and poured it in a clip of water.

“ When he awakes, let icano ee drink
this, and to—morrow he will be well Make
no noise to disturb his slumber, and let the
free air come to him I" said he.

The warrior attendants, who looked upon
him almost as a god, romised obedience, and
with a still, but pron ste , Arpiaka depart-
ed; for he felt that alrea he had done a
thing which would give im a monarch’s
power among that peo le, although he had
onl availed himself of esmer’s soothing art,
which, with his powerful mental and physical
organization, an strong will, he was easily
enabled to do.

He now returned with the wondering, but
proud Chikika, to his lodge, where a supper,
great in quantity and rich in quality, awaited
them ; for the c iiel‘s Spanish wife had trained
the others, and the were excellent cooks. A
mom was prepare for Arpiaka in the chief’s
lodge that night; on the marrow a lodge of
grand proportions was to be built for his sep-
si ate use. ‘

The moi-row came, bright and cloudless. A
gintle breeze dipped its lips in the cool lake,
and then came to kiss the brows of the vil-
ll gers, are it passed awa amid the magnolias,
Die oaks, and the ines eyond. At an early
hsur Ar iaka an Chikika went to visit the
ting, an hundreds gathered in silence near;
for they had heard that the ale face had pro-
mised the cure of their loved) chief.

The king had woke but once since Arpiaka
had left, and then the had given him the pre-
scribed medicine, as he had sunk back to
slumber again. He now slept; and when Ar-

iuka felt his pulse, he found it calm and
healthful, but weak, and both his hands and
brow moist, and free from fever. He there-
fore sent Chikika to his boat for a bottle of
old wine - and after pouring out a cup of this,
“.1 ‘ddjng a tonic powder he woke the king,
and placed it to his lips. The latter, without
a question, drank it off, and it seemed almost
in an instant to throw new life into his limbs,
long weakened and unnerved by sickness. He
arose, unaided, to a sitting position, and look-
ing at his strange physician in wonder, asked
who and what e was.

Chikika now told Micariopee all of Arpisr
ka's story, doubtless gnrnishing it well from
his own fancy, and related to the king what
the pale-face had done for him the night be
fore. The king, who spoke good English—
for he had been much with the whites, and
had visited the city of Washinan several
times to try—vain thou litl—to get justice
for wrongs done to his tri e, addressed Arpia-
kc, and said:

“You are a great man, and the Spirit of
Good is in you! Your heart is white. You
are a brother to Chikika, but ou are a son to
me. You have saved my lie. Iwas dead,
but on have called me ack from the s irit
word! I will reward you. Twelve'o m

slaves are yours, to make our fields and take

care of the horses and catt e which I will give
you. You shall stay with us, and be our
‘ Medicine,‘ and give me sense to gpvern my
eople, for you know all things. he Great
gpirit speaks through your tongue, and works
through your hands. em strong; let me go
out With you, and show my people what you
have done 1” . _

The king, through whose veins the old wmc
was now coursing, leaned on Arpiska's arm,
and walked with a firm step out from hi.
lod e, where he could be seen by the assem.
blE thousands of his subjects. .

Loud and long was the shout which greer
his ap earancc, and louder and longer still
we w iicli followed when, after a hush, hi
sisal his voice. and cried—

l

 

. sorr —you an

 

“ Mv children, behold my savmr! l adopt
him as my son—love and honor him as suchl"
And the king, by advice of Arpinka, returned
to his lodge, where the latter prescribed his
diet for the da , so ordering that the return of
strength shoqu be gradual and permanent.
And Micanopee ave orders for the immediate
erection of a 10 go, even more spacious than
his own, for Arpiaka, bidding workmen to
obey every order of the latter in its arrange-
ments. And he gave other orders to Chikiks
regarding slaves, cattle, horses, fields, etc,
which need not be mentioned here. Every
preparation was to be hurried, for the formal
ceremony of ado ting the “ Great Medicine "
into the tribe. ut of that another chapter
will speak; this one must close to give as s
chance to look elsewhere.

onsr'rER vn

In the back mum of a large stone house on
the Calls Obra-de-pia, in Havana, sat about as
villainous a man, in looks, as one could well
hatch up in his imagination, if he wanted to
picture a scoundrel of the darkest dye, who,
without an attribute of common humanity,
could be en aged in any phase of crime known
to men. e was a Spaniard, evidently, but
seemed to have some negro blood in his veins,
for his lips were thick, his hair crispy, and his
eyes red and fiery.‘ A deep scar, extending
from the left eye<brow across the bridge of his
nose, down to his jaw-bone, gave his other-
wise hideous face an ugl aspect, and seemed
a record of some they, where his life had run
I narrow risk. Diamonds glittered on his
finger and in his shirtbosom, and chains and
jewelry were hung about him with vulgar
profhsion. He was seated before a hu e iron
closet, which was so set in the wallt at its
door, when closed, seemed to be a part of the
ceiling. U on strong shelves in this closet,
piles of don Icons could be seen, and bags of

old and silver lay heaped up on the cor.

ooks of account, too, were stowed there, and
one of these he was examining at the time I
introduce him.

“ Hang these ovemment sharks, I say I"
la» muttered. “I have paid the Governor-
(lcneral three thousand doublcons for landing
only six cargoes of negroes 1 By San Diego,
is eats too big'a hole in my profits. I'll try a
nu or two without a permit. and see if the
Mk won‘t pay 1" ’

The sound of a distant bell caused the Span-
llrd to threw his book quickl into the closet,
sud to shove the door to.
spring, and no one could see a sign that a
door was there when he turned from it.

“ It is the warning that some one comes I"
he muttered—“ who can it be P I expected no
visitor to-night—but we’ll- soon see l”

And. lighting a cigar, be cast himself down,
lazily, upon a ounge, as if he had been taking
a siesta. '

Directly, a servant entered and announced
“ the Senor, E1 Captano Febiger,” and close
n on his heels followed the commander of the
“ elladcnna.” .

“ Ali, friend Ribera l" he cried, “ have I
caught you napping for once i" I

“ Not so fast," said Don Rahal dc Ribera,
risin .and offal-in his coarse, butglittering
han , "I was 0 y resting to let my dinner
digest I But what’s the news—where are you
tom-«are you in your saucy clipper yet i” r

“ Yes." replied‘tl'c other taking a seat, and
1i htin a clgfl' from that extended by moors
“i’ve en on a Wild-goose chase—but onuo-
thing that would pay o_u or interest goats
know! In it, for the firs timeinm life, whenI
undertook a thing. I have fails I But my"
s scial business With you to-night, is to direct,
t at if a man should at any time brin you s
little girl for me, that you take her, an guard
her as you would a casket of diamonds, until
I can hear from on, and name for her Pay
the man that brings her ten thousand dollars,
and if with her, he brings a human scalp of
long, browii hair, give him five thousand more
and then, if he never should leave the city
with his money and in secret, I shall not be

y erstand l"
“ erfectlyl" said Ribsra; “ it shall be at»

. tended to! When did you see your father ‘P”

“ For a few moments only, about three

weeks ago 1" replied Febiger. " I had 

come in with a small ‘ca’rgo, without a mani-

fest, when I got news that started me cfl‘ in I

hurr .

I nearly accomplished my object, but
fails .

Reuwni nor. you are to keep the strict

' one. /
t closed with a E r

 

 

est guard over the child. if she is brought. A

fortune of two millions of dollars, and more.
may belier’s if she gets into other hands 1"
“ You can trust me, Uiiptnin Fobigcr. At

this moment I have ovor a million of dollars
of your father’s invosted, and ontirel under
my control, and In: has no {wars of me ."

“ I am aware of that, liihui'u; I did not
doubt you. but only spoke by wa of caution.
But I’m as thirsty us a Cape Codygirl after a
long ermon—got anything to wet doWn with, ,
hand 2’"

“ ertainly, what shall it be—‘wine, or someL
thing heavier f”

“ Heavier, b all means! Wine will do for
women and milk-sops—givc brandy to me l”

“ Touch that hell on the table, ifyou pleasel"

Febiger did so, and a servant appeared, to
whom the necessary orders were given. '

“ I've got a live ciiriosit aboard the Bella-
donna, Ribera l“ continuci the American.

" Ah, what is it, a baboon or an alligator?‘

“ What a hand on are at guessing, [liberal
You beat the Yanrec’s—it's a cross between
them, as near as I. can make out, with a little
mixture of the shark—it's a Nam York lawyerr'

“ The devil !" -

“ No,not the devil. but one of his ndjutants."

' “How came he on board of your vessel '1"

“He is in my father’s cm loy, and as he
thought some com romise might possibl ‘be
made, if I overhau ed the parties after whom
i was sent. the fellow was put aboard to be
ready to draw up the upersl He's as full
of law as a rotten biscuit is of werms l"

The brandy came in just in season to wash
down that com arisen. After taking a couple
of stiff horns, ebiger arose to c. ' ‘

“ When do you leave 1”" aske Ribera.

“This very night—a few doubloons have
done the business for me with the captain of
the port, and I suppose there will be a car 0
of prime cigars a card, when I t has:
which pay no export duty, and ’m sure
they'll get into New York free i" '

“ Ali, captain, you‘re a hard nut to crack!"

“ And them that crack me will ‘get bitter
meat for their pains !' said the mug captain,
and then shaking hands with lilibcra, he bade
him adieu. ' l

“ Remember me to your father," cried the
latter, as Febiger de mrted—“ tell‘hini I’ll'tske
care of every vessel that he fits out‘fdr‘the
‘ Coast,’ if he posts me in time, The last was
a sickly season here, and Guinea pigs are
wanted on the plantations, and will fetch s
good, round price i” ' ‘ "

“ Aye, eye I” cried Febiger, and he was

i l

————-—
l

cusrrna VIII. . . 

The sun rose, and not a cloud lay in its
athwsy athwart the sky, on the morning 01
Elie do when Arpiaka was to be formal-lg
sdopte into the tribe among whom be h
chosen a home. He Was installed in his new
house, which,’ fitted with furniture,“books,

‘ musical instruments; arms, etc, brought from ‘ '

his little schooner, . was vs 1 unique, yet
Christian and comfortable, if e second term'
is admissible. With servants,’too, who, havin
runaway h-om Georgia and Alabama, h '
been put toeasier labor by M‘icandpee, Qnd‘WilO'
undersde his wants, as well as his"drders.
Arpiaka had ever attention that he copld d8" .
sire. Chikika hm permitted'one cf'hi‘s'own
daughters, who s ke S anish well, to'bec‘ome

a" nurse for little, na, w io seemed alre‘acly,‘lny ‘

the care which was bestowed ’upon'lrer, to’forg
get the dear mamma, who slept beneath‘ths
tower-in magno ia. ’ ' ' " "  ' '
Arpitdrs rose early, and bade' his slaves
hasten to prepare breakfast, for ’he expected
Ohikika to assist him in dressing and painting,
for he was now to discard the ress which he

had worn, and dress as his brothers did.’ ' " '

Chikika came early, and his cbuntenan'ce in-

dicated that mere; was some troutlé‘ in his
‘ breast A; iaka'hdticed this,'and"inq'uired‘

why a clou had settled upon his bfother's ,
face. ‘ ‘. ,' ‘j " 
' “ I' am‘ sad, for s bird has whispered evil.

' tidin s to me I” said the chief; '“ My brother,

who is very dear to me. has an enemy among;
my ople, and one wno‘is ver ' award] 1" 2‘

“ ho i! he, and what‘have done'to'mak'e‘
an nemy?" asked Arpml‘ra. ' ‘ ' ' "
“ ‘ It is Tnstenug rle Hod'o. [Heuwus the
king's "conjluror' an sense- j earérg’uhtil you
“me, and e is angry that yon,‘hyymir pair—
at and good. havs'supplanu‘d .hw. He liq,

I

i

l i

m

6

The New York 

 

 

power, because the
great conjuror !"

“ Let not my brother rieve," said Arpiaha;
“ this do I Will rove ustenuggle a fool be-
fore all e pcop e, and he will hide hi1l hood
and o awa !”

uThen ikika’s heart will rejoice,” said
the chieftain, and the cloud on his face van—
ished, for he believed that the lips of his bro-
ther could utter no falsehood.

The sun had traveled one-third of its day’s
journey; and proud was the displa on the
grand parade, or “ ball-groan ,” in t e centre
of Micanopee’s village. Every warrior, and
all the women and children, were dressed in
the gayest attire which they could muster.
[‘he warriors were painted, their seal locks
trimmed, and their-weapons in han , as if
they were about to go to battle. Upon a
throne, or platform, raised near his lodge, sat
Micanopee, a lofty ooronet of many-colored
feathers u on his head, and a magnificent man-
tle of flaming feathers, of a rich scarlet hue,
upon his form. Around him clustered his
sub-chiefs and warriors, who, by their deeds
in battle, had won a right to stand next to
their soverei 11.

At a sign rom Micanopee, the drums of a
band of warriors commenced beating a slow
and monotonous march ; and at the same mo-
ment, accompanied by Chikika, Arpiaka step-
ped Emudly forth from his lcdge.

O , how much more nob}: he looked in the
dress of the forest than he had done in the
European garb! His well-turned limbs, his
tall, straight figure, so well developed, now
had full play. The hinged hunting shirt.
descending to the knee, lay easy across his
swellin .bresst,.and the close-fitting moccasin
gave a ght spring to his step, which he never
had fdt before. Above his lofty brow a coro-
net of rich purple feathers rose, contrastin
well with his snow-white hair. His face h
been darkened, and it also 'made a deep con-
tract. His dress was rich, and over it he
wore an embroidered belt, in which a bright
billed bowie—knife, and a large and handsome-
ly mounted pistol, were placed. He also car-
ried a rifle, ,twin to that which Chikika so
proud] carried by his side.

As t e two reached the centre of the s( oars,
without saying a word, Chikika turne and
led, Arpiaka. and at, the same moment a band
of painted warriors bounded forth, utterin
hideous yells, firing their guns over his hea ,
and then they closed in a circle about him,
shaking their glittering knives and hatoliets in
his face, and menacing him with instant de-
struction. ‘

With a cool, undaunted air, he rested the
butt of his rifle on the ground, and folding
his mason his. breast. regarded their threw
ening gestures with a smile. They redoubled
their efforts to terrify him, but it was in vain,
and at last they retired. Arpiaka was now
about to advance, when a hideous looking
creaturedbounded1 toward him.d flit had 03;
horns an at sting e es, an om its re
mouth smgl: add sfirkz of fire came forth.

, Its body 'wssvscaled e an alligator, and long
claws were on its four feet. It was a hideous
looking monster, indeed! It dashed upon Ar-
iak‘s, and rearing 11g), with its paws on his
reset, it puffed t 0 re and smoke directly in
his face. '

With a strong and well-directed buffet, Ar-
iaka not only knocked the monster down,
ut knocked the false head entirely ofi‘, re-
vealing the face of the conjuror Tustenuggle
Ead'o, now convulsed with ' and e'.

“ our life shall pay for t ' . accurse pale
face 1"“ muttered the discomfitted conjuror,
picking up his false head, which, with its fire
apparatus, is smoking on the round, and
hastily retreahng to his lodge, w ' e the wel-
kinl'un withs outsofa
He had me his tests we .

Climb 110W rejoined him, and led him to
the throne of Micanopee. The old chief arose
and said :

“Ar iska, son of in old age, thy home is
in in osom! We opt you as a son and a
bro or. Your enemies are our enemies—
your friends are our friends! From among
our maidens choose your wives; from all that
we have take what you want. You sre now
a Sciminole, and may the Great Spirit bless
 7!

He descended and threw a rich! -'orked
belt over the neck and shoulder of ' “lope.
0“ Don. and the ceremany was over.

' thanked him. and then Muted

people believe he is a
1

aces for Arpiaka.

 

permission to show some coujurations or ma.
gic deeds, which would prove his wisdom and
power

as ossible.
ne of Arpiaka’s negroes new advanced

with a salver, upon which stood a plain, black 3

bottle and a crystal goblet.

“ Let Tusteiinggle Hadjo, the great ‘ corju- 
I would test his power and ‘

ror,‘ be sent for.
his honesty," said Arpiaka.

It was done, and, trembling with rage, Tuste-
nuggle came.

“Will the king be pleased to taste my .

wine 1'” asked Arpiaka, and he oured out a
full goblet of wine, clear as ambe , and rich as
ever was ressed from the rape.

“ It is elicious,” said ieanopee, and his
eyes sparkled as he drained the glass, for he
felt it tingle through every vein.

“ Let Tustenuggle drink his royal master‘s
health 1” said Arpiaka, refilling the-goblet.

Not clear, but dark as blood came forth
the draught, and the conjuror took but one
swallow, when, spitting it out with dis-

ust, he cried: “ on have given me gallto

rink!”

“ No i” cried Ar )iuka, in a tone of thunder;
“your heart is black, and your li s have
turned the wine to gall! It was ruin the
same bottle from which I served the king.
Another glass, slave!”

Dashin the first goblet to ieces, the true
magician lled another with t e same spark-
ling wine which had so pleased the king, then

assed it to Chikika and the other warriors.

t went from lip to lip until it was drained.

“Now,” cried he, “once more I will test
the heart of Tustenuggle Hadjo. I pour out
wine to him; if it turns to gall, the Great
Spirit knows why ’tis done !"

He raised the same bottle and filled the
glass,'then handed it to Micanopee to taste.

“ It is gall !—his heart is black!" said
the king, and he handed the goblet to
his warriors. They tasted the bitter
draught, and their looks were dark toward
the now mystified and frightened conjur-
or, who tried to get away from his posi~
tion.

“ Let the conjuror stay! He is s man—so
amI. Let him see if he can kill me, ashe
has vowed to do in his own lodge, among his
women i” cried Arpiska.

The conjuror started and trembled yet the
more, for he had indeed so threatened, but he
deemed that no one knew it but his women,
whom he had cautioned not to speak.

" See here!” continued Arpiskh“ here is
my Ema—it is not loaded—there is powder
and _ ; load. it, and then, taking aim at my
heart, standing from me only one s car’s!
length, fire! f you kill me, it is well— will
be in your way no lo er; if you do not. then
cease to be my enemy ”

Chikika and Micano both remonstrated,
for they thought that e would lose his life.
But Arpiaks told them that the Great Spirit
would press" - him from all harm, and handed
Tustenug lo the pistol and powder. Then
marking 0 ball, and showis it to the king
and his warriors. he handed it to the eager
conjuror, who seemed to feel cermin now of
removing his rival.

When_the pistol was loaded, Arpiaka tore
open the front of his hunting shirt, snd’bid-
ding the conjuror take good aim, told him to
fire. .While the crowd kept death-like silence,
and those around the throne-hardly drew a
breath, the conjuror raised the deadly was on
—-raised it slowly till his aim was on at
naked breast, then fired!

Arpiaka did not move. A smile was on his
ice, and he raised his hand and took the

marked bullet from between his white teeth, .

and handed itto the king, remarkin , as he
did so, that the conjuror was “a ha
man—he shot too high 1”

With a how! of bathed rage and fear, Tnste-
nuggle Hsd'o fled away, not on] from the
crowd, but in the village, while e wonder
ing king and the warriors re arded Arpiaka
With an s e and reverence, sue as they would
have ren ered to a god. And yet he had only
practiced two very common tricks in the'srt

of legerdemain, many more of which he was .

acquainted with', and stood ready to use if new
cessity required it. '

Frail-1 thsdt finishes; the kGreat Medicine had
snoug to o. e sic rayed for his aid,
udsshswssfeallyskillhdandthsyhsd

To this the king gladly consented, ‘
and the mass crowded as close totbe throne 1

marks-j

 

 

 faith, which is the physician’s best aid. many
1 and wonderful were the cures which he effect-
ed. Not half as much power did the king
possess as he, fer the people believed that he
1 could not die, and the feared as well as loved
i him. In everythiii t is king asked his coun»

sel, and no wish of his was disregarded. One
‘ thing the king wondered at: though the love-
liest maidens in the tribe would have given
half their lives to become his wives, he would
not marr .

“ The reast wliereon [one has pillowcd lici
head, can never support another,” said he, one
day, when Chikika offered him his own daugh-
ter, the nurse of Una, a lovely girl of seven
teen.

01' one thing Arpiaka was glad. He had
frightened away the dark and subtle conjuror
——fo'r Tustenu gle had never been seen since
the day he fled awa from the village. It was
thought that he had] gone to the creeks in the
north, or the wandering Mickasookics, who
hung about the swamps to the west of 0nith~
lacoochee. Wherever he was, Arpiaka felt
certain that the terror infused by his magic
experiments was with him, and that he would
be chary how he attempted his life.

There is nothing which so affects the cou-
rage of an Indian as a belief that you possess
a supernatural power. They are s iritual be-

 

lievers in the fullest sense, and ve been
for ages—lo before such a thing was thought
of inst ' ' 'cirsles

CHAPTER IX.

“ ydcarfriend Marcus ~orCa tain Febi'qe:
I should'say—how do you do? ’m dreadfu
glad to see you ; as glad as if one of my debt
ore had anticipated date in the payment of i
note. Come into the Tonfine and test the
brandy!” cried our old acquaintance, Amasa
Queer, as he met the young caption of the
Belladonna in Wall street, 1just eigI t days after
the interview which the atter ad With Ri-
bers in Havana.

“ How are you, Mr. Queer? Up to 'our eyes
in stocks, I suppose, as usual 1’” re ied Febi-
ger, accepting the invitation to t e Tootine

‘ tacitly, by turning his steps toward that time-
honored spiritual resort. .

“ Touching them slightly, slightly!" said
Mr. Queer, in a tone meant to im 1y that he
was dealin very heavily. “ hat is the
news, my ear boy—just in, eh ?”_

“Yes, sir, just arrived from a trip to the
southward !"

“ Ah, yes; I saw your father the other day,

and he said you was at see! What will it

be, captain l” ' ' ‘
They h‘ad now arrived at the bar. '

' “Brandy!” said Febiger. “I never drink

anything stron r i"

“ Hap-ha, I s ouldn’t think you could, espe-
cially as they keep nothing here but ‘ fourth
proof,’ right out of the Custom House !" _

“It is tolerable !" said the young captain.
filling a glass two-thirds full, and “ tossing it
off” as if it had been water.

Mr. Queer contented himself with a glass
of Hudson ale; this he softened with. a bite of
cracker and cheese, but keeping his tongue
going whenever his jaws were unoccupied
—s common custom of his everywhere, and
on all occasions.

“I had uite a joke with your father the
other day ; (ha, ha, quite a joke, riend Marcus !"

“Indeed; what was it ‘2" asked Febiger.
proceeding to light a cigar. I

“ Well, you see, I knew your pretty cousin,
lone, slightly. I knew her poor fa or well,
went to school with him, and when he brought
1 his pretty wife home from Spain, I was‘one 01
l the first to give him joy! Well! you see,l
i knew prett much about his affairs when he
.‘ and his wi e died, and I was a‘ thinking who!
a snug little fortune your cousin had; and u
I you was the only heir to your father’s wealth--
4 and that‘s more than he could count in a week-
what a good thing ‘twould be for you two to
bitch on matrimonially and double the bee .
Good joke, eh? Wh , what on earth is .t e
matter with you, aptain; are you no“
You are pale as that marble there!”

“ No, sir; no!" said Febiger, controlling
with difficulty the fearful passion which w"
rising in his bosom, and calling for another
glass of brandy.

“ So, Mr. Amasa Queer." said he, more calm, I
after he had swallowed the brandy, “ you said
all this to my father?" ‘-

1 Q “ That, or somethmg' to that efiestl" replied
ueer.

 

 

T- ‘ V-.-..-.__-.=..Q A u . ,

 

rIfi‘he Whitejvmizard.

 

“ How did,he.take it, Mr. Queer 9".

“Why, would you believe it, old friends as
we've been, meetin r on 'chunge more or less
for twent or thir 1y years back, he got as
mad as a ornet! ut I know you wouldn‘t;
an old man's jokes don't mean anything, you
know i"

“ Do you know what I should have done if
I had been at home, Mr. Queer i" asked Febi-
ger, coolly.

“No, my dear sir; ra , what would you
have done—cracked a diesiibottle of old wme,
eh, my lad ?"

“No, sir! I would have told you that you
was an impertinent old puppy, and made one
of the niggers‘kic'kdyou out of doors !” said
Febiger, and‘ he lai a dollar down on the
counter to be for the liquor, and walked ofi‘,
leaving Mr. user in a state of stupefied
amazement.

“ Well, what the deuce is the matter—acts
just'as bad as his father did, when I spoke of
her. There must be‘ something wrong, but I
can‘t see into .it.', But I will; ma never
buya‘ntther note,’ifldcn‘tl Here, arhee er,
1’] talle'tlie' rest’of the slum e for that do] at;
the‘young' mania a friend 0 mine, went off in
a hurry, addict-got it. I‘ll return it to hiin i”
The barkeeper, who, attending to some

other gentlemen, had not heard the words"

used: by Febiger, handed Queer the money
witliOut hesitation. .

“Well, I’ve lost‘nothin and made some-
thing b the operation, an that’s more than 1‘
ever di

out of‘ a Feb er before i" muttered :

Queer, as he pocketed t c change and walked ’

off. “Han me," he‘continued,"‘ifillcan see

what sets t em. afire ‘so quick, ifI bring in“ ‘

poor Ione's’ name. I Maybe they’ve qhar'reled
with'her, an'd that's wh she‘s‘ gone to see ‘her
‘southern relations.’ ‘6 't, ' are is another
mystery, for I never heard
about an ‘; and he Wouldn’t keep a secret
from me, I know. Well, one thing is certain,
old Febiger is a ho , and his ‘son‘is a gig;
that‘s as sure as Iéé an honest man! he
fellow would orde me—me, Amasa' Queer,
broker, etcl‘,letc., and a gentleman to boat, out

of 'his house- have his blacks kick are out!

Whewl I‘d lilre to see him do’it. I'd like to
 himdo itl”

And Mr. Queer Walked upW'alllstreet look-
ing as if he owned half of it.

 

CHAPTER x.

or father tell'

In the same rcomwhere we first saw him,”
I the, stone mansion near the East river, sat:

Mr. Febiger‘ the elder. He was seated near
the window, and before him on a chair was a

small- brassébound box, or portable desk.~

From this hehad taken a paper, which he
was reading, and the perusal of which seemed
to aflbct him considerably, ibr, as he read it
linalby line, he made his comments u on it.
“I 'wish it was ‘u‘otvregister'edP e mut-
tered,“ then alteration'would be'easy, and I

could bring the whole property under my:

control !" .

He was interrupted in his 'cogitations bythe
entrance of a servant. . .v .

“What now, Johns-why'do you disturb
me, when I' have given orders to be left
alone?”

“ Beg‘pardou, sah, but dat M'assa Blacking,

de lawyer, dat went away wid Mtssa Marcus,

is down stairs, and say hesmm see you l” .

“Ah, 'has he returned? Send him up, at

once!" ‘ ‘

“ Yes, sah l“

The servant retired, and‘in ‘a minute or
two' the “gentleman in black," whose' sc-
qusintsncs we have already made, as con-
nected with.. the “Belladonna” in her late

cruise, entered the room, his hat in hand,‘

bowing obsequiousl as he advanced, with a
sick] , crin in smi a on his sallow face.

it ell," r. ‘ lacking, what news? Did my

son overtake the fugitives r "
“ Nearly; 'eiP-netfly I" replied the counsel-

lor.
“ Nearl —-lf near! / Why‘not, Mg? H“
your sliition resulziid in nothing i"

' “ Rat er more, air. "the? more—your niece '

and ward is dead I” r |

“And whemis her child 7" said Mr. Febiger,
not evincing the‘slightest emotion on receiv-
ing the news.»

“ Escaped with‘its father, and gone beyond a
\

our mach."

‘4 Fire and furiesl We are just as bad 03‘
as when the mother lived. By this will, if she
mrfimhorchildor children succeed tothe

 

r0 . Blocking, ou’rafool—a scoundrel,
fir lpemnd you to doywork, and you only half
do it! ,Didn’t  pick you u out of the gutter,
and make union of you? he only case you'd
ever had, when I found you, was for a pi‘E.‘
thief—you ot him off by trickery, andtoo'
half the sto en pigs for your‘feel Is not that,
so? Why are you so :nfa‘ithful to your bene-
factor—to me, sir, to me’!” I I K

I“ Sir—sir—you do me injustice. Hear;
me first, then condemn mel I was not in
command of the expedition— out you was,
and he used all diligence, and V ad it not, been
for a violent storm, and extraordinary good
luck on the part of the fugitives, we“ should,
have secured themhand effected your obj ct l"
d “My niece is dead, you say—how d1 she

ie Y"

“ She was killed. b a 31‘s e shot‘, when'we
were trying to cripp e their‘ oat, sir i" H

“ Why, in the name of Satan didn’t ou‘
kill father and child, and bring proof th'dt't ey,
were dead—then, as next of kin, all ‘of this
property would be mine I" V x . , I

“ Fortune favored them; they had crossed a '
bar which we could not cross, and, getting be-
hind a point of land escaped up' into the“
country. We followed and searched, but in
vain l"

Mr. Febiger paced to‘arid fi‘o, angrily, fora
felw moments, and then pausing abrup  ask?
e :

“Where is my son 9"

I “ He went to enter his vessel at the Custom
House."

“ Did he bring homeian ‘uarguf"

(3 Yes, sir, a few hogs ead‘s1 2f su rdandl
moasses, “ V' in ', ,t, on , .vo' an m
thdusén '  awtham notthers." ,

“From I e Kahuna”, , , .

“ Yes, air; but here he comes, and can make
his'own report i” H ‘ >

“ Very well, Blocking, you can retire to

our room—I shall want you ‘by-and-bye.
en I do, I will send for on i"

ThelaWyer, or slave—cit or term would be ,
applicable to him, it would seem—,bowed in
meekhumility, and retired, as the, ounger,
Febiger entered. T ie.latter careless y'threw
himself dawn on a so , while his father, who
remained standing, sai : I , , , , ,

“1Well,_you’ve made a failure, Master Mar-
cus ’ , . ,,, 
f‘ Yes. Wm, :18. eel”. replied the '12:.
niorucoolfyfitaking, smote and cigarfrom is
rocketwdlishtms theistic-u. ,. .-.  ,.. 

_ $370 excuse to give, or explanationtomake,
su-

,“,No,.sir-—that Icon, 13 ckin ,Uhas prob“
ably told you allthatI could. in to excuses,
you know I‘m" make an . I do all that I
can in duration, and if I fai , it is for no want
.ofexertion on my part.” , h ,1 W 1 .

f‘I belieye you, boy; and in this. caseyou are
as deeply interested as I am, for when (die,
all that have will be yours. ,Do cufthinh
the child can ever herccovered, so atwe can
gatherinourpowerf’ n H ,  

“ hope so. ther. I have bid high for her
and arranged matters so that Ribera will t‘
her, if gossib’lemnd let us know when itgeia;
done. 1' she is not heard from soon, I will
lit up an expedition and somr the country
where her father. has found refuge, asI pre-
sume, among some of the Indian, tribes."

“ That is well—a .id you saw Ribera t”

“ I did. He went. you tofit out plentynf
vessels for the ‘ coast; and toconsignzthsm’ to
him Last year was a scorcher .on triggers-v.

“ Aye, s33! That Ba era is sprince in his.
 He made a great deal of money for

’I

“ And for himself, too, 0E of yaus. capiML‘.
father." « . . .. ,1 .~

“ Doubtless ; he’d be afoul if he’did not!
Are our cigars landed P” , . , , , ,

“ o be sure, before I came intents upper.
bay. I’ve been too long in the frustrade for
run any foohsh risks when a few‘ extra. dollars
will hire lighten l" , , V _ ..

“ Well. retire to your room, or where you
please, till supper time, myson; I wish to see
you then—now I am busy our sense papers ":

Marcus retired, and so villas, readers, for
you observe that the old gentlsmsn indemn-
of being alone with his sesrsts. .

, they’re scarce, and will gaywell now I” ~

h—I

-"”v i - uv- «Waxy-any“. ... ’

n \ '

 

« low down in‘ the

a

1 his shoulder.

 

CHAPTER x1.

Pedro Picaro was hunting on Sauabel, an
island which extends for some miles along the
coast to the east of Boon Grands, and nearly
approaches the main land. at l’unta llassa from
which .it is only separated by thuurivor Ga-
loosa Hatchie, famed as the scene of the mas-
sacre of Harnev's command in 1889*

At a very early date of the mettlcment of
Florida, somewhere between 1511 and 1520, a
colon of Spaniards settled there, but the
warli e Uchees and Seminoles~tribcs after-
ward so blended, that the name of the Uchces
passed away and become almost forgotten—

have them own with great loss on the side
of the S uniang, the remnant of whom fled,
leaving ieir stuck behind them. Thus the
island, which is large and thickl wooded,
though interspersed with small am very rich
savanai or prairies, became stocked with large
numbers of wild horses, cattle and hogs,
especially 'the latter, which, likethe lower
class of mankind, are famous for breeding.

The cattld and horses soon were killed and
taken b the Indians, but, like the Ilcbrews,
the Indians are averse to perk when they can
get anything else to eat, and the hogs grew
and multiplied, and still exist in large numbers
on the island, as the writer can test' , for he
was once tread by a gang of them, w ich, led
on/by a’savage’ old boar, gave him no time to
reload his rifle, after he had floored one of
their. number, bl't came at him, a regular army
of Tusham’am. . a... , V . , , v,

Psdro Picaro was hunting on this islana
I few weeks after Pablo Oano‘vas had received
that terriblercut fi-om the merciless hand of
.Marculeebiger. He had fastened his cones
in a small cove, bordered on either side by
dense man roves, and had advanced up along
the edge 0 a narrow saVann, or strip of grass-
land, toward the centre of the island, until he
reached a knoll or mound from which his eye
had a ,wide see of vision, extending over .
that prairie an two or three other similar
0 I nings. From .thishe could see small herds
o deer. feeding in different directions, and also.

- by..the moving of' the tall grass, knew that

there were many hogs in ,the range, but he
could not see them ' 3
Carefully raprimiug his'gun‘, he sat down
and finished his cigar,- then selecting. the gang
of deer nearest to windward of him, in coma
menaed: moving carefully towarth, keeping
I . asssoasnottobeseenby,
the tumd animals in his approach. He crept on
as easily and noiselessl .as an Indian, and soon
being within fair gun-s 0t, be selected a large
fat buck for his aim and fired. The animal
bounded h' h in the air, then'fell headlong to.
the earth. 6 had taken his last leap. Pedro
was about to rush up and cut the animal’s
throat, when aloud and hoarse grunt broke
upon his ear, and an immense boar rose from
a mud-slough, where it had been wallowing,
within four or five paces of him—its red eyes
glaring maliciously upon him, and its bristles
rising in evidence of anger‘ upon .its back
Pedro commenced reloading his gun, he ing
his eye upon thebrute, whose tushcs, ful six
inches long, looked as if they would ri open
an alligator, not to speak of a thins innsd
Spaniard. But the cm warrior was not
inclined to ive P re a chance to claim
superiority 0 weapons, and before Pedro could
even‘xget powder into his gunythe‘boar made
mg ssive demonstrations. ‘ The hunter saw
t he had no chance but to run for a tree,
and he knewthat it was s 350.9 for-life. 03
be :bounded through the' ielding grace. and
close at his heels came t e enemy—so close
that its hot breath and foam seemed tctouch
his very heels. It was some distance to the
trees. but Pedro, whoi'wuwvery agile, would
have got to one ahead ofvthe infuriated beast:
had he not stumbled over the root of a saw-pol-
mom, just'ss h'e emerged from the prairie, and
fell headlong to the ground. The hear was so
close to' himfihat it could not check its head-
way, but, ‘9 $de over his prostrate form,
one of its‘ long, sharp tusks hooked into his
hunting-shirt; and rent it from top to bottom,
" also a deep gash in the fleshy part of

Skinned by the fall, yet aware of his fear-

, ‘M peril, the Spaniard struggled up to his

insulin-tin time to see his terrible enemy

_' It occnrsd during an armistice when Gen. Mammy,
'“ gym! to make a treaty with the Seminoles. om, '
W- “w lid on us escaped. ‘

8

.._.-. .r- ...- m...

The New York Library.

 

turn and plunge toward him once more, the
white foam flyi from his mouth, and his
red eyes flashing ike coats of fire. He could
not get n —he crossed himself and closed his
eyes, for he thought his time had come. But
at that critical instant the sound of a gun rang
loud and clear upon his ears, and he opens
his eyes to see the boar laying in its last
struggles, within a few feet of him, and an In-
dian standing near, who said :

“ Hog too much for pale face, eh f”

“ You have saved my life I" cried Pedro,
rising, and speaking in Spanish, for the Indian
had used that Ian uage, which, among the
lower of fishing Indians of the ceast, was quite
common, even up to the time of the late war.

And the next instant the Spaniard, with a
wild yell, bounded full ten or twelve feet from
where he had been standing, for he felt the

oisonous fangs of a serpent sinking deep into
his flesh, and as he turned he saw uncoiled the
s eckled form of a huge moccasin snake, the
eadliest of its s ecies

“ U hi Me ill snake and then save life
again ” said the Indian, coolly, takin his
hatchet and striking off the reptile’s h .

Meantime Pedro lay rollin and writhing
upon the ound, moaning an raying to his
saints, for e thought that deat was certain
now.

“ Get 11 and come to camp of Tustenuggle
Hadjo. on’t be squaw! Great medicine me
-—make pale face well—make him laugh at
snake I" said the Indian, taking Pedro by the
arm.

The latter rose with difiiculty, for the poison

was cours' like fire through his veins, and
his wound leg was already beginnin to die
color and swell As the Indian led im on,
he plucked several roots from the earth, and.
shakin the dirt from them, bade the hunter
shew t em and swallow the juice. Soon they
arrived at the camp, and here Tustenuggle put
a small kettle u on the hot coals of his camp-
fire, and filling it with water, threw in a quan
tity of the roots, and increased his fire so that
in a brief space the water was boiling. Then,
dipping a cloth in the strong decoction, be
commenced bathing the wound, first cutting
awa the flesh so as to permit it to bleed more
free y. And putting some of the liquid in a
large gourd to cool, he gave it to the patient
to rink as soon as it could be swallowed.

The latter, who, for a time, was in fearful
agony, now began to feel easier, as profuse
sweat broke out all over him, the swelling be.
gun to go down, and within a couple of hours

e was out of all danger. The Indian bound

a parcel of the pulverized and steamed root
upon the bite, and then said :

“ Pale face all well now—he may go.”

“ Not till I have rewarded ou—twice you
have saved my life 1 Here are e doubloons;
if you will go to m fishing ranches, I will

give you more, an make you other pre-
sents !" A

“ Me no like pals faces i” said the Indian, re-
fusing the money ; and now that he had done
hisdact of humanity, growing haughty and
col .

“ Why, then, did you save my life 9”

“ I’d save the life of a dog if I did not stop
to think him or his race had done me wrong."
“ Have the pale-faces done you. wrong i"

“ One has I"

“ It was not me, therefore acce t my gift 1”

“ No, it was not you !” replie the Indian,
still refusing the mone . “ It was a great
Medicine—more powe ul than I. He could
turn wine to gal], and I could not kill him
with a bullet. He fills my place in m tribe,
and I have hid my face from my peep e, for I
was ashamed, and Micanopee Was angered
with me." ,

“ A pale-face did this? When did he come
man you 1’”

“ ore than a moon gone byl He came
from the big water of salt, in a great canoe
with sails !”

“Had he a little child with him ?" asked
Pedro, eagerly.

I “ Yes, a squaw papoose l” replied Tustc-
‘nug ls. _
“lie is m enemy—I would drink h1-
bloodl I wi kill him, and Tustenuggle shall
0 back to his pecple. for when I have killed
ghe pale-face and stolen his papoose,-I Will
give my red brother many guns and much
powder, and lead, and red cloth. and heads, and
mint, and jewels for his squaws, and make
him rirh !“ cried Pedro, in a fever of delight
ful‘ now he felt some that with the aid of L

the fifiieen thousand dollars which Marcus 1 Arpiaka, on his way to his own lodge, ths

Febiger had offered.

° Ugh! Pale-faces have forked tongues l
I no speak one way and look the other i" said
the n inn, with his mind ful of suspicion.

“B the God whom the ale-faces wor-
shi , swear that I speak t e truth i" said
Pe ro. “ Come to our ranche with me and I

will give you presents, and make ready for
the expedition, and then we will go together
and seek the pale-faced Medicine. We will
go to him in the night, and I will kill him,
and we will steal the child l”

“ What for ?you want squaw papoose ?
What good, eh "

“Oh, I can get money for it—money for
his scalp, too l"

“ hl me go with you to rsnchel kl!
more car first, and fill your canoe, though i"
said the Indian.

“ How do you know I have a canoe Y" asked
Pedro.

“ See you when you come ashore—see you
shoot big bu —see you when hog make run
—me laugh fiiig lau h, till you fall down—
then me feel so , k l hog and save you 1"

Pedro renewe his thanks and romises,
and it was agreed between them to {ill game
enough to load the canoe, and then they were
to o to the ranche and pre are to on out
their plan for the murder ofArpiaka slid
abduction of little Ona. .

CHAPTER III.

A month or more, nearly two, in truth, had
rolled along time’s endless causeway. since
Arpiaka had made his home among the red
sons of the forest And though he mourned
his lost one, yet he had no re ret that he had
left the wide, wicked outsi s world, where
crime waxes strong with civilization, and had

come among a people whom he found pure,‘

warm-hearted, generous and kind—grateful
for kindness, respectful toward wisdom, true
each to the other. And his little Ona's cheer-
ful laugh came ofi‘en like a bird-song upon his
car, as she rolled, and tumbled, and pla ed
amidst the garlands of flowers and the has sis
of golden-hued fruits, which the dark-eyed
Indian girls brought in profusion to her, for
they deemed the beautiful child almost'an
angel. With his books, and flute, and guitar,
he whiled away his time, or, at least, that
which he did not spend with Chikika and Mi-
canopse, or in attending to the sick. 0f
hunting he was not fond. Nor did he cars to
mingle in their pastimes or their martial
games. B thus withdrawing himself from
common 0 servation, except when actual]
occupied abroad, and preserving a dignifle
reserve, he rose in the venerstion and respect
of the people, for nothing so lessens a man
among a community as to mingle in common
with them, and to exhibit the feelings, pae-
sions and frailties which every one possess to a
greater or less degree.

Arpiaks's. servants appeared very much at
taohad to him, and his table was ever well
out.)le we only with fish, eggs, turtle and
game of every kind, but delicious melons,
ruits and vs stables. He had nothing on
earth to ask or but “society,” as the World
terms it, and for this he had no desire. ‘

. _Hs stood long at the door of his lodge one
night, about a couple ,of months after his ar-
rival, even until gatherin darkness in its
density hid the very skyl ran his view, for
he was watching the gst ering of a tempest,
the marshahng of the clouds as they formed
u on the red and gorgeous field spread by
t e descending sun—their shooting up in
black hurrying columns toward the zenith.
where, resting and sullenly swelling out in
front and on either flank, they seemed to
steady themselves for the battle and wait for
orders from the king of storms, ere the

opened their dread artillery, and sent their
red lightnings far and wide across the earth.

The birds had eariy flown screaming to
their hidin places in e forest, and the tame
animals
do when f ' htened, an everything was very
still, not a- oath of air moving t( shake a

the ‘

l
i

 

chief spoke to him :

“ The Great Spirit will speak in thunder to
the wicked to-nightl" he said. "His face is
vsr black—the trees of the forest will groan,
an the earth will drink the tears of the sky!"

“ Yes —-there will be a terrible storm i"
said Arpiaka, as Chikika passed on.

Soon all was darkness and gloom outside
but within his lod Arpiaka found light an
beauty. Clarita, e lovely daughter of Chi-
kika, was lulling Ona tc sleep, and the fair
child lay on her swellin bosom like a bud
resting on the breast o a flower, while the
Indian girl ave low-voiced music to her ear,
and ever an anon pressed her rips red lips
to the velvet of the young child's cheek.

A sweet smile came in ms light on Ona‘s
face, and she opened wide er sleep eyes,
when she saw her loved father, and w en he
asked her to say mamma’s prayer, she lispcd
the well-remembered words, and then sunk
back with parted lips and closed eyes, into
the slumber of a cherub. And Clarita bore
her into the little curtained room, which had
been prepared expressly for them, and laid
her down u on her down bed, and soon, b
the side 0 her sweet c arge, was herse f
wrapped in slumber.

And now, afar off, was heard a sound as oi
the rumbling of heavy wheels over some hol-
low causeway. Nearer and nearer came the
lollin sound, nearer still, until crash, crash
—aha ing the earth, and seemin to rend the
ve heavens, came the terri 1e thunder!
Pea after pea], followed by the hissing 1i ht-
ning, and then by torrents of rain, and y a
gale, which howled through. the forest like a
maddened monster, searching for prey—told
how heavily the storm came down. And
thus, for hours, it raged; and Arpiaka, safe
within his strong-built lodge, listened to it.
with that dreamy comfort which we all feel,
when we hear a storm, yet are sheltered from
its effects. His mind overran the t, with
its pathway of sunshine and of c cud, and
wandered on to the future, when, in his dar-
lin child, he should see the matured picture
of or sainted mother; and he took no note
of time. He was almost asleep, sitting in his
easy-chair, when, sudden] , he saw a shadow
upon the opposite wall—t e shadow of a man,
with a raise dagger in his hand.

To leap from his seat, are the intended blow
was struck, to turn and confront two armed
men, one an Indian—the hateful Tustenuggle—
and the other a white man, was the action of
a second. The Indian sprung upon him, and
gra pling with him, nearly cast him with
cart ; but the white man rushed into the little
room, and, seiz' Ona, fled from the house,.in
s iteof the agoniaed shouts of the father, and

'his mad struggles to free himself from the

of the oonjurer. At last, however, he
one arm, and drawing his knife from his

i2?

belt, drove it home to the ve hilt in the .
back of Tnstenu 1e, who, wi a wild. (19'
spai ' death- , loosed his hold at last,
and f lifeless ii» the earth

There was a lull in the storm, and that fear
ful yell was heard all over the village. In a
few moments Chikika was there, and an hundred
other warriors, and in his a any Arpiska told
his loss. In less time than it takes to describe
it, every warrior in the village was bounding
away to search for the robber, while Arpiaka
could hardly be restrained by Micanopee. who
had come to comfort him, from himself rush-
ing out in the loom in pursuit, though he
knew nothing 0 the country.

The corpse of the vile conjurer was dragged
forth from the lodge, and cast into a lagoon
for the alli stars to feed upon, for the ki of
the Semino es swore it should have no 01: or
burial.

nd all the rest of that dark and bitter
ni t, Arpiaka passed pacing to and fro in his

. 10 go, pra 'ng to Heaven, in his agony, either

's child to his bosom, or to remove
so ac-

to restore
him from a world wherein sorrow
cumulatcd upon him. ,
Morning came, and dawned all the brighter
for the storm of the ' lit before. even as a

named to em", a they “1w”. ; child which has sobbed itself to sleep, wakes

with a flush upon its cheek. ‘ And, A! the sun

. went up, warrior after warrior came 'in, but

leaf. The Indians m1 mostly gathered wini— .

in their 1 as carrying in such things as
would beqiglsurdd by the storm. Those win

 

had canoes upon the watertehad drawn them
up cirthe land. and (lhikiku had seen extra
fasteniugs attached to his brother‘s little.

sunning and revengeful Indian. he could earn ischooner at her moorings. As he passed

I
, ,

a

the brought no tidings of the child. And
(in er ew the cloud on Arpiska‘s face, and
heavier t e a oay of his reft heart. But still
a little spark e t the fire of hope alive. The
noble. faithful hikikn, and n fi-wof his war-
riors had not come iii—the tiny advanced. Lil"

still they did not return. and ilwunopee secl-

 

“ Chikika is on the trail, else he would ’ere
this have returned 1"

It was true, for when he came, it was almost
ni lit, but he brought news from the Spanish
fis ing rauchc. The oller of Marcus Feliiger
was related to him. also as one of their num-
ber, Ped'rol’icm'o, was missing, also a boat, with
sails large enough to take him safely to Key
West, whence he could ("asin get passage to
Havana—the probabilit was, that hchad taken
the child. This H(‘(‘IIIC( the more probable,
because an Indian answering the description of
Tustcnugglo, had come to the macho with
him, and they had gone away in com any.

When Arpiaka heard this news, e grew
calm in an instant. He felt that he had no
time for sighs—it was action thCh was now
required, or else his child was lost to him for
ever. lie gave instant orders to refit his little
schooner, and ut fresh water, and dried meats
and bread on card.

“ Where is my brother going?" asked Ohi-
kika.

“ To Havana, to re ain Ona, or perish in tho
attain )t !" said Arpia ra.

“ Cliikika will go with his brother, and
take some of his braves with him." said the
chief. “ And Maraquua shall go. fir she has
friends there, and knows the city well, for
there she was born. My brother crn put her
in the dress of the paleofaced women. and shn
will be of service to him. Ana the chief oi
the pale-faced fishermen, though he is much
sick from a cut with the long knife of the
captain with the black heart, has offered to be
my brother’s pilot, for he is sorry for him."

This gave Arpiako Ii] , for he saw that he
would not be alone in is adventure, but that
stron hands and willin hearts would go
with Iiim. And he hurried his preparations
for the voya e, patching up the s at holes in
the sails, an seeing to the stowage of water,
provisions. arms and amunition himself.

And so expeditious were they, that, towed
by a lon string of canoes down the creek, at
sunrise t 8 next morning, they s read the sails
of the little schooner to a fresh men), in the
outer bay, and headed for the fishing ranche,
where it was intended to take the brave and
good-hearted Pablo on board.

The crew consisted of Chikiks and four
cit-tried warriors, all of whom spoke S anish,
sad his lhvorite wife Maraquita, who, ressed
in European style, in one of the dresses _ol
poor lone, looked now most unlike the Wife
of a forest chief, and very like a lady.

Rapidly the little craft skimme over the
waves, and soon she reached the macho. It
did not take long after Arpiaka had met Pablo,
to secure the services of the latter, who,
though ve ' weak, yet was full of fire and
energy, on ’erc another hour elapsed, the
schooner was outside of the bar, heading on a
cruise for Key West, for there Pablo hoped to
overtake the treacherous Picaro, before do
could secure a assage in a larger vessel,:for
he did not thinli that the villain would dare to
cross the Gulf Stream, in so small a boat as
that which he had taken, 'thougllidtradition
says that Indisnshin olden times. crossed
in canoes. .

 

CHAPTER XIII.

it was noon, or thereabouts. Don Rafael
dc Ribera was in the countin -room of his
large store and warehouse on, alle do Merca-
dores, givin directions to his bookkeepers

- and clerks, or he was heavil engaged in an

apparently regular 'mercsnti e business, and
few, not even excepting his own clerks, be-

Iside those directly interested, were aware of

the other nefarious branches of the trade with
which he was linked, such as slave cstchin ,
piracy, etc, etc. Pablo had spoken the tru

when he told Marcus Febigsr that he knew
who and what Ribera was. Ready to add to
his immense fortune by any means, utter‘ly
unscrupulous, with thieves and assassins -

we. 5 at command, Ribera was equal to any.

vil any that the mind of depravity could con-
ooct.

At about the time mentioned above, a man,
whose wan face and reddened cy'es indicated
fistigue and lengthened Vigils, presented him.
self in Ribers‘s counting-room. and asked to
see Dr Rafael. He was dressed in the
coarse garb of s fisherman, and had enough of
the scoundrel in his face to satisfy such a.
kccnphysiognomist as Don Rafael, that he
was one.

“ I am Ribsra l” said that individual.
“ What do You want 2"

 

The 'White Wizard.

“I have business with you, senor, but I
will only reveal it to you in privatcl"

ltibera at once led the we to an inner of
ties, which was unoccu ie . “Now,” said
he, “you can state your usiness l”

“A child, if found, was to be delivered to
your care for El Capitano Marcus F cbigor l"
said the man.

“ Yes !" replied Ribera.

“My name is Pedro Picaro, a fisherman
from the Boca Grande, and I have got that
child in the city l"

“Upon its deliver you are entitled to ten
thousand dollars, w iich I will ay. Have
you ot the scalp of the father, a so 1’"

“ o, senor! I had. enough to do to get
away with the child, but I left the man in a
death stru gle with a powerful and des crate
Indian, and do not doubt but that he ell in
the conflict. I had no time to await the re—
suit, for the Indian village was alarmed. and
a rapid flight only could save me. and I knew
fi‘om the words of el ca itano that the pos
session of the child was (El-important l"

“ True, m cod fellow, true l"

“ Shall I bring the child at once, senor r"
asked Pedro, whose fin ers itchcd to handle s
sum of money lar rer am he, in his wildest
dreams, had ever ought of possessing.

“No, bring it to in private residence in
Calle Obradapia, to-nig it at ten, when I am
disengaged, and your money shall be read
for you I” rcplic Itibcrs. “I do not wisi
it seen here, sud shall be occupied until
then l”

" I will be there at the hour, senor I" said
Pedro. and he departed.
' I Q Q Q D Q

It looked but s half hour of ten, and Don
Rafael do Ribera sat in the room where we
first saw him. Before him, upon a table, la
ten thousand dollars in gold, ready to be paid
upon the delivery of poor One.

A knock, peculiar in its character, for it
was four distinct raps repeated at intervals of
about ten seconds, was heard at the door, and
Ribera bade the rapper enter.

A man came in, whose small snakeslikc eyes .

glittered from under a dork, cliff-like brow,
and whose slender yet muscular figure gave
token of great activity as well as strength.
His features and expression were not such as
you would like to note in a new-found travel-
ing companion, if you wore in a lonely vi-
cim .

“ cu sent for me, senor; have you work
for me ? If so, I‘m glad, for I’m on my last
doubloon, and my cut/Lilla (knife) is. growing
rusty for want of use I" ssid this man, as he
came in.

“ Yes,” replied Ribers, “ you know that I
only send for you when I want you. I leave
you to devote the rest of your time to aunts
and the Women 1”

“ Which are such expensive psstimcs that
the more often you sea for me thcbettsr'sm
I suited l” mphed the other.
have I to do now i"

“ You observe this old 1’"

“Seeing thatvit is cforc me, I can't well
help it, senor," said the other; “ but I have
no ob'ectfion to makings closer observation 1"

“ ell, you can do so, and with my con-

“ But what

sent. There are ten thousand pesos there,‘

which I shall pay to a man who will be here
in twenty minutes. You will know him
when he comes, if you watch outside, by' his
having s small child with him. When he
leaves he will bear with him this money, and
a secret which I should like to have hushed
forever. Attend to him, and take half of that
money—restore to moths other half I”

“ I shall be done, senor!” said the profes-
sional assassin, for such he was, drawing his
lon , broad-bladed but sharp-pointed and
don led-edged knife, and feeling of its» edges.

And then, With a kind of 0031501111510, he

said :

“ What should hinder me fi-om‘kccping all.
senor ?" a

“ The knowledge that I nevsr would employ
you again!" replisd'Ribcrs.

“ True, senor,» on how been too wslusble s
pstron for me to oso by dishones '. :Do not
retire after he leaves you ;. I » 'make it

nick work and sure, with him, and you shall

we your gold back tcforc'you'slcc I”

“Don’t o the job to: near my r—tha
Siiigligi-ities might smell blood inside if you

“ No danger, senor ; 'I’ll drop him before ths
door of some holy padre, so that if he can‘t
have the consolation of religioniin 

. , ,

9

moments, he may be within smelling distsncs
o it I"

“ Very well , go toyour post now, Battists',
it looks at ten minutes of the time, and men
lwanting money are more apt to be early than

ate 1"

The assassin bowed and departed. Scarce-
ly had he. one when Pedro Picaro entered
with the chi d. ,

Poor Ona, she was as pale as a white cloth, i
and her great, dark eyes were reddened with It
longl weeping. She seemed to be almost dead
wit terror. -

l _“ This is the child, senor I" said the vil-
am.

“And there is your money; take it, and
much good run it do you I” said Ribera. at
the some time ringing a bell.

Pedro clutched the gold, and, without stop-
ping to count it, thrust it. into his pockets with
a nervous hand. He had but just done so
when a servant entered.

“ Send Monona here!” said Ribers to the
servant

“ If I get the scalp of the father, I will see
you again, senor I” said Pedro, as he turned
to diphrt. *

“ 0!" said Ribers, with a covert smile
upon his face.

Pedro had but just left the room when s
very mod-looking Spanish girl came in.

“ onona, take this cor little thin and
care for it tenderl , untifits relatives on I for
it; but let it not out of your sight for s
moment. I hold you responsible for its
safety I" said Ribera.

The girl took Ono up and spoke kind
words and kissed her, and then the speechless
terror of the child passed away, and while two
great tears rose in her eyes, she murmured:
“ Oh, take Gas. to her spa l"

“Yes, I) -and-bye, love!” said Monons.
“Come wit me, now, and I will give you
something nice 1” r

The child smiled through her tears, a sweet,
bright smile, like sunlight shining through a
shower, and cheerfully went with her new
nurse. ‘

Then Ribcra waited for the return of Bot-
tista. He had not long to wait. In a vs
few minutes that individual came in an
em tied out the old upon the table which

Po 0 had carrie sway, also several other
articles, such as s knife, silver crucifix, cigar
case, etc,, which he had found on the body of
the wretch who had most deservedly me.
death just when he had consummated his rss-
cslity and received the reward.

Battists was as calm and collected as if ho
had onlv been knocking some worthless our
is the head, or been martyring a litter of
blind kittens. No nervousness abouthhal
He was too much in practice to be guitly of
that.

“You rs back vs speedily; did'hc give

on any trouble, Battists l" asked Ribcrs, as
{he assassin entered. ‘

‘ “ None in the world, senor. Ha laid down
and went to sleep without a word! I gave
him about eight inches right between the
‘ shoulders. There isthc money, you can count
“out in ro rtion.” ‘

“ Hcywi)m£:y does this make, Battists, that
you have sent to a better world for ms!"
sskc‘d Ribsrs, as he commenced flying the
doubloons off squall in two piles. '

“ Nineteen, senor " said Battista, psusing s
moment to count up. “ Nineteen, sad I hope,
senor, that ou'll soon find me I twentieth,
for I hate 0 d nu bsrs deucedly.”

“ We’ll see, wc' see ; there is one man, if I
can get him here, from New York, whose score
"I should like to wipe out! But Always be
within reach of me, no fear but that I shall
zksep you in work ‘ss’long as you are sure and
true l" .

“ will do so, 01'." said the m‘
and then he took his gold sad deported.

—-——

CHAPTER XIV. , i

A‘ precious t'rio sat in the some room in the
old‘sto‘ne mansion, where, so for, we have onl
met Mr. Febi er, senior, and his visitors. 1: .
consisted of t at individual, his 'lonly 5nd
'Goun'séllor' Blacltin . And money was the ‘
text "upon which ghey held dialogue-u: dis-
course—money, that curse which every one,

- (except authors), seems so ready to Mflhth“
“necessary cvil”-—I quote from Duly. Judi“

 

?)-which in more men villains, [non
’Fwomen  mgwfih “P3510.
ll

  
 

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3.

 

 

 

10

i ,_,_ we».

v ., ¢__ (a «an...

 

 

ueially, than any other ill on earth. By the

iinishinent of money, the Spartans became
the purest, noblest race on earth ; luxury was
afterwards introduced, and they dwindled
down to less than nothing.

“Don’t you think you can make some evi-
deiiie, which will suit our purpose in the
Orphan‘s Court? Something to» silence that
very conscientious judge ?” asked the eldest
Fe iger.

“Had not some meddling individual not
only notified him of the marriage, but also of
the birth of her child, it might be done. I
could. get men to swear that both were dead,
but then the husband would be asked after—-
certificates of burial required, and many a
question asked which Wlll bother us for a
reply! Some one in this city is keeping a
watch on us, I am sure, and as we tread in
the dark, we must step carefully l"

“ Can it be that cursed old Queer, that is
meddling? He used to be ve intimate with
Ione’s father !” said the elder ebiger.

“If I thought so, he’d drop off of one of
our wharves, with a ‘56’ tied to his neck,
nae/of these dark nights,” muttered Marcus.

At that moment a servant entered with a
letter, which he handed to the last-named perv
SOIL

“Hip, hip, hunrah! hurrah! Eureka, she
is found, and safe in the hands of Riberal"
cried Marcus, as he hastily glanced over the
contents of the letter. .

“ And her father ?" asked the father.

“Left in a death-hug with ‘ an Indian, and
supposed to be properly cared for!” said Mar-
cus, carelessl ,

“ All will then go easy I” said the wily coun-
sellor. “Produce the child to the court, with
evidence which we can make of the death 01
both of her parents b fever, or something 0!
that sort, in the sout , and claim your rights
as her nearest relative and natural guardian l”

“ Yes, I see !” said the‘elder Febiger.

“ Then.” continued the wretch, “ if she
would take sick and die, of course all her
property reverts to you i” ‘

“I see, I see!” and the old man rubbed
his thin dry hands together with pleasure.

“Well, I’ll be ofl' in the Belladonna after
the brat, as soon as I can get provisions and
water aboard!" said Marcus.

“ I think I'll take the voyage with you 1"
said his father. “ I want to see Ribera—it is
a long time since I have had a settlement
with him! I can easily so arrange my busi-
ness as to leave it.”

“ Well, sir, there’s plenty of room for on,
but what about the marriage with old' ap-
scott’s irl, that you say you’ve arranged for
me. on say she’ll bring in a clear half mi}-
ion—hadn‘t that better be attended to before
we go, and then let a bridal trip be our ex-
cuse for going out in ballast I?”

“ Yes, my son, yus; you are thoughtful and
right. It can very easily as arranged, for
the irl, if she doesn’t exactly love you, does
not islike you, and is, as all girls ought to be,
obedient to her father, who snapped at the
bait I offered the moment he saw it! Yes, I
will see him at once, and have the union
Drought abOut as soon as possible. Mean-
time, since Ribera has ot the child, I hiwe
no fear for its safety. e is as true as steel!"

“Where it is his interest to be so I" laid
Kai-cue. drin

" As it surely is in this case, and in all
of his dealin s with nu!” said the old man.
“,You had etter make Miss Tapscott a
visit to-night, and play the agreeable, as ou
know full well how to‘do l” continued {in
Febiger to his son. “ In the meanwhile, I
will see the father to-day, and urge the mat
ter on I"

“ Very well. sir, I’ll try and work up u
glyoung lady—I think I can please when!

 

CHAPTER XV.

The night was dark and stormy when Ar-

iaka’s schooner came in sight of the light

which stands on More’s lofty height, at the
mouth of the harbor of Habana. He had
been in Ke West, and there had learned
that a sma boat like that in which Pedro
Picaro had fled, had been seen off the coast,
steering south—west for the Havana, but had
not stoppcd He only remained lon enough
to take outs registry and papers fordiis boat,
which,-with the aid of a little money, he man-
aged to do, and ,thennledned regularly for
." if“ , '

p

The New York Library.

was kept in that port, and the necessit of
care in his movements. He had calle his
schooner the “ Ions," in memory of his loved
one, lost forever. ,

“ Shall we run in to-night, Pablo t” he
asked of his pilot.

“It is against the rules of the harbor, senor,
but with such a gale as this blowing, and
every appearance of an increase, I think that
our necessity and danger will excuse us, even
if the captain of the guard boat should see
and brin us to. But, ten chances to one
that we s all slip in unobserved in the dark-
ness, and, if we do, I will steer up past the
shippin in the harbor, and run into a little
dock where I think we can lay unnoticed. If
we succeed in that, I will go on shore with
Maraquita, who, as well as in self, has friends
here, and we will arrange or an interview
with Ribera, and also for carrying 011‘ the child
in safety, if we get her."

“ y, Pablo—1r? There must be no if about
rt. will recover her or perish l”

" I pray the holy virgin that you may, sen-
or; but we in at be cautious. I must first
learn whether ‘not Ribera has the child.
That can be done through Maraquita, for l
have laid the plan for her."

“ You are a brave and noble man, Pablo.

If we succeed, your reward shall place you in
inde endence for life.”
. “ have be god you before, senor, not to
speak to me o a reward. Gold is not my im-
pelling ower. Rather than to possess one
thousan doubloons in my hand, would I have
one blow with a true blade, at that cowardly
villain who struck me down at his feet!"

' The light on the Moro grew brighter and
brighter each moment that they conversed,
for they were nearing it now very rapidly, for
the water was more smooth after they left the
current of the Gulf Stream.

All of Arpiaka’s crew—now much altered-
in appearance, for they had laid aside their
forest garb and were dressed as sailors—were
on the alert, watchin the light on the rocky
height, and occasions ly glancing at the other
lights which, throu h the dense darkness,
could be seen twinkling on the shore. Pablo,
now that he had marks to steer by, at out
the lamps of their little binnacle, an made
pvery one on board keep the most perfect si-
ence.

It was after midnight when the “lone”
swept in throu h the narrow entrance between
the Punta an the Moro, and, thou h she

assed very near the guard-boat, whic they
ew b its light, an which lay moored to
one of e buoys placed above the wreck of an
English frigate, sunk there many years before.
She was not hailed. Nor in passing up the
crowded harbor did she meet with any ob-
struction, and, in a short time, Pablo, with a
skillful hand, ran her into the little obscure and
disused dock which he had named, where.
close under the shadow of some old buildings
falling into ruins, she lay.
“Senor, if on please, be seen as little as
ossible, and eclp the crew out of sight until
l’rsturn,” said ablo. “I go to see if the

Belladonna is in the harbor, and Mar uita

.“k ow soon will you return i" asked Ar-
II a. '
P “ As noon as that which I have said I would
do is done i” replied the old fisherman. “ Let
me entreat cu, senor,” he continued, “to be
patient. T is Ribera is immensely wealthy
and unscrupplous. He has ever 7a gang of
assassins at 's beck, and the least imprudenco
on our part will put him on his nerd, and
then not a chance of success woul be left to
us, even if we escaped with our lives.”

“I put the entire direction of the matter
in your hands, Pablo," replied Arpiakfi. “ f0?
ypur brayeiy and prudence are unequalled.

oney will 8 useful, Wlll it not, in your on-
ter rize ’

£11: may be, senor. In this city it is more
powerful than steel."

“ Then take with you this be of gold. Fear
nbot 30 use it freely, I have p enty inorcr’ on

oar .”

“Iwill not misuse it, senor. And now, for
a time, farewell! Come, Ma inta. come.”

The pilot and Ghikika’s with now stepped
on shore, and Arpiaka and his crew retired
into the little cabin, all seeking repose except
the former, whose anxiety would not permit
him to close his eyes.

 

Pablo returns , and Arpiaka began toserious-

Habana, knowing what a strict surveillance 

will 0 with me to learn where the'chil is.” '

 

It was nearl noon of the next day before 7

1y fear that the former had met with some
misfortune, or had been forcibly detained
His patience was nearly exhausted, when
Canovas made his appearance.

“ I suppose you feared I would never come,"
iaid the pilot.

“ If you come with news as might as youi
hoe,yviwillliftaheavylo from my
heart," replied Arpiaka. “Time hangs with
clogging weight upon an anxious mind."

“ My news is good,” replied Pablo. " The
child is here and in the house of Ribera. If
you will adopt a plan which I. have been
working up in my own mind, I think you can
obtain her without a doubt.”

“ Name your plan, and do not fear but that
I will ado t it." .

“ Go be dly to Ribera at his counting-room
and ask for a private interview ; then ppetend
you have a large capital which on Wish to
entrust to his care, to be investe in the slave
trade. As he works that business very se-
cretly, for fear of British interference, 'he Will

robably ask you to his house to make your

eposit at night, and we, in carrying .your
boxes, supposed to contain old, can be intro-
duced along with you into t e house. I Then, ii
we cannot force him to deliver the child, lam
mistaken in our power.”

“An excellent plan. He does not, I am
convinced, Lnow me, and it cannot fail. I Will

at it into execution at once. Is the Bella-
onna in port ?”

“ No, senor."

“ Then we surely will succeed l” .

“ I think so, senor. I be e that all Will be
done to-night, for the wind lows fairon the
coast, and we may be as lucky in leavmg the
harbor as we were in coming in. B the way,
senor, I have heard of Pedro Picaro, who
stole the child away."

“ What of the wretch ?”

He was found assassinated in the street,
without a real: about him. It was probably
done by some of Ribera’s braves, to regain
the money which he paid him.”

" It is good news. The villain is out of our
we. ,and properly punished for his crimes 1”
sai Arpiaka, as he entered the cabin, and

roceeded to arrange his toiletapreparatory to

is visit to Ribera, whither it is _scarcely no:
cessary for us to accompany him, since we
know what his business is.

——

CHAPTER XVI.

It was night once more, and Ribcra sat in
his favorite apartment—favorite because it
was so near his cherished old—smoking as
usual. And a look of satis action was seated
upon his repulsive nice, for he anticipated a
large addition to his already enormous hoard.

“‘What infernal fools these Yankees are l”
he said to himself. “Though slave ensts

. in half their states, or more, they’re a aid to

run a ‘ Black-Bird Line’* for their own coast,
but are willin to make money off the trade
with us! I they only knew how to get
work out of niggers as our lanters do, they’d
have to import the artic e, or their stock
would soon run out. They go in for breed-
ing ; we go in for buyin fres stock as fast as
the old wears out, and on’t have any bother
with such worthless stock as young or old
iii gers l” I

hat the fellow said was then true, and is
to this day, in Cuba, pad will be, so long as
she remains under Spanish rule.

Ribcra’s cogitstions were cut short by a
knock at his door, and the next moment Ar.
pinks entered. . .

“ Ah, good evening, senor Americans; you
are unctiial, I see i" said the Spaniard.

“ n wei hty matters, I alwa 3 am!” rc-
plied Arpia a. “My men are be ow with the
gold ; shall I order them up here 1’”

“ If you please, senor l” _,

Arpiaka gave a low whistle, and immedi-
ately Pablo and Chikika, with three of his best
warriors, all clad as mariners.‘ appeared, each
bearing a heavy box, which, at a sign from
Aipiaka, they deposited on the floor near
Ri era, Whose snake-like e es glittered with
pleasurc‘as he looked upon
sure.

“ Your men can retire, senor I” said he,
“ and we will count your gold, and see that it
2| right, and then I will give you a receipt for
t I"

“A question or two, if you ease, senor

Ribera, before they retire I” said 3 inks. “"

e supposed tree-V

z



The White Wizard.

11_

 

 

believe that on recently made the acquaint-
ance of one film Piano !"

Ribera started as if he had been stung byl‘a
scorpion, and a greyish pallor overspread is
swarthy face.

“ Can you tell me where he is? Que of my
men is an old comrade of his I" continued Ar-

fish.
I “ What has that to do with our businesn,
senor ll" asked Ribera, with s tremor in his
wise.

‘- Much with mine I" said iaka. sternly.
-‘ Where is the child for the do 'very of which
you aid ten thousand dollars?”

“ eyond your reach, curse youl This is
your business, is it i" cried Ribera, springing
toward a hell on the table. But he did not
reach it, for, with a glittering knife in his
hand, Pablo sprung be ore him.

In a second a knife also flashed in Ribera's
hand, and he turned upon Arpiaka, but Chikio
ka wrenched the wee on from him with one
hand, and with the at or clutched his throat
with a suffocating grasp.

“ You are not quite so expert as the assas-
sin of Pedro Pioaro I” said Arpiaka. “ Do
not hold him quite so tight, Uhikiku, you
will not leave him breath enough to answer a
few more questions I have to ask l"

The chief relaxed his hold, but when Ribern
attempted to raise an alarm by an outcry, he
renewed his vice-like grasp.

“If you attem it the least alarm, your life
shall be the forfeit!" said Arpinka, sternly,
now for the first time drawing a weapon.
“ I am no trifler, so beware ! I came here for
my childhwhere is she? Chikiko, release his
throat, but if he utters one word, exce it to re-
ply to my questions, choke him to entli as

[n

on would a worthless do .
y a it

The chit-f obeyed, an 0 almost suffocated
Spflllllll‘ll mus allowed a chance to breathe
once more.

j‘ Spook, villain, speak I Where is my
child P"

H In in house, in the care of a nurse l"
gasped t 0 now thorou hly terrified wretch.
“ Let me go, and I will ring her to you l"

“ Softly, Don Rafael, softly! lam not quite
such a fool as that. You will have the kind-
mess to tell me in what apartment the child is,
and I will go for it, leaving you in care of
those who will take your life \at the first sign
of treachery or attem t to make an alarm!
Speak now, and no cceit, or you will not
hnve much time to repent in l”

" She is in the second room to the ri ht, as
you pass out of that door, senor !" said ibera,
pointi to a different passage from that by
which ey had entered.

“If you deceive me, remember that you
die 1” sad Arpiska, sternl , as he took a lamp
from the table and turn toward the door.

“I speak the truth I" said Ribcra, ss Ar
piaka went out.

“ It’s a wonder that it don’t choke you I”
muttered Pablo.

In a few moments Arpiaka returned. and in
his arms was One. who clung to his neck and
covered his face with kisses, while she sobbed
joyfully, “ Papa—papa—deor papa 1”

Before him, le with terror, cams Moncna,
the nurse, for e was determined to prevent
any chance of an alarm being given, and she
was the on] one he had met. Careful]
locking the oor by which he had entereti
Arpisks put the key in his pocket, and then
said .

“Bind and gag both Ribera and the girl
quickly; do your work secure] , for no slarm
must be given until we have lo the city far
Iiii-hind I”

ll ibera began to beg and Monona to weep.

" I am so for you, my poor 'rl I” said
Arl-iaka. kind y, “ but I must do ' to no"
my child. You will probably be released by
morning. and will suffer no injury, but we
Illll~L Iouve you secured for our own safety.
As to ltihera. I would do no more than justice
worel to silence him fomsr. He may well
h.- thankful that Ispare his life. Bind the
villain tight, Pablo, and ut a gag in his
month which he can’t swa owl”

The old fisherman needed no urging on the
point. He so detested the character of Bi-
uern that he would have.willingly silenced
him forever, instead of temporarily, if thathsd
been the order.

In a short time, the two were firmlygeomd
and laid upon their backs in different parts of
the room. and so fastened that they could not
aid each other in any way. Then wrapping

' llsvs ships on so named.

 

One in his cloak, Ai‘piaka and his men de-
iarted, he carefh‘ly locking the door behind
im, and carrying the key awaly.

“ Your master hnde me to you that he
must not be distuioi-d by any one ; he is on-

cd on business for me 1" said Arpiaks to
owner, as he went out.

“I will obey him, senor; the Pope shouldn‘t
see him if he came I” replied the man, bowing
very low, for a doubloon had been placed in
his hand.

One hour later and the gallant little
schooner dashed out of the harbor as swim
and uietly as she had come in, and before the
day owned she was fhr out upon the blue
waters of the gulf, so far that on] the dim
outlines of the “Pops” and the ierras de
Hierro could be seen from her deck. And,
almost as lightl as she danced over the
waves, bounded e heart of Arpiaks, for he
had recovered his child, and he was now de-
termined to so guard her, that she never again
should be wrested from him. He knew very
well why the had abducted her, and the
value of the ortune to which she was heir,
and that no risk would be considered too
great or adventure too des erate by the Fabi-
gers, if she could be snatc ed from him. . -

The return voyage of the “ Ions" was speddy
and pros erous. And Arpiaka‘s arrive wit
Ona, at tie Seminole village, was hailed with
rapturous delight, for in the eyes of the tribe
he stood second only to Micanopee. And
that good chief embraced him, and gave orders
thnt hereafter watchful sentinels should ever
kee gum-d around his lodge, ulthouph Arpia-
ka hilt safe since Tustcnu gle and ’edro Pi-
caro were both deed, for ie knew of no one
else who was near that felt enmity toward
him.

But the old king was firm in his resolve,
and the sentinels were posted. And once
more Clarita clasped her lovely charge to her
pure young bosom, and sin the Indian
maidens almost deluged the c ' d with flowers
and fruit.

 

CHAPTER XVII.

Nearly s month had “Md since One had
been wresteu from the charge of Ribera, and
not having heard from the Febigers, he sl-
most hoped, under the circumstances, that his
letter to Marcus had miscarried, but he was
disappointed there. For one day, about the
time mentioned above, one of his clerks came
in and announced that the “ Belladonna" had
lost arrived and cast anchor in the harbor.

He did not. wish to meet Marcus Febiger in
Iis counting-room, for he expected “ a scene”
when his news was broken; therefore, as it
was nearly ni ht, he repaired to his private
residence, on there awaited the anticipated
visit.

He had not long to tarry. for an half hour
had not passed when Marcus Febiger made
his a pearance.

“ ow are you, my old friend, king of the
Black Birds, etc., how are on I" he cried
heartily, as be extended his nd to Ribora
upon entering.

“How do you do, captain, how do you do?
Sit down ; how did on leave your father 2"

“As sick as s do phin with s hook in its
mouth; he's been sewsick all the we out,
but a night's rest in smooth water w' put
him to rights! He’ll wet his whistle with
you in the morning I"

“ What, is he a passenger with you t”

“ Yes, and I have another—m m! I
know that sur rises you, buts hal? ' 'on of
dollars induce me to sacrifice myself, and the
girl wasn‘t bad looking I"

“I congratulate you ! You must make my
house your home during your stay here.
Your Ibride and your father will be most Wel-
come "

“ Our stay will be short, Don Rafael. My
father at last be 'ns to feel that he is almost
rich enough. on talks of drawin in his funds
and _retn'mg from business. If“ object in
comm out was to see you and close up met
tors, I have! But how is the little girl 1

" Ah. “PW. I have bad news there !"

“ W11“, 1!! she dedii! Well, that docsn“
matter, for the props will all revert to mv
father, find remain in t c faniil l”

“ But she is not dead! I Wish she was, or
had been before she was brought here I"

" The devil! Where is she I" ‘

.father., Ya, if the old man annoys

 

“ Her father, aided b a gang of Indians and
an old Spaniard, who new me, rescued her
from my charge and nearly killed me. For
over twelve hours I and her nurse lay gagged
in this room, and bound so tight that we
could not move. It was hours after I was
discovered and released before I could stand 1"

“ How in the name of Satan could he so
get to windward of you ?"

“ By pretending to be what he was not,
for you gave me no description, not even his
name, which I do not know now. He pre-
tended that he wanted to invest money in the
Guinea trade; I believed him. told him to have
it brought here, and thus he and his gang
were introduced. Having me in his ower,
be bound and gagged me as I have to] you,
and then carried away the child, and with his
Indian allies fled, the Lord above only knows
where, for I could get no track of him afier I
was released l”

“ This is a pretty kettle of fish 1” muttered
young Febiger. “ The old man will be mad-

er than a stump-tailed bull in fly-time, when
he hears of it I" ‘

“ Getting mad will not help the matter !"
said Ribera. “ I did my best, paid out ten
thousand dollars for the child, and kept her
safe] until the father tricked me l"

“ urse him,- I’d like to have him in range
of mly pistols I”

“ wouldn’t, if he was armed l" said Riben.
“ He has glot enough of the devil in him when
he’s rouse , I can assure you of that!"

“I’ll send him where he can get a little
more l”-—said Febiger, bitterly—“from the
original source, if ever I meet him I"

“ I suppose you’ll ‘retire' too, now that you
have got married l" said Ribcru, wishing to
chan e the subject.

“ ursed the bit will II No, I cannot live
without excitement. and as soon as I near the
edge of my honeymoon, I shall be in my old
track again. But I don’t like this news of
yours—it will set worse than sea-sickness on
my father’s stomach. For years he had been
arranging for me to me the mother of that
child, and thus to secure her fortune. But
the pretty fool took a dislike to me and my
rough ways, and took a likin to another—
snd when my dither tried a litt e coersion, she
suddenly turned up among the missing. and
the next we heard of her was on the receipt
of s cop of her certificate of marriage!”

“ An your father, go say, thinks of draw-
iuginallhiscspitsl mthetnde,sndquit-’
ting business I” r

Yes, so he says—but I must be 06 aboard .
you’ll see him in the morning, and if he don’t
souls; likes north-caster, I’m mistaken. Good
nu ’

~~ He’d better come in s calm; he’s not in
New York now, and never use be, if he
arouses the serpent in my nature ” muttered
the Spaniard, after oung Febiger had gens.
“ If he withdraws his money, he’ll cri pls
some of my boldest operations. By s s ct
account, and dpubtless he keeps one, I should
have to pay h In nearly three mm of dol-
lars. It must not be done. No, he dies first!
The son has no heart, and will rather re'oios
than mourn if the old man is put out o the
way. for he is s spend-thrift. .nd will be
to have what he never has had-e full sweep
atsfewmillions. I csufool him in m ac-
counts, which is more than I can do wi his
me, he
must tnvel the path! I have too much at
risktohsve one man placsn bai-rlsrinny
way and live!"

CHAPTER 17111

has to the prognostication of his son, 1..
severed from his semsickness. and lite
“rboiling over” with . snddusp intmen
the elder Febi r cams kc a “ no -caster,”
the butt-end 0 one at that, to the house of
Ribers, at an early hour the next morning.

His usually pole too was red with passion
—his lank frame was quivering with nervous
agitation—bk ulnllly placid and calculating
coolness all gone.

“ door I15 I am very glad to see you l”
said Ruben». politelym he received his cholsric
visitor. . -

“ And I‘m cursed sorry to see under the
circumstances. You had a fortune of mine in
your~hnnds when on had that child, and
you’VG 10“ it, sir— eat it i"

“ Through no fault of mine. my 50“ Ii?!"

“ It‘s s be, sir, it’s s list You should have

A” —.

‘4'; 

 . n: :3 4 .i, .  f.” .24;  ,..

 

-.cold, before he leaves it!

12

' """‘1',-r,'—?. .- I“ ‘~., '- ‘." ~~'

 New York Library.’

 

locked her up where you keep your gold, sir~
have killed her before you parted with her !"

ltibera's face grow black with passion, but
with a strong effort of will he so mastered it
as to hide all outward show in a moment. and
he replied.

“ Such were not my instructions!" ,

“Curse a man that always needs instruc
tious ! What is judgment given to a man for?
Isupposc you expect the ten thousand dol~
lars t mt you paid for the child ‘3”

“Having paid it out by your son's order,
of course I do !",

“ You shall never have a cent of it i"

“I believe! have considerable mone in
my han‘ds‘helonging to you, Mr. Febiger ! ’

“ Yes, but you'll not say so two hours from'
now ! I demand an instant settlement!"

“ Are you pre anal to close up your ac-‘
counts, sir?"'sai 'Ribera, and a sinister, 61-.
most sardonic smile, flittad over his face as he
spoke. _‘

” Yes—have got m account-book with me
on purpose 1" said Fe igcr. producingasinall
ledger.

" Are all our transactions recorded in that
small book ?" asked Ribera, with an air and
tone of curious surprise

“ Yes, and by my own hand 1 Do on
think I require a dozen volumes, and a h f a
score of clerks, for such a matter ?”

A gleam of satisfaction passed over the
countenance of Ribera, as he replied :

“ By no means, my dear sir—I do not
under-rate your business capacity at all. But
let us proceed to business, at least, in a ood
humor. Ihave been unfortunate enoug in
displeasing you, let alone the loss of ten thou-
sand dollars, for of that I‘ll say no more.
Take a glass of wine with me, and then we
will roceed to compare accounts l"

“ ow that you are beginning to talk rea-
son, I will l” replied Febiger, coming down a
little in his tem estuous anger.

The wily an remorseless Spaniard opened
a small cupboard, and poured out two goblets
of wine. He did not pour both from 6'
same bottle, though in color  did not dlfi
fer. But Febiger did not observe this, for his
eye was runnin over a column of 'figures in
his account-booi.

“Here is some choice old wine, sir—such
as you robably never tasted before!" said
Ribera, nding him one goblet, and raising
the other to his own lips. “Your health,
sir, and success to you on your next voy ge i”

F ebigcrumer‘ely nodded, and drains his
glass at-thc sunshine with Ribera.

“It is '_old—it smacks of— of —-dsathl
You’ve murdered ms !" he yelléd, as a sudden
fire seemed to dart through him. '

With a face'distorted with [sudden and inde-

scribable agony; and h hands or“ "s" «q
to clutchtbe Spaniard h: tbs-throat, he made
one bound toward him— at fell short ofhis
mark—fell'dead upon the fioor'l

“ A very sudden, case of ,a splay—that
poison leaves no‘trsce!” said t e murderer,
calmly, taking out his pocket handkerchief,
and wiping away a little froth which had
gathers upon the dead man‘s 1i s.

Then he tanglabell, and said to the ser-
vant: "Huston to the schoon'ér" Belladonna,’
which isin'the'harbor, sn‘d‘téll Captain Febi-
ger'w hurry up here; I must see him in-
stantly“! Say nothing more 1"

The servant, whose eye had glanced with a
momentary horror upon‘thc white‘fscs of‘the
sorpSe,'hurried away, and ‘then Rfli‘era took

ossession of the accountbook whicli'P'ehiger
ad brought, and alter glancing at it a mo-
ment, he opsuedasccret panshn the ceiling,
and there concealed it. f
. " I rathenthink our accounts arc-settled l”l

said he, as he glanced toward his victim!

“ The man who tells Ribsrsthat he lies,.inl
his own'houss, is apt to lie himself, still‘ and‘
And the-son had
better kes acool- ue between his..taeth,
or he‘ll fo ow in thfiotfieps of his 
father! 'But if I can keep lam in play, I w' ,
for be is careless and generous, and 1 soul

make what I please out ofbixn!” ‘ i

It W“ not long before Marcus Fcbigcr’
made his appearance. when-he entered the‘
N011) W119" Elbe" WM. he found the latter‘
pacing w and to. Bpparsntly in a state or
terrible agitation. '

“ What is the matter, my kin of the Black
Bird; ?" he cried, gailgy, for, at rst, he did not
see the car so of his ather.

“ 100k t ere l"  Ribera, to th.
body. . “ Mr. Febiger came in, gnparently

choking with anger, and belore he had been
in half a minute, or spoken five words, he fell
in afit, and died almost instantly. I knew
that it was useless to call in a physician, so
sent for you 1”

“ You must call a ph sician to certify to
the cause of his death— 9 always was apo-
pletic!” said the son, ~evincing no emotion
whatever, and looking quite unconcerned
upon the mortal rcmairib’ before him.

Ribera at once sent for s ph sicisn, from
whom he could get any kind 0 a certificate
that he desired. He was speedy in his attend-
ance, and alter a'brief examination of the
body, and one or twa inquiries about the
symptoms of his attack, gave a certificate
without .any’hesitntion, :that he died of a o
la . A purse of gold, sli ped slily into '
iiadd, by Ribera,’ rewards him, and he do-

: parted

‘ bera.

 

“ I' resume that on will have the bod rs.
move to New Yorg, for interment l”-‘ sai Ri-
“ A leadcn cofiin will preserve it."

“ I so pose that I must !" said Marcn
“just for the looks of the thing—though
don’t care where he lays! His stepping out
leaves me independent I”

“ Yes, ve rich, but yet you'd like to ho
richer, woul n’t on P"

“ Of course ; or I‘m going to make money
fly now, I can tell on l”

.‘\‘ Then you had etter leave your father's
deposits in my hands for the resent—the 'rc
invested in ‘ my black bird hne,’ and wil to
alize immense profits this season l”

“Well, I’m agreed—but, Ribers, do ms a
favor l” ‘

“What is it, in dear friend? Be assured
I shall comply wit your request; name your
desire l"

“ Just pack the old man up right, and ship
him home, to New York, by the first acket.
I wouldn’t have his corpse on boa ' of the
Bell‘liaxdonna for a dozen times its weight in

o l! ,
8 {‘HIt shall be done as you desire—won’t you
thk'é "1 little something to strengthen you
under this trial 1'”
“ Don’t care if I do, if ibis good and strong l”

I
I

replied the fselingless son, in a careless man- 1

ner.

Brady was brought and drank freel by
both, while yet the corps of the murJered
man lay before them.

“ Are on going to make any further search
forlthe 0 'ld ?" asked Ribcra, after they had
imbibed.

“ No—blast it, no! Not at present.“ least,
for I’ve enough to come and 0 on for years!
If she don’t turn up again, I' l have her pro-

perty at on rate, and that’sall that we lnv's I

over cared ouJZ’ ,. 

“Whenmill you go» back to New .‘York l”
the 01
cu know, thou h it’s all humbug—throwing
lynoney away which mightbs spent to a better

urpose !"

“ Oh, I wouldn’t begrudge him a handsome
burial. He leaves you possessed of ample
means i" '

“Yes, indeed! He wasn't such o'blood
old fool as to leave half his fortune to bull
at! hospitals, or colleges, or o_ 'han asylums.

eiknsw too much for that. e knew that]
could take better care of his money than all
that would come to. But, good day—r1 must
gumbo-ad- ond tell my wife that she has lost

at daddy-in-law. Got to break. it ens , 50.0.
for she": a kind of nervous delicate . it cl
.romsmty'. . See to the packing up of him Is
soon as pcuible l" I

Humming!“ old sea-song, the neanlessvson
went ofi’, leaving even Ribcra shocked at hi!
lsvity and want of feeling.

—_.-

CHAPTER XIX.

 With pomp snc yiaradc, such as wealth sl-
uwsys can commmn. III the at city—with a
‘,lc‘ngthened train. of mournersf?) in golég‘coln

carriages, followmg a splendid hearse,
by umed'horse‘s; all ,t atwas mortal of F’s-
!) é ', thc‘victim of "appple ,” v'v‘a's entomb-
0d, amid the monuments'of asenw’ood. And
over his grave a lofty monument was reared
to commemorate his virtués—his‘virtue , even
those which the hired prie‘st’ha'd so ed i'ig‘iscd
in his eloquent and carefully written anon!
sermon.

Ho virtues! What were they? Those of

‘kRiyht'awa , so as to be ready to receive 1
man’s ody, and have-a grand funeral! ;
That’ll have to be done to satisfy the world, v

ra‘wn :

many another millionaire who counts his ill-

gotten gold in our midst. To break the laws
of God and man—to cheat the rich and wrong
the poor—to ' rob the orphan and swell the
widow’s brimming cup of grief. Oh i holy
man of God dilate upon his virtues—let the
gilded dome 'of- our house of man-worship
ring to your we! -turned sentences, and then—-
then go revel on the gold you have earned by
ying, lying in the name of the Most High!

‘ Yes, the father of Marcus Febiger, with all
due form and ceremony, had been deposited in
sanctified ground, for unsanctified worms to
make banquet of, and now, sole master of his
ancestors! halls, the son and heir to almost
countless wealth was laying his plans to spend
his riches and “ en'oy life."

We will 'pa him a visit. He is engaged
with Mr. Blac ing, so long his father’s ready
and use ulous tool‘and legal adviser, in look-
ing over is father‘s will, pers, «to.

“ So- on say, that in this chest eve hing,
deeds, tles, accounts, memorandumso stocks,
to, are deposited!” said Marcus, pointing to
amassivc iron chest, which was enclosed in a
vault or safe, built in the wall of the room in
which they sat.

“ Yes, sir," replied Blackin ; "he arrang-
ed everythin with his own ands before he
sat out upon his voyage. Little did I dream
that it Would be his last i" .

“ Very well, Blacking, very well," and.
Marcus, at the same time filling up a check.
“ Here is a check for the five thousand dollars
he has left you in his will—you can go and
draw it. and needn‘t trouble yourself to some
back again!”

44  '7"

“ I spoke plain enough, I should think, for
a man of your discrimination to understand
me l" said Marcus, handing him the check
“ Draw your money and leave 1"

“ What, sir, do you discharge me 1’"

a Yes p”

. “ May I know what I’ve done to deserve
this’tréumant 2" .

‘ “You’ve done nothing ,in particular, but
you’re' a devilish old 'bore, and;I don't want
you around me! Do'you understand that f”

“’ I do, sir l But I doubt whether you under
fstand our-sell“ I" said the lawyer, bitterly.
‘“ You‘ 1 fidd'it bardth st'alo without me.
.‘for I, and'I only, thoroughly un erstand your
' late father's ' business l" ’

“I'll risk it! And”! want no more words.
You can pack up your duds and'leave l”

“ Marcus Febiger i” said the lawyer, rising,
"I will go, but mark you, this meanness
and ingratitude, you have ms can enemy who
will drag thousands from ygu'r ’cofi'ersl I
neither fear or respect you, t I’ll make on
re t this hour with ‘end of our life. on!
se' r’ets’ are no secrets to me, on ‘I’ll use them!"

‘Bsforc‘ Fsbigsr could‘rscovsr from the sun

rise which this boldness. in tbs usually hum-

lc lawyer, had occasioned, he was alone

Blocking had left.

CHAPTER XX.

“How are you, Mr. Queen—how are on!
You are just the man I w: looking or l”
cried Mr. Blocking, as, afier drawmg his

. money from the bunk, he espied the former
{pol-so e countering. with s thoughtful air
oblong all /strcet, looking asiif. he was pon-
dering over some weighty financial under-
l- “hus- .

The truth 1W", tintMr. Queer Ind two ways
of showing his buu'ness importalice in that
thoroughfare of Mammou—two entire suits of

mos to wear. One was the air studious
l. “obstructive, in which we now find him;
.tbc other was air hurriedA—a rushing along the
utmost» if the old boy‘wss after him, and he
uhadnno. place to hide In. Most him when he
won thsrfirst air—he would say, in the politsst
manner :
“ I beg on not to disturb me at pment, my
dearsir— have a very heavy transaction be-

sideration l”

 

If he wore'the other air, sad you interrupted

minim, hsiwonld-ssy: -

f' ""‘_Dun"t detain marl praypm dear sir! I
“usvc‘thirty thousand to raise or a friend be-
fore the bank cloaes,~and am in great haste l”

"And yet the amount of his study and his
"have, was all in his « mind‘s eye, Horatio."

Looking up, whsn’hc was addressed, and

seeing- Blacking, whom he had known'ss the

“legal man" of the wealthy Fsbiger’s, and ,

» Iors- ms, and am giving it my most serious cou- ‘

The White Wizard.

 

 

seeing also the large roll of hills which the
law er was stowing away in a huge pocket-
boo , Queer at once emerged from his ab-
stractedness, put his head out of his shell like
a lmwk’s-hilled turtle, and with a baboonish
smile upon his smooth face, said :

“ Ah, my dear Mr. Blocking, how do on
do! What a sad all‘nir that was—the den i of
Mr. Febiger, Senior—so sudden, poor fellow!
The last time I had the honor to take wine
with him his mind seemed de ressed. Some

oet, either Milton, or Sir Wa ter Smollet, or
If‘liomus Howard Paine, or Fenimore Dickens
—I forget which, for I read but little now, ex-
cept stock, and bank, and railroad re orts—
says that ‘ coming events sends s adows
‘fore ’em ;’ and I think that even then he was
looking through his soul’s eyes at the shadow
of death l Don‘t you, Mr Blocking Y"

“ If he had a soul, which .I very much
doubt!” said Mr. Blocking, putting his pocket.
book away, and buttpning is coat over it, as
if to shut it out from the greedy grasps of the
world’s hvenas. .

“ Why, you were on the best of terms with
him ,were you not ?"

“ Yes, as a handsome legacy, which he has
left me, will prove! But it was because I was
necessary to him—not that he loved me! He
never loved any one! His heart was as dryas
a burned bone. But he was better than his
son! He is a mean, dirty sooundrel l”

“ What! have on quarreled with him .7"

“ Yes, and 1e t him! I wouldn’t do his
business for twenty thousand a yearl But I’ll
cost him more than that. I know every secret
of his father’s and his,-.and I’ll teach him a

lesson, which, while it satisfies my hate, will.

also fill my pockets!”

“ I’m glad to hear of it i” said Quack“ glad
to hear of it, for he insulted me the last time
I met him! Let us go into the Tontine and
sample their liquor, and then we’ll have a talk
about this matter, for I’m with you heart and
hand i"

The lawyer, though usually ve abstenti-
ous, was not nowin a humor to re use the in-

vitation, the more especially that he wanted.
to make use of Mr. Queer, as will hereinafter:
Therefore, arm» in arm, the two:

appear.
“ worthies" de arted for that ancient “ place
of s irits,”'sn there imbibed.

“ believe that you were acquainted with
Miss Ione, the late Mr. Febigor’s nieceand.

ward l.” said» Blacking, after he had wi d his
lips with a yellow bandanna liandker isf. .

“ Yes,” replied Queer, “ slightly with her,
but most intimately with her father, his half-

brother, who was his superior in every way,
Poor Sinclairlihe was a noble fellow—knew.

how to mks mone , and could save it, too,
without beingimiser y at that!"

“ I suppo
was moi-nod t”

“ Yes, I did—I found it out the other day 13--

looking over the court record, and then I knew.
why young Febiger insulted me, and wiry the
old man got mad, when I asked about her. Es
said she was of! "on a visit to her southern rs.
.ations l”

“ She is dasdog'G dl

‘“ Dead 9 o o

“I do—I saw her 
was her murderer I”

dd not mean it P"
Marcus Febiger

“ Heaven’s and earth! Why don’t you have '

him arrested, tried—hangi—curse him—mot”
“It is not time-

“Living?” -
“ Yes. sad in the cars of its father!”
" What is ice-name!"

“ That I must withhold from you, atpresent. i

It is ainams' not vunknown in this city, on
throughout the land. But, my dear Mr.
Queer, Ihave something for on to do——a pro-
posal to make—widen shall, result favorably
to your fortuim. as sure as I Alive P"

“ Name it, my dear Mr. Blocking”me if,—
I am your mm P? , /

“It is that, in my absence—{orI am going
to seek the child and its father, nudist him
know what his rights are; .for I have the
original will of Ione's father in my own os-
session, besides some other documents,.w. ' V
will make Mastsr Marcus howl yet—that in
my absence, I repeat, you wall. keep young”
upon.sll his movements,  report to me.
I haveiswornto work his. rumpndlwill,
I pity his youngwifs, but she. will ruotmgy.
[on with him. I can perceive that she
re y is becoming sickened and disgusted with

his ruds vulgarity and drunken dehsushsriss l" 3

so that you did not know that she:

yet, Mr. Queer—but thr-
time will come—will come! She has I child!"

 

“ My very dear Mr. Blackinfi, you could not
put your trust in one who wi e more faith-
.nl t an your humble servant, even though the.
statement emanates from my own li s. I’ll
watch him as a cat watches a rat that as been
uilty of cheesi-larceny and other crimes! I
.eel more than a pecuniary interest in the
flitfirsinclsirlwas l:in best friend. That ‘
i e scoun re ou ttohong—to hangar-fir,-
l‘or murdering his dalgightstl” ‘

“ Quiet] , Mr. Queer—quietly! As I re-
marked beibre. his time and comel But our
hand musn’t be shown yet. ' We must lessen
his wealth, and get him entirely in our power
before a living soul knows what we know '
now l"

“ Yes. yes, I see i"

“ And now, Mr. Queer let us go and seal our
covenant over another ‘ sample’ of the Ten-
tine brandy l"

“ With all my heart, my dear sir—with all '
my heart!”

“Before I go south, I will give on full
directions in writing, for our instruction, how '
to act, and also how to a dress me!" said the
lawyer, as they entered the Tontine.

“ So do, in dear sir; so do l" replied Queer.‘

as he hel his glass in his band, the broker
w .

“ How singular, that right here, where we
stand, making a covenant of united warfare
against him, arcus Febiger should have in-
sulted mc~called me harsh names, and‘ told‘
me that if he had been at home when I asked
his father questions about Ione, he would have
had his niggers kick me—me, Amssa Queer,
broker, a: caters, ct caters, out of doors!" ‘

“ Insolent ! and yet he is just‘the man to put‘
such a threat into execution l” said the lawyer,
tipping his glass.

“ Hc’n never have thschsncol” mid Queer,
as he also inverted his gins.

CHAPTER XXI.

Beatlemania on scary! If not, loop with me
through ‘twengv years of the fog of time—shut
your eyes, for it is a long jump—wand let the.
Incidents of those twenty years be as nought
to us, except when ssreminisoencesrthey may
arise in dim and shadowy shape in future pages.
of our story.

Who is that lovely» 'rl,‘ standiig there be!
neath the broad spre i115l limbs the ever».

a live-oaks; oron ea ossoms -in the 
giddk tresses which ow lossily .over or
white shoulders‘? Hertal and statelwaorm
is' symmetry itself; her dress, fashioned grace-
fully to fit, and not to improve, the form, is
very elegant; her beauty never was e uslcd
in monarch’s court or peasant’scot. ho. is
she, standing there, so .like an angel, while
the dusky forms of s swarthicr race are seen
hovering aroundrgszing with respect, mingled
with love and awe, upon her?

A tall and stately-lookin man advances,
whose face, thou h darkens by e sure; in
a tropic clime,te s‘thst he, too, is o .the le-
faced rnce. His hair and beard, both white as
the driftinglsnow, are very long—his mien is
serene and majestic. The red children of the
{orest'look' upon i him with reverence.” he
passes, for! they think that he holds converse
with the “ Great Spirit’l—they know that he
is 'a powerful Medicine-man, and the believe
that, withs roplietic eye, he can loo into the
future. Wlli’o is he, you-ask?

It. is Arpiaka, the “ White Wizard" and the-

‘ great preph‘et of the Seminoles.

And the lad , she who szes out hpon the'
j s oceano the evergla es, from herlovcly
islan -home, is Ons, the cherub-child, grown;

into the angel-woman.“ ‘

How very beautiful: her great black eyes,
so full of light, yet so 'ssionless and ure—
her tail form so queen y—she looks li e one,
made to be worshiped, not loved as frail mor-‘
tsls love. - ' '

“ Where do your thoughts wander, dear?
daughter t" aske Arpiaks, as he advanced to,‘
her side. “ To that glitteringvoutside worldr
of which you haveread so much from my"
books, and whose enchanments, as well as its
evils, I have ever laid before you, freely., in
our._ converse? Do you sigh to in.
that wot 6. mistress ofthe fortune Whi there:
awaits you, queen of hion, and wit your.
beauty, to have the things which Ins-can
hearts, cast at your feet l’" ' ’i '4 ,'

“ Father, dear father, such jests are cruel!

 

You know that than is no world which I de-

sire, but that in which you. dwell. I am sure
that on jest!”

“ ou know that I never just, my child.
But I have noted that, very oft of late, you
wander away from our lodge—wander listless-
ly away—and stand for hours gazing out upon
t e green grass-liclds, or upon the dancing
waters, or u ) at the driving clouds, which in
wild, fantastic forms sweep darkly iitliwart.

the sky I” s
“Yes. father! Well, I am onl" dreaming
then. You know that my min is full of

strange fancies. I love to look upon the green
glados, and watch the fleeting shades which

nrken, fade, and brighten on the bending
grass. I love to look upon the dancing
Waters, which, like 'cwels in motion, leap, up
to welcome the gladl sunlight and the merry
breeze. I love to watch the driving clouds,
for they assume. man i a shape, which seems
like a spirit-form over coking the earth. Cliide
me not, dear father, for these fancies! You
have given me that, .which those around us
have not, an education, which has taught me
to knowithat I have a mind, and With itto
study, to reflect, and to \vnnderawny into the
fanciful realms of thought. lied on left me
in ignorance, as they are, I sliou d not look
above their level, perhaps—might enjoy their
wild s orts, and even listen to the wooing of
the no lest of them all, poor Osceola!”

“ You pity him, One ?” and as he said this,
Arpiaka regarded her closely, as if he would
read the expression of her thoughts in her
countenace. But there was no change there,
as she frankly answered :,

“ I do, sincerely, m father. He has man
noble traits. He is bol and ban hty among his
owu people, but to me, as hum le as if I were
a queen and he my slave. Yet there is s
stern pride in his very humility. Once, and
once only, has he spoken of his love ; then I
bade him speak of it no more, and his lips
have been closed ever since, though his elo-
quent eye and sunken check have revcsied
how he suffers. Not so with Coacocche !
Hois almost insolent in his advances. though
I have spurned him from me in scorn ; and.
were you not near. even nl'mnil - ' 
go, lwould fear him. He is as wily,as,rs-
morselcss, and as treachcigius as a snake in the
grass. which, with'venomed fang, lays ready
to sfiike from in concealment 1"

“He is a bad man, and my eye is upon
hint l”“said 'Ar inks. “‘ But soon he will have
enough upon is hands to turn his thoughts
from you. A war with the whites is inevit-
able: They have, for years. been so wronging
our-poor Seminoles, that retaliation is a
necessity. I, who have restrained them so
long, by my counsel and prophecies, can do
so no longer. For in own sake, if I would '
still'hold the powar'w ich has ‘given me such‘ ~
influence, had secured to 'me so many brave
adherents, who know no other chief than their

. prophet, I must urge them on, rather than keep’
them back, hopin , that, fortified as the are
by the hands 0 nature, in their pat less
swamps and‘trackless glades, they can secure‘
such terms of peace, eventually, as will leave
them iniquiet hereafter l” ‘ ~

“ You willnotrjoin in this war against your
own: race, my father 1'”

“In person lac—in heart, yes, Ona. I new:
will desert! this brave and noble tribe. When‘
my ownurace wronged me, and pursued me tov
the death, the received, protected me, New
I standsccon to none, not even Micauo'lpceli
To me theyilooki as almost to a!  ; hey-
heed 'my counsels, and .whsnlths Whisk that
I tallowith the Great Spirit, syare swe-
struck and th tremble W - . a

“Who will ad the tribestobattle 2" asked.

Ono. ~ i i . ,
“ 0sccola,thc bravest shied-sine! them 511..
Micanopee is old, and his arm is weak, butho- 
hssohosen Osceola to fill his place! .But I"
must back to the 10115;; for a council is to bcv
held, and! they will dumb, untilArpislisx
'P'iihwr phat" trod 1 i H but
‘ h‘é“ro ml esow.awa,, -.
Ono did not move. . She seerynedi ii». in.
troublsdi thought ,4 ,
“War isdreadful 1" she murmuredg.“tsrv.
rible in its cruelties—sc say the books which I.
have read. I: I wish that! could see Osceola.
I would pro him tabs. merciful, and I know
that he wo d heed me l"’ - ,
A‘Osscols is here,:andhis ears are open to
chowordynot the rWihitellove r: issid s deep-
tonsil voice nearhcr, and .1 she. turnedand bo-
hsld him of whom she had spoken aloud.

   
  

4—..Tir‘f“f -

 

 

 

 

 

i: —'*”rr:n"‘,'n.s;—r,.:-2~  5-~~:,.—-v:-un:._~g_ 7, _-__ , --r,—»

 

1.4

 

The New  Library.

 

And he looked one of nature’s noblemen, that
dauntless warrior, as he stood by the rough
trunk of a gnarled oak, leaning u on his trust
rifle, his knife and hatchet gird ed to his tal
erect form, his plumed turban overhanging his
high, clear brow. He was paler than the
generality of the red warriors ; for he was

ndian only on his mother’s side—his father
was a pale-face—one of that race who, with
Wallace, struggled for freedom, in vain, among
Scotia’s lofty highlands. And the expression
of his countenance was noble, intellectual, and
candid. He was no “ snake in the grass.”

“ Osceola, you are soon going to war!”

“ The White Dove has spoken the truth 1”

“ Will you do me a favor, Osceola ‘9"

“I would die for the White Dove l“

“ I do not ask thy death, brave Osceola, but
pray the Great Spirit long to sppre thee. That
which I ask is, when this term 1e war begins,
be thou merciful. War not upon oor help-
less womcn and children, and spare defenccless
old age. Strike where warriors strike, but
bid thy braves strike none but warriors l"

“ The will of the White Dove is the law of
Osceola l" and with a grace which many a
plumed courtier could not have equaled, the
chief bowed low toward the‘ground. Then,
pluckin a magnolia from a tree close b -— -
the emb em of pure love—he placed it in her
hand, and, without another word, departed to
join the council of the chiefs.

“ Poor Osceola—I pity, but I cannot love
him i" murmured Ona, as she looked at the
fragrant flower.

“ Wh do you not love a warrior, a great
brave, t en 1’” said a harsh voice, and an In-
dian, smaller in stature than the other, but well
formed, and full of activity and muscle, but
whose face indicated a heart full of bad pas-
sions, and a malignant, desperate, and cruel
disposition, stepped from behind a neighbor-
ing tree.

“ Coacooches, a spy and a listener I" said the
maiden, in a scornful tone. And, without
awaiting his reply, she turned hau htily away,
and walked toward her father’s 10 go.

“ Osceola shall die, and the White Dove
shall yet be mine I” he muttered, and he gnash-

a his teeth in anger, a: he watched her so-

 

CHAPTER XXII.

0n Arpiaka’s Island—for the large and fer-
tile spot where he and his especial adherents
dwelt, amid fields of corn, melons, fruits, sugar
cane, etc., was regarded as his own—a grand
council was being held b the principal chiefs
and braves of the Semino e tribe. It was held,
not now to consider grievances and petition
the United States overnment fo_r redress and
protection, as had an the case with previous
councils, but to consider how and where to
strike the heaviest and deadliest blows a ainst
the forces which that overnment h sent
into their territories, to estro their fields, oc-
cupy their hunting-grounds, s y their warriors
an make captive their wives and little ones.

Micanopee was not there; he was getting
too old to leave his vill , but he had sent
his chieftains to counsel with Arpiaka, for he
had confidence in the wisdom of the pro bet,
and in his devotion to his ado ted bre ren.
Osceola, Chitte Emathla, Uchee jo, Kialatah,
all reat braves and noted chiefs, were present;
antf, just as Arpiaka rose to speak, Coacoochee
entered, with a dark and gloomy face, a hate-
ful sneer yet lingerin there; for his heart was
bitter in that he had en so scorned by Ona.

When Arpiaka rose, on warrior in the

t circular lodge was s ' as death—their
5;: which had centred u on ,the council fire
which blazed in their mi st, were now fixed
upon him, and their ears were opened to his
words.

“ Brothers i" said he, s eaking in their own
00118“. With fluency an correctness, “ on
have come to me for counsel! I have tel ed
with the Gmt Spirit, and the words of truth
and of prophecy will fall from my lips. Take

{heed to them. [on have been forced to dig
a the war-knife. It is rusty. It must be
brightened upon the bow-J your oppres-
sors l”

A iaka paused, and sounds of approval

from lip to lip along the dusky circle.

Es continued 1

“ Already their warriors tread alon your
hunting-grounds. Their great tfiunder
at sunrise and at sunset over Es graves of
your fathers! And they hold you in scorn.

 

for they think you do not know how to fight;
that th only understand the science of the
trade. at the Great Spirit has whispered to
me that you will teach them better. Yes"—
and his voice rose. and his eyes flashed. and
his whole being seemed inspired—“ ca, 'l
see your first battle. You lay concea ed 1..
the thick bushes and in the tall grass. The
pale-faced army is marching through the

ine-barren—their chiefs, in glittering uni-
orms, ride carelessly in the van, their warriors
follow wearil on foot, and their big guns
lumber along in the rear. They near the well
formed ambuscade. Sudden] Osceola's war-
cry rends the air, and he sen s a bullet to the
pale-faced leader’s heart. And quick as light-
ning flashes from the cloud, each warrior picks
his foe, and sends death home to him while
the war-cries ring loud and far. Confused,
in terror, the ale faces fall back and build a
breastwork. §3ut ere that is done, not one in
ten remain alive to defend it. And they fhll
one by one, while no red man is touched,
either by the balls of their great guns or the
fire of tneir musketry, for t e pale-faces can-
not see where the red men are, and they throw
their shots away! Soon the last one falls, and
then the cry of victo rings high and loud
from Osceola’s lips. It is echoed by his braves.
not one of whom has fallen. And there lay
the ale-faces ready for the scalping knife?
The rest Spirit has shown me thir, my broth-
ers, and it will come to pass 1".

Not now a mere murmur of approval came
from that fierce and excitable band, the war-
whoo , swellin louder and louder, until it
was a most dea enin , came from ever chief-
tain’s li , and all asloudly and as wil it was
echoed back from the young braves who were
gathered outside, waiting the result of the
council, to which they could not yet be ad
mitted.

A ain, his eyes flashing more wildly still,
and coking up as if he saw all that he des-
cribed, Arpiaka s oke:

“ The Great Fa er of the pale-faces at Wash-
ington is very an ry, because his warriors are
falling like dry eaves before the ale. He
sends an army ten times as great, an a white-
hfired chief, a great brave, is at their head.
But my red brothers are not afraid. By a

at lake they make their ambuscade. A
eep swamp is before them. Behind are the
waters, but their canoes are ready to hear them
away when their work is done. They cut
away the bnflhy and then make rests for their
rifles, so that their aim will be deadly when
the foe advances. And they send a squaw
—one who has sense in her head and is not
afraid—and she lets herself be taken prisoner
by1 the pale-faces. And when they ask her
w ere Osceola and his warriors are, she will
lead them to the swamp, and so : “There,
in the woods beyond, ye will find 'm I’ And
the pale-faces will rush on, on to death and
destructionl And when Osceola and his war-
riors are weary with lcng fighting, or are
pressed by numbers, they will retreat across
he lake in safety. The ‘Great Spirit‘ has
spoken: It will be done i"

Arpiaka ceased, and again the wild shouts
of the warriors rose upon the air.

“ Will not Arpiaka go with us to the bat
tie?” asked Coacooche, who hid his covert
malice beneath the veil of a calm countenance.

“Arpiska can see the battle from here! He
will not go; but he will tell the warriors
where to gal He will remain, lest the specs
kled serpent come to steal his White Dove
when he is gone!” said the prophet, in a
haughty tone. ,

Coacooche, 'who wore ine speckled skins of
ting southern wild-cat for his hunting-shirt,
nn erstood the pointed allusion to himself;
but he said no more, for he feared the magic
power of the Great Medicine, even more than

c did the angry and flashing lance a more
than one warrior besides Osceo a.

 

The latter now arose and said : “ The words .

of the Great Medicine, our father and our
brother, have (put strength into our hearts!
We will go an fight the men who invade our
land—we will punish our oppressors! But
we will fight as men. We will strike their

warriors dead ; but we will make no war upon .‘

their women and children! I am read for
the battle! Who is not? Osceola has 5 0 en l
He is ready to lead. Who fears to lo ow f”

'Rcad the aooountof themsasacreof “or Dads!
command in any history of the Florida war.

The history or Taylor's battle of Okochobao,

l
' i
l
|
|

From every lip but one came tokens of ap—
proval. But on the face of Coacoochee, or
“ Wild-Cat,” the habitual sneer, rests-I and he
rose to s eak:

The heart of Osceola has grown ver ten-
der toward women of late i” he said. “ hen
he slays the male serpent, does he spare the
female that it may breed more? Or does he
save the young ones, that they may grow
strong enough to bits 1'”

Looks betokened that the strong similcs
used by the wily warrior had some effect.
Arpiaka saw this, and he knew that a check
must at once he put upon it. He rose and said :

“Man and woman are made in the ima e of
the Great Spirit. The tongue is crooke and
the heart is black which would liken them
to the ser entl The words of Osceola were

and, and e who does not listen to them will

frowned upon by the Great Spirit, and evil
will overtake him 1 I have spoken I"
most of them have perished oi yielded. still

Coacooche could as no morphs stood
alone in that circle. an he knew it.

The council was now dissolved, but Arpiaka
took Osceola to his own lod e, where, with
ma s of the count before im, with the
ski of a great an experienced captain, he
laid out the plan of the coming cam sign.
From their scouts, they had received in arms-
tion of the number, stations, and movements
of the United States forces, and from his
knowedge of the tactics of military men, A!»
piaka so counseled and directed Osceola in re-
gard to his movements, that the destructive

rophecies named by the former, could not
ail to be fulfilled.

Osceola listened with grave attention, for
he rwered and loved the father of the White
Dove.‘ And he promised to obey his instinc-
tions to the minutest item.

Before he went away, Ona came out from
her room with a beautiful scarf, which she
threw over his broad shoulders and across his
maul chest. The agitated warrior, who never
trem led before a foe, could only so. that the
gift of the White Dove should never cave him
while life was left to defend it. The scarf was
crimson, and upon it was worked the figure oi
a dove takin shelter from a serpent beneath
the outs re wings of an eagle.

Osceo a knew its meanin , and though he
uttered no knightly vow, 1' well did the fair

irl know that he would defend her if it need
e, while life was in him.
Then, with Arpiaka’s blessin , Osceola dc-

parted to rally his warriors an prepare for,

action. Bloc had already been shed—tho
war-cry had gone abroad, and there was no
time for hesitation then. An era. the com-
mencement of along and bloody struggle, had
arrived—a stru le wherein a brave and un-
fortunate hand , the original owners of the
soil, were to meet the tens of thousands, aye
the twenties and more, of well-armed and dis—
ciplined foemen, whose cit-thinned ranks
would fill as fast as the were swept away.

Terrible strugglel ruel and un'ust war!
Merciless persecutionl Robbed of their soil,
their homes d troyed, their fields desolatsd,
the graves of the r ancestry violated, their pco—
pls shot down wherever they were found,

unted, too, by blood-hounds, like sav
beasts—what could they do but fight to a
last for revenge—nothing else was left to fight
or! ’

Who can blame them? Who can help but
admire? With never above three thousand
warriors ready for the field, and they scatter-
ed over a vast territory, for man long you.
the boldl fought and haugh y de e the
'1' ion: 0 their oppressors, and though now,

twenty-two years since the last war began. a.

a noble few remain, who swear that the will

rish where their fathers died, but ' not
save their native land I

Were they not “ savages,” these harm—for
such they arc—would be held up before an ad-
miring world as examples of valor and pa-
triotism, more to be admired than that of the
Spartan band who fall with Leonidas.
. Shame, shame to the pale-faced race—even
if I an one—who will thus wrong a people far
more pure than themselves, who need no
prisons, use no muscles, and whose visas. or
the most do ' of them, have been learn»

ed from the civilized. Where does the destroy-
ing fire-water come from l’ In no Indian
ton e extant is there an oath, or is the name
fig: Great Spirit—of Deity—spoke; of ex-
" As an officer who served in that war, and saw to.
much ()flllr wrongs which the brave Seminoch enduss
“I, the writer speaks with feeling soul with tram.

 

 

A.

 

 

The r rWhitemWizard.

 

cept with veneration and respect. Even in
the war of the Revolution the savages shud-
dered at atrocities committed by tories ans
British, which they would not imitate. It is
on the record!

 

CHAPTER XXIII.

Twenty years have wrought other changes
than those which we have noted in our two
last chapters. We will look at some other
characters hitherto occupying prominent posi-
tions in our story. ' '

Who are those two entlemen, sitting hob
and nob over a bache or’s dinner-table in a
magnificent mansion on the Fifth avenue, that
grand arena of upper-snob-dom, that region of
retired beer-and-codfish venders, immortalised
by—‘w/llll? Wealth linked With the inherent
vulgarity of those neither born, bred, or edu.
cated for the station which they would claim
among the true aristocracy of the land—the
aristocracy of mind, of proud and ancient
lineage, of honor which never “stooped to
conquer,” or, buzzarddike, fiittened upon car.
rion, to gain strengt to rise among the eagles.

Who are they? Both have Time’s records
written in snowy lines upon their heads, yet
the furrows on their jovial faces have not
“ struck in" Very deep, and there is a me
twinkle in their eyes, especially in those of
the fattest and eldest one, which seems to say
that “ care has no abiding place with us i"

The silver service on the table, the ele ant
furniture, the luxuriant board, all s ea of
wealth and cdmfort ; and the liveried scr-
vants so attentive and yet so silent while the
meats are on the table, yet who at a signal rc-
tire after desert is over and leave the gentle-
men to wine, cigars, and conVersation, all be-
token that these two “ old covies,” whoever
they are, knew how to line.

“ Brother Queer," said the younger of the
two, “ do you know that to-day is the twen-
tieth anniversary of our co-partnership, or
.ather our ‘ covenant,’ made and sealed at the
old Tnntine l"

-‘ So it is, I declare, brother Blinking—so
it is! Well, well, how time hurries when we

at toward the end of our journey 1 He’s
like a horse with oats ahead—the nearer he
gets home the faster he goes !" replied thc
other, who was our old friend, “ Amasa Queer,
broker, st caters, et cetera."

“ But we have no reason to complain,
brother Queer; time has not roughened us
much, and by working brotherly in our ro-
spectivs lines, we have amassed about as
handsome a fortune as any one else can afford
to pay taxes on in this city of official corrup-
tion."

“ Yes, yes, brother Blacking, we may say
that we are comfortably well off ; in fact, as-
sert it positively, and without fear of contradic-
tion, as that jolly chap, Burton, would say I"

“ I wonder how that rascal, Febiger, feels
now 9” said the lawyer. “ Lot me see, his time
at Sing Sin must be out. He was sent for
ten years ;ghe was not keen enough for for.
ger ! But it ave his poor wife a chance for
a divorce, whic she might have had before,
if she would have taken it. It beats all how
some women will clingl to a man. even when
they know him to be eartless and criminal.
But it isn’t so with all of 'em! I know .
case where the wife, though she knew in her
heart that her husband was innocent, let him.

become the victim of a base conspiracy, list »

sued to the perjuries of amblers and courts
sans, and, in his darkest ours of trouble, do
sorted him—left him to his fate. But he rods

above his foes, and—she never has been I.

hap woman since i"

“ oor thing, she should have stuck to
him i" said Queer, taking another glass of old
wme. . _

u A rough-looking man at the door Wishes
so see you, Mr. Blocking,” said a servant, en-
‘efi‘nfil e f” I
' is nam

“ He would not give any, sir; but saidfihst
he must. see you immediately, for his business
was of ve great im ortancel"

“ Well, :how the fa ow up; it may be some-
thing that requires attention."

The servant retired, but soon returned, ush-
erin in a fellow who Icoked rough indeed.
His sir close-cut, and his yellowish pale face
at once betokened the discharged convict,
while his hardened expression and look of
brazen cffrcnter did not by any insane show
that repentance iad followed P‘inishment.

“ Speak of the devil, and he is sure to turn
up i" said Blacking, as he motioned the ser-
vant to retire.

“ Marcus Fsbiger, as sure as I live I" said
Mr. Queer, looking with disgust at the ragged
and filthy-looking being who stood, hat in
hand—if the battered tile he held could be
called a hat—before him.

“Yes, Marcus Febiger, free once more i”
said that individual.

“ What do you want here 9" asked Blacking,
sternl .

“ oney, money !” replied the convict. “I
can et no work; I don‘t want to steal if I
can elp it, for they’ll jug me again, and I
don‘t like to rtarve !"

“Take that and be one i" said Blacking,
and he tossed a five do lar gold piece to the
man.

“ Yes, leave the resence I” said Queer, as
he threw him a ten ollar piece.

The convict picked up the gold, and then
said, in a bitter tone :

“ Erastus Blocking, is this all you are go-
ing to give me? Do you think that you are
now living here in clover on much that once
belonged to me? Do you remember what
my father did for you 1’"

“ Yes, he led me into rascalities which it
.ias taken a whole after—life of honesty to
wipe out i"

“ Honesty! nouns" in a New York petti-
fogger l" snecrcd the convict. “ Where is
Barnum ?" .

“ You had better go and see i" said Black-
lng, swallowing a glass of wine.

“ Patience a moment, cod devil, and I
will i” replied Febiger. “ have a couple of
questions to ask, and Iwill trouble you no
more. Is there not some wa b which I
tan reach that infernal scoundre , Ri ra, who,
I know, has over three millions of my money,
No I am penniless !"

" You have no proof that he owes you s
sent l" g

“ N 0, you infernal scoundrel, no! You stole
the apers, and I expect went halves with
him ” thundered the convict. “ What should
hinder me fnom throttling you—you, the an-
thor of my ruin, on the spot 1'” And with
glaring eyes and flushed face the man seemed
about to sprin upon the lawyer.

“This,” rep icd the latter, coolly cocking a
pistol, which he drew from his pocket.

It is sstonishin how quickly some men cool
down when they ook into a pistol barrel and
know thsta‘steady finger is on the triggpr of "
the weapon. I have known a raving bu y, a
ducllist of the first order, a gambling assassin,
to subside in a second, when placed in such a
situation. -

Mr. Febiger was calm in a moment. _ i

“ Tell me, for God’s sake, where is my wife
and son 1’" he asked. " Tell me that and I
will 0 l”

“ on have no wife! She is divorced from
you, and our son has graduated with honor
at West oint; and, if you have one spark of
manhood left, on will trouble neithero them,
nor disgrace t em with your ressncs l"

“ I was tried and convicts under another
name; the do not know me as a convict l”
moaned Fe iger, completely broken spirited
by this last news. -

“ She does, if he does not; you had better
stick to your alias. Here are fifty dollars
more; t and be somethin now, and, if yo!
will do or yourself, I will 0 more for you I”
said Blocking, somewhat affected, when 11.
3w tears streaming down Fsbiger’s sallow

cs.

“Yes, by and be a man, and we will help
you! Here is a hundred' more!” said Queer,
with a patronizing air.

The convict took the money, ma, half.
choked with sobs, lefl: the room.

“ Poor devil, I’m sorry for him i” said
Queer. as he took mother glass of wine and
lighted another cigar, for the firs in‘his first
had been suffered to ex ire. '

“ So would I be, had not been in my pay.
crty and helplessness' so often the c ect of
his contcm t and abuse 1” replied Blac 'ng.

V “ What 0 you think he will do, now 9”
asked Queer. ' '

“_Ohl I suppose he’ll be like other poor
deVils that have fallen; robabl will go to'

 

orary forgetfulness of the past!” said the

_ wyer, on he replenished his wins~ lass and
lighted another cigar. for his firstth also

' gone out,
‘ _

the grog-shop and drink imsc into a tem-' ‘

15

CHAPTER. XXIV.

“ ly wife lost to me forever! No name,
no honor, no friends! And pennilcss. except
the gold insultingdy cast at my feet by those
who have rob ‘L me? What shall I do?
Commit suicid ‘3 Leap madly from ii hateful
world into the dark abyss of which lyet know
nothing? No—nol I am not so mad as
that! Shall I o to the accursed bowl which
has already ' tied iiic beyond hope? No,
no, enough 0 a it. But Ipm liungr ; I will
go and satisfy my appetite, and then s ape my
course. if course there is left to me 1"

Thus soliloqiiiscd the wreck of the once
wealthy and haughty Marcus Febiger, after
he had left the presence of the old bachelors.
And he hurried away to an entin v-liousc,
where he ate almost ravenonsly, for t is hun-
ger of over two days‘ abstinence gnawed with-
in him. After he had eaten all that he cared
for, his e es wandered to the glittering and
temptin r )ottlcs upon the well-stocked shelves

f tie ar, but he mustered all of the man
that was left in him, and paying only for his
food, turned away, muttering: “ I am low
enough now—it shall not sink me any lower 1"

Strengthened in body, but weak, ah! how
weak in spirit and in hope, the unhappy man
passed on, until, in a narrow street, in one of
the poorer (portions of the city, his progress
was clieckc b a crowd of men, women and
b0 s, who hady gathered around a small mar-
tia band. which was laying stirring national
airs, while, at interva s. a sergeant, who car-
ried a small American flag, invited recruits to
enlist, offcrin good pa , plenty to eat and
drink, nice c othing, an a chance to win im-
mortal fame and promotion, or death in the
swamps and glndes of Florida, in the ranks of
the Second Dragoons—a new regiment, just
formed, etc. -

“Who commands your company?” asked
the convict.

“Captain Fulton, of Company B.," said the
sergeant. “Do you want to enlist, my fine
fellow 1‘" .

“ Is there a Lieutenant Fcbigcr in our re '-
ment ?” asked the convict, tremb ' g With
agitation i

“ Yes; he is our second lieutenant, 'iist‘out
of the band-box at West Point! But lorida
will soon take the smooth out of him. Do
you want to enlist 9" replied the sergeant.

“ Yes. after I have attended to some busi-
ness. Where is your recruiting office ?"

. I

“ In Centre strcct, near .110 Park. You had
better go there now.”

“ Not yet; but I will be there in less than
two hours.” '

“ Well, let me take our name down.”

“ You can call me arston," said Febigcr,
and he hurried away, mutterin as he went,
‘f I will be near him. I ma in little save his
life, and, if I lose my oWn, will lose‘it brave-
ly; and, perhaps, when Iain dying, he wiii
know me and not curse his father." ' ‘

Marcus Febiger was not all lost yet There
was still some humanity left in his breast.
And so there is in even the most do raded, if
it is only drawn out and nursed into 'fe.

After leaving the recruiting party,'Febiger
hurried away‘ to a clothin store, where he
purchased a decent suit of p ain, coarse loth-
mg, and then he went to a bathing ta lish-
ment, and thoroughly cleansedhims f before

nttm it on. From this place he went to a
arber s, where a good shave still ‘fur'therbst-
tsred his appearance. , , ,. ,, .. f
_Drsssed as he was now', with no beard u ' n
his face, and his hair cut short (he had tol his
barber that it had been done while he was in
the hospital with a fever), he had no fear of
being recognized by any of his former asso-
ciates, or even his soy/Whom he had not seen
since he was a‘ybung‘boy.‘ "After strolling
around the street a while. and eating another
' hearty ‘meal, and taking a couple of glasses of
ale to give him strength and confidence, h. It
paired to'thc recruiting oflice’. ’ '
There he was met y the same sergeant
who 'at first did'not recognize him, so “much
had he' been improved b his ablations
and change of ap arel‘. Bu when he then-
finned the name 0 Marston the sergesnt was
del'  ' ' ' ' ‘
A _" W343 afraid you had sli ped your pro
, miss." said he. “But I see w at you’ve been
dung—been trimming up, so as to come' into
§ the com any in ships? "Twas In excellent

 

id“ 61‘ is no ins like making a fair

 

 

 

 

 

 

1,6,,

.. m... - -m~rr

‘3’!“ 3‘11, 13.“; “Jammy ~ tetra—r

 

 

The N eerork Library.

 

start. If you are steady and good it drill,
you’ll have the charms“ on your arm in less
thaua month. Come into the back room;
Lieutenant Febi er and the surgeon are in
there, and we'll ave you examined and en-
listed in lessthan ten minutes, and the bounty
in our pocket.
ebiger, or Marston, as we now must call
him, know not what to reply; but, tremblin
with itation, he followed the sergeant, an
in ano er moment stood before his own son.
“Another recruit, eh, sergeb. 1’” said the

l noble-looking young officer, as the two stood

ochre him.

" Yes, sir, and a good one. Six feet, full,
and as straight as an arrow—full-chested and
good muscle. He's been sick, he tells me,
and is a little pale now, but the color will
soon come to his face. He is clean and neat
as a pin in his dress, and that’s the best signs
for a good soldier l"

“A very fair s cimen—good eyes, plenty
of devil in him w en he’s woke u i" said the
surgeon, walking around him, an examining
“his points,” as a jockey would do before he
bar ained for a horse.

“ our name 1’” asked young Febiger, care-

lessly.
“ rank Marston, sirl" replied the recruit,
who had partially recovered his composure.

“ Have you ever seen service?”

“Some, sir, afloat; but I wish to see more,
and there seems a good opening in this war
with the Indians 1"

“ Yes. Surgeon Hammerslee, do you think
he’ll do 1”

“ Yes l" replied the latter, afier he had
made the recruit ste briskly about, punched
him in the chest, an about the loins and kid-
ne a few times, to see if he was sound.
“ {:a, he’ll pass l"

The oath_of service was administered, the
recruit signed his name in a bold, free hand,
and he was fully enlisted for four years in the
Second Be iment U. S. Dragoons—Twiggs,
(30th so Harley, Harm: Oolond.

The yo ofiicer now tendered the usual
bounty huge recruit; but Marstou refused
it, saying that he had plenty of money, and
handing the officer one hundred dollars, he
bigged him to keep it for him until he should
n it.

“From curl on e, I should udge that
you had syeen bziltgr days," said the officer.
who b an to feel a deep interest, for which
he coul scarcely account, in the recruit.

“ I have been worth millions, air, but I
hope to see my best days yet l” replied Mars
ton. “ But, sir, I have two favors to ask ?"

“ Name them, and if not outof my power,
I will grant them!" replied the oung ,oflicer.

“The first is, that I may not e uestioned
about the past. The other, that may al-
ways remain attached to your company 1 '

“ Both are simple, and shall be granted 1”
said the lieutenant “ Go, now, with Sergeant
Swart, and he’ll fit you with uniform. If
none fit you perfectly, the company tailorwill
alter them to suit you i” -

The business was over, and Marston felt‘ re-
lieved when he was again alone with the ser-
geant, for it was hard to be composed in the
presence of his son. ‘

“ Suppose we go out and take a glass of
something strong, to wet your enlistment i”
said the sergeant.

“ No, sir, thank you!” replied Marston,
firml . “Liquor has done enough evil for
yl I will never give it another

“You’re in for promotion, ms 1” said m
“Though I take a d3 occasion-

whom

CHAPTER XXV.

A lad , middle-aged, a, ct with much
beauty 1T1 her ccnntenaiig, dressed in deep
mourning, sat in s well-furnished room, her
appearance and aflitude, for she sat in an
easy “ reclining chair," ‘indicatin that she
was an invalid. Books upon a ta le Within
her reach showed that she was not alone, for
who, with a mind. is companioan when
books are near l .

A knock at the door amused her from a
savory, in which she seemed buried, “(.1 her
voice gently uttered the words. “  in l”

A young ofllcer, dressed in the nah' “lg-om

~mmumamusslms¢ufim

,son to her bosom, and, tho

 

 

of the dragoons, re lied to the invitation, and
hurrying to her si e, pressed his lips to her
brow fondly, and said :

“ Dear mother, how do on feel to-dayl”

“As well, my dear C arence, as usual 1”
she replied, takin one of his hands between
both of hers, an retaining it, while he sat
down before her.

“Which, alas. is never very well, my
mother 1” said he, sadly.

“I am better when you are near me, my
brave, my noble boy l" said she. “ You can-
not tell how I dread to have you go to
Florida I fear that I shall lose on for-
ever, either by disease, or the fata Indian
bullet l"

“ Ah, my mother, use there more, dismiss
such idle fears from your bosom. My coun-
try has educated me, and it is right that I
should serve her in return 1“ replied he, in a
playful tone. '

“ No need had you, my son, to ask an edu-
cation at our country‘s hands. My fortune
has ever en am Is for all of our require-
ments, and now, a death of our grandfw
Iher, Allsop, has left me beyondt e reach of all
contingencies, so far as money is concerned!
I almost wish on would resign 1"

“You would, not ask me to dishonor my-
self, mother ?" he said, in a tone that was al-
most reproachful. “ M comrades would
brandme with cowardicuflresiguedinwar-
time, while under orders to  my rcfi
mentl”

“Yet how unjust] . They cannot feel a
mother’s love, a mo er‘s fears. But I will
not urge you against your wishes, my dear
Clarence. I feared this, when I consented, at

our earnest eutreaties, to let you go to West

oint. But there was no war, or prospect of
war, then I” l

“ Cheer up, my sweet mother! I will soon
return, and wi win honor to in name i”
“ Alas, it needs it, my son, for on art the

only Febiger who ever did honor to the name.
Th father—but no, I will not speak or think
of im. He is dead to me and to you, even
though he may be living. When do you go,
my son ?”

“ Vs soon now, mother—our company is
nearly ull. We on] lack six or eig t of a
full complement, an. Ca tain Fulton, who is
an ardent, noble-scaled Virginian, is anxious to
be in the field 1”

“Well, God’s blessin go with you whcn~
ever we must part, larence; m prayers
will‘ rise constantly toward high. seven for
your safety I”

“ And you must be cheerful, mother. Do
notfret and pine, but lévie and hope for me;

.grow 0 again, an in own rett .
mother! $59.,cheeks I usedy to pinlih 
makethem rosy l"

“ Dear Clarence, you would draw a smile
from me if I were dying I”

And the fond mother pressed her gallant

h tears were fall-
ing from her eyes, she smiled through the

' shower, and tenderly kissed his yet unbearded

check.

I would linger o’er this scene, for I had an
anch mother once,, who blessed nu thus,
when she gave me to m country's cause I—
alas ! the green turf lays eavy o’er her now—v
but I cannot. 0n, like unresistiug Time, In
 travel—for the journey is yet

omr'rnaxm

A long mills cavalcads was winding
lhroughthe piny sums of middle Florida.
At times, when crossing thick swamps, or pass-
ing through tangled “hammocks,’ the has

would close u and preserve some order; but, .

as a eneral _ ing, especial] in the open pine
wo the column stragg on, its leader
acting with an indifference that was almost
criminal in an enemy‘s count .
The oilan all rode together at the head of
His column instead of being with their com-
‘es, and the cannon, which should have
u there, was ed lasil alon in the
rear. And this was Buss t eir 1e er, con-
fidsnt iathc bravery of his men and his own
mint! skill, held the Indians in contempt,
and nib:  small force thou ht that he could
sasin march from one and o the country to
the other.
Fatal confidence! It was that which ruin-
ed Braddock, and, brave leader, it may ruin
thee! I t

l
I

 

Repeatedl did thelex rienced guide and
old human: god to s ow them the route,
ride up to the coder and say :

“Major Dude, hadn’t the men better keep
in better order, I have seen Indian signs for
some time ?” I

“ Captain Eagan, do you attend to your
business and I will to mine," was the curt, but
not over courteous, repl which he received

“ If you run your hea into a hornet‘s nest.
it’s no work of mine I" growled the old woods-
man, more than once, when he was thus re-
buked.

The day was quite far advanced, and the
men began to lag wearily, and to scatter more
than ever. They were moving on rough an
open pine barren, skirting close alon by a
small prairie of high grass, intersperse with
slum s of the low, saw-palmetto.

“ e we not near a and camping-place,
Captain Ea an T" asked t e commander of his
guide. “ 'Ighe men are very tired I"

“ I’m afeard that a good many of them will
by down without camping, major !” said the
guide, who was ahead, and who had halted at
a little open sandy spot. “ Look there—do

on see them moccasin tracks? I tell you

hat the red devils are thick around us, yet
you send out no scouts or flankers. take no
pncautions for the safet'yhfl yourself or men 1“

“If I had known you was such a
stickler for safety, I would not have brought
you from Tampa I" said the major, with a
sneer.

Those were the last words that the rash and
unfortunate ofiicer ever spoke. The sound of
a single rifle shot, one wild and'terrible yell
reached his ear at the same moment that a
bullet entered his heart.

“ Form, men, form! Forward with the six-
pounder l” shouted the next in command, but
rom that moment no orders could be heard.
Thicker than hail came the bullets of the un-
seen foe, and every officer in the van, with one
exception, fell at that first terrible fire. Yell
rose on yell, thicker and faster flew the mis-
siles of death, the soldiers dropped on every
hand, and yet no red man could be seen.
The survivmg officer, an assistant surgeon,
retreated with the few men who were left, a
little ways back amon the ines, and, ather-
ing up a few logs, tri .to arm a low reest-
work, and got his piece of artiller into posi-
tion. Four or five shots were fire from this,
but without any effect, and in a few moments
the gallant oflicer fell with his death wound.
The rest of the men tried to d , but were shot
down in their tracks, and in s than a half-
hour all Is stark upon the und, who had
been so f of life, so gay an careless before.

Then loud rung Osceola’s shout of victory,
echoed by his braves, and the name of Arpi-
aka was heard on eve hand, for his first
prophecy had been fulfil ed.

Leav' to the negroes, and other followers
as base, e usual work of stripping the dead,
(hoeola and his braves took the arms and am-
munition of the fallen pale-faces, and departed
to repars for other battles.

t was soon night, and the despoilers of the
dead were obliged to desist until morning.
And under cover of the night, three of the
men, terribly wounded, on t from amid the
11:31) “3! slam, and 0:10 of :13; after unheard
cs 0' reach the " outosts,
and liveldmtg'teu the fate of 

The have passed away; but yet you will
often ear the tale from quivering lips of
“ Dade’s massacre "—hear it told as I, who
have been upon the battle-ground, have de-
scribed it.

Some historians say that Micanopec was
there, but theyzerr—hswss too old, and never
fired a gun in that war.

v ""5"
ER XXVI].

Yet another battle must be described: It
was Christh morn, a few weeks later than
the fatal .day when Dads perished with his

‘: command. And yet amid filalgmnt flowers
‘ and trees, whose reen was unfadi‘ng, an
‘ army, consisting 0 several rogiments, moved

on in solid column. A portion of this bod
consisted of southern volunteers, hot-blood ,
rash, but illy disciplined, ,as their after con-
duct showed; but the master-spirit of the com-
mand, a short, thick-sot man, both “rough
and ready" in his looks, held them in control.
He, the leader, rode in front with his ad-

. I jutant and aids. every company ofiosr as

The White Wizard.

 

 

well as regimental being in his place And
with him, under close uard, was a squaw,
mounted upon a lithe little pon ,who, after
a most ludicrous chase of severe. miles upon
the night before, had been captured b some
of the mounted volunteers. Apparent very
much terrified and under fear of deat , she
had told the leader that adarge body of In-
dians, under the famed Osceola, was encamped
upon the borders of the great lake Okocliobee,
only a few miles distant. And by threats of
unishment if she did not, and of rich rewards
if she did, the leader had wrung from her an
a parently unwilling consent to guide them to
the location named. Ah, well indeed did the
decay play her part. She was so fearful that
the Indians would kill her for tliUs guiding
their foes, that she obtained a promise from
the leader—and Zachary Taylor never failed
to keep his word—that she might leave the
moment she showed them the enemy.

On moved the gallant column, the Sixth
Infantry, Ta lor’s own regiment, in the van—
compact an steady, moving all as one man.
Onward until the sun was well up in the still
and oloudless heavens, when they reached the
borders of a long and grassy swamp, where
no tree afforded shelter to advancing men,
and over which the horses of the mounted
force could not be taken.

Beyond was a dense hammock of oaks,
magnolias, and mangroves; and therein, as
the squaw said, lay the Indian camp. And
smokes were seen arising from different por-
tions of the hammock, and now and thei the
dusky form of a red man was seen upon the
edge of it, and a ell of alarm or defiance was
heard, thus provmg that the squaw told the
truth—the Indians were there!

She received her reward, and was allowed

to depart, and brave old “ Rou h and Read ” '

deployed his men into line, an prepared or
action. Dismounting from his horse, and
leaving all the horses of the mounted men un-
der guard, he marched along the lines to sea
that all were ready for the charge which he
was about to make against an ambushed foe,
whose numbers he did not know, for be novel
stopped to count or ask the numbers of the
,enemy. He only asked when they were, and
then “went in to win." _

Taylor’s words were few, as he moved
along his well—extended lines.

“ Men, remember Dude’s massacre, and do
your duty 1” was all that he said.

Then, when all was read , his voice rang.

from the right, clear and and as a bugle——
“ Forward 1” v

With a loud cheer, the gallant men moved
on, the swamp at times knee-deep, and then
again they sank in mud and water to their
waists, or nearly so—yet on they moved, pre-
servin an unbroken line.

In c dark hammock beyond, all was now
still as death. Not a yell could be heard, not
a dusky form seen now—the very smokes had
died away.

" Ma e the Indians have run away, colo-
nel,” said a blue-eyed boy, who, belon iiig to
a different branch of service, was a v0 unteer
aid on the occasion.

“ I rather think you’ll sing a different tune
pretty soon, youngster!" said the colonel,
with a smile. “ There is generally a calm be.
fore a storm l” '

Steadil on toward the shadowy hammock
pressed t e line, until it was within rifle shot
of the woods, and then indeed the calm was
broken, and the storm of strife began. All
along that black range of forest, from amid
the sheltering trees, a sheet of fire seemed at
once to run, and the bullets came thicker than
hail, while the terrible war-whoop seemed to
emanate from a thousand, aye, ten thousand

throats. Whole latoons went down. 0(-
ficers, singled out the keen marksman, fell
on eve hand. he southern volunteers,
who h been at first the most impetuous,

now fell into disorder. They began to retreat.
In vain did their brave colonel and his -
laut son strive to rally them. Both fe in
the bold and almost mad endeavor

It was a critical moment. 001. Taylor saw
it—knew that all was lost without a rapid
movemeit was made. ‘

“ Charge, in gallant Swath I” he cried—-
‘ cuhcrge at don 1e quick tune—don’t stop a.
10 l” ‘ _

On—on with a thundering sheer, tlssywcu
toward the unseen but not fill! M
men and officers drop ing at every step, but
at last, lcafiugfull h of their number dead
or d ' , in c miry swamp. they gamed ,a
foothol on the firm ground

 

But where were the Indians now? None
were there to meet the ready ba onet; none
lay there the victims of the ran om shots of
the troops, but yell after yell in proud tri-
um h rose from the lake beyond, across
which, in their li ht canoes, they were speed-
ing in safet an unharmed. Pursuit was
impossible, or there were no boats with the

on call it a victory when a battle-field is
icon—or rather when the foe has retreated
and it is occupied—but can that in truth be
called a Victory when all the loss is upon the
side of the victors? If so, 'twas dearly
bought, indeed—bought with the lives of
many gallant officers and men who deserved
a better fate.

Yet, on second thought, I don't know about
that! They were in the wrong-invadii
the. birth-rights of the children of the soi ,
tryingto drive them from their once happy
homes. Upon consideration, I don't know
but that they merited all they received, al.
though it would have been better that those
had perished who first had started the unjust
and cruel war.

*

CHAPTER XXVI“.

Heavily fell that blow upon the United
States forces, which had also suffered severely
in several minor conflicts further to the
westward in the territory. 001. Taylor, bur-
dened with a lar e number of wounded,
and illy supplied thh stores and provisions,
was forced to return to Tampa Bay, or Fort
Brooke, as that station was then called.
Meantime the United States government, ever
dilatory when most haste is required, was
slowly gathering troops into the territo ,
while the Indians, now blood tasted and ma -
dened, were carrying death and desolation,
with fire and hatchet, into all of the border
settlements. Terror was running through
the land. Only in the larger towns, or within
the picketed forts and stations of the arm ,
did the citizen deem himself and family sa e.
Plantations were deserted, and while yet the
fugitive owner was in sight, he would see
the smoke of his burning buildings. From
beyond the Suwanee in the west, to the At‘
lactic coast in the east—from the Geor ian
Swamps on the north to the Mangrove eys
in the south—the red scouts swept far and
wide, and death accompanied them where
for they went.

But, as ct, Osceola had nobl kept his

romise. Wherever he and his and went;
men fall, but the women and children were
spared.

And now that he had shown the strength
ofhis nation and their skill in war, and well
aware of the immense force which ultimately
could be brought against him. Osceola, pru-
dent, though bravo, determined to endeavor
to negotiate an honorable peace

Trusting to the honor of the pale-face—vain
trust, for when did the ale-face ever treat the
red-man honorably ?— e, according ,to their
own customs, hoisted a flag of truce, which
was answered in the as c way by General
Hernandez, at Saint Au stiue, and under
this tacit pled e of safety, the heroic chieftain
went in to see a conference with him.

Alas l he knew not the base treachery which
awaited him—a treache which should for-
ever blast the names of t ose who concocted
it and put it into execution. The brave 0s-
ceola was seized while yet his hand held the
white symbol deemed so sacred among honors.
ble men—seized, loaded with manncles, and
hurried down into the dee est and darkest
dungeon of the old Spanish ort at that place.

T is warriors who accompanied him, among
whom was Ooacoochee, thou h meritin
mercy, were also imprisone , but in
quarters.

What wonder that rage and indignation
should fill that noble wamor‘s breast? What
wonder that in the bitterness of his heart he
should curse them that had so wronged his

loss
tter

trust, and swear eternal vengeance a the
faithlcss race, if once he was freed in their
power, loased from their chains! What

wonder that he should chefs like a caged lion
while the rust of the iron gyves fairly sat into
his bones. \

“Wh do you not treatmcassman?" he
asked 0 his’ captors

“ You are not a man; you are a savage !" '

was the reply.

God of Justice. what an answer! Thus

Icomrades endure their imprisonment.

 

17

spake, those who Iil'oilml Guntomozin on living
coals to wrench from him his treasures-——who
tortured and led Montezuma to death, that
the might rob him of his jewels and goldl
Who were the savages there ?——the civilized,
or the uncivilized — the Christian, or the
heathen? Let history, with its record of
blood and of shame, make answer!
Not long did Coacoochec and his wiilly
‘ is
uards opened their prison-doors one morn-
ing, but they were not there. How they had
escaped, long remained a mystery.
Heavier manacles Were placed 11 on 0s-
ceola, though he was safe in the deep ungoon

where they had confined him, and he was
torn own from his loved Florida, and carried
to Fort oultrie at Charleston. Oh, desecra-
tion base and unnatural! There patriots had
bled and died in defence of their native land !
But now a patriot, noble as the noblest of
them all, was brou ht there a captive, to suf-
fer and to die! fies, to die, for when the
took Osceola from Florida, hops left his
brave, proud heart, and it broke!

He died I Yes, murdered upon the fiinoral
pyre of honor—c victim to the faithless race
in whom he had trusted. We may believe,
though we know not, that even in death’s
bitterness he remembered the “ White Dove,"
for a smile was on his face when they found
him dead. They could torture ,him no
more

, CHAPTER XXIX.

There was another council held ugon Ar-
piaka’s island in the everglades, for hikika
and Chittce Emathla, and others, had heard
with grief and indignation of the treacherous
capture and beds imprisonment of Osceola
and his comrades. But the news of his death
had not reached them, nor yet of the escape
of Coacooohee. The rejoicing of the red men
over their recent victories was hushed, and i
their faces were dark with gloom.

How to rescue him from captivit , or to
force the whites to release him, was t c ques.
tion before the council, and, as ever, the ad
rice and wisdom of Arpiaka was consulted.

Pardon me if I depart from the council a mo
ment, to relate a side incident which occurred
during their session. I will return to it soon.

In a sad and pensive mood, One was wan-
dering along the ma 'n of the island,stop 'ng
now and then to pic a flower, but than, ist-
lessl- plucking it to pieces, and dating the
crus ed-lcavcs away. She wss thinking of
poor Osceola, whom she honored and pitied,
though she did not love him. Her heart as

at knew no love but that which she felt for
or father, and the fond memories which she
cherished of her mother. Was it ever to be
thus? Was no fitting mate, heaven-destined
hr her urc bosom,to appear and wake the
hidden re which all like her ossess, to a
outer or less degree V Let time and our

tare chapters reveal that which is yet 0
mystery

The maiden had wandered‘to some distanss
away fi‘om her father’s lodge, and now stood
alone by the clear, silvery water, at the usual
landing-place of canoes, coming from the
south, or rather, from the south-east. While
thus she stood, lookin at her own love]
form, mirrored in the g ass water, she be
the sound of a paddle, an looking up, her
c es full upon the form of Coaooochcc, who at
that instant landed.  . .

Though his usual sneer was on his face, she
spoke to him, knowing that he had been cap-
tured with Osceola. ,

“ Has Osceola been released t” she. asked.

The Indian folded his arpis upon his breast,
a sardonic smile gathered upon his face, as he

aused and scanned her from head to foot, but
e made no reply.

“ Good Ooacooclice, do tell me, is Osceola,
like ourself, free .7" _

“ 0! when the ‘ White Dovc' would seek
news of Os'ccola, then Coacoochee is good!
But when he tells the ‘ White Dovc’ that he
loves her, and Would take her to his lod e to
be his wife, then her. face grows dark, an she
calls him devil I” said the Indian, in a bitter
tone.

“I will ever speak kindly to ou,‘Ooacoo-
shoe, but do tell me what I ask " she ed.

“Does the ‘Whitc Dovc’ love Oscco a?"
he asked. fixing his glittering syc upon her
face. so that no emotion expressed that. should,

escape his noticg.

 

 

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" Yes, as a brother is loved by a sister !" she
replied.

“ Then let the ‘ White Dove ’ weep for
Osceola—she will see him no more!" said he,
while a malicious gleam of satisfaction shot
sthwart his dark face.

“ What! dead—so noble and so good, and
dead !” she moaned.

“ No—better than that! He lives to safer
in chains in a dim eon; but he is dying; he
refuses food, and his heart is broken!”

" Not dead? I will go to him! My prayers,
my representations of his noble character will
avail, and they will set him free !” cried the
generous—hearted girl.

“ Yes, come! Coacoochee will take on in
his canoe !” said the wily villain, and his eyes
flashed with sudden passion, for he thought he
had her in his power, and he advanced toward
her, asif he would lift her into his best.

But at a glance she divined his passions
ind his vile intent.

“ Stand back, wretch i” cried she, as she
drew and cooked a istol within a yard of his
naked breast. “ tand back, or on dis!
W hen I want escort I will seek 0 er than
the coward who deserted his leader; in dis-
tress!”

Ooacoochce's serpent—like eyes flashed with
s deadly anger, but he knew thatt he maiden
was firm and fearless, and that death would
meet him before he could reach her. So he
drew his canoe up on the shore, and sullenly
turning away, disa peared in the direction
of the Grand Councfi House, to which, reader,
we will now return.

The proposal which Arpiaka made, after he
had somewhat cheered up the gloomy war-
riors, and had bid them to rise superior to
despair, was that the should seize some noted

eneral or leader 0 the whites—if possible,
ernandez himself — and hold him, with
threats of torture, if Osceola was not deliver-

ed up.

Chikika followed him.

“ The words of my brother, the Great
Prophet, are good!” he said. “ We will act
upon his counsel! And with him, I say to
my brothers, be strong of heart. We have
lwon great battles without loss, even as Arpiaka
foretold. It is true a cloud is upon us now,
for Osceola is not here, but we have strong
arms to rescue him, or, should he perish, to
strike for revenge l"

“Then prepare to strike, for ’ere this, Osce-
ola is no more I" cried Coscoochee, advancing
into the circle.

“ Why is Coacoochee here and Osceola ab-
sent f” asked Arpiaka

“ I and those who were with me escaped—
sll exce t Osceola!” said Coacoochse.

“ An you left Osceola to his fate 2”

“ We could not aid him! He was confined
h a dungeon beneath the ground, and bound

chains We were told that he refused to
eat food, and was (1 ing. But we were not
placed near him, an when our uards slept,
we escaped ! I am here, and res y once more
to fight the pale-faces!"

The wily chief set down, and for a time
there was silence in the council.

It was broken by the arrival of a runner
from the north, and he brought the tidings of
Osceola’s death.

Then, like the low muttering of distant
thunder, was heard the words of anger and of
anguish breaking from those warriors’ lips.
And while the chaunted the brave deeds of
their lost chie , they mingled their threats of
revenge in the wild song, and vowed that for
each drop of blood that had stiffened in his
broken heart, a pale-faced foe should fall. The
time to ask for peace had passed—the time to
trust in the mercy or the honor of the pale-
faoe was gone, gone, never to return!

After taking advice from Arpiaka, in regard
to ensuing movements, the council bro! a up.

Then Arpiaka returned to his lodge. where
he found Ona wee ing.

“What is the matter, daughter 1’" he asked,
woiiderin to see tears fall from her eyes.

“ Poor sceola is d ing broken-hearted in a
dun eon. my father’!’ she said.

" o, my girl. he is free from the malice of
his perseoiitors l”

“Free, father. ran f”

“ Yes, child, free in death—hi. spirit has left
this, for a better world I"

“ Thank God that he will suti‘ei no more !"
she murmured, and her tears ceased to tlow.

“ Did you love him, One ?" asked her father,

“ As a brother, I loved him—he was gentle
to me. noble to sverv one. He was the oppov

 

I
site in everything of that hateful Coacooohce, i
whom I both fear and detest l"

“ Why, do you fear him, my child 1’ Am I
not ever near to rotect you 1’"

The reply of na was a description of her
interview with Coacoochee, when he landed,
precise] as it occurred.

Arpia a’s brow grew very dark while he
listgned to her story, and when she closed, he
sai :

“If the base wretch is not more careful. he
shall feel the strength of my arm and know
how dangerous it is to cross my path, or bar-
bor evil thoughts a ainst the dove of my
bosom ! Never stir a read, my child, without
attendants, and on no occasion, either by night
or b day, do you be unarmed l”

“ never am, my father!" she replied. “ And,
thanks to your tuition, my aim is almost as cer-
tain as our own !”

“ An closely watch your food, my child,
for he is revengeful, and may, by some means,
attempt to poison her whom he cannot pos-
seas!”

“ I never eat until my food has been tasted
by some of my pet animals, father. for I was
warned of this by Osceola I"

At that moment a sharp twang and a
hurtling sound Was heard in the air, and an
arrow' struck Arpiaka full upon the breast. A
low stream broke from Ona’s lips, but there
was no need of her terror, for the arrow fell
splintered at her father's feet.

“ My shirt of mail has rendered me good
service!” he said, with a smile, as he icked
u the broken pieces of the arrow, and c eered
his daughter’s fluttering heart with the assur-
ance that he was not hurt.

But anxiety shrouded his face when he
looked at a mark on the feather-end of the
arrow, and saw that it was the stamp of a fish,
the si ru of Ohikika.

‘ hat can Chikika have ainst me, that
he should seek my life?” sai he, in a low
tone. And then he bade one of ' slaves to
go and seek Chikika, and ask him ,_ come and
see him.

The latter was soon by his side.

5‘ Why does my brother seek my life 1’”
asked A iaka, gravely, as his eyes met those
of_ths ta chief.

“ Thy life? My brother’s words are s e,"
ssidthc chief, in ssrpriso. “I cannot er-
stand them.”

“Whose arrow was this, which was sped
from yonder orange grove, full pointed toward
my heart, but entered not, for the shield of
the Great Spirit was before me, and shattered
it thus?” said Arpiaka, exhibiting the frag-
ments of the arrow. _

“It was mine,” said Chikika, “but it did
not 0 from my hand to thy breast. I lent
my ow and arrows to Coacoochee but a lit-
tle while since, for he wanted to shoot fish In
the Glade with them, he said.”

“ Where is he now 1’"

“I saw him pushing ofi' in his canoe but a
moment since,” replied the chief. “ Shall I
follow and sla the traitor who would have
killed in hot er l”

“ No,’ said Arpiaka. “His failure shall be
his punishment. He will not now due to
come near me, for he has seen that the (‘reat
Spirit protects me. I cannot be slain! Let
him 0; he is a darln warrior, and hates our
pale; aced foes, and, t ough he will not“ me
now, he will harrass them." 7

“It is true; in brother is as.) the
Great Spirit is wit him,” said Ohihh \ JI-
lng thoughtftu sway.

 

CHAPTER XXX.

‘ A couple of gentlemen are below, madam,
who wish to see you," said a servant to Mrs.
Febiger, some days after her interview with
Clarence, which we described in the twenty-
fifizhehapter. “ Here are their cards.”

The invalid lady took the cards and read
the names of “ Erastus Blanking, Esq.," and
“ Amasa Queer, broker, a mm, at actors.”

“ Ah, these are the men whose evidence and
assistance rendered were of so much value to

“ Excuse my rising, gentlemen ; I am, un-
fortunately, quite an invalid," said the lady,
as she, by a motion, directed the servant to
hand chairs for her visiters.

“Very excusable, madam. I regret your
" illness, sincerely,” said Mr. Blocking, With a
low bow.

“And I from the lowermost depths of my
heart, I assure you, my dear madam 1” said Mr.
Queer, makin two profound hows.

" I noticed in the pa ers, madam, that our
son had graduated wit great honor at est
Point," continued Mr. Blocking.

“ With decided distinction—stood far above
par in his class," added Mr. Queer.

“Yes, gentlemen ; but, while I feel a pride
in his success, I have to mourn that it deprives
me of his com an . He has sailed with his
compan for lorida, there to join his regi-
ment, w ich is already in service."

“ Ah, indeed; but we will hope ‘for his
safet and success,” said Blacking.

“ es, hope is a blessed thing. It has kept
me up many a time, when, amid the fluctua-
tions of stocks and the crash of broken firms,
1 almost began to despair I" added Queer.

“ Our particular business here this morning,
my dear madam," said Mr. Blacking, “ was
to ask if your late husband had in any way
annoyed you, and, if he had, to offer you our
services to get him out of the country or
locked up again. He has been out of prison
for some time, and called on us to learn our
whereabouts, which, of course, we woul not
give him."

“Most decidedly not !” said Mr. Queer. tak-
ing a pinch of snulf. and tenderin the box as
the lady, which, a ' course, she eclined, for
she was a lady, an would not make a dirt-
tunnel of her nostrils. ,

“We ave him quite a sum of money, and
advised im to reform, and see if he could not

at be a man,” continued Blacking. “ At first
he was rough and hardened, but our kindness
seemed to soften him.’

“ Evento tears I” added Mr. Queer.

“ If he has a wish to reform, Heaven help
him!” sighed the lady. “He has not been
here, and it would be useless for him to at-
tempt to see me. I never will permit it. We
were never united in heart, and now, that I
am free from him; I shall remain so.”

“ Excellent idea !” said Mr. Blacking.

“ Most excellent l” added Mr. Queer.

“Ihope you will ermit me to call occa-
sionally, to inquire a ter your health, my deai
madam 1’” said the lawyer. .

“And your humble servant also?” added
the broker.

“Certainly, gentlemen. I thank you for
your kindness,” said Mrs. 1".

,Her visiters now arose, and, with man
bows, left her presence. She felt relieve
then, for she was really too ill and low-spirits
ed to enjoy any compan , even of her own
sex, not to speak of gen emen who were al-
most strangers to her.

“ A fine woman!” said Blacking to Queer,
as they passed into the street.

“ A am/ fine woman 1” replied Queer, as
they moved along.

“ Got lots of money by her father’s death,”
said the lawyer.

“ Worth enough to stock a bank, or build a
railroad," added Queer. '

They now walked on for some time in si-
lence. both seeming to be deep! abstracted
and occupied with thought. At t the law
yer broke silence :

“ Have an ever thought of mat! imony,
brother Queer 7” he asked. _

“ Not till very lately, brother Blacking," re-
plied the broker. 1

“ Nor I,” continued the lawyer.

“ Mrs. Febiger is a any nice woman—I was
just thinkin of her,” said Mr. Queer.

“ So was ," said the lawyer.

4" I think her and in self would make a cap-
ital match,” continue the broker;

“ Mr. Queer!” cried Blocking, in a tone
sharp enou h to drive a tenpenny nail home
into a pine ot.

1“ What I" cried the broker, in a tone of
wonder.

 

me in obtaining my divorce,” she said to her-
self. Then ad ressing the servant, she added,
“ Show the gentlemen up."

In a short time, the two ancient bachelors
were'ushered in—both of them dressed with
extra care, and actually looking so neat and
well, that one mi ht be ardoned for “ guess-
gng " that one or both ha actually been think-

ing of that most desperate of follies in old- !

bachelordom, matrimony.

“ You’re a devilish old fool, air! The lady
! is oung enough to be your grandchild, sir.
i t business had you to cost Our eyes
I where I was about to place my primeval af-
i factions ?” thundered B acking.
! “That is the uestion which I should ask
,3 you, sir i” cried user, in a tone equally ex-
cited. “ As to being old, I may be a car or
3 two your senior, air, but I’m flesh on blood,
‘ ur. not skin and bone 1"

f

 

19‘

 

 

“Amasa Queer, I’ll—I’ll—"

The lawyer paused, though halfmhoked
with re s.

“We , what’ll on do 1’" said the broker,

using also, and ooking as if he was ready
gr battle.

“I'll scknowled e myself to be a devilish
fool, to quarrel wit one who has lived lik
brother with me for twent years, about a
woman who probably woul n’t have either of
u I"

‘ “ And I’m another, brother Blacking. Take
my hand, and let us wipe away all remem-
brance of these unpleasant words overa bottle
of old Amontillado."

“ A reed, with all my heart, brother Queer.”
said B acking.

And the two old bachelors walked off brisk-
ly, arm and arm, as cheerful as if the had
never spoken a word in dispute. Woul that
all uarrels, with a woman at the bottom,
con] end as cheerfully and as bloodlessly.

But this is a queer. world, and curious do
ings illustrate it.

CHAPTER XXXI.

After the battles of Okachobee, Withlacoo-
shes, Ocklswaha, Lake Monroe,Jiipiter Inlet,
etc, etc, the United States government be an
to learn that even thou h they had but a ew
hundred of scorned and wronged Indians to
contend with, et they were not to be despised.
The ablest o cers were foiled and beaten;
disease and death thinned their ranks ; and the
Indians—here, there, and eve where—mov-
ing with wonderful rapidity an secrecy, kept
continually at work. Express riders were
shot down, scouts and sentinels cut off, one by
one, and yet so few Indians were slain or on
tured, that the taking of a squaw or a coup e
of papooses began to be considered a matter
of such importance, as to require a special dis-
patch to headquarters.

The forces were increased, posts established
through all parts of the territory, where they
reallyI were not required, and t e pine-barrens,
whic were easy to march t rough or ride
over, and which would be the last place in
which to find an Indian, were thoroughl
overrun by their military scouts. The red
men, laughing at such scientific warfare, re-
treated to the fertile islands in their great
swamps and everglades, where their s uaws
planted corn, potatoes and melons, whi e the
warriors, savin up their powder and lead for
their ale-face foes, speared fish and turtle
in theIlakes and lagoons, or with the bow and
arrow bron ht down the turkey, scarlet-coated
lamin o, the “ coon,” deer, and a hundred
other ' of wild game. more abundant
there than in any other region on this coa-
tinent.

' From these hiding-places small parties often
sallied out, and wo to the scouting party
which passed their ambuscades. One volley
from the red men would lays dozen or two of
the soldiers low, then let the rest charge u on
the spot where the Indians had been, and the
were not there. Search was useless and
pursuit vain. If the red men in an section
were closely pushed, or had got near y out of
ammunition, a white flag would be shown,
and they would evince a desire to have “ a
talk "—come in, get presents of blankets, to-
bacco and whiskey, steal or buy powder and
lead, and then absquatulate, leaving the duped
pale-faces to “ talk " by themselves.

But this could not last always. A taxed
peo lc be an to ask why over eight or nine
millions 0 dollars a year was being spent to
exterminate a few hundred Indians, and used
in vain. General after general was recalled,
or begged to be relieved from command—
Clinch, Gaines, Jessup, and even Macomb had
botched their work—Amstead did but little,
and it was left for Taylor and Worth to nearly
close the‘war. Thus far historical and (x-
planatory—now to our story again. .

' Findin that the main body of the Indians
4 " ho ed away " in the Big 0 press, and
among the thousands of islands in the ever
glsdes, approachable_ only b boats, throu h
intricate and almost inaccessi le channels, 0
Second Dragoons dismounted. and the Third

Artillery, actng as infantry, were, at the time
of which I write, sent to co-operate with a
marine and naval force in that section.

One morning, when a portion of these forces
were encam at the mouth of the River
Hiami. as it is called. a small. boatsble creek.

 

The White Wizard:

which, runnirig out from the evei'glades,
empties into ey Biscayne Bay, near Cape
Florida, a scout came in and reported Indian
signs up at the head of the stream, some
eight or nine miles distant. where a small
party had apparent] encam ed and landed
with two canoes. e so ju gcd by finding
two stakes to which the boats had been
fastened.

“ You’ve been sighing for a chance to die-
tinguish yourself, Lieutenant Febiger, for some
time; you can tr your hand now I” said Col.
Harney to our friend Clarence. “ Take your
favorite sergeant, Marston—who, by the way
is a tip-top soldier—and twenty-five men, and
try to render some account of the infernal red
houndsl"

The young officer was delighted with the
order, and hastened to obey it. In a very
short time his detachment was embarked in
six of the long. light, cypress canoes which
had been furnished to the government at
about ten times their value, for the urpose
of using in the narrow creeks and ayous.
Up the stream, which is slu gish near the
mouth, but very rs id town its head, the
young oflicer urged is boats, himself leading
the van. It was well on in the day, swing to
the rapidity of the stream, before he arrived
at the place where the scout had seen the
signs; and here, though he had not had a
great deal of experience in wood-craft, he at
once saw, by the numerous spots where fire
had been buib. that the arty was lar er than
the scout had supposed or reports . But
numbers would not deter him after he was
started, and as his men were armed with that
incomparable wea on, then newly invented,
Oon'r’s REPIA'HNG ins, he determined to fol-
low, and not to return without an engage-
meat.

The scout, who did not belong to the re -
lar service, but was hired as a sp an a
guide, remonstrated against this in we strong
terms, that Clarence angrily bade him go
back, and take care of his precious person in-
side of the fort.

Then, jud ring that the Indians had entered
the evergls es, then almost entirely unex-
plored, he boldlylteok the first channel which
0 ened before im in the great “Grassy

ater." And, as if to prove his sagacity,
scarce had he entered it. when at a distance he
saw a canoe with five Indians in it, which,
however, under their skill and stren ,soon
disa peered sin; but he follow on, not
doubting but at somewhere he should come
up with them. And, still more to exhilirate
his ambitious hopes, a column of smoke was
seen to rise from a small island, covered with
trees, a couple of miles or so in advance of
him, and soon it, evidently a signal, was an-
:iwered by several smokes in different direc-

one.

“We are stirring them up, seargeanti"

said the yo ofiicer to Marston
“ Yes, sir. hope we won’t stir too many of
them, though i”

“ Wh , you are not afraid of powder, I am
sure! every action, so far, you have be-
haved as if you set no value whatever on your
hfe, and by your gallantry merited your rapid
promotionl’ ..

“ True, sir, life is of little value to me; but
you, young, with a bright career before you,
gen must not rasth row your life away!

otulhtco, sir, have another to live for, I have
no

The utterly hopeless tone in which these
last words were uttered, touched the sym-
patahetic heart of the young oflicer, and he
an :

“ You musn’t be so down-hearted, sergeant;
ypu have much to live for—may yet receive

rther promotion! You speak truly—I have
some one to hye for; it would break, in
mother’s heart if I were to fall, but I must
stand my chance among the rest 1"

“ Wll. you do me a favor before we land on
yonder is_ ad, heutemnt ?" asked Marston.

“ Yes, if within m line of duty l"

_“ Then, sir. please lay aside, our frock-coat,
with its straps and butter», w ich make you
too conspicuous a mark for the enemy’s shei-
shooffll‘s. Ind put on this plain jacket, which I
brought urposely for you 1” said the ser-
geant, nn olding a arcel.

“ You are yery t oughtful, Marston, and it
would be unkind of me to refuse your request!"
said Clarence.

And he _too of! his coat and put on the
Esket, which ' not now distinguish hill!

m the other men. ‘

overhead, all was very still.

 

They approached the small island rn idly,
but the smoke which had been raised acted
only a few moments—then died away.

ith commendable prudence, a virtue always
allied to true valor, the onng officer scattered
his boats,aud landed wit i caution. The island,
which did not contain more than ten or fifteen
acres, was a beautiful spot? A fine grove of
large live oaks covered most of it; the under-
brusli had all been cut awn , and corn, sweet
potatoes, pineap Ice and ananas had been
lanted there, an were now in full perfection.
ndian signs were plenty. and the remnants of
the fire of sticks and damp moss with which
they had made their signal-smoke," was dis-
sovsred, but note single living being could
be seen or heard.

It was now nearly dark, and Liont. Febi-

r determined to encamp there for the night,
finer, thou h other and larger islands were in
sight, and not very distant, it would have been
utterly useless to t and follow the sinuous
channels in the dar .

Posting sentinels thickl around, and haul—
ing his canoes ashore, an with them forming
a temporary breast-work, to use in case of
sudden attack, the young officer repared to

ass the night. A small camp- re, hidden

in distant view by bushes cut and stuck
like a picket around it, was li hted, and over
it the soldiers made their co es and cooked
their supper, improving their opportunity by
a pro riatin corn, potatoes, fruit, etc, rom

e In ian fie ds. They had brought no tents—
in that climate none were required.

Thus, before dark, all, exce t the sentinels,
were as comfortably encampe as they could
have been at the regimental head-quarters;
And the latter, when relieved every two hours,
en'oyed the same comforts which their com-

es had before, them.

Two there were in the little camp who did
not feel much inclination to sleep—one was
Marston, the other the young lieutenant, whd’
felt the responsibilit of his station. Strict
orders were given to eep silence in the camp,
and, as there was scarce a zeplgyr to stir a leaf

he lieutenant
had wandered down to the edge of the island,
upon the side toward a larger one, which
seemed to be distant not more than four or five
miles. While he, stood there, the faint turn has
of an Indian drum was heard, the sound seem-
in to come from the e island, and, once
an a while, shrill yells could be heard in the
same direction.

“ They are dancing the war-dance. I shall
have hot work to-morrow,” muttered the
you oficer.

A sigh, dee and heavy, as if it came from
an overladen eart, fell u on his ear, and that
was the first intimation he that any one was
near him. On looking around; he saw, by the
pale light of the moon, the form of Marston
standing, like a statue, by the side of an oak,
where he had been when the cflicerapproached
an l at. I posed that had

“ h , ser t, an on
turned llyl,” saigdatllic lieutgnant. y

“ No, air, when one has but a few hours to
live, it were foil in him to waste them in
also ,” replied arston. “I heard the noise
and: by the savages, some time since, and,
came down here to listen and reflect."

“ All right, exce t your idea that you have
but alittlc time to vs. Banish all such ideas
from your breast, sergeant. Armed as we are,
wc are us! to more than a hundred white
men, let one a lot of ignorant savages. pie.
miss all thoughts of death from your mind,

h In
mY‘ . “elation” said the sc cant, u .

choked voice. “ I could not if would, I
would not if I could, for life, long since. he-
came to me a burden; I have a presentiiasnt
that to-morrow will be my last on earth.” ,\

“ Let us hope not. I have long noted that
some secret sorrow seemed to prey heavily
upon your mind, and have felt a deep syni pt
thy for you"

«God bless you—God bless you i" and, for
a few moments. sobs choked the utterance of
the man. Who. though a father, with a parent’s

earning love in his bosom, dared not. even
then. With the presentiment of approaching
death laying like lead upon his heart, make
himself known to his son, lest that son should
d_s_s_pise him.

' 3! thcsc moss-made signal amok”. which would
suddenly lend . den” column up in the air, the Indi-
ans. during the war, communicated the a proloh of the
lovernincnt trow- to each other. Ind us were pre-
PlNd in attack or evade them. Like magic. I have
seen a dolen of these teleuflphh "Whittle 1!
quarters is a law moments.

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Nobly had he striven to redeem the man-
hood which almost had died out during his
career of dissipation and crime—with what
success, his promotion and the respect enter-
tained for him by his oflicers can best give
proof.

At last he became calm again, and, drawin
a sealed package from his bosom, he handed it

' to Clarence, and said :

“ Sir, if I fall to-morrow, open this, and it
will tell you the history of one who, in his
latter brief and unhappy days, tried to redeem
the errors of his early life. And should one
tear of pity fall from your eyes when I am

one, s ould on thin of me kindl , and
liear my last, a most hopeless, request or for-
giveness to one who is named therein, then I
shall not have lived or died altogether in
vain.”

“ Your request shall be complied with,”
said Clarence. “ But cheer up, my man. To-
morrow we will have a merry fight, and whip
out a score or tWo of these red rascals, and go
back with honor to the regiinentl”

“ You may, but I shall not. But excuse
me, lieutenant; I will go the rounds, and see if
the sentinels are on the alert. We cannot be
too watchful when the enemy are so near.”

“ True, ser cant. I will go and take an
hour's sleep, i I can get it. Let me be woke,

,. if I sleep, each time that the guard is relieved.”

“I will, sir,” replied Marston. “But I
think we will not be disturbed here to-night
If we are, it will be 'ust before daybreak,
when men are genera ly supposed to sleep
most soundly.”

“ We will be ready for them; but I think
they will await an attack from us,” said the
young officer, as he walked back to the camp-

fire, and, wrapping a blanket around him, cast 4

himself upon a tired soldier’s couch—the
ground.

And the sergeant went his rounds, murmur-
ing as he went: “Noble, noble boy! If I can
but die for him, and he return to tell his
mother that I preserved his life at the cost of
my own, then, perhaps, she will forgive me.
and shed a tear for me when I am gone I"

 

CHAPTER XXX]!

The sound of the Indian drnn, and the
yells which had reached the ears of the lien—
tenant and his sergeant, came from the island
of Arpiaks. The party which had encampcd
near the head of the Miami was a ortion of .
Chikika‘s band, headed by himsel , who had
been out to see wli at the forces below contem-
plated, and who, now that danger was so
near to Aripiaka in his chosen island home,
could not be induced to leave him without pro-
tection, at least, until it was settled whether
the whites would venture into the unknown
intricacies of the tglsdes. If they did, he was
not onl prepare for resistance there, but
afar o , in the very centre of the Great Cy-

ress Swamp, he had prepared another home
ibr his adopted brother, which the pale-faces
might seek to find in vain. for it was a track-
less way which led to it, through man a dark
and windin creek, through many a linding
bayou, ami tangled mangroves and cypress,
which would check the progress of .anything
human, except an Indian, and bother every-
thing else, except a serpent or an alligator.

It was Chikika, in person, who had detected
the advance of Febiger and his small detach-
ment—bis canoe which the latter had seen.
The chief had been so near that he had count-
ad the number of the enemy, and he had made
‘he alarm signals before spoken of. li‘rom
Arpiaka‘s island, where some seventy or eighty
of his best braves were assembled, he had
watched the movements of the young ofiicer,
when he landed and encamped, and he Judged
tightly. that the lieutenant would defer. an
examination of the larger island until morning.

He had made his report to Arpiaka, and

. they together had determined to defend the
‘island, and to utterly cut off and destroy the

party, so insignificant in numbers, that had
thus come to “heard the lion in his den.”

To effect this, Al‘Pia-lss, whose knowledge
of militar matters was extensive, had shown
the chic how to construct breast-works at
every accessible point of landing, so that when
the whites advanced, the Indmni, fully covered,
could receive them, with deadly aim, at point-
blsnk firs. _ I

After this was done, Chikika had assembled
his warriors to dance the war-dance, with
hi words. and the recital of their lower deed.

 

oi valor, stimulating them for the coming
struggle,

Qua stood upon the fanciful little porch
which fronted er father’s lodge, gazing out
through the trellised vines upon the wild
scene, looking at the dusky forms, which, hide-
ous With paint, danced and lea ed like do-
mons around the fire which had en built in
the large square, in the centre of the encamp-
ment. Their frightful yells, as they brand
ished their weapons of death, rung harshly
upon the ear, for her associations had not de-
stroyed the woman-nature within her pure
bosom.

“ My father,” said she to him, as he stood
by her side, “ ou surely will not mingle in
the strife whicliv you anticipate Y”

“I shall use no weapons against m own
race, dear child,” was his reply; “ but must
encoura e my brave defenders with my presr
ence, an strengthen them with my counsel 1"

“ Cannot these men he made captive, instead
of being slain?" she asked again.

“ That were indeed a folly !” said he. “ We
have not more than enough to provision our-
selves—no warriors to spare to guard them ;
and were they released, they would guide
over owering numbers here to destroy us.
No, or our own safety, the must perish; and
it is but a just reward or their temerity'.
They invade our homes for the purpose of de—
stro ’ng us. In this war, so far, they have
neit er shown mercy or honor; they merit no
mere at our hands .”

“ t may be all ri ht, my father, but this
illiedding of humun blood is, to me, very terri-

e H

“Naturally so, my dear child; yet there
are cases when it must be done. Now, we set
not offensively, but strictly in defence of our
homes and our lives. But, dear Ona, youhad
better retire; Do not stir from the lodge, in
the morning, upon any account. Go in now,
for ‘I have matters to arrange with Chikiks.
and would see him alone I” ‘

The sweet girl kissed her father’s lofty brow,
and retired within the lod e—not to rest, for
she could not slumber while the shrill wall-
cries were ringing in her ears.

And Arpiaka walked slowly forth to most
Chikika.

f4 CHAPTER XXXIII.

The ni t used on, the moon went down,
and the ay owned—but no alarm was given
to disturb the camp of the oung lieutenant.
The'sun rose unclouded, an a cool and gentle
breeze whispered anion the leaves overhead,
and rustled sway sail the tall grass of the
glades.

Several: small smokes, rising from the or ‘

island, gave evidence to the officer that n-
dians were encamped there, and in such
strength of numbers, that the did not deem
any concealment necessary. at so confident
was he in the courage of his men, and the
great su eriority of his repeating fire-arms,
that he f tnohesitation about attacking them,
and he bade his men take matters easy, and
get a comfortable breakfast, at the same time
announcing that he should move immediately
after upon the larger island. The men, who
were. much attached to their young leader,
who was kind, though strict in his discipline,
cheered him heartily, and hurried through.
\heir morning meal, and prepared for work.
Marston seemed very cheerful, and. moved
about with an slacrit which induced the
cung officer to think at he had conquered
is dark forebodin s of the previous evening.
He had not learns enough of humaunature
to know that o clock of gaiety often covered-x

the coffin of ho‘ e—that some men are ever!

“ saddest when t ey smile."

The sun was about an hour. high when the
camp was broken up, and the canoes again
launched. After very carefully impacting all

of the arms. and seeing .that each man was

properly supplied with ammunition, the lieu-
tenant gave his final orders, and bidding them
follow where lie led, embarked, and headed:
his boatfor the larger island. The channel,
though crooked, was quite plain; but they
moved on with caution, lest at some sudden
turn they should unexpectedly be met by the
Indians, in their canoes, and receive a fire be-
fore they were prepared for it. :
Thus nearl two hours ela sed before the
same within ong rifle shoto the large islami
U on it, now, ev ing was still as death.
'1‘ e smokes had discppecrgd, and not s sign

 

,-

d life could be seen upon the shou, as they
slowly and steadily approached.

“ I’m afraid the have given us the slip, Mars-
ton!” said the o oer.

“No danger of that, sir; we will soon see
and feel them, tool Have you got the pack-
sgc which I gave you, sir?

“ Yes, it is core, inside my’vcst!” said the
ofiieer. '

“ If my advice is not intrusive, sir, I would
scatter my boats, so as to land in an extended
line, ifI were in your place, sir. The enemy
cannot then so concentrate their fire, as now i"

“ You are right, sergeant. I am obliged to
you i” said the officer, who, unlike some foli-
i'nga of the " button,” whom I have known in
my “ day and eneration,” had the good sense
to listen to an refit by advice, even if it did
come from a su ordinate.

The line of boats was‘extended in front of a
smooth beach, hack of which a skirt oflow
hedge-like bushes arose, and then the order
was 'ven, in a voice loud and clear as a bugle,
by C arence, to “ land I”

With a hearty cheer the men dashed on; in
a moment they were close to the beach, but
then the ominous silence was suddenly broken,

.and from the bushes covering their front a
terrible fire was opened, which seemed almost
as one discharge. More than half of the men
fell dead at the first fire, and others were
wounded, but the impetus of the boats drove
them to the shore.

“Charge 1” shouted young Febi or, as he
leaped, unhiirt, from his. boat, fo owed by.
Marston, who .had not yet been touched.

But another volley, apparently from are-
served force, rung upon the air, more menu
went down never to rise again, and both
Marston and his leader were desperately
wounded.

“ You had better retreat, sir, or you are.
‘lost 1” criqd the sergeant.

“ Never, so help me God, never!” cried the.
young oflicer. “ My poor men, my poor
men!”

Then firing rapidly into the bushes, thou h -
he could not advance, he cheered the few w
yet lived with his shoutand bade them do

attle to the last.

But loud above his shout srose the flora.
yells of the Indians, and their unceasing fire
was ke t up, and vs soon onl two of all
that a ant band had ' e left in them. T
had red. their last shots, and were too. w
to load again, when the Indians, heeded b s
chief of immense size, by whose side I is
glue-faced man with long, white hair and

ad, dashed aside the bushes with which
they had masked their breast-work, and rush-i
ed on to finish their bloody work.

The sergeant, who, was even then dying.
drag ed himself before the form of hishelp-
less Isader,‘ and, locking wildly at the white-
haired man who advanced, recognized him,
and cried: ‘

“ Arthur'Livingston, for God’s sake, save my
Ion—save Clarence Febiger, if on are a'man l"

‘ M God—is that Marcus ebi er f” cried.

in a, for be it was whom the ying man
called Arthur Livingston.
' “’ All that is left of him—Clarencc—Chh”

He turned, cast one look of fondness upon
his. bewildered and astonished son, then fell
back dead 11 on the blood-stained earth.

" Hold— r our life, strike him not. _He
is my prisonerl” cried Arpiaka, as Chihka
was about to sink his tomahawk . into the
lieutenant’s brain. ' ‘

The chief - obeyed, while his warriors, with
med shouts, hastened, as usual, to scst and
strip the slain soldiers. Arplsks, who now
supported the faintiu .form' of the wounded
eflicer. caused severe of his slaves to hear
him to his lodge, where, with consummate
chirur ic skill, he staunched his wounds, and
dresse them as well as he was able. He,
hoped that the wounds were not 
though the were very dangerous, for Arpiaks
was not no urally hard of heart, '

After he~hsd administered an. opiate to the .
still insensible easel, he went out to meet
Chikika, to consut him upon their future so-
tion, first. however, telling, 0m. who had
seen the wounded ofl‘lcer brought in. to Watch
over 11M. with an attendant, and to notify
him should file sufferer awake. ,

The bet/Jo was’ovsr, and the resenfiment
of Marcus Fehiger hadbeen fulfil ed—hs slept.
his last dwep, and could err no more.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.

“ Will the oung chief of the pale—faces
“ye i’” asked Cliikika, when Arpiaka rejoined

m.

“ It is doubtful !" replied the other “ His
wounds are many and dangerous? Care and
skill may restore him—the Great Spirit only
knows i"

“ Wh does my brother seek to save his
life i" as ed the chief. “ Is he not our enemy i"

“ Yes, but I will make him our friend. I
s ared him because he is a cousin to my
c ild. Is my brother angry that I should do
so 1’"

“No,” replied the chief. “My brother is
wise and good. Who shall question his acts
or dis iute his will 9"

“ Did Chikika note well the face of the man
who threw himself before the young chief and
asked for his life. though he sued not for
more for himself!”

“ did i" re lied the chief. “ He was a
great brave, an did not fear death i"

“ That man was the young chief's father, I
expect, from his words," continued Ar iaka,
‘ and it was he who slew my wife, an who
drove me to seek refuge with my i'ed
brothers 1"

“ Does m brother want his scalp 1’" asked
Ohikika, quick] thinking, in his nature, that
the trophy wou d be valued by Arpiaka.

“No,” replied the latter. “Give him de-
eent burial; I do not wish to look upon him

ain. Bury his comrades also. They fought
ii 0 brave men, and their bodies should not be
left to the buzzard and the crow l"

“ M brother‘s will shall be done i" replied
the chief. And then he continued : “ Is it not
likely that the pale-faces, who are man in
their camp by the shore of the great salt ake,
will come to look after these men when they
find they do not come back ‘1’"

“ Yes," said Arpiaka, “and it will be best
for us to go very soon to our other camp in
the ‘Great Cypress,’ where they can never
come. Then you can move out with small
parties, and cut off their detachments while
the search for us, make smokes to mislead
an make them weary, and make them think
that we are many, and roaming everywhere !"

“ My brother’s words are wise and will
please the braves! Chikika will have them
ready whenever my brother is prepared to

o in
g 0 I O

.

Clarence Febiger lay upon the couch where
Ar iaka had laced him, breathin faint and
so tly, yet s 1 with ood sign 0 life. His
face was very pale, an the long, dark lashes
is like a frin e of silk upon his white cheek.
His curlin air hung in tangled clusters
around his ofty forehead, and his small white
hands lay clasped upon his bosom, which rust
and fell ve ently with his ten pressed
breeth' . [fie looked very beautifu to On
who never before seen a young man of
her own race, for he was infinith more hand-
some than any of the warriors w om she 
seen, not even excepting the noble-looking
Osceola.

Having sent her attendant from the room 
bring some cool water, with which to lave his
heated brow, should be awake, she tglove wa
to the new and unaccountable sym a y whic
filled her bosom, and moistens her great,
dark e es, and she bent over him, and kissed
his white cheeks and hot brow, tenderly,whi!e
she murmured : ‘

“ So young, so beautiful and brave ; he must

not die I"
' Her kisses seemed to brin some sweet
memory to the sleeper‘s trance brain, for he
murmured something, while a smile seemed,
like sunlight on snow, to come and go upon
his bee. She bent down her head to catch
tho“ '0’“, whilea stran e fire flashed in her
eyes, and a flush reddcnc her cheek.

How strange it is that the moment which
give! birth W 10". also brings jealousy into
existence

She listened, find a glad smile came over
her face, for his words were: “mother, dear
mother 1" v a

" I, too, had once a mother,” she murmured,
and the hot tears fell from her eyes down upon
his ice, as she kissed him again and again.

But she blushed deeper than ever, anc
started back, as his eyes slowa opened.

" Where am I f * Dead, and inlthe presence
ofan angel?" he said, in slow tong while he
looked in wonder upon the surpassineg beau-
tiful creaturebeforc him. ~\

 

The White Wirgard.

“ You are living! I am only a woman, and
grieve that you are so sad] wounded ; but do
not talk, I will go and o my father l” said
Ona, gently, and she hurried out

“ Heavens! She speaks English, talks like
a woman, pities like a woman, but she looks
like an angel. Where can I be i"

“With a friend—one who will save your
life, if on will but be quiet, and not give
yoursel u to excitement !" said Arpiaka, en-
tering, giving him another 0 into, more
powerful than the first, which h an almost
immediate efiect.

CHAPTER XXXV

When Clarence Febiger again awoke to
consciousness, he was many miles from the
island, where his brave men had fallen, and
where he had been wounded. Arpiaka, well
knowing that a search would be made for the
missing party, and robabl with a force too
large for the strengti of C iikika’s band, had
left his island-home, and gone to the secret
fastness in the “ Great Cy rose," where he had
no fear of being found, an if discovered, could
defend himsel against almost any odds.

It was on the fourth day after this removal,
when he permitted the wounded oflicer to be
restored to full consciousness, having kept
him in a partial state of stupor by the use of
anodynes. A dreamy vision of passing through
flowery fields, and again through dark and
noisoms b sways, where the grunt of the alli-
gator, the iss of the ser eat, and the scream
of the startled bittem fel alone upon the ear,
lingered in his bewilkered brain. And a pic—
ture, too, of loveliness, of a itying angel, who
had hovered about him, bathing his hot brow
with water, and murmuring man a word of
tender sympathy, was in his min .

When he woke, he found himself reclining
upon a most comfortable couch, in an apart-
ment dimly lighted, but airy and comfortable.
The first thing which his eyes rested upon
was the same fairy form thrt greeted his eyes
on his first return to conaoiuuruess, after being
wounded, but the moment that he opened his
eyes, and tried to move, she rose and glided
from the room.

While yet he wondered who or what she
was, the tall and stately Arpiaka entered. look-
ing, with his snowy hair and majestic hard,
like some weird magician of the olden time.
His pale face was grave, but its ex resins.“
was not unkind, as he advanced, and is t oi I‘r
youn ofiicor's also.

“ heream f” asked Clarence.

“ In safety, Clarence Febi er l” said Arpiaks

“ Who are you, sir, that ows in name i‘

“ Your friend, at present, and wi be, until
you are well, and I can send you back to your
poo ls—then, if you again take up the sword
against those who never wronged you oryoura
then I am your enemy 1"

“Did not see yru among our enemies
when in rmcn were shot down, and Iwas
wound ”

“ You did, but your name reached my ear,
and I spared you, saved on from those who
were ready to take your ifs!"

“ Am I alone left of all my detachment f”

“ You, alone 1" ~

“ And‘Marston, the ser eent ?”

" Died as he proclaims your name, and his
relationship to you i”

“1“ Relationship to me, sir? What mysteryis

i. fl)

» By his name of Marcus Fcbiger, I have
long known him, and have the bitter-est cause
to remember him, whom you seem only to
have known as _Marston, the ser eantl” '

“ Marcus Febiger, m father, w cm for years
I have not-seen. and arston—"

“Were one and the same, sir! But on
must not talk much until you gather strong I”

“ Oh, II}, explain all to mc—this is terribly
stran e—it seems unreal!”

“ o more unreal than your wounds-yet
very strange, I acknowledge! When you are
strong, as in a few weeks ou will be, then I
have some questions to sag, you—but for the

resent, rest 1" ‘

“ This packs e i" said Clarence, feeling that

which Mouton. 'ven to his charge, “ me
explain somethi . pro on read it to me! '
“ It has sav your ' o I" said Arpiaks,

inti to I bullet, which, havin ioroed it,
3301’ from the inside of laugh]: drew it

from tho inner pocket, where it had been

laced.
“Please to read it to me, sir!” said the
young officer.

 

 

“.It may coutnin secrets, familyk matters, of
which I should be the last to now i" said
Arpiaka.

“ Sir, your treatment of me shows that you
are a friend. Were you not, such has been
my course through life, that I have never had
a secret to conceal, a thought which I dare not
utter before all men 1”

Thus urged, Arpiaka broke the seal, and'
road as follows :

“Gunner: Dear Clarencc,ciiido me not, now that
I dare to call you that, for the seal of death will be on
my brow before you open this package, and this will
come to you as a voice from the tomb—from the grave,
where hidden from the sight of man, lays all that is
mortal of him whocan err no more—where his evil.
may be forgiven, even if they are not forgotten ! You
are my son—much as I have disgraced your angel-mo-
ther, you are my son! For months 1 have, under your
own eye, striven to redeem my lost manhood, my only
hope and prayer to die bravely near your side, and
with my last effort In life, to save you from peril oi
death. That accomplished, death wl! have lost all its
bitterness. Your mother then may forgive. l have erred
madly and desperately, but to my last crrrors,l was
driven by wrong and ersecutlon ! But of that, no more.
One thing in regard Io your future. [am aware that
wealthis yours, through your mother, yet, there is a
Spaniard, named Rafael de Ribera, in Havana, who
honostl owes me nearly, or quite, three millions of do!-
lars. have not the proo , but a lawyer named Eras-
M Bunkho- in death forgive him the wrongs he
has (no II «has the proot and when he knows howI
and where I died, he ins rolcn and vs the
what he would not yield tlire father!” fl m

“I know the wretch, Ribera I” said Arpiah
as he aused, “andI also know the lawyer,
and w so you depart I will send a letter by
you to the_ latter, which will ensure you jus-
tice. He is in business agent i”

“ Who, in od‘s name, are you i” asked
Clarence. '
Arpiaka made no reply, but fixing his eyes

upon the manuscript, resumed his reading:

“ I have done much wrong—wrong which cannot be
forgiven on earth, even if it is in heaven. Blood is on
my soul. The blood of the innocent and the beautiful !"

Arpiaka aused, and groaned—“ I-Ie s aka
the truth— e spoke the truth! The b ood
of poor Ione lay heavy upon his soul, even in
death l" '

Then mastering his emotion, he read on:

“ Should you ever meet Arthur Livingston and his
child, tell them that your father died repentant of his
evil, and prayed for forgiveness with his last breath !" I

“ God forgive him—it is not for us to den
that which our Maker grants to every peni—
tent i" said Arpiaka.

“ Arthur Livingston? Was it not the name
that he addressed you by, when he fell, sir i”

“ It was! When I was known in the busy
world, it was my name, and one which I never

dishonored; but here, amon my red broth-
ers, I am known as Arpiaka "

“ The Great Pro het of the Seminoles i"

“Such the me!” said Arpiaka, and
he resumed e reading of the manuscript
again:

“Clarence, farewell! I have watched you closely,
and in you I see no speck. You are a mirror untam-
ished, a diamond without a flaw. Redeem the honor of
the name which I have disgraced. God aid you and
protect you. Your unhap father,

“Masons anion, alias Maurcii."

Arpiaka folded up the paper and returned
itto Clarence, who ased upon it in silence,
with a tearful eye. fitter a while he spoke :

“ He was a bad man to my mother—wild,
reckless, and abusive when I was a child—and

, he was afterward sent to prison for crime, and

my mother told me to for at him, and never
to utter his name. . But sti ! he was my father,
and his last days were his b st 1” I

Noticing that the young; officer was faint,
Arpiaka poured out a glass of wine and gave
it to him.

He then said :- “I will leave on to your
rest, now, foi' our rapid restore on to health
depends much. upon your avmdmg ugh...
tion.”

“ One questiop, before you go, Mr. Livings-
ton !" '

“ Call me Arpislm. sir—let the name of
Livingston be forgotten, even as I have for
gotten the world l”.ssid the latter, sternly.

“ Your ardon. sir—I will not again offend.
The , uestiou I would. ask is, who was the
beautiful creature, so _hke my ideal of an an-
gel, that-was 1) my side when I awoke f"

“She is my lighter, and from pity hes an
mined the duty of nurseto you, sir! But. be-
ware how you speak to her of been . sir. or
let her into a knowledge of that hear on out-
side world from which on same, lest on.
make I_ deadly enemy 0 one who iomd be
your friend! She has never known the world,
IWDLP‘P‘O, and heai'tpfree! I would have
her remain so! Do you understand me i"

“ I do. sir 1”

“Then, so-long as yoa'sct with the honor

 

 

.32

we r.-._... L... .

, "j'ww’wn—szzfig.r:~z.~&fv¢; 9:... mm”.

‘ The New York Library.

 

which becomes a man and a soldier, I shall
not prevent her attendance upon you, for it
seems to give her a pleasure, for she has a
heartas tender as it is spotless ; but one word
beyond the mark I have laid down, and you
w see her no more. Now rest l"

The tone and look of Ai-piaka was very so-

rious while he uttered tlwsc words, but not
harsh. After he had spoken, he retired.

“ Soul—pure and heart-free !" repeated Clare
once, as soon as he was alone. “ And so
beautiful 1"

But soon the young man, wearied from his
late excitement, dro ped to sleep. And then,
with a step as noise can as that of the evenin
dew, when it sinks to rest upon the bosom o
the rose, in came Ona, and gazed u on his
face, so full of manly beauty—gazed al breath-
lessly, with a wrapt look, as if she had found
something to worship there.

A wreath of orange blossoms was entwined
in her black hair, and she looked very lovely,
though somewhat pale with long watching

 

CHAPTER XXXVI

When, on the second day after his depart-
ure, Clara!“ Febiger did not return, the offi-
sets of ' regiment began to feel anxious
about him, especially as the prudent scout, to
save himself from the char e of cowardice,
which his desertion of the o cer implied, had
rather multiplied the number of Indians which
his second examin tion of the signs at the
head of the river in icatcd.

In truth, Col. Harney had threatened to
hang him up for leaving the party, but the
scout had got too used to threats from that
source, to take them much to heart.

Three, four days passed, and still young
Fabiger did not return, nor did any tidings
come from him. The younger officers, who
were very much attached to him, now began
to demand loudly to be permitted to go in
search of him. The commanding officer at
last assented, and a strong detachment was de—
tailed for the duty.

Starting early, on the morning of the fifth
day, the party soon reached the head of the
little river, and at once ushed ahead in their
sauces to the first island) Where Clarence had
encamped. Here they found his signs, but
the evidently were some days old.

hey then hurried on to the large island,
which. like the other, they found deserted, but
here they also found that which struck sorrow
to their souls.

Inside of one of the breast-works, thrown up
9y the Indians for defence, they discovered a
large mound of newly heaped earth, and upon
a cross erected over it was inscribed these
words, written in a heavy hand, either with
red chalk, or painted with blood :

“Hers rests all that is mortal of those
who came to rob the red-men
of their homes.
list the pale-faces remember their fats,
and let us alone.
Gobsckmrsllketatsswslts you!"

Disbelieving that all could have thus per
ished, the officers had the mound o ned.
One b one the scalped and disfigured odies
were 1 fted out of the shallow grave, until not
one remained. All were counted and recog-
nized, but that of Clarence Febiger.

“ Poor fellow him they have reserved for
the torture 1" sai one.

“ Heaven help his poor mother, of whom
he so often spoke with devotion i” said an-
other.

“ He may have escaped!” suggested still
another.

“ Never would he have left his men while
life was in him!" said the firsts esker. “He
was true as steel, and knew no ear 1"

The bodies of the men were reinterred by
their sorrowiug comrades, and then‘ the en
rag‘ed soldiers commenced the work of havm
am destruction upon ,the island, The fields
of corn and fruit were destro ed—tlie houses,
so)ne sixty or eighty in num r, were set on
fire, and everything laid desolate, except such
portion as was reserved for their encampment
hr the night, for it was too late to go further
on that day.

The smoke of the burning dwellings had not
been in the air ten minutes. before signal-
smokes were seen_in I dozen different direc-
tions, communicating .to the Indians \far and
near the fact, that their enemies were out in
their blood-hound hunt after them.

" We can at least find a chance for revepfis;

 

tor I go not out of the glsdes until we

 

 

scalp for scalp 1” cried the noble Fulton,“ who
was in command of the detachment, as he
pointed toward the smokes. “ They will ral-

for a fight, I think," he added, “ and by the

rd they shall have enough of it I”

He then gave orders to post sentinels, and
form the camp so as to be read for a night
attack, should one occur, inten ing to make
an earlv start in the morning, and to try and
bring the enemy to action somewhere.

The night passed on very still and quietly,
and when it was almost dawn the commander
was afoot, waiting only for light to make his
preparations for an early breakfast and a
start.

Suddenly a shot rung on the air, then an-
other and another, and the shouts and death-
groans of the sentinels, which were posted
around the camp. told them that the foe had
been awake and moving while they slept.

“ To your arms men, to your arms 1” shout-
ed the brave officer.

The men sprung to their feet in a hurried
and confused mass, for the terrible war- ell
run in their ears, and while thus clustered, a
kil ing volley was poured in upon them, slay-
ing man , wounding more.

And t en, like a storm, quick-comin and
pming on like electric fire, the sound 0 shot
and yell ceased, all as suddenly and when the
surVivors were formed, and char ed in search
of the enem , not an Indian ccul be discover-
ed. The ad done their work, and fled—fled
without t e loss of a single man. When the
day dawned, not an Indian could be seen, nor
even a trace found by which they could be

ursued. The only proof, and it was a dread-

iiil one, which showed that they had been
there, was the cold corses of the dead, and
the writhing bodies of the wounded, who ls
stretched upon the ground. The blow h
been as heav as it was sudden. Nearly one-
third of the orce was slain or disabled. The
commander had not the ower now, even
if he wished, to advance; is wounded must
be taken back, where they could be roperly
cared for, and his force was too sma l'to di-
vide.
The survivors buried their dead with sad
hearts, raising a new mound beside that which
had been reared by the Indians over Febiger’s
even more unfortunate party. And then Ful-
ton, with a heavy heart, gave orders to re-eni-
bark, and turned his face back toward the
headquarters of his regiment. His mortifica-
tion was intense, yet he was not to blame, for
he had used every precaution for defence, and
his sentinels were properly sted. But, dur-
ing all of that war, the In in policy was to
fire suddenly from an ambuscade, and then
retreat; or, u on a sleepin camp, and then
fl . And so] om did they ose a man, while
t e whites invariably lost more or less, and
generally oflicers were more singled out than
private men. .

In one case, that of the brave Captain. Rus-
sell, of the Third Artillery, he received eleven
balls, while not another man was touched in
the boat in which he was killed. The In
dians stthattimoflsd, without the ion of:
man.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Weeks passed on, and Clarence Febiger had
so much improved, that he could walk out a
short distance from the lad e of Arpiaks, and

'Is he had given his word 0 honor to the lat»

tsr not to attempt to escape, but to wait until
Arpiaka could safel send him to the cams of
the United States crces, he was permitte to
do so, without any other attendant than Ona,

who seemed never to tire of his company, and '

who would sit for hours and listen, while he
read from some favorite author, out of her
father's small but Well-selected library. Books
which she had read and re-read, were new to
her, when their contents came upon his mel-
low voice. Arpiaka might have known how
dangerous this was, if he wished herto be still
kept heart-free, but he was constantl occu-
pied with chiefs, who cdme to him wit news,
or asked advice and counsel, and he did not
seem to notice it. Perchancc be trusted im-
plicitly to the honor of him whom he had
cautioned. Yet he should have remembered
that love is blind—blind to honor, prudence,
everything but the obgect of its infatuation.
And perhaps he not cautioned Mn
deemed or so all unused to the thought of

._..

' qufaln F “unsealed—hum... .
mu Bamaullsntoflcw. mum

 

such a sentiment, except as she felt an attach-
ment naturally for himself, that he considered
it unnecessar .

He should drove known that love is of sud-
den and spontaneous growth ; that, as the
seed blown with the thistle’s down is carried
to spots considered almost inaccessible, so love,
in its mysterious wanderings, takes root where
it is least expected.

'And in spite of all caution, regardless of
danger, drinking in her lorious beauty through
his enraptured eyes, 0 arence had learned to
love, nay more, to idolize her l—to feel that
he could not live away from her side! He had
forgotten the call of duty ; not a thought of
his comrades and friends seemed to enter his
mind ; and of his mother, he only spoke when
Ona alluded to her. .

But he did not tell his love, or at least did
not speak of it in words, though by many a
heavmg sigh, by many a s coking glance, by
man a flush coming an going on his hot
chee , die could see that he felt that, which,
in honor to her father’s wish, he dare not
utter.

And we could not conceal, if we would, the
fact that she was no lon er heart-free. She
had pitied him from the rst, and sympath
is so near akin to love, that its wedlock is a -
most an unnecessary form. Yes, Ona loved
Clarence very dearly—she did not know how
much, until she heard her father tell him, one
day, that as soon so he was a little stro er,
he should be sent bask to his people. (I
though she checked the emotion which sent
the blood from her check back to her uiver-
ing heart, the words seemed likea dea -knell
to her every hope.

That evening, when the walked out in s
magnolia grove, in whose ragrant shade the
were wont to sit, she turned to him, an
abru tly asked, as she looked him in the c e,
seeking there a readier answer than from '
li s :

p“ Do on wish to 0 back to your people!”

“ I di once—but I do not now! among
hapgy here I" was his answer.

“ hen why do you think of going i”

“I am your father’s captive—I must go
where he sends me i" he answered, sadly.

“ You shall not go! I will not let him send
you away! I would die without you!” she
cried, with passionate energy, and s e clasped
one of his hands in her own, and kissed it ar-

dentlly.

W at, after hearing such an avowal, would
have been his answer, we cannot say, for a
dark shadow came between them and the rays
of the setting sun, and as they looked up flay
saw a dark-browed Indian chief, and five s o
wart warriors, rushin upon them.

“ Coscooches I” cried Ons, and her wild
shriek rung loud upon the air.

“ Yes, and Coscoochec has come for the
‘ White Dove,’ and a ale-hood lover’s scalp 1"

elled the savage, as e sprung forward.

But his conquest was not to be made with-
out a struggle. Clarence, though still weak,
was as brave as a lion, and withal cool and
active. Bidding Ona to fly to her father’s
camp for aid, he snatched the dagger fromth
belt, and threw himself in the way of the ad-
vancing warriors, dodging a blow aimed by
the chief with his hatchet, and the next in-
stant striking the d ger home to the hearts
of two warriors, w o endeavored to close
with and seize him. The next instant he

rappled Coacoochce, who, with a mighty ef-
ort, cast him to the earth, and than rushed
after One, who had fled toward her father‘s
camp, shrieking for help. ‘

And help came, not a second too won, to,
the villain’s gras was almost upon her. when
the tall form of hikika, and twenty or more
other warriors, was seen bounding toward

him.

‘The ' White Dove’ escapes this time, but
she shall yet be mine i” he yelled, as he turn--
.6 and fled toward his canoe, which lay near
where Clarence had been stricken down. and
still remained inscnsible from the shock-

His pursuers were close behind him. but 0
his fiery eye rested u n the prostrate form of
the ofiicer, a yell of ury burst from his 1i ,
and, drawing his knife, he lunged it to t e
hilt in the breast of the hel on man. He had
no time to take his oovcwf’scslp, for Chihka
was ve near, and his terrified warriors were
slread in the canoe. One bound, and he was
With em, and they were speeding swig as
fast as they could paddle, leaving two of air
number b the side of Clarence, like him.
bleeding, at unlike him—dad!

The»? White Wizard.

_23

 

 

 

Olia followed close upon the footsteps of
Chikika and his braves, and casting herself
down upon the body of poor Clarence, moan-
ed and sobbed as if icr heart was breaking.

“ I am saved, but he whom I love more than
life. is lost—is lost l” she cried

Clarence heard her words, and though he
believed with her, that he was (1 ing, he
smiled, and whispered, “ Ona, dear no, your
Words are Worth dying for! I am happy
now, for I could not live without. you 1"

She heeded not that the eyes of Chikika
and his warriors were upon her ; she did not
use even when she heard her stern father’s
voice, but wildly kissingl his pale lips, and
tryin with her white and to staunch the
bloo flowing from the ghastly wound, she
moaned her grief and her ove in rapid, half-
incoherent words.

“ Rise, Una, rise, and let me attend to his
wound l” said Arpiaka, almost sternly.

“ Oh, my fatlierl he has saved me from
worse than death; but he will die, he will
diel But I too will die, for I cannot live
without him 1" she cried. ‘

A dark and gloomy frown was upon Arpi-
aka‘s brow, but he gently raised Ons from
her position, and examined the wound of Cla-
ronce.

“ The knife has not reached a mortal part,"
said he; “if I can staunch the hemorrhage,
he will live 1”

A low cry of gladness burst from Ono’s
lips, and she sobbed no more, for those words
had wakened the dying hope in her fond,
pure bosom.

Taking a scarf from her neck, and using
a handkerchief for s compressure, Arpiaks
made a tem orary bandage for the wound,
and then be e four of the strongest warriors
carry him carefully to his lodge, while he
with Chikika walked slowly behind, drawing
from Can a full account of Coacoochie‘s dur-
ing attempt and the desperate bravery of
Clarence, who, weak as re was, had slain
two armed warriors with her dagger, and
struggled hand to hand with the fierce chief
himself, who was accounted a match for the
first warriors of the tribe.

“He has acted nobly in this case, but base-
ly in another, and you must see him no
more l" said Arpiaka, quietly, but firmly, to
his astonished daughter.

“ In what has he acted basel , my father—
he, who is all honor, the son of all noble-
ness 1’”

" Although I warned him not to attempt it,
on his peril, he has won thy love I"

“ Won in love, my father? It was no
fault of his I gave it him the hour we met
-—]ong, lon before he unclosed his eyes from
his death-like sleep ; long before the music of
his voice fell upon my ea 1 He has never
spoken of love to me—ne er sought in of-
fection! Freely I gave him that, whic he
never asked for—my whole heart’s boundless
love i”

“Silence, girll Remember only that his
father slew thy mother 1”

“You have told me yourself, father, that
Clarence was not born, nor his father wedded,
when that cruel deed was done. Wherefore,
then, blame him for that which occurred
when he was not in existence. I am near]
three years his senior, am a woman, with a
of a woman's heart, throbbing maddly in m
bosom. Oh, my father, if you love me, c
not break that heart. Do not driv'e me from
his side, but let me nurse him as before! Re
member that for me he suffers, for me his life
is imperilled l” ’

Tears rolled from her beseeching eyes while
she spoke; and softened, yet still stern, Arpi-
sks said: ‘

“If thou wilt s csk to him no more
love, and do but 1; duty as a nurse, I Will
nfipugipder thch Iky up thy teas-s, my
0

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The anger of the commander of the forces
It the mouth of the Misma, was fearful, when
the remains of the last detachment returned,
and re orted their loss, and the fate of that
which iad been led by Clarence Fcbiger. Im-
precations from that source were too common
to be unexpected,” or seriously heeded; but
they came with an ill-grace from a. man who,
but a short time afterwards, was himself sur-
prised through utter carelessness, and all of .111.
command, excepting only one man and him-
sclf. cut off.

 

After venting his abuse upon the officers
who had just returned, and upon the memory
of Clarence Febiger, supposed to be slain, he
swore a terrible oath, that, with all the force
which he could muster, he would enter the
everglades, and, dog ing the Indians from
island to island, and into their secret hiding

laces, would shoot and hang every one whom
lie could find, refusing quarter in every case.
But loud as were his Words at that juncture,
he was too prudent to put his threats into
execution until his force was increased, for the
two last lessons which his men had received,
had taught him that the Indian foe was not to
be des ised. Leaving him waitin for ex-

ectei reinforcements, we will 100 a little
urther down the Florida Reef, and draw the
curtain aside from a traged of real occurrence,
to show that Chikika and is braves were not
idle, and understood the civilized and custom-
sanctioned law of retaliation which has ever
been i'acticed by nations atwar. Their houses
had lieen burned, and their crops destroyed,
and they thought that a little fire and destruc-
tion by way of reprisal, might teach their
pale-faced enemies more caution.

About ninety miles to the south-west of
Cape Florida, was a small islet of ten or twelve
acres, occupied by a man, whose history, if
all were revealed, would throw romance into
the shade. He was reported, while a mere
boy, to have ran owa from Staten Island with
a sloop, about the size of a market boat, be-
longing to his father; but the particulars of
that marine elopement were never fully under-
stood, for he was always as mum as a “ Know
Nothing " when the subject was alluded to.

One thing was certain, that, many years be-
fore, when the difference between wrecking
and piracy was so minute as to be scarcely
discernible, he appearedion the reef with a
small sloop, and entered into the business with
an earnestness which indicated that a for-
tune, and nothing short of a fortune. was
what he aimed at. His crew consisted cl
a half-dozen youngsters like himself—not one
of them over twentiyesrs of e, a negro cook,
black as his own ettles, an forty-seven do
grees uglier than any Caliban that ever was
made up for Shaksperc’s Tempest—and a very
“stron -minded ” young lady some older than
himsel , whom he had picked up on hisway out,
in Charleston, and who occupied the position of
his mate, although another mate was on the
sloop's muster-roll. In after years a question
arose, which could not be so settled as to entitle
her to property left by him, whether or not
her ship ing articles had been legally drawn
up and leased with priestly ceremony; but
at any rate, she ap eared on the reef at that
time, as Mrs. Jake ousman, for that was the
name of our hero.

It would fill a volume, were I to relate one
twentieth part of the stories told of the early
career of this darin young wrecker on the
reef, who, though a most reckless of his
class, was seldom wreckius when there had
been a gels in the gulf heav enough “ to put
them on." Tales of “false ights,‘ of vessels
stripped, of crows ssvcd, yet who never
reached the shore, were told, tyet, as they were
tales and traditions, coming own from lip to
lip, they must be received as such with
many an inch of “ allowance for stretch-
ing,” the more especially that the hero of
them has gone to his last reckoning, and i. no
more accountable on earth!

At the time when we brin him into oni
sto , Jacob Housman had become a o
wen thy man._ He had made Indian Key his
wrecking station, and there was no better on
the coast. In front of him was Alligator
Recfi, where many a brave craft has piled up
her “bones ;” from his look-out cu ols, the
the e c could cover the Hon and d‘hickens
and svernier Shoals to the north-east, and
the Ks Vaons, Duck Key, American and
Sister ey Shoals to the south-west.

He had built between thirty and forty nos!
cotta as on the island, a large and splendidly.
furnis ed house for himself, several were
houses, and a large and well-stocked store, in
which could be found eve ' g from rum to
cologne water, a jewshsrp to s sheet anchor,
a monkey-Jacket to a satin dress-in fact,
“an hing and eve hing which could be
called for "—ss his c ief clerk, Daddy Semen
indyke, used to say. His houses were ten-

" Es was killed in 1840, while boarding a wreck; ll
.hefiyigplc, and died, as he had lived, with s curl!
on h -

r So named, In consequch of on English show)“
guml Wamth wrecked thou, Winn.“-

q /

 

sated solely by people in his own employ, for
—with one exception—he was never known to
let any one live upon the island who was not,
litcra , soul and body, at his command.

That exception was the celebrated natural-
nt, Doctor Porrine, whose labors and dis-
coveries in the field of science were much
valued, and who, in the very height of his,
usefulness, was cut off, as will shortly ap-l

ear.

P At this time, Captain Housman owned sev-’
era] of the finest wrecking sloo s on the reef,
and could not havs been worth ess than three
hundred thousand dollars, and probably more,
and was very rs idly “pilingl up " dollars
u on this heap nd haVinght us introduced
him, with a pers icuity whic truth required,
We will rin up t e curtain on the tragedy.

Upon a almy night in the delicious sum-
mer time, when the breeze from the Gulf
Stream came gentl in and kissed the trees
and flowers on the 'ttlc islet, the inhabitants
retired, in peace and quietness. to slumber,
without a fear in their bosoms ;, for, from the
commencement 'of the war until then, no In-
dians had been known to approach the Key, al-
though, before thc war, the often came to
Housman‘s store to buy pow er and load, and
calicoes and paints.

Doctor Perrine, with his interesting family,
consisting of an amiable wife, two very beau-
tiful and intelligent daughters, and a young
son, occupied a once close on the water side,
fitted up with on observatory, and arran ed
for his studious pursuits. Near him was Eh.
Hows, the ostmastcr, and but a hundred
yards or so istant was the residence of Hous-
man. The cottages, which, fortunately, were
not all occupied at the time, formed the fronts
of a hollow square, with neat little gardens in
their rear.

All was still, balmy, and dreamy, that night,
and on until about two o’clock in the morn-
ing. Then, had sentinels been on the alert,
gazin out upon the moonlit waters, they
woul have seen a lon , dark line of canoes
comiu , like a shadow, in the inner bay to-
ward t e main land—coming so,‘still that the
dip of s addlc in the flashing water could not
be he nor even the ripple of the sharp
prows as they severed the waves. But no
wakeful sentinel was tth to warn the inhab—l
itants of their danger.

The canoes reached the shore one b osc,‘
and soon their dusky crews, to the num er of
over two hundred well-armed warriors, stood
a n the land, with Chikika at their head. In

I. ow tone he vs his orders, directin each
pa to crce silence to its dcstine post,
whi c be, wi some of his trustiest men, ro-

cccdcd to the store, in which he knew era
was s large quantity of liquor. which he
wished to destroy, lost some of his mes should
at at it and loss themselves in drunkenness,
or he knew that his work must be quickly
done, and his fsstness in the Big Cypress rc-
gained, for there were limited States forces
ve near at hand, and’ pursuit would inevi.
tab y be made.

It was nearly dawn—not lsckin , at most,

over an hour—when all was re y, and the
fearful war-whoop run loud and wild from
the li s of Chikika. u an instant, it was
echoe from the stentorisn lungs of two hun-
dred braves. And, at the same instant, firs
was applied to nearly every one of the cot-
tages at once, though Ohi i a yet spared the
store and lar er houses, intending to plunder
them before be destroyed them.
‘ Up from their dreamy beds sprung the cf-
frightcd people! Some of them rushed in.
stantly out, and met death on the threshold of
their own doors; others shrank back in terror,
and perished in the flames. How any could
escape is alone a mystery. .

Captain Housman and his lad ,with no
garments on b_ut their night to s, sprung
mm a back Window of the bedroom as the
Indians burst in their front door, and, area
ing thrpugh a grove of fig trees, gained c~
water-side; whence. supporting his wifc.thc
bold wrecker swam-over channels and waded
our coral ma. which cut his'flesh in to the
bone, until he reached a hiding-place u on I
mangrove island. A brother of Mm ood-
ycsr, the great India-rubber msii, escaped ~
almost by a miracle, hsv' been. at one
time, immersed in s cistern oath s burn
in warehouse.

at the fists of poor Doctor.Pei-rinc and
the sufferings of his family deserve our atten-
tlfm now. At the first alarm_hc sprang from
 aroused hiswsfcsndterrificd

,q- _... .

 

 

24

.. . .... n.4,...“ .-_I_&‘_._.,.~.n.w..._.- “a... .iauhkm_

The New York Library.

 

 

children. As yell afier yell broke upon their
ears, death, terrible and inevitable, seemed to
be their doom. But the doctor's ready mind
instantly hit u on a temporary hiding—place
for them. Bnc of his house and communi-
eating with it, was a bout-wharf, and strong
stakes had been driven down all around it in
the water, to form a pen in which to keep
living turtles. Directing them to crawl out
in this pen under the wharf, and hide there
up to their necks in water, he said that he
would go u to the cupola and address the
Indians in auish, which he spoke fluently,
for many of them understood it, and he hoped
to make terms with them, as he was a non-
combatant, and had no connection with their
enemies in arms. Hurried off on] in their
night robes, the wife and delicate aughters,
and the brave little boy crept out into the
water, and soon they heard the husband and
father s eaking from his cu ola or observa-
tory. ut a yell from the ndians drowned
his voice, which they never heard more The
crash of broken doors, the yells of the plundr
orers, and the crackling of flames came rapidly
one after the other.

Intense as was now their mental agon —
widowed and father-less in an instant—t ey
were doomed to suffer yet a horrible torture.
As the flames of the burning dwelling rose,
the heat became great, blistering their fair
and delicate skins, and rendering them the
most intense agony. When at last the wharf,
under which they lay, took fire, it became
evident that they must be roasted slowly to
death, or else escape from their hiding— lace.
But how to escape when all was as 'g t as
day, and the merciless savages on hand all
around to slay every one whom they found,
was a question which seemed to defy a solution.

But now the 1mm in youn Perrine exhibit-
od itself. He could see a oat which was
moored at a little distance, and to this he
swam, keeping as low down in the water as
he could to avoid observation. Detaching
the boat from its mooring, he swam slowl
back, that it might ap ear to be drifting in.
Soon it was b the 'ttle wharf, and the
scorched and blister-ed mother and sisters,
who had only preserved life by frequently im-
mersing themselves under the water, crept in-
to it, and the oung hero, while they lay con-
cealed in its ottom, swam away with it in
tow, and soon was beyond the reach of the
lav es, who were now engaged in plunder-
ing t e store, where a large quantit of pow-
der, lead, knives, axes, muskets, an rifles, as
well as calicoes, cloths, tobacco, etc, attracted
all their attention. If memory serves me
right, that boy-man was only eleven years
old, and his heroism deserves a bright page
in the annals of history.

Day dawned at last, and revealed only blaz-
In buildings and blackened ruins, while the
(n ians were loading their own canoes, and
several boats which they found at the key,
with their plunder.

A allant young oflicer, Midshipman Fran-
cis cy Murray, was on Tea-Table Key, some
two miles distant, with only ten or twelve
sick men, who had been left there in a tem-
porary hospital. Although only four or five
of these were able to pull an car, he forced
them into a large barge, which mounted one
gun, and made them pull within a uarter of
a mile or less of the island, where is opened
such a fire upon the enemy, that the hastily
took to their boats and canoes and aft, after
his fire, and several woundin
He kept up ' fire on

returni
some of ' men.
Magi! recoilsd overboard,“ than he do-
voted himself to picking up the fugitives who
had escaped destruction. He_ also instantl
despatched a light sail-boat, With a wow
men, to the United States schooner-s an.
and Otsego, up the reef, for assistance, and
the latter, of which the author hereof was
then acting first lieutenant, was soon under
way. and arrived at the scene of desolation
while the ruins were at smoking, and the
bodies of the dead lay sweltering in gore or
scorching by the fire.

It was a pitiful sight to see those who had
escaped, scorched and blisteer by the heat,
their limbs cut and bleeding from the sharp
reefs of coral, most of them nearl naked-l
Yet it was a merciful and wonde u] Provi-
dence which spared their lives. Our sheets

' ma blanka were at once given to the ladies

to make tem ora clothi with, for the
had not save an 11mg, an 'our own ws -
"he! were 0 ned to the men. Meantime
harried preparations were made to nursue the

 

lndians,‘and soon a boat expedition was in
their wake. But they had too much start,
and gained the ever lados in safety.

W en we returns to the blackened island,
it was occupied by the marines of the naval
expedition, under command of a brave but
eccentric oflicer, Lieutenant Thomas Sloan,
whose remains now rest in the burial- round
attached to the Naval Hospital near rook-
lyn. He had thered the remains of the
murdered peop e together, and buried them
in a large grave, at the head of which a
board was placed, and upon it, with his usual
oddity, well-meant, however, he placed the
following inscription :

“Here lays al the mortal remains of a nu-
merous lot of men, women, and children, who
wore cruelly butchered by the bloody Indians
on this island. May the Lord take a liking
to their souls l"

Poor Sloan, he was a gallant Kentuckian
beloved by all who knew him. He never re-
covered from the hardships and sufferings of
that sickening war, as not one in ten did who
endured them, and fell all too early into the
hands of unspari death.

This chapter, w ich has been strictly his-
torical, has been given to the reader, more to
show the strength, skill, and cunning of the
so-called savages in that war, than because it
had a direct connection with other of our
characters than Chikika and his braves.

With this explanation, I will now return to
those whom, I presume, the reader feels the
most interested in.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Slowly, yet more rapidly than before, Cla-
rence recovered from the wound which he
had received from the hand of Coacoochee.
For now, though neither of. them spoke of it,
except through their ardent glances, he knew

I that she, whom he so worshiped in his heart

of hum, returned his love, with a passion
fierce as flame and all as pure. And his life,
seeming a 1part of his love, grew strong with
the hope t at she would yet be his, his own
forever—that he could return, not alone when
he went back to his mother, but bearing upon
his breast a flower, fit to grow in Paradise, a
jewel more precious than ought else on
earth.

He soon grew so strong that he could again
walk forth, leaning upon her arm, but he
could not now, as before, go unobserved with
her into the shad recesses of the flowery
groves, for with 6 good excuse that Coa-
coochec mi ht be hoverin near, Ar iaka
never let em move outsi c of his odge
without a guard.

He was busy as over, for Micauopes had
been taken and sent west, and the b not so
lineally, yet he was re arded liters ly as the
head of the nation, an all ex ditions were
made ommr his advice been asked,
and his ' ctions given. Ho it was who
counseled the attack upon Indian Key, for he
knew how sad] the Indians needed ammuni-
tion, and that p out could be got on that is-
land. He it was w o sent out small parties
of fleet young warriors, to attack the most
distant osts and settlements, so as to lead
the sol are away from his own immediate
vicinity, and to make them believe that the
Indians were ten times as numerous as they
real‘liy were. Strange, yet true, that his long
resi once with the red men, and his remem-
brance of wron inflicted on him and his,
made him hate e pale-faces full as bitterly
as the fiercest of the warriors. ‘

It was several weeks after Clarence had ro-
oeivcd his wound, and Chikika had just ro-
turncd in triumph from his attack upon In-
dian Key, when the young officer, who had
lust returned from a walk with Ona, was met

Ar iaka in his lodge, who addressed him on

9 so jeot of his return to his people:

“You are strong cnou h to travel, now,
Liaitenant Fcbigerl“  he. «I win rs.
deem In promme, made to you long since.
You sh go back toyour oople. Iwill send
a): with a ard, who wilI

fort as y can go. with safety to them-
selves, sud you can then tell your poo that
wronged as we are, we can sometimes mei-
ciful and generous l”

The check of Ona
sible, than the ma
purity, on her so
hose words.

Clarence, too, turned pale, and trembled,
but made no rcolv.

I w more white, if or
o , which lay nostl in
bosom, when she heard

Arpiaka did notice the appearance of both
of them. and marked their a itation, but he
appeared not to, but continue his remarks:

“ When you see your mother, you may tell
her that more for her sake, and for the sake of
the little link of blood between you and my
lost Ione, I spared on, and that Ione’s mur-
derer is no more! f you think, after all that
has passed, that you can still war upon these
poor people, who only ask for peace and quiet
on their native soil, shall extract no pledge
ham you not to do so; for on will have to
resign your commission, or o ey orders from
your superiors.”

“ Never—4min will I raise a hand against a
Seminole, except as I did with Coacoochee’s
brave—in defence of life, or one whom I hold
more dear than life l" exclaimed Clarence,
looking first at Arpiaka, and then at his
dau hter.

T e father frowned when he heard his clos-
ing words, and in a harsh, hasty tone, said:

“ Your memory is either ve treacherous,
sir, or else your honor is held a too 1i htlyl

Have I not biddcu you not to speak love
in her ears ?”
“Chide him uct,sny father. Let it suflice

that, in dividing no, you will break both our
hegrts i" said Ona, in a low tone—almost a
so .

“ Silence, “girl—speak when on are spoken
to I" said Arpiaka, steady. T on, turmng to
Clarence, he said : “ Young man, be ready to
go on the marrow.”

“ I do not wish to go," said Clarence. “Let
us be a captive still : I will not to escape;
I will hunt with your hunters, an be no bur-
den to ou !"

“ Wil you go to the battle with our war
riors, and fight your former comrades f”

“ No, sir, no! A iaka would not ask that I"
cried the officer. “ And if he did, I would dis
before I would comply with his wish i"

“ You would not do it even to win his
daughter for thy bride f” and Arpiaka closely
scanned his face, while he waited for a reply.

“No. sir, not even to win her whom I war.
ship, forgetting even my God i" replied Cla-
rence. ' ‘

“ It is welll I do not ask the sacrificel Be
ready to go to-morrowl" said Arpiaka, and
then he strode awa from the room.

For a moment, no and Clarence stood and
looked at each other, then tearfully rushed to-
gether, and embraced.

“ Never, never, will I leave you, my angel 1
I will die here, for life without you were a
load too heavy to hear I” said Clarence.

“ Go, brave, dear Clarence,” said One, “ but

on shall not alone. I will be with you,
or my he? to me tpat it owes ,no do but
to on. were my ovo,m vc sou,
life? my all !” y W my

And her burning kisses were thrown like
scattering rose leaves upon his brow. his eyes,
his cheeks and lips.

“ But your fat or will use force to prevent
it l You will be kept back, and woe, woe to
me then 1”

“No—go you, as if you had served your
heart to part with me forever. Manage to‘
make your departure as late in the day as
pocsiblc Then when night fills. alone in my

light canoe I will follow, for wall I know each
Winding turn of the channel, and before the
night is passed, I will he be and your camp
an will meet you when t e warriors leave
you. Though they will not see me, I will
not lose sight of you l"

“ Angel, I hops, at I tremble for your
safety. Should your thcr pursue, you might
be taken, but worst of all, should on meet
Coacoocheo, who is prowling, we ow not
where—”

“ I will be so armed that our next meeting
will be the last for him! I am no child, Cla-
rence l”

“ No, in brave, my beautiful, my own One.
no! You ave the spirit of a thousand war-

 

leave you as near ‘

riors, and hope once more gladdens my heart.
I will do as you direct l”
“ Do not let your joy or hope be seen in

I our‘ face l” said Ona. “ Like me, appear sad

and sorrowful, the better to disguise our in-
} tentions l"
l Again the lovers renewed their kisses and
. their vows, and then so tad, each to wear
; amask, a new thing‘b article and truth
1 fol nations

 

The White Wizard.

 

25

 

 

CHAPTER XL

Diflsrentia numbers and e uipment, was the
third ex edition which starte from the mouth
of the iami, for the ever lades, from either
of the unfortunate ones w iich had preceded
it. Heavier boats, more men. thorough]
armed, and well provisoned for a lengthy
cruise, were those which formed this “arm
of invasion." And the better to conceal his

. approach, the commanding officer determined
to enter the glad s in the ni ht, and to move
as little as ossieble in the ay, and thus to
surprise the ndians on their islands, and to se-
cure guides, whom he intended, by torture or
bribes, to force into leading him to the strong.
holds and cam s of their tribe.

'Ah, little di he know of the stern integrity
of that noble race—of their honest of heart,
their coura e and their fortitude. ut he was
doomed to earn it, ere he had passed through
that campaign, or even much more than com-
menced his tri .

Coming stealthily to the small island, where
Clarence had first encamped, the van-guard
found an Indian canoe at the landing, and
creeping quietl up, at a camp-fire in the
bushes, found here, and secured a warrior
and his squaw, and two children, who had en-
camped for the night.

Extinguishing the fire, the commander halted
his men there, as it was nearly morning, for-
biddin any of them to show themselves out-
side of the bushes, and also having his boats
hauled up out of sight, so that no straggling
scout should observe them.

When the day dawned, he had the captive
warrior brought u , and finding that he spoke
English, demand if he would show him
where the villages of Chikika and other chic
were. V

“ No i" said the Indian, sullenly.

“ I will give you a rifle and new blankets,
and plent of tobacco and whiskey, if you
will! ’ sai the commander.

“ Me no want 'em l” replied the Indian.

“ I'll shoot you, if you don‘t!”

“Shoot! me no ’fraid. Look there I” and
he showed ten notches on the handle of his
’scalping-knife, each counting one for scalps
'rnkcn from his enemies. Me pay for life lon
sgo—s’posc me see you first last ni ht,
count one more. Good scalp, yours, re like
fire I" and the Indian smiled, grimly.

“ You cursed Indian dog, ’11 hang you!”
shouted the infuriated ofioer.

“Hang. damn, hang! Me only die once i"
said the warrior, scornfull

‘“ Bring a rifle here—1’ see what stuff he is
made of !" shouted the commander,

The order was obeyed, and by his directl.
one end of the re e was thrown ovcr_thc hint:
of a live-oak, an the other fastened in a all?

ing noose around the warriors neck: is
hands being bound behind him, and his feet
tied to ether, he could not have offered resist
once, i he would.

“ Run him up I” said the ofiioer. _ .

In a moment the brave fellow was sWi _ng
in the air. Full as longas he dared to let im
hang, and yet keep life in him, the ofiicer
kc t him suspended, and then gave the order
tolowcr him away, and bade the surgeon to
resuscitate him, so that he could again be
questioned.

It was with considerable difiicult , that by
bathin his temples and throat, an adminis-
terin Equor, the poor fellow could be brought
too, at at last he was once more conscious.

The commander bent down, and2 looking
him in the eye, asked, in a sneering tone
“ How do you like hanging, on red_dog l".

“ Me like ’um much 0 you like whis-
key l" said the Indian, fiercely, as he spat the
mouthful of whiskey, which the surgeon had
given to him, fall into the face of the com-
mander.

With a yell of rage the officer drew his
sword, and, forgetting what he wanted to
force out of the risonsr, drove the sword

home to the very 'It in his bosom.

, “ Ugh! Long knife much good! Big cow-
ard, you !” granted the Indian, and then, with-
out a groan, he fell back, dead 1

The squaw and children looked on in hor.
ror, but in silence, while the husband, father
and protector thus suffered and died.

To them the commander now turned, sWear.
‘ that they, too, should perish. Ands man
‘wllfio could whi a negro woman to death, in
Tennessee, wou d not be Illiqu to spare a
poor, helpless squaw, in war—time; but met.

were there, officers and gentlemen, who would
not permit such an outrage to be committed
without remonstrnnce and opposition. He
knew it, and was content to utter only curses
and threats.

Ordering the body of the Indian to be
hung up, as a terror to others who mi hi
come that way, the commander now bade liii.
men take rest,as he meant to remain there
until night would again conceal his move-
ments.

He also posted men up in the umbrageous
tops of several of the loftiest trees, to watch
for smokes upon other islands, and to detect
any boat which might approach.

has we will leave him, for the present

 

CHAPTER XLI.

As the had wished, cvincing great reluctance
to go, and exhibiting the most profound sor-
row, Clarence delayed his departure all that
he could upon the day which was set for his
return.

Ona did not make her appearance, but
taught to be artful by the exigency of the
case. she seemed to be utterly lost in grief, and
locked herself in her apartment. But in
truth she was greparing to follow him to
whom she was a ready wedded in heart, and
to whom she was rea y to entrust life, honor
and everything. Her preparations were sim-
ple, yet there were things which she did not
wish to leave behind. One was a packet
which her father had given to her care long
before, and which he, at the time, told her
contained the proof of her birth, a copy of her
grandfather‘s will, and other apers which
would be of great value to her, i¥he should be
cut off, and she should ever go out into the
world again. And she also took, after loading
them carefully, a pair of fine istols and a
large do rger, which she ens' y concealed
beneath t is Indian costume which she wore.
And some rare and costly jewels and money,
too, she selected, for she knew that such
things might be useful in a world where gold
is the 0d of two-thirds of its people. ,

Tire with the various excuses and delays
which Clarence made, Ar iaka, who had
given him the letter that he liad promised, in-
troducing him to Blocking, and advising that
worthy to give him the proof to require his
rights from Ribera, told him, for about the
fortieth time, that the warriors were ready,
four of them in a canoe, to take him out to
the fort on the Miami.

“ May I not say farewell to Ona, before I
g: ?" asked the oung man. “ I have waited

see her, but a 1 the day she has keptwithin
her room I"

“ Yes, and wisely. Parting words will
make both our hearts heavier. I grieve for

on both, ut you are oung, and young
carts are forgetful. H your father not
slain her mother, I would not thus separate
s, but that bar of blood lies between ye, and
t must not be passed! I have spoken! Go,
and my blessing with you i”

“ Ma I not ta the arms which I were
when was captured 1" asked the you
ofilcer. ‘ Perchancc I might meet the faith-
less Coacooche before I reached the fort, and
If I were unarmed, he might be more than a
match for me 1"

“ It is true ; your request is but reasonable
It shall be ranted to you !"

And Arpiaka went and brou ht Clarence
his two revolvers and his swo , and at the
same timespxut a purse of gold in his handl
saying: “ ould you resign, you will need
money before you reach home! ’

Clarence would have refused this, but Ar-
piaka would take no refusal, and he was
obliged to accede to his wishes. -

Looking. but In “In, to see Ona, althou 1;
he had the utmost confidence that she wo d
follow him, h_e at last shook hands with Ar—
piaka, and with a heav heart stepped into
the canoe, which was to r him away from
the island where he had first known the bliss
of love.

The bliss of 10“! Ah, to some, who know
not change. over whom no cloud hovers, how
blissful u love 1 Yet others there are, whose
love, too strong almost, is like madness. It is
such that it Is never satisfied, for, while pos-
sessing, it ever fears the loss of its treasure.
There ‘can be no love, that is, love without
'ealousy and fear, and, alas! no torture is there
in hell below, or on earth above, which is so

 

keen. so killing I! jealousy. But excuse the

,‘ digression.

r'

 

'I‘he warriors chosen by Arpiaka to escort
Clarence back to his regiment were such as
the latter would have icked, had he been
permitted his choice. ic were honest and
trusty braves, and they loo cd upon him not
as a captive, but as a late and honored guest
of their great prophet. And they honored
him, too, for his courage, that greatest of
‘virtues in an Indian's eyes, for they had seen
him when he had struck down the warriors
of Coacooclioc. \

The retreat of Ar iaka was soon left for be-
hind, and when nig it came on, they encamp
ed upon an island out in the 0 en glades, be-
yound the swamp. After coo ing their pro-
visions and supping, the Indians laid down by
their camp-fire to rest, so as to be ready for
the long row of the next day. But Clarence
could not sleep ; his thoughts, hopes and {can
all were with Ona.

The moon was shining brightl , and he
knew that if she escaped she woul pass the
island before the dawn of day, and he hoped
to see and make some sign of encouragement
to her.

We will leave him, thus, upon the watch,
and, for a moment, return to her. After
Clarence had gone. and his form could no
longer be seen, Arpiaka went to the door of
her room, which was fastened, and called to
her. - For some time the only answer which
she gave him was her sobs. At last, how-
ever, she replied to his entreaties to come
forth, and said:

“ Let me grieve! My heart is full, and it
will break if I do not weep! Let me, at
least, be left alone! I will not be so sad to-
Inorrow l"

“ Perhaps ’tis best; grief so fierce will be
the less lasting !" said he, as he turned away.

Three hours later. a tall and slender form

stole aw_a from a back window of the lodge.
and, h ing down to the landing, unseen.
single out a small and racefull modelled
canoe, and springing into it, pushe from the
bank. For a little time she scarcel touched
the paddle to the water, but let 0 canoe,
With gentle impetus, drift down the dark
lagoon, for it was night now, and doubly
dense in that narrow channel, overhung by
the gloomy cypress. But as she gained a
little distazfi from her father's camp,
s epic er is with moi-am and
glided on word) rapidly. "‘0‘,

CHAPTER XIII.

Olncncc, whom ‘wc loft watching for the
passing of her whom he loved so entirely, be-
gan to tremble when the night was far ad-
vanced and morning dawn was near at hand,
for she came not, and he feared that her es-
cape had either been prevented, or that she
had been ursued and overtaken. The night
was cloudless, and a full moon’s light made
everything almost as visible as day, therefore
she could not pass the island in the channel .
unobserved.

“ If she comes not, after I have resigned, I
will return, and either perish by her side, or
Arpiaka shall yield me her hand i" he mur-
mured, as he stood by the water-side at the
landing-place.

But a flush rosc uickly to his cheek, and
he almost ceased to reathc, for he thought he
heard the dip of a paddle in the rippling
waters to the west A few moments more
and the thought became a certain . for he
could distinctly hear the sound, ough_ss
yet the tall grass concealed the approaching
canoe

“ She comes—thank God. she comes l” he
murmured. “ She is mine now, and no owe;-
on earth shall ever wrest her from me u ‘

A moment later, and he could see her tall,
graceful form as she stood up in the after-end
of the canoe. plying. With easy strength and
firmness. the hght but springy lance-wood

dlc.
inguddcnly she stopped I Did she see him,
and inten to  ? No, her eyes were
fixed upop some mg beyond her, and, as she
ceased to urve her boat on. the onlck ear of
Clarence detected the sound of paddch coin-
in from the other direction. .
Tron: her attitude and look, as well as his
own misgivmgs, he felt sure that ho saw slim
to her ahead, and, without attemphns '0
awaken his escort, who slc tat their camp, a
hundred 'yards or more has in the bushes, he
stepped into the canoe, and pushed out from

 

‘ algefi‘hiii, loosening his   hi! belt It

I

I

"‘3: 

4. -Mvi -

.54 ‘

 

75:3?! “" "AW

26

The New_Yorkphiibrary.

 

 

At this moment he saw that Ona was turn-
in% her canoe, as if to fly from some pursuer,
an , to make her aware of his presence, he
called to her in a low tone, yet sufficiently
loud for her to hear. She recognized him,
and. with a cry of joy, turned the row of
her canoe toward the island. At t e same
instant, a canoe darted across her course, com-
ing from the east, and in it were three war-

i riors, one of whom Clarence instantly recog-
nized as Coacoochce, not onl by his person.
but b his voice, as he yelle :

“ 0! ho ! the White Dove has come to
meet me at last, has she ?"

“ Back, you dog, or you shall die i" cried
Ona, as the prow of the other canoe struck
a rainst her own, and the bright barrel of a
pistol was leveled‘at the chief‘s head.

“ Shoot him, One; show no mercy now,”
shouted Clarence, who was exerting every
nerve to close with the Indians in his canoe.

The sound of his voice caused Coacoochec
to turn toward him.

“Ho! ho! the pale-mood lover here? He
shall die !"

And the chief raised his rifle with an ever
deadly aim upon Clarence. But the report of
Ona’s pistol ran loud and clear, and the rifle
fell from the vi] ain‘s grasp, for she had sent
a bullet through the arm which raised it. The
next instant, one of Clarence’s revolvers was
at work, and one of Coacooche’s men—the
nearest one to Clarence—fell dead in the canoe.
The baffled chief, with a yell of rage and mor-'
tification, sprung from his canoe into the
shallow channel, and ran into the tall grass,
and in a moment was lost to view. The other
warrior hurried up, and would have gained
the same refuge, had not Ona, whose “ blood
was u ," served a “ retainer” on him from
her pistol, which tumbled him over in the
water, where he struggled so desperately that,
in pity, Clarence sent a bullet through his
brain.

The next instant, the lovers were in each
other’s arms.

“ Ona! mine—mine forever!" he cried.

“ Thine forever!" she replied.

Then, as he saw the Indians from the camp
hurr ing to the shore, having been aroused h
the rin , he bade Ona follow him, and pa -

,dled bac tb the landing.
There he explained the attack upon One by
Coacoochee, and the fate of the latter and his
‘ party. The Indians wished at once to pur-
sue and kill Coacoochee; but Clarence, re-
ge rding time as all-precious now, for he feared

r father‘s pursuit, persuaded them to aban~
don that idea, and at once to resume their
course.

When the warriors learned that Ona was

_ determined to accompany Clarence hack to

his poo 10, they were sorely pusslad'. They
knew at Arpi'aka would never forgive them
if he knew that they helped to carry his
dau hter away—and .et he had hidden them
to o y every order 0 Clarence until he had
been safely placed within reach of his peo le.

One of them asked Qua: “ Will the ‘W its
Dove ’ leave her father and her red brothers
and sisters i7".

“ Yes, ibi- a little time , but I will returnto
them,” she answered.

“ When 9" asked the warrior.

“ After the pals-faced chief has become my
husband. I love my father, and I love his
people. and will notbe long away from them.”

" Will the ‘ White Dove ’ swear by the
Great Spirit that she will come hack 1'”

“ Yes, as sure as the Great Spirit hears me.
I will return !" said Ona.

With this romise the Indians were satisfied,
and instan y prepared to resume their voy-
age. They wished Gas to leave her canoe

I and enter theirs with Clarence ; but she would
not, preferring to go on with them in her own,
which was so light and Well-modeled, that
she could very euil kee u with them, or
sven outstrip their best speed, if she so desired.

The now moved ra idly on, and lust

“mine several miles be ore the day broke.
They did not land to breakfast, but ate in
their boat, and then, with every muscle
strained, they pressed forward, hoping, before
night reached them, to arrive at their destim
tion. Leaving them thus, we will return to
Ar iaka.‘

can after the sun arose, he called (for GM.
for she seldom was absent from the morning
meal. The servant, who. was sent for her.
turned and said that her door was fastened
n the inside, and that he could get no re-

1 his call.

In an instant, the threat which One had
made not to live without Clarence, came to
his memory, and knowing her strong will and
passionate spirit, he feared that she had com~
mitted suicide. Hurriedly he went to her
room, and, after calling and receiving no an-
swer, he forced in the door. The open win-
dow told him in a moment how she had left
the room, and a note, left upon her little table,
told him the wherefore. It was as follows:

“ Evan Dns Farina :—For the first time in my life
I act in disobedience to your wishes. I am too voung u
die—to die of a broken heart. You have driven that
heart’s master from me, and I have followed him. Pur‘
suit is useless, forl swear by the memory of my mother,
that I will end my life with my own hand if you at-
tempt to tear me from him ! If you do not, when he is
my husband, and I know that you will welcome me
back, I will return to you. and M ever dutiful, ever
fondly, your Din.”

A groan of agony burst from his lips, as he
read this note.

“ My child, in child !" he moaned. “ Alone,
alone—all is dar without Ona l"

He wandered out, and found that her canoe
was gone, and then he went to her favorite
arbor, and sat down and wept—wept long and
bitterly. His tears seemed to relieve him, for,
after a time, he became more composed, and
returned to his lodge. But a cloud was on
his brow, which he could not dispel.

Who but those who have lost one dearer
than life to them, one whose voice and smile
Was like the music and 1i ht of heaven to
their souls, can appreciate In} grief, his utter
loneliness!

He would have one in pursuit, and be
sought her return ; but he knew that she was
one who, having her mind once set, could not
be turned, and he dared not attempt it. And
he knew, too, how truthful she was, and that
she would return if she lived, and with that
thought he sustained his heart in its desolsr
tion, mourning now, when it was too late, that
he had not consented to let Clarence remain.
He liked the youn man—had found him
brave, honorah e, an of good principle. He
did not fear that his daughter would meet with
wron at his hands, but still so grieved for
her a nos.

CHAPTER XLIII.

It was noonday, or, perhaps, a little later,
when the two canoes, containing Clarence,
One, and their party, arrived opposite the
once-love] and fruitful island upon which
Clarence ad been first taken prisoner, the
former home of A iaka and his braves.
Here they stopped an landed for a short time.
Ona’s dark eyes were tearful when she saw
how desolate and blackenad all was now
’which had been so full of fruitful beauty
when she left the spot, and the‘ faces of the
warriors were gloomy ; but they remembered
how Chikika had unished the second invad-
ers, aadof Indian e‘y, and were silent. They
had lost fruit-trees,_and corn, and houses ; but
the one could grow, and the other he built
again, But the pale-faces had lost many lives;
which could never be watered again!

Afier eating dinner, the party were ready
to proceed again, but, before leavin' , one of
the Indians ascended the loft tree w 'ch had
before been used _
amid its thick-lesved branches, the sentinel
placed there could‘ command a most extend-
ed view, reaching with the vision as far as
the main land, and quite overlooking the
small island, some three or four miles distant,
which we have noticed before.

He had hard] reached the first limbhwhen
a cry of alarm, roke from his lips. He had
detected the pale-faced sentinels in the tree
tops upon the small island—the soldiers who
had been placed there by the commander of
the third expedition of invsion, for they had
not the Indian cunning to conceal themselves
from an experienced eye, like that of the war-
rior. He instantly communicated the disco-
very to his companions,one of whom soon
[oined him. The could from their position
see the camp of t e soldiers and air boats,
for the island on which tggy were, as well as
the trec‘in which they ate , was much higher
than the other. Their little party, comin
from the west through a narrow channel, li

a no stir was visible on the smaller island to in-
dicate it;

The Indians hav' reported to Clarence, a

consultation was hel , and with the consent,

 

the past, and

the paddled swiftly. toward

as a 100 -out, for, from,

evidently not been seen by the look-outs, for , .
in one of his devilish | ,

, a poor devil of an Indian, after torturing 

almost to death to tryl and make him betriyl, »

 

In fact by the strenuous advice of the latter, ,
the warriors silently and stealthin decamped

. -— _. ..

 

 

in their canoe, taking the back track, so as tn
wamChikika and Arpiaka of this ex ditioii,
and to themselves avoid danger. larencc‘
told them that to ensure their safety he and
One Would remain concealed until near night,
and then would 0 on and inset the whites
whom they won] endeavor to ersuade to re
turn, and not succeeding in t at, would at
an rate so misdirect them as to put them
offy the course which endangered their red

‘ friends.

Ona gave them a message to her father,
which would exonerate them from all blame,
and Clarence gave them a liberal amount of
gold from his urse. ,

And then tiey went ofl' silentl , and Gas

"and Clarence felt that they were a one, and-to

each other all in all. What to them was the

world, its good or its evil, its riches or its

overt , its self-righteousness, or its misery.
El‘hey new not, cared not for any world‘ but
their own, peopled, enriched, beautified, light-
ed by their love! Oh, such a world is heaven,

more than heaven!

Time was not counted while the spoke of
ictured out their uture, and
soon the low-sinking sun told them that it was
time to move so as to reach the other island
before it set.

Clarence had ascended the tree, and with a
small field telescope satisfied himself that the,
party was composed of soldiers of his 
regiment; therefore he felt no fear’in advan 1,
in ; but tho h he was in his uniform, WW1,
stfil showed t e rents made when he received
the numerous wounds, he determined, for
Ona’s safety, to hoist a handkerchief as. a
white flag in the bow of his canoe, for she
was in the picturesque costume of an Indian

girl, and her appearance might, without pro-
.per recaution,

raw fire upon her. , ,
ith her in the stern and himself invthc
bow of the canoe, he at last tgushed 03, and,
e camp ofvtho
sol iers. They knew in a short time that
they were watched, but no signs ’of a move-
ment upon, the island bsi seen,
halted Just outside of gun s ot from it and
fired a gun to attract attention. He then
stood up in the canoe and waved his ,4!»-
ing determined to avoid every risk of sing
shot by his own friends. .
After a short delay, three armed boats put
off from the island, and approached cautions-
ly, for an ambuscadc was feared. until an 0&4
oer in the' leading boat, Captain Fulton, to-
co nized Clarence. . .
hen he dashed. on rapidly, and in a mo-

ment had him h the
Is this you rally

“ Heavens, cln'gcr!
“Me, or sllwthat is left of me, for I’ve
a cut up and thinneddown considerably

since I left the regiment l" replied Clarence.

“Why, we. thought. you surely had been.
killed, and I have your commission now with
me, which I was going to send home to your
mother, with an account of you supposed
fate. And this—this squaw with' you, does
she speak English? She looks very light for
an Indian l”

Clarence laughed outrightmnd Ona smiled.

“ Permit me, Captain Fulton," said the
former, “to introduce to you, Miss Livings-
ton; formerly of New York, but late of Mag-

' you, or your ghOst t” -

nolia Place, Florida, who will .soon be. my'

bride l”

Fulton blushed deeply, and: ma: ‘6 Excuse :

me, lady—we soldiers become very. rough
here in the wilderness‘and swamps: Your
costume misled me i” .

“ It requires no excuse. from the lips of a
friend to my Clarence!” said' the beautiful
girl. “When I am beyond the wilderness, I
will resume the dress whichiis worn by ladies
of my race 1”

“ ’And well will it become you, lady. i E!-
cus‘e the bluntncss of an old soldier, but never
have I seen in our halls of beauty one [to
compare With you. My lieutenant is a- fortn-

~ nats'man I"

t

on bowed and blushed, forshc was all no-

used to compliments - yet'fshe need not, for ‘

' the captain was too sincere and’ honest" to

think of flattery.

“ But we must hurt back—the colonel 

the hiding-place of is people. We are
heartily sick of him and his brutality. We
must return, and then you must tell me how
Yuu escaped and all about it i“

umors today—akin“! .

' an..- _

The White rWigard.

 

 

And the ca tain gave orders to turn the
boats toward the island, leading the way him-
self, close followed by Clarence and On.

 

animus xm.

It was almost impossible, in spite of the
strong orders for silence, to revent the offi-
cers and soldiers from cheering, when it was
found that their favorite lieutenant, Clarence
Febiger, had arrived safely in camp The
commandin officer at once sent for him, and,
accompanie by Ona, he at once confronted
that important individual.

“ Well, sir, so you’re back! A pretty cursed
mess you made out of your scout—lost your
men, and made us lose more, by hunting after
you i” was the characteristic welcome which

e received.

To these words, so rude and ungentlemanly,
Clarence made no repl .

“ You‘re got a devilish prett squaw with
on!" said the officer, as he ooked with a
old and licentious gaze' upon Ona, who in—

stinctively clung to Clarence for support and
protection.

“This lady is under my protection, and as
such, shall be defended from insult, sir l” said
Clarence, flushing up with anger.

“Lady—she looks very like a lady, in her
blanket and leg ins, and short etticoatl
You've very goo taste, but as al squaws.
whether they come in or are taken, are to be
detained as risoners, until they can be sent
West, I’ll re 'eve you of your charge. of the
prisoner !"

“Sirl” cried Clarence, in a tone of thun-
der, “this lady is as white in face as any of
your blood, and ten times as ure! She will
soon be my wifel Dare but reathe another
insulting word, and I will make you answer
for it at the swords point!"

“Cod, sir! what do you mean? How dare
you insult your an erior officer? I’ll have
you court-martiale , sir, shot, sir—blast you,
shot 1”

“ You are my superior in rank no more, sir,
Ifor from this moment I am free from the dis-
grace of servmg under a brutal blackguard.

resign my commission, sir!" and the youn
officer threw the commission which Fulton had
returned to him, at the feet of the colonel.

“ Yy thunder, sir, you shall not resign I”

f‘ on cannot prevent it. sir. I am now a
private citizen, and shall atonce ac uaint the

ecretary of War with the facts, on my tea
sons for it!"

“If you get the chance, curse you, if 01
get the chance! I suppose that you’ve Just

come from some camp where you have been
treated like a lord l"

“I have come from those who have cured

my wounds, and shown humanity which would '

shame some of those who hunt them i” replied
Clarence, firmly. "

“Meaning me, I suppose l”

“Meaning you, sir! ’ was the response.

“More foundation for charges, gentlemen.

I call upon you all to remember his words i”
cried the enraged commander to his ofiicers,
who, with one or two “toady” exceptions,
were as much disgusted with him as Clarence
was. .
“I su ose,” continued the commander,
“ that if flat on keep ylour squaw, you'll not
object to gui ing as to t c Indian camp which
you've lately come from ?" .

“Betray those who spared my life, treated
me with every humanity, and when I was
cured of my wounds, so as to be able to travel,
set ins, unconditionally, free? The proposi-
tion is as base as the heart which prompted it.
Never, never will I so sink my manhood I”

“ You hear his mutinous words, gentlemen.
Treason, rank treason! I would be'justified
in shooting him down on the spot!"

“ You would find it a dangerous experi-
ment,” said Clarence, with a calm smile.

“ What, rnnnus, sirl I arrest you! Seizle
and bind the mutineer, and tie up thshoqusw,
too. Put both under guard, but keep them
so crate l”

l‘he hand of Clarence was on his pistol, and
0m, whose flashing eyes spoke her scorn and
indi stion too, grasped her weapons, ready to
die y his side bravely, if need came.

“The reader may think that the character of this

ctlcor ls ovcrdrswn. Far from it! Some oflccrs yet
live who remember the fate of a beautiful can;

 

daughter of Chlklka, while shown a prisoner n his

hands, and othcr corroborative moors, which I cannot
m rotor so. :

,thci

: cool

than to serve under a brutal tyrant, said Ons.

 

But neither officer or man stirred to execute
the brutal order. .

“ Captain Fulton l" thundered the tyrant—
“Cn tsin Fulton, did you hear me, sir i"

“ did, sirl"

“Why, then, do you not obey my orders,
sir ‘2"

“I do not consider that I have any right to
lay my hands on a private citizen, sir I”

“A rivafc citizen—li—lll Consider your-
self un er arrest, sirl I’ll see if I am to be
held in contempt for nothing—consider your-
self under arrest, sirl Deliver your sword to
Lieutenant Inge l"

“ Lieutenant Inge’r will never take the sword
of his captain, under such circumstances 1"
said the last named officer.

“ Then, by thunder, sir, I arrest you 1 I’ll ar-
rest every mother’s son of you, and appoint
officers from the ranks l” he shouted.

“ And the divil a one wud serve l Ye'd
betther srrist the rigiment 1” said a voice from
among the men who had clustered around the
groupdof ofllcers. and were listening to all that

asse .
p “ Who spoke then 9" asked the colonel,
fairl boil' over with rage.

“ iddyug‘Grallaganl" said some one, and
then a titter ran through the crowd.

“ By Heavens, this mutiny shall be the
death of some you. Lieutenant Sui , {sin
that woman to my uarters, and have ebiger
tied up and put un er guard i" cried the com-
mander to one of his tondies.

Clarence, who knew Ona well, and what she
would be apt to do, said nothing, as the sub
approached her, with the intention of putting
the order into execution, so far as she was con-
cerned, for he had been a tailor, and wasn’t
afraid of a woman.

He got within about two ards of her, when
he very suddenly halted, an ,turning as white
as his pipe-clayed belt, he stummered, with a
trembling voice, “Don't shoot—don't shoot,
for the Lord’s sake i"

For Ona stood with one foot advanced, and
a long barreled pistol in her hand, aimed di-
rectly at his eye—her finger on the trigger,
and a look in her face so calm, that he knew
that death was his doom, if be advanced but
one step.

“ You cursed coward, I’ll take her in self i"
cried the colonel, springing forward; at he
stopped, too, when the pistol barrel was as
quietl and steadily turned to hit eye.

“ hy don’t you take her, sir?" said Clary- ,

once, bitterly. “ So brass an officer ought not
to fear a woman 1”
“ B the eternal! she shall disl” shouted-

uriatcd man—“ she shall die I” and be.
half drew his sword.

“ Shame, shamel” cried officers and men.

“ Let him go on, entlemen 1” said Ona,
whose voice of inelo y now fell upon their
ears for the first time. “ When he has drawn
that weapon, and advanced one step toward
me, he Will have taken his last step in life,
and I will be justified in sending him down to
meet his master 1”

A cheer broke from the lips of the rude
soldiers, when thfiy saw how bravely the
heroine held hersc .

“ We will break up this camp, and return to
the fort at once I" said the colonel. whose rage
was only equaled by his mortification, and he
turned away to his tent.

“ As I am free, I Will proceed at oncel
Come Gun 1" said Clarence, turning to his
canoe.

“ I am under arrest, and not required with
my company; permit m_c to go along and help
paddle your canoe !’1 said Fulton. .

“Certainly, captam, certainly 1" said Clar-
ence, and soon the three were on their way to
the Miama. ,

“ B the gods of war, Miss Livin ston, on

ed' the colonel down in a hurry " sai the
ca tain, after he had paddled some time.
“ lorence will never have occasion to fight
your battles l” x

“ Nor any other, I hope, hereafter, sirl His
resignation brings jo to my heart, for I shall
have him all to myse f l”

“ But his comrades will re retit, lady! E
was the life of the regiment "

u my only wonder is, that all of them who
"a men, do not follow his example, rather

“I thought none but gentlemén held commis-
sions in the army. How could such a man as
is get his high position}?I ,.

“mamas.

 

‘ signing One to the care 0

shine to breakniip
e

27

" By political influence, lady! Made right
from the cotton-field—a ni gerodriver there,
am! not much better here? Our rnduates
from the military academy are gen omen. so
are man of the citizen appointments, but such
men as is will sometimes get in I”

They soon entered the little river, and went
rapidly down its swiftourrent, and, long before
midni ht, were at the fort. Obsorvin that
one o the transport steamboats, used to ring
stores, etc., from more northern ports, was at
anchor off the mouth of the river. Clarence
determined to c on board at once. for he did
not wish to give the brutal tyrant another
opportunit to insult either Ona or himself.

his he id, and was warmly Welcomed b
the captain, whom he knew, and whose wi 0
being on board, could render many attentions
to Ono, which she required, and also furnish
her with different clothes, which would not
attract so much attention.

“ When do you leave, Captain Duke I”
asked Clarence, sficr ho had explained his
position, and his recent sdvcnturss.

“ For Savannah, to-morrow just as soon as
the quarter-master has ut some wood aboard
for me, and signed all tlie receipts I” said the
captain.

“ I shall go with ou—I and my sweet wifc
that is to be i” said e.

“ I’m glad of that. If you feel in I ha
to at married, I'll run into St. Augustine, an
find a priest for you I" ,1

“ Thank on, my dear Duke, thank you!

' I do not fee 'so anxious, now that my yids-

elect is in safe uarters I” said Clarence, smil-
ing at the kin -hearted proposition, and re-
Mrs. Duke, for the
exhausted girl much needed rest. ‘
“ You must come to my private state-room.
and take a toddy with me, in honor of the
occasion I” said ths captain. “Fulton has
one ashore, for he expects a breeze when old
rick-to ets ‘down the river. The old ~
heathen better not put on any of his hith-
lutin’ airs aboard this boat, or he’ll go over-
board as sure as my name is Jim Duke l"

Clarence could not well refuse the invita-
tionmthcreforc, he followed the warm-besrted

‘ captain to his “private stats-room," ss hecsll-

sd it, which was almost firmly filled with
jugs, bottles,,demij0hns, s ll sgs, and ci-
.Wdthsrcthcy both “ W"

 

CHAPTER XLV.

loving much-more slow than Olsrcnce,
"'“h the light; canoe, and so taking some-
camp, for the ..‘iscontent@d
also worked nly sud lazily, it was near]
down when t e colonel reached the fort wit
his forces.

His first inquiry upon landin wss for Clar-
ence and Ono, for while his bs heart burned
with fury a ainst the first, the beauty of the
last hsd ad ed a more fiendish passion than
to re to his nature.

c instantly ordered an officer of the Hi-
‘son to c on board and brin ' them as ’oro.
The oflicer soon returned, and of course with-
out having accomplished the object of his
mission. ‘

“ Why the dense didn’t you bring them
sshorc, sad or alive, sir l” cried the colonel,
who had got ruin enough in him to make him
more brutal than ever.

“He has resigned from the service. sir, and
I dare not risk my commission by placing in
gand‘upon a private citizen!" ,replied the o -

cer. "

“But the sqnsw—the squswl” cried the
colonel, showing his “full hand :" “she is a
prisoner, and by Heaven shall remain so I”

“If you mean the lad who is with him.
you ars'mistakcn, sir! he is a lad , as fail-
.snd well-bred as the first in the land ” '

“ You lie—cursc'you, you lie I”

“ Your rank shields you alone from punish-
ment, sir, and your conduct would dis race a
brothel I": said the officer, rotiring in isgust
from his presence. -

“ By the eternal, I'll go in self!” he cried.
“ Crdsrlyl send Lieutenant nip here I"

The orderly obeyed. and soon- the ex—tsilor
made-his op srsnce. Ho lookeds very good
« puma" o the ninth art of a man, and- an
‘one would wonder how e could have got into
the servme, who did not understcnd‘liow some
atheism,” their tailor bills in Washington.
The“)! 0 9 tailor, drcssmskcr, bootmaker,
butter, or millinsr, can always find influence
for an office, orcommissi‘ ‘on. which the worth!

(

l
l
‘ !

 

 

 

 

 

28

Half

 

 

The New York Library.

 

 

descendant of a revolutionary hero would ask
for in vain. There is at this moment a
wealthy wine-merchant, in one of our large
seaboard cities, whose boast is, that his son’s
commission only cost him a half-a-dozen bas-
kets of champagne, Jersey-made at that.

" Lieutenant Snip, go and select ten men,
whom you know you can depend upon to obey
lorders, and prepare to go on board of that
steamer. to make an arrest And. curse you.
don’t on show the white feather sin, as
you did last night, or I’ll run you t rough
quicker than I did the Indian! Do you
hear 1’” ,

“ Yes, sir," stammered Snip ; “ but—
but—-”

“ But what, sir?”

“ Are you going to try to arrest Febiger and
his woman?"

“ Not to try, but to do it—curse you, to no
it! Now, do on understand me 1'”

“Yes, sir— ut hadn’tI better order out a
whole com any, instead of ten men, sir P
Febiger is readful desperate, and I’d rather
face the devil than that woman] She’d kill
a fellow before he could take a stitch in a
button-hole l”

“Curse you for a sneaking tailor—I can
never make a man of you! Go and obe my
orders ; muster ten men, and bring them ere,
or I‘ll break your thick head l”

Thus admonished, Snip disappeared, and
the tyrant began to prepare himself to carry
out his manly intentions, by taking a stiffener
of whiske ——-his favorite bevera e.

The order] , who had heard 1 of this con-
versation, now whispered to another soldier,
who, like himself, was friendly to Clarence.
to go and inform Captain Fulton of the plans
of the tyrannical wretch. The latter at once
went on board of the steamer, where he found
Captain Duke and Clarence, both afoot, early
as it was.

He at once stated the ob'ect of his visit.

“ Old Brick—top coming ere to try to take
away my passengers?” cried Captain Duke,
who at all times was excitable, as mostwarm-
hearted men are, but doubly so now. “ By
[the big pewter spoon that Goliah eat mus
and milk with, he‘ll find his match! Here.
you Pluto, you an el of darkness, come here I"

The black coo answered this summons,
and as he stood there, showing his ivories, he
asked what "massa eap’n” wanted?

“ Have you got hot water in the coppers ?"

“ Yes, sah l"

“ Well, stir up the fire, and keep it hot, and
when you hear me whistle, hrin me two
buckets of it, and make Pomp and am bring
four more. and when and where I tell you to
heave it, heats! Do on understand?’

“ Yes, sahl” said e darkie, who wasuscd
to his master’s odd ways, and knew how to
obey orders without asking questions.

f-And tell the mate I want him!” said the
captain.

'Ihc mate was near by, and at once re-
sponded to the inquiry for him, in person.

“ Mr. Smith, just tripe up the accommoda-
tion ladders on both sides of the vessel, so
that anybody who comes aboard of here,
without my consent, will have some climbing
to do 1”

“ Aye, aye, sir I” responded the officer.

“ And let me know, Mr. Smith, the moment
that on see a boat co ' from shore, and
see i old Brick-top, Colone —-—, isin it l”

“ Yes, sir l”

“ You must not get ourself into trouble on
n mount, my dear ukel" said Clarence.
“ can ve easily defend myself, for I am
well armed‘lX ' I

u Just you be easy,  you please, Mr. Febi—

erl” replied the captam,blandly‘. “What I

0 here is on in own account. he ‘ri ht of
visit’ and ‘ the right of search” are two ings
which no bloody soldier (present company al-
ways excepted, gentlemen), like old Brick-top,
shall ever make me acknowled e i If he gets
himself into hot water, it will 6 because he
sticks his nose where he has no busmeflfi to
put it. But come, gentlemen, in throat
tickles. I’ve got an anti-fog-matic even-86
down in my rivate state-room, which has
been conimen ed by all of the doctors. and
two-thirds of the preachers in the land, 35
being ‘ good for the stomach !’ Let’s try some
of it ” . a

The captain, under the circumstances, could
not expect a refusal, nor did he receive it

“There is a boat coming from shore, sir I”
reported the mate, at the moment when they
lulvi'tltell' glasses to their lips.

“ Very well. Mr. Smith!‘ Take a nip, sir!
Are the ladders triced up ?"

“Yes. sir !”

“ And Brick-top in the boat ?”

“ Yes, sir, with an officer and a dozen
soldiers, all armed l”

“ Very well. Tell the cook and his niggers
to have their hot water ready. Let the rest
of the men be hunting up handspikes and
cordwood knots about decks. You understand
me, don’t you 1'"

“Yes, air I” said the mate, tossing off his
grog, and then hastenin to obey orders.

Captains Duke and ulton and Clarence
now took their hitters, and then went on deck
to see what was next on the programme.

The boat from shore was nearly alongside.
The colonel, whose face was red as fire, ex-
cited alike with rum and anger, shouted as
she came near:

“ What have you got your ladders pulled
up for, you infernal curse I”

" You brick-topped old heathen you, if you
curse me, I’ll give you something to remem-
her till the devil gets you l" shouted Duke.

“Lower down your ladder, so that I can
come aboard!”

“ I’ll see you entirely, particularly, and so
sentially cursed first 1” replied Duke.

“ Climb u there, one of you, and lower
down the In der l” shouted the colonel, as his
boat’s bow touched the steamer’s side. i

“ Stand by with the water, Pluto i” said
Duke, in a low tone.

“ Yes, massa cap’n, him all ready!” said
the negro, with a broad grin,

A moment later, as the head and shoulders
of a soldier appeared over the steamer’s rail
Duke pointed toward it and said, “ heave !”

With a yell of a any the soldier let go all
holds, and droppe back into the boat.

“ Give them all a dose—old Brick-top as
well as the restl” shouted Duke, and in a se-
cond the whole boat’s crew found themselves
literally in “ hot water,” and, elling and
screaming, they pushed clear of t e steamer,

“ I‘ll sink‘your cursed boat!” yelled the
colonel, kicking poor Snip to make him stop
howling.

“ Try it!” cried Duke. “ I’ve got guns as
well as hot waterl And tell your quarter-
master if he isn’t alongside soon with my rc«
cei ts, I’ll go ofi' without them, and report him
an you to the department! I’m not going

to lose my steamer’s time, waiting for a parcel ”

of rumgsivilling, squaw-hunting soldiers like
yourself l”

“I suppose you’ll lower your ladder for the
quarter-master ?”

“Yes, but if you offer to come with him,
I’ll give you more hofiwster, you blasted
heathen l"

The discomfited colonel now returned to
the shore to have his scalds dressed, and he
did not find it convenient to return when the

uarter-master came off.

And though many boats came from shore,
bringing officers who wished to bid Clarence
.adieu and wish him happiness with his bride
there was no further occasion to use hot water
It had worked a miracle, for it had efi'ectually
cooled the ardor of the tyrant, and rendered
him sensible to the soothing influences of
sweet oil and laudanum.

Clarence made a confidant of Ca tain Fulton.
so far as to let him know who t e father of
One was, that in easea'he should be taken he
might find a friend in him, but he did not re‘
veal any clue by which his retreat could he
discovered.

The sun had not quite reached its meridian
when Ca tain Duke was ready for sea, fired
up and o . Rapidly the steamer swept down
the smooth bay, and, taking the high tide,
steered out through the narrow channel ol
“Bear Cut,” to the north of Key Biscayne,
and was soon heading away to the north-east»
ward, with wind and current both in her
favor. I And now, out n on the glorious
ocean, far from the reach 0 those who had so
lately imperilled their peace, Ona felt indeed
that Clarence was all her own, and that,
henceforth, all would he sunshine to her. She
thou ht'but little of her father’s grief and
was s—she was too happy to think]

Ah, how selfish is love! And wh shtmld
it not be? I only ask a repl from t are who
love! Let old bachelors an ancient maidens
hold their peace.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XLVI.

How suddenly in life are the brightest pros-
pects clouded. Truly, when we speak 0 fate
and fortune, we may say that they are fickle,
more fickle than the changing wind. We are
told b wise and holy men that the decrees of
Provi ence are immutable. Perhaps they are
so. But, without any disrespect, permit me
to say that I think they are shrouded in a very
unnecessary amount of mystery. Why can't
a fellow know what is coming, see the grand
finale, and shape his ends to meet it decently,
with his clothes on and buttoned up.

When Captain Duke’s steamer left the Bay
of Biscayne, and edged up on her course in
the blue Gulf Stream, all was fair overhead,
scarce a cloud in sight, and not a sign of an
approaching gale. The sea rolled smoothly
on, and the steamer, under a full head, clove
the blue waters asunder, and swept rapidly
northward. Her soils were spread to the fa-
voring breeze, in addition to her steam, and
each mile that she made, increasing the dis-
tance between Clarence and his foes, lightened
the heart of One, although they also increased
the distance which se arated her from her fa-
ther, whom she love ever tenderly.

Yet loved she more than all on earth or in
heaven, him upon whose arm she leaned, as
they paced to and fro upon the steamer’s pro.
mena e deck, now glancing off over the for
blue waters of the Gulf Stream upon man a
snow sail, which, like a white-winged bird,
glidei over it, then looking shoreward upon
the fadeless green and rich hued foliage of that
tro ic clime.

he houses of the military posts, known as
Fort Sanderdale, were soon passed ; then came
in sight the blufl" known as the Black Rocks,
and Captain Duke ordered the engineers to
press her, so that she should double Caerna-
veral’s'ugly cape before night with its dark-
ness set in.

Clarence noticed with some apprehension
that the captain very often went into the cab-
.n and looked at his barometer; but he care-
fully concealed his fears, if he had any, from
One. and, finally, with some well dew-ed ex
ruse, got her down into the cabin. and- placed
a book in her hand which he knew would in-
terest her, for she had passed her happiest
hou‘rs in such companionship while in the
camp of her father. Having done this, Clar-
ence sought the captain, who, seeing that he
was disengaged, solicited his company to a
spiritual consultation in his private state-room

“ Why do you look at your barometer, to-
day, so often, captain ?” asked Clarence, with
assumed carelessness, while he “ qualified ” a
whiskey todd with some water.

“ Oh, it’s a shit I have !” said the captain,
“I always keep my eyes open in these lati-
tudes, especially at this season, when a blow
sprin s up all of a sudden, and no one can tell
how ong it will last.”

“But, Duke, my dear fellow, you know I’m
no coward—we’ve sailed together before ; you
know that the weather, though fair now, looks
like a chan e."

“ Well. heutenant, seein that it is you, I
don‘t know as I need to hi e it. The barom-
eter has been falling ever since morning, and
I am now crowding all the steam and sail I
can, in ho es of being able to get into Indian
River, if lP can, before a blow comes on. The

- ‘ old boat ’ was never built for outside Work

on the ocean, and though she is staunch for
her age, build, and tonnage, I’ve no wish to

. test her capacity in a gale in the gulf.”

“Nor I to see you do it,” said Clarence
while a shade of anxiety crossed his face. “ Is
there an thing which I can do to aid you, Cap.
tain Du e 17” ’

“ Nothing, sir. only keep that lady-bird cl
your’s easy in her mind, and don’t let any one
aboard see you look anxious. I never let my
men feel through my looks that there is dan-
ger, no matter what there is before me.”

“ You can rely on nie—I will be as cool as
yourself, captain, and to be more so is impos-
sible l” replied Clarence, and he again sought
the side of his lady-love, and entered into
cheerful conversation with her. ’

Meantime, the change indicated by the bar»
ometer so long before, began to. be visible to
the eye. The fresh westerly breeze died away,
and the sails flapped so idly against the spara
that the oflicer of the deck had them taken in.
And the air grew still, and hot, and stifling.
And a heavy circlet of cloud seemed to be
llole rising from the horizon all around.

The White Wizard.

29

 

 

That a. gale was coming, all could see, but
from what direction no one could say.

“ Crowd on the steam, crowd on the steam l”
cried Captain Duke to the engineer, who
looked u from the engine room to cool his
burning ace.

“ God, sir, she will not hear another ounce,
nor can fire make it for her 1" replied the of-
floor.

“Thank God! the bluff of St. Lucie looms
up in sight at last i” said he. “ Give us only
three hours more of calm, and it may blow
all creation up by the roots, for all that I care.
[’11 be at snug moorings then.”

As he spoke, a low but distant rumbling
rolled across the water. It was the sound of
the thunder-car of the s irit of the storm.
And now more rapidly di the cloud-belt rise,
which so darkly circled them. The on tuin
calmly ordered all the light spars sent own,
the boats to be secured with extra f'astenin s,
and everything loose on deck and below to 6
made fast. And he bade the engineer keep
u the steam and look well to his machinery.
This done, he calmly stood by the helmsman,
and waited for the gale.

And near him stood Clarence and One, for
she had heard the rapid orders, and intuitive-
ly knew that danger was apprehended. But
s e did not tremble nor pale, though she clung
closely to the arm of Clarence, for her e es
were on his face, not a on the sky, and t at
face was as quiet and on m as if he was sleep-

in .

diverything was very still now, except the
clang of the engine an the dash of the pad-
dles in the water. The crew Were silent;
there was no wind, even the distant thunder
ceased to roll, while the clouds gathered thick
and dark overhead, until the scene were almost
the gloom of ni ht. In the west, the white
nutlines of a sun y beach, with tall pines for
a background, could be seen—411 else around
was sombre water.

Suddenly, a gleam of liglitnin shot athwart
the whole sky, seeming to tear t e huge dens-
ity of cloud into a thousand ragged fragments.
And close 11 on it followed a terrific peal of
thunder, as if an hundred batteries of cannon
had all at once belched forth their tremendous
fire. Then from the rent clouds came vast
torrents of rain, so dense, so heavy, that the
srew sought refuge below, exce t those on
immediate dut , and One was gla , with Clar
once. to seek s alter in thermal wheel-house
by the side of the captain. Nyever had she
seen rain pour in that way before.

Meantime, the steamer held her course,
steadily plunging through the black and seeth-
ing waters, as if endued with life ; and the
brave captain. with his favorite stearsman by
his side, watched the con. ass, and prayed chm
no worse than rain woul come.

“ Are we not near the port ?" asked Clarence,
at last. ' _

“ Only an hour’s or two hours’ m from it.
at the furthest, if it holds calm l" rephed the
ca taiu. .

gust as he spoke, a tremendous concussion
was heard amongst the machiner below, and
the next moment the wheels 0 the steamer
stop ed.

“ ood God, what is the matter now 7" ask-
ed Clarence. _

The engineer rushed on deck at that instant,
and reported to Ca tain Duke that the main
shaft was broken 5 ort off. -

“ Damnation l” was the only response of
Duke, as he hurried below to look at the dam-

e. He soon returned, and, though he assum-
23 a forced calmness, he could not concea1
that he was annoyed and troubled

“ Well, what’s the damage ?” asked Clarence,
who had persuaded Ona to 0 into the cabin,
promising to call her if the danger increased.

“If we had a flair wind, and not too much
of it, I wouldn’t care 9" said Duke. “ We
have got to depend upon our canvas now, for
we cannot get the shaft repaired on this side
of Savanna .” ,,

While he was speaking, the rain owed ,1.
most as suddenly as it had come on, and the
darkness began to clear away.

“I think a breeze Will soon spring upl'
said Clarence, _

“ More than a breeze—an infernal gale, I
ex eat I” muttered Duke. And then he gave
or ers to reef the fore-and-aft sails of the
steamer, and to double the sheets, andget “up
additional sta s for the masts and chimney:
Havin seen t is done, and _knOWl_ng that 0
,could o no more, but must in patience await

the issue. whatever it might be. the captain

 

inVited Clarence to visit—his “private state-
room " once more, “ for," said he, “ it is likely
that I shall be too busy for such matters in a
little while, and a drop or two Won’t hurt me
just now, it isn't likely.”

Clarence silently complied with his request,
for he had not the heart to refuse him, so sor-
rowful did he seem in his trouble.

They soon returned to the deck. Night was
now approaching, and they were slowly drift
ing in toward the beach. Captain Duke now
ordered the anchors cleared, and the cables
ranged, and then, the thought strikin him
that help might be sent out from Indian tivcr,
if his signals of distress were heard at the fort
there, he caused his pilot gun to be fired seve-
ral times.

“ What sound is that Y” asked Clarence, as
a low and sullen roar came 11 from the south
eastward, soundin like the istant clamor of
an angry multitu e of men.

“It is that which I most dreaded, a gale,
and blowing right on shore l” said Contain
Duke, uneasily, as he glanced to windward.
“ If this were a staunch cli per, stout spurred,
and with a good hold be ow water, and but
little above it, we might claw off, but, as it is,
with our heavy 11 per works, and scanty sail,
we cannot. I fear that I shall have to beachher."

“There would not be much risk in that,
while the sea is smooth l” said Clarence.
“We could reach the land safely, over the
bows of the boat!"

“ But the safety after we get there would be
the question!" said Duke, earnestly. “ The
coast swarms with Indians, who watch for
every wreck, and pounce on their helpless
crews l"

“But your crew numbers twenty men or
more, good and true, and we have plenty of
arms and ammunition i"

“What will twenty men be against a bun-
dred or two savages, who have the advan-
tage of a knowledge of the country l”

“They must be all in all to us! I have
something more than life to fight for!” sighed
Clarence, as he thought of poor Ona.

The sound of the rising gale came now,
louder and louder, on their ears, and the
watchful captain trimmed his scanty sails so
as best to meet it A little longer on] had
they to wait, and then it came with earful
force. At first, the steamer careened so that
she appeared to be capsizing, and Clarence
hastened to the side of 0119., to relieve her of
fear, and to aid her when it became necessary.

The on. tain saw at once, that the‘only way
to save his crew would be to beach the vessel
before the sea became too rough for the crew
to land, and, with a heavy heart, he gave the
order to hoist a sail forward, and to put the
helm up so as to run in. For no captain looks
upon t e approaching loss of his vessel but
with rief. ,

O ers were given to the crew to get out
provisions, etc., and to arm themselves well,
and prepare plenty of ammunition Some
tents, and other necessary articles, were or-
dered up, and then all was ready.

Clarence and Our. stood on deck, ready, like
the rest, to meet the shock when the vessel
should strike the shore. She now moved
swiftly on before the bowling a‘le—~the white
beach and its crumbling brea‘ ers were close
on board, and in a short time, Just as the sun
was going down in the west, the ill-fated ves-
sel struck. By her own force. and the swift-
following sur es, she was forced high u on
the beach, an it was an ens thing to land
from over her bows, and to to e on shore the
articles which had been selected. But they
were obliged to hasten in this, for the storm
roe with fearful rapidity and strength, and
they soon heard the envy seas crashing in the
bulwarks and strong tun ers of the boat.

“Now that we are ‘shcre, you must take
command," said the ca tain to Clarence. “ I
will shoulder my mus et, am1 do a soldier’s
duty for the poor steamer is s gone-in fact!"

Clarence, thus need, took charge, and with
a soldier’s ready tact and skill, formed his en-
campment in a thick grove, a short distance
back fromithe sea, where the tents could be
pitched easfly, and safe from the force of tho
gale, and at once posted ‘sentinels at a proper

istance around the camp, to avoid a nu ma.

Darkness .came on b the time the the
camp was hpitched and t e provisions stored.
but camp- r_es were lighted, and the men felt
cheerful, while they hstened to the tern t
which waged over the wild w'atsrs,for ey
felt that they had escaped a rest danger, the
almost certainty of perishinggat sea.

I

 

“ How far do ou think we are from Indian
River ?" asked 0 ureuce of Captain Duke, after
the scntinels had been posted, and all walI
.-ight in the camp

“Not more tian thirty miles I" said the
latter.

“ Then, to-morrow, we can easily go or send

there i" I
“It is a hard country to travel over. licuf
tenant!" l

“Not so hard as the Big Cypress, and I’ve
traveled many a mile in that.’ ,

“Not when you had a delicate woman to

a take- care of!"

“ Oh. you need not fear for Onal She is as
light of foot. and as fleet as a fawn l”

“ And will tire as soon, maybe 1” said Duke,
gloomily.

“What is the matter of you to-night P"
asked Clarence. “You are onerally so gay
and light-hearted, that you esp everybody
out of the blue: I”

“ Do on hear the poor old steamer break-
ing up ." re lied Drake. “ Before morning
there won’t e one timber of her left stuck to
another. And what’s to come next ‘I donlt
know, but I feel as if something terrible was
coming, and I can’t help it. You know, I am
the last to whine without a reason, but there
is a feeling on me which I cannot shake off!"

“Well, turn in, captain, and tr and take
some sleep. I shall act as officer 0 the card
for the first half of the night. Iwill c you
for the next wptch l"

The captain want in gloomy silence to the
tent which had been pitched for him, and
Clarence, after visitin Gas in her tent, and
telling her to sleep witgout fear, took his round
of visit to the sentinels.

So load was the noise of the dashing surf
and violent wind, that all other sounds were
drowned, and it was only when close to each
other that their voices could be understood.
In consequence, the sentinels were cautioned
to be very attentive, for at sucha time, a sur-
prise could most easily be effected. And
none but those who have been engaged in
warfare with the wily and treacherous savages,
can imagine their cunning, how much like the
panther they creep upon their victims, how
merciless than as wh- ‘h- ~ successf l

—_

mural: van. y

The night wore slowly on to Clarence, but
no passe it away in his rounds to the senti- ‘
nels, visiqu the front of the tent of his be.
loved, and in thinking of the singular adven-
tures which he had lately passed throu h.
Unhke the captain, his heartbeat high with
hope, and joyful anticipations of the future.
He looked orwsrd to the hour when Ona
should be his bride, and when he should have
the happiness to present her as a daughter, to
his beloved mother.

At twelve Clarence ‘aroused a flesh and
of men from their slumbers, and praise ed to
relieve the guard. The new sentinels were
cautioned particularly to be on thcalert, espe-
cially toward the s proach of day, for it is
supposed that men s eep most soundly just at
the end of night, and that time, more often
than any1 other, is selectcd‘for an attack. True
it is wit those who are not used to be for-
ever on the watch for s on rise, that when
the greater part of the night as been passed
in safety, they relax in vigilance and caution.

When Clarence went to amino Captsin
Duke, he found him already awake.

“I heard cu when you changed the
guard," said c, “ but I did not leave in
tent, for I know that you would come here
when I was wanted. have not, at closed
my e cs, nor'csn I. There I! a weight upon
my cart which: I cannot heave ofl—I am
sure there is moi-'9 trouble ahead l”

“ Pshsw, don’t let such thou hts enter your ‘
brain: take ‘a drop of com ort‘ from that
Schiedam case. Inc] I walk in the fresh sir,
and you’ll feel as lively as a cricket!"

The cap“!!! ekhed, and (for s wonder), re-
fused the “ spiritual consolation" indicated b
Clarence; but he went out, and with the ls
tor visited a different sentinels, so so to learn
the locations of their posts. Then, Clarence
returned. and wrappin his military cloak
around him: out himse down on the groumk

'infl‘ont of Ono's tent, and was soon soun

“100p:
' How lo
lot but he

he la in this slumber he knew
ad a dream. He thought

u

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a... v. wwvqum

 

The New York Library.

 

tn it, that he was surrounded by a band~ of

elling savages, and that a huge warrior was
hearing Ona away, she struggling and scream-
ing, but powerless in his arms. He woke-
the ells and her wild screams were all too
wall He tried to rise, but was thrust or
knocked backward on the earth, and felt that
his enemies were binding him.

It was almost dawn, and when the light
came. a fearful sight presented itself to his

horrified vision. More than one-half of the
men lay scalped where they had been sleep-
ing, for the sentinels had been struck down
in their tracks, so silently had their foes crept
upon them. The residue of the men were
bound captives like himself, and prominent
was the poor captain, bleeding from a wound
in the head, by which he Was knockedbsense-
less at the onslaught. Poor Ona was ound,
too, but what struck the most horror to the
heart of Clarence, was the discover that
“ Wild Cat,” or Coacoochee,was the principal
leader of the savage band.

“ So, pale-face, and Arpiaka’s s uaw—obild,
belon to me once more! ugh! 0 like ’em
heap Make young ale-face chief eat firel
Arpiaka's s new shal see him dance and hear
him sing ! e lau h bi heap, ugh !”

“ If I was free I' ma c you lau h on the

other side of your face, you red ogl" said
Clarence, bitter] ‘.
“U h! Muc talk, you! By-and-bye,

cry a 'ttle! Me laugh heap !" said Coacoo—
chee, delighted that his taunts had stirred
Clarence to anger. ,

A strong guard of the Indians was kept
around the prisoners, but the main body of
them were engaged in pillaging from ,gthe
wreck, the stores and materials 0 which lay
strewed up and down the beach in every di-
rection.

“ Sec—they are at your liquor l” said Clan
once, in a low tone. to Duke. ‘

“ Yes, blast the infernal heathen, I wish it '

would poisen them!” replied the captain.

“ It will make them drunk i" said Clar-
once.

“ And devilish !” said Duke.

“Helpless and stupid, I hope, and then
there may be a chance for our escape I" said
Clarence.

“Not tied up, as we are, like a parcel of
sheep, ready for the butcher!” growled the
ca tain.

cor Oua, pale and terror-stricken to the
very heart, was silent all this time, for, from
the Indian’s talk, which she wel "understood,
she learned that Clarence and all of the men
were destined for the torture, while she alone
was to he s aredfor a fate to her worse than
death, for oaccoche claimed her as his rise.

For a time, Coa'coochc remained wit his
prisoners, and he to keen watch over his
guard ; but when e saw the prizes which the
rest were findin on the beach, and the “fire-
water,” for whic he like most red men, had
a taste, he joined with the others. For well
is knew that his captives were safely bound,
and were the even loose. unarmed as they
were, he woul soon recapture them.

Meantime, the red sun swept up the cloud-
less sky ;. for the storm had passed away,
though the great seas rolled heavil in from
gulfward. And in the distance w its sails
could be seen on the blue water, but they
kept far away from the dreaded coast, about
which many a tale of red-handed murder had
slread been told.

As t is day shortened, the Indians, or many
of them, at least, became intoxicated, and
though for a while furious and dan erous in
their drunkenness, they at last subsided into
stupor. But Coacooche, though he haddrank
considerable li nor, was too cunning to be;
come so entire helpless as the rest of his
warriors; and air women, who never drink,
took the places of guards over the captives,
M 'ell as theilI drunken lords. ' . _

The agony of Clarence and the captain was
very intense, for they had been bound in most

inful itions, and the cords had been

rawn With all the force of Coacoochee’c hatred,
and cut deep into their limbs. The chief
had been more careful of One, but she was
secured so that, much, as she desired it, .she
could not relieve Clarence in his suffering.
But she persuaded one of the sqnaws, by using

entle words in her, ownlsnguage, to give
53cm all water to cool their burning li . {01'
they lay in the .hot sun. And from this she
ho ed to gain yet other divors, for the name
of her father was great among all the Indians.

and his power was feared. So she com-

 

~~ - .-’=.—-» _"‘ 

menced to speak to the squaw of her position.

“ I am Coacoocliee‘s Wife—he is my master,
not Arpiaka!” replied the woman, hauglitily,
looking at the chief, who had lain down under
a tree near by, and seemed to be sleepin .

“ Does the wife of Coacoochee love him ?"
asked Ona, determined to try to win her way
on a new track. and one most vulnerable in
woman-nature, for show me the woman who
was never 'ealous, and I will point out her
who never loved!

“ As the doc loves its mate—as the she-
bear loves its cubs. Iwould die for him i"
replied the squaw.

“ And does Coacoochee love his wife 1‘" con-
tinued Ona.

“Does the sun shine? Does water run?
Coacoochee loves Minster-oh !"

“Then why did he come to the lodge of
Arpiaka. and ask him for his daughter, long

0? Wli did he seek to tear her away
from her gther‘s arms? Look at the last
scar on his body, the wound not yet all heal-
ed! It Was got when he was tr ing to get
the daughter of Arpiaka to be is squaw!
Wh does he now keep me a captive here ‘3”

“ 0 make you eat fire I” replied Mina-
larch.

“No!” said Ona. “ He thinks that I am
beautiful. He will burn my friends, but me
he will take to his lodge. Hohas said it.
He will make me his wife, and tell you to
draw water, and bring wood, and cook for
me i” said Gas.

“The daughter of Arpiaka lies!” said the
squaw, fiercely. “Minataroh will not be a
slave for her.”

“ She will, unless Minataroh will loosen her
bonds, and let her fly from the presence of
Coacoochee while he sleeps.”

“ Go I". said the excited squaw, and, with a
knife, she cut the bonds which had confined
Ona’s limbs to ether.

But, are thella'tter could move, Coacoochec.
with one bound, lea ed from his pretended
slumber, and stood, with fiendish rage depicted
in every look, before her. His glitterin
hatchet was raised hi b above his head, an
his flashing eyes wan ered from her to the
squaw, who now knelt cowering at his feet.
Death was in his look, and Clarence trembled
in unuttersble agony for the life of poor Ona
The glittering weapon was whirled around the
Indian’s‘ hea two or three times, then, like
lightning, it descended, and Clarence closed
his eyes in horror as he heard its dull crash
when it entered the skull of the fiend’s victim.

‘Not a moon or a shriek followed the cruel
act, and Clarence, thinking that she had died
without pain, and it" was better than she
should live and suffer, raised his head to look
once more upon her whom he so loved.

Coac‘ooch’e’e was calml wiping awa the
blood and brains from hatchet, w ' e one
of his feet res‘ted upon the body of Minataroh,
for the, and not Ona, had fallen a sacrifice to
his anger. I . I I

“ Arpiaka’s squaw-child had better have
kept her tongue close,” said the grim warrior,
as he re-bound the horror-stricken girl,
“She’ll have to bring her own wood and
Water, when she goes to the lodge of Goa-
coochec.” ,

" Does Coacoochee love mcne ? Does he
want arms, fine cloths, and ric presents 9"
asked Clarence, ho ing to tem t the cupidity
of the Indian. “ lfjhc will e me and m
companions to a post of my people, I wi
give him ten thousand dollars.”

“ Money, heap, me like ’cin, but love my
vcnge more i” said the chief, haughtily. “ To-
day, Indians drunk—all fools. To—morrow
they'll be sober, and then the pale-faces shall
eat fire and sing the death song. To-night,
¥au shall hear your s new sing a new song,
01‘ She lhflll sleep in t e arms of Coacoochcc.
Then your heart will be glad to eat fire, ch 1’"
, “Aficurscd monster. let me loose but for

‘ one moment; and I’ll teach an a new, son "

muttered Clarence, who orgcti his b il
agony in the thought that the infernal wretch
might be so devilish as to carry out‘his horri-
ble threat, and force him to hear her cries 'of
misery while he could not help her. Such
torture, more dreadful than an 'invcnted by

' oven the demons of the Inquisition!

The day wore slow] ' on; and iii ht came,
but itbrought no relic to‘tli'e sufi'c ng party.
The Indians, as they recovered froni’ their first
stupor, woke only to drink again; but. still
the captives were guarded by Coac‘oboheei and
others of the women, who, knowin the fate
of pcor Minatar‘oh, were careful’inot‘ to 1'in
ofien‘ding him who had slain her.

 

,thy‘ alone. This done, lookin

 

The pale moon arose, and lighted u the
scene With almost the brilliancy of day. gflven
the cam fires seemed pale in its light. And

Coacooc ee, led on b his taste, and apparent-
ly forgetful of his t reat in regard to Ona,
again took to the fire-water; and it was with
supreme joy that Clarence saw him take from
among the medical stores a bottle of antimo-
nial wine, the taste of which pleased him so
much that he had nearly drained its contents
before he began to feel its sickening efi'ects.

When he id. and began to feel the deathly
qualmishness, which was the natural result of
an emetic so very powerful, Clarence laughed
aloud, and the Indian began to feel fearfully
alarmed.

“ Why does the pale-face chief laugh ?” he
asked.

“Because Coacooche has drank oison, and
will soon sing his death-song,” sai Clarence,
boldly.

The Indian groaned fearfully, for the death-
ly sickness rew so fast upon him that he felt
as if he can d not rise. ,

“ Ugh l" he groaned, as the cold sweat bead-
id out in large drops on his brow. “Ugh!
me sick heap. Ugh !” and he dashed the half-
emptied bottle away.

“If Coacoochee will do right, I can save
him," said Clarence. “ I can kill the poison
with medicine.”

“ Kill i't then—kill it quick- and me no kill
you !” said Coaccochee, who began to wriths
with pain.

“ Release me and my friends, and I will,"
said Clarence, “Set us free, and give us our
arms, and I will 'vc you the medicine."

'fIMe set you so; the rest, no!” groaned
the Indian.

“ Then die! See, the poison works I" cried
Clarence, as the Indian writhed in pain, and
commenced vomiting fearfull .

“Ugh! ughlnicheap ' Givens the
medicine,” moaned the Indian, while the at
frighted sqnaws looked on in terror, and Cap
tain Duke rolled and yelled with 1au htcr.

“Go it, wild-cat," he cried. “ save up
your leggins and moccasins, heave cursed
inside out! Halhalha!ho!hol olhel

he! he!”

“ Give me medicine, pale-face,” moaned
Coacoochee t‘o Clarence, or he who would
have died without a word or groan upon the
battle-field, was now more week then awoman.

“ Release your risoners, and I will. Be '
quick, or it will a too late for me to save
you i” thundered Clarence, who felt that,
through his terror, he could now conquer the
fiendish chief.

Coacoochee, in the intervals of his spasms,
muttered some orders to the sq-usws, and. in
a few moments, Clarence and the whole party
were free and in the possession of their arms.
Then Clarence administered a large dose of
sweet oil to Coacooches, and, after he had cast
up the residue of the emetic from his stomach,
gave him a. powerful dose of morphine, which
soon left him in a slumber so profound that
he could not be awakened.

Then, with Gun and the rest, he hurried
away from the cam , determined to get as fai
from it as ossible. efcre Coacoochee should
recover an the drunken warriors be able to
follow.

A short distance from the rear of the camp,
they came upon a long and narrow lagoon,
where lay the canoesin which the Indians had
come, some thirty or more in number. The ‘
old captain uttered a cry of joy when he saw
the water.

“ It connects with Indian River,” he cried.
“ We can soon get to the fort there, and then
the red dogs may go to the deril for all I care
for them. Me eat fire, eh? I’ll see them in
Jericho first!”

The first order Which Clarence gave was to

astray and sink every canoe, except ' just
those which were necessary to contain his
well that

' arms were all in order, he pus ed 011' with
speed, taking the direction which the captain
assured himlead to the fort. =

But they did not make great speed, for
lagoon was crooked and narrow, and they n-
pcstedly groundci upon sand-bars. in conso-
qucncc of being “gm-ant of the channel.

 

CHAPTER XLVIII.

The men were so much stiffened by having
been bound so long, and the navigation of
the lagoon was so difficult, that Clarence knew
that, when the day dawned, he had not made
more than six or seven miles in a direct course
from the place of wreck, and if, as Duke con-
jectured, the fort at Indian River was thirty
miles from that, they were still nearlya day’s
journey from it, or even more, at the rate they
went. But he ur ed the men on all that he
could, for he fears the pursuit of the Indians,
who could very easily shoot down his men
from the banks of the lagoon, for in places it
was very narrow. and nowhere was it more
than a couple of hundred yards in width.

But, as the hot sun went up, the men be-
gan to grow faint, for, in their haste to es-
cape, provisions had been forgotten, and the
water of the lagoon, from which they drank,
was bitter and brackish, and rather increased
than assuaged their thirst. But the captain
and Clarence encouraged them to persevere,
themselves using paddles, and urging them
forward by the oft-repeated thought that
death was in their rear, and safety only to be
reached ahead.

As the time lengthened, so did their efforts
grow more and more faint and, at last, fierce

ells, heard in the woods which skirted the
agoon behind them, told Clarence that his
worst fears were being realized. Like fierce
bloodhounds, the yelhng fiends of the forest
were u on their track.

“ Go hel usl we’ve got to fight our way
now," said rerce, as he looked back and
saw dusky forms glancing through the leafy
covert. ,

“ Hadn’t we better take cover and rest the
men a little while 1'” said Captain Duke, oint-
ing to asmall island in the centre of t e la-
goon, close to them, which, being thickly
wooded, would protect them from the fire of
the Indians, and enable them to return their
shots with effect.

“Yes ; the idea is cod," replied Clarence,
steering toward the is and.

In a few moments they were all landed, and
their canoes drawn up in the bushes. After
placing Ona in a spot where no chance ball
could reach‘her, Clarence posted his men be-
hind; trees, and waited the attack. ‘It soon
commenced, for the Indians, led on by the
c and disap ointed Coacoochec, were
furious. Atfirst, ey so exposed themselves
that several fell before the aim of Clarence
and his men, who felt a desire to avenge their
murdered companions.

But this only taught them caution, auu
under cover, they took care of'tliemselves,
while they still continued to fire on the whites

whenever one ‘of them showed the smalled‘

portion of 'his person. And, in a little while,
constructinga raft, some of them crossed the
lagoon'beyond the reach of musket shot, and

I now a fire was opened on the island from both
banks. .
This was bad enough, but not the worst
trouble which Clarence had to meet. His
, ammunition was almost expended, and he had
to order hism‘en to.slacken their fire, and on]
to shoot when ave fair chance occurrsz
lest the last shot should be gone, and the Ii,
dians, lcarnin the fact, should build moi o
rafts and attac them hand-to-hand, when tho
' force of numbers would tell upon them fem -
full , and, probably, with a fatal result.

. be brave ca tain volunteered to take a
single canoe, an ,with three or four of flu
strongest of the men, to try to run the gaunt-
letgand go to the fort for assistance. But the
“adapt-seemed to be utter madness in the

X'tufiley and it was, at any rate, deferral
“31' night, Meantime, the Indians, evidentl
11111 eutsndmg wh the fire of the whites ha
s aokened so muc , be an to "build rafts be-
yond Kun'Shot, and larence knew that a
deadly struggle was at, “my

But his heart did not fail. He rejoiced that
he was free and had arms in hi. hands, and
could, at least, die like a man withing; face to
the foe, and not suffer torture as he had an.
ticipatsd before. . Ona he knew would never
fall alive into the hands of omochee, {0,
she- had sworn it, and-had her dagger in her
bpsom as a means of keeping that oath when
dire necessity should call forrit.

N ' ht drew on, and Clarence had buts fsw '

rou, . of ammunition leftyandvthq Indians
(cw more and more bold eve
uddenly a shout of joy broke from the li a

of Ca tain Duke, who was stationed on N‘

and o the island toward Indian River.

ry moment. .

 

ThyeMWhite Wizard.

31

 

“ The soldiers are coming l We‘re saved l“
he shouted, and then he ran out upon the
bank, and waved a small American ensign
which he had brought from his boat.

The soldiers saw it, and cheered in res ( use,
while he was glad to take cover again, 0« the
Indian bullets flew like hail around Aim,
grazing him in several places.

The Indians now 0 ened fire upon the
boats, but old Captain inder was in cl srge
of the detachment, and what he didn’t lnow
about Indian fighting wasn’t worth knm ring
He lauded his men in two divisions on each
bank of the lagoon, extending their lines to

flank the enemy, and charged, firing and load-~

ing at a run, and keeping cover on the ad-
vance. The Indians couldn’t stand this, but
soon fled, leaving quite a number of their
party on the ground, and nearly all the plun-
er which they had brought from the steamer.

It was a hsp moment when Clarence met
his old friend inder, after the skirmish was
over, and felt that, with an escort of over one
hundred good men, and within sixteen miles
of the fort, he was once more safe, and that
his chance of placing his loved Ona beyond
danger was good. -

After a brief rest, Captain Winder ut
fresh men in the canoes with those of C ar-
ence, and took the back course, and, following

his pilot, the flotilla made a rapid usage
back to the post at Indian River, who they
reached before the dawn of da .

Here Clarence was welcomed by many old
comrades and friends, and he also found, to
his joy, that a steamer was in which was
bound to St. Augustine, up the coast, and
would sail in a short time.

Ca toin Duke, who had been at first very
joyfu at the escape of his party, now again
took the “ blues," while he thou ht mourn-
fully of the loss of his steamer. at a writ-
ten statement from Clarence and the other
survivers, (justifying his actions in every ar-
ticular, an givmg him credit for his con not
in every sense, consoled him somewhat—-
enough, at least, to allow him to “smile” once
in a while. when invited.

——.

CHAPTER XLIX.

Saint Augustine—the most ancient, yet the
smallest, city of North America. Quaint and
anti us in its narrow streets, over which
ncig ors can shake-hands from the porticoes
of their ever-lasting stone houses ; in its old-
time church ; in its walls now crumbled, and
in its ditches now filled up; and in it's mas-
sive and stron fort—the prettiest piece of
military art in t e country. And beautiful in
its groves of orange, lemon, citron and lime-—
in its trees of fig and of magnolia. Lovely, too,
in its flowery gardens, but loveliest in its
beautiful women, who are as good and pure
as they are enchanting. It is a boast of that
proud city that but one illegitimate child was
ever born there, and its mother was American,
not Spanish. '_

Cit of Romance, of Poetry, of Chivalry,
and 0 Song l Home of glsdness and of festal
jo sl Happy, hop have been the hours'
which I have asse within th limits, danc-
ing feet, and g ancing eyes, an joyous hearts
around me!

But gone is the light of those blessed days!
Gold is the fond heart which there beat for
me, for me only! A shadow rests upon in
spirit, and it is the hand of Memory whic
has placed it there.

A few da s after the rescue of Clarence and
his party, t e were. safely landed in the an-
cient city, an the lieutenant and One, with
Captain Duke, were soon ensconced in Ben
Carr‘s princely hotel. “ The Magnolia.” ‘

Clarence had many acquaintances in the lit
tle city, for his regiment had been posted
there, and in a very short time his arrival was
made known through the place, and also,
dirough the agency of the warm-hearted and
well-meaning Captain Duke, his recent strange
and thrilling adventures, and all of the history
of One which the worthy captain knew—
probably a little more, for the good man never
eras story shrink any while'it was in his cus-
to .
{he “Eminence was that Clarence was
completely over-run with calls, and solicita-
tions for an introduction to his heroine. But
she could make no new acquaintancss just
then. By the desire of Clarence, she was
very .busy in consultation. with, and giving

, directions to, sundry milliners and dress-mak-

 

ers, through whose fashionable ofilciousness
it soon became known tlut a wedding was to
come off at short notice at the “ Ma uolia.”

Captain Duke was in his glory. fie was to
have the honor of giving away the bride.
He almost forgot the loss of his steamer, and
his fre uent invitations to “ smile all around "
made him very popular and profitable at the
bar of the hotel. '

It took but a few days to make the neces.
sary arrangements, and then, in the presence
of as gay and gallant a party as had on!
there assembled, Ona Livin ston became the
wedded wife of Clarence Fe igsr.

I need not describe the solemn, et happy
ceremony, nor the festive scenes which follow-
ed. The reader, without that reader is a lus. k-
less bachelor or an old maid, can imagine and
appreciate it all better than I can describe it.

larenoe waited only for a few days to m- ’
ceive visits and congratulations, and then, by
the first steamer to Savannah, started north-
ward, to visit home and see his loved mother.
That his voyage may be prosperous let us
hope, while we again cast our eyes southward.

 

CHAPTER L.

The tags of the scolded colonel was furious
when he heard that the steamer of Captain
Duke had left, and that Clarence Febiger was
forever beyond his reach. He exhibited his
feelings by singling out every prominent
friend of C arcnce’s, and ordering them on the
most severe and unpleasant duty which he
could conceive.

When the news came that the steamer of
Captain Duke had been total] lost, and the
crew and assengers ca'pturcd y the Indians,
he fairly danced up and down With glee. But
his joy was dam ened when the officer, who
previousl read t e account, in a slow and dis-
connectejmanner. announced the escape and
gallant conduct of Clarence, and the final res-
cue of the party.

“He was a noble fellow, and the service
lost a jewel in him I" said Captain Fulton.

“ A cursed mutinous scoundrcl, who left
the service to esca e the enalty of a court
martial!” muttere the colgnel. '

The ofiicer continued reading the account,
and when he came to the splendid reception ‘
which Clarence met at the hands of the hos-
pitable citizens of St. Augustine, and his mar—
riagc with the beautiful Ona Livingston, the
re, uted heiress of immense wealth. the wrath
o the colonel broke. out in curses.

“I don’t believe a word of it I" he cried.

" It’s a newspaper lie I”

The officer who had the paper, purposely
added to the already profuse praises and de-
scriptions in the paper, for he, with the
officers, vastly enjoyed the annoyance and
mortification of the colonel. \

But he, unfortunatel , had the power to
annoy them also, and t 6 very next morning
he issued an order for a scout into the mala-
rious region of the Big Cypress, almost al-
ways fatal to those who were not acclimated
Captain Fulton was placed in command, and
all of the obnoxious oflicers to his tyrantship,
were also detailed. t
’ Unpleasant as this was, orders had to be
obeyed, no matter what they were, for rank
and power were in his hands, also political in-
tlnence at the seat of government, and to disc-

ic would have periled the commissions of all
on ordinates. But many were the lefthsnded
clessin s showered upon' the head of the
t rant y the sufferers, and had he been dying,
. is doubtful whether any of them would
haveslicd a tear, or taken mush pains to avert
such a fate for him .

It is ever easy for a commanding either to
win the respect and lovc of all subordinate to
him, if he possesses the qualities of a soldier,
and the courtesy of a entleman. But if he
lacks these, and plays apart of a tyrant, he
still more easily incurs their hatred, and makes
for himself a name that can never be restored
to lustre. ‘ _

The expedition proceeded into the ever-
glsdeahqwever. very cheerfull ,for the hated
colonel did not choose to risk his precious per- ’
son with it, “dell knew that thc wt “l'
ton would render their duty as ligh as pouliblfl
for them. *

They had been absent nearly a week, when
snag of truce, born by a negrcrwith a letter
to ,e commandin ofiicsr reached Ca tain
Fulton. The wo’rtfi of the latter were 1. so:

i

 

 

f‘ If the commanding oil‘lccr of the American forces
wdl guarantee the safety of the writer, who is a
white resident, and non-combatant amo the poor
aiid persecuted Seminoles, he would see an inter.-
View with him. He seeks tidings in regard to the
welfare of his only childl"

Ca tain Fulton at once knew that this was from
the ether of One, and he hastened to reply, by a
note, which read as follows:

.” The friend of Clarence Fchiger and the father of
his lovely wife, will be welcomed to mycam , and
shall be safe to come and go, under the proton ion of
his flag. FULTON.“

He also sent the ginger which contained the news
from St. Augustine, u this caused him to lose the
wished-for interview with Arpiaka, for the latter, in-
stead of coming in person, replied in a letter:

“The father of One Livin ston, now Febiger, rc-
tnms his thanks to Captain lton, for his courtesy
and kindness, but since he has conveyed to me all of
the information which I sought, the requested inter-
view is no longer necessar .

"Should Captain Fulton write to his friends, he
may say that a father’s blessing goes with his child,
though he may never see her more.

“ With respect,
“ ARPIAKA, me LIVINGSTON.“

The expedition of Captain Fulton remained out
the time named in the orders, but they were not at-
tacked during the trip, nor did they see any Indians,
though their smoke signals were very frequently ob-
sel'vec .

When he returned, neither he nor his officers made
an report about the flag of truce or letters, for they
di no deem it necessary. But Captain Fulton did
at once write to Clarence, to convey to him the news
that Oiia‘s father had been informed of her mar-
rla e, and sent his blessing to her.

I is an old adage, I believe at any rate, it is a
true’sayi'ng, that bad news flies upon rapid pin-
ions. ’

Poor Mrs. Fegser had heard of the disc. pear-
auce and suppo fate of her loved and on son
and the blow had nearly been fatal to her. t had
reached her through the daily paper in which she
invariably looked for “News from lorida.” The
man who penned the ragra h, and who sug ested,
on his own respousi ility o thggght, tha poor
Clarence had probablywbeen roas , and, perha s,
eaten, little dreamed w t a pans be caused by w at
he really thought was witty on s part. Newspaper
writers, who dash of! articles merely to fill 115), sel-
dom pause to think of the harm the may 0, or
the woe they may brin by a careless e or two, or
an “embellishment of acts," as they term an extra
lie or two, or some all tive witticism—Heaven
save the markl—npon t osc who do not know the
tricks of the trade, and that some editors, like the
generality of lawyers, get so used to lying, that
they only tell the truth b. accident. A political edi-
tor who will not lie till is blue for his ifiarty, isn’t
worth damning. Even religious editorsw he round-
ly for their sect, as their ministers wxll almost swear
t at the road they've macadamized is the only
“through route " to heaven. .

Messrs. Blacking and Queer, who, like Wine well
put up, really improved by age, and most singularly
and unaccountab y for the c and its custom, be-
came better more honest an less ping, as they
accumulated wealth called upon er at an early
hour, not only to offer their sympath and condo-
lence, but, far better, to give to her heart hope
that her son had escaped and would yet be restored
to her. This thought, e 'vened by them, helped her
to hear her sorrow, and, to a great degree, enabled
her to meet and bear a shock of leasure which she
received long weeks afterward, w on shehad become
almost reconciled to the thought of behaving him

dead. . ,

This shock came in this way: One morning, very

earl -—she had, however risen, for she was not one
‘of t use she laziness“ that thinks it necessary to
swalter in bed till noon—the servant announced
Counsellor Blacking and Mr. Amasa Queer.

“ Something unusual has surely brought them here

at this earl hour!" said she, as she ordered the ser-
aifmit them at once. “They must have
heard from Clarence! Yet there is no news from
Florida in the Herald this morning. I have looked it
all overl _

“Good-morning, my dear Mrs. Febigerl" said
Blac ‘ , in his smoot , calm way.

“Go morning, my dear Mrs. Febigeri” said Mr.
Amuse Queer, rather nervously, the corner of his
lips twitching as if there was something in
mouth which wanted to at out.

“Good-morning, ent omen," said the widow
ently, and with a c eerful voice. “Take seats. I
'now that you have brought me good news, by your

looks. You have heard from my dear Clarence "
“ Wonderful, Sallfii‘isgllg, 2115‘? you should anticipate
our ermn l" sai r. so ng.

“ Extragrdinary, astonishinghreally, isn‘t it?" said
Mr Queer, who could not sit still, but moved about
as it he had a mustard- Iastcr beneath him— ardon
the slinile, reader, for I ve been sick recent , and
know the feelings which such a plaster produces.

“Yes, my dear madam, I am happy to say that
we have heard from Clarence, your brave Md 88-1-
lant son l“

“Is he alive!" asked Mrs E, in a tone and with a
look of deep anxiety.

“ Alive, dear madam!“ said Blacking.

“And married! he! he! ho! ho!’ cried Queer,
hreakin r out in one of his queer laughs. ‘ I 11 make
his chil ren heirs to my mpert , so I will-alive
and married—he! hel ho! ho! ho! '

Mr. Queer got up, and improvised awlo quadrme
all over the carpet. to celebrate his ,joy upon the oc-

the

casion.
Mr. Blocking, however. more coolly produced
nper containing the account of Clarence’s adven-

u arria e etc, and proc with his usual
prtgfiamdeli ignition, to read  eyes of ‘the
widow glittereC witn wars while she listened to the
narration, but they were tom of 0y which filled her
blue ey and they laid there dew upon the
flower-afghan ‘ in the early so ht,

The counsellor had just finished t c hamper ac-
count when a servant entered, bringing ale which
had been left by the postman.

“ From Clarencel" she murmured, as she broke the

 

New York Library

“Please read it aloud, if it is not too privatel" said

Mr. Blocking.
“1)0 dear madam, I am dyi to hear what the
about—about get-
ueer.

noble y as about himself an
tin manted " cried Mr.
e widow could not re use, and she read:

“ Dear mother, I write in haste to say to you that I
am coming home to you, never to leave you again,
forI have resigned from the service. I shall reach

an ahnost as soon as this letter will. And I shall

rln home a precious treasure with me in the shape
of t e rettiest, best, dearest little wife that ever

made a usband happy."
“ That's what all men say of their wives!" said Mr.

eer.

“ When they are first married 1“ said Mr. Blocking,
with more truth than gallan

Mrs. F. did not re ly to
tinned reading the let r.

“ What will astonish you even more than that, my
dear mother, is the information that I have met my
father, had him in m own company for a year as a
soldier without know ng it, for he enlisted under an-
other name. A better man in conduct could not be
found in the army and at last he died in the act of
saving my life, and while dying rec d the father
of m Ona, Arthur Livin on, who ad married Ione
Slnc r. It is a wonderfu story, which I cannot fully
explain until I meet you, which will be very, very
soon. Ever your aflectionate boy,

“ CLARENCE.”

“Wonderful—moat wonderful!" cried Blocking.

“ It beats an novel that was ever written!“ cried
Mr. Queer. “ one of our cit weeklies gets hold
of it it will make the fortune o the publishers!"

“1' will force old Ribera to disgorge eve cent that
he owed 1' Mr. Feb er, your deceased usband!"
said Bloc ‘ng. “ It ' be a fortune for the oung
couple, aside from that which belongs to Miss ving-
Isitoflhor rather Mrs. nce Febiger, in her own
5‘ There’s one thing that I’m sorry for!“ said Mr.
Queer abstractedly.

“What is it, brother Queer?” asked the counsel-

lor.
“That they got married before they ot home——
mu could have ‘ven away the bride. an 1—1 could
ve danced at he weddingl” cried Mr. Queer.

CHAPTER LII.

“ A CARRIAGE at the door, madam—a carri and
an express w on with baggage and a gent eman
and a adyl" d a servant, entering just after Mrs.
Febi r had closed the letter.

“ , my God—my son!“ said Mrs. Febiger, and
Islhe tried to rise, but a sudden falntness came over

er.

“ Wateri" cried Mr. Blue .

“ Burnt feathers!" sugges Mr. Queer, hurrying
to her assistance.

But she needed neither when the well-known form
of Clarence burst into the room, for she rose and
rushed into his arms, bursting into a flood of tears as
she did so.

Such tears are only an outlet to a heart overcharged
with ‘o and relieve it in a moment.

And firs. Feb or was more calm when her son
turned and pla the hand of his sweet One. in hers.
More embracing, more kissing, more sobbing, but all
indicative of excessive joy. . I .

After a few moments of this feeling, Mrs. Febiger
was calm enou h to introduce the counsellor and
Mr. oer to arence and his wife as very dear
frien 5, who, in her hours of trouble, had proved
true and trusty. ,
4 “Rest assured thatI shall never to 1: you, n-
tlemenl” said Clarence, after the usu salute. ns

hcdfassed.
“ nd we—we will remember you in—in our wide!
Won’t we, brother Blacidngl" said Queer. almost

cryifig for joy.
‘ ost assuredly
to One, he added: “I am your father's
agent; sweet lady, and any money you want you can
w II

“ I believe I have some poplars for you to look at!“
said she, mildly; “ but we m not mar the happiness
of this hour by s eakin or thinkingig businessl"

“No;Ifeclas Ico ds and celikeaboy
just let out of school!” said . Queer.

“Let us go, Amasai let us go, for Mr. Eebiger has
much to so to his mother, which we, old covies,
have no b ess to hearl” said Mr. Blwklfil

“ You must return at four, gentlemen, to o with
us!“ said the widow. ,

“ Yes; our happiness will not be complete without
youl” added Clarence. . .

. “We’ll come; and if I don't send up some of Os-
born‘s old port and some of r's amontil-
ladn. I’ll never put a foot in Wall street!" cried Mr.

ecr. .
QtThe two old wgentlemen now departed arm in am;
Mr. Blocking th e. livelier slept an usual, and Mr.
Queer ving a hop and a skip every little while, as

these remarks, but con-

he won along, like ii. little fairy whom I know, named

Blanche, when she lsllpn her way to a fair.

"Let’s go to the ontine, brother , and
there renew in a ‘pony’ of brandy, the covenant
which we made many, manyyean ago!” cried Mr.

uecro
Q“Under the circumstances, I believe I willl” said
Mr. Blac . “ I see no impropriety in it!"
And they proceeded “unanimoull ” to carry the
motion into efl nothing we to interrupt
them, except a ti ion from a poor devil of a broken
down editor to user to discount a note of fifty dol-

or him.

“ Here‘s the lift dollars: came the notel“ said
Mr. user, not , however.

"‘ (in-shall I pay you? this relief is too kind, sir-
wfha? shafill I pay you i” asked the astonished knight
o e qu .

“When ouarerlchand ,likeme— oalo
now not ahother word l" “fighumed ougtowalilfi
the'l‘ontine. -
‘ The editor shook his head sorrowfully,and inur-
m : “That will never, never bel It‘s not down in
the books. "l‘is neither written in heaven known on
emu, or dreamed of below. I could find a. rich
angli ha editgr, I would make my Afme b 
hi ting a ace 8. l p
Barnum would hunt t e wor 035:, if hepgeard of
one, but what he’d have himl Get out with your

woolly horses. your Joyce Heath’s, nigger-baby-

, their fathers and the graves of th

,Amasai" said the lawyer. 'l'hcn'

 

._ . .A 7 w. *3-

shows and codflsh mermaids! Just show- 6 a live,
rich, happy editor, or tell‘me that one evcr‘l vodl"

And awa rushed the editor, with t e enormous
amount of ft dollars in his cket, determined to
have a “ burst ' on a plate of am soup and a three-
penny glass of beer. '

Years had passad since the Florida war had‘ been
declared at an end by the gallant Worth, yet a few
more invincible s irits still refused to m' rate to the
west, a few nobe Seminoles clunt to e land of

r sires, a‘ staunch
and Spartan band, who deserved a better fate than
to be unted down and butchered by the hired inc--
nials of the government. But at last, driven almost
to desperation, their crops and homes all destroyed,
their ammunition all expended, and their last bows
broken nearly all of them surrendered, with “ Bow-
legs " t eir last war-chief, and consented to migrate
to the land of the setting sun. ‘

But still a few remained, hidden away in the dark
and gloomy shades of the B recs. from which
the sharp-f ed hounds 0 th foes could not
drive them. he were the devoted followers of
Arpiaka, the “ Wh te Wizard," now dwindled down
too. ve few in number, but still faithful to him
whom t ey reverenced for his goodnessend his

om.

Known to the whites as “ Sam Jones " he had elud-
ed every attempt to capture him, and had/only been
seen on one or two occasions by them during the
whole war. He was never known to use arms in any
battle, but he ever proved himself true to those who
had adopted him, and if be yet lives he is true to
them for he never will leave the land of his ado tion,

ewhere sleeps all that is mortal of s lost
Ions. When last heard from he was very ol , his
hair white as the driven snow, and his 6 esig t so
dim that he could scarcely note the chan g hues of
heaven in sunshine or instorm. Letters have often

between him and his loved child, but he has
never seen her or Clarence since, thou h beautiful
children have wn ugflfor them, an they have
been blessed wi h great ss.

Clarence has recently b t a very handsome coun-
try—seat on the Carlo sahatchie River where he
spends his winters, an whither two old gentlemen,
who are very fond of his children, accompany him
invariably. I need not tell ou who they are.

Mrs. Marcus Febiger is g1 ding like an autumn leaf
upon a golden river, slowly down the tide of life
loving One almost as much as her husband does, and
no mortal ought to be loved more.

Wealthy honored, respected by all who know
them the Febigers either at their splendid home in
the Fifth avenue, their summer cottufi up? the Hud—
son, or at their beautiful residence orida, are

HAPPY.
Captain Duke still runs a. boat in the U. 8. service.
Reader, my story is told. I hope you feel as if you
had got your money‘s worth. It is my private
opinion that you have.”
Tin: m.

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