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Price, Ten Ceyts. Copyrighted 1877, by FRANK STARR (to Co. Published on the 5th and 20th of every monty. $2.25 a. Year.
Vol.  FRANK STARR & CC), PUBLISHERS, N0. 

I’LATT AND WILLIAM STS., NEW YORK.

The mm; or, The Winged Witch 3% Sea.

 

 

 

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM.

 

"HA ! nus IS YOUR GAME, 1s 1r?” AND WITH TflE SPRING OF A TIGER DUDLEY DASH WAS UPON m,—-Pa.ge 6.

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T, i l.
,4. .Ir ,

I , i The New fork ",

 

J

 Dare-Devil; I?

  I The Winged Witch of the Sea.

BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM.

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CHAPTER I.

PROLOGUE.

“As I live! it is a boat! es, and I see a form
‘moving about in it—all tha is left doubtless, of
.the crew of some gallant craft that has gone

down.” ',

The speaker was a man of middle age, clad in
«duck ants, a heav sailor’s cket, and his face
was all Shaded y an oi kin hat, while he

, avore high boots, coming up to his knees.

' He had a bold, weather-beaten face, browned

by long ears of exposure to sea and storm, and

wappearei just what he was—a hardy fisherman
on the iron-bound coast of Maine.
., He was reared in front of an humble, yet
‘. ‘ comfortable and substantial cottage, that snug-
‘l , clung to the hillside, which rose bold and
k far above it.

In front of him lay the vast ocean, spreading
away until lost in the horizon, and immediately
under his eyes was an island-dotted bay, one of
' . ' those numerous indentations that causes the
- z coast of Maine to appear on the map like net-

, , work , .

 the cotta to the snow-white Mach
 Wound a steep pa way, and upon the glisten-
’ ing sands half a dozen boats of various size and
,1- model were drawn up, while upon rocks were
‘ T'dvying nets, used to entrap the tinny tribes of l

the deep. ' >
, It was near the sunset hour, and Carter
f pHayos, the old fisherman, was enjoying his
- pper smoke, when he sinklenly sprun to
1 feet and gave expression to the words t not
I: i open this story.

1  .. file eyes rested far off upon the sea, where a

'5, small, dark Object was Visible, drifting shore-
 on the incoming tide.

' i' must hurry my old bones, or the boat will
'vdash on the reef ere I can reach it,” he said
fog, and hastily descending the hill, he

by ‘a small boat into the water, sprung in,
andwith vigorous pull sent the light craft flying
river the tiny waves.
' A_rowof half a mile brought him to the lee of
I in , crescent-shaped island, the two points
,-_ to the land, and in the small cove thus

if ed lay one of those short-masted non-
, dwripm, with black hull swallow-tailed stern
~‘ and higabows called a flshinlg-smack, or “ Che-

 t,” common on the ow England coast
dial! a century ago.
_8pringing upon the deck of the craft, he

_, kly raised the sail, drew the anchor aboard,
 a moment after the chebacca boat was
 mg swiftly seaward through the circuitous
, . : _ el leading me nds.

‘  Asaiiof‘half an our, and Carter Rn
' ed up 11:30 the wind and drew the g

donssi 9-
ith horror he beheld a sad scene, one that
.. ,tOuehed his nerous heart to the quick.
’ :3 was a. yswl, and in it were five hu-
ge forms—two men, two women, and obey
‘ . years of 
c , “ingest had already claimed four of
little w, and the ho alone lived; sad-
, haggard-faced, suff , but yet ahve..
‘ljy poor little man—thank l I am inltimo
me you,” and the kind-hearted fl ,
7 the boyclpsetohim,aud held him

     
  
  
  
   
  
    
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
   
 
 

I

 
 

  

  

  

  

  

  
    

    

     

 
 
  
 
 

   
  
 
  

   
 
 

’

/ ...

he sprung to action once more. and tab
the awl, with its ghastly crew,‘in tow,
"stood swiftly landward.

 ~ hour more, and he entered his cottage, the
arms, and carryin in one hand
that seemed exc ineg hea .
, ,imdwarm food soon caused t e
revive, and than sink off into a

  

5'

  

 

 
 

tly down upon his own bed,
mud his pipe and began to

  
 
 

 
 

'  . . child! His parents, all gone; but I
1 nhthertehim. Godhasaenthimto
1101130 to cheer my old ago.
~ Hitmctbe righttokeephim: but I can-
VB. up now. I am ce those 0
, , people in the boat were his
 mother-41nd the‘ worse rich for yonder
' ishelrvywithgold: Yes,Iwill b
my sin, and with the 1d Iuwa

   
 

   
  

   

   

  
   

,7  .i A. nor AT BAY.
Til, years after the scenes related in our
m chapter, a mall, though stanch, out
. ‘W‘ was 3m ‘18 *1'035, 0
’ofuaislsndeucirclod bayonthe fie

  

,J‘ ‘

A s -.

  

E?

_ ~ . \ .
~ 1,!de , , fromth ortheust.
vqmmhmfithentth

     

r
craft to bound wildly in the dashing caldron;
but, reefed close, and held firmly on her course
she headed for a distant island, the one furthest
off from the shore and the largest of the chain
that encircled the y. .

The boat contained but a sin 10 occupant—a
boy of fifteen—a boy with a arkly bronzed,
handsome, fearless face, and black, earnest eyes
that narrowly watched his staggering craft, and
the wild course ahead.

With a firm, daring hand he held the carved
tiller, and crouched down in the cock-pit, al—

that ever and anon dashed over him.

But, dressed in a stout pea-jacket, duck pants,
stuck in top boots and a sailor‘s tarpaulin shad—
ing his brown curls, he seemed little to care for
the dashing spra .

After several ours’ hard stru gle with the
rough waters his little boat glii ed uietly in

grated upon the sand beach.
A sigh of rclicf“ bro 0 from the boy’s lips. He
had safely crossed the bay; but, as though for—

neath the forward cck a long shotgun powder-
horn, shot-pouch, and game-bag and sprung
ashore.

It was a wild, bleak-looking spot where he
had landed but further on the island a peared
more inviting, and with rapid steps he boy
trudged up the rugged hillside.

But a s iort way on] had be gone, when he
came to a sudden ialt, 1is face'flushing, and his
manner that of an attentive listener.

Distinctly voices came to his earswa childish
voice crying: ‘

“ ()h! sir, do not take me away with you—do
not take me away with you.”

“. Shut up, gal-«I’ll muffle that mug o’ yourn
ef yer don’t keep quiet,” angrily replied a man’s
harsh tones. ‘

“I’ll not beg any more, sir; but, please, do
not—”

“ Shut up, I say! I’m detarmined to revenge
myself on thcr chief—he cussed me once too
often, an” when he comes back an’ finds you is
gone, I guess as how he‘ll git pesky mad. Come
along, gal, ’cause I ain’t got no time tor—well,
youngster, who the devil are you!”

The man stopped sudden] , for before him,
and on] a few feet distan , stood the young
sailor, his gun thrown forward, his finger upon
the trigger.

“I am one who would know where you are
taking that young irl?” said the boy, firmly.

“ Durnation an’ uries!—is I to be ( uestioned
by a boy?” and releasing the girl’s and the
man quickly drew a knife from his belt and
stepged forward.

‘ ack, sir, back! or I will shoot you downl”
cried the boy in determined tones.

But, unheeding, the man sprung forward, a
huge, burly rufllan, clad in seaman’s attire, to
attack the slender, graceful form before him.

Instantly the long barrel rose, the butt ressed
the shoulder, the fearless eye ran along 0 iron
tube, and then followed the flash and report.

A groan, a mu curse, and the rufllan
fell dead in his tracks, his gleaming knife bury-
i116 itself half its length in the earth.

ne instant the boy looked upon his fallen foe,

and then turned toward the rl. .
' Shag-Whitman!“ 2%,hallfgladnélan-
new bands clugd er, or on
 at. on. about bougfii awn. mfiht.
“You havp killed him,” she said, a h ed
“gee; who is he?” ~
0‘ n

. ‘ lei--

' _‘ “fun fills true that this island is the home
of smugglers?" .

“ Yes; they live in a cave on the other shore;
but the chic is away, and that bad man was
going to take me away with him. I am so glad
you carne; but (you do not belong to the band?”
she asked timi y.

“ No; I’sailed acro- forshunt on thisisland.
I expected to find lotsof game here. Do you
belon to the smugglers?" -' , -

“The chief ls\mx adopted father. He took
me years 0 from a vessel he robbed on the
high seas. 8fwas a little girl, and don’t remem-
ber much about it; but he is very good to me,
and I live with Lucy!)

“: “122% im‘ld'wwfl.° ‘ she’s cross to me

I WSW ‘° .n. ‘ ' 1.?de 
e ‘ e u

face beng 3him, for she, was really a beautiful

sunny-haired maiden ot'tvlelv'e, and then said

firml : - v .
a 91%; come with me;  take on to
. yes,nndhe Myouwe. He
if“ tomes, , _‘ washisown
Ah (litu’utfiidtog'oint boptandcross

' T t s owing grea s.
in 0, air; not afraid  you are with me,”
confl y m ' the youngegirl; and with a
shudde g g ance at her la enemy, she fol.
lowed her daring boy preserver down the hill-
side, and in ten minutes more the little craft
was standing away from the island, the youth-

ful belmsman and his fmryoung passe r
crouchinginthecoc it and heseasbnafi
wildly'overthemr  .

 

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ready half filled with water, from the waves ‘

under the lee of the island, and the s iarp keel‘

getting his danger linst passed, he took from be— ‘

\It was a longbhard struggle with wind and
wave, but the y helmsman proved himself a
bold, skillful sailor, and just as the shadows of
night crept over sea and land, the keel of his
boat grated on the sand shore in front of the
cottage home of Carter ayes, the old fisher-
man;

 

CHAPTER III.
A BOLD RESCUE.

WITHIN the shadows of a clump of trees, that
fringed the summit of a. cliff 'utting out into
th: sea, lay a youth at full length upon the vol-
ve .
' HIS form was raceful, slender, tall yet dc~
noted both stren and activity'fa: shove the
avera of one of his yedrs, which-could not
have n over seventeen, though his fearless,
determined face caused him to appear older.

His features were regular. expressive in a
marked dc , and few would have pronounced
him other an an exceedingly handsome youth.

He was neatly dressed in a suit of dark cloth—
ing, and a slouch hat, and an open book lay by
his side upon the grass.

But his dark eyes were not on his book; they
rested upon the ocean whcre were visible two
vessels, standing slowly in toward the little
bay, which was sheltered by the earthen arm
that terminated abruptly in the cliff.

One of the two vessels, and the one furthest
seaward was a saucy looking Schooner, with
masts that naked for aft, and an armed deck.

The other was a. $100 of thirtytonl' under
main-sail and jib, bee in for an anchorage
under the shadows of the c ilf.

Upon her decks were visible three men besides
the one at the helm.

With interest in his aze, the youth watched
the two vessels, until t e sloop dro )pcd anchor,
and then he turned his glance lam ward, for he
heard the sound of hoofs approaching.

Inland, his gaze fell 11 n a scene of hill and
valley, serenely beauti 111 in the light of the
slowly descending sun, whose re s burnished
up the massive walls of a distant ructure—the
university where the youth was a student.

Nearer and nearer came the hoof—strokes, un-
fl’two persons suddenly drew rein upon the
c l .

The one was a oung man of perhaps twenty-
two, with a stri g face, which, however, born
traces of reckless dissi tion, and an elegant
form, attired almost to and ism.

The other was a maiden o twenty—clad in a
close fitting riding-habit of dark blue, and with
a face of rare loveliness.

. “Is not this a level scenei—and see ondcr
is an armed vessel, 8. e away, and ere in
the cove is a little craft a anchor.”

It was the maiden who spoke, and while a

strange light flashed in the eyes of her compan-
ion, he said impatiently:

“ You  not listen to me thengfair Louise;
you will must u n changing the subject.”

“How often ve I be ed that you would
not speak of love‘ to me, r. Dunstan? Had I
believed you would have broken your Word, 1
certame never should have accepted you as
my escort—home. But see; thcre are two men
coming up the cliff ath. Let us go.”

131:; y man’s w darkened, but he said
‘1 9 Y: '

“ I will not oflend again, Miss Raynor. Pray
linger awhile here mi alloy the soene;—is it
not lovely!" ‘ . .,

“Beautiful indeed, and—3’

But, ere the maide say more one of
the two rou h-looking multh had ascended
the chi! su denly seized her bridle-rein with
one hand, while with he other he rudely drag-
ged her from her saddle to the ground

With a face pallid with in ' tion and fear,
Louise Ra. or tinned tow Paul Dunstan
for soccer, ut he had also been dragged from
his saddle, and felled to the ground.

“ Come, Dic let’s get out 0’ this 7’ cried
the man who h d Louise Raynor, at t 0 same
time remit-go maiden in his strong arms, and
placing his (1 rudely over her mouth to pre-

vent an outczy. , ,
'But sudde , a slender form bounded upon
the scene, an, the man who held the maiden
dropped to the earth like dead, struck down by
a we directed blew dealt b the oath who,
fromhisretreatinthe sh owo the es
'But, instantly, the brave boy for he was
y more, was-confronted bythe other ruf<
flan. who rushed upon him a knifeiigleanung in
his hand, 3 our” upon his 
Fearlessl the boy met . There was a
short, to bio lo, and the seamen was
hurled bodily over 8 cliff, while the panting
youth, gering backward beheld the rufiian
whom be ad first struck down, s ring to his
feet and dash down the steep pa. wayto the

beach below.
Dash.” said i band {001% quickl y
en v ' ,e
the youth beheldgthg pglgsface of Paul ‘ .
“ ou were too cowardl to defend the-lady
ourseIf Paul Dunstan, I f tit my duty  in-

 

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rfere” ded the outh.
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. said Paul Dunstan, with irate sco .

The outh seemed as if about to reply‘ in
an er; ut he calmly said:
‘ You seem

lying in a faint, and needs your care.” I
Paul Dunstan lanced toward the maiden,
and then up roac ing the youth, said savagely:
“ Dudley ash, in what you have done to-day
you have made me your bitterest foe, and, curse
you! I will make you answer to me for the m-
sinuation that I was a coward.”

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gentleman and you a fisherman‘s son,” angrily  though he was, he showed indomitable courage panions were most anxious to follow his ex- '

and a nerve that was remarkable.
At length the preparations were made, and
the two antagonists took their stands, just as

to forget, air, that Miss Raynor is i the sun sunk below the horizon.

“Gentlemen, are you ready?” sung out the

‘ voice of Loyd Newton, and at his words the

‘ eyes of Dudley Dash fell upon the sea, and with
“ surprise he beheld slowly coming along the
? coast the same sloop that had entered the bay

‘ the eveiiii
; kidnaping

“ I am wholly at your service, Paul Dunstan, :

at any time or place. You know my room in
the university, and I will be in all the even-

in .’i

go saying, Dudley Dash turned away, and se-
curing is at and book, rapidly descended the
cliff pathway.

Upon arriving at the beach, he beheld two
men crossing the white sands, and gomg rapidly
toward a small boat that was awaiting them.

Between them they carried a limp and lifeless
human form; it was the body of the man whom
he had hurled from the cliff.

Watching the men attentivg‘y, he saw them
enter the boat with their gh ly burden, and
row rapidly out to the little sloop, which imme-
diately after s read all sail and stood seaward.

Ascending t e th to the summit of the cliff,
he found it dose d—Paul Dunstan and Louise
mmnhad departed.

' g his gaze again upon the sea, now
darkenin beneath the shadow of night, he be-
held the ‘ oop flying swiftl down the coast and
hugging the shore, while t e schooner was now
close in under the clifl.’ and slowly moving
toward a convenient anc 0mg?

Turning upon his heel, Du ey Dash walked

before, with the evident purpose of
)nise Raynor.
Then, with increased
dozen forms coming along the
rection of the cliff.
But it was too late to s
a look of devilish hatre

rise he saw half a
beach in the di—

ak then, for he saw
in the face of Paul

' Dunstan, and to his surprise Loyd Newton again

1
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1

called out in slow tones, “Gentlemen, are you
ready?”

As the words left his lips, Dudley Dash cast 
Dunstan, and his fears ;

his e e a in u n Paul
of £031 mg; W630? realized.
The evil e as of his an onist gleamed at him
alon the gfittering barre , and, without wait-
ing or the word to fire, his pistol flashed, and
the re ort rung out sha and clear.

Dudley Dash staggere back and dropped on
his knees, and then recovering himself he quick-

ly raised his own weapon and fired upon his '

treacherous foe.

Instantly, with a half cry of ra e and pain,
Paul Dunstan sunk down in his racks, while
Dudle Dash slowly arose to his feet, wipisg
from is left temple ablood-stain, for the -
Lot had grazed the flesh, momentarily stmming

1m.

With a cry of alarm Loyd Newton sprung
forward and knelt beside his friend, who

rapidly away in the direction of the university, ; breathed, but seemed dying, for the bullet had
and soon disappeared in the shadows of the val- l pierced his heart.

ley.

 

CHAPTER IV.
THE DUEL.

AGAIN the sunset shadows fell
sea} and again Dudley Dash was one upon the
c .

\

upon the grass, or idly watching the scene be-
fore him. '

True, his gaze fell upon the schooner. anchored
far in under the clifl.’ and looking grim and de-
serted, for not a human being was visible upon
her decks. If eyes k
the vessel, they were invisible to the observer
upon the land.

With pale face, and brow and lip strangely

stern, Dudley Dash paced to and fro ever and
anon‘ glancin down the road leading to the
cliff, as thong expecting some one, and impa-
tient for their-arrival.
1’ tly his bright eyes flashed; in the dis—
tance he beheld two horsemen approaching, one
of whom he recfignired as Pau Dunstan, the
cother as Loyd ewton, a fast young fellow,
from the village a league away.

“He said he would come alone; but what
matters it? it were better perhaps to have a
Witness,” he muttered and as the two men rode
up‘ he cold}? saluted m. - .

“ Well, r, I have come to punish you for our
im nce and interference yester ay,”
ha htily said Paul Dunstan dismounting.

“ came here to act, not to talk Mr. Dunstan.
Are on ready?” stenin replied udley Dash.

pistols, and step off the distance, agreed on in
your rooms last t.”

“ on me . Newton can stepoff the
distance, and give "us the word; but I prefer to
load my wn wea ”

Angrll Loyd ewton turned upon the fear-
less Bout —
“ 0 you doubt my honor, sir?”

“ I do; I would not trust you,” coolly answer-
ed Dudl Dash. -

“ You answer to me for this insult, boy.”

“One thin ata time, Mr. Newton. I am here
to meet Mr. stan, who came to my room at
the university last night and demanded a meet-
ing. , nothing wassaid of a third rty
tothe affair; but, as he has seen fit to Sting
you, {ifencan use you to suit himself. I act for
in . \

aul Dunstan and his second then walked
apart and conversed for some momenta together
in lain und'ertone. h Du
enteva inaproacedo die Dash
andLodNe pawstepofl'teiyipaces:
after w ich he markei the spot where the two
duelists should stand. .

Havin done this he took from his pockets.
pair of ong dueling )istols, while Paul Dun-
stap 1~pneeringl remar ed:

9t expec‘ ii? a fisher-lad W. i of such‘
luxuries as due ng pistols, I brought my wn.”

“ You were very kind—I will use one 0 them
—it would place 118 on a more ual footing,”
and Dudley Dash took one ‘of 8the handsome
weapons‘and began slowly to load before his
enemies, for as such be 100 ed upon both men.

"It was at once evident that the ect cool-
max, dIey_Duh disconee 
‘1 hoped to  him: but,'bby

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watch and ward over >

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‘ Rany‘nor.
fe ows
But not, as on the day before, lying indolently ! village

“Curse you, boy, you have killed him. Here,
men, this is the murderer. 'String him up!”
And Loyd Newton spruigg toward a half-dozen
men, who then rush u the clifl pathway,
and one o whom Dudley h recognized as

21pm! land and l theman who had attempted to kidnap Louise
The others were a gang of dissolute ,
he had often seen hanging about the ,

inn.

With one accord the men rushed upon Dudley ,

Dash, who seemed as if about to spring 11 n
the steed of Paul Dunstan and fly; but, sud en-
denly changing his mind, he drew a pistol from
his ket and boldly faced them.
omentarily they were checked by the fear-

less attitude of the boy; but, urged on by Loyd
Newton they a ain rushed forward in a mass.

There was t e ring of a pistol, a groan, a
heavy fall, and then a desperate struggle of a
few minutes.

Then the men arose from a confused heap
upon the (ground, and Dudley Dash found him-
self boun hand and foot.

“Men, he deliberately shot down Paul Dun- ;
I stan and he should die!”
‘ excitedly.

cried Loyd Newton,

“Yes, string him ug” said the man whom
Pudley Dash ad put

ore.
“A a tellers! let’s ban
bad eyy’e,”ydried another, and, as though they
had come prepared for a work of the kind, a
rope was a once produced, and a noose made in
one end of it.
The other end was then thrown over the pro-

him—he’s got a

, . _ : jectin bra’nch of a tree, and the noose p
‘ es; my friend Newton, here, Will load the ‘

arena the neck of the brave youth.

“Men, would you murder me? How have I
injured you?” sa (1 Dudley Dash, his eyes flash-
ifn'g, his face pale, and yet his manner utterly

earless. e
“ You’ve killed Mr. Dimstan, and—”
“I shot one who sought my life, and by

treachery nearly succeeded. See, he wounded
me here.”
“String him n , boys! Wh palaver with

him?” cried Loy Newton an ,as though re-
cognizing in him a leader, the men gave a drag
utilion the rope, and choked off the utterance of
t c youth, who in vain attem id to speak——
and he felt that he must die— uii like a dog,
by those whom he had never inju in his life.

Then darkness cameu n him, hise esseemed
burstin from their soc ets, a roar ll thunder
resoun ed in his ears, and then all was silent;
he knew no more. .

CHAPTER V.
to run: unseen.

“GOD above! they have hung him!”

The ringing c startled the guilty wretchcs
who stood in the Wilight, zing upon the dying
youth they had so cruell filling.

But, they were st still more to see a tall
form bound over the edge of the clifl, and 'by
one sweep of his sword cut down the winging
youth,_ and gently receive him in his arms.

In dismay the turned upon the bold intruder
who had dared interrup their deadly sport;
butbehmdhimcameaseomof tseain‘en,
armed with cutlasses, and the panic-stricken
lynchers turned to H

Y- ’ . - ‘-
ckl Lo, Newtonthrewhhnselfu " 'ms
wfii'isg  away, while Team;

\

 

 

flight the evening be- r I did

1"
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am 1e. , .
ut the seamen hurled themselves upon them,
at a word of command from their chief, and in ‘
two minutes time, three of them lay dead, and
the remainder were prisoners. ‘
“Thank God! the boy is not dead. Here,
men, carry him quickly aboard the schooner,”
cried the coder of the rescuing party and iii-
stantly several of his followers ' Dudley
Dash in their arms, and bore him down the
pathwa to the beach.
,‘ “An now, (you devils, I’ve a mind to carry
1 on aboard an hang you—but this man seems
I be alive and I’ll release you to look after him.
. Here, Pedro,” and the leader addressed a few
words in Spanish to one of his followers, who at
once cut the bonds of the ca tives.
“Now, bear this wound man awa . '.He is
badly hurt, but may recover,” and t e leader
bent over the prostrate form of Paul Dunstan. ~
“ There; now be off. Never: mind your dead
com nions; they need no care. -
“ on these fellows—they have spoiled
my little game,” he continued, as the men bore
Paul Dunstan ra idly away. .. ’
“Yes, it won] be madness to make the at-;
tempt now—I will put to sea,’ and another time
I will do—come, lads.” 
So saying. apparently addmssin no one,’he I
walked down toward the beach, ollowed‘fby ‘
his men. ,. . s
Arriving at the water’s edge, he found the}
boat just returning from bearing Dudley  . x
aboard the schooner, and springing into” it,.he .
said sternly, “ Give way I” ' a, '
Five minutes more and he was on heard his 
vessel. ' ‘ “ -
“Senor Valdos, at once put to flu. There,
has been the devil to pay ashore and wevfifl'
have to defer our expedition,” he said in ‘
‘ ish to a&oung officer who approached him. ' “ “ v
“ Si, nor Capitan,” olitely replied Vaidos, "t.
and ten minutes after t e schooner was "
seaward. . . .
In the meantime the commander of the vessel'
entered his cabin, where he found Dudley Dash} .4
reclining upon a lounge, and an officer 
tendaut beside him. - - v , , ,
i “Well, doctor, is the youth alive?” he asked.’
“Yes, ca thin, and will to-morrow be in ’
5 right, the five minutes later he would' .
' been dead. 1 _ ~
“ I know it. Well, young sir you had ohm-‘9‘-"
row escape from dying the death ofa qlog?” ‘ .
Dudley Dash, still pale and weak, ha f rsi‘se'd’iz‘“ r
. himself and replied:  {i' "
i “ Yes, sir, and to you I owe my life, do I 
j “Yes,Iarrivedjustintimetocutyoudownzv «
I saw your affair of last eveninghon the cliff, for  r
i I was watehin yon shores wit my glam, " ' ‘
3 this evening fe t that some foul play was going ‘ :
Eonzsokeptonthealert. ,‘ .-.-"
; ‘WhenIsaw oualone,witlitwoagfl;inst
t'fi

i
5
i

 

. , . l" v:
i. ‘. "was;

 

you,andabando rufflansstealthilyap ,
mg, I was convinced that they were aged ' ‘
1 play a game of deviltry, so called away a boat!!! '

l crew 3nd went ashore. I am glad I arr-itedas‘
l f‘ Thank God for it. sir! and from my heart-

: thank you.” * " A '
“ Do not mention it, my line fellow”. {1 i
“ But it deserves mention, sir. You saved. his
‘ from a horrible death. This is a vessel of wit!i

lisit not?” ~ . ‘ 
I The captain hesitated an instant, and 

‘ said:
“Yes, oh! yes—this is a vessel of war
i tell me, my young friend, What was all
trouble on shore about?” t “ .
“I can hardly tell sir. Paul Dunstan,“
man whom I shot in the duel, was a studeiibit
the college I was attending; but he was '
jimtafterlenter‘ed, andhismother, who , '_

,\‘
_\‘..

-andbelongstoagoodtmjg, 
pointment in the na , whi  bold but
shorttimeerehewas issed.

“Two months ago he returned home, 
; wandering a car, none knew when,“ ' .
g a very fast ' e, which caused a young

whom he had been engaged, to seVerfhdr 

r gagement with him; but, last evening  ‘ '
1 riding with her, when two men who 
J from a sloiop, Etta:ka them, and 1' baths
‘remuean gocursed ormypainr, , ,mofe
dealul D’unstan challenged me to  

m. ' ‘ .'-.

“And bravel , too- but do you know I
lieve Dimstan p nned that attack on the ’p ,
He was easily overcome: and, more—I _ . ; i 7
he intended to do away with you. I M
him to be the leader of a damnable W
who was his friend!” ‘ 

“ yd Newton, once a student at 
‘ {reg-fig, but now a pmfligate, 
“Apreciom r; and ouare—Jf? ‘ ‘ ‘ 3" 
“Dudl infuse oiithemimm,md
w“ a, t at the university, formy ad .
fcther though an humble fisherman "

" metotigeeeiveaneducaflm.”d 
‘Andflm seedasamor oom- ,
'f‘yo'; Iwishedtobecomea sailor. '_I 
“a - ’ .s.‘
' S‘Gbod!

 

m . .i v‘ ‘ 4 u I. ' .
 

.n‘ A .' v i . .. .

..mmwmpw.j; -..,..,.,,4_. 3.....- .., . .. .A.-.“ .. _.,.
i, 7‘ . . \ a x .

. r.

  

‘ i

- ,5. ,' ' .“Better still. Lost one of my omcers a few
in , days since in a ti ht with a—a—vessel of war.
 f You shall ,flllhis p ce, for I like you.”
‘ “ In what service are you, captain?”
“I am under a roving commission. I am-——”
(‘  r,
- “Bast ever heard of the “ Sea Lance?”
“ Yes: itis a pirate vessel.”
“ Hast ever heard of Captain Winwood ?”
“ Yes he is a cruel buccaneer, and—”
‘, “ Well, my lad, this vessel is the Sea Lance,
, a I ‘am Captain Winwood.”

 

 

 ,w ._ ° CHAPTER VI.
'3'? _ -’ v THE CRUISE or THE SEA LANCE.

Ova-a the springin waters of the Atlantic
jocean, and in latitu e a little south of New
\fYork, a vessel was dashing fleetly along, with

every thing set that would draw, and seemingly
anxious to escape from a persistent little sea-
hound that was crowding swiftly in her snowy
wake, but fully a league astern.

’ At a lance it was evident that the tall and
"stately ' was the pursued, the rakish-looking

schooner e ur'suer.

\ On the doc of the latter were a motley crew,
’ attired in dark-blue shirts, white duck pants,
‘ and red woolen caps. ,
{Egon the quarter-deck, besides the two men
- at 0 wheel, were half a dozen officers, judging
' . from their dress, and in two of them the reader
‘_'._ would have reco ized Captain Winwood the
 ~ 7,.buccaneer, and udley Dash, with a troubled
,llooku n his pale face.
. “ ell, my young friend, you will not now
‘ vthrow your fortimes with mine; you will still
refuse to be a gallant sea-rover?” said the pirate
chief, turning to Dudley Dash, who answered

' firm] .

“ .{ “channot link my life with crime, Captain

- "Winwood. You saved me from death; you

'. nursed me through a severe illness that fol-
lowed, and I owe much to you, for you have

,,."been ever most kind; but I cannot become an

 ou’tlaw, sir, and I beg that you will not urge

 

  
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
    
  
  
  
    
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
  
      
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
   
 
   
 
   
            
  
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 

-,-:v-Thc buccaneer chief turned away with a mut-
tered Oath; but after a moment said, uietly:
.,‘.‘ We will soon be in range, and then ’11 bring
or vessel to, and I Wish you to board her,
. . Dash,1 flag tollllt wherfit sheés from, whiz?
 .Lanauerre anpasser.
~- ouxsiilldothisforms?”lg use
'  VA‘I‘ Yes, I will do that much for you, cap ' ,”
V ‘ ' etly responded the youth ; and in an
; , ' captain Winwood gave the order to
flreashpt over the flying shi .
r ' gway hurtled the iron ball, and yet the ship

on:

‘Keep, up that music, until the lady shows

, desire to take notice of our attention,”

 out the buccaneer and again and a ain

was fired after the flying vessel, un il a
. cut away her mum topmast.

_ Then her bowsweptup into the wind, and she

lay quiet» upon the waters, for her commander

‘5 . i to 861 his perfect inability to escape

' his untiring pursuer.

"A short while after, the beautiful schooner
t fully into the wind, while a boat
, from her side full of armed men.

 the stern sheets, and in command of the

,’ sat Dudley Dash, pale and stem-looking.

the cutter neared the ship, and soon
onlfside, and Dudley Dash 3 rung upon
. k, fo owed by half a score of uccaneers.
 foot mud thihdeck a (yoflley of
. g was po upon em, an our 0

" his men fell dead.

A 9‘ NOWWe have them—at them lads, and drive
I overboard,” cried a ringin voice and the
 've English captain rushed orwar , cutlass
7 hand, and at his back came nearly two score
 “fig, composed of his crew and passengers.

  n wholly by surprise, and with no time
mafia explanation, Dudley Dash was forced to
his then around him, and call u n the six
, stillinthe boat tocometo ' aid.

1 .Then he an a, fierce and deadly encounter, and
July the oroufiherecklessness of the buccaneers

' . outed their 'ing at once overwhelmed and
‘ ed under foot. ,
=; ,4 they met the attack half-way, and the

’ crew of the shi were checked in their advance,
at! recoi ed upon themselves.

‘ “ o!  Sea Lance!” run out inthe clear

We! the outh, who felt t he had but a
vantage.

ay!—I ’am coming,” floated across the

waters in the voice of Carigain Winwood, and

{$001118 Over his shoulder, udley Dash beheld

. 'schooner under we. , and rushing
Reva-d the  above g decks were

We ere .
‘ “til: sheshipsawhismistake:

i
g

dcapsgg
 failedtocatch his enemyinthe traphe
Middfor‘him; therewas nothing moreto do
ht flghtitouttothebitterend.
A‘Gwmomentcmorosndtheunequal -
was suddenly reversed: the-harp be t
theBea lanes :ppearedoverthe sideof the
And downs, fl formswerc hurled
fiedecbofyhel vessel.

   

.W—W

“Yes, sir; eveyythlng,” modestly replied the

 

“WW «Win ,X ' ' "'~."“‘" WW  .
. , (Mt. w . J .. , 

_‘i‘~..

In the advance still, Dudley Dash pushed for-
ward, and the crew were driven backwardto
the quarter-deck, where many of the brave de—
fenders of the ship were slain. ,

“ Hold! Are you fiends incarnate, that on
kill men who cry for quarter?” cried Du ey
Dash to his reckless followers.

“ Captain Winwood never shows quarter,”
said an under officer pushing forward.

The youth glanced
with s rise discovered that neither captain
Winwoo nor his lieutenants had come on
board the ship—he had left the fight to him,
determined to make him a pirate.

“I command on this deck, sir, and I show
quarter. Down with your arms, and our
lives will be spared,” he called out to the s 'p’s
defenders who instantly obeyed.

“Ha! there is loveliness, and my rize,” ex-
claimed the under officer who had fore ad-

dressed Dudley Dash, and he sprun forward .

and threw his arm around the waist o a maiden
who had just come from the cabin, with pallid,
anxious face.

In an instant Dudley Dash confronted the
buccaneer, and his voice rimg threatenineg as
he cried, “Release that lady, rufllan.”

The man’s only answer was to raise his blood-
stained cutlass, and defy the youth.

“ Ha! this is your game, is it?” and with the
spring of a tiger Dudle Dash was u n him.

Then followed a sho , fierce, dead y struggle,

y half a moment in duration, and the no-
u the deck,

caneer lay bleeding and dyingau f bet
c rom ore

while his companions shrunk
the blazing eyes of the youth.

“Lady have no fear ; I will protect you,”
said Du ey Dash, and the maiden was about to
reply when a deep voice said.

‘ Yell done, my gallant amateur buccaneer;
I have strong hopes of you now. Take her;
she is our”

Dudley ash turned quickly; Captain Win-
wood stood before him.

"I will take you at your word, captain, and
claim her as my prize—have no fear, lady,” he
added in a low tone, gazing upon her frightened
but beautiful face.

“ Now we’ll see if the game is worth the cost
—who commands this vessel?”

The sturdy lish captain advanced, bleed-
ing from several ' ht wounds, and said:

‘I did command er. You are a buccaneer?”

“Softly, soft] , captain; we are free rovers.
Where are you roml’

“New York.”

“ Where bound?”

“ Havana.”

“ What cargo?”

“ Assorted.’

“Of considerable value, I guess?”

H Yes. 7?

“You have ngers?”

“Yes, a num and most of them ladies.”

Captain Winwood was silent fora few mo-
ments, and then said:

“Captain, if you can raise the sum of twenty
thousand dollars on board, I will let you 0
free—unless some of my men take a fancy
rob you of some of your fair assengers. A
seaman’s life is a lonely one, you now.”

“ It is impossible to raise that sum, Sir Pirate.”

“Then I shall take what I can of your cargo,
burn your ship, and set you adr t in your
boats '

The stem reply of the buccaneer chief start-
led all, and none more so than Dudley Dash
who had not believed him a man of such crue
nature, than h he had often heard terrible
stories told 0 him.

The captain was about to reply when the
maiden, whom the youth had rescued from
the hands of the under officer, called him aside,
and after a conversation of a few moments he
said: -

“I will agree to' your terms, sir. In a few
moments you shall ave the money; but you
certainly will not carry out your threat—420
take from me any of my passengers?”

“ Icertainl shall.”

inwood, can I

“ Ca tain to you,
sir 3” pand Dudle Dash . pped for-
ward. “Captain, have no right to asks

favor of you, sir; but humanity dictates '1‘}.
You have gained twenty thousand dollars With
the loss of only a few men; will you not now,
sir, be good enough to let this vessel go on her
we , unmolestedi’ and Dudlely Dash spoke earn-
‘est y, while the maiden an other passengers
eagerly watched the chief and the youth, w om
they believed his lieutenant and who they
felt was begging for their safety.

“ Will you promise to become my first officer,
tn '1”

XNo, sir, I will not promise that.”

“Will ou romise to do an 6 tion to
robthev' of bat rich ol fellow, J u geRaynor
—which I intended to do the night I saved you
from hangin' ’”

“ No, sir, Igwill not promise that.”

“ And at you ask me to release these n—
gers by yinent of a, small sum of money ?”

‘ Yes, sir Yuk it I beg it.”

Captain {Vme was silent for'a few mo-
ments, and then : . '
“Be it so. Get the moneyfminthecaptam

l

 veal'll‘he fNeW'YOrkvLibrary. V . 

} with the result of
quickly around him, and ‘

p It was a long and hard pull; but at len

 

u..c_....‘- ‘AwA—Imo‘— .. . .. _._.. . .-.._. ... .

r. at. , - , w

“in;  J n Y _'

. :m- x, ~~. ".1 ,._ '5?

I
and then come on board the schooner. The ship
can go on her way. ” ’

“ Captain Winwood, from my heart I thank
you.

The chief turned away, a peculiar smile u n
his face, and called to his surprised men topic-:5-
turn to the schooner, while Dudley Dash step-
ped forward to acgnugint the captain of the ship

' conversation with Captain
Winwood.

“ Here is the money, young sir—twen
thousand dollars, and may every dollar of it
haunt your soul,” said the captain.

Dudley Dash flushed crimson, and his eyes
drooped before the earnest gaze of the maiden,
who said softly:

“ To you, senor, I feel that we owe our re-
lease, our lives. I owe you far more, and from
my heart I thank you, and, buccaneer though

on be I will ever pray to the Virgin
other to watch over you. Here, wear this as
a token of my appreciation of what you have
done for me.’

Ere Dudley Dash was aware, she took his
hand, and placed on the left little fin er a band
of gold, in which was set a single amond of
rare size and beau .

A moment more and she had descended into
the cabin. I

With a sigh and a flushed face Dudley Dash
took the bag of gold, and walked slowly to the
ship’s side and sprung on board the schooner.

An hour more and the two vessels were a

le e alplart.

e 8' going to the southward,,the Sea
Lance sai ing northward, on the search for fur-
ther adventure and gold.

CHAPTER VII.
ENTRAPPED.

“Captain Winwood, I am confident that you-
der vessel is a man—of-war.”

“Your e es are the best aboard the schooner,
Mr. Dash; {mt they deceive ou  time. The
vesseb, in m o inion, is an nglish supply ship,
sent to the gee? in these waters.” 1

“ Then she would make a good prize to some
American cruiser—for there is no doubt now
but that war has begun between England and
the States.”

“None; the brig we captured gave us that
news. See, she is a lar vessel, much larger
than the shi we took 0 months since, and
which our umanity caused me to let go for
the pal sum of twenty thousand. Yes, you-
ger grid is a supply ship and I intendto take

er.

The speakers as the reader is doubtless aware
were Captain llVinwood and Dudley Dash, and
they stood on the quarter-deck of the Sea
Lancez which, stripped of canvas, laying to,
was riding out a gale that had been sweeping
the ocean or home ‘ .

The night was dark, and the spray was blown
in masses from wave to wave, which kept the
low lying schooner from being seen in the dark-
ness from the decks of a large vessel that was .
driving alon with only her storm sails set.

“She is a ut to us. Get the schooner
under her jib and mainsail, reefed down, Senor
Valdos.” ‘

“Ay, ay, senor,” replied the Spanish lieute-
iéant, andtthen “alfttg‘ thesh schooner was

mgm ew eo e i,appearin
like a bound upon the trail egg: budhlo. 3

Still impe

 

rceiVed from on board the vessel
the schooner drew nearer and nearer, until but
a uarter of a mile divided them.

‘Fire a 11 over her, Valdos, to bring her
to.” orde Ca tain Winwood.

A moment at r and a bri ht flash filmed
the sea, and the deep boom 0 the gun and roar
of the iron messenger were heard.

ffige, Dash, she is coming to. Was I not
ri .’
6‘ It seems so, captain ” replhd the youth, as

the bows of the huge ship swept round ly
and a moment after lay h the e. ’
“ I knew she was a sup ly ship. ow I have

a chance to supply in with arms, ammuni-
tich provisions, for she is doubtlem well
sto .
“#1:: you ready to be my boarding-officer

n 7
._ “ Upon one condition, captain?”

“ And that is—?”

“That if you do not burn the ship you will
let me leave in her.” I

“ I am sorry to lose you, Dash; but, as you
seem determined not to abuccaneer I
might as well let you go. Call away the life-,
batmaiid take half a dozen men with you
a . .

in a short while the lifeboat of the schooner
was bounding over the mad waters, Dudley
Dash at her helm.

th

huge vessel was reached in safe and, 8
Dash' and four men went over he high -

warks, one of these men to spring suddenly- '

back into the boat, saying:
“For our lives, men, give way!”
Quic y the order was obeged, and a
wave bore the lifeboat swi t1 away on its bo—
fom, and Dudby Dash and his hree companions
sound themselves. on board an armed frigate,

l

K a;
. .

v.11. ..

, .\ ’i .A

,2}

 

«1‘
.
. .

i

 

 

 

 

' No. 2.
I ~Resistance would have been madness, and I . _ . .
uietly submitted to their fate, and were I for'e him, andt en said quiet

  

The Dare-Devil; 

' (

Winged Witch cf the Sea. 1' I I ‘ H Sf

.. >' r. . . . - ' _ .u-  @335

 

 

my h vil
iron ea .

“Run a gdh out and sink that boat!” called
out a stern voice, and a heavy gun poured its
iron hail into the lifeboat, who was at once
seen to go down.

“ Now stand away for onder schooner.
Livel men, livel l” orde the same voice,
and the huge ship gan to slowly wear round.

But the schooner had already taken the

The 'youth

‘Yes, I have seen you; but when or where, I
cannot now recall.” I
“ I’ll tell you. I was on board the ship you

I captured two months ago; and whose pamengzfi

I

alarm' the flash of the gun had shown her arm— ‘

ed dec , and easily handled she was scudding
away before the gale with the speed of a race-
horse, and by the time the frigate was fairly on
her course the fleet buccaneer was a mile away,
disappearing rapidly in the darkness and-gloom.
In vain was it that every eye was strained to
kee her in sight. She was soon lost to View,
an with a disappointed manner, the Enghsh
commander descended tohis cabin, and order-
ed Dudley Dash to be brought before him.
“Well, sir, who are on that boards the
Kin ’s frigate in a gale? ou doubtless mistook
me or a merchantman?” and the Englishman
azed with surprised admiration upon the youth-
§ul and handsome face before him.
“I believed y‘ou to be just what you are—

and sotold Ca in Winwood:—but—

“ Winwood Was yonder schooner the buc—
caneer Sea Lance?”

“ Yes sir.”

“ And you are a pirate oflicer—egad! you’ve
begun a career of crime at an earl .”

I am no buccaneer, ca tain. ' umstances
over which I had no con 01 carried me aboard
the Sea Lance and—” .

“’You would prove a Peter—deny your crime-
stained comrades, to have your own neck. No
no, my youn bantam, I have made a g
capture to-nigl t; on ran into a trap, .and one
which you w l o y get out of by putting your
head in a noose. In two days, sir, you and
your companions shall be hung to the frigate’s

ard-arms.

“ Guard, remove the prisoner.”

In vain was it that poor Dudley Dash tried to
speak, to oflfer some explanation ;-—the English
commander would hear not a word, and the
youth was led awa to a vacant stateroom,
where a strict guar was placed over him, for
he was under sentence of death, and he felt
that fate had indeed dealt unkindly with him.

Was he Dudley Dash, who had ever been
considered the soul of honor, to die thus—was
he to be hung as a pirate—a manwhohad hunt-
ed his fellow-men to death for gold?

Such were the harrowing thoughts that
crowded through his brain and almost drove
him to madness, as he paced his little prison,
drag 'ng his chains after him with a clanking
soun that smote him to the heart.

CHAPTER VIII.
A BOLD arson: FOR LIFE.

Tm: night following the capture of Dudley
Dash and his three buccaneer companions, the
English frigate was cruising slowl along the
Massachussetts coast, in the neigh rhood of
Ca Ann.

uring the daythere had beenamee ' of
the officers on board, and the ca ve youth
been brought before them, an again told his
sto in a frank manner: but he could see that
me? all believed it to be concocted to save him
from death.

The three buccaneers were then examined
sefparately,» and each one declared that the story
0 their oun officer was false, for if they were
to die, t eir ened hearts would show no
mercy to himi—na morehthe said he was
the son of Captain inwood an had for years
been an officer on board the Sen. Lance.

With this seemingly conclusive testimon , and
with appearances terribl against him, dley
Dash was sent back to is stateroom with the
sentence of death passed upon him.

In an agony of spirit he paced his prison. Not
that he was afraid to die—but oh! to die such
a death—hung as a pirate to the yard-arm of
the frigate!

With a throbbing heart he glanced through
the open port upon the bright waters, no longer
lashed by a storm, but rippled by a five-knot
breeze—and a chokin sensation swelled up in
his throat as he behe d. a league distant, the

n shores so near his own home, where dwelt

's adopted father, Carter Ha es, and Gabrielle
Gaston- the sweet little mai en whom he had
rescu from the smugglers’ island, and whom
he had learned to love most clearly.

In vain would they wait and watch for his
coming; he was doomed to die.

At on b darkness are t over the waters,
shut out. e land from si t and in despair be
buried his face in his ban 8, for with the rising
sun he must die. -

Presently he was aroused by the door softly ‘

o ning, and from without came a glimmer of
ght from a bottle lantern, revealing the tall
form of his End standing in the doorway.
“ Well, w t do you want now?” asked Dudley
Dash sternly. .
f‘.fiush! I want to be of service to you. Look
face. There. now that the light shines

on my
‘on it, did you evereeeit before?”

 

3 his own aid would not su

 

 

you saved, for I know Captain Winwood.
would have gone 11 if it had not been for you.
I was steward on t e ship, and when we got into .
port I left, and'shipped aboard this frigate, for
’m an Englishman. Now I am a marine, and .
my duty to-night is to guard on well.”

“ I know your dut , sir, an 1—”

“Suppose I don’t 0 it—what then?”

The youth started. Could this man be his ;
friend? W as he not to die after all?

“ What mean you?” he asked, as the man said
no more.

“ I’ll tell you. I don’t want to see you die.
You are but a boy if you are a private officer
and you served me a good turn once. Before
took to the sea I was a locksmith.”

“ Well?”

“ Well, that is the way I got your door open;
I icked the lock, for the key is in the captain’s
ca 1n. ,

“Indeed! Do you mean to aid me then?” I
asked the youth, hardly daring to hope. 3

“Yes; I’ll pick the locks of those hand-cuffs '
in a minute, and there are pieces of boards and
other things in here that you can make a re- 
spectable raft out of—can you swim?” 3

“ Like a fish,” replied the youth, gaylry. I

“Well, I’ll ick your irons off, or always
carries the too 5, you
myself, and then
of that open
understand.”

it Yes.”

“Good! We are ofl.’ Cape Ann, and it is a I
league to the shore, and the tide is running in I
like a mill-race.” I

“I understand; but if I escape, my good fel- ;
low I fear you will be the sufferer.” I

“No fear; but it’s good of on to think of me. I
You see our door is kept ocked, you are in
irons, an I’m only out here to prevent commu- I
nication with you. You were not searched, 
and no one knows but that you had the tools I
with you to set yourself free. I

“ I’ 1 get cursed for not knowing you intended I
esca ing; but, that’s natural, and I’m willing I
to e 1t. Here—see; you are free from your
irons now and good-by.”

Dudley bash could not speak—his heart was ,
too full; but he warmly wrung the hand of the I
meet guard, and the door again closed upon 1

Looking, or rather feeling around his state- 1
room, he ound it was used as a kind of lumber- I
room and he quickly gathered together a few
, cars, and other odds and ends, and with
some pieces of rope and his knife, he soon con-
structed a long, narr0w float, capable of sus-
taining him greatly in the long sw1m for life.

Attaching a rope to one end, and then passing
it through an iron rin in the deck, he slowly I
lowered it into the wa r. ‘

The five-knot breeze was blowing ofl’ the sea,
and the triage careened over toward the shore,
so that he not very far to lower himself,
and the wash of the waves prevented him from
being heard.

It was a desperate, daring undertaking for
his float was but slight at the best, and wi hout
port his weight, while
there was a probability hat the motion of the
fri ate migh suck him under.

en the land was a good league distant, so
had said the guard; it was too dark to see the
shore, and he must risk it on faith.

At length the float reached the water and

dra violently along; but the moment
after Du ey Dash swung himself from the port I
and rapidly slipped down the double rope un ' I
he clasped his legs about his frail support. I

Then he let 0 one end of his rope and pulled I
the hue throug the iron ring. |

Rapidly he was whirled around as he felt I
himself free from the fri te, and he believed ;
that he was bein drawn neath the waters. I

But manfully e struggled for his life, and

r a moment of suspense, swe t out under
the stern of the fri_ te, and was t us far safe.

Lying low in e waters, to Frevent being
discovered b any keen e es the mi ht be on
the quarter eck, he saw he frigate g ide swift—
ly away from him, and then he gave vent to a
31gb of relief; he was free—yet a one upon the
Wide waters, and no land in sight.

CHAPTER IX.
RUNNING THE Hon s'rrmrcn.

“ ANCHOR apeak, sir.”

‘fAy, ay—run u the 'ib—aha! there she
swmgs round. Hu 08.! w at does that feller
say, anyhow, Mister Greenflddle?” and Captain _
Dusenbury, of the packet sloop PrettiaGirl ‘
turned from his work to answer the ii of
someoneinasmall boatthatwascoming
aboard. ‘ ‘

A moment after, the boat ran alongside the I
sloop, and a youth, attired in uniform, looking '
the worse for wear, ng On board. It was
Dudley Dash, looking, pale, but reso- '
lute. PohteLy uting, he sai inquiringly: I

know, in case of accident 
on can 'ust let your raft out
, and slide out after it—you I

 

   
 

earnestly into the face he'— 
y:

‘ HOW.

like a likely chap, as had seen salt
. pa'yhyou the passage mone .” \
e

* passage, and then sprung forward and aided in I T v
f lively thar, Mister Greenflddle, or I’ll make the

Ii youngster as jist come aboard my mate, an’ “

1 0nd oflicer too, one who was just the oppositeto
I rantine tribe, a few of whom are still found in ‘ 3'

' indica him as being a

‘ ward, kase Providence hmn’t goin’ to help  

1 and crew at work, called

; how e knows thar’s danger herea , a
don’t want the Prett Girl to run  , .
an Englisher’s guns, 0 ve hear?” -:_ I .

   
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
    
 
  
    
  
  
    
     
 
  
      
 
   
   
   
  
    
  
  
  
    
    
   
    
      
    
        
  
   
   
   
 
    
   
    
    
    
   
   
  
      
     
      
      
    
    
  
   
   
     
      
     

“ Captain, I learn that you are going to risk
capture by the English cruisers, and are running
for the Kennebec. ’

“I am that. I’m leavin’ Gloucester harbor
for perha the last time stranger; but, yer see, 
I live in ennebec, an’ I hain’t goin’ to let m .
pretty craft rot here dorin’ ther war. I’m 0; , ‘

“ I am glad to hear it.
sen er.”

“ An’ I’m ther man to take yer, for yer looks»
water afore.”
Let me dismiss my boat, and I’ll

Iwish to go as pas— 

“ I have.

boatman, who h rowed him aboard,” v1
then returned shoreward, and Dudley Dash 
handed Captain Dusenbury the amount of his . '.

setting sall. . v
“ Neow, that’s what I call a likely youn , . . .
He hain’t afeerd o’ gettin’ his hands s’il an’ ‘
he’s a officer, too as yer kin see by his clothes, 
tho’ they does look a little hard, I admit. Lock

throw you inter ther sea ” he called out to a A

long, lean, lantern-jawed ankee, who  ' -
in the honorable position of first oflicer of the
Pretty Girl, for Captain Dusenbury had a see-

Mr. Greenfiddle, for he was a fat,'moon'-faéed, '3 .
tipsy-eyed little man, who always hadnn ex- '
pression of assumed bravery on his countenance, 
as if desirous of proving to the world at large " I
that he was a bol sailor. . "
For crew, the' Pretty Girl had a negro of 5'.
almost giant stature, and an Indian of the 'I‘ar-

\

the mountains of Maine.

On the quarter-deck of the sloop, besides her
captain, who stood at the helm, were two other“- 
persons—a regular cut—and-dried old—maid with ; ~ ,
a vi as sour as a crab-a ple, and a ver—j? ‘ h'
ous-loo ' g gentleman, w ose sanctimonious
face, h spectacles, and whigethneckdcloth, . 
n 1 e '
plain cut of his black clo hing did not 0 so.  V
: “Wall, we’ve a good wind, Parson  "hi
breeze, an’ I’m thinkm’ we’ll make a mo! " '} ,
it. Don’t you think so, Miss Nancy ' f" ‘_ .f»
said Captain Dusenbury, addressing the personi- 'ng,
and the old-maid. < ".~ ‘

“We are all in the hands of Providence '1
The wind b10weth and it dieth away,” said Par- . 5 . r
son ueezbreeze, in a sepulchral voice, while . V. " ‘
the ol -maid replied in tones like a  ,'
clarionet: lad h ’ > '

“ ’m nota as 'ves er inion,caphng,' W ._
regardin’ what 1); gog’ to haggin to those  ,J ~
goes down inter the sea in ships; I’m~a  
who—” But the ca tain heard no more, for ~ 
was well acquain with Miss Nancy, and have 
ing started herto e, left the person to , *
her victim, while e went forward, muttering" - ,
to himself: '~ -‘ 1'

“ That old hen is just like a clock. You wind
her up and durn me ef she stops until she runs
d0wn or want breath.” I ~ 

Swift] down the harbor lided the Pretty, "
Girl, wit all sail set to catch t esix-knot
that was blowing, and as darkness came , ' , ,
new moon hung in the heavenstolight her 
wa over the waters. ' V"

on board felt that they were ' . ,

t risk to attempt to reach the mouth of
fiennebec; but then, Captain Drrsenbmy
made up his mind to run hisvessel home,
he was a fearless man, and a skillful seamen  ~~;

“Iguesses ashowyoucantakeaturnatthe
tiller, stranger, as :- seem ter want tobe'oo-
cu ied,” he said, a r the sloophad  ,1
onfnf and was dashin swiftly alo . x i" ' .

“ am willin , sir; ut I wouldgfivise 
kee a bri ht ookout as I’ve reason to know
tha there an frigate inthe'se
Kaitlin,” and Du y Dash \quietly' . fire

8 z ‘ ‘ i
“ You don’t say so! Wall, I’ll skin everye‘ye
aboard to be ther lookout. Miss Nancy you
has be-utrful eyes, so please to keep ’em oh 
Eamon and skim ’em over ther summer in? ‘

arson Squeezbreeze, jist quit raisin’
orbs o’ yourn ter Heaving, and look term-j

   
    

as don’t help therself. , I
“ Here, yer tar-black nigger—skin it up that A
ther mast an’ look both ways fur Sunday "and ~
the worthy captain, havi set his 
's mates aft for f
cormcil of war.  v-

“ See here Mister Greenflddle, and you, ‘
Todd 'l‘ipplemuch, this here r' ' ,
in; m‘“

 

  

     
   
  
  
  
    
      
    
   

"Yas,”and each valorous matecast‘hk
inoneswee inglookaroundthehodmn" ‘ ‘
“Efwe ces,l loses the 31 ,and ma
mylife. Theparsonwillbegforchapl ,
some cruiser, sartm, an’ Miss Nancy ’11 sulfa"
chametomarryacomm doreinthe" Haw
vicawhflethnxsoung elles'llbe- aid
er 0’ war. for ' Buttennflt-W '
raisedhisvoice mamas—attire ,, ff U I
you andthe Ingine',"w1llbetuktow '
u monumhatmw send

a

V“

   

  

. n' I e,

 
 
  

 

 
 
     
      
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
 
   
    
    
  
    
   
 
  
    
    

, .1. ..,.

~ .
‘\‘.-"I l'
r

17‘

I

er both‘told
er Hill?”

. ii

yer both sartin’, for hev’nt
me t yer randdads font at B

', “ I' never! ad a andfather,” said Toddy,
V ‘rgffully, while Mr. reenflddle remarked, in an
’1’ a e-inspiring tone:

““st, but my grandfather was killed thar,
an’-thet makes us even.”
“Toddy Ti lemuch, you hev’ lied to me,
I" then fur yer istinctly told me thot—”
“ Sail he!” rang out in the clear voice of Dud—
" :’ Iggpesh, and all started suddenly, while Toddy
.‘ p
00m

nion Way into the cabin.

‘ “ ere it is, Captain—just off our starboard
>bow. It is a schooner, and looks like a )riva—
,teer. Strangel did not see' her before,’ and
Dudley, Dash pointed to Where lying low upon
V .. . the. waters, was visible one of those rakish-look-

" >  ing vessels so commonly seen half a century

,. cruising under the r of the pirate.
. - “Come down out o’ thet riggin’, yer blind
 Vi, chunk c’ charcoal! an’ you, Injin, whar was Imar

, l eyeh?” cried Ca tain Dusenbury, severely, w ' e
\, [he leveled his g at the strange sail.

“Me see him long time; he lay quiet on
. ‘ water—just set he Wings, and come this we ;

‘ .l but man talk much and I no tell him,” said t l0

 -. onsfro, came slowly down to the deck, having
 dently been asleep on watch.
, .3 “Yes, it is a cruiser or a privateer; anyhow,
‘_'. I think an American.”
 . I.“Let’me get a shot at him with Bunkerhill—
. ~‘I’ll’settle him,” cried Todd 'l‘ipplemuch.
stiff “hm?” dd »
‘ 9 ea ing ur so 11 int’!
 - .“‘Ya‘s Ca ting.” s‘ a
I ,"‘Wai, ji sta on deck arter this. Ef any
.  .body oes inter t er cabin it must be the Parson
' . as Nancy.”
 “Amen!” said Parson Squeezbreeze, fervent-
I{, while Miss Nancy looked pleased to get a
’c ce at the parson alone (for e was a widow—
er), even if there was danger surrounding them.
' . ‘ Wal, I’ll jist stan’ on, and of that i'eller
r. 1-. some determined to worry me, I’ll jist put inter
1 some little inlet, fur I knows this coast pretty
' r w t do tyou make her out, strangerT’and
’ ury placed his glass in the hand
ey Dash, who, after a long survey of the
strange craft, said, slowly:
"“'I haVe seen her be ore, Captain; it is a
r that has been for several years a
 j ler on the Maine coast.”
at. ' -“ ‘I-ordy!” groaned Mr. Greenfiddle, while
r Dudle Dash continued:
1,,“ late months I have heard that her com—
der has become a pirate.”
. . own into the cabin went Todd Tipplemuch
hile‘sll on board, exce the ndian, seeme
‘ wafly'impressed with e startling informa-
». ,_ 1 ,n‘that had just fallen from the lips of Dudley

 

   
    
   
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
     
    
  
   
   
    
   
 
 
       

 

I"

 

5»...

CHAPTER X.
THE EFFECT or A BROADSIDE.

'1 AN hour’s sailing fully proved to all on board
theisloqp that but one means of escape la be—
! them, and that was to rim. close in s lore,
(radon the Prett Girl, set fire to the craft,
 escape in he yawl, which hung at the

I-‘f‘iwould hold on, captain, if the passengers
are willing to run the gauntlet of the schooner’s
lire. She might hit us, and then again we 11 ' ht
escape serious injury. I think it is worth he

V _ ’ and Dudley Dash lanced toward Parson

_ " breew and Miss ancy Primrose, hoping
~‘ 1, 09M , to his motion.

, of Do yen ' the wicked men would fire at
m‘with malicious intsnt to kill us,” asked the
v , parson solemnl .

‘ . . mé‘f‘They woul 1’t fire to amuse us, parson, on
’ " hit our barrel 0’ soverns on that,” re ) ied
usenbury, while Miss Nancy sai in a

r.
‘ pgse the was ter ln't yer, rson, an’ er
  oil' suddingly) put)l er youyth,
«\w o’d be a mother to yer two lessed children?
r and'she placed the corner of her handkerchief
 tonne eggs, while she nervously watched‘the ef-
tuft of er words on the parson, with the other.
 ,‘l 'n, I beseech you to we me warning,
gthatyl may dodge, it t

 
     
 
   
  
 

ey go shooting at us.

W, my child we are n deadly danger now,
me.

'  Non took the parson at his word, and

tfoiim plaocgd herself under the shelter of his

,  arm.
. f us she did 'sothere wasaflashfmm the
 ,0! the schooner, and a roaring sound in

, a ti the person (1 to the deck car-
v -' ' with, him the form 0 Miss Nancy, while
' , ’l‘ipplem


 
  
     
    
 
  
   
   
  
    
 
  

uch 'with the flash, disap . red
cabin, and  Greenflddle cried in r1 ht.
' ‘ in dunniatiou shall I do? I’ll beki led
.' . wish I waster home.”
2, , . 'y, stand up like; man‘ !1 tStiLradiger.
more com-egg our 1 o nger
lookm’ iii) “dim yfim‘"
you
edifice

Is t et what yer went .

"‘rrv'w

 .  " A :The‘"

le much as suddenly disappeared down the l

. .for us. Come,” and
Indian, complacently, while Buttermilk, the!

 

l i .
.A. .‘W'T‘w V ~ . F'T r'
' . 

_—k

 

    
 

,V“


O

 

. .vo

 

Tipplemnch, the Lord ha’ mercy on yer—they’ll I tr V and reach the inlet—where the schooner

will not follow us,” calmly said Dudley Dash,
who still held the helm.

“ I’ll do it, of I has to sacrifice the parson an’
Miss Nancy. Here, Injun, you and Butter-
milk haul this sheet taut, and trim in on the

' jib. Whar in thunder’s that nigger? Down in

l the hold I’ll bet Greenflddle agin Tipplc-

‘ much. Well, sir, what has yer bin doin’

; in the cabin?’ and the ca itain turned upon

1 Teddy Tipplemuch, who jus then came out of
the cabin.

“I’ve bin armin’ myself for the fray, cap-

’ tain,” and Toddy pointed to a huge sword he
had hung to a belt at his waist.

‘ “ Wall, now you is armed, stay on deck an’
fight it out. I’m goin’ to board an’ take that

skunner. . ”

This was too much for Mr. Greenflddle, who
at once started for the cabin.

“ Whar yer goin’, Greenfiddle?”

“Inter ther cabing to git my weepins.
blow ther durned pirat’s inter ther skies.”

“ The schooner is preparing to fire again, sir,”
said Dudley Dash, as he caught sight of a light
moving on their enemy’s dec .

“Lord save us! Nancy child, this is no lace
dod ring about 1' e a
chicken with its head out o , and with the old
maid clinging to his coat-tails, the Parson
sou ht the cabin.

“ t ain’t possible they could ’a’ heard me is

I’ll

fear.

“Doubtless the did, sir,” replied Dudley
Dash, greatly en 0 ing the frigh of the two
mates, and yet W011i ering how men could be so
craven.

“ Capting, is or real] goin’ ter board that ar
vessel?’ asked oddy Tip ilemuch, with an air
as though he had further usiness in the cabin.

“Yes, I think of it. Ef we don’t git away
I’m )retty sartin we will.”

“ hat in thunder would yer do that fur?”
inquired Toddy.

“ To have you biled inter soup for ’em, so as
it would make ’em brave.”

Toddy was about to reply, when the schooner
lufl'ed quickl up, and then one, two, three,
four, bright hes came from her side, and as
many deep booms broke the stillness of the
waters.

“Down all! Here comes her broadside!”
cried Dudley Dash, still standin erect himself,
as thou h he disdained to shrink rem death.

But t e order was unnecessary, for the Pan‘-
son and Miss Nancy were alread flat on the
cabin floor, and at the first flasi they were
joined by three others—Buttermilk and the two
mates.

Then came the roaring iron hail, cutting away
the topmast and the bowsprit, and rending a
huge hole in the sail, which caused the little
sleep to tremble from stem to stern,and breach to.

Even Captain Dusenbury a thoroughly brave
man, stooped down as the broadside struck his
craft; but Dudle Dash and one other never
fiinched. That ot 1er was the Indian sailor, who,
with folded arms, stood erect and unmoved.

“Wall, stranger, I guesses as how we's gone

then he added, (prickly, “ We can take the yawl
and row ashore. ’

“No; I have a plan' let that yawl alone, or
I’ll blow our cowardl brains out,” sternl
cried Du ey Dash, as . Greenflddle and T -
dy Tipplemuch rushed to let fall the boat from
the davits.

The mates stopped as if petrified; they feared
the cahu, slender boy.

“Captain, the sloop has drawn such a swell
behind her that I am convinced we are in very
shallow water.”

“Yas, not more than three fathoms here—
about.”

“Good! The schooner is deep and will not
come in here. She is already laying to, to semi
a. boat aboard—”

“ Yas, we are gone up, sartin.”

“ Not yet. She will send a boat aboard—it is
coming now, and if my plan works well, they
will find they haVe caught a tartar.”

“What is your plan, sir?” asked the captain,
more and more impressed with respect for '
gallant and youthful passenger. "

“Let them come aboard, and then ask
the oillcers into the cabin, and I will be there.
As soon as they have entered let the Indian
and ne re, who are to lie hid on the 0pm—
site sir c of the caboose, lire upon be
men in the boat, or make them prisoners, which
ever is easiest to do—”

“ But the skunner u ill send her boats aboard
and murder us 1111—” ,

“Trust me, captain, I beg you, in this. If I
do not catch the captain here, why then we can
escape in theyawl. If the schooner’s caan
(:01in aboard we will have no trouble.”

“Boy, you are a trump! I’ll be durned ef—”

“Never mind, captain; but, have you pistols
and ‘ on i _
f‘ a dozen thanks to that thar shakin’
courses; Toddy Tipplemuch, who insisted upon

 

‘  and)

bui en hliOr ui amano’war."
 98.38%, ’ve pm in tight places

I
. K I
l. f ., , ,

it!” whispered Mr. Greenllddle, trembling With ‘

up,” said Captain Dusenbnry, sorrowfully, and r

 mammary. _' I;  “‘

 

. “ I

“And you are in a ti ht place,‘ now, Mr.
'l‘ipplemuch. I would not rag until after we
count our dead and Wounded—

_“0h, Lordy! I’ll go an’ look up ther guns. I
Wish we had a thousand cannons, a million mus-
kets and—” '

“ JYou’ll do no sich thing, Mr. Tipplemuch.
The runs and istils hain’t lost, an’ we want you
an’ ll 1'. Green ddle at yer posts Ef er skulk
now, durncd of I don’t shoot yer m se f.”

This was a quietus on the two valbrous mates,
and they subsxded in fear and trembling.

Going into the cabin with the ca tain, Dudley
Dash found the parson and Miss Nancy on their
knees saying their prayers, which the youth at
once interrupted to drive the pious couple into
one of the small staterooms.

“ New, ca tain, I will await here for you to
bring the oflibers down, when I Will either make
them surrender or kill them—”

“ Thou shalt do no murder, young man,” came
in sepulchral tones from the stateroom, and in
the arson’s voice.

“ ‘het up, Parson Squeezbreeze? Ef I hear a
word from that stateroom I’ll {he a bullit inter
it.

“Captain,” continued Dudley Dash, smilin at
the quiet that followed the threat, “you ad
better now place the Indian and negro with their
arms, and as the boat comes near, call down to
me how many men are in it.”

“ I’ll do it. Now I’ll go on deck.”

A few moments of sus followed, and then
Dudley Dash distinctl card the sound of oars;
then followed a stern il:

“ Sloo ) ahoy! what sloo ) is that?”

“The l’retty Girl, from 'ennebec.”

“Why the devil didn’t you come-to when 1
first fired?”

“ I kind 0’ thought it mout be more healthy to
try and git away. that skunner’s that?”

“ None of your business. I’m comin aboard.”

“ Thar’s one officer and four men in her durn-
ed boat,” whispered Captain Dusenbury down
the com Minion—way.

“G001 ; send hrm down,” came back in the
cool tones of Dudley Dash. .

A moment after the boat ranged alongsxde
the sloop, and a tall, elegantly-formed man
sprung on deck, dressed in a dar uniform, pro—
fusely trimmed with gold lace.

He was armed with a pistol in his belt, and a
sword carried in his hand; and his stern, dark,
yet handsome face, roved that he was ready to
use his won 118, eit er for offense or defense.

“ Well, Sir, what cargo have you?” he said,
sternly, addressing Captain Dusenbury.

"I’m durned sorry to say, kase I blieves yer
ier be a )irate, that I’ve got a very valuable
cargo. E you‘ll come inter my cabing I’ll
show yer."

Instantly the officer followed down the com-
panion—way, saying sharply:

“And be in a hurry, skip ‘r, for this is a bad
neighborhood for a man w 0 serves under my

fla .”

‘IAnd what flafi mout thpt be, capting ?”

“The Death’s end and Crossed Bones, ski -
per,” recklessly said the buccaneer' but as t e
words left his lips, there came t e -earcut
order:

“ More one inch and you are a dead man!”

The buccanecr felt that he was entrapped, and
he turned his e es toward Captain Duscnbury;
but he had gli ed like a shadow up the com—

panion-way.

“ Whoever ives that command is a fool. My
schooner lies at half a mile distant,” said the
buccanecr.

“ True.
Lay down
you,” said
(-ealment.

A strange light came into the face of the hue-
caneer, as he slowly laid his sword u n the
table, and then drew his pistol_from is belt.
instantly be leveled the weapon in the direction
from whence had come the sound, and fired.

A shriek and a deep groan foHOWed the deaf-
ening report. and then the buceaneer turned to
bound up the companion-way.

And her commander is in my )ower.
our arms on that table, or ’11 kill
udley Dash, from his place of con—

 

CHAP'I‘ER X1.
CATCIIING A mama.

WITH a curse upon his lips, the buccaneer
rushed up the companion-way to start back
with a cry of rage and terror. lie was securely
shut in the cabin.

With a bitter curse he strained to force his
way out, when there was heard a volley of
musketry on deck, and the cries of wounded,
stru rgling men. .

“ ‘aptain, you are in my power. Surrender
en die.”

here was no use for the buccaneer to turn;
a cold pistol-muzzle pressed hard 11 ainst his
car, and the flashing eyes of Du ey Dash
looked full into his own. ,

“What would you, boy?” he demanded, un—
flinching. . . ,

“Merely to pass on our way unmolested.
Parson Sgneezbreeae, bring that rope and bind
this man.’ ~ ‘-

()r

 

“Itisnotmeetandrightthatsuchaslahonld
l, mingle with-J I ‘ A I' . . -
7  ‘, 1 / 

I
u

. .,

»fi
\.
/

 

  

 

- with an alacrity t

1 ,.'~'

-. —. .«w‘ ad- L-——. A.-_.-<*—.

 

“MissNan ,“ oudo as I ask, please,” the
person is afr d, .impatiently said the 011th.

Instantly, Miss Nanc came from state—
room, rope in hand, an with a vicious look at
the Buccaneer, proceeded to bind his hands be-
hind his back, with a skill that was amusing to
contemplate.

“ Curse you, fellow, ou shall repent this—”

“Repent, thyself. o , wicked man, for thy
crimes are many,” came from the stateroom.

“ I will answer for my act, Sir Pirate. Ho!
the deck l” gste H th

“A a youn r! ave er c e
varmiht? yAn’ who’s been killed?” demanded
Captain Dusenbury, appearing in the com-
panion-way.

“ No one is hurt. The buccaneer got fright-
ened and fired at his own shadow. Did you
on ture the crew?”

‘We’ve got one 0' them slick as rease;
t’other three is gone cruisin’ in a lake 0 brim—
stone an’ fire.” ‘ ‘

All right, captain. Now, sir, come on deck
with me.”

Silently the buccaneer obeyed, and a glad
light came into his face, as he glanced out over
the waters and beheld two dark objects moving
ra idly totvard the sloop.

‘ Now, young man, your time has come,” he
said leefully.

“ ot yet—are you the captain of yonder
schooner ’

“ I am.”

“And you are he that is called, or was, until
the lIJrc-aki’ng out of war, Rafael the smuggler?”

“ am.

“Very well. Now, captain Rafael, the Pi—
rate, we desire to go on our way unmolested,
and I look to you to aid us. Give an order to
the officers in yonder boats to at back at once
to the schooner, or, so hel me I I will seat-
ter our brains over this deck,” and Dudley
Das 1 placed the pistol he held against the head
of his prisoner.

Captain Rafael cursed bitterly. He saw that
he had caught a Tartar, and one glance into the
face of his ca tor proved that he would do what
he threatened.)

“ Quick, sir! hail those boats and tell them to

put back. Your minutes of life are numbered
if on refuse.”
' ‘Ho! the boats! Weston, rest on your oars
where you are, for aminute; I am caught in my
own trap,” rung out in the clear tones of the
buccaneer chief.

“ Then we will dash forward and rescue you!
Give way, men, with a will," cried the oflicer in
the nearest boat.

“Order them back, I say i” and the youth’s
voice was hoarse with passion.

“Back Weston! for the love of God! back,
or I shall be killed!” cried the chief in accents
that he meantgvhat he said.

A in the boats hesitated, and not a cable’s
len h from the sloop.

“ Now, captain, my plan is to at once get un-
der way, and mm close in shore, where your
schooner cannot'follow me. Captain Dusen—
bury rig a bowsprit just as quick as you can
and I hold you, sir buccaneer, as hostage; i
your boats follow an die.”

“ Do you in keep me as a prisoner and
hand me over to the authorities ashore?"

“I had not thought of that; it would be a
good idea.”

“ Then hear what Ihave to say. I am a rock-
less man, and an outlaw: if taken ashore I
would be hung, as ou know: but I love life,
as all men, not foo , do, and I will agree to
let you go, if on swear to release me as soon
as your sloop is in a lace of safety.”

idudley Dash was si ent a moment, and then

“ What if I refuse?”

“ I will give the order for my boats to come
on, and 1 will be killed. It is better to die at
your hands than on a gallows.”

Dudley Dash saw that the buccanecr was in
dead] earnest, and he said, after a moment’s
thong t:

“ I agree to your terms. Order your boats
back, and I will let you return in the one alon '-
side, an release the man nowa prisoner wit
you. ' (1 you, the boats are to return to the
so ooner, and the sloo is not to be followed.”

I understand. 0! Weston, I have come
to a compromise. Return on board the schooner,
and in an hour I will join on.”

“Don‘t trust them, Captain Rafael,” called
out the officer.

“Do as I say, sir; I am the best udge of
What I should do," angril returned t e chief
and the boats immediate y put back towa
the schooner.

:‘The bowsprit is rigged, mister,” said Cap-
tain Dusenbury, and then he continued:

“ Leastwise it’ll do for present use.”

“Very wel. Get the sloop at once under
wa , and stand in there, Captain Dusenbury,”
re ed the youth.

a order was at once obeyed, Mr. Green-
fiddle and Toddy Ti lemuch sp to work
was astonish' . ‘

a: few moments gig-e and the sloop was bowl-
merrilyit " , whoonm’shnhvvifi'fts
My 311de asters. '

 

When the schogher had  from
sight Dudley Dash, who held t e helm, said
quie -

y.
“Haul that boat alon do. Now, captain ltience?

you and your man are ee.
row and you will meet your vessel. Here, sir,
let me release you—there! I wlll kee your 
sword and pistol as a souvenir. Farewe l, sir.”

With an oath the buccaneer sprun into his 1
boat, followed by his companion, an Dudley 1
Dash gave the order to cast loose.
' A moment after the boat was dancing in the
wake of the sloop, and as all eyes watched the
two thwarted buccaneers they saw them hurl l
the three dead bodies into the sea, and then
sprin r to their oars with a will.

“ all, my young friend, you‘is the pluckiest i
cha that ever wore brooches. Bless my soul, l
of don’t owe you more’n I kin chr pa ',” and ‘
Captain Duscnbury gras )ed the hand of udley
Dash who quietly remar ed:

“ You owe me nothing, captain; but, thank
God! we are safe.”

The calptain was about to replfi, when be ob-
served oddy Tisplemuch an r. Greenfiddle
1 ing flat on the eck, and preparing to fire at
t e receding boat.

“ Blarst yer lubberly beasts, what’s yer
doin’?” he yelled out.

“I’m agoin’ to show them pirits thet thar‘s
brave men as defends this here vessil, un’ blow
ther durned heads—”

What more Mr. Tipplemuch would have said
is unknown, as he was suddenly seized in the
strong arms of the ca tain and hurled into the
cabin, knocking down arson zbreeze, who
had just made 11 his mind to come on deck and
search for Miss ancy, who had followed Dud-
ley Dash and the risoner.

“ You go arter 1im,durn e,” elled the irate
captain and Mr. Greenfldd e fol owed the sur—
prised Teddy.

“ Now fur the ni r—”

But Buttermilk towered too high for the cap-
tain to believe that he could so easily mana re
him; and besides, he had blazed mm at t e
)irates in the boat, when ordered to 0 so. If

e hit any of the three who were killed, it was
accidental, for Buttermilk had closed both eyes
and fired at random.

“ Now I’ve 0t ’em, and I mean ter keep ’cm
ca . The is enufl' to worry one to death-—
ham’t they ?’ and Captain Dusenbury closed the
companion-way and securely fastened it.

Then, turning to the old maid, he said:

“Miss Nancy, you’ve made a man 0’ yersclf
this here night, an’ of or can‘t git married, I’ll
marry yer myself, of ’m ever a widdower.”

iss Nancy smiled sweetly, and was begin-
nit?r to make a little speech, when Dudley Dash
sax °

l

 

“ Now, captain, We will stand. on up the coast
with all speed—and keep close in shore, for there
is danger further out.”

“Thet’s sol—You 'ist do as yer like, young-
ster, kase you runs a lead 0’ my time, ye do, an’
when we strike ole Kennebec, durned cf you
won’tbethe boy as has done it. I’m yer pas-
singer, I am; so go ahead, capting, an’ no ques—
tions axed!”

Dudley Dash smiled pleasantly, and headed
the sloop u the coast, while he mentally con-
gratulated imself upon his narrow escape, and
ooked forward with glad hope of soon being at
his cottage home.

CHAPTER XII.
THE RETURN.

Tan scene of my story again oes back to the
iron-bound coast of Maine, and t e humble home
of the old fisherman, Carter Hayes.

But over all rested an air of neatness and
comfort that was not there when the reader last
beheld it, for the dainty taste of Gabrielle Gas-
ton, whom the old fisherman had found a ray of
sunshine in his home, had improved the little
cotta e and its immediate surroundings .atly.

Be! sof flowers blossomed in front 0 tfledoor,
a shell walk wound down to the beach, and
pretty white curtains hung at the windows,
while all within was tidy and invitin .

It was near the sunset hour, am? upon the
porch, in front of the cottage sat two pcrs6ns~
one was an old negrcm With a gayly colored
bandanna around ier head, and attired in a
plain homespun frock.

She was engaged in knitting a ir of blue
worsted socks, and her hands kept time to a low,
plaintive tune that she was humming.

The other was Gabrielle Gaston, grown from
the child of twelve, into a tall, graceful girl of
fourteen, just on the vo of womanhood, for
she was most mature for er age.

Her face was still more beautiful, than when
the reader beheld her cowering beneath the
threats of the smug ler, and a mass of golden
curls hung in perfecg abandon down her lack.

She was neatly attired in homespun, and was
occupied in mending a seaman’s jacket, while a
sad look rested upon her face, proving that her
thou hts Were not of a hap y‘ nature.

Si! .dentlyea deep boom upon the, niet
air, and roar of a bevy star-ti flue
gloom of the hills, and echoed ‘ong thc’mcky

In 7 . ,

 

and turned th

An hour’s hard i asked the maiden, g ancing up and down the y
‘ coast, and then letting her eyes fall upon a "

‘ am

 

4N , ..‘. . a -. ~ “Riggs &

_.__,__ _._.«. ~- st—A._ ..

V‘ m l

  
   
  
   
     
    
    
  
  
    
   
   
   
  
   
    
    
  
    
  
  
   
   
    
    
 
  
   
  
    
    
   
    
   
   
    
     
    
   
   
   
  
    
   
    
 
    
  
     
 
       
      
 
    
 
  
   
 
      
     
    
    
   
  
     
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
   
    
 
  
    
  
 
 

andtheold negressstarted, ,, :
eyes seaward. ‘ -v 

“What can the frigate mean by firing, Pa- '
Is there an other vessel in sight?”

VBoth Gabrigpre

lar re ship of war that was lying a league away,
just outside of a chain of roc islands
that formed a break-water for the litt e bay in.
front of the cabin. ‘
“ I don’t see nothin’, missy; I guesses as how
(ley is jist shootin’ to scare fokes, an’ (icy is
doin’ it, too, kase I don’t like dem big guns, no-~ _
how; do Lord didn’t make dem big guns, mixtsy, i
an’ I don’t like ’em,” replied the old negress, evi—g \. ‘
dcntly displeased at having her tune broken 
upon with such a rude bass as the roar ofa .
heav gun. ‘ ' _ .
“ l-Ihrk! there it is again. Can Father Hayes ,[
be running in, and are they firing at him, I *
wonder?” ’ _
“No, missy: de boss hain’t bin gone but one . ' 
day, an’ he didn’t spec’ to git back afore a week.
Dcy‘s jist shootin’ kase dey knows’ it am A ’
wrong.” 9 _ 7
But Gabrielle did not seem to accept the 1 g
views of old Patience on the situation, and" y
rising, began to narrowly search for the  ‘ ‘
of the firing. . ‘ . '
A rain and again peeled forth the deep boom . ,. n 1:. .
of the gun, startling the birds from their .‘ ~‘~ "
covm'ts in the crevices of the rocks and pine, ‘4'
thickets. ,
“See Patience, sec! Now I know why the -. x ‘i
are firing,” and Gabrielle pointed seaward, ‘~ -
where the skies were becoming rapidly overcast ..
with inky storm-clouds, and a faint mar of a}
coming storm reached their ears. ' \ ' "
“ Dat’s so, Chile; dat big Wessil am becalmedj "
dar on de coast, and dat dar storm .am goin’ to \v ‘
knock it apieces. Yes, chile, dey wants a pilot, I,
dcy does.’ »  -
‘Oh! that Father Hayes was here!”  .
Gabrielle, earnestly. ‘ ' 
“It won’t do no ood, missy. Debossamal ‘ ' . -
reg‘lar ’Merican, an’ 1e hain’t gwine to help  I
ship of he war here. Don’t you see do flag, ‘

miss ?”

“Yes; she is English, and therefore an em?
my; but humanity would cause Father Hayes
to go to their aid and pilot them into the hay”. “
I hope some good fisherman will do it.” " , .i  ',

“ No, (ley won’t, missy;dey wouldn’t help that 
wessil, kase she’s a enemy. No, chile, dem _2
poor sailors is to die atone our eyes.” , g , '

“Oh! that knew how to manage a large,
vwwl! I would go.” .

Old Patience adjusted her spectacles, which“
she always looked over instead of a."
gazed upon the young girl as though she bd-
lieved she had to en leave of her senses. * “,J

After awhile she said, reproachfully: ‘ 1»

“ You is a gal, chile.” r .. .
'-I have sailed the ‘ __ 

 

“ And what of that?
many a time, and I know the channel w 3
See, Patience, is not that a boat? Yes iti'a
See, it comes around the point of land—just
rounding the whale’s back.” ' x. .

H I see him, chile. Yas, dat am a boat, unlit.

 

am headin’ here.”

 
 

“Then it must be m father tuning. L' -' ,
it is not his sloop, but 1); small bigot, wi nag, "
le sail. th0 can it be? Hark! how pitcoufly j»

t osegunscry for help.” 
“Its no use, missy; dey won’t git nobody ‘
help ’em here.’ ‘
‘ 'cs, the boat is coming here. ,
rounded the point, and there! he has ‘
down his sail and taken to his for M
not a breath of wind; How bol y he pg
See, his boat just flies over the water. “Va
Patience, Stgqu that should be Dudley?" K“) "i
“ Don’t k of Massa Dudley, missy' do ‘
am done hab him safe in He bosom. Poor be
wgr‘iiebltfil' see him an mg.” ' .
1e ‘ars ru into ebeantlml' eyes" ~
Gabrielle, bu shggsaid ickly:  “t
“ No, Patience, I feel t at Dudley is not dead
he will yet return. Come, let us goto 
and meet the boat, and I will 1 
(Huggins to go out to the aid of the English ,_
gu .. ‘  ‘1‘
Swiftly Gabrielle descended the shell. "
way to the beach. followed more leism'e ‘
the old negress, who, upon her arr! f
Ellie (yaoung girl dancing about and clapp
n / ~ '

46 yes, Patience, it is, it is, Dudley: Don’t

recoggize him now?” _
“ re God! de chileamrrght! It am .
Dudley, or he ghost.” ' . '
he next moment the boat ran half its '
Bumdpn thfiaxbfiaach, and thte Well-known],
ey s g on upon the ~. n
W Gabrielle in his strong 
a V. '7 1- '

t home.

 

CHAPTER XIII. ,

. vA BOY’s ewes. .n.
AmtheWarm greeti ‘
no and a hen “6%
£732.13 tienoe,D my 



  

 

I '1
"'5‘ .‘ ls!) '7 ‘

     
   
  
   
  
  
   
    
 
 
   
   
   
   
    
   
     
    
   
  
   
    
 
  
    
   
     
 
   
    
  
    
   
 
   
     
   
    
    
  
   
   
  
  
    

.i

earnest gaze at the frigate whose leading
. each moment seemed to call more oudly. guns
Anxioqu she watched his face, and then
.. ‘ said quickly:
‘ “ Dudle , that vessel is in terrible danger. ”
“Yes, abrielle.”
' “She will be wrecked if some bold fisherman
, does not 0 out and save her.”
“Yes; 5 e is on a lee shore, and amore dan-
gerous one she could not have found—there is
r not a breath of air and yonder storm will burst
, upon the sea within half an hour. See, the
‘ swell, driven before it is already comin in.”
'  n. “ Dudley is there no one to save her?’
' . -“ Shejs English, Gabrielle; I know her well'
’ three nights a o I was on her, and condemned
to be hung at t e yard arm.”
‘gou, Dudley?’ and the young girl’s face

pal .

“‘Yes; they believed me to be a pirate—”
. y I “‘A rate? believed youa irate?” and Gabri-
, 7/ ' elle raised her hands in holy orror.

' “ Yes: but it is a long story—I will tell it you
,another time—now I must act.”

“What are you goin to do, Dudley!”
I “Save yonder vessel. ’
;_ Now was Gabrielle’s time to object, for Dud—
 ley’s words had greatly alarmed her. Should
, ,he voluntaril go on board a vessel where he
 ' ‘had been con emned to death?
‘ ' -‘ , ‘,‘ Look 8. here, Massa Dudley~you is a pop’lar
boy in dis neighborhood; but chile, ef der fish-
, ermens knows you sabe yonder vessel from ab-
struction, dey gwine to git hoppin’ mad wid
, an’ no mistake.”
"‘ No doubt of it, Patience; but must I stand
‘- ' \here and see five hundred men go down before
, my eyes, when I can save them'l’

’, e' I ‘Dat’s a fack; but you kin turn yer eyes
- a‘wa .”

“  “ gut their cries would haunt my very dreams.
I Where is Father Ha es, Gabrielle?”

, “ Gone to Portlan in his sloop.”

\ ; 7 “ Then I must act upon my own responsibility
. ‘ —Gabrielle, I am going aboard yonder vessel.’
. g‘ “ And I will accompany you.

’r’ “‘You/ Why, little girl, you are wild.”

“No I am not. If on meet danger I will
share it with you. y, I thought of going
in , If and trying to save the frigate.”

Diddle burst out into a  boyish laugh;
u only checking himse f, be said, as
~A thinking aloud:

'1’ , “ es, we can reach the frigate before the

‘ storm bursts, and once there the da :- will be
 Besides, we can rove that told the
 and: am not a pira .

M; .“Come, Gabrielle, we will take the life-boat.
’,,?atlence I guess you want to come, too?” he
  a merry twinkle of mischief in his
., “‘ Robber! bress de Lord, chile, you done gone
lyer mind is clean gone! Git me in dat
 e i No sari I’ gwine to de house ter
v’ fun on two chil ’en, I is. I’se gwine to
 on 0’ dis yer storm, or dar will be a
d "funeral (’bout yer, an’ I won’t be de

ying old Patience tru back toward
house, while Dudley and brielle sprun
along, narrow hie-boat, or rather su
y'and, se' ' the ears, the youth sent it
' over 6 uiet waters.
_As rowed swif ly along he told the deeply
egirl of his remarkable adventures,
learn that Carter Hayes had written to

.but,
the

   
   
    
  
  
   
 
 
   

' A university when weeks went b without
' from himiland that one of e profes-
ow, Dudley had been kid-

son had replied, .
. ’b a pirate vessel the crew of which
land d, and carried off, in revenge for
*"a'm‘mhm‘fih‘hi‘i “$35” 3'” “it?
0 ng o e r o a. we y
, ' ,whmevflhwuggthewashom.
€--The letter furthermore stated that a Mr. Dun-
had, with a few men he called to his aid,
to take‘Dudley from the pirates, but
, .V Dunstan had been severely wounded

'V e smiled glimly at this version of the

hand agile own the truth to Gabrielle,

ose beau ul eyes flashed with indignation.

$t, how did tygu get home, Dud?’

, by I got captain of the sloop to let

I take ’his yawl, when we reached the mouth
the Kennebec, and h

  
  

   
     
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
    
 
 

' ere I am; but see, Gabie,
rapidly those clouds rise,~and just hear
, ‘ , w. storm roars! I tell you, weare oing
2 7  - a terrible time. The frigate is fairly
light, for she can’t budge until the gale strikes
,‘and'then she will rive right on the reef,
nit will be impossible to stand out to sea
nul‘  ’
,I ,l’mow that, Dudley; but you can save

‘.Yes, if I arrive in time; but it is a hard
 yet. Gabrielle, do on know there are
' who will look upon t as a crime for me
. = thatvessel?”

 
 
  
    
    
     
    

' O
2.“

mm

 

and I will do it. How dark it is getting; it will
be a fearful night, I tell you.” '

Gabrielle cast a glance over the motionless
sea, and then u n the rushing storm-clouds,
ever and anon spit in twain by arrowy light-
ning, and then shaken with rolling biu'sts of
thunder, which devoured the deep boom of the

si lgun.

“This is terrible, Dudley,” and the young
girl shuddered and momentarily hid her face in

er hands.

Dudley Dash made no reply, but bent to his
oars wit increased energ , while his face each
moment became more daring and resolute.

“Look! Gabie, how far is she off now?” he
asked, quietly:

“Not a ha a mile, and they see us, Dudley-
they are wav' to us, and the gun has cease(
firing; pull, Du ley; pull for your life, for the
storm is sweeping up as thong it would wash
the very land away. ’

Dudle Dash cast one quick lance behind
him. hat he saw there cause his veins to
swell out, his teeth to set hard, and every nerve
and muscle to strain, for he knew that he pulled
for his life, for the life of Gabrielle, and the
lives of five hundred human beings.

“ Ho! the boat! Pull hard! for the love of
God! pull hard,” rung in hoarse, startling tones
across the waters and Gabrielle waved her
hand in reply, while she trembled like an aspen
leaf with excitement.

M» ‘--.— .. 7..

 I  The  shameless"; ""

 

She would not, she dare not speak now to him ‘

who was straining for very life and death. He
knew every danger—he felt all; he could do no
more than he was doing.

A wild cheer of encoura ent broke from
five hundred threats; but he boy’s face was
like marble—he heard, and he kept on at his
killing, terrible stroke.

“On! on! for the love of God! on!” rung out
in trumpet tones.

The boy heard, but remained silent, and still
kegtlup his fearful stroke.

ce he glanced into the face of Gabrielle;
her nerve was gone; her face pallid, and, with
clasped hands and staring e es, she gazed upon
him—him, who held so muc of life and death
in his hands.

A ain there came a cry from the frigate—
but 9 roar of the storm rendered it unintelli-
gible, and then all on board stood in silence
awaiting.

Nearer and nearer cam- e the surf—skiff fl '
over the yet calm, but darkening waters, and
the next instant, rushed alongside of the huge

fri to.

wild yell of triumph min led with the roar
of the storm, and then Dud ey and Gabrielle
were seized in strong arms and dragged upon
the deck, amid a wild, heaving mass of human
beings—the had reached the frigate one min-
ute before t e storm!

CHAPTER XIV.
RUNNING DEATH’B GANTLET.

“wa God! you have arrived in safety,
Bigot. What is to be done?” and modem

Lane met Dudley Dash at the gangway,
and in be driving spray and increas dar
ness failing to recognize him, as one w om he
had sentenced to death, several days before.

“To save the frigate—set a jib; her foretop-
sail—close-reefed, and spanker reefed down.
Our only course is to get into the bay and under
the lee of yonder nd.”

“ A fearful chance; but we will aid you all in
our war.”

“ shall need it. Come, Gabrielle, stand by
me, here,” and Dudley laced himself at the
wheel, where already 3 three strong seamen,
awaiting his orders.

The sails were quickly set by willing hands,
and a silence like death fell u n the ship, for
the roar of the storm was app ing, and only a
few hundred fathoms distant there rolled a huge
white wave, weird and terrible in its phos bores-
cent light, and looking like a drove 0 wild,
foam-covered mustangs charging upon the de-
voted vessel.

fThe inky clguds‘sgdovglweretfin a maddmghaos
o motio an tr ' on e sea '
volumes “6: wateradalfetgr whtzin, while 

loom shadows, e ap hing
fiatanSS of night, rendered the land invisible
from the fri te’s decks.

“My God pilot, I cannot see how you can
find a harbor in this hurricane and dar ,”
exclaimed Commodore De Dine .

“I know my bearings, sir. a! here comes
the st’orm. Down all! and hold hard! for your
ives!

As the clear voice of Dudley cut thro h the
storm, he threw one arm around Ga , and
with the other clung hard to the wheel.

Then down, down, sunk the noble vessel, as
though the very sea were falling from under
her, and above her hovered thehnge, rushing

wave.

With the force of m.eNthquake it struc
and like a mere pla g the mighty veue
was hurled landw then driven over upon
her beam-ends, while ming with them of
the storm aroeethe cracldng o spars,
of timbers, f
walls of a

 

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.‘-‘I:‘n"'q”-a,«’. 
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If “.1

caldron of waters to their death.

It was an awful moment and the hos or-
escent glare upon the sea, lighting up vivi ythe
a ‘ scene, all eyes Were turned upon the
yo pilot who still clung to the wheel.

“ ere! old this girl, and, on your life!
cling to her,” and Dudley gave to a seaman the
unconscious Gabrielle.

Then be cast his eyes at the rigging. The
main-topmast was one, and the fore- mast,
jib, and spanker ha been blown into rib ns.

“ Cut away the masts,” cried Commodore De
Lane ', through his trumpet.

“ 0, she will right herself' hold!” cried Dud-
ley, and as he spoke the vesse was again thrown
u n a mighty wave, and with a terrific lurch,
t at hurled a dozen more men into the sea, she
righted— oing so far over to windward that it
was fear she would never rise.

But a moment after the gallant craft righted,
and was on a level keel.

A ain all eyes turned upon the younhgspilot;
but 0 was calm and attentive, for eyes
were sweepin 1y east through the rig 'ng.

Then his vome rung out with a pee iar clear-
ness that was heard by all:

“ All hands to make sail! Set the fore—top-
mast staysail and the fore-course! let fall the
{nailn topsoil and mizzen—course! Lively men!
[or 1/!”

There was no need of the latter order; the
willing seamen were already moving with the
ener of life and death.

“ he feels her sail! thank God! the canvas
holds! At the wheel! starboard! hard-a-star-
board!”

The three seamen, aided b Dudley, threw
their whole weight upon the uge wheel, and
the frigate’s bows swung slowl round; she
minded her helm even in that rrific storm
and a sigh of relief broke from the lips of all
on board.

But the danger was not yet over, b any
means. All around was darkness an mad
waters lea high heavenward, while the winds
howled savagely through the rigging, and the
red lightning that momentaril ht up the scene
but seemed to show the aw ul dangers sur-
rounding the struggling ship. -

“ What does she draw, sir?” yelled Dudley at
the top of his voice, although Commodore De
Lan'cliy stood by his Side.

“ wenty-seven feet.”

“Good! I can run in to windward of the
Whale’s Back—a channel to the south of us,”
replied Dudley, and he bent his piercing gaze
around him.

“Young men, the frigate is in your hands.
If you can save her God alone must aid you,”
said Commodore De Lancy, who could see noth-
ing landward to serve as a.guide by which the
B0 Pilot could get his bearings.

udley made no retfily: every nerve, every
energy was bent upon e desperate work before
him, and he stood calm and confident while the
shi drOve on With a speed that was frightful.
lightni dbmnm"? 3”?" his more 0511330 figs“:

ng rig y u an

uniforms, and in the waist om ship, and for—
ward were hundreds of brave seamen, awaitéihnfi
in breathless suspense the end of the frigh
drama they were playing, With Death.

Not a word, not a whisper did any one utter;
their 1i 5 refused utterance—theirs es tookin
the a ul scene inane lance,andthentumed
upon the Boy Pilot; in was their 

“Port!* put your helm! hard-a- !’ elled
Dudley in a voice that was 11 only y the
helmsmen at his side.

A yivid flash of lightning had shown him his

bearings.

“Starboard! hard-antarboard! and about
ship—ready, about!” came in startling tones,
and all whom duty did not call upon to ring

sp
‘ to busy action, stood breathlessly mtching the

 

result.

Would the 00d  come round?

Would not in waves dash her back?

Would it be death to all if she missed stays?

Such Were the mental questions asked.

But the noble vessel swept 11 into the wind
and water, and though tori-en were hurled
upon her decks, and she trembled as if in ab t
terror, the bows went round, and the sails, ca h-
‘ the gals .upon the other uarter, filled
lyegh a report like the discharge 0 cannon, and
forged the frigate ahead once more with fri t-
ful velocity and rushing toward a huge of
foam directly ahead.

“ Men—we have to weather yonder reef—u
there! where the sea breaks with such fury. If
we fall to leeward of it there is no hope. Now

on know your duty. Keep her close! if she
{ails of! half a int we are .”

This was sai to_the helmsmen in cairn, but
severe tones, and With iron energy they W
31;; wheglll, and every eye was turned upon the

r
SEddenly a vivid flash ofhlifihtning made the
danger visible; the vessel to h
a narrow c el—an
ward-7a sunken reef to leeyvardl

—.

W oordage, and wild m the time of whlohlwflte thawed-Ward
score of ve seamen torn from ! waninuse. . 5m.

3“, s. “ .‘ '  .
' Vol.9}; ’ ,.

their hold, and carried shrieking away into the ’

island of . I)?» wind: 

 

i

      
 

lilo; i2}

1» ‘ :W',;,
'1

, Q‘The Demeter;  The   crease; ' ‘

 

 

\ .. '
Like a mad racerthe frigateswepton and
then her bowseut into the surging foam. ’
The was an instant of awful nse

suspe a
heavy oc as a huge wave, hurled back fr’om

the rocky ' and fell upon her decks, a blindligg |

shower of spray, and the gentlet of Death
been safely passed! Ten minutes more and the
noble vessel was anchored in safet under the
lee of the large, crescent-shaped _ .d where
Carter Hayes was wont to keep his little sloop
at anchor. i

Then from the throats of nearly half a thou-
sand men burst one lon , loud hum: the frig-
ate had been saved by t e skill and courage of

Dudley Dash.
CHAPTER XV.
A LEAP ma anox.

“Pilot, come with me into my room—you
have saved the shi , and I would e(sipeak With

on,” and Com ore De Lancyl the way
into his comfortable new uarters.

With the delighted Ga rielle—who had re-
gained her spirits, now that the fearful ordeal
was over—clinging to his hand, Dudley entered
the cabin, where Commodore De Laney and
half a dozen of his officers had preceded him.

As he came into the resence of the English
officer he threw aside the slouch hat he wore,
and which he had purchased in Gloucester, after
his escape from the frigate. _

“Great God! who are you?” cried Commo-
dore De Laney, s ringing to his feet, as the
bright lamp of t e cabin fell full upon the

youth.

“ I am the one who ust acted as the frigate’s
pilot!” quietly return Dudley.

“That I well know; but were you not a pris—
oner on board this vessel three days since?”

“ I was—I was-under sentence of death for
piracy on the high seas.”

“Boy, I believed ou dead; it was thought
that you preferred rowning to hanging, and
in some way managed to unlock your manacles,
and sprimg overboard.”

“ I unlocked m irons, and swam ashore.
Had I not esca , this vessel would now be in
pieces on the rocks.”

“I know that well; but how did you get
here?”

“I reached the shore, as I said in safety,
after a long and desperate swim, and finding a
packet sloop coming up the Kennebec, took —
age in her. My home is on this coast, no one
mile from here, and this young girl will prove
to you that I told you t e truth when I said I
was no irate.”

All need at the beautiful Gabrielle, who
blushe with confusion, and hid her face upon
Dudley‘s shoulder.

“Thank God, you escaped the fate of the
three bueeaneers who boarded the frigate with
you! Come here, my dear, and tell me how it
Is I found this handsome young man on a pirate
vessel.” ‘

Thus addremed, Gabrielle steEPed forward
and in a frank earnest voice, to Commodore

 

De Laney, and his officers, all that she had
learned from the li of Dudley.
ow this rigate when you

“ And did you
started to her aid?” asked the commodore, gaz-
ing with admiration upon the face of the brave

bo .
' XI did, sir. Humanity alone prom ted the

act. What In countrymen will say 0 what I
have done I 0 not know; doubtless they will
believe me a traitor.”

“ You are an American, then .3”

“Heart, body and soul, sir.”

“If all American youths are like you, Eng-
land had best look to her laurels on the sea,”
said the commodore earnestly; then he added:

“And what can I do for you, for saving the

frigate?”

‘ Allow m sister and m If to return home.
Our surf-ski is on the dec ”

“ But what reward can 1—”

“Commodore De Laney, I will take no re-
ward for what I have done; did I do so I would
look upon it as blood-money,” and udley’s
eyes flashed with pride.

‘I gour sisfealfihen, will ac t this.”

‘ osir 'aeeeptnoth ,"franklre—
filled Gabrielle, and the En lisllxilgoffieer see’ined

feel himself in a bad posi on.

After a while he said:

“My young friend, no thanks of mine, or
those whom you have saved, can ever repa
you, and you will have else; did I thin
you would accept it, believe me I would offer
you a commission in his Ma ’s service; but
as an American I fear you would refuse it. ”

“Most certainly, sir; but I thank you for
your kind offer.”

“ Ij‘or my having once sentenced you to death
forgive me—I ask it from my heart; but you
came aboard. under most suspicious circum-
stances, and in very bad company, you must
admit; but that is . Here, wear this medal'
it is one I amen tledtogivefromthe ' of
Great Britain, to an ofilcerwhoee
selfless havewon ;youhavemorethanwon

As Commodore De Lan he he inn
overtheleftbreastof Dudlecyygghmha: g

marlst spa with precious stones.
go‘lgieyou ’Bmedwithpride;hehad

\

V v ' (1 V,‘ \ x _ A" l'. ,
. t . .» -.
. .. . . e . 4 A . , .
._ ' w . ~. -' it ,  .,~ ; ..   . i " ‘  I a

won acknowledgment from an enemy, but he
saidl uietly: ~
wear this medal in memory of this eventful
‘ ht; now will you permit my sister and my-
to de rtl”
The lishman looked perplexed—“ My
ygungwfriend, cannot you stay and pilot us out
sea

in cairn Weather on can tow out with your
boats at slack ti 6, and after taking sound-

in .”

g‘sls this fair? You have us in a trap, should
an enemy come along and catch us here, or a
force from the land attack us.”

Dudle was silent a moment and then said:

will pilot on to sea; but for fear he may t
into troub 0, you must romise to land h1m

some 1 es up or down e coast, and he must
come mud to—night.”

“Is he as e rienced a pilot as yourself?”

“ But one 0 her rson knows this coast as I
do, sir, and he W0 (1 never serve you; but the
man I will send you is an experienced pilot—he
is an Indian.”

tone for a few moments; then he returned and
said:

“Much as I re t it, my young friend, duty
to my king, m 533p, my officers and m ' crew,
compel me to etain you to act as our pilot. It
will take several days to refit, and repair the

we have sustained; but as soon as we
are at sea, you shall be sent ashore.”

Dudleys face flushed, and then ed, while
an angry li ht came into his eyes; ut control-
ling hunsel , he said, calmly:

‘ My sister at least can return on shore?”

“ Certainly—I will call away a boat and—”
“She has her skiff, sir; she can return alone

in that. Come, Gabrielle!”
As the two left the cabin, Dudle held a
short, w ' red conversation with brielle,

and then i; e surf-skifl was lowered into the
vylater, and Commotgortta De Laney himse‘ lf aittiled
teyo girin i,againurgingupon er
the accléifimce of a purse of gold, which she in-
dignantly refused, for her temper was up at the
detention of Dudley.

Silently they watched her row swiftly away,
until she disaBepeared behind an island, and then
Commodore Laney said pleasantly: v

“Come, my young pilot, you are to be my
guest for a few days. I will give you dry
clothing to put on.”

Dudley said nothing but walked along aft,
until the Englishman started into the cabin
companion-way; then, with a sudden bound, be
rushed to the side of the frigate, and sprtmg
overboard into the sea!

CHAPTER XVI.
OUT or THE SEA AND INTO moss.

THE act of Dudle Dash was as unexpected as
it was sudden, so t t it was a minute before
those who saw it realized what he had done.

Then there arose the c —“ Man overboard!”

“ Lower away the boats!” added an officer,
while Commodore De Laney, returning quickly
on deck, and learning the cause of the alarm, at
once countermanded the order.

“ No, let him go. A boy as brave as he is de-
serves to go free.”

the bold swimmer, yet nowhere was he visi

“He may have drowned i” suggested an
officer.

‘hlgsogige! to f th f

' ee esca rom e ri te, has r—
f‘elcgt confidence in hpuiiself. Let  , andpare
will work out of here as best we can,’ and Com-
modore De Laney re-entered his cabin.

As for Dudley, he kept on under the water,
swimming in a certain direction, and when he
rose for breath, only held his face up to inhale
air.

Then he in swam under water, until he
felt he was too far of! to be seen, when he arose
to the surface, and struck oi! with bold strokes
for a small and distant island.

At length he reached the lee of it, and here,
quietl seated in her surf-skin, was Gabrielle.

“ ell Gabiel”

“Ohl dley, I am so glad you have come.
I feared you might not get away, but I was
go' to wait all ni ht for you.”

“ made it easily. Now give me the ears,
forIneedsome towarmmeu .”

Seizing the oars, e youth sent e light skiff
rapidly over the waters, and in half an hour
was in sight of the beach; but between gag-got
where they then were, and the beach, a
fearful sea, which had bounded over the outer
reef'and driven bythe wind,made even that
land-locked and island-guarded bay, a turbulent
mass of waters. _ I

“ Gabie, I never saw it roughhhe this in here
before, but we’ll risk it, for as soon as we reach
the lee of Fisherman’s reel. we W111 have it
plain 1-0 to the beach.” .

“Gosh Dad; I am not afraid,”said the

 

girl in the stern of the surf-skiff, and Dudley

' 1‘ .
>.. ._ fairy ks.—
‘ 5‘ ‘93"~'44'“3"'$'M ‘5’."

’you, Commodore De Laney. I will i

l
l
l

t

“ No, sir; I saved the frigate when in danger; i

Commodore De Laney stepped aside and held T
converse with several of his officers in a low ‘

. eles to his ankles, from his wrists, and said: ‘ g; *

One who risked what he did three i

 

l

 

v dozen rough-looking men were seated around,

 

But all eyes sought the water for some Sig)? of 
e.

‘ achs’ content, and drank d y_gg  ‘

. sunken rock. \

, presence of mind, and Dudley had nearly her
“ I wi 1 send you one, when I return, sir, who ‘ '

, ask Daniel Dawes to let him

   
  
 
   
   
   
   
  
    
   
     
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
 
  
  
  
    
   
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
   
    
   
    
   
   

went “ahead,” to the next moment re '
for the waters were wilder than he ' $133.“, >
But he could not'retraee his way now; he ‘.
must keep on, and strugg' with the tumul- -
tuous waters he ulled on wit all  ' 
But,inthedar ess, andwith hisbacktohIS' -,j‘.
course, he lost his bearings, and suddenly the , ” ‘
skiff was dashed with terrible force upon a.

Both Dudley and Gabrielle were hurled into .
the water—the (youth to instantly clasp the \ .
yo girl aroun the waist, crying:
“ ow, Gabie, we have to swim for it! Strike
out with me-——there l” ’
Gabrielle was a good swimmer, and a brave' , 
girl; but in those mad waters she lost partly her

whole weight upon hlm.

But he bore up bravely, and after a long, hard
struggle for life, reached the lee of Fisherman’s
reef, where Gabrielle was able to help herself.

Ten minutes more and the ' landed upon the '
beach, both utterly exhausted by their efforts.

After a short breathing-spell they Went up .
the pathway to the cottage. ' ,-

A bright ight gleamed throu h the windows, ,  .
and numerous velces were hea within. .

ginning the door, the entered together. _

e room was fill with mbaceo smoke. .
Patience was cooking before the fire, and a' ‘ A,

smoking their pipes, and conversing in boisterous j ‘3 1
tones. ‘
At the sight of the youth and the yo ' ; ; v
the men lsprung to their feet, and one ugfgtgggi "
said bars y: \
“ Dudle Dash, who piloted that frigate into
Crescent ay ?”
“ 1 did, Daniel Dawes.” 
“ Did you know that she was English!”
H Yfi- V '
“Then I arrest you as a traitor to your coun-
” Hold out your hands, boy, for the brace-
e .

Dudley Dash knew the m well; he was the   ",’
count constable. Without a word held 1"“
forth ' hands, while his wrists were "- 
ately ironed; he was looked upon as a  ‘ :
his country, and had become the prisoner‘ofl'fi ‘
gang of heartless men. , "

 

CHAPTER XVII. I g
PATIENCE AND GABRIEL“ ASALL'IES.

BY midnight the storm had so far abated that.
all of the men, except two, left the cottage of 
Carter Hayes for the1r own homes. _ 

The two were the constable and his assistant -
—they were to remain all night at the  , .-
and go on with their prisoner to the town 1”
Bath the following morning. _ ~

But there were two persons determined that 
Dudley should not go there, and those two were
old Patience and Gabrielle. ’ _, 

Unwittingly the old negress had told who was
the fri ate‘s pilot, to a group of men who‘ll”:
come i) the coast, and instantly pron '
Dudley a traitor, they had sent off for the  '
stable to arrest him. . J K

Now that they had him, Patience was deter-‘—
mined that they) should not hold him, 
once she and Ge. rielle put Ileir heads tog‘eflnr;
toS‘llotaplan ofescape. ‘ '

dley, who was calm and hopeful, felt, 
he watched the plotters, that something '

we e
goin on so to aid them all in his power ‘.
’ into 

we,
“
,r

3-»

room and put on some dry cloth . , v v, .
The constable at once transferred the 

.R,

“Go ahead youngster; but 110 IOOHM,
mind you.” I I

Once in the room Patience, under a 
ofhgettinmgi his clothing went in after him, ’ “ ‘1;
w is : y, * "“

“£1.16, it’s gwine to be all right—Mimy
an’ me gwine to fix dem mens, an’ youldn
awayil’; ‘ x

“ t I am anxious to do, and for one 
in particular: but, work carefully, forDawest (g
a s y fellow.” ‘C '  x,

_“ Hab no fear, massa: we’re fixin’ 6%
t,” and the negress re—entered’ Hie ,
w “ego; theltiwo mten sat.  
y, o aun ie, can‘t ou 've‘usa ' , ' “’_
a pull at some of Hayes’ygooglold rum?"  "‘2;
Daniel Dawes of Patience. v ;

“Yas, massa; I was t’inkin’ you  
hungry like; I gits you 'somefin to eat.”  3%

In half an hour Patience, with Gabrielle’sy

set before the ofiicers of the law a "

sup r, which the had sharpened their

for 1% several p at a black bottle. .  
“ is is indeed good, auntie: but thaw

d .” .
I.XYou shall hab jnother, sub—m H;
't wery mad at I didn’t gin yer all yet well:
e’s house,” and Patience laced mater W
before them—not rum as ban the ».
but page French brandy, which thenold
hadgottenyears Mentions.ka

'l‘hemen ate to theirheu'lz‘ or‘rathenvx

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r. ' - y .

' ” But an elortwas too much for them the
hearty mm and mixed liquors had done their
work, and they leaned forward upon the table

were soon sno esp . '
L .Patience, in (hearing the hings off, managed

J to abstract from the pocket of DaWes’ acket his
 bunch of key, for she had seen him see them
" 'there, and handing them to Gabriel e, she con-
_, tinned bustling about the room.

I But instantl ,Gabrielle had slipped into the
_ , 7 other room, W cm Dudley was lymg asleep up-

1- On his bed, for he was utterly worn out after

‘nll he had game through.

-' , «A light s ake awakened him, and the chain
' attached to his feet rattled ominously.

,‘j ’8 —ngl Don’t speak! Here, let me unlock

ns

“ v  “ And Dawes?”
‘ . “Is fast asleep, as is Simmonds also. There,
{on are free; now you must get out of the win-
f,‘ ofw. Be quick!” and Gabrielle gently raised

" thauls Dudl th h 1 th xt
 . ey sprung roug , am one

. instantmaabrielle followed him, when the youth
‘- gent! lowered the sash.

 " ow Dad, which we i”

.,“To fortland. I wil take my catrrigged ;
and run down the coast. Gabie, it was :
and mart of on to release me.”

a; . r . v“ atience did i , Dnd; I onl helped her;

‘ ' 1» “but-re you going to join Father es?"

_ A: r' “No; I overheard Dawes say tha the Senti-
" g 2. no], American frigate, was in Portland har-

bor. "I am going down to bring her up to fight

Englishman.’

"‘ Oh Dudley !”

s It is true. I can get back before the Eng—
 sails, and then I will prove that I am

 ‘ .. no’traitor, as they dared to call me. ”

fl, “ Oh, Dudley—this will be grand.”

4.; "5' Won’t it, Gable? but don‘t mention it to a

mlraml Gable, I want you to do something

 ; I promised Commodore Delaney that

4;"; Would send him a pilot, and I wish to keep my
3- wdrd so! de mi upon you.”

~ - 7 “What sha l I do Dm ?”

. “’90 over the hills tomorrow to the cabin of

" "WTllfllmtine—m

‘ ' “The Indian fisherman?”

 “Yes—old ,Tellico—and say to him that I

“him to go on board the English frigate

,wmemow night, and be ready to pilot her to

m
'1 :“ Will Tellico go, Dud?”
“Yes; he will if you tell him I asked him.
Im‘MGW-J saved his life three years ago, and
Mike mt forgotten it—”
.“Yes, and people said you were a fool to risk
 life to save an Indian.”
a‘,  new it, Gable; but he was drowning, and
amnld have beensinful not to have one to his
 tell himto let no one see im board
_ , and in the day-time to k out of
as there will be people watching he ship
 shore with glasses.”

55;” Y ' Dudle .”
uni-“A: toll ban to only pilot the frigate be-
and  reef, if she goes out at night; if in the

 

to some place on the coast where he
her without being seen, for I do not
him into trouble; and. ask him to
mible. with some excuse
tide and wmd. for i wish to get bark
. ‘ American frigate. Doyou understand
n ,vmhde?”
,Y ‘ Dud. Now you must be off. for 1 am
“tth Daniel Dawes will wake up. "
Meade Dudle set off forthe beach, and was
White has , the same in which he had .
' ‘ the bay to the northward, when he res- ?

 We.
'W‘fl‘w-by to the young girl, he raised
-! ad close, for the wind yet blew half

I and started down the coast, his craft

. . ; ove the waters with wonderful -d,
" ~ 8 air breeae over her quarter, ead- l
" !

 
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 

. ,

 

cuAPTER xvm.
“moan COMMODORE ancmvns mroar-
3 no news.

. z “

 

-’  out}!!! mame commafinder of the
.u . rigs, n was as ore, en oy-
 hospitality of one of Portland’s wealthy

“iMhimwere gathered a number-of dis-

 .  gentlemen, and in the room were

- go! lovely woman, flirting with the com-

handsome oungkoficers.

sum Wouldyspea with you, sir; he is
2 Wm ’ said a servant.

; commodore excmed himself, and entered

m apartmsn' t.
4 r  w: advanced tomeet him, and by his
m, m a you“! of eighteen, clad in fisher-

.tuu.

‘. MW“!!! 10, rdfm'
. .- ,  Wigner, all: you? Any-
  r’a
 so; but took the at

liberty
. n quMmthebearerof
tnewg,” . ,«
1‘.»h‘it,mymlhs?”andthe

 

 

h 'm
a h}. V
1"  ,3 '~ ,4 .1
. ,3 1:4 * 
1» r" ‘- . v; ‘  ‘

 

unflinchingly, and re-

plied in his  ton

OI!

“ Commodore Duncan, last night I piloted
the English frigate Iron Duke, Commodore De

on the I
ennebec 

Laney, commander, into a small be
Maine coast, above the mouth of the
river.”

“ Indeed! I knew that the Iron Duke was on
her in where she could damage our citizens?”

“ She was becalmod oif my home, and the

storm coming up would have wrecked her. I .

acted for the sake of humanity, sir, mul——”
“You are a bold—spoken young man for one

of our rs. What is your name, sir?”

‘ DudlegraDash, sir.”

“Well, Mr. Dudley Dash, go on with your

story.” _ .
“ had just returned home, sir, when the
storm was coming up, and seeing the frigate’s
danger, my little sister and m sel went out to
her in a surf-skiff, and arriv just in time. .

“After anchoring under the lee of Crescent 1
Island, I asked to go ashore, and the commo— 3

time because I refused gold, presented me

this, ’ and Dudley handed the commodore the ‘
decoration his courage had won from an enemy. ‘

“By Heaven! your services must have been
rreat for him to have given you this, boy.

any men have lost their lives in striving to
win a trinket like this; but go on with your
story.”

“Commodore De Lane ' refusml to allow me
to go ashore, us he said
again; buth sister departed in the surfwskiff,
and, as I had told her, waited under the lee of
an island for me, and I jumped overboard and
csca d."

“ rave boy! I wish we had more like you
in service; but go on.”

“Upon my return to my home, I was arrested
by the count constable as a. traitor to my
country; but iabrielle and—3’

“ Who is Gabrielle?”

“My adopted sisiter, sir.”

((1 me 77

“ Gabrielle and Patience—”

“ And Patience is—t”

“An old negress, a servant.”

“ Go on; I am deeply interested; are not you,
Wheeler?”

“ Indeed I am, sir; it was on hearing his

8170 that I determined to bring him to you.”
“ on did ' ht. Proceed my lad.”
“Well, sir, abrielle and Patience got the

officers of the law drunk, and released me, and
I took my boat and ran down here, because I
heard the constable say that there was an
American frigate anchored here, and I thought
I could ilot it u ) the coast and aid in the cap-
ture of he Iron )uke.”

“Nony said, m gallant boy, and you shall;
but, has not the 4Englishman put again to sea,
you think?"

“ No, sir; the frigate was somewhat damaged
in the gale, and lost two score of men over-
board. The commander said he would remain

several days for repairs, and I sent an Indian to

pilot him to sea again.

“ \Vhy did you do that!”

“ l promisod to send some one on board, if
they Would let me go; but I told Gabrielle to
ask the [ndian to delay all in his IWVPI', as I
would comeas soon as i could with t w. frigate."

"Splendid! Now, my boy, we‘ll go at once
aboard ship and get under wei h. ,f we Pap—
ture the l‘hig‘lishnmn you shall lave a midsliip—
man’s berth on the Sentinel. Until after We
meet in combat, you shall be my pilot." .

A proud smile crossed the face of Dudley

. Dash, and his boartthroblml with joy and hope,

as, half an hour after, he stood at the wheel of
the Sentinel, which, under a fair breew, was

; swiftly gliding out of Portland harbor—bound

on a cruise in search of the haughty English

foo.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
was nor PILOT.

“ Winn we get abreast of yonder island,
Commodore Duncan, we can see if the English
tri to is in the bgfy,” said Dudley Dash, who
stood at the wheel the Sentinel, amid a group
of uniformed officers.

At once all was excitement on board the
American vessel.
enemy mi t have flown, but every heart beat
high with that she was still inthe bay, for,
though the ' mglishman was slightly the superlor

of the Sentinel in men and guns, yet all on .

board, from the commodore to the powder-

monkeys, longed to try their strength with the z
e .

Iron Duk .

As for Dudley Dash, he was more than
anxious, for he wished to redeem himself in the
eye-of all who had called him a. traitor.

Every eye‘was at once turned upon the island,

m the frigate slowly
wil hurrah burst from 0 cars and crew;
w frigate was still:at anchorin the'hay.

I tthe'co ofthe Ameflomwasasw—
prise to the £111in

exalt‘egeingnwdats list once visiblgl: $1?” decks,

an er’drtuns, quarters

was yams on the comma ’
, ’ ‘lyi

must pilot him to sea ‘

fl 
anchorage, sir?” calmly asked Dudle polite!
saluting the commodore. y, . y

“ I would rather fight her with on of sea-
room. Beat to quarters, Mr. hee er, and
hatye7 a allotted gun fired to leeward to dare her
on

; There'was little need of the order to pre are i
this coast somewhere; but why did you take .

for action, for the willing crew were alr y at
, their posts, and the oflicers hastily equipped
3 themselves in fl htin trim.

Steadin the merican then stood on, taking
in all superfluous sail, and by the time she came
opposite to where the Englishman lay, she was
ready for the work of death.

In the meantime the English frigate still lay
at anchor, though she was apparently prepared
for conflict, but trusted to the American having
I no pilot to enter the bay.

; ‘f They are working rapidly upon their re-
! pairs sir. Shall I stand on in?”

i “ 0, pilot; we will give him a surprise first;
he doubtless thinks we have no pilot. Mr.
theeler, fire the gun to leeward and run up the
Stars and Stripes.”

“ Ay, av, sir!”

With the deep boom of the gun and roar of
the shot landward, the flag of the llnited States
, was run up to the peak, and the long pennant of
the commmlore fluttered from the main top-
mast.

Instantly the blood-red flag of England was
s road to the breeze, and the )ennant of the
English commodore hung above liis decks.

But the gun was not answered and the work
of re )airing wont steadily on.

“ 'e’ll stand oif and on for awhile, Mr. Dash,
and then suddenly surprise him by standin
into the bay. There does not-seem to be muc
working room there, thou 'hi”

“ There is plenty, sir. he islands cause the
bay to look smaller than it is.”

“ And there is plenty of depth, you say? You
know these vessels of war sink deep in the
water?”

“ Excepting on the shoals and sunken rocks,
which I know well, there are seven to ten
fathoms in every part of the be. ', sir. The
Englishman has the Indian for a pilot; I recog-
nize him standing 1') the wheel “»—-and Dudley
Dash handed the g ass he had been looking
through for some moments, to the commodore.

“And you recggnize some one else on the
rocks, yonder—eh said the commodore, smil-

1 .
ng‘ Yes, sir; my father and sister are there, and
a number of country people."

“Well, they will have a chance to witness a
grand fl ht. I pray God they may not see the
stars tun stri )68 go down in gloom.”

“I do not ear it, sir. The Sentinel, I think,
will move a match for the Iron Duke."

“ ant it! Now, pilot, you can stand in;
but it 100 to me as though there was as much
danger in running through this rock-bound
channel as in flghtin the Englishman.”

“ Never fear sir; know every foot of water
about here. 9 Englishman seems determined
not to come out.”

“For that reason I intend to go in and attack

 

It was feared that their!

abreast t t r
o iti):her'o'orntlreupantheSentinel.

vessel was «idea for great

him. Pilot, the sailing of the frigate is in your
hands; for Hod's sake have a care."

Dudley Dash made no reply. He at once took
his stand at the wheel. and in a few moments-
the Sentinel was heading in toward the bay,
through one of the narrow and circuitous chan-
nels that led from the sea shoreward.

It was now plainly evident that the fish
nuul had not believed the American ab e to
come into the bay, and was great] surprised to
see her suddenly standing gracegully through
the channel, at the same ime again taking 111
all but her working sails for she had set extra
canvas when standing 0 and on.

“ The Englishman is all ' his cable, sir.
He is swingmg round to the  There! he
is standing across the bay with royals aloft and
topsails on theca ,” and Dudley Dashseemed
to feel a tremor o delight at the prospect of the
en gement that must ollow.

The Sentineli :las nohv:g witthhgh a mile of the
Iron Duk? an vane a a pping ee.
As she ew nearer, another gun was god to
leeward, and instantly the Eng ishman squared
round and answered it with a broadside that
shook the very sea, and rumbled like a hundred
bursts of thunder along the rocky coast.

With fearful velocity the iron hail rushed on
and tore over and through the brave American,
sending down a topth there, cutting
heavy yard here, and crashing throng the mas-
sive u l, to leave the deck slippery With human

 

gore.
. Instantly the American lufl’ed and  the
i thunders of artillery shook the hills, w -,, her

ihullseemedonflreasthe belched forth
’ iron loads, and the on Duke trembled
keel to truck as the fearful shock came,
more disastrous effect than had been

Theathe roar of theguna'becamevincpssant,
as the two hu sea-warriors tacked aboutthe
little hey, we? moment leaching the distance
that divxled them.

= Nearer andnearertheycame toeadiet
andflercerandfiorcergrewtheroar 

“' v . l

‘  .i 5-,)?” \ 3.1. 

you standrinimd attack heriather

is

  

 

 

If: V   

I"

 Dem-Denim:rhe’wzma'  ‘ w 

I .ul! .
x .

h'Of theses;   ‘

 

 

of combat,  more fearful became the car

n .

aWith their riggin shattered, their hulls
pierced in a hundred p their decks strewn
with dead and  and err crews stan
to the waist, sti fighting their gunshthe wo
vessels approached within almost pistol-shot
distan

ce.

Then the Englishman was com lled to 0
about to avoid a sunken rock ah , and as s e ‘
did so, the boy pilot saw his advantage and :

uickly altered the course of the American so
t at a raking fire was poured from stem to stem
upon the Iron Duke. _ i

The effect was appalling, and ere the English .
crew could recover from its eiYect, the voice of
Dudley Dash was heard above the roar of bat—
tle, giving orders to the sailing crew, and the
next instant, by a masterly ant darni move,
he laid the American alongside of the nglish-
man.

“Boarders, aho i Follow me!” rung out in
the chee tones 0 Lieutenant Wheeler, who led
the boar party.

As he rung upon the Englishman’s deck,
a slender orm was by his side. It was Dudley .
Dash, with pistol in one hand and cutlass in the
other.

Then be an a desperate hand-to-hand fi rht on
deck, wh' e below decks, on each vesse, the -
heated guns were pouring their fire int) the :
trembling hulls.

But human nature could not long withstaml
the im tuous rush of the Americans, and in an
hour rom the time the first shot was fired, the
tin of the Iron Duke was hauled down.

nstantl there fluttered up to the peak in its
place the tars and Stripes, I'lUl up by the hands
of Dudley Dash, the boy pilot of the victorious
fri ate.
0 had nobly won his berth, as a midshipman,
in the navy of his country.

 

 

CHAPTER XX.
THE DARE-DEVIL mDY.

Tim Sentinel had won a great victory- the
Iron Duke had struck her colors to her bold ad-
Versary; but each vessel quickly stood away
for the lee of Crescent Island and dropped an-
chor” for both were badly battered in h 1, shat- ;
tered in rigging, and groans of anguish went
up from a hundred throats on deck and in cock- 1
pit and ward—room.

Commodore Duncan was as gallant an enemy
as brave, and Commodore De Lancy’s sword
was returned to him.

By the side of the American oflicer, when he
had his interview with the English commodore,
stood Dudley Dash, a proud smile upon his face;
he had erased the ban of traitor from his name.

“ And you, sir, were the pilot of my conqueror!
By Heaven! I half believed it when I saw the
masterly manner in which the frigate was han-
dled,” and Commodore DeLancy turned his gaze ‘
upon the youth, who re 'ed quietly: ,

“Yes, sir; I sought redeem myself in the j
eyaes of my countrymen, for saving your Ves-
se ’

 

“ And nobly have you done it, boy: you will
yet win a great. name for yourself, and you do-
serve a commission," said the kind—heart“! Eng—
linhmau.

“He has alreadx been appoinin a midshipv
man in the American UH\'_\', commtxiure. Mr.
Dash. you can now go ashore to visit your
friends. who must be anxious regarding you.
Return to-morrow morning and commence. upon

your duties.”

‘ Kim, sir,” and litel saluting both
officers, Du ey left the ea in an went on deck. 1

As he afipejared, there was an excitement at 3
once visib among the crew of the Sentinel,
and the boatswam, sp upon a. gun
waved his tarpaulin aroun his head and cried
in stontorian tones.

“ Three rousing cheers, lads one and all, for
Dudley Dash the Dam-Devil Midd 

The rear of voices that respond was almost

deafening, and the- youth’s face flushed with ‘3

by and confusion; but, politely raising his hat
0 bowed low to the enthusiastic crew, and
Walked across the blood-stained deck to the
ganfiway, for he had just caught sight of a ,
sma

boat coming alongside and containing 3 which the r or will re '
’ ' the American frigate Senginel, stood the well

two familiar forms. ;
At the ga ayatood the tall form of Tellico, l
the Indian pilot, whose eyes flashed with pleas- {
me as Dudley greeted him, and said: :
th“;You did ‘lwell, Tellfllico; but, what detained '

9 1‘1me ong,w e we were dela ed b
the ca m?” y y
“Much heap work to do. Tellico had heap 
much gold—see!” and he displayed a bag of the t
pr‘e‘cwus metal, ‘ven him for his services. 1
I am glad o it, Tellico, but you must not

tell any one how you t it. Come, ashore i
with me, for I see F or Hayes and rielle ;
argglongsidegume :
saying, went down the a ‘
steps, followed b ythe ' and '
thereawarmwe meawtedhimfromhis

ad tedf‘itflier and the  I we

“ y, ampuo ou ‘saw .who
W t, and wheniohsheldtlie American  !
gland mogtaidanoared youwere notopl

t

j lico, the party at

-, ._...,_..._._-

board; butwhensheheadedin mmdthe’l‘ur-
tle rock, and then between the Twin
Castles, then, then I ew that you ordered her
wheel, for, excepting myself, no man on this
coast could have brought the frigate in by the
changel fyou gamed goyeemabrave boy, an:
rouoouan araeswrunge
gridshipmgh’s hand until he winc’ye'd.

!

H

Springing into the boat, and followed by Tel- ‘

dnce set off for the shore,

where upon their arrival at the beach they 3

were me by hundreds of fishermen and coun-
try tlileople of both sexes, drawn to the
see 0 sea duel between the frigates.

“ Wall, I do declar’-eef yer hain’t ther amest
boy in these yer di gin’s hen jist call r ole
woman a liar,” an old l’atience almost hugged
Dudley in her joy at seeing him.

As she dropped his hand Daniel Dawes, the
constable, stepped forward—

“ Forgive me, Dud; I was rather hard on
you, I admit; but you must mind that the wind
was against you' it did look bad; but then, the
old nigger and abie ot revenge for you, for
I’m cursed if I hasn’t a eadache yet from that
liquor, and my partner is drunk yet! I fear
the ’ve made a ho less drunkard out of him."

udle laughed eartily, and replied:

“I he d no ill-will, Daniel, and I admit ap-

coastto‘

‘ anchor, just as the sun went dew, and emf r
' er, the raki

_ elbows of land jutted far out intothegulf

pearanccs Were against me; but, it is all over .

now, and for my services I have been made a
midshipman on board the fri te.”

“ Hooray! hooray for Dud ey! hoora for the 3

young middyl” was heard on all si es; and
cheer after cheer was given, until Dudley was
lad to escape to the cottage, where he made
nown all that had happened to him, since he
left home, a year and a half before, to attend
college.

“And now you are to leave us again, bo ? :

Well, it is doubtless best; but, Gabie and myse

will often think of you, cruising about the seas, 5 pursuit of her several days, a was

N

am gray for your safe return.”

She knows all sorts of prayers—won't you,
Pa‘tig'nceglfl I’ll to d ’ Lo ’ be

‘ as, c 'e; e r e ry
ni ht an’ mornin’, airling will liggi‘ my prayer,
of be on’y a poor ole cullud pusson.”

Swiftly the afternoon assed, and toward
sunset Dudley and Carter ayes rowed out to
the frigate to ask Commodore Duncan to the
cotta e to suplper.

Wi in 1y t e commodore accepted the invita-

tion am late at n ht, when he went down to

the beach to take is boat backto the frigate, 1
he told Gabrielle he had never enjoyed a more . me

deli htful evening.

0 following mornin Dudley went aboard
the Sentinel an reg for duty, and shortly
after the two friga stood out to sea, the Dare-
Devil Middy, as the sailors had dubbed him,
when they learned of his most adventurous
career, at the helm of’the American, and Carter
Ha es at the wheel of the Iron Duke, for Com-
m ore Duncan had engaged the 01d fisherman
to (pilot his prize out to sea.

.ainin an offin Carter Hayes left the Iron
Duke, ant retume in his own boat homeward,
while the two frigates stood down the coast
toward Portland, where they were going for re-
pairs, which thev sorely. needed.

Standing at the wheel, Dudlev "awed aster-n
until the snow—white cottage in Pd from his
sight in the distance. and then with a dee ) sigh
he turned away: his career as a mide pman
had begun.

CHAPTER XXL
run nm—nlvn. umnv AT WORK.

SEVERAL months after the scenes related in
the last chapter, a large vessel of war was cruis-
ing slowly along the southern coast, in the
waters of' the great inland sea, known as the
Gulf of Mexico.

In hen fore, main, and mizzen top were sta-
tioned look-outs with glasses, who were earnest-
g searching the many indentures and inlets

ong the shores.

Upon the vessel’s deck both officers and men
were all glancing landward, as if searching for
some object.

lem the uarter-deck of the sea-warrior,

at a glance as

known form of Commodore Duncan, ed
by ' ofiicers, amen whom the slender, 
ful e, cladin in uniform, and the n -
some daring tace of Dudley Dash was visible.

“ . er,” and the commodore turned
to his lieutena t, “ should we discover the schoon-
er, I wish to take her with the beam, for We
dare not venture within two leagues of the shore
in the frigate.” '

“ Ay, ay, sir! What omccrs shall I take, and
how many men ?” promptlg'aanswemd the ofloer.

“She cannot possib y ve mmethansixty
men, I think. Take four bows crews with you,
and I’ll give the midshipmen a chance. t
Mr. Dashgoassecond incommand, toyon, and
Midshipmen’Trevor and Boy go in charge ofthe

other .

“gee. Ho! the winch-top! What is Ryan
a - - u
x1969 tbmopimd a 

k

- four boats selected for the expedition were

1

nd I’ll ask Patience to pray for you too. ‘3 which had bee

1

l others came
r

l

i

i

v
i

o

. over the waters; 8 cheer from

 

 

. ly, and in an hour’s time approached  

ggint of "land which lies just of! 
w, 811‘. .i
“A , ay! Watch her closely! Mr. Wheeler;

' that must be the schooner.” ~

All was excitement now on board the x ' ‘ A
which was brought a point in nearer shore,

   
  
   
  
   
   
   
 
    
   
   
   
    
   
  
  
    
   
   
   
 
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
  
 
   
  
   
 
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  

Lieutenant Wheeler went forward to give“ ,
orders to call the boats away. ' g * ‘ " >7 :: '
“ He the deck!” suddenly came fromthe fore-g  ‘
mp. ‘ ‘ ‘ 

u   P?

“It is the English rivateer we have 
c ' sir. I can seepher now, withmy nah-5‘: 1

eye. 7 ,
“Ay, ay! Quartermaster, bring herapoint. . 
further in shore. There, steade) as you‘ve! ' I
New, Mr. Harlow, we will come a’nc cringe. " .
for from this spot we can blockade the I! H , i. ,
Englishman.” and Commodore Duncan turned 3 w .
to his second lieutenant. - . _, a
A few moments more and the frigate came to . 1,: ‘

two leagues of! the inlet in which lay the schema .
masts of which could nowbe seen,
from the dec , over a low point of land. K. ’

A mile upon either side of the frigate he
9 59
that the privateer could not esca to sea wiflr,
out coming under the fire of t e Ameriqau‘a

Just as darkness rested upon the waters, the
called away, and the picked crews mailed
them ' ‘ 

“ Let fall! give way!” came‘the stern oflar 3
from Lieutenant Wheeler, and the boats m
slowly off in a line heading shoreward. . ;-  *4

After a row of a mile they pulled more 

goav‘v inllft, infwhic? tltihe fl . 
ta en re , or e, ,
“g9 to be-

'or speed of V, 7
oing considerable may
American shi pingin southern watere.‘  ~‘ vr

Presently tale leariiding boat stopped, and Bo

ongs e.  "r

“M . Dash, you will take the  
her bows; Mr. Trevor, you will attack V ,
the starboard quarter, and Mr. Roy  ‘
port. I will board over the stern and 

“When I have struck the craft, 
tack, Mr. Dash, and then the other two 
must follow. Do on understand, gentlemfit ~‘
asked Lieutenant heeler. '
“Ay, ay! sir!” answered the three 

little
to "h

tanoed by the so
u

11- ' n
“ Gdod! Now row to your respective 
and success attend you.   ,  p

The four boasts then separated, each ,
different course, and moving slowly ov'el",
dark waters. . -

A half mile away the schooner lay
threatening. No light was visible on ‘ , ‘
solmd camevidomt flied h momma w

twase en ttoaeon e' 
an attack, and were lying in ambush, as it. _ 
to meet it with determined and deadly mt

ance. ’ .
Proud of an op rtlmity to alum
voura. 12. Dudley ash steeredéfiis , ‘1 '
spot st suited for his attack. “‘8‘ '
men rested on their oars, Quietly 167 i
si al for the daring charge over the V '-
alf an hour dragged its wearv ’ j
and there was heard the sound of to , ~ I
the ringing voice of Lieutenant W . -.

followed, and the charge upon  .w‘i

Give way, men! with a will!” and an

of Dudley Dash rung out, clear and ar u
But, as the ears broke the waters we
suddenly a bright red light, flashed up '1
Ehoonferi’ls d‘e‘cl ‘;  of cannon. 5g 
00W ;a.n enmmd '5 
ofttliymbem, shrieksof pain, and yellso: , n g
the combat was begun in deadly earnest;

CHAPTER XXII. ,

I THE ATTACK AND ITS RESULT.

“ON, men! Pull for your lives, or-

the weight of their heavy metal," u 2"-

Dash, as he heard' twhirozfiacrashipg‘ '-
06 ‘ .

 

.ir'

boat of Lieutenant r. _
With a yell the oarsmen
and the boat fairly -ilew

But, keen e as watc ‘ 13W."
again a red glire lit u thean and.
deafening rear, 8. torren of grape am
the heads of the crew. . ‘ ,

“ By Jove! that would have ended s ‘
rowing," out in the voice pt I _ v

Instantly :fie boat glided : .;.
eve ear was strained

t. 

“ God! can they have sunk 

Wheeer!” cried Du ey  

tanthailwasheardco ' ‘
“Puth for the love of F

sunkus. .. 
“Given ,m with ; x
_ echozmery’ 
.Hidd- \  ,
fiewudmgo , _’ main v
t >‘ “ V y .I z r ». v

 
   

.27 . a , w

'4‘ ' A
7r!

r
. ,3.

   

_.i.-M~¢n-‘M.—.—.“.-..m . , .  _. . .._. .. . .

r, 1.»; ._ .

W113" '

ii

 

 

  
    
  
   
  
   
 
   
  
  
    
    
 

, v ,"Way emou h! Ward her ofl there!” and
': ~z .with‘ the order e cutter was under the bows of
, the schooner. _
, ,. ‘ " There was a bright flash above their heads, a
“' “ deafening roar, a’ rattle of small arms, and sev-
'T- I . era] men fell back dead in the boat. '
 ' 1' But the‘ Dare-Devil Middy rimg upon the
'.‘sohooner’s deck, his pistol flashing before mm,
+ '; gt: his cutlass sweeping around him, and at his
 ‘ I 1: came a dozen bold seamen.
“‘At them, lads, at them!” and the handful
 \iof, t tars pressed forward with a cheer,
 an theininevitable onslaught drove the Eng-
' ‘Iish crew backward into the waist of the

schotmer.

,8  But here they rallied, and, trebling their ad-
VOrsaries in number, would have swe t the
‘t' 'Americans into the sea had not Norvel revor
f ‘end his crew just then clambered over the high
'  and gallantly sup rted Dudley.

Still t e schooner’s crew ar outnumbered the
-  ' {arty and would have again driven
-I'\them‘bac , had not a yell resounded behind
 them, rind Audley Roy and his men boarded
Lover the stern.

, This reinforcement, which was considerable,
'forr Midshipman Rog had picked up the crew
. from the sunken boa comp etely turned the tide

of affairs, for the Englis were between two

E

 
   
  
    
 
 
    
   
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
    
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
  
   
 
   
   
    
   
    
  
 
    
   

 \Still they were in larger force, and tau ht
"with stubborn desperation, as became Bri h
harden, and it was for along time a des rate
li'apd-to—hand conflict, with English and meri-
, ‘ mixed ther in a confused melee.

a At length, udle Roy, with one arm han -
.' . ficmnp at his si e, from a pistol-shot woun ,

‘ bed the side of Dudley, and said hastily:
4 Mr. Dash, you are in command; Lieutenant
' “Wheeler was mortally wounded, and his boat

Wrecked; he is now in my boat astern, and
A “A khows I am sorry to hear this; but,
, My, we must beat them. Ho, Trevor! Ho
“men! Lieutenant Wheeler is dying! On! an
{aie him!”
._ “W h renewed cries, and desperate courage,
'the seam forWard; and, led y
.2 ' and his fellow-midshi men, their charge
~ng irresistible. Slowly the nglish crew were

[won back, and at le h they could go no
"I _ V ; they were flgh ing on their quarter-

Here’ they made a dogged stand for a few
V Meats, and hot and cruel was the combat;
‘ » :‘httr at length they dwindled down to a allant
, flew, whose Commander at length felt hat it
" divas his du not to sacrifice more lives.

“ Hold! surrender my vessel,” he cried, in

.4 ,  and he lowered the int of his
-- W' (:3 then, g it aroun , held the
we coins-d Dudley Dash. ,

June light of the battle lantern fell full upon
 on , and the Englishman gazed upon his
liaisons), boyish face with rise.

1‘“! would surrender my swo , sir, to the cm-

oer command.
.- “ I am that oflicer, sir i”
2“le a Midshipman by your uniform?”

‘ “ but kee your sword. I am sorry
not surren er sooner—it would have
med many valuable lives.”
“ " "‘ To. whom do I surrender sir?”
: To Midshipman Dudley Dash, of the Ameri-
pdn frigate Sentinel. What schooner is this?”
"‘T‘ml'he English privateer Dreadna ht—seven

, and ninety men,” professi y replied
" ' commander.
" “Captain, if yourself and emcers give me

E

   
     
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
  

'e

mword not to attempt to esca , I will not
~ confine on. Now we will 100 after the
and Dudle Dash step to the

” over tothe boat tied there.
the ‘ Taggeets lay the form of Lieutenant

er.
-.-  his hand upon his pulse the youth
 ; was forever stilled; the at ofll—
“ hisflrst usintanceon board he frigate

    
            
 
  
   
   
     
   
  
    
 
  
 
  
      
   
 
  

     

'1 “his warm 'end, was dead' his spirit had
:‘ sailed, away to cruise through an unknown
 ‘ i‘ on board the schooner Dudley set

a will to look after the wounded,
'  numerous, and it was some time ere

 w- .. .1. -
i; own men eir ,
V ~ , ’ was hauled up the sails set an the

W moved swiftly oht of the inlet.
 for the spo where they had left the
team schooner dashed on forhalf an hour;
surprise of all, the Sentinel was not

, , 1! eyes and night-glasses swept the sea for
‘ ' { around, and searched closely} along the
“for, e si t of the frigate, ut no sail
“ . .- them— schooner was alone upon the
'a v- and the frigate nowhere in sight!

'1 ‘- ahehad gone,orwhat had become of
Wa‘mystery to all. ‘

 

‘» ' Li) em.

 h Warnings
,i ,i 0 EC he,

.. with/d1 on board scanning the wide
’ water for a glimpse of the frigate.

‘ e

  

 

certain it is, that after accomplishing the duty

 

But the sun illumined the sea, and nowhere
was there a sail in sight.

“The frigate cannot be seen, Mr. Dash,” said

Audley Roy, comin into the cabin, where Dud-
ley sat in converse. on with the English ofl‘lcer.
“I am sorry, for it places me in an awkward
situation. Kee the lookouts aloft, Mr. Trevor,
andeillstan of! andonhereuntillam cer-
tain the frigate will not return. How is Mr.
i
‘yMuch better, sir; it was but a flesh wound

we were sent upon, we found our frigate
gone. r

“You well know that I waited more than a
week for her off the inlet where we left her, and
have now just left Havana, where we came in
search of her, but without success.

“It is still my intention to search for the
frigate; but alsoto cruise as a privateer until
we find her. In this determination my oflicers
have supported me, and I have called you aft
to know if there is one man in this schooner

he received, and now that the surgeon has i who fears to sail under the command of the

dressed it, he has reported for duty.”

“ He isa brave fellow. Mr. Trevor, you will
act as my first ofiicer, and Mr. Roy as my
second, until we find the f ' ate.”

“Ay, a , sir,” and with t
is deman ed on a well disci lined vessel, Norvel
Trevor politely saluted his y commander and
left the cabin to attend to his duties.

But a long and weary week of anxious watch~
i away and no frigate came in sight.

en Dudley Dash called his brother mid-
shi men to a council, and it was decided to run
to avana in search of the missing Sentinel, for
it was known that she intended gomg there.

“She doubtless gave chase to some stran
sail and ran so far away that she concluded
put into Havana and await us, taking it for
granted that we would ca ture the schooner
and follow her there,” said r. 30%

“ It may be that Lieutenant eeler had
some orders that we did not know,” returned
Dudley.

5‘ That must have been the case, sir. I would
advise starting for Havana,” remarked Norvel

vor.

“ And I,” joined in Midshipman Roy.

“Then to Havana we 0. We can at least
get rid of our prisoners here, and procure a
supply of stores, of which we are in need, and
then we can on a cruise after the frigate.”

“ Or turn t e schooner over to some American
vessel-of-war thatma be in rt.”

“No, Mr. R0 ; I 0 not intend to do that.
We captured t is schooner after a hard fight,
and I will report only to Commodore Duncan.
If I cannot find him, why we will serve our
country on our own account as a privateer.”

Both midshipmen looked at their young com-
mander with surprise. He was a daring ofllcer,
they both knew, for they had seen him tried;
but would he dare do what he threatened?

Fearless as he was, they almost feared he
would not—I say they feared he would not, for
such a reckless adventure 'ust chimed in with
their own spirits; but Aud ey Roy said, quietly:

_“”You have no commissuon as a privateer,
Sir.

“ I seiied this schooner, and I need no com-
mission. With the stars and stripes at the
peak I care for none.

“ What will the men say, sir?” asked Norvel
Trevor.

“I shall not ask them. If they mutiny, they
do so at their ril. Mr. Trevor put the schoon-
er away for vans,” and the Dare—Devil mid-
shipman spoke in a tone that proved he was in
deadly earnest. .

Aftera rapid run the Dreadna ht anchored
under the frowning guns of the oro Castle,
and Dudley Dash swept the harbor with his
glass in search of the missing frigate. She was
nowhere in sight and inquir proved that she
had not put into ‘Havana at 

Here was a quandary; but Dudley Dash
proved himself equal to it, and at once acted
with promptness and decision.

His first move was to parole the English com-
mander and his crew, and send them on board
a British sloo of war anchored near him.

This done, e sent Audley Roy ashore to pur-
chase all su plies needed, for With the schooner
he had ca a large quantity of 1d.

Soon t e stores Were on boa and the
schooner’s bow boldl turned seawa .

“ Is not that a. beauty?” asked Audley
Roy, as the schooner was glidi out of the
harbor, and he pointed to a rakish- ooki craft
that was lying under the guns of the nglish
sloo of war.

“ never saw a more beautiful vessel. She’s

as saucy as a. pin. and can sail like the wind,”
, sir ” said

to
re lied Dudley, with enthusiasm.
‘She’s a rise totheEn lishsl
the man at t e wheel, polite y touching his cap.

“ An American, then?”

“ Yes, sir' she was built by a rich ntleman
to go privateering in on his own hoo ; but the
sloop ca tured her b runni afoul of her in a
fog.  I learn when went aboard with
the risoners yesterda , sir. ”

“ ’d like to reca her,” said Dudle ,
quietly; but he turned his eyes away from t 0
beautiful vessel and ordered:

“ Mr. Trevor, call the men aft. I would
speak with them. ” p
“ Ay, ay, sir. ”

Astheschoonergained theopenseathree-
score of hardy tars stood in line before their
young commander who, after eyin them for
a moment, said, in his frank, ch es:

“ the unfortunate death 0 Lieutenant

aced mein command of this schooner.
“ his orders were, I do not know; but,

.‘ v ,41,‘

at etiquette which ‘

 

   

1 Dare-Devil Middy?”

The wild cheer that greeted his words was

‘I certainly most gratifying to Dudley Dash, who

doffed his ca , and replied:

“Lads, I t ank you; from m heart I thank
you. I am but a boy in years, ut you have all
seen me tried, and I see in your midst the gal-
lant tar, Dirk Harding, who gave the name by
which you are pleased to call me. Mr. Harding,
until we find the fri te, or it finds us, I ap-
pomt you my acting t ird lieutenant.”

Again a rousing cheer greeted the be com-
mander, and he felt, come what mig t, he
could wholly rely upon his ofllcers and men.

“What course shall we steer, sir?” and Dirk
Harding, an honest, brave old sailor, who had
once captain of a merchantman, and
afterward boatswain on the Sentinel, came aft,
and golitely saluted.

“ sad for Abaco,  the Bahamas, Mr. Hard-
ing. 'My first duty Will be to pa an old pirati-
ca friend a visit—one he will litt e like,” and the
young adventurer descended into his cabin,
while the fleet schooner bounded swiftly along
on her course.

CHAPTER XXIV.
CAPTAIN wmwoon AT non.

MY readers certainly have not forgotten Cap-
tain Winwood, the buccaneer chief, whose pre-
meditated attack on the villa of J udge Raynor,
had proven so opwirtune to Dudleg' ash.

Now, Ca tain inwood had a ouble motive
in this rai upon the villa; he not only desired
to possess himself of the fgdge’s gold, but hlso
to run off with the fair uise, whom he had
met several years before, when he was an officer
of the navy of the United States, and dearly
loved her.

But the captain was a very fast man and his
wild life led him into difficulties which caused
him to take life to extricate himself, and then
he was com lied to fly the country to save his
neck from t e han an’s noose.

After his flight, e wrote to the fair Louise,
and begged her to become his bride, and re-
ceived rpm her an indignant rep] , while the
udge intimated in a letter to him, t t it would

t

 

1a serious thing for him to again cross
pa

Having cruised inst the buccaneers in
southern waters, a tain Winw knew
wheretoflnd a. laceo ref ,and accordingly

cast his lot wit a horde o pirates, who soon
after made him their chief, for to sa the least
of him, he was a brave and  o cer.

After his narrow escape from capture by the
Iron Duke, Captain Winwood left Dudley and
his boat’s crew to their fate, and stood awa
for that part of the coast upon which dwc 1:
Judge Raynor and his lovely daughter.

Entering the little bay, not far from the uni-
versi , he sel ascore ofhisbestmen and
mov slowly toward the villa. -

But his coming had already been discovered,
and instead of gold he got lead and steel, from a
party of worthy citizens, who drove him rapid-
y to  boats With a loss of half his men.

Puttmg to sea again with all di tch, Cap—
tain Winwood the following morning, sighted
genial] sloop that was standing rapidly toward

1m.

At first he believed it tobe apartycoming
from the shore to attack him: but a closer ob-
servation through his lass proved that the sloop
was manned, and ed only half a dozen men
upon her decks.

Short] after a signal was displayed, and,
coming , the schooner awaited he approach
ofItthe sloop. a] d d

wassoon o ' ean twomen run 0
thgvltlieck of the 311151313”. Sp 8 n

e one was a unstan, e and excited
—i;he other Loyd Newton, recklglss and indiffer-
en

“ Paul Dunstan—do ‘I see arighti” exclaimed
the buccaneer captain with surprise.

“ Yes. Winwood; I am, like you, a fugitive—
we little thought when we were rivals for the
love of the fair Louise. that we would one day
be outlaws; but so it is.”

“ And you are an outlaw then?”

“Yes; things went wrong with me ashore.
I got into some trouble. A fellow I had in m

misbbed andIhad toclearont -

E for lookih'ng after his own, I saw and —

nixed yoursc ooner, an out to her' bu

let me introduce my puggtular friend, Loy

Newton. We are both 0 nforabea'thaboerd

your vessel, and I have our men here whowill
0 on.

“ lIamshort'ofbothofliceisandmon' '
I have had bad luck of late. Isthis yoursloopf'.

 

 

  
 

 

.nv-w

' m  _ £15.21

.f'.

4

rapeseed: er,

\

  

 

 

 

«The. Winged Witch ‘eff‘tiie‘ Sea. ‘ ’, (

 

, .
“ Yes; I bought her months ago, to kidna
the judge’s daughter; but my plans Wu}?
as did yours last night: butwhat inthe name
of Satan did you do with that boy you cut down

after Newton had hung him up? _

“ Took him to sea With me and tried to make
a pirate of him: but it did no good; et he was
doubtless h for a buccaneer as sent him
aboard a vesse one night that I thought was 9.
Suppl ship, and which proved to be an English
Engage, that ver nearly caught my.schooner.
The boy wound you in a duel, I believe?”

“ Yes, and I came near dying, curse him. I
hope he is hung; but, come, captain, set the
sloo on fire and let us get away from this
neig borhood, for I don‘t like to be so near
shore.”

here terrible broadside, which again did con-
siderable dama . ,
Upon the sc ooner’s narter-deck stood Mid-

.shipman Dash, his eage eyes taking in the

whole scene—his face pale, but calm. -
When the broadside of the Sea Lance struck
his vessel, the order to fire trembled upon his
lips- but suddenly checking himself, he cried:
“ en, we are hurt too bad for the schooner
to be of much further use; let us take yonder

i craft unhurt. Boarders, ahoyl”

l

1

Captain Winwood gave an order to one of his 

under officers, and the sloo was set on fire and
turned adrift, while the
sail heading on a southerly course.

ith the cruise of the Sea Lance I have little
to do; but will state that it turned out a most
unsuccessful one, and with a mutinous crew
Captain Winwood was at length compelledto
stand away for his island rendezvous in the
Bahamas.

H1?“ had been there but a few da 8, and (was
thi ' of uttingtoseaagain,w enone ay
9. veaienlgwas Irzeported 11$ oaching the island.

Taki his glass he 1e is cabin on shore, and
walked a high hill, commanding the entrance
to the little bay in which his schooner was an
chored. _ _

Landward, the view was certainly uninvrting,
for a. succession of sand-hills and rocky gorges
met the eye, dotted here and there, close to the
beach of the little bay, with rude cabins, the
homes of the buccaneers when on shore.

In the little land-sheltered bay lay the Sea
Lance at anchor, and with her topmasts down,
to prevent being seen by any vessels passing

near the island. I _
0n the high 'nt of land jutting into the sea,
was a masked ttery of three eighteen-pound—

ers, that commanded fully the approach to the

ba . -

It was at this int that a lookout was con—
stantly kept, upon his report that a vessel
was in sight Captain Winwood had ascended
the hill, and turned his glass upon the strange
sail

“She is a large schooner, and armed, and she
heads direct for the entrance to the bay. She
means mischief, and I must see to it; but what
traitor can be at her helm to b ' her here?
Hal she flies the American ! y heaven!
there is to be warm work here, or yonder craft
comes on no errand of e. ”

Sosa ' , Captain inwood hastily descend-
edthe ' , and his stern voice seen called his
men to busy action.

“‘ Into the fort there, a. score of you, and man
those guns! . Dunstan you and Newton
take charge of the fort, and Yaldos and myself
will go aboard the schooner and prepare for ac-
tion. If the stranger comes directly on, open a
hotfireu nhim and ifherunsthe gantet of
gen fort, will lay him aboard with the Sea

(:6 Y

The emcers and men at once set out for their
reTective and when Paul Dunstan readi-
ed he fort e found the strange schooner within
a mile of the shore, and stan ing rapidly in to-
ward the entrance under fighting canvas, and
with her men at the guns.

CHAPTER XXV.
m BUCCANEER AND THE mDDY.

Hsvnso reached the masked battery or fort

as Ca tain Winwood was pleased to call it, Paul
and Loyd Newtown set about {impera-

tions fer ' upon the schooner, w ch was
standing swi y in, evidentl under the guid-
ance of an experienced p‘ ot, for no vessel
would otherwise dare run in so boldly upon an
unknown shore.

“ She is near enough to fire upon; blaze away i”
cried Paul Dunstan. I

He evidently did not like to see the .flag of his
country coming so near, with hostile intent.

The canvas screen, made to resemble a bank
of sand, was instantly removed from before the
grinning muzzles of the lon eighteens; then
the burst of artiller fairly 8 00k the hill, as
the three guns po forth their fire.

Two of the iron rs sped wide of the
mark; the third struck the schooner somewhere
in the waist and it was evident hit her hard,

But the ileet vessel still stood on
to re 1 , and in spite of the rapid and weiig.
aimedl fire from the hill, soon ran in under the
land where she would be out of the range of the
fort.

But she had passed through a severe ordeal
for the point of her long bowsprit was shot
away, the ‘inain-to l 1131111811118 by the
riggin , an severe oo ' 0 es were in
her de‘cks, which wemugbloodatai‘ned, and here
and there dotted with the dead.

Onceqlnto the channel, and the schooner stood
on, as fast as her shattered condition would ad-
mit, and soon glided into the little bay, where
the Sea came in sight.

Instantly the buccaneer'craft stood acres the

bar to meet her, and lufiing quickly, gave

I
2

Lance at once set ‘

 

A if“ “if.” immnti‘f with?“ with
anor erto e e u ey sprimg
forward to lead the boarders.

But 'n came a broadside' from the Sea
Lance; fortimately it cut away the rigging, and
human life was s .

As the mainmast tumbled to the deck, drag—
ging the foremost with it, the Sea Lance was
skil fully laid alongside, and with maddenin
yells the buccaneers sprung on board the aim
wrecked schooner.

Dudley Dash had formed his men in a solid
line, just under the shelter of the quarter-deck,
and as the mass of buccaneers hurled them-
selves upon the American vessel, there came the
stern order:

“ Together, men—fire!”

It was a telling voile , for one half the buc-
caneers went down, an ere they could recover
from their surprise, for they had deemed vic-
tory in their asp, the cheering voice of the
Dare-Devil Mi dy rung out:

“ U and at them, lads!”

Wit ringing cries the irresistible mass moved
forward, and the remaining buccaneers were
swe t into the sea.

“ ders, ahoyi on their own decks we’ll
fight them now,” and Dudley Dash sprung upon
the Sea Lance, followed by his three officers
and two score of men.

There he was met by Captain Winwood him-
self, and his remaining buccaneers.

But the onslaught of the Americans drove
them back, and Dudley Dash and the buccaneer
chief were face to face.

“ You here? You were not hung then f”

“ No, Captain Winwood. La down your
arms and your life shall be spared, for What you
once did for me.”

“ Never! I saved you to make a tool of you
——through you to rob udge Raynor. Curse
you boy, you owe me nothing,” savagely said
the buccaneer chief, and drawing a pistol quick-
ly, he leveled it at Dudley Dash and pulled the

ri ger.
ut the powder flashed in the pan,* and Cap-
tain Winwood, with a bitter curse, sprung for-
ward, with drawn cutlass.

“ So be it, then! Now, I will take your life,”
and the two blades crossed.

Though a mere youth, Dudle Dash was a fine
swordsman, for an old coast— , who
once been a British sailor, had taught ' the
use of all kinds of swords, and constant practice
had made him proficient in the art of self-de-
fense, and offense.

Therefore Captain Winwood found that he
had met his match, for he did not cut down, as
he had expected, his brave o adversary.

Then followed a hard- on b combat—the
buccaneer chief fighting for e death of his
enemy, for his own life. Dudley Dash de-
termined to slay the man before him, and there-
by rid the seas of a fearful scourge.

With flashing eyes, hard-drawn breath, and
muscles severely strained, they fou ht on, until
at length Captain Winwood seem to feel that
his hour hadcome, for his men had surrendered,
and the Sea Lance was won by the Americans.

Once his eyes glanced upward—but whether
in prayer or not, none knew; then his face he-
came 'd and his lips white, while his nerve
seem leaving him. , -

“ Will you surrender now?” sternlysaid Dud-
ley Dash.

“ If I slay you shall my life be spared?” hissed
the chief.

.t  Yes, you shall go free. Mr. Boy, you see to
l .

_ “This is madness, Mr. Dash,” said that emcer
impatiently. _

‘ IFpromise him his life if he kill me; see to it,
Mr. 0 ,” repeated Dudle Dash.

“ If surrender—what t n?”

“ You shall be hung.”
“ To the death then be it; your life or mine,

b . ’

QgVith fierce determination C tain Winwood
again ressed forward, to be me with calmness
and which his fury could not destroy.

A few moments longer the combat went on,
and then Dudley Dash seemed to suddenly nerve
himself to greater exertion; the result fOIlOWed
almost immediately, for Captain Winwood, the
buccaneer chief, received his death-blow at the
hands of the Dare-Devil Middy.

_,__
CHAPTER XXVI.
AN EXECUTION.
As Dudle Dash struck Captain Winwood to
the deck, t ere came a sudden about from the
men; but it was not altogether a cheerL—for a

* At that time—181%flint look pistols and guns
were in use. \ Amos.

 

 

  
  
  
    
   
  
 
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
     
   
   
  
   
 
     
   
   
   
 
   
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
   
   
    
  
  
   
 
    
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
      
    
  
  
       
   
  
  
   
      
   
  
  
    
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
     
   
 
 

cry of alarm mingled with it—as a terrific 
answered the cry of the Americans, and o H
boats dashed alongside the Sea .Lanoe, filled
with men. . .
Interested as they were with the duel between .
their be commander and the pirate chief, the .“
seamen not noticed the coming boats unfll
the were 'ust aboard; but they met the attack,
wit a v0 ey that momentarily checked them,
and the buccaneers seemed as if about to re; V
But, suddenly, Paul Dunstan and Loyd New— -- " “
ton 8 run upon the deck, and theircomrades
quick y f0 owed.  i.
There was a rattle of fire-arms, a clash of, ,
blades, and Paul Dunstan fell to the deck, mor— ,‘
tally wounded, by a pistol shot from 

R0 .

fit the same moment Dudley Dash rushhd for-
ward and struck the sword from amps}: of
Loyd Newton; but, instantly, be back,

or ing:
X Am I ri ht—you are Loyd Newton?" ,
“ Yes,” enly replied the yo man, as he
held forth his hands to be ironed, w ' the buc- .
caneers, seeing their leaders beyond all resistv -
ance, lustin cried for quarter. . q
“And Paul Dunstan too, haw with .pi-
ra ,” and Dudley Dash turned ' game  - .
the dying man. '4 ‘“
Slowly the eyes of Paul Dunstan and , ~-
then met the gaze of the young mi 'pman. c
“ Hal you are victor in the end.

,r’.,

4

ThankGodJ! _  .
I’ll not be hung,” and then as his eyes feli _ ; "f
his friend in irons, he said, recklessly: “ ew- ' ',
ton, you’ll be hung. Our life of piracy Wis a. 
short life, and—a—merry—merry—cruW 
—have merc —upon——my poor—mother—too 2
late!—too—la I” .‘  «.f
Again the eyes closed; but he still breathed, ! .,
and Dudley Dash knelt beside him and ,'—'~

softl : . . ,

“ Your mother shall never know how  r; ,
her son. I will send her word that he fell in ’ ::
action with an enemy.” ' f ' . “L,
felTlii’e e as againfoglr‘ined, anfi the  “

tor egraspo ey,wouic y ",

Then their aze met, and a sni‘fle came .r
the face of the yingfiirate, while his lips  W
with the simple wor : 

“Thank ou.” ’7 V "

They were the last words ever spoken by Paul,

'amomentafterhewasdead. .‘ 1

“You’ll me, I suppose?” }‘ ‘- j‘

Dudley sta . '
spoke2 and whose rifles glared upon him.

‘ e ' '

‘Piracyl u n
with deat . ou were taken on a pirate dealt,
in the uniform of an officer, and
American women yes, Loyd Newton,
die,” and Dudley Dash turned away. ,. , ,
‘ Have you no mercy?” groaned the cam;
demned man.  ' g 
“ Such mercy as you once showed to me, I011
Newton, just such mercywill I show
Mr. Roy, get together these buccaneers, 
us have their execution over. We have M t
to do,, for our schooner is in asinking 
tion.’ ',

ti A{, “Y, sir.” \ .

An our afterward the stores and bet ,
of the sinking schooner were transferred “
Sea Lance, which ran in alongside of a
pier, built out from the shore. v > ’

Then on the beach the prisoners were in.”
u in linehthirty-five in number, and in;
w om were wounded. 

u‘ .“

Glanc' keenly down the line, DMey _ 
said ste y: 4‘
“ ken,

‘ t

in ex ' ce on board your *1“
some time gincefwconimced me that 
you were buccaneers against your will, 
circumstances, which perhaps, you Hi F-
contiiol’ 113325 cadet thyoiiliigasoi $3 ' "

stan,toe ' un e ,"if
“Bythelaws of nations you have W
our lives, and though I do not
Ireedom from all punishment, I p edge ref
to intercede for you, and beg that ycm »'

pardoned, excepting your three  .
remainingI—Mr. Newton, and the emanating-
tenants, aldos and Pedro. For those, 
there is no excuse; they must die].  ,V

d “ Butng clemencyltoward you is enone my a.
ition—t t you on ist as season ,
c d -—that you do all  ' wt;
on, an u n our cond spends:
rYeport to Bi; ()irornmodore2 Should one  
ours cause meto feel ,that I am ..’. -.
myou themanwhocommiisthat act :.
hung five minutes after. Do you agree,
terms?” . .
Ifa h cheer was an .i. i
should certainly have been sa ‘ Jo:  fl
deemed buccaneeis .fairly made it 
sore with yelling while one hardened old'tim
 t3 mu favor, cried outlia-r  
And er capting w er ‘ ”
dozen more liker  from .
wmckspmeweeksago, an’i's prisoners in 
der cabin for ther same that they would-not fl.
our bloody band 0’ cut-throats.’ . ~ ‘-'
“w m“ “tit? ‘ '

  

  

   
           
   
    
  
 
    
    

“Go and bring
The cit-buccaneer do
and in ten minuwsieturgid with a -
' in 

   
   
  
  
    
    
   
 
 
    
   
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
    
   
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
   
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  

,, _‘.

 

4......"  C.‘:-—--“r___.-:?
; ir‘story was soon told—the were all that
. ' ined, of an American priva, ' r, which had
. been wrecked in a storm, and washed ashore on
Wile island. ‘ _ .
 - ' , this addition to his crew for the priva-
 willinglglsenlisted under the Iant
mi pman an ' buccaneer recruits dley
_h found himself in command of a hundred
gunmen.
,- “All hands ahoy! to witness execution!” then
ndly called out old Dirk Harding, the acting
_ ‘ dlieutenant of the amateur rivateer, am
.  the seamén, ex-buccaneers and a1 ranged them-
" . lves” line amidships, on the Lea Lance.
‘  was then erected over the star-
. bulwark, and a. dozen weather-beaten tars
” to act as the executioners, and armed

I . _, , , risoners were brou ht up,

' and mounted u t e platform—Loyd ewton,

’5. galfld, and sha ing as if with ague‘ the two

«I  with livid faces, but a stubborn, in-

erent manner.

‘ . “Bush, for God’s sake, show me mercy). Re-

‘ imbiber, we were students together. '0 not

~ - viomekilled,” cried Loyd Newton, wringing
: mauacled hands in agon .

. Dash was very ; but his face was

“firm, and his eye unflinching, as he re-

. f e‘ No, l’loyd Newton- there is no he
pyon must die. Mr. harding, is a

MY“, 3gp,” .-
f‘Tiien do ourduty, sir.”
' salami; the squad of executioners were
' to attention, and at that instant Loyd
mom dropped upon his knees, and his hands
f, out in supplication—perhaps in
d

 

for ou'
in rg'adi:

' ye'r to his offended God— )erha in en-
to the stern youth whom e h once so
y wronged, and who stood with folded
 and stern face, gazing far out over the

_ a“ we I” '

' ‘ \Fii'h the ominous word, twelve guns flashed
forth their death-knells and the three buccaneer
M‘s fell dead upon the platform. Their evil
' ‘hudonded in gloom and despair.

CHAPTER XXVII.
v UNDER ARREST.
fl ’ morninfiffter the capture of the pirate
' a ; 01$ by udley Dash, that gallant young
n . ’ a council of his ofllcers in the in u-
“. y-furnished cabin of the Sea Lance, or
v ' a he echooner had been completely used up
gentlemen, to make known

$dn'th9’flght.

_. 1de for, on
 jam,” he said, as the three ofllcers seated
 ...:-. _ “You are aware ” he continued,
m “in two visits to this island, when on
- a t ,vessel, under Captain Winwood, en-
.. to come here and attack the buccaneer
 «i \ Unexpectedly I found Winwood
weasel here, which gave us harder work
‘ fem anticipated, for I exmd to cap-
”.ifland, and await his re , and sur-
‘Hm’; as it is, we are successful, and
‘we 1 our own vessel, have captured
" - ’as'good; but I am determined tohave
and I learn from several of the
, that the schooner captured by the
‘ sloop, and which we saw in Havana
esp ' hywlnwood on three occasions, and
from him with ease—as the schooner
 than the Sea Lance, and was there -
: it Was doubtless the desire of e
V.  and ca not to fight unless compelled
', fid‘ to‘grow rich off of merchant prizes.
. ,1. am determined to have that schooner,

awash-day

 

e:-

for Havana. If the schooner
‘ x : watch myhlchange, and rant it out,
“ .understood’ ou repo spread
- “lat Captain Winwoog did it, and thus
 between our government and
the-shower has gilt: on a cruise, so
‘ , for we can e her on the high
3H we find our frigate, in the meantime,
_ ergiseWillbei’tt an end. Am Isecond-
--  answer was at once given, for
newton the mast perfect confidence in their
1 ‘ tum. der, andhiswish was then 15W—
‘ dared lead, they dared to follow.
 , rafter  till; remng
’ . mum drop anc r n e r o
 L the: wars £311 stripes flying from her

’ Dudley Dash beheld the coveted

at anchor; but the doom—war,

,was nowhere visible; she gone
, . h of other ‘

‘75 him more, and giving strict orders
" Mobsflouldleave thevessel, Dudley
v... atanisolatedpier,andWenttoan
‘hu hehad been directed byanold
u- hadbeenofteninfiavana.

 m nor-ten for his
,"Ieveral w owere to aid
onboar'd ‘

. Weehooner
.1 .torthtogmmtnem hé

 his imiform for a «with
‘mblflas slowly

The

‘ tracted by Some articles fer sale in a shop win-

 

ches“. when in Was,“- Havana,

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dow.

As he turned to walk on he beheld a pair of
gleaming black eyes gazing at him from within

he shop.

Somewhere before he had seen that face—but
where?

That was what puzzled him, and in vain he
strove to forget the un leasant impression they
left ufign him as he wa ked alon .

He (1 gone on slowly for hal a dozen blocks,
when he eard quick ste behind him, and
turning quickly he beheld he shopman and two
soldiers approaching him.

“That is he' I know him well,” said the shop-
man, in , and the two guards stepped
forward, one of them saying sternly:

“I arrest you, senor; resistance is useless.”

“And wh am I arrested?” asked Dudley
Dash in the t Spanish he could command.

“That you wi soon know. Come, I must
iron you.’

At first Dudley Dash seemed as if about to re—
sist; but then, thinkin there must be some mis-
take, he held forth his ands, and iron manacles
at once clasped his wrists

He was then marched off to the gfilard—house,
where the shopman, and several 0t er citizens,
whom he had collected on the way held an earn-
est conversation with the oilicer o the guard.

What that conversation was Dudley did not
know- but at its termination the officer said:

“ l ell, fyoun sir, I shall have to carry you to
the mom or sa o‘keeping.”

“And why? I am an American officer," in-
(1i antly said the youth, while his brain was
w irlin r with conflicting thoughts.

Had is men already betrayed his intended
cutting out of the Schooner?

\Vas the Sea Lance known as a pirate vessel,
and he arrested as a but-cancer?

But theSe nestions were not answered, and
he was lace in between a file of soldiers and
march off to the gloomy Moro Castle.

Soon the frowning, misery-lloldin Moro was
reached, and the guard and their prisoner drew
up at the massive rateway, as several lltle-
men, in brilliant uni orms, and accompanied by
oils-gently dressed, and parly veiled ladies, pass-
e out.

In front walked a man of noble form and dis-
tingue air, while his face was darkly bronzed,
fine looking and stern.

Upon his breast glittered a dozen brilliant dec-
orations, and he was clad in the uniform of a
Spanish general.

, Han upon his arm was a form of rare
grace beauty, while the half-hidden face
was sufficient to show that, seen entire, it was
wondrously lovely.

As they passed out, the eyes of the maiden fell
upon the face of Dudley Dash.

At once she started, stopped and gazed more
intently u n the prisoner, and then turned and
said some hing in a low tone to the ntleman,
who at once turned toward the .

“ Whom have you there, senor?” he asked of
the officer in charge.

“ A young pirate officer, Senor Eccellenza.
He was it upon the charge of several
citizens who knew him as one of the buccaneer
Winwood’s crew.”

“Is he the same Carmelita?” asked the gen-
eral,k1turning to the maiden, who answered

ulc y:

q “ e isthe same, father.”

Then throwing back her vail, she stepped for-
ward and said, addressing Dudley:

“ Senor, where have we met before?”

“ Upon the high seas, when I boarded the ves-
sel on which on were a passenger; you then
m; this ng,” and Dudley Dash held forth

is n

“I have been told of our kindness, senor, to
my daughter—nay, to a I who Were with her on
that eventful occasion; but on stand but now
confessed of a crime for wh ch there is no par-
don—piracy.

“ It had been better had on never dared to
enter Havana. Then I we (1 not have had to
pass the death sentence upon one to whom I
am under great obligations; but you have seen
fit to venture here and you must look for no
more from me.”

“ atherl Eccellennai would you thus con-
demn him to death? Remember, he saved my
life, my honor!” and the maiden spoke wit

risin ingi'gnation. .
“ m be so. I regret it; but he must die.
Senor officer, place the prisoner in the Moro,
and,tell the commandant to see to his safe keep
7

"Si, Senor Eccellenza ” and the officer moved
into the prison ard with Dudley, who felt that

all he was no at one- he had can htsi ht .
p9 y g ' m5 fiatlinsomewa:thenhewillbringmebackto

of a so from the beautiful 0 ta t
bade hope, for she was his friend.

Ten minutes after Dudle Dash found himself
alone in a dark, dam an gloom cell, against
the outer wall of w ch he cool hear the surf
beating with ominous roar.

 

, A woman’s nor.
As nightfall upon the an andl
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Dash was arrested, a carriage rolled up to the
closed ate of the Moro, and was challenged by
the sen incl.

The driver res nded satisfactoril , and the
vehicle was admitted and drew up front of
the commandant’s door.

“I would see the senor commandant. Ask
him to come hither,” said a sweet voice, and a
moment after a gray-haired dark-faced officer
approached the carriage, his hat in hand.

‘Good-evening, senor commandant. You
havo a prisoner here that I would see.”

“ The Senorita Carmalita! How can I serve
you sweet lady?” and the officer bowed low.

“I have just said senor, that on have a
prisoner here that lwould see. cod 1 show
you the order from m ' father?” and the maiden
1911' held forth her and, containing a, small
paper.

‘ By no means, lady. Your Sweet face would
pass you an hero—whom would you see? I
will have him ordered to our fair resence.”

“No; I would see him his 061. It is the
young American who is held as a pirate. He
once saved more than m life; new he is con-
(lcmned to die and I woul speak with him.”

“ I remember, lady—a more boy, and a splen-
did lookin fellow, too. It is a at lity that
he should ave become a )irate. ere, ero,
escort the senorita to t 0 cell of the young
pirate—his cell is the first in the water row. ”

A youniepa came forward, and under his
escort the an 'ful girl wended her way down
into the gloom of the fortress.

“Here, jailer, the senorita would see the pi-
rate,” and the page addressed the man in charge
who recognizing he fair visitor, bowed low an
hastily threw open the door of a cell.

“3 ou can retire along the corridor. I will
call you when 1 need you,” said Carmalita,
shuddering at the chill that pervaded the place.

The jailer and pa withdrew, and Carmelita
stood face to face With Dudley Dash.

“ Lady, this was noble of you to come hither,”
mid the youth, arising.

“ l have sought you for one Purpose—t0 save
your life. You will certainly ( ie if you remain
.ere. thy did on come hither?”

For an mstan Dudley Dash determined to
tell the lovely £«girl all—that he was no irate;
then he chang his mind and said, quiet 

“ important dut called me here, dy;
but, I swear to you at I amno rate. Ap
pearances are against me; but yet could clear
myself, were I given a trial, which under Span-
ish laws I will not be granted. Spain shows no
mercy to an enemy.”

The1 maiden‘s face flushed, but she replied,
qulet y:

“ This is no time to talk of what you are, or
are not. You are doomed to die. To—night I
will send a priest to you. Dress 'ourself in his
clothing and escape; he will ta e your place
here und—”

“ lie punished on my account. No, senorita,
I will not gain my freedom through the suffer-
ing of another ” proudly replied the outh.

“Nony said; ut he whom I sen will meet
with no punishment, I pied you.”

“ Then I will do as you Wish.”

“In two hours’ time he will be here, and he
will tell you how to get out of this prison.
Then, for the love of God! leave Havana.”

“ 1 will, lad .”

“It is well): Adios—” and the lovely girl
turned away, and a moment after the iron door
closed u on Dudle Dash once more.

But With hope n his heart he paced his nar—
row cell—to and fro, to and fro, until again he
heard steps a )proachingl.

Nearer an nearer t ey came; then a li ht
flashed through the grating, and once more is
door was thrown o 11.

Before him stem the jailer, and a person‘ in
priestly robes.

“ Senor, the good father would hold converse
with thee for the welfare of thy soul,” said
the 'ailer, and closing the door he withdrew.

“honor American, I have come to save you.
Here, take this priestly garment, and throw it
around you.”

Dudley Dash started. It was the voice of
Carmelita that addressed him.

Her tall, elegant form was concealed beneath
the dress of a priest, and the cowl hid complete-
ly the beautiful face and raven curls.

As she spoke she took from beneath her robe
a dress simflar to her own.

“ No, senorita; I will not leave you here,”
said Dudley Dash, firmly.

“ Nonsense boy. The jailer knows me well,
and I have bribed him. As soon as on
out and are free, he will return and e me to
his rooms, where I will remain until on have
time to get out of Havana, or conceal youlself

this cell, an go and re rt to the commandant,
that in going his ni tly rounds he found a
woman in the cell of t e oung pirate.
“ The senor comman nt will then come
hither, and escort me in all honor to my home.”
“Ah! mylad , Ifearyouwill havetesuffer'
on in account.
“ Foolish boy! Here,let me whisper oneIittle
I am (hevdauyhfcr qf 1M .
(1mmr~Gm~ral.‘{ . '  - .

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. 2.
Dudle Dash was almost overcome with sur-
prise. e had believed her to be the daughter
of some one in dpower; but the secret he then
learned surprise him. . _

“Now, do you not see, senor, that the ailer
will keep the secret on account of his own cad?
The commandant will never tell, and my august
father will scold a little and there the matter
will end, Come, I will call the jailer and prove
that be kaS my plot.”

“I believe you, lady, and I thank you more
than I can expigss in words- yet I hate to leave
you here, in t ' fearful ce .’ .

“ Then I will go with you to the jailer’s quar-
ters. Come.” . .

Dudley arrayed himself quickly n1 his bor-
rowed ilumage and left the cell. . _

At t e end of the corridor the Jailer met
them.

“ Aguero, I will await your return here.
Come as soon as you have seen the youth safely
out.”

“Si, senorita.”

“ Lady, farewell! May God forever bless you,
and may I ask that you may do me one favor é”

“ Name it.”

Dudley hastily wrote something on a slip of
paper handed it to her, and said:

“ rite to this address and tell me the result
of your brave sacrifice to-m'ght for me.”

“I will do it, senor.”

“ Ere I leave Havana, lady, I will address to
youo. letter, telling you whom you have this
night saved. Farewell.”

)udley Dash bent low over the tiny hand and
then followed the jailer alon the gloomy pas—
sage way which led to life an freedom.

 

CHAPTER XXIX
A Piuzsl

AUDLEY ROY and Norvel Trevor sat in the
cabin of the Sea Lance, engaged in earnest con-
versation, for the men who had gone ashore in
the morning with Dudley Dash, had returned
and reported that he had been arrested and
thrown into the Moro.

All day long they had be for some word
from him in ex lanation, an none came.

At sunset irk Harding had lglolpe ashore
alone to see if he could learn anyt ’ g re rd—

ing the absent inidshipman, and while awaiting ,
his return the two young ofliceis engaged m a ;

conversation, the urport of which was to de—
vise some means of) escape for their connnandcr.
At length there was a challenge on deck, and
a boat came alongside; a moment after two
men entered the cabin. One was Dirk Harding,
the other was clad in friendly garb.
“ Mr. Ito , this entleman came to the ier as
I was leavmg an begged to come on
He 33 s he has news 0 Mr. Dash.” _ .
Bot midshipmen were on their feet in an m—
stant, to suddenly utter a er of delight, as the
cowl was thrown back an the daring, hand-
some face of Dudle Dash was revealed.
But ere a wo could be said Dudley re—
marked, quickly:
“ I have no time toexplain now. I have just
escaped from the Moro, and in this ' ' .
Tell me, where are the men who went ashore
with me this morning!”
“All aboard, sir. The schooner needed no
men now; she is awaitin the return of the
Eu lish sloop-of-wur, and Will then be manned,”
sai Norvel Trevor.
“Good! How many men are on board!”
“A Lieutenant, a midshipman, and twelve
seamen.”
“ Better still. Mr. Harding, call away the
long boat, and put in it twenty men dressed as
Spanish soldiers, all well armed. I will pay a
Visit to the English officer.”
As Dudley spoke he took from a locker a false
beard and fitted it upon his face, and then
" donned the uniform of a Spanish captain, for
Captain W'inwood was a man that always kept
plenty of  about lns vessel.
In a few moments he walked on deck, and
found the men in the boat, and all attired in
their disguise as Spanish soldiers. .

“Now, Mr. Boy, I wish on to don the inn-
form of a Spanish mi 'pman,  come
aboard with twelve men attired as Spanish sea-
men; half an hour after I leave, come on board
the English schooner.

“And, Mr. Trevor all valuables that we care
to remove from the Sea lance have at in the
other boats and let the men all be y to leave
at a moment’s notice.” _ I

Thus giving his directions, and without mak—
ing known his plan of action, Dudley Dash en—
tered the waiting boat, and sternlv ordered:

“Coxswain, pull for the Ensghhsh schooner,
and remember you are all Spani soldiers.”

A row of ten minutes brought the boat near
the schooner, where Dudle hailed and begged
permission to come alongsi c.

It was at once granted, and he was met at
the ngway by the midshipman.

“ would see your commander on important
business” said he Dare-Devil Middy, with an
accent t was rfect.

.“Walkinto cabin,senor;baisaboutto

the, but Will see you,” and the young main 101

a way.

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English officer—a man of middle age, with a
brave, kindly face.

is/a rumor that the buccaneer Winwood intends
to make an attack 011 your vessel to-night, cut
it out, and escape to sea, and I came from the

me in capturing this noted pirate .4”

“ Wilhngly, senor; but I have only half a
dozen men, for half of my men are ashore to-
night. You say that such a bold act as ou de—
scribe is contemplated in the harbor of vana,
under the very uns of the Moro?”

“ Yes, senor; ut I do not care for your men
to aid me.
keep out of sight. I have with me a score of
men of my own command, and a midshipman
and a dozen seamen will soon be on board; so

hear 111 plan.”

“ Willintily, captain.”

“It is at you remain in your state—room,
with your young officer, and give me permis—
sion to send your men into the old.

“Then I will conceal m
are comin , about the sc ooner and when the
boats of inwood come aboard I will meet this
, noted pirate at the gangway, ask him into the
,‘ cabin, and in that way we can capture him and
% his crew.”

All this was spoken in a very earnest tone
and in admirably affected broken En lish.

 

when we have that sea monster safe.”

The arrangements were soon made, and by
the time that midshipman R0 came alongside
in his boat the six En lish ' ors were crouch-

them were the twenty bold seamen, clad as
Spanish soldiers.

“ All works well, Roy. Now come with me
into the cabin and bring two men,” and Dudley
Dash met his youn r conn‘ade at the gangway.

“ Lieutenant, wil you and your young oflicer
come here a minute?’

At the request of Dudley Dash the two oili-
cers came from the state—room, to suddenly find
themselves under the muzzles of muskets and

“Gentlemen, you are my prisoners. One
move and you die. Surrender quietly, and
within the hour you shall be free”

Dudley Dash spoke in a low, stern tone that
told the two Englishmen that he was in terrible
earnest.

To move was death, and though brave men,
they had but one alternative—to submit.

 

“ It means that om' vessel is in the ban of
a crew from the ac ebrated buccaneer schooner,
Sea Lance.”

“ Ha! you are then—”

“The commander of the Sea Lance. Mr.
Roy see that these gentlemen are securely con—
duct in yonder state-room. I have work on
deck.”

So saying Dudley Dash went forward, and,
descending into the hold said simply:

“Coxswain, do your duty; but on your life,
harm none of them.”

Ere the six unsuspecting seamen were aware,
they were seized, gagged and bound, for resist—
ance was useless.

Seeing that all were secured Dudley Dash
called midshipmau Roy.

“ Return at once on board the Sea Lance,
towing two of the schooner’s boats, and bring
off all the men and baggage. Loavc the Lance
at anchor just as she is.’

“Ay ay sir” and delighted at their success
so far Au iey Ito de upon his mission.

Half an hour ter 0 entire crew of the Sea
Lance were safely on board the tured vessel,
which at once presented a scene 0 busy life.

“Get sail on the schooner at once, Mr: Hard-
ing' we have yet work ahead of us ” calmly
881d Dudle Dash, and then he added, “Let
that boat 0 the Sea Lance tow astern; we shall
need her when We get an offin .”

Ten minutes more and the sc ooner wasswift-
1y ghding out of the harbor of Havana, and m
hal an hour more luffed up, out of ra e of the
guns of the Moro, the officers of which 'ttle sus-
pected the darin game that a fearless boy had
played beneath t eir very site“s.

“ Bring up the prisoners, . Trev r.”

In obedience to the order the Eng ' h officers
and their men were brou ht on deck.

“ Lieutenant, though have taken from you
our new and beautiful schooner, I leave one
or you in fair exchange, which is a fleet

:fihooner, and one that has spread terror upon

6 sea.

“ I refer to the Sea Lance. You will find her
anchored just off the harbor stairs of the Moro.
No one is on board of her, and the vessel and
all she contains is at our Service. There, sir, is
the long boat of the ea Lance. In it you can
return to Havana, and should you Wish to find
this schooner, you will have to hunt her up on
the high seas. A pleasant trip back to Havana,
senores.’?

The Englishman
less face, and said

“ You slmll rcgant
f pirate.”

$310116 look into the beard-

 

 nig‘ ’s .work, sir

\

 

  " 

A moment after Dudley Dash stood before the i ‘Dudlefi'

“ Senor, I am sorry to disturb you; but there '

Moro, only a short while since, to ask you to aid .

In fact, I would rather have them .

men, and those that i

“ The very thing, captain, and I wil be happy ,

ing down in the hold 0 the schooner, and around .

“We submit; but, what means this outra ?” f

9‘

.‘IV

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
  

, Dash laughed, a light, boyish laugh,
; and rep edpleasan y: ‘

“ Adios, senor.”,.

The Englishman sprun into the boat, whither
= his men had preceded Trim, and said almost
. savagely:

“ Give way, men 1" . . '
And as the boat darted awa , the schooner
fell off before the wind, and un er all the can— - ,
vas she could carry, sped over the dark waters. ‘

“ Head for the island rendezvous, Mr. Hard—
ing. Once there, we will paint this beautiful
‘ vessel snow-white, and then cruise against {he
1, enemies of our country. From this night, she .
, shall spread the stars and stri ‘ upon the
waters, and win a name far an wide as the
Winged Witch of (he Sea. 0 ,.

CHAPTER XXX.

l

 

 

FOUND! \ z
‘ MORE than two years have passed away since .- -*
, the Winged “Vite fled from the gun-guarded \ . 

: harbor of Havana, leaving behind the wildest .
excitement at the news that VVinwood the bile-1 " ,_
cancer, had boldly cut a vessel out under half a J‘ -
thousand Spanish ns. \ ,.. 5"
Then it became nown why the young pirate ‘r'
officer then supposed tobe in the M . “
visited Havana, and many excitement—loving: .f’.
' denizens of the town anticipated a rare pleasure A
in seeing him hung. ' ' ‘ ‘ '*
But for reasons best known to him”,  .
which the reader may easily guess at, the gov.- 
ernor-general held his own comisel. A ' “ »
captured some weeks before was mask and:
‘ secretly executed, and then the rumor c' p ’ 3'.‘
that the youthful buccaneer lieutenant had hem;
garbled; the populace were glad of this but
dreadfully sorry that they had m' the .
dramatic scene of death. ‘
As for this sup pirate, he Was c ' '
the seas, and his inged Witch soon _
the terror of English merchant vessels,
British private-ere that infested the  _
coast from Maine to Texas, for the Dare- " p '
Middy was ever ready to try his strength" ‘ Chi
any small cruiser afloat. “
As the time passed on, prize after , 
taken and sent into the nearest port ;
Winged Witch was considered almost a phanlinn
vessel, so numerous were her ca tum,  I
markable her speed, so wonderful r suc‘em ing *
escaping capture and so deep the mystery flint»-
hung over her officers and crew. , -" _, “ 1
Sometimes it was whispered that she
commanded by a notorious pirate, who,
American by birth, had es used the 
his country, and that her ecks were
by :1 himde heavily-bearded buocanee 
0 all nations, trained to deeds of 
an outlaw craft. ’ _ '
Again, ’twas said that her commander
slaver, with a crew of African negroes. , 
lined to obey his orders, while still more V ‘
that her commander was a more youth 
crew a band of heroic boys. ‘ * “
And there were a few, of the _ I
kind, who boldly said, and believ , their
Winged Witch had the devil for a captain ’
lost—spirits for a crew. , ..
But the reader knows that the W .
was controlled by Dudley Dash, the A . ,
Middy, who, for more than two years, ‘ j
the English cruisers sent after him, and, l .
his country most nobly. \ Z 1 1‘ ' r '
Toward the close of the war WI'I 
Britain, the Winged Witch was c. :u: -_ ; ' "
along under a four—knot meow, bi .
twenty-five degrees north latitude, and , 
northward, w en the lookout hailed the ‘ .
from the masthead. ’
Upon the deck stood two persons 
to t e reader—Dudley Dash and a
both rapidly maturing into Sp
of manhood. , ,-
As for Dudley he looked older, W
hisface had lost its boyish expresionand.
smile, for the cares upon his young :10 _
hpd been enough to mold his nature 
0 iron. ‘ ' ‘ '
“H01 the mast—head! What doy '
called out in avoice that rung . _
clearness. ‘ 35.3.:
“A drifting boat;1make heroutnow,
five inm off the weather bow.” . - , , .
id Iififiifor thud blimteq ' to ’pm”‘ V.
sai ey, an e gnu again
deck with monotonous tread. " =‘4
In an hour‘s time the-ngml Witch
to the wind, and a boat was sent after)
thatAwas  . fi’
‘ n oar ess no u e
“Are the alive.” agfigd m a
swain call out that it container; m:
It was some time before the reply we “ '
“One of them, sir; but he’s 2
“ Bring them aboard at once.” i 1. “. 
A moment after Dudley Dash some t v .
The limp, haggard, astetlfoun . u ,
u ,the way b
knownto : i was ,
whom, nearly three ‘ ,
I a r . /. . ..
The ct 
man. .. " > .

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“Bury him in the sea. Take this man into
.my cabin, and send the sur n to him,” ordered
(tlhelyoung commodore, an again he paced the

ac

A}? hour passed, and the surgeon came on
“The gentleman would see you, sir; I fear
there is no hope for him.”

_ ' Du'dle Dash descended into the cabin, and
there be eld Rafael, the pirate, as he had after—
_ _‘ .. ward become, reclining upon a silken divan—
his face as white as marble, his eyes beaming

brightly.
‘ Am I mistaken—are you not—?”
, “ Dudley Dash—yes; we have met before, but
,. ‘._' Eu must keep quiet, and not talk: you shall
ve ever attention, ’ said Dudley kindly.
“It is , late—l am dying. If I lived, it
would be but to end my life on the gallows: it
is better as it is far better.
‘f What vessel is this?” '
“The American privatcer, Win ed Witch.”
The man started, and again loo ed earnestly
at the youth, while he said:
“And you are—"
“Her commander‘s. midshipman
v United States navy.”
» g  “Boy, on have won a great name—one of
4‘ honor, W ile 1—1 have won a name of dishonor.
‘- But, let me not hesitate now; I have a confes—
: lion to make ere I die, and to you I would make
" ‘it. Will you listen to me?”
1‘ ,,  fixes-77
9‘ My name is Rafael Gaston—”
>. The man paused for he noticed Dudley start,
~but then he went on:
,  “I was born a gentleman, but my devilish
 ‘ love of mischief would not let me remain one,
, and I was  from the English navy for
.-.’ ’v a wild escapade, and at once came to America.
' . "‘ In th United States I met a love] girl,
2;?" whom I earned to love most dearly, an for a
" while I changed my evil life, and returning my
love she became my wife.
' “Yet, strange to say, her pure love did not
«he? me frgm returning to m old life of dissi—
on, an one night, in a runkell frolic, I
shot one of my comrades and fled for m life——
fiedfrom my wife'and little baby, then ut ten
months old.
»3 ,“Of fany after career it is needless to speak,
,0! t say that I drifted from bad to worse,
’ Innt' Ibecame the leader of a band of smugglers,
l Who had their retreat on one of the islan s ofl’
‘ the Maine coast.
_ “ One day I went further than smuggling, and
attacked a large vessel that I had reason to be—
lieve would be a rich prize.
I {After a desperate resistance I captured the
 board her, and in the cabin found—
.mg‘ 0 e and child! '

 

. God! the horror of that moment. Did
‘ we a hundred years, I could never forget—
. my wife was dead killed by a shot from m
 vessel, and u n or lay my poor little gir ,
bitterly or her mother. My wife was
~ r way to the Mediterranean, where her
lather, a naval officer was then stationed, and
"I; thus-sadly did her VOfiage terminate.
a ,“ Well, I took my ch d with me to my island
t, and m poor wife I buried where the
of the would be her only r uiem.
 , Had my poor little daughter ever n near
fiemy‘life would have been far different: but,
4_ day, 'I returned from a cruise, to find her
3 , none knew whither.
. “f, I"  ‘the island and found the dead
’  "of a ruffian, whom I had several times
5 n m w- ~ for misdemeanor, and by his side were

-‘.tracks of m little Gabrielle—but nothing
I . could I ever earn of—”
.E‘Int me tell on all that on would know,”

, Dudley, soft y; and in a ow, earnest voice,

,lgentonto tell of his visit to the island, res-
Wot Gabriel] and that she was then hving

" the coastal aine.

ohm moments the man could not speak,
covered his thin face with his thmner

hen
’ “‘ God! I thank God! If she is ha py,
(I  die content, How glad I am that Pdld
  that open boat!”

ml was it you were in that boat?” asked

 had a severe combat with an English

" , . My schooner was terribly cut u , but

 to escape in thle darkness, lank theg
came on, my vesse sprung 8. ea , an

, ' ’ to our boats. There were nine men in

,' and I was the only one who lived

the horrors we had to undergo, and I

but let me tell you that in this
. .. ~ , will find—will find papers provin
,fiot what I tell you about myself, an

" , ’s likeness and mine; take t em, and

' I

n.‘ '
x‘ '

.110 I”

.‘cry startled Dudley Dash, who at once

157' and get some sleep, for you need it.
~-» awhile I will see'you again, and I trust
0 I (may recover and 'yet see little Gabrielle,
u  i , home now.” ‘
 covered the thin face, but the lips did
*me; and Dudley Dash wanton deck.

, down into the cabin, sir, as you did

4

 

 

in the ,
r witch.

 

' 0t seem to‘hear In first hail. Sheisalas'rage

rigate, evidently o the largest class,” (1
Angley Roy, handing the glass to Dudley, who
am -

“And she looks American in build. Brin
her up, helmsman, and we’ll have a. closer 100
at her. If En lish, we must keep the Witch
out of range of er terrible broadside.”

Nearer and nearer the two vessels came to
each other, until on] a league divided them,
and then the Winge Witch ran up the stars
and stripes, and fired a gun to leeward, as if in
defiance of her huge enemy.

“Ha! there oes up the American flag; and
see! they are Signaling us.”

“She asks what schooner is that?” said
Audley Roy, referring to his book of signals.

“ Run up our flag to the fore, and signal our
name.”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

Instant y there was nm 11 to the fore-top-
mast, a roll of bunting, which, when shaken
out to the wind, proved to be a mass of green
and blue, representing the waves of the sea,‘and
the skies, while in the center was a white, gaunt
terrible-looking form, impersonating an old

“What does she signal now, Roy?”

“The American frigate Ticonderoga—Admi—
ral Duncan’s Flag Ship.”

The yell that answered this repl was deaf-
enin . The Dare-Devil Middy h found his
lon - 0st commodore.

“ hat does he signal now i”

“Come on board; the admiral would speak
with on.”

“ elmsmen, stand away for yonder frigate.
Mr. Roy have a full crew ready to row me
aboard the frigate,” and Dudley Dash de-
scended into the cabin to dress himself in his

t.

At'first he stepped light] , for he believed
that Rafael Gaston was as eep; but a second
glance told him that it was the sleep of death.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE MEETING.

As Dudley Dash went over the gangway of
the frigate, darkness had settled upon the
waters, and he failed to recognize any familiar
faces among those that peered into his own, to
catch si ht of the famous commander of the
Win ed itch.

“ will conduct you to the cabin, sir. Was
not the commander able to come on board?”
asked an officer, meeting him.

“’I am the commander of the Winged Witch,
sir. ’

The officer gazed upon the outhful face with
marked surprise, and led he way into the
cabin. ~

At a table, covered with papers, sat Admiral
Duncan, for he had won that rank by gallant
service.

He was looking older, and grayer; but still
possessed the same noble, kindly face as of
yore.

“ The commander of the Winged Witch, ad-
miral ” said, the officer, and he immediately
with rew. _

Admiral Duncan arose and stepped forward,
his hand extended, and a genial smile upon his
face: but sudden] he started back, for before
him a slen or form, clad in a midship-
man’s uniform, and with a boyish face.

“Great Heavens! has the sea given up its
dead, or do I see aright?”

“I am Midshipman Dudley Dash Admiral
Duncan, commander of the Winged itch.”

“Boy, my brave, noble boy, let me embrace

on, ere I ask you any uestions. You, you my

(y midshipman, the amous rover!” and the
ol admiral greeted Dudley with a warmth that
was certain] most fiattermg.

Then the we sat down, and Dudley told his
chief all that had occurred, even to his cutting
out the schooner, and leavin the Havanese to
believe that it was done by inwood, the buc-
caneer. ,

“ It was a bold act, and if known, would cause
us trouble with S ; but, let it rest as it is,”
and the admi gazed admirineg upon his
young midshipman, an said:

“ And you still call yourself Midshipman Dud—
ley Dash ”

“Yes, sir; exce t by strangers I have never
allowed myself to called captain.”

“But, captain it shall be, sir, and the Presi-
dent will a rove mty ap intment when he
knows all. 0w, Cap am ash, I would like to
explain my runnin of! from you on that me-

morable occasion w ich lost us poor Wheeler.

“ An En lish 8100 of war came near us and
We ve c ase, an unable to overhaul her, I
put k, when another sail was sighted.

“Thigiproved to be a. dispatch vessel sent in
search me, with orders to proceed at once to
the Mediterranean.

“ My orders admitted of no delay, so I direct-
ed the dispatch vessel tc go to my station and
await your return; if you came back unsuccess-
ful, to take you on board and carry you to port,
from whence you could join the fri to at some
future time; if you were success , to order
you to follow me in the schooner tothe Mediter-
ranean. \ V

 

“Until a few months ago, I heard 11(5ng of
the result, until I learned that the dispatch. vea-
sel had been captured shortly after parting with
the frigate, and of your fate nothin was known,
so that we came to look upon you 1 as dead, or
in an English prison—thank God, neither was
correct. .

“As for myself, I was made admiral of the
fleet, and transferred to this elegant frigate, the
Ticonderoga; but you will find a number of fa—
miliar faces among her officers and crew. But
of Rfiy, and Trevor, what of them?”

“ idshipman Rely is my actin first lieuten-
ant; poor Norvel revor, and fiirk Harding,
who was my actin third officer, we lost In
battle some time Since,” said Dudley Dash,

y.

“ And where bound now, C tain Dash l”

“ To the Maine coast, sir. I ave not seen my
friends there since I left ill the frigate. I wished
to win a name before I returned; but, admiral,
let me make known to on a strange circum-
stance,” and Dudle Das i went on to tell of his
picking up the d ' ing boat.

“ Good God! you say that his name was
Rafael Gaston?” and Admiral Duncan seemed
doc I moved.

is es, Sir.”

“ Dudley Dash, Rafael Gaston was 111 son-in-
]awl He married my only child, abrielle
Duncan,” and the admiral, deeply moved, passed
to and fro the cabin for some moments, commu-
ning with a bitter ‘

At length he sai :

“ And he lies dead in your cabin. Well my
cha lain shall ive him honored burial. fione
n know who e was; and poor little Gabrielle,
my darling grand-daughter, must never know
that her father was a pirate.

“ And now,” continued the admiral, after a

use of some moments “ now you must con-

nue on your course, and as soon as I have an—
chored in the Potomac, and reported all that has
occurred, I will _ across country to Maine
and join you there. I wish to claim my little
Gabrielle, and have her mother’s body moved to
my own family burying-ground, near my home
on the Chesa 9; but, first, let me go aboard
with you an see your wonderful vessel; I wish
to make the acquaintance of the Winged Witch
of the Sea.”

Midshipman Roy beheld the boats leave the
frigate’s side and expecting a visit from the ad—
miral,hecalledthemen to quarters, and as he
on board gave him a most royal salute
w1

Half an hour after with the honors of war,
the form of Rafael Gaston was consigned to a
grave in the sea.

Then Admiral Duncan wrung the hand of
Dudley Dash in partin , and returned on board
the frigate, where the rolled, calling the
men to uarters, and from huge oaken sides
burst to a salute to the Winged Witch that
would have done honor to a king.

The two vessels then slowly drifted apart, and
when the morning sun illumined the sea, the
fri te was nowhere visible to those on the decks
of he Winged Witch, which under a ten-knot
breeze drove onward in swift haste to drop an—
chor under the lee of Crescent Island and in full
view of the cottage home of Carter fiayes.

 

CHAPTER XXXII.
CONCLUSION.

CARTER Hans, whose once erectand power-
ful form had begun to droop with , was seat-
ed upon his cottage porch, quietly smoking his

pi .

gear him sat two other persons, one a middle—
agled lady, with a pleasant, intelligent face, and
w 0 was the sister of the old fisherman, who
had passed her life in teaching, until sent for by
her brother, three years before, to an rintend
thghtrainihgg and educatigiagf Gabriela; 

0 0t r person was yo y
—a child no longer but a ballad maiden of
seventeen—whose character was as lovely as
her face and form.

Sitting in the shade of a pine tree, and piously
gimng away at a long-stemmed pipe, was old

atience, over whose honest face and form not
a shadow of change had fallen.

“ I tell you, Gable yonder schooner stands of]?
and on, asthough s e wanted a pilot. If she
was an American I would go out and b ' her
in,” and Carter Hayes pointed out be 235 the
reefs where was visible a lo , low, “gab-look-
ing craft, painted white, an carrying a cloud
of canvas.

“By Jupiter! she is putting inth a ilotl
No, see how she‘lufi'ed u there to avoi the
sunken reef, and now stan across the channel.
I tell you folks, there is a man on board who
know; this coast. See, he comes in through the
north out. Only two persons that I know of,
ever knew that channel and—”

“ Those are?” said Gabrielle, rising quickly.

“Myself, and—”

“ Dudley?”

(L Yes. n

In an instant Gabrielle bounded into the house,
toreturnthe nextinstantwithaspy-gla-s,
whlch she adjusted and leveled at the strange
schooner. r

 

 

4

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No.7 2.

“ Father Hayes," she said, impressivdy, while
her face flushed and' paled with excitement—
“ Father Ha 'os, Dudley stands a! the wheel of
yonder vesse .”

“Praise God!" ejaculated (.‘arter Hayes,
springing u :as nimhly as a boy-of twelVe.

“ Praise tie Lori! ef de hoy haln't coined hack
arter all rde um). Lor‘ Hod ha‘ answer de
prayers o‘ de o e iiiggm" sartin " and old l’ar
tienee waltzed about with amazing celerity.

 

 

 

 

A-‘
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In the meantime Gabrielle had rushed swiftly
down toward the beach and thither the other
three followed her as rapidly as they could.

Then a few moments of impatient waiting,
and a boat put otl' from the schooner, which

 

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The Dare-Devil; or, The Winged Witch of the Sea, 7

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Those oilicers were Dudley Dash and Audley

Ito '.

x few moments more and Dudley Dash sprung
ashore, and received a Welcome that made his
heart glad, after which, dismissing his boat, and
presenting Audlcy lto ', the party set off for
the cottage, Patience s ipping on ahead like a
young girl, as she said:

“Togita hunkuln supper for de yr lung 1 issifcrsf

* =0: :4: * * *

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That night, when all had retired but the old
fisherman and Dudley, the youth told of his dis—
eoVery of (iahriello's father, and how the ad—
miral was to come soon, and make known to
her that her mrent had died on board ship at

had come to anchor under the lee of Cremrent ‘ sea, and that 10 had come to claim her.

Island.
In that boat were eight oarsmen. a coXswain,
and tWo otflcers seated in the stern—sheets.

“ And How. Father Hayes." continued Dudley.
“I Would lczlt'n smut-thing of myselfi-vforl know
, that you picked me up in an open boat at sea!"

 

1'7

Without a word, (,‘arter Hayes arose, and un-
locking a large chest, took from it an old port—
manteau, that seemed exceedingly heavy.

“ Herc, Dudley, this I took from the boat in
which I found you. It contains considerable
money 4—a bag of trinkets, and rings, and a watch
I took from the dead bodies I found in the boat
i —and important papeis By those papers you
will lind that your parents took passagemuny
years ago in a packetship bound from LiVer—

 

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v pool, to Halifax, but the ves<el was lost in a
storm. and all on hoard took to the boats, Uf
that entire number, you, I believe, alone sur—
Vive.

. “ Wait. hear me: these papers furthermore

F tell you that your father was an English gener-

, a1, and was coming out as governor to Canada

* when wrecked; his name was Dudley, Earl of
Dashwood.”

,« ... .

 

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‘ The youth stood like one in a dream. When
he recovered himself Carter Hayes had gone.
_ Then he looked over the papers with resplect-
_ . fultouch, and azed upon the miniatures of t ose

l \ Whom he now ow to be his rents.
' ' ’ Among the papers he foun one addressed to

winni— _.
¢

Hayes and read:

“DUDLEY: If I am dead. when your eyes meet
these lines, forgive me for keeping this secret
from you.

“ But I was an old, lonely man, and I could
not ive you up.

_ “ ay your life ever be happy, is the wish of
your ADOPTED Farm”

. For an hour, or more, Dudley mused on all he
had heard, and then, with a sigh, turned and
took from the mantel a letter which Gabrielle
had told him, came for him, two years before.

It was addressed in a lady’s hand:
“ To DUDLEY DASH,
. . Bath, Maine,
United States of America.”

.. ' 1 Breaking the seal the youth read the contents,

 which were as follows:

“Havana. Dec, 10th, 18—.
. “SENOR:That your mind Ina beat restI keep

' " \ my promise and address you t is letter, and es—

3 pecially glad am I to be able to write that you

r _’ may know 110w rejoiced I was to find by your
, .. note, that you were not, after all, a terrible

" " pirate, and that circumstances you could not

‘ co only made you appear so.

h of. these ays may we meet a ain. Should you

3, ’ wish to find me, ask for the ountess Costello,

.,._  ‘ , for, after Christmas coming, I will no longer be

r x r 1 r . Wm, but ever your friend, CARMALITA.

, '.  “Puss-Oh! senor, I like to have for otten
- .  I promised to tell you if I suffered y re—
. ' ou.

“A mirprisod éommandant’s frown a scold—

, . ing from my an st father, were all the incon-

5.54? .'venlences-that fol owed. Again, CARMALITA.

“N. B.—l)o you know that I in some way
connect you with the daring capture of the
. .‘ English, schooner in our harborl—and my

" ' “I woman’s Wit will insist that you have converted

\ ° her into an American privateer. Anyhow, suc-

.,.. :1 » 'cessto you, and believe me, I will not betray

,4  your secret. . .

v . 2,, ,“ For the last time I Sign myself, senor,
5 r - “CARMALITA.”

 

-> ’ True :to his word Admiral Duncan arrived at
.1 )the cottage, and brought joy to the heart of
" ‘7’“ ,3 Gabrielle. She had found one of her own flesh
T‘ - .7 and , and she was ha ply.
., Nay) more; the admir rought news that
t  Warwas over, yet handed Dudley his com-
..im'hsion as captain in the navy of his country.
 ‘, After a month’s rest the whole party sailed in
‘ .the'Winged Witch for England, when Dudley
F chance proved his right and title to the name
 ,oif’jDashwood, and was installed in the rincely
'29 3 home of his fathers, so long dose and

, year after the declaration of peace be-
‘tw’em the United States and England, Lord
 Earl of Dashwood, was married to
bri lie Gaston, grand-daughter of Admiral
‘ Hhrvoy Duncan.
. ,‘lfliough a outhful couple, none handsomer
ome ore an altar; so said all who wit-
, named the impressive ceremony of t ' two
-- {loving hearts together until “Dent s ould
than "

. Au Boy was Dudley’s groomsman, and
after married the young girl who was
" the demaid of Gabrielle.
Whilp

.,  on their bridal tour, Lord Dudley met,

-»

 
 

‘ ‘ data grand ball 'ven him in London, two faces
thatwere fami lar, and he sought an opportu-
nit to speak with them.
y greeted him most warm] , for one was
' tees Cavallo, once the oval Carina-
_ 'who, hidmresgrued himMfioi‘nr t a Moro’s
‘» n;an e0 erwas rs. ed er
. , miseRaynor, the aiding of whom bald sd
2   singularly led to the adventurous career of The
‘  Middy.
~ - > THE END.

 

I *‘hmong the Mangroves.
k. .73: A WILD ADVENTURE iii CUBA.

BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.

 

“ON the south side of the island be
0. Mia casa a disposition dc l’.”

, Rd to me a fellow—passenger on the R. M.

'30 or 03 my, as we were running into the

bor of vana.

Southampton to St. Thomas we had

ther—othence to the chief seaport

med toga
 Md capital of Cuba.
"Crodng

0nd
us

the Atlantic in a West India steam-

.it ll not 'bletoescapemakingnew

does tmb‘dm him):
no memo

, Belong to what, nation he

. , ‘ /

z

    

’,


I

“May our future be a bright one, and one '

l
l
l

 

'“ a..*\, I ..  .x,

I arettes, wi h

I . .

ma. , or speaking whatever lan
l be those who can converse wit him in his own
: language, and lpathize on the score of a
, common nationality. John Bull bound to Bar-
' badoes or Jamaica, can drink ass’s beer with

ohnny Crapaud, seeking Guadalupe or Mar—
tini ue, ma si absinthe, and smoke paper cig-
l I

alf a score compatriots; \vh

. Don Diego, over his “copita,” of Xeres may

hob-nob with numbers of sallow-faced individu-
als, who can talk to him ill the soft language of
Andalusia.

There will be 3. Dane or two destined for St.
Thomas; a to Guazana or the diminu-
tive island of Curacoa; a Mexican making for
the port of Vera Cruz—in all likelihood a politi-
cal refugee mango lead a new revolution;
a Caraquin oing to Guayra; with other odd
waifs from Rica, Nicaragua, New Grana-
da, Ecuador and Peru, returning from cold Eu-
ropean climes to their sunny homes on the
shores of untorial America.

He, who ad so generously placed his home
at my disposal, belonged to none of the above—
named nationalities, though speaking tlle‘lan—

e of the last. He was a native of the
‘ ever-faithful island "—0. Creole of Cuba.

But one who looked win; no favoring eye on

continued.

its fideli being 011 the contrary,
as I he.th become aware, he had a strong
bearing to “Cuba. Libre.”

It was, indeed, this had brought about the
rapprochement between, that led to his proffers
of hospitality. Just then was comin up and
beginning to agitate his native land t lat ( nes-
tion, which has since devastated some 0 its
fairest provinces bathin’ them in blood. The
steamer was packed wit Spanish omeers, en
route to join their re 'ments at Havana; with
scores of Canaries am Catalans base curs loyal
to the backbone, like all such, bloodthirsty.
They. have since given proof of their mguinary
spirit, in deeds to make humanity mourn.

And such a man showing sympathy with the
cause of Cuban independence, stood little
chance of other than scurv treatment; and
having taken sides with the reels, at times se-
verely put u n. a )leasant acquaintanceship
had been esta lished tween us; which, before
the end of the voXiFe, became ripened to
cordial friendship. ne young fellow my new
friend, handsome in person as oud in spirit,
high-hearted and open—handed, could not help
liking him. So much that I felt pain at the
prospect of our approaching separation. We
were steaming into the harbor of Havana,
post More Castle, its guns grinning down
11 in us, a standing threat to “Cuba Libre.”

assengers wore hurryin to and fro, sorting
their baggage for the dread ordeal of the
duana. n another hour he and I would be
mutually bidding “adios!” perhaps never more
to meet, save b such chances as are cast in the
kaleidosco o Fate. Alas! true hearts are
We, an 10 lonestoorarelyencauntoredin
the conflict 0 life. All the more did I dislike
mg the one I had found.

It was some com motion to discover that
my regret was reciprocated by Den” Mariano
A era; for such was the name of my respected
f ow-passenger. I had proof of it, as coming
up to me he said:

“ Caballero! I h we are not going to sepa-
rgtenr as we d it ashore. 
0 mg :0, an possible won r i
You’ve been kind to me—aomethingprnore in-
deed—and must vo me an opportunity of
showingnmy gra . I know of only one
way, w 'ch is, indeed, exacting a further avor.
I hope, however, you will 'ant it by accepting
such hospitath as I can 0 or.”

I bowed thanks, but before I could give a re-
sponse the Creole continued:

“ Unfortunately I have no establishment in
Havana, mypoor patrimony lying at some dis-
tance from the ct .” -

Then followed speech already re rted,
mdhtwith the phone, “Ilia coca a isposi-

 fmmul

amen a ,meanin
nothing,‘ns I know- but man theglban asI
alsoknew,anlnvih on . edwasinallsin—
«rig, and meant for coco tance.

ing it upon me, onMai-lano said,in
continuance:
“We have now a railroad to Batabano, and
the journey is short.

'I‘herel’lmthhget': tlliinder
ou making' my house your qua uring
your stay in the island. Only that I fear it
ma be too dull, and I can offer noinducement
to mpt you awayjran the city. You Will
find Havana rather a 3:; place. However, if
you’re fond of fleldepo as I fancy you are,
perhaps I can treat you to some that may be
new.’

Field-sports promised to a man in a shootin -
coat with six kets a rtainingi And wit
the additiona lure of t eir bein of a novel
kind! Need I say what were in eelings?

I only hesitated to declare hem, reflectin
how far it would interfere with my lane, on
thebusineuthothadbrmightmeto eisland.

“ Beyond that,” persevered the Cuban, “and
showin you some of our scenery, I can promise
both lnthowayof entertainment. lama

.. ._ .a.... -~ —. ......-..__.. .

x... I‘"
t - us

 .‘ Vol.1.

,-.—--~- o. r

 ..', '.'. «'-   n—b .,
‘ .. i , . a

 

. ' A  - ,.
age, there will ' bachelor, living in alone bahio, with a sister

who keeps house for me. An untutored Creole
girl whose manners won’t much remind you of

I the fashionable ladies of London and Paris.

, But I can answer for her havi
’ entlemen in tweed coats and Wide—awake hats; 5
him. It was in the hand—writing of Carter ‘

l

 

a warm heart,
and making,r welcome the frienl of her brother.
Now, caballero! say you will come?”

The field-sports had already half-determined
me to acce t the invitation. At mention of tlie
“untutore< Creole girl,” so unlike the ladies of
London and Paris, my mind was made up.

“ Con lulu-ho gusto,” was the answer I gave
Don Mariano.

“ Mil gracius,” rejoined the polite Cuban.
“And now, senor, consider ourself in my keep-
ing as long as you stay in uba

“My sister," he said, in continuance, “is at

l present stayill r with our aunt, who lives a little

way outside t 10 cit . She has been there dur—
ing in absence in I. Soon as We have
cleare our things tllro h the custom-house,
we shall run out there, p -k her up—then on to
Batabano.”

The formidable duam done and our im i-
menta laced in charge of acmnisario, be
forwar ed to the railwa station, we leaped ill—
to a “volante,” and tween its two huge
wheels were soon rolling through the suburbs of

vana.

Once out into the open country the subject of
field-sports again came up, the rural scenery

suggestmg’ it.
‘ can promise no big gnme,” said the Creole.
“As you are doubtless aware We have neither
bear or deer upon the island. Indeed, our only
indigenous quadru leds are the harmless little
agonti, and 8. animal of the caniivorons
kind. But the Spanish pig has gone wild in our
woods, and you may meet boars as fierce as
those of your European forests, or the Indian
jungles. In the absence of nobler quarry We
can attack the scaly alligator, or the crocodile.
We have both species in the swamps of the
southern fibre. And in Batabano bay there
are mmtees, the mermaids of the old naviga—
tors, to whom you can make love with your
breech-loader. If that betoo tame I could treat
you to a chase more exciting. What say you to
a man-hunt?

“A man-hunt; Your meaning, Don Mari-
ano?”

“Exactly as I say, without changing in
words or m an way-.1 their sense.
veritable bona amen—huh.

Had the revolution already broken out, and
was my host e ting me to take part in it“!

Before I co d further interrogate him, he
continued:

“Yes; a chase with bloodnhmmds, the game
human bein if no oes be.“ considered.”

Now I un ers ,and III say felt some-
what shocked at thotfizopo-L ‘ should not have
expected it from patriot—the
advocate o “ Cuba Libre.

I was relieved, as he laughineg continued:

“ I see you don’t feel inclined for such sport
as that; nor would I wish to indulge you in it.
Imlymidlooud'ondam‘ itisso. My
agen intownhasjusttoldmo severalof
my slaves have absconded during my absence.
Tho it is the custom among some of the
neigh rs to employ dogs in recapturing these
runaways I never did, and never inten doing
it. I or letting the fellows, who are
not contented with fin VB’their freedom
inthntmifthey fit. Mbereweareat
my math, and there is minder.”

A handsome counts} one, with flowered

in front, on a grand portaled en-

ce, the gate open. Inside this a young lady,
standing as if on the look-out for some one ex-
gated. Then as the volante turned in, running
ard it with arms outatmtched,‘thew soon
after enfolded around  Mariano’s neck, his
cheeks with achowcr of kisses that would

have given pleasure to us.
file, then, was the antuto Creole girl so
diluent fmmthodamsels of Europe, and not
to their standard. For my l‘Ert I liked her
£1“: ,and envied l Mariano the
first exhibition had of it.

When he said, introducing us, “My sister;
Juanita, this is a friend who is ing to be our
gasket ofive him welcome,” an she artlessly

h d of my hand, I trembled at the touch.
For In told me, “This lathe ideal for
whom have been searching—the woman whose
wkhes must rule mine for happle or misery,
for good or for evil. I felt I was in the presence
of my Fate. . ‘ ,

Be ore me stood-what seemed a ve Venus;
not like her of me u t e shell,
with trowel; of tha hue which t e auricomous
d e of modern da 3 can easily counterfeit. But
nytherea as she s ould be in a southern clime,
with the complexion becoming; skin with a
tinge of golden brown, cheeks as red as grena-
dines, teeth like strings of pearls icked up from
her native seas, and hair as the p umage of the
tropic bird that soars proudly over them. Idle
to attempt describing the charms of Juanita
Aguera. Jealous of them I would not if I
could. Gazing upgn them, no.10nger thou ht
of the chase, or e sort of game freq ’

Cuban mvers. I would not now have you
up thatshootlng excursion to Batahanof 111‘ '

l .,i
,i' ..

      

,fM...~_‘_ V_ . , pinion  ., >1 -_ "

 

No.2.

the grand quadrupeds that roamed around our
American prairies. or African karoo—not to
has all the bulfalixns, clands, and elephants in
the world,

\Ve spent the remainder of that day, with
the night following, under the roof of the Na, a
hospitable old lady of the brocaded type, who
carried a bunch of keycs a [a cliafclui'nc.

Next morning we were driven to the railway
terminus at Havana. and there booking for Bat-
:ibano, \veresoon gliding along the cumino dc
Ii i'wro. amid scenes which made it worth while
liceping the curtains drawn aside.

To a native of Northern lands a railway
train running through tropical scenery is
suggestive, giving rise in singular trains of
“1011mm indeed almost ludicrous. Steam, the
symbol of modern civilization, appears altogeth~
cr out of place among palm trees. And as its
smoke curls up through these feathery fronds,
one cannot help an idea of something like dese-
cration. It is as if Nature‘s fairest forms, and
choicest handiwork, Were being sacriliced to the
spirit of utilitarianism—put to a baser purpose
than was originally intended.

Some incongruitv. also, in seeing railway
oilicials. with purely Spanish features. and hear-
ing a guard interrogate as he draws open the
carriage door.

.\\\ v \V
 \.
y .

“ I’or Guiuez, senores f"

l
l

 

Then as he claiigs it '

to, adding, “Todos pow Ifilhl’ulnorimis I‘d/Hus!" ;
After clearing,r the barrios of Havana. we ,

passed many pretty villasdthe rural retreats of
the City ai‘istm'racy. Then

succeeded coffee ‘

plantations, and tobacco farms, with here and ,

there an ingcnio, its tall steam chimney telling
where sugar-cane is crushed and its sweet sap
boiled to crvstallization.
g/randc of the planter, its avenue of approach
shaded by rows of loyal palms—the ()I't'mlul‘a
’I'l'lllu. -

’assiiig Uuincz station we crossed the divid- ‘

iiig ridge or backbone of the island: the terrain
thence gradually descending to the shore of the
Caribbean sen. Here the evidences of agricul—
tural industry are rarer. plantations further
“Part; till at leu'rth the iron horse gallops on
through thick primeval forest. the smoke from
his nostrils ascending among the branches of
rreat fig trees' ('L'lfl‘t’lllS and ('aobus, better

uowu as inaho rauv.
soured, asthoufi
a tunnel. Looking out you behold huge tninks.
each with its arrav of parasitical plants roped
together like the rigging of a ship. Many are
magnificent orchids, with flowers ully expand-
"‘l1 Often hangingr so close to the carriage win»
(lows yiiu may hook them with the handle of

Inside, the carriage is ob ‘
i the train were passing through ‘

Beside each the cusa ‘

Among the Mangroves.

gays that in Uovent Garden Would command a
fabulous price.

For a time the novelty held me entranced.
Anywhere an ardent admirer of silvan scenes,

in the tropics my admiration amounts almost 1

to worship, and hall I been alone with Don
Mariano he Would have found me a fellow—trav—
eler of few Words. 1 should have continued
silentlv gazing out till my senses Were surfeited
with the beautiful in Nature.

lint inside was the beautiful in flesh and
blood, and for once Nature was robbed of my
adoration, or received only the lesser share.

Batabano was at length reached, the terminus
station of the railway. To carry it further in
that direction were to rim it into the Caribbean
Sea.

19

There were corals, red, like Juanita‘s lips. bi-
valves of pearly hue, bleached to the whiteness
of her teeth. Then the path would suddenly
plinige into shadow, dark as her hair, with the
flies—great cwugos—fiittiiig about to syniboliZe
the Ilamcs of her eyes.

Uur road lay along the shore of Batabano
Bay. southeast ward from the town. Some ten
miles to travel before we could arrive at our
destination—the house of Don Mariano. Long
before reaching it, we were riding through land

‘ that was his; dense forests, here and there alr
‘ icrnating with savaunas.

No grand city Batabano, only a small seaport ‘

with open rights appertaining supported by a
coasting commerce, now an t icn a stray
schooner from some other of the Antilles or
South American main. Once a dangerous port
for such craft, either to enter or stand out of—
whcn Lafitte cruisied out from Barataria, and
Kidd, with his cruel )irates, had their he -
quarters in the Isle of ’incs.

The duanu, with other public buildings. some
houses of a better kind wlonging to officials.
with a scattered surrounding of palm—thatched
huts, constitute the port and puebla of Bata—
bano.

{\

".x.

* r»;

x/4

“'e made a short stay in the place: only long
“llilugh t0 80“ our trunks out of the railway—
station and into a carreta, having a couple of
mules attached. Don Mariano had taken the
precaution to send on instructions the day be—
fore; hence the wheeled vehicle for our luggage.
with three saddle~horses for ourselves, found
awaiting its.

Mounting, we rode away. and were soon
again amidst the wildest wood scenery. A vir—
gin forest, scarce deflled bv the stroke of the
wmxhuan’s ax. For the path we Were pursuing
did not deserve the name of a road~only an
open track between the trees, arcaded over with
palms, whose smooth trunks looked like the sup—
porting columns of some grand temple, their
curving fronds forming the concavity of its
donie.

As We ('llllt/(‘I'Ul along throu rh the sWi-ct silr
van scene, I could not helpt inking how the
(‘reole girl became it; or. rather, how it became
her, for she, seemed the primary object, its di—
vinity. the scene designed for her decoration.

Such was my thought—the reflection formed
in my heart. Yes, it had come to this.

At intervals the forest flashed open and we
caught gliin uses of the sea and its shore. BitC
of beach Wit 1 sand that looked likesilver lillll'CF.
mixed with the dust of rold. strewn with she ls

 

your ilmbmuu. or reaching forth gather nor-2*. L that showed all the iridescent-c of the opal. L

At length an opening appeared before us,
showing cultivation. Vast fields covered with
bushes. sct in quincunx and shaded by tall
trees. The bushes bore berries. which gave out
an aromatic odor; they were those that, when
burnt and ground. furnish the beverage of our
lircaki’ast-tablc.

We had entered a cafctul, and were riding
among its rows.

Soon a house. came in sight: the dwelling—
ilace of its pro irietor. Not an humble hut—a
lthl'lF—as Don ariano had modestly charac-
terized it—but a mansion oi’ imposing appear—
ance, with grand gate entrance. and avenue
leading ii i. the latter arcaded by double rows
of the pillmu real.

(‘learly an establishment of the first class of
cuji'litlcs, with hundreds of slaves at work in

 

THUS INSPIRED, 1 RL'SIIED IN AMONG THE MANGROVES, AND COMMENCED CLIMBING OVER THEIR AERIAL Boers—Page :33.

the llt‘lds. and at least a score of household Scr
vants inside and around the casa grunin at the
head of these a major-(Iona); waiting to receive
us. with a staff of stable—grooms standing r lady
to rclich us of the horses.

Inside a large dining—room, with table set. the
dinner served as soon as we could change toil
cttes to sit down to it.

A repast followed. proving Don Mariano‘s
words. when he spoke of a poor hospitality,
wide away from the truth. Instead of the
starved and stinted bachelor he had prm-laiincd
himself. the viands on his dinner—table. with
the various vintages interspersed, showed him
to bc a sort of Cuban Lucul us.

 

Six days s )cnt as in Paradise. shooting excur-
sions throng the tro )ical forest. and along the
shell-strewn Shores 0 a southern sea—-the beau-
tiful Caribbean: these varied by rides around
the coffin]. accoin )anied by its owner, eloquent
on the qualities 0 his cm is: more pleasantly
varied by strolls afoot witlli a fair companion,

under the shade of orange trees and i'Ol'oZo
palms; listening to the cooing of doves. the song
of the Cuban thrash, and the cries of the red
cardinal, listening to that sweeter than all. the
voice of Juanita Aguera.

Ni-Vcr sweetrr than on that day, when at eve
wc two wcrc straying through a copse of caimis

 

  

 

frag: New York Library.

‘_.—w~-——u~—.-_.. .. .. ._ . . _.

'..e um: 

~~~ » ~  p?

 

tos. I was now in love with her to the deepest

depths of my soul—a firesion that unreci rocat-

ed would consume. at day I intend to de-

' clare it despite all fear for the issue. Soon I

must return to Havana. Was I to go back hap-

.' {gram bearing a broken heart? must now
W

 

The hour a peared propitious, and just then
there chanc

a circumstance that looked like .

 

' . . , theforeshadowingof afavorable fate. From our 1
i 234 h -- Seth sprung two palomitas, the beautiful little .
t 7' 0

ves of the Antilles—very mannikins among
, I v the Columbidle. They flew only a short dis-
w‘ \ tance, then settled down on the branch, where
 they sat, side by side, close together, cooing and
kissing. They did not seem at all scared at our
 intrusion nor attempt to flit further away, but
AH ; still continued their caresses till we came almost
- 3",," near enough to touch them. They appeared to
‘ " ' know that we too were wooin !
We stop and stood gazmg at the pretty
lovebirds—types of the fondest, purest affection
V ——for their behavior was emblematical of what
wefelt. I was sure of it on my own side, though

 

    
    
    
  
     
      
   
  
   
   
    
  
      
  
   
    
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
   
 
 
    
 
   
   
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
    
  
    
  
       

' i changed between us, I could answer for both.
' were:
“ You see those doves, senorita?”
H I do. ’7
“ Have you any thought concerning them?”
I “Have you ’i"
; ~ it Yes.”
“ What is your thought, senor?”
“ That I should like to be one of them.”

' . “What a ar fanc ! To wish yourself
a omita! W tasingidar fanc l”
‘Only on condition 0 some y else being
the same.”
“Who else?”

“The Dona Juanita Aguera.”
V receiving any response from her, whose
cheek flushed red at the speech, I was compelled
. tocontinue, which I did in bold inte tive.
Itwae notthe time to talklongerinemgmas.
I ein’iply said: ,
‘.‘ uanita, tu me amasf”
f‘ Yo ta amo,” came the answer, without fal-
tering or reserve.
Thu Were our hands joined, the flushed
cheek fell over on my breast, permi me to
pm lips sweeter than the honey of Hy la.

. The seventh day of my soonurn at the cafetal
was to be the last; businem had too long neg-
v looted uirin my return to Havana. On
1‘ that da wo have preferred leaving field-
sporb acne, but myhoet tem tedmethh an
offer to go flaminthooting. me two miles
off, in the swamp, was a breetliliEg- lace of these
birds, of which I much,

though our several excursions had not
seen any of I was namrall desirous to
geta shot at game which rarely f to the gun
of‘ I sportsman. Besides, I wished to procure
4, , kins of these gigantic curlews m their

’ z: Erma-colored umag good specimens of
 e shops 0 the taxidermists,

. as ontheshelves of natural history collections.
also, some ambition to see my name
onaplinth belowthe mounted birdin

' Ila ’blic museum.
or these reasons I with less reluctance,
lto spend my

 

lded'to Don Marianols

I  havoc among e flami oes.

' As roostwasbutashortrideromthe
-cafetal,we could do all the

intended
_ I. ‘ audbeheck foran early dinner. the even-
a 1,. ingl'shouldmake amendsfor aheen ' myself

from her whose com y was now more

planimnt than an flel rte. '
« Biddingthemgtremmhe mansion “adios,”
with the more’cheerful tag, “hastala tarde,”

I We were setting orth,
-'-'rodeup to the house, and drawing Don Mariano
" aside,.engaged him in conversation. Though in
sotto coco, it was of an earnest and serious na-
‘ture’ , as I coulf b: tell by the excited looks and
0

th.

. .fI‘heir dialogue ended, the horseman rode
 rapidly away as he had come, when Don Mari-
' ano, rejoining me, said:

w . “Senor I am very sorry I shall not be able
, togo with you. A summons unex ted calls

’ me elsewhere. But do not let it in rfere with
‘ , mu day’s sport. Gaspardo will glide on to
* ., ’- flamin oes, and you can 819. ter t em to

,3. our hearts content without any elp from me.
,‘ ' shallbe back before evening, in good time to

. you at the dinner-table. So now, adios,

i ; 'm,we’ve both just said to sister, hasta la

V. V Courtesy forbade me asking any explanation

 of my host. Indeed, he seemed as if he had no

‘ . tunetqgive it. Soon as saying good-(la , he

'  . ng mto his saddle, and rode hastily o , as

. emu to overtake the strange horseman,
y ou

, a of sight.
'  , 'l‘lrechangeof pro amme, with Don Mariano’s
, abrupt departure, ' not seem to me at all ex-
“ 1 true . I could even con ecture the cause.
i .- titties not the first time I seen strange
a. ,1. at the house coming and ing hur-
‘fledly,asoouriem. myownmin Ihadeet
down as messengers who brought commu-
' tionsimpbrtant as they wens mysterious.
j tanner they must have been, judging by

    
 
  
  
   
    
 
  

it was not till after some words had been ex- .

 

 

\

their effect 1:301: my host. I noticed several
times they d' urbed his equanimity of temper,
and knew that nothing could do this save some
grave cause. What should it be but Cuba Libre?

Indeed, he had as good as confessed to me it
was this. In return I gave him my heartfelt
sympathy. Nothing more could I at the time.
It was no affair of mine, and even had I wished
to embroil myself in the litical troubles of
the island, the business that ad taken me hither
would have been a bar to my wishes.

Of my host’s seemingly eccentric behavior, I
thought no more on that morning than on any
other, only as he rode away, something whis-
pered me that there was danger drawing ni rh
—an electricit in the moral atmos here of the
“ever faithfu island” that would) soon burst
over it in a terrible storm, its lightning the
flame of burning houses and plantations, its
Elligéiéier the roaring of cannon, its rain red

I had mounted my horse, as my host took to ‘

his. But chilled with a presentiment of peril I
could not account for, I lost all ardor for sport,
and hesitated about roceeding further with
the flamingo-shooting. 0 stay at home promised
pastime more attractive.

I sat reflecting, irresolute as to which course
I should ursue. Then it occurred to me that
Don Mariano might think it strange, my re-
maining at the house in his absence, more espe-
cially after having seen me in the saddle, ready
to ride off. He was not yet aware of the ten—
der relations established between his sister and

myjielf.

e sentiment of delicac decided me; and

giving heel to my horse, set forward, Gas-
flrst following, then spurring ahead to

guide me to the shootmg‘ -ground.
An original was the G 0, worth a
word or two of description. 0 common ve

be; either field hand or house-domestic; but the
oazadm' of the establishment, whose metra it
was to supply the table with game, combining
the hunter calling with that of the pescudor,
whenflsh were to form part of the menu. In
his own physical and moral man, even more of
a complex character. A big, broad-shouldered
mulatto, havin in his veins at least three sepa-
rate streams o blood—European, African and

Indian—with a dash of the devil to ve spice to

the compound. For all a good fe ow at bot-
tom, fearing God after’a fashion, but without

the slightest fear of man. Of his courage and
prowess I alread mm: By this time he
andIhadceaeedz3be gers,anditwasnot
the first occasion of our having gone hunting
without my host, suddenly summoned away, as
on that morning.

The cazador well knew the grmmd we de-
signed quartering; and familiar with the nest—
ing- lace of the flamingoes, conducted me

ht toward it.

As it was the season of incubation, we
htor ' tnotflndthebirds at home. At
tthevydreturned to their rooet,but our in-

tended t being by day there was a chance
of our getting disa poin .

So Gaspar o sai . ‘

This was a damper. Still, I should have
an opportunity of examining the nests of
these curious, l dogged waders, and so
adding a chapter my knowledge of their
natural history and habi .

While getting some new hints from the hunter,
who, like most gamekeepers, was a very Audu-
bon in ornithology, the lemon was cut short at
sight of a horseman ridingin the same direction
as ourselves.

We did not overtake him. Before we could
come up, he sheered off into a side-path, and
was almost instantly out of sight, disappearing
belliin $3M dgin b h in I

sin r rsonage 'u g yteg nce
had got of big. Stylishly dressed in an em-
broidered jacket of velveteen, with trowsers of
the same slashed along the seams- a scarf of
scarlet-co ored silk wound around his waist, its
ends hanging down over his hip. Alongside
them, a sword that dan led, its scabbard—tip
clanking againstspurs tha sparkled on his heels;
on his back a short gun, carried a la bandoh‘er,
and in one hand w at appeared to be a guitar,
in its case. ' . _

All this I saw at a glance; the same taking m
his features, as turnin out of the road, he look-
ed back over his shoul er. .

They were not such as to 've a favorable 1m-
preesion of him, but the con rary. Swarth and
sinister, their expression was not improved by
the shadow of a broad-brimmed hat pulled
slouchingly over them.

“ Who is he, Gaspardoi”

“ Only a goajiro, senor.”

“A ajiro! What is that?”

“ A ellow who drinks all day, and dances all

night; yet don’t own an but the clothes
on his back and the a nte tween his le .
Sometimes h horse and saddle are stolen, t e

which is likely enough in his case. I’d lay a
wager Rafael Car-rasco never came by his in an
honest wa .”

“ Ra Carrasco,» you call him?”

“Si, senor; and a bigger rascal isn’t to be

1..

i

met with around Batabano. Don Rafael he
svt'iyles himself, with the conceit of Don the De-

. He used to come swaggering about our
cafetal, till the master forba e him.”

“Why did he forbid him?”

“Caballero! if you promise not to betray con-
fidence, I’ll tell you.”

“ I promise it. You may speak without
fear.”
“ Well, then, it was because Carrasco had the

impudence—onl think of it—to make preten-
, sions to the Na uanita.”
“Indeed!”

I was deeply interested now.

“ In what way?” I- asked. “ Tell me the par-
ticulars, good Gaspardo.”

“ Well, senor, once at afiesta we had, he was
called on for 1. song. I Will say that, scoundrel
though he be, he can sin well, and play the
ban din to perfection. 0st goajiros can do
that, and make their own songs, too, if they
don’t the tunes. So what does my gentleman
. try but some verses he had composed himself,
or said he had, in praise of the senorita, describ-
ing her charms, as people said, too freely; then
winding up with words to tell her how much he
admired her. It was all up with him after that.
Don Mariano was very an about it, and told
him never to come near the ouse age.

in.”

“ Was the senorita herself angry?” I asked
makm an effort to conceal my emotion, as I
listene for the answer.

“Ah caballerol that I can’t say. Women
are such queer creatures. There are not many
of them who don’t like being fpraised, especial]
in poetry. Be sure thebesto themcanstomac l
a goodish deal of that. There was the Dona
Eusebia Gomez, the daughter of one of our
grandees, who went away with a goajiro, and
actually got married to him—all because he
sung cancwnes praisinfiuhner beauty and bright
eyes, and that sort of g. Oh, yes; in their
vanity, the muchachoa are
same, whether they be poor
ladies.”

much the
Is or rich

I confess that Gaspardo’s ungallant sentiments
ve me Wg thoughts I should not
ve ente . Something more than mere
curiosity counseled me to question him further:
,“ When did all this occur?”
“As I’ve said, senor, at the fiesta. We have
oneeveryvyearafterthega inofthe
. ' hen the c

ooeecha oflee-cropis stored the
customisto eafeastinhonoroftheev’ent,
with and dances, to which eve -

body asked. _ eone I’ve spoken of wast e
last we bad, Just before Don Mariano went
away to travel in your country. All the time
he was gone, the Mac, as you may know, has
been staying with her aunt at Hav’ana, and of

course, nothing has hagened has b
“m C” 1 “90 Y

“ Then. I p ,
this time relin his aspirations?”
“ Quen sabe For that matter, he might as
well. Such as he tothink of matching with a
ladylilm the Dona Juanita Aguera! It
would be as modest in me to he the

alcalde mayor of Batahano.l But for all

that, one can’t tell what Rates may
be up to. He’s got has for any ' and'be-
sides, the deceit of Satan himself. {don’t be-

lieve there’s a greater picaro along all thiscoast;
and if re rt speaks true, he’s in secret league
with con bandistos, slave-dealers, and all such

sorts. ’Twas only last week one of our people
sawhiminthecom yofElCocodrilo.’
“El Oocodn'lo! ' 0 ma he be?”
“ What, senor! on don’t ’ El Cocodrilol”
“Indeed I don .”
“ And have you never heard of him?”
‘ ‘ No—never. ”

, .
“grimy,” that’s strange. I thought every-

“ oueee I’m an exce on,”

“Well, I’ll tell you. e’s a runaway slave——
a black man, who once belonged to master.
But as he was a bad sort, Don Mariano sold
him to another planter a nei hbor, from whom
he soon after absconded. t was several
years a3), and ever since he’s a cimman'n, not
one of em able to catch him. Yet he 'ves
them every chance, as ou might think. ere
isn‘ta week gasses wit out his bein heard of
on some of t e plantations making ove to the
ne wenches and robbing their masters right
an left. Several times they’ve got up hunting-

parties, and set their ho u n his track—
heir very best bloodhounds. S ‘ he continues
to baflle them all.”
“He must be a clever scamp, this Cocodrilo.
, But why is he so-called?”

“Ah! that’s partly on account of his being
k-pitted- which, as you may suppose, makes
Bikeskm look a little like that of a ca an, or
crocodile, Besides he’s a. big, ungaixill‘y fel—
low, as thew. ut I think e’s got the name
more from ' hiding in the crem' as, where the
animals have their haunts. By e way, senor,
this is the very swamp where they say he se-
cretes himself. It is called La Zapata, and ex-
tends for ever so far along the shore. We are
just now passin the place where he was last
seen by one of t e field-hands of our plan. $10!!-
It was where the goajiro was seen alon with
I hnn, the two talkin earnestly together. 3 That
i was last Sunday mg t—less than a week ‘ ago.”

/
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.' .V ’V»:...‘.“:; 7‘ '._ ‘. ‘ '8‘, I ~ f.| :;
, ~ Among the Mangroves.

 

“ Sugxros'e ou and 'I shouldcome across him
now. uh? you be afraid, Gas 0?”

“Not I, senor. I the you on’t rate my
courage so cheaply. raid of El Cocodrilo!
On the contrary, I’d just like to set my e es
upon his ugly image and if I do, I’ll soon a ter
have my hands on him I’ve m If some old
scorestosettle with that scaly gen leman; and if
ever he comes into my clutches, the ’11 have no
need afterward to put bloodhoun upon his
trail. He’ll make no more tracks except thOSe
between where I get hold of him and the jail of
Batabano—carajo, no!" _

“Well, if we should fall in with the formida-
ble fellow, you may depend on me, Gaspardo.
I’ll do what I can to assist you in carrying out
your intentions. Not because of his being a
runaway slave, but the wicked character-you
describe him. Besides, as you say, he is your
personal enemy.”

“ Mil gracios, senor.”

We reached the roosting- lace of the flamin—
goes, and as half-apprehen ed, found no birds
about. The were absent, no doubt, on some
other rt 0 the shore, where shell-fish and the
small— ry on which they feed were more plenti-
ful.

I saw scores of their curious nests, truncated
cones, on which the sit or rather stand, with
their long log st dled, during the period of
incubation. ey were empt now, but around
lay the shells of the hatch eggs, and many
feathers cast at molting; Iobserved much, be-
sides, that should have interested me, and doubt-
less would, had I been in the humor for ornitho-
logical inquiry. But I was not. The fear felt
in the morning was still 11 n me—a shadow
over my spirits I could not e off.

t forced me away from the memo of the
Long—legged waders, without staying t eir re-
urn.

While riding along the swamp edge, on our
Way back to the cafetal, Gaspardo parted com-
pany with me. He he ged permission on the
plea of visiting a frien , who had his dwelling
near by and e him on some business be-
tween themselves. ,

I now knew the way, there was no longer
need for his guiding me, and he said he would
be at the cafetal almost as soon as myself—cer-
tainly before his master, Don Mariano.

I had become attached to the yellow-skinned
cazador, and was only too glad at being able to
oblige him, by granting the leave solicrted. So
we separated wrth a mutual “hosted Inc a,” as
Enovzed on, Gaspardo shouted after, “ a con

ros

.1 had barely lost s' ht of him, his voice still
ringing in my ears, w en another sound saluted
them. At first I fancied it to be the sough of
the sea, caused by the breaking of the surf along
the. shore. I had. heard this at intervals while
riding along. But it was now at too t a
distance, and could not be that. It was not
the h in some  The noise I
h 'was softer, and more smoothly resonant.
des, it came from above. Turning my
e esu ward, I saw what was causing it. The
b no s y was enameled by scarlet spots—great
birds, with their ' extended in flight—the
flamingoesl No don t the flock we had failed
to find at their roost, to which they Were now
on return.

They were gm over my head, and at
least a hund yards vertically distant.
But my breech-loader was charged with swan~

shot, and sudden] checking my horse,
I raised the my shoulder and let
be bothbarre into the thick of the flock. A

sh scream was the response, continued as the
fla ' flew on faster than before. Consid-
eringt tdistance, I took it forginde
had ' e reins,

them and again 
' was about to ride on. ust an I saw that one

had as rated from the rest, and was gradually
going own. With some experience as a s rts-
man, I knew from this tha some of my 9. 1
shot must have penetrated the body of the bird,
tou ' it in a vital .

The p where I pulled up was a 
of open ground, on one side a forest of wi]
mangoes, on the other the mangrove swam .
Two very different kinds of trees, especially 6-
testedb theCubanplanter, ashethinksof his
cunrnarivn slaves. For in the fruit of the former
the runaway flnds sufficient sustenance, while
the latter 'ves him a refuge beyond the reach
of utilie bl ourfiéins. th

e flam' me e as; and
having careufgolly marked it dew-11m out
of the saddle, tied my horse to a tree, an start-
ed to retrieve it.

The disappointment of the day made me all
the more anxious to get the game I had shot-—
not liking to return with an empty bag. Be-
sides, the flamingo that had fallen was evident-
1y an 91d gander, of a doe scarlet to the tips of
fitfll-feafihers. not a wt' one visiblehin 1til:

ry umage. Wha a grand tro
skin woul‘d be mounted inamuseumei2 my
nama underneath: Presented by Ca min —
.._._; shot on the shore of Batabano g, Chiba.

This Inspired. I rushed in among t a man-
groves, and commenced climbing over their

 

A si r forest form these trees of the effort to reach term flrma, first tacking one \

genus r iza m. In their growth
some resemb

on see no large trunks—only

the und, but supported on a tangle

of rgrotts gnarled and pointed like the le of
rustic chairs or the limbs of gigantic spi ers.
These netrating the mud leave open spaces
under he overshadowing trunks; a labyrinth
of aisles and avenues, hrough which crawl
countle crabs and hideous creatures of saurian
s pe' amon others, the cayrnan and croco-
dile—for bot species of these gigantic reptiles
are indigenous to the island 0 Cuba. The
trees of the order rhizapora are not all of one
kind. There are many species of man ove
along the coast of tropical countries, al per-
forming the same office in the economy of na-
ture, reclaimin the land from the grasp of the
surgin sea, an staying the latter in its contin-
ual a mpts at encroachment. Along their
outer solved 6, where the mud becomes exposed
at ebb tide, hey fling out roots from seeds still
within the peric , and adherent to the
branches like the ntacula of an octopod
grasping a victim at each influx of the tide.

The mangroves thus constantly addi to
the ground they ave already med in irne
form a forest belt often miles in readth, stand-
ing in the soft mud over which man can not
make way except as a 'monkey, by swinging
himself from tree to tree.

Into such a jungle had 1 entered to retrieve
the shot flamingo.

Clutching the stems, and springing from root
to root, I ke t on, in hopes soon to rest eyes on
the beautifu bird.

I had not gone far when I heard a rustling
noise, as of some one moving off before me.
Guided by the sound, and drawing toward it,
I caught sight of a man, like myself making
way among the man oves. A huge negro,
naked from head to £00 , not so much as a rag
covering his jet—black skin.

I did not at first think it so strange; sup-
posin him to be some slave from the cafetal,
who had been taking a dip in the sea—the
water of which I could just perceive shining
through the bushes beyon . But, on advancing
toward and hailing him, I was surprised at his
behavior. He neither answered the bail nor
showed any disposition to await my coming up.
On the contrary, he went off like a wild animal
startled from its hair and glliding over the
roots, far faster than I, soon isaagpeared from
my Sight. From the limpse I h of his face,
as once or twice he ooked back, I could see it
was hideously scarred, as by some cutaneous
disease—the worst kind of varioloid. Remem-
be ' G ardo’s descri tion of El Cocodrilo,
I co d not doubt but tha chance had given me
a peep at the formidable cimman'n. Havin
no desire to come up with him I turned bac
and took the direction I had hitherto been fol-
lowing in search of the flamingo.

By fortune, I found the bird though it
was t e merest accident. For, after losing
si ht of the water and a in getting into the
thick of the trees, I lost bearing of the place
where I had seen it settle down. Screams
which I presumed to proceed from its throat
guided me to the spot. Instead, they proved to
be the cries of the caracara eagle, two of which
were in the act of quarreling over a quarry
tth'l had not killed.

6 flamingo was quite dead, lying with its
win extended like a scarlet shawl spread over
the ranches, w ' e its lon neck, wei hted with
the h , curving mandib es, dang] down be
neath t e body.

Fortunately, it had not fallen into the slime,
so as to il its lumage for the taxider-
mist. Care ully  t for transport, I
commenced returning on my tracks.

Tracks! There were none. What mattered
it? I could make my way to the shore in the
shortest direction.

80 thought I at starting to go back. But my
confidence uickly changed to uncertainty, and
soon after apprehension. In less than five
minutes after bagging my bird, I was wander-
ing amid the maze of mangroves, helpless as
would have been the flndin of Fair Rosamond
without the silken clue. rid in five more I
came to a stop with a dead heaviness at my
heart as one fee on becomi sensible that he
has strayed from the path an got lost. Not as
one on a common highway, or amid fields of
claim, but in the shadgw of ahtlrackless forest or
teopen expanseo a ess rairie.
not for an hour, or a defied; a nig t, but in all
probability for days, nights, and hours that
may end in death.

I did not at first fully realize the seriousness

of the situation, so little did it affect me. I
made no attempt to call out or in any way sum-
mon ce.
Indeed. to have done this would have been
idle, as I afterward learned when the full fear
came over me. Then I called loud enough to
frighten the caracaras, with no use save
their screams. These, resounding t rough the
mangroves, resembled the laughter of maniacs
mocking_my despair.

For this was-new on me. I had made every

\

bearing p _.

co to the banyan, except that 1 better, likeasloth, swinging m self from branch 

stems of several ; to branch and root to root, 5

inches thickness, not springing directly from *
trestle

l

 

 
    
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
    
   
   
   
    
   
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
    
  
   
 
 
  
  
      
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
  
   
   
     
      
     
    
  
  
   
     
   
    
   
  
    
  
  
     
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
    
   
   
   
 

way, then another, as appearances romrsed

in vain. I came
ugpn places where the bark showed abrasions,

w ich on scrutiny provedto have been made by ‘ ‘
my shooting boots. I was but re ' on my ‘1 . .
own tracks, swinging round the circle. With a a

clouded sky there was no sun to give the direc-
tion. Icould not have taken it if there had
been. For, before entering the 'ungle, I had
not taken note h0w the shore tren ed.

For several hours I kept clambering about,
till the increasing gloom amid the umbrageous
branches of the mangroves Warned me that

‘ ht was near. - : 

ust then a dark object attracted my atten- ‘ ‘V  ;'
tion, and I turned toward it. Drawing near, I L. 
saw what looked like a haystack set upon piles.
Advancin toward it I discovered it to be a
shed or ar r; no fre of vegetable nature, but
the work of human hands. There was a floor
of wicker llianos, warped and twined among the ‘
tree roots; above a canopy of leaves, thevbroad ‘. .
blades of the wild banana. Three sides were in- ._
closed with the battle of sipos; the fourth open,
giving admission to the interior. 

Springing u to the wicker stage, I found‘ 7-1 
myself amid o jects that told of human occupa— . . .»
tion, though the occupant was not at home.
There was a hammock swung between the stems, --' - :
sulfiporters of the roof; an from the last de- . y
pe ded strips of Chili peppers, onions, and
clusters of ripe plantains; while in one corner - » :.
stood a basket of sweet potatoes, and a second
containing oranges, mangoes, cherimoyas, alli-F

gator , and a variety of other fruit—a cor- .
nucopia of trofpical productions. . .3 ,
Suspended rom a limb outside 'was a huge 3’“-

ano-lizard skinned, disemboweled, ready for
t e spit. at it could be broiled there was \
evident, from the embers of a fire smoldering ’ 
on a mud hearth, in the center of the ' . '
I had no need to conjecture as to w t all”
this meant. Soon as seein the but so strangely
situated I could tell it to e the refuge of some
runaway slave—the home of some hunted mar"
roon. \ r ‘i.v.
And who else could its owner be than him I T.  .
had seen scamperi off—the dreaded Cooodriloi s  .-
IwasassureoftisasifIhadmetthepock- -j e'
marked man upon his own hearth, and been ini‘ ”- 5“;
vited to partake of his hosipgtality. j \.
Vividly recalling his 0 racter asGaspardo-.- ‘ ]
had given it, I had no desire to. finder the  x
cumstances, an interview with him might not 7 ~.
end amicably. Perhaps he would resent intra- .
sion on his solitary domain' and be disposed to -:
punish the intruder. , c. v
Reflecting thus, with my eyes on the saurian“ , *
suspended outside, its form fearftu suggestive (7'
of a human being h and flayed, I remained ~ - '
not an instant longer under the roof of the run-s

awa .
I End now better he of beinfiaable to 110-, 
gain the shore; for, alt ough the ' that! '71.
nearly gone, still in the dim twiliggt could 
distinguish something like a path along the ' ‘
tangle of roots. Whitish spots showed Where 3;
their bark had been trodden off by the hard, »,
hornysoles of a negro’s feet. ' i ; 
Alon this I started, continuing on forseverhl 2, j.» "e
hun yards. Then the ni ht came downp.  3s;
dark as a pot of pitch; and could no more .\ '1 3';
make out the blazes. To proceed further would : I 3.4
only be to get strayed again—perhaps with lea  ’7,"
chance of ultimate success. I ’
At thought of this, I desisted froman further
attempts, and resolved to stay among the man-
groves till morning. , l . ’ ,
To make myself as comfortable as the cirarmef‘ » . --'
stances would permit, I selected a when
the roots were thickly matted, and re laid: '1
myself along like a steak upon a gridiron. 2“)
before co ' sleep I tookthe motion” ‘3',
buckle my hun ' -belt£round age-rich attire: ’- ..
sametimeattac' it mybody. OtherWiseI' :-
might roll overinto he mud and furnishthecay: 1‘ 

 

mans with a midnight m The 'tion was 3 .. "
irksorne enough to say nothing of her siding“ o  ‘
the musketoes that swarmed in in ' ‘

me. A mangrove swamp is the place toflnd 
these noxious insects in their most W‘
v1 or. ,. . 1‘
ut the fatigue consequent on over two hours

of constant tree-climbing, alo with a 'strain' ,
of mental anxiety throu out the daly, had ‘ 
quite overcome me, an I at le yie dad @-
irresistible slumber. How long was _ :3?

scious I could not tell till afterward. en,  -
taking stock of time, I knew it must have ~
an hour.  it, I was the preyto ‘ ‘ '
dreams, and had earful visions presented-to v
sliunbering senses. In these figured my
Don Mariano A‘gnera, and his fair sister. now
my fiancee, she ike an angel, with a luminous
aureole over her brow, but beneath 8 counts:

nance 1y ‘d
splendidly
With

» 9.‘
'J..’

herwere two evils, one
with a look of Lucifer, t e other
blacker, a sort of Vulcan, '_
2”” or ’“bywefiymoti’”
orge. course in e
have come from wfithmof
jirofthe second suggested by
ggzcriptmn of. the many slave.

1-’

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r'v .. .........i.....~..... .. n... .._ a.-. -u

d: ‘9. if  ",A":‘.  \"fi‘

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ones, their satellites. Besides, my betrothed
appeared to be threatened and in danger. I
could hear her crying out: by name calling me
to come to her rescue.

I But I felt that I could not. I was fast bound,
unable to stir hand or foot.

Still I struggled, and this, with her continued
cries, awoke me. Ccrtainl I was bound, as I
found on awaking—buckle to the branch of a
tree. In that there was no ima ination nor in
the cries either. Only that ey came, not
’ from Juanita Aguera, but from the great gruya,
a species of , rigantic crane which frequents the
cicnegas of ‘uba.

' Released from the spell of my dream, 'et
scarce recovered from its unpleasantness, I ay
v' listening. For the cry of the crane had some-
thing in it different from its ordinary call.
Dunn the week I had several times encoun-
tered e bird, stalked and shot it, so becoming
tolerany well acquainted with its habits.

In a'second or two, it gave note again, clearly
a signal of alarm.

But now I no longer listened to it, for other
sounds, far more significant, had fallen 11 n my
I ears; beyond doubt human voices!

time I heard a scra

the trees—the swi. of bent branches in rc—
‘bound. Was it Cocodrilo returning to his lair
:; ’ , accompanied by a confederate? The moon had
meanwhile arisen, lighting p open spaces
among the mangroves. One 0
raised myself a sitting posture: and when

the‘silve
I forms. uman sha
their doings. For i
, ' - were engaged in something a Scotchman would

I ~ call “uncanny.”

Clambering over the tangle of roots, they
bore a burden between them. It was a thing of
oblong shape that mi ht be a coffin or a corpse,
looking more like the atter.

\ 7 6 piece of plunder abstracted from a
neighboring plantation, which the Crocodile is
dragging to his lair, so heavy as to need help.

s both, however devilish

‘ chey were carrying or care.
' whether they might see me.
should certainly be in some danger.

'. ,‘An encounter with the runaway were enough
.  ' of itself; ‘Too much to meet him in the com-

they did, I

lites, whose hands are a ainst every man

‘  x was of this color, caught just where I was, they
'  might take me for a hunter of them and treat

nieaocordingly.

If , ’quiek survey of the surroundin

‘ mothatI was safe, at least for the ‘me. The

, f‘spot I had chosen form uncomfortable couch

 V7,”,can0pied by 3 re ' g branches thickly

;, ,beeet with leaves. isplaced me in shadow

1,,
t" ‘~

'   ting they were transporting must have been
7“  indeed, and requiring delicate handling:
~ ‘ ,‘ article of value easily damang Ul'hi‘nkell.
  {is I was thus reflecting, t ie' had ad-
.5 VW to Within ten «:es of me. hen i saw
,’ their arms more distinctly, while fora moment
‘ the moonlight shining through a break in the
 ' foliage, fell upon their faces. 01' these I caught
‘ I a pee; but enough to make me imagine
. >3  asleep and dreaming, for their faces
, 1mexactly those that had fl ed in the phan-
t“, ‘ Igolv'itl. just disturbed—t e two chief de-

in the endeavor to identify them,

' no note of aught else till they were nearly

t of sight. Then 1 saw what startled me,

'. using my heart to beat doubly quick, while
, bloog ran cold in my veins. Somethin

t .

‘ ogked like a shawl or the skirt of a woman’s
, ' ,. ,Was it a women they were carrying?
.  ,_ [if so, was she liv' 2‘ or a corpse, an

w ' drapery its shrou —-its winding-sheet?
' an impulse to stalk after them and see;
more than mere curiosity. Indeed avery

' rehension as I recalled the scenes that had
cted me in my dream. Could it be ble
any of the other personages who ap—
~that one—Juanita Aguera—
IIoLuOI The sup ition was absurd—too
le. But for be excited state I was in ,I
' » v 3 not have entertained it for an instant.
' ‘¥.'.;,.An scarce a second did I, retu to my
* ei‘mer belief, that the Crocodile and ' con-
V te‘were engaged in the last act of a bur-

be a bit of contraband. Recalling Gas-

h  1 all. at least for night. Chance
4 ' . ,me to their - lace andif
we! “were. -° at “r
,, e a ’ o , or

. . ijxmommg), '. . ' p8 ,‘
’4 ' .. J ’

 

’ With these two demons-incth were 

At t osamc ‘
ing and scratching among ‘

these was close ,
' to where I sat' for I had now unbuckled and ;

beams slanted down, I saw two dark f

was evident to me they :

On seemg the two men I d1d not think of what ,
Milt thought was ;

I , , y of another—Perhaps also a cimmarin like
  These ugitives from justice, or it:
’ may be injustice, are often desperate men, very ,

Who chances to have a white 5 'n; and as mine ,
Satisfied "

I' so. that a man might be within six fee ‘
ft? Mme. Assured of this, I sat still '

and’watched them as they made way. Their ‘
‘ was slow and apparently toilsome. The ,

raped down below their burden. t .

the '

I
e nt sentiment; with something of fear or I

about to secrete the stolen goods, or it i
,Q’ieaccount of the goajiro, the last seemed ‘
w probable. , ' ;
tion, I concluded to leave the robbers i

With the moon now shining clear, I fancied I
mi ht find my way out of the mangrove swamp,
all he easier from having noticed the direction
from which the two men had approached me
coming from the land side.

An thing was better than staying there to
be ea n b the zancudos.

I started, and for a time succeeded in keeping
the track. Slowly, as I had to examine the
roots with great care in order to discover the
spots where the bark had been abraded.

Withal, I again ot oil? it, becoming wildered
and finally lost as fore.

I was looking for another place fit to re
upon, when, lancing a little upward I be eld
an illuminate s t in the sky. It was not the
moon nor any 0 her satellite stars. The li ht
was of that reddish yellow easily distinguis a—

! ble as the glare of a conflagration.

l Since it was not probable this would be in the
E midst of the mangroves, nor possible on the sea,
outside them, the fire, whatever it was, must be
i on shore.

 

and keeping on toward it, soon sprung down

from the network of aerial roots and stood on ‘

fcrra firma.
Scanning around mo, I saw I had come out on
known ground——almost the very spot I had fired
at the flamingo.
' Near by was the tree to which I had tied my
horse; and entering under its shadow I found
the animal still there just as I had left him;
on] like myself, terribly impatient, and bad-
ly ltten by the muskemes.

from the branch, and fiin ing the reins over his
neck, vaulted into the sa dle. I now knew the

way well, and in the clear moonlight could not '

again get strayed.

Putting the horse to his best speed, in less
than twenty minutes after, I had entered the
gate of the cafctal, and was riding up tothe

case.

No, not to the house. There was none there
now—only the walls of one, with the roof in
red blaze ascendin r to the skies. As I entered
the outer gate an looked u
tween the rows of royal pa

s, the s ace at

with the red re s of a con a ation.
l I did not nee telling that e torch of the in-
cendiary had been at work. Instinctiver I
v‘ knew it, Witha boding of misfortune far worse
than fire.

My own heart felt aflame, as I struck my

for the uming house. As I drew near, could
. see fl res flitting about—men and women,
their ark forms Seen in silhouette against the
. blazing background. I could hear their shouts
and ejaculations, all in tones of terror and dis-
tress. In a moment more I was in their midst,
scannin their faces, in search of two that were
white— 6 master of the burning mansion and
its oun mistress.
0 white faces there—only black and yellow
-—-the slaves and retainers of the plantation.
A man rushing up stood before me. In the
fire- low I recognize the cazador.
' lthout waiting to hear what he had to say,
I cried out:

“‘lVliere are they, your master. your mis—
CPI-55’"
“Gone! both one! Oh, senor, isn‘t it snilt" ‘

1"f'ronel 'lellllt era The giro!  does it
a! mean? e we ( as r1 o—quic l

" Per Dim: Caballero-pll cannot. I don't my-
self know. I ‘ot home only half an hour a 0.
Then I found t ings-just as you see them, on y
that the fire wasn’t so far on. We tried to stop
it, but couldn’t. The old house must 0 now.”

“Who has done it?” I asked mec anically.
Somethin whispered me I knew the man.

“ Well, be people say that soldiers came from
Batabano to arrest the master. It’s because his
% being one of the patn'ofas. By good luck he’s
t awa , and they hadto go back without him.
en la r, after it had got to be night, some
i others came who wasn’t soldiers at all but men
} in masks. It was them that carried 0 the sen-
orita, and set fire to the cm grande. It’s been
. burning ever since; and the pobrecita! Nobody
1 knows where they’ve taken or what’s being
I done to her.”

I knew the first. of the last ignorant though
, tortured with terrible apprehension. I had no
‘ doubt now that what I had seen between the
. Crocodile and Carrasco was the body of. my
l betrothed. Was she still living, or had they killed
‘ her, and what they carried was her corpse?

[ “Oh, God! oh, God!” I groaned 1n agony as
i the fell fear swept through my soul.

i “Gafliardo, you are brave. You would risk
i you; ' e to save that of the nina—would you
l not

“Ten times over. Only tell me how. Try
1 me senor, you shall see.”
‘ Get your and horse!”
“The are re. ,
I He pointed to the horse, that with saddle still
; on, stood tied to a rail.
‘Eour macho l”

“ ere on my . '
, “Meimt, then, and follow me i”.

The leaped into his saddle—I had not

.. , 4

9’

Making it my beacon, I started off afresh, .

A soft, satisfied ,
neigh expressed his delight as I drew the bridle I

the avenue be- ;

their further end was lit ug as in daylig t, only .

heels a ainst my horse’s flanks, and gallo d on ?

I

left mine—and we rode of! leav' the
flames behind us. - -~ ’ mg red
Back for the swam , La Zapata. '
In less than twen y minutes after we wer
iipfgnt its edge, at the place where I had lately
e 1 .

Dismounting, we made our horses secure
tying them to the same tree where mine had
passed most of the afternoon and mi ht. We
muffled them to prevent them neighmg. The
work we had to do called for caution, silence,
the stealthy tread of tigers.

On the. way I had told my companion all, and
‘ communicated my plan of action; which he ap-
proved.

We were going to enga c in a conflict with
two men strong as muse ves, to attempt the
rescue of a captive, and capture them as well.

ey were not likely to surrender without
showing fight. On both sides the struggle would
be for ife, hand-to-hand, and therefore desper-
ate. My brown-skinned comrade knew this, but
quailed not. I saw he was game tothe back-
bone, almost as eager as m self to enter upon
action. Besides the desire o rescue his young
mistress he had an additional sentiment to in—
spire him—the old standing spite against the
runawa '; as also a fresh feud with Carrasco,
who hat in some way insulted him. The double
vendetta would have secured me his co-opera—

1 tion with nothing besides. But I believe he
, would have ne into the fight through sheer
‘ love of it. e was addicted to deeds of daring

—seemed to court them for sake of the danger.

I had, therefore, no uneasiness about his
fiinching, or failing me. My only fear was our
not being able to get face to face with the
enemy.

Would it be possible to retrace my steps to
the hiding—place of the runaway?

This was the question that gave the most con-
cern. Less now that the cazador was by my
side. After I had told him all, he made light of
finding the way. He spoke as if he was ac—
quainted with 1 . In my zig- through the
tangle I had observed a tree tal er than those
I around it; not a mangrove though growing
among them. It was close to the refuge of ‘the
‘ runaway. I had made special note of this
with some vague anticipation it might afterward
‘ stand me in stead, if I needed it for a landmark.
The need had come sooner than I expected. It
“is no? r it to Gaspardo.

e o

“ know that tree well,” said the hunter.
“ It’s a mahagna that’s grown from a seed some
bird has dropped amen the mangroves. I re—
, member from having 5 ot a bird from it—a big
. harpy eagle that had rched on one of its
‘ branches. If that’s the p ace, I can go strai ht
to it, though it’s now many years since I 3 ot
the harpiy. Not so much matter about the tree
either, 1 y u can only put me on the th you
i of. When a man has scramb ed over
J ese roots, trust me for findin his footmarks‘,
I even if it’s only moonli ht. ave no fear, cab~
‘ allero! Lead on; and ow me where you came
3

l
1

out of the swamp.”
Looking to our guns to see that they were in
shooting condition, then slin g them over our
‘ shoulders. we entered among he mangroves.

Soon as l sot the cazador on the track. he
took the loud. leaving me to l'Onll' after.

He did not go fast. It was more important to
make sure of not. vetting strayed. Besides
there was the llo‘sPeSi-lltyof not making noisew
even the slightest. To guard against this we
had kicked off our boots before taking to the
trees; andtrodthe roots ourstoc .

We went well for some three hundr ards;
when, in spite of the cazador’s wonderfu skill,
we were compelled to use.

The moon had su denl dropped under a
cloud, leaving us in dar ness so dense we
could no more make out the scratches on
the roots. Thew'ere too slight to be distin—
guished in the o urity.

It was maddenin to be thus baffled. To me
every second seem a minute, every minute an
hour. For at such a time and on such a matter
every moment was fraught with fearful conse-

ences.

My fancy pictured Juanita, as she had ap-

d in my dreams, stru ling to esca from

e embrace of the fiendis brutes. O ! that
she could have called out: for now I might have
heard, and her cries guided me to the spot where
she was captive.

1 We listened, but could hear no sounds of hu-
1 man voice; onl ' the noises of the night, such as
l meet the ear in he midst 'of amangrove swamp,
{ the cans of the great southern owl, the me]-
3 anc oly cry of the Quabird the.“gluck~gluck ”
' of gigantic bull-frogs, and e bellomn of alli-
J gators. sounds consonant to our tuation,
‘ seeming to mock me in ‘my misery. For I was
i now wretched, despairing, in the belief that
: after all we should be beaten and haVe to
1 back leaving the captive unreleased. And,t e
I thought of such ca 'vity. It was too fearful
to bear reflection. turned to my companion
r in hopes of hearing some word to cheer me.
‘ But no, he only wh red:
' “ There’s no help or it, caballero, but by wait
5 till that cloud drives  If weattemgt to go
‘ on withOut— Ea! us that, y_ sit A

u .

1 ir‘

’- .  ’ -‘
‘ .‘tfflE-Ffizwfrj.u\t
'4 i.  W

 

R
r»

 

 

 

~.i_., ,.

1:.”- ,¢ .. . 1.

has; x .

 

.__.‘v-‘§"f'v.' . y,
, p I, , .,

. \‘
1i ht! Carramba! I hope it isn't the Farrel do

mblo!” .

I looked in the direction  out. Sure 
enough, there was a light, gleammg through the 1
leaves. And as I could tell by hi? I‘Qd glare, ,
coming from a reed-fire, and'not an tgmg amas- l
as the mulatto meant, calling It the evfl’s i
Lamp.” , _ .

Gazing at it, we became satisfied of its true 1
character; and as soon as resolved, we stole to- g
ward it. 

Gliding silently on we got within less than ten I
paces of the spot, then stopped to take breath j
for the final 3 ring, now near. For by this we 1
understood al,,'an(1 knew, to a certainty, what ‘
was before us. ‘

It was the shed of the fugitive slave. _

We had approached it by its open Slde, and
could see ever thing within. _ 1

A fire freshly kindled, was burmng on the l
hearth, beside which crouched the Croeodile
himself. He had the iguan in his gras ,an
was almost impaling it on the s iit. ,lvi cutly .
the lizard was to be the piece ( , resistance of
their sup r. 

On the iamboo bench were two forms seated I
side by side; one erect, the other drooping. The ,
upright re was that of the gay goajiro, the I_
bent one uanita Aguera. I could see that her ,
hair hun disheveled, and that her dress was .
torn to s . Also that her countenance was 3
sad, the cheeks wan, the lips pallid, the eyes
streaming with tears.

Seeing all this, I had a difficulty to restrain
in self from springing forward, and at once
e ecting the rescue.

.Prudcnce kept me back, an intuitive percep-
tion that her peril was for the time, past, and
that it might return if acted rashly.

We were still some distance from the stage
where the last act of this drama would have to
be enacted, beyond the bounds of a single \
spring. We must get nearer before attempting 1
to bring about its denoupmvnl.

While stealing closer, stepping from root to
root, rdo by my side, both silent as ocelots
approaching their pre , I heard the speech:

“80, senorita! W t think you of things .
now? Aha, Dona Juanita Aguera! I have you I
in my power and mean to keep you H the
cayman keeps the prey he has clutched; this
night you and I sha 1 sleep on the same couch.” .

‘No!" Icried, boundin upon the platform, g
unable any longer to hold tbee . Then, grasping '
the throat of the rufiian, Gaspardo simulta—
neously tackling the runaway, I continued:

“Surrender, Rafael Carrasco! If you resist,
your couch will be a bed of death!”

Never in all my life was I so surprised at the
effect of a_ speech. It was more ludicrous than
magical—like a farce following bad melodrama.
AntiCipating a desperate fight with the ferocious
maroon and the lgay goajiro, it almost made me
laugh to see the tter upon his knees, and hear
hlS piteous appeal tome for mercy; while the
former was praying in the same strain to Gas-

 

 

pa 0.

I left both to the tender mercies of the cam.—
dor, who roceeded to bind them hand and foot,
neither 0 ering the 81' htest resistance.

Then turning, I too the rescued captive in
my arms. ‘

As she lay upon my breast, her heart beating
time to mine. I knew she was safe. pure us'
When the day before. our lips meeting. she ro-
celved her first love-kins.

 

. We left the two criminals in the shed securely
tied, to be sent back for and brought to justice,
by the alguazils of Batabano. ‘

Then, returning over thotrestle of roots—my
afiianced more tenderly conducted than when ;

she went the opposite way—We ' ed the ;
aring my

shore, remounte our horses, she
saddle.

Back to the cafetal, but not there to stay. !
The casa. grandv was still ablaze, but the flames Y
were less bri ht, subdued for lack of fuel to l
feed them. he roof was fast falli in, the ‘
red rafters crashing down one after t e other.
To remain would have been to behold a smok—
mgvsmoldering ruin.

e did not, or but for a moment—only to
take a last look at the scene of desolation.

Then turning our horses’ heads, we rode on
for Batabano.

Next morni. , the first train of the ('amino '
dc hwrro cam us across the island to Havana;
and before the hour of almcrzo, Juanita A era ,
was safe] y lodged in the house of her tia, , too,
sharing its hospitality.

 

Before letting fall the curtain on this little
drama of Cuban life, it must needs be told what "
afterrgaairldpecame of the characters who have 

i . ‘
king the thieves first. left tied as told, they 1
were sent for as promised, and found as we had
lef'lt them.
ransferred from the frail - 3
shed to a stung-walled prison ’ ‘ thatched
Batabano—they were taken out of this tried, .
and condemned to death; returnedtothe jail, ,
andagainbroughttm-th, thesecondand last:
time; for execution on the scaffold. .
The after fate of the honest peopleisyet-in l

.t'.
._ -,?D,I.

; former or exhibitor of so—calle

' lin sack was seen I 'i

calabozo of ,

abe nce'th hitmaybesaid theuntutored
rah“ is‘é‘li

C e ' la girl under the protection of
her tiaglilh that pretty’suburban ' , outside

.
l

the city of Havana, and her brother is a n- =
era] in the Replil-ibhcan army, fighting the t ‘,

tles of “ Cuba
his side.

bre,” the brave Gaspardo by .

For myself—well, perhaps the less said the v

better; thou h I hope, at some day not distant,
to revisit vana, and possibly Batabano,
though I may not so much care again to go
flamingo-shooting among the mangroves.

 

A ConjureL’s Illusion.

IT was announced a few days ago that Hertz,
the conjurer, had promised to i'form .an illu-
sion more marvelous than anyt 'ng wlnch had
ever been done by any slei ht—of-hand per-
spiritual pheno-
The performer ste pod forward, carry—
ing a thick green , pro ably ten feet square.
The semi-circular s was covered With a
heavy Brussels carpet, and at the back between
the pillars were hung crimson curtains. The

rofessor said that he had heard it alleged that
lie had a confederate underneath the stage. and
to show that this was not true, he spread the
rug upon the carpet, satisfying the spectators
that it was uncut.

mena.

An unpa .
seventeen inches deep and Wide, was then car-
ried upon the stage and put down in the center
of the rug. It had a turnover lid, fastened at
the back with three common iron hinges, and
two stout iron has fitted to two staples driven
into the front of t e box. A few air-holes had
been bored through the top and Sides. The box
had been put to ether With clinched nails, the
ends being boun with sheet-iron. Three gen-
tlemen from the audience stepped upon the
stage at the professor’s request and havm

'ven the box a thorough examination, boun
it round and round in export fashion, tyinga
multiplicity of curious knots at every possx le
place. Even the rflie handles were made use
of, and the hasps, ter bein placed. over the
staples were securely fasten by takin a turn
through the latter. A narrow red rib n was
tied tightly about the first knot. and sealed with
sealing-wax. A canvas cover in the shape of a
Roman cross was placed around the box, and

rope, sealing the knot as in the other case. The
professor’s assistant, 9. full grown man, divested

‘ upon the sur ace of his sable epidermis. .
. wise he was black as ebony. ‘ q ..
'inted box, about two feet long and p

‘ plantation required him to be at home, and
‘ his shoulders been scored by the lash.

l the committee bound this around with another ,

lf of his coat and waistcoat, and submitted ,

to have a long tight-fitting sack of thin muslin
drawn over his head and y. .

Then, lying upon the box on his back, he
drew in his legs so as to enable the professor to
get 9. 00d grip . . _
commi tied this tightly With 1118 own hand-
kerchief, and it was further secured b another
piece of ribbon, which was sealed. ree com-
mon screens were then laced around the box
and the professor and is other asmstant and
the committee stepped aside. _
exactly. Two minutes later a tap mg was
heard; the screens were removed. an the mus-
em tv upon the box.
All the seals were lin ro en. he committee un-
tied the ro 'and lifted the lid of the box. and
the man w in had been tied in the sari" 5N1»
p“d out. liN’klllg non the worse PXL'%II for u
flushed face, of his close luarters. 1e sari"
having been untied, his ham erchief was found
in it.

in the seal, cutting the material, or ri ‘ the
seagma He disclaimed any spmtualistirg

 

Khivan _I’_roverbs.

Hi: who steadies himself between two ships
will certainly be drowned.

SHAME is worse than death. .

HE who weeps from his heart W111 provoke
tears even from the blind.

A LEAN horse and a hero in astrange country
each look amiss.

WHEN you 0 to law against the Emperor,

, God Himself s ould be the judge.

THE wise man strikes twwe against one and
the same stone. .

YOU may praise the Russian a thousand
times, but his eyes will still be blue (the reverse

‘ of handsome, according to Usbeg taste).

YOUNG men may die; old men must.

THE over-licking (flattering) tongue soon
makes a wound.

HE who fears the sparrow will never sow a
millet.

WHEN the ass bears too light a load he wants

‘- to lie down.

TEE ken word cannot again be swallowed.

HE $099 heart is full soon finds a loose
tongue. »

SMOKE rises only from large blocks of 'wood.

A LIVING mouse is better than a dead lion.

Hm whom God has marked . thO prophet
strikes with his wand. ,

\A GREAT heading many cam. _ ,

/.n ,

' would betray him?
on the open end. One of the ‘

. hound. .
This was at 9:30 i

The professor had in vain oflered $1,000 ;
to anyone who could take it out Without break— I:

‘ out “ m" or permission of any

 

  
  
    
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
   
   
    
    
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
     
   
 
     
   
    
   
 
   
  
    
   
   
    
   
    
      
    
  
     
     
   
     
  
  
   
    
 
   
    
      
    
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 

-w" '" .. " ' v. r - ‘. \ »" ’k ‘1. x ‘ ‘
f" ' :’\,. ' 
i

 

The Death-Shot. ‘  

CHAPTER VI.
A COOK—CHASE iNTERnUPTEn. . 

THERE is no district in theVSouthern States
without its noted coon-hunter. And, notedly, .‘
the coon-hunter is a negro. The pastime is too ‘
tame, or too humble, to tempt the white man. ‘
Sometimes the sons of “ r white trash " take _
part in it; but it is usually delivered over to the
“ darkey.”

In the old times of slavery, every plantation ' 5'
could boast of one or more of these sable Nim—  ?
rods. To them coon—catching was a profit, as 
well as a sport; the skins kee ing them in tb- %, -v 
bacco—aiid whisky, when ad cted to drinking
it. The flesh, too, though little esteemed by-
white palates, was a bomw-bouche to the negro,
with whom flesh meat was a scarce commodity.
It often furnished him with the means of
making a savory roast.

The plantation of Ephraim Darke was no ex—
ception to the general rule. It, too, had its
coon—hunter—a negro named, or nicknamed, n
“Blue Bill.” The ' ‘ term came from’a f.
cerulean tin , the in certain lights appeared ~

Blue Bill was a mighty hunter of his‘kind, g'
passionately fond of the coon—chase—too 'much, ‘
mdeed for his own safety and comfort. ‘It
 him abroad, when the discipline of the 

more than once, for so absenting himself, had

All this had not cured him of his proclivit .. 
Unluckin for Richard Darke, it had not. 317;); _ 
on the evening of Clancy’s being shot do as ’
described, Blue Bill was abroad; and, ' a
small cur which he had trained to his favorite‘ '
chase, was ranging the woods near the edge hf” . ’.
thee ressswam . " .. . 3'
He ad “tree( " an old he-coon;and {was »‘
preparing to climb up to the creature’s nest—a " ' -
arge knot-hole in a sycamore—when a shot .
startled him. He was more disturbed bythe
peculiar crack, than by the fact of its being the -
report of a gun. His ear, accustomed tenths. '
sound, knew it to have proceeded nom‘the *
double-barrel belonging to his yolmg master-’-
just then the last man he would have wished fir
meet. He was away from the “ uarter” 

His thought was to continue his ascentdf  1
the sycamore, and conceal himself among its j "
branches. 7} ' '1‘

But his dog, still upon the ground—that ‘;

While hurriedly reflectin ,on what  ~. ,
bestdo, he heard-a second at. Then a 131%,; ' 
coming quickly after; while mingling  ~

 

reports were men’s voices, apparently hungry

expostulation. He heard, too, the haying

 

“Gorralnityl” milth Bale Bill; “dar’ga'g ~ if
"mage oin‘on r—a ht Ireck HQ".-
de def! Am I know who dstgfléht’s betw~ >.
Dc fuss shot am Mass' Dick’s gun: deederiin‘
Mass ('harle Clancy. By golly! ’tain’t safe
child besee'd hya. nohou'. “'har kin a hide
musefl’?" . ‘ _
Again he looked upward. Scanning the svdur '
more; then down at his dog; and  ‘ 
the trunk of the tree. It was embraced   '

 

 

 

creeper—a gigantic ape-vme—up' ' Which 
ascentfihteasdflgfemadmsoeasfl» 
there 11 be no ' culty in the 1:3 * "

cur along with him. It was the ladderhe had
intended using to reach the tweed copn. With
the fearof hisyoung masterco ' that
and, if so, surely “ cowhiding” him, be
was no time to be wasted in vadillattm. -' 
Nor did he waste any. Without  ‘
he threw arm around the coondog; raia'ul‘
the unresistmg animal from the gaundiind‘ I
then ‘_' swarmed ” up the creeper, li a Show. .
carrying her cub. .- -*. [i 
In ten seconds after. he was ensconced that ”
crotch of the sycamore; safely screened

 

 

the observation of an one who " ' .
pfiiderneath, by the profiise clushrmgmm’ "
e to. " ' ‘

Feeling comparatively secure, be bent his
ears more attentively to listen He still heard
two voices in conversation 'IIhen‘only one 
them, as if the other no longer replied. .139
one continuing to speakhe could ' ‘ ' ' ”
that of his young master; though he could
aka out the  spokan. _ The ' ”

great, an t e soun interrupted 
thick-stand trunks by
—_ ' ht have

a tone ‘. ‘ '
Then edashort interval of‘silence,
if both men gone away. Blue-Bill was

hopes they had, or that his young ‘

have done so. His hape was ' 
the thee in which he had secreted 
not “POD the Way Rich“! Darke should

returning to the lactation. ‘ It w {m 3*
naturally be woisd   ;.

'.\

 

 
   
 
  

 

I H V\

n » .
I ' i r ~ 4

, V01. I.

'. .

 

 

 

 

ttitles again saluted by a sound. This time it was

9

but in a low, lugubrious wail, a sort of whim-

, , which
Beiéerent. en again the voice of a man—

'mal, and calling it up.

Another short interval of silence.
the bound was eard in continuous howling,
’ which gradually grew more indistinct, as if the
' animal was going oil.’ on the opposite side.

To the slave, absent without leave, all these
sounds seemed ominous—indicative of some
tragical occurrence.
the sycamore, listeninguto them, he trembled
likeanas n leaf. St ,
did not orsake him; and this was directed to
keeping his own dog silent. Hearing the hound,
the cur might give tongue in response—perhaps !
would have done so, but for the coon-hunter‘s
fln rs clasped chokineg rmmd its throat, and
Guidetached to 've it an occasional cuff.

, co more stifihess held possession of the
forest. But again was it disturbed by the tread
of footsteps, and a swishing among the under-
wood. Some one was passing through it, evi- ‘
dently making toward the tree where the coon- _
hunter was concealed.

Here than ever Blue Bill trembled upon his

h; tighter than ever clutching the throat of
mainline companion. For he felt sure the
man, whose footste told of approach. was his
master—or rather is master’s son. They told

. alsothathe was advancing hastily- as if in re-
treat, rapid, headlon , confused. Ilpon this the

t slave found ho s of escaping obser-

vation, and consequent c tisemen .

' 'The sign did not disa point him. In a few
'eecOnds after, he saw lchard Darke coming
from the direction in which the shots and voices

' had been heard. He was running as for very

life—the more like it, that he ran crouchin 1y,

f at intervals making stop, and standin to 1' n,
With chin thrown back upon his sho der!
When 0 posite the sycamore—almost under

Elie a pause on r than the others.

meat appeared pou ng down his cheeks, ,
~ avg-aha eyebrows almost blinding him.

' ’ r drew a‘ handkerchief from his coat—pocket;
*1de it of; and then, replacing the kerchief,

ran on agaln.

doll}? this, he dropped something, unseen ,
 . It did not escape the observation g
«the coon-hunter, conspicuously posted.

  
 
    
   
   
    
  
  
 
 
 

.5.
.«

The
,  fall resembled a letter, in an envelope. '
‘ l ' it proved to be, when Blue Bill, cautious—
zadacending from the sycamore, ap reached
' where it had fallen, and pick it up. ;
- ‘ coon-hunter could not read. No use his
taking outvthe letter, though he saw that the
  has open. But an instinct that it
. ' might, in some way or at some time, be useful,

" “mood him to put it in his pocket.

. ' , dale, he stood reflectin . There was
  sound todlsturb him. T e footste of
7. ' /‘ Darke were no loin gt hesrd;8d lilelli‘
' » nall wing 11 ' inc ( iet
r  resuming its pristine
-. -» ‘ ‘ .' The only sound the coon-hunter heard
" "yfi-fie than: ing of his own heart against his

,  .m—this long enough.
,. omnger thought he of the coon he had suc-
x ‘ ' in treeing. The animal, late devoted to
* (WM-death, would owe its escape to an acci—
‘ -'  dent, and ht now re securely within its
» - nest. Blue ill had or thoughts—emotions
, ‘ enough to drive coon-hunting clean out
’3’  Among them were apprehensions
 about his own safety. Though unseen b his

: ' . ’ master—his nce even unsuspec ad—
'  ' an ucky chance had placed him
 in wpadtlon of danger. or this his instinct had

dread warned him.

, '~ a tragedth been enacted, he not only
 , W, bu waspretty sure of.

~ ' T'Under the circumstances how was he to act?
3» ‘ Goon tothe place where he had heard the shots,

1 mid ascertain what had actually occurred?

'3" "At- first he thought of doing this; but soon

c the intention. Frightened at what was
i ' y known to him, he dared not know more.
master m' ht be a murderer? The
' may in w ch he saw retreating almost said
Blue Bill, to make himself ac—
he‘ crime, and bear witness
I ‘ the man who had committed it? As a
i ve, he knew that his testimony would count
‘ fér'nothin in a. court of justice. And as the

alan of. hraim Darke, he also knew his life
w. 7t ' ’ not worth much after he had given it.
‘ ‘  lint reflection decided him; and still car-

} .‘rying the coon-dog under his arm, 0 parted
I v from the spot, going in skulkin gait, never sto

‘ never feelin safe, till
the “ negro quarter.”

 

3 ;
s
O
‘5‘.
5'
O

’I::‘_’.;\ at 
' ‘ side of his
* V ardund, an

 ' ' CHAPTER VII.
 '  T. e r
4‘5. . ATKWAM' c g as on -
malaise»: straight as the underw al-

Phcnbe, his coon- dog smelling
and his “ piccaninnies ” cluster-
clambering upon his knees.

 

 

 1,. N ,; 1’"  ‘ r y. ~
‘c. Width???"  g r -

«shaman-swim» -‘ Avis-ism

hQund that spoke—not barking as before, ,

Vlappeared to come from a direction .1

'.Massa Dick’s—who spoke as if coaxing the ani— i

bear—now stumbling over a fallen 10 , or
caught in a trailing grapevine—Richard arke
{lees from the place where he has laid his rival
ow. '

He makes neither stop nor stay; if so, only for
a few instants at a time, long enou h to listen

3 and try to discover whether he is f0 owed.
Whether or not, he fancies it; again starting ,

Another 1
shot, succeeded b an angry exclamation. Then ,

As he sat in the fork of ‘

his presence of mind .

r

2 his terror

ofl’, with terror in his looks and tremblin in his
limbs. The sang—froid he had exhibite while

i in the act of concealing the body has quite for—

saken him now. Then he felt confident there
could be no witness of the deed—nothing to con-
ncct him with it as the door. It was the un-
thought-of presence of the dog that produced the
change, or, rather, the thought of the animal
having csca 1. This, and his own frightened
fancies; for e is now really in affright.
He keeps on for quite a mile in headlong, reck-
less rushing. Then, as fatigue overtakes him,
)ecomes less impulsive; his fancies
freer from exaggeration; and, believing himself

‘ far enough from the scene of danger, he at

 

 

i

length dcsists from flight.
lIo sits down upon a log, draws forth his
-ket-handkerchief, and wipes the sweat from
lis face. He is anting, palpitating, perspiring
at every pore. ut he now nds time to reflect;

; and his first reflection is the absurdity of his pre-
? cipitate retreat; his next, its imprudence.

“I‘ve been a fool for it,” he mutters. “Sn
posing some one had seen me? ’Twoqu 0 y
ave made things worse.

“ And what have I been runnin from? Only
a hound, and nothin besides. (mm the dog!
Let him go home, ant be hanged! He can’t tell
a tale upon me. The scratch of a bullet—who
could say what sort of ball, or what kind of gun

r

it came om? No danger in that, and I’ve been
stupid to think there could be.

‘ Well, it’s all over now; and here I am.
What next?”

For some minutes he remains upon the log,
with the gun resting across his knees, and his
head bent down between them. He ap rs
engaged in some abstruse calculation. home-

! thing new is evidently before his mind—some

scheme requiring all his power of thought to
elaborate.

“ I shall keep that t st,” he says, seeming at
length to have settlet it. “Yes; I shall meet
her under the magnolia. Who can tell what
changes may be brou ht about in the heart of a
woman? In histor had a royal namesake—a
king of England With a bump on his shoulders-
as he’s said himself, ‘ deformed, unfinished, sent
into the world scarce half made up,’ so that the
‘do barked at him,’ as this brute of Clancy’s
has won doing at me. And this royal Richard,
shaped ‘so lamcly and unfashionable,’ made
court to her whose husband he had just assassi-
nated—a n'olul Queen—wmled and subdued her!
Sure! , t is should encourage me? The more
that , Richard Darke, am neither halt nor
humpbacked. No, nor yet unfashionable, as
many a pretty girl has said, and more than one
sworn it.

“ Proud, Helen Armstrong may be; proud as
Queen Anne she is. For all that, I’ve got some-
thing may subdue her—a scheme as cunning as
that of my royal namesake. May God, or the
Devil, grant me a like success!”

At the moment of giving utterance to the ro-
fane rayer, he starts to his feet. Then, ta ing
out his watch, consults it as to the time.

“ Half- )ast nine it is now. Ten was the hour
of appoin ment. There won’t be time for me to
go home, and then over to Armstrong’s wood-

ound. It’s more than two miles from this.

0 matter about goin 3‘ home. There’s no need
to change my dress; 8 e won’t notice this tear
ill the skirt. If she should, she’d never think of
what had caused it, much less it’s being a bullet.
She won‘t see it anyhow; I must be off. It
will never do to keep a young lady waiting. If
she don’t feel disappointed at seeing me, bless
herl If she do, I sa curse her! What’s passed
pre ares me for ei her event. In an case, I
sh have satisfaction for the slight she’s put
upon me. By Judas I’ll get that!”

He is stepping off when a thought occurs to
him. He is not certain as to the exact hour of
the tr st. He might be there too late. To make
sure, le lunges his hand into the ket, where
he had (eposited both letter an photogra h,
after holding the latter before the eyes of he
dving man, and witnessin the fatal effect.
'With all his diabolical hard ood, he had been a
little awed by this, and had thrust the papers
into his pocket hastily, carelely.

They are no longer there! Neither letter nor
photograph can be found!

He tries the other kets of his dress—all of
them—with like real t. He examines his bullet-

6 found himse f . pouch and game—bag. 'No letter, no cardboard

I not a scrap of aper in either! The stolen epistle:

till inside his own cabin, seated by ! its envelope, t e inclosure, all are absent.

After once more ransacking his pockets, al-
most turnin them inside out, he comes to the
conclusion t at the precious papers are lost.

It startles, and for a moment disma 5 him.
Where is the missing epistle? He must ve let
it fall while retreating through the trees.

Shall he back in search of it? . -

Nophe W111 not. He does not dare to return

,1» . ) - 52 U . 4 \

I . I “1‘ I _\ _ ,1; .r;'_ .Ih‘“.,',‘.  ' V‘ I v 
f . ' ~ ThexNew-Yorky-Ll‘brary. ~  '9' “

, . > . ‘
While thus reflecting, the coon-hunter’s ear lbws~at times breaking through it like a chased ;

upon that track. The forest path is toosomber,

too solitary, now. By the mar 'n of the dank

lagoon, under the ghostl ow of the oy-
resses, he might meet
Ian?!

An why should he 0 back? After all, there

is no need. What is t ere in the letter re uir-

; illg him to regain possession of it? Nothing but

 

can in any way compromise him. Why, then,
should he care to recover it?

“Let the love-letter go to the devil, and the
picture too! Let them rot where the ’ve fallen
—I su in the mud, or among t e palmet-
toes. o matter for that. But it does matter,
my being under the magnolia in good time. I
must stay no longer here.”

Obedicnt to the resolution thus formed, he re—
buttons his coat, cast open in the search for the
missing papers; throws his double-barrel—the
murder-gun—over his shoulder; and strides off
to keep an appointment not made for him, but
for the man he has murdered!

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE (ICON-HUNTER AT nous.

THERE was yet a lin ering ra of daylight
in the cleared ground of phraim arke’s lan—
tation as Blue Bill, returning from his inter-
rupted chase, got back to the negro quarter.
He had entered it, as alread told, with stealthy
tread, and lookin cautious y around him.

For he knew t at some of his fellow-slaves
were aware of his having ne out “a—coon—
ing,” and would wonder at ' early return—
too early to pass without observation. If seen
by them he might be asked for an explanation;
which he was not prepared to give.

This it was that Caused him to skulk‘in among
the cabins; still carryin the dog under his
arm, lest the latter mig t take a fancy to go
scenting among the utensils of some other dar—
key’s kitchen, and so betray his presence in the
(‘ Harte}... 7’

ortunately for the coon-hunter, the little
“ shanty” that claimed him as its tenantstood
at the outward extremity of the row of cabins
—nearest the path leading to the lantation
woodland. He was therefore enabl to reach,
and re—entcr it, without much danger of at-
tracting observation.

And as it chanced, he was not obmrved; but
got back into the bosom of his family, without
ling one being a bit the wiser.

lue Bill’s domestic circle consisted of his
wife, Phoebe, and several half-naked little “ nig—
rers.” Once more among them, however, he
ound he was still not safe, but had yet a gant—
lct to run. His re-appearance so soon unex-
pected; his empty game—bag; the coon-dog un-
der his arm; a1 had their effect upon Phoabe.
She could not help havin a surprise.

Nor did she submit to i in silence.

Confronting her dark-skinned lord and mas-
ter with arms set akimbo, she said:

‘zBress de Lor’, Bill! Wha’ for yousosoon
home? Neider coon nor’ um! An’ de dog
toated after dat fasliun! ou ain’t been a ne
more’n a hour! Who’d k see on come k
(lat-a wa , emp’y-ban ed; 11 n, ’cep your
own old 1 og! ‘Splain it, Bill?”

The coon—hunter dro ped his canine com-

nion to the floor, am sat down upon a stool,

ut without giving the demanded explanation.
He on] said:

“Ne ba mind, Phoebe gal; nebba ou mind
why I’se home so soon. Dat’s nuflin’ ’ ran . I
see d de night warn’t a 'ne to be fav’b fo’
trackin’ de coon; so dis mgga konklood ter leab
ole coony ’lone.”

“ Lookee hya, Bill l” said his wife, laying her
hand upon his shoulder, and azing eal'neetl
into his e es. “ Dat ’ere ain‘t 5e correck expli-
cashun. er ain’t tellin’ me de troof l”

The coon-hunter quailed under the '
glance, as if in reaht a criminal; but gave no

use. He was ata osswhat answertomake.

‘ Da‘s somethin’ m ’bout dis,” con-
tinued his better half. “‘ You’ve ot a seecrit
ni g; I kin tell it by de glint yer eye. I
neg see dat look on ye, but I know you ain’t
yaseff ; jess as 'e use deceive me, when you war
in sich a way ’ ut brown Bet.”

“ Wha’ you talkin’ ’bout, Phoebe? Dar’s no
brown Bet in de case. I swar dar ain’t.”

“ Who sayed dar War? No, Bill dat’s all pass.
I only spokcd ob her ’kase yhr look jess now like
ye did when Bet used bamboozle e. What I
say now am (lat you ain’t yasefl. ar’s a cat in
de bag, solnewha; you better let her out, and
confess do whole ’tor .”

As Phoebe made this a pea], her glance rested
searchineg upon her hus nd’s face, and keenly
scrutinize< the lay of his features.

There was no much play to be observed. The
coon-hunter was a pure~blooded African, with
features immobile as those of the S hinx. And
from his color nau ht could be educed. As
already said, it was he urity of its ebon black-
ness, producing a purpl h iridescenoe over the
epidermis that had gained for him the sobri-
quet of “ Blue Bill.”

Unflinchingly he stood the inquisitorial glance;
ang flor the time Phoebe washfoxled.

n y until after su per, w en the frugalit of
the mealnmade so y the barren Chaseth

4 .

\

he ghost of Charles ,

 

 

 

Ii?- 2-

 

The, Path-Shot; 01? TraCked F9 -Dea’eh-

3,5

 

 

perhaps something to do in melting his heart,
and relaxing his tongue. Whether this. or
whatever the cause, certain it is, that before
going to bed, he unburdened himself to the part—
ner of his joys, by making full contessmn of
what he had witnessed on the swamp edge,

He told her, also, of the letter he had picked
up' which, cautiously pulling out of his pocket,
he handed over for her inspection.

Phoebe had once been a family servant—an
indoor domestic and haiidniaiden to a white
mistress. This was in the days of youth—the
halcyon da s of girlhood, in " Ole Varginniy "—
beforc she ad been transported west, sod to
E hraim Darke, and by him deirraded to the lot
of an ordinary outdoor slave. ut her original
owner had taught her to “ read,” and her mem-
ory still retained a trace of this early education
—suiiicient for her to decipher the script she
now held in her hands. _ 

She first looked at the photograph: as it came ‘
first out of" the envelope. There could be no
mistaking whose portrait it was.

/
. - / a,
' . \R
\ _ \
l \ \ . _ l
/  ilIuJ/l >113"
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: 6:,- s . .. \k
;\ ‘ r   “We?
\ \ »‘ r   ‘»\ \
» s t x ’ ‘
es. \ c on: \\ 
l‘ l e
a p " \ \\\_\ u
/ \. \, \ 
s-  .\
if -

 

  

 

.. \‘Il'ei I"“
i ' \t  .

 

 

 

 

_ : _¥
- A ‘1’. ’2’!“ . -‘

FACING TOWARD THE TREE, AND STANDING ON

strong was too cons ieuously beautiful to have
escaped the notice 0 the humblest slave in the
settlement. Too good, also; for, as a friend to
the black folks, she was known to them through-
out the whole line of riverine plantations.

The negress spent some minutes gazing upon
the fair face, as she did so, remarkin :

“ How bewful am dat young lady! What
pity she gwine away from (10 place!”

‘ You am right ’bout dat, I lioebe. She bew-
ful as any white gal dis nigga ebber set eyes on.
And she good as bewful. I‘se sorry she rwine
’w_ay from dese parts. How many a dar ie ’11
miss dat dear young lady. An’ wont MaSs’
Charl’ Clancy miss her too? Lori I most forgot;
maybe he no trouble ’bout her now; maybe he’s
gone dead! Ef dat so, she miss him, an" no mis—
take. She cry her eyes out, shoo—sartin."

“ You t’ink dar war somet’ing ’tween dem

two?” "
I’se Shoo 0b dat, Phoebe. Didn’t I '

“ T’inkl
see dem boat togedder down dar in de wood- ,

i land, when I war out a coon-huntin’? More‘n
‘ once I see’d 6111. A young white lady an‘ genl‘m

: promise to keep dark, for (18 case am a desprit
‘7

don’t meet dat way unless dar‘s a feelin' atweeii ,

’em, any more dan we poor brack folks. Besides,
dis nigga know dey lub one ’noder—he know fo’
satin. Jule, she tell J upe; and J upe hab trussed
(lat same seecret to me. hey been in lub long
i time; afore Mass” Charl’ went ’way to Texas.

i
l

l But do great Kurnel Arinstronrr he don‘t know ‘

V
‘ nutlin’ ’bout it. Golly! cf he did, he slioo kill
Cliarl’ Clancy; dat is, if dc poor young man ain‘t
dead arready. Le’s hope ’taiii‘t so. But, Phoebe,
gal, open dat letter, an’ see what do young lady
say. Satin it’s been wrote by her. Maybe it
t’row some light on dis dark subjeck."

Phoebe, thus requested, took the letter out of
the envelope. Then spreading it out and hold-
ing it close to the flare of the tallow dip, read it
from beginning to end.

It took considerable time; as her scholastic
acquireinents, not very bright at best, had be—
come dimmed by longr disuse. For all, she suc—

, r”) I

. 

Helen Arm- , ceeded in deciphering and interpreting every ,

 

 

one.

Phoebe could well comprehend the caution;
and promising compliance, the two went to
sleep by the side of their sable offspring, re—
solved on preserving silence.

 

CHAPTER IX.
UNDER THE MAGNOLIA.

I’ERnArs for the first time in her life, Helen
Armstrong walked with stealthy step, and
crouchineg Daughter of a large slave—owner
—iiiistress our many slaves—she was accus—
tomed to an upright attitude and aristocratic
bearing. But she was now on an errand that
required more than ordinary caution, and
would dread recognition by the humblcst slave
on her father‘s estate.

(.‘loaked and hooded—the hood drawn well
over her face—with body bent, as she moved
silently forward, it would have taken a sharp
dai'kcy to identify her as his young mistress——

 

.‘K‘.

TIPTOE, SHE RAISES HER HAND ALOFT, AND COMMENFES GROPING AGAINST THE TRUNK—Page 26.,

item of its contents to the coon—hunter: who
sat listening with eyes in wonderment, and ears
wide open.

When finished, and the letter, along with the
photograph, was replaced in the envelope, the
two were for some time silent, pondering upon
the circumstances thus revealed to them.

glue Bill was the first to resume speech. He
sai :

“Dar’s a good deal in dat letter I know’d
afore, and dar’s odder points as ‘ ar to be new
tome; but whether de old or 0 new, ’twon‘t
do for you or me to declar’ a siirrle word o’
what do (young lady hab say. 0. Phoebe,
neery wor must ’scape de lips ob eider 0’ us.
We inuss hide de letter, an” neber let nob’dy
know dar’s sich a dockyment in our poseshun.
And dar must be nuffin’ sayed or know‘d ‘bout
dis ni ga findin’ it. Ef dat ebber kum out, den
I nee ii‘t tell you what ’ud happen to us. “'e‘d

boaf catch de cow-hide, an’ maybe de punish- i

merit ob de pump. So, Phoebe, gal, gi’e me yar

the eldest daughter of his “Massa,” Colonel
Armstrongwinore especially as it was after

, nilght she was thus cautiously proceeding, and

der the shadow of trees. '
Notwithstanding the obscurity, she was keep.
ingin a direct course, as if making for some

11

, point, and with a purpose.

Does it need to be told what this pu se was!
Love alone could tempt a young la y out at
that hour; and only love not allowedwperhaps
forbidden, by some one having ascendancy over
her. Only this could account for her making
her way through the wood in such secret guise.

At the same hour and moment Colonel Arm-
strong was at work, with all his household,
white retainers as well as black slaves. Of the
last there 'were not many left him—Ephraim
Darke havmg foreclosed the mortgage, and 0b-

, tained possession of the estate, made over to

him by private sale. Three or four field-hands,
and some half-dozen house servants—Whose af-
fection made them 11th members of his

!

  
   
   
    
  
      
   
      
   
  
   
    
  
  
 
     
  
 
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
  
     
   
  
   
  
    
 
 
  

4

family—were all that remained to the. ruined
- ‘ planter. ‘

He was about to move off with these. to make
the beginning of a new home in Texas; and the
next morning was appointed for starting. At
an early hour too; so that the night was being
given to the final settlement of affairs and pre—
paration for the journey. Thus, full‘y occupied,
chiefly with out—door matters, he liar no time to
give to his family. His tWo daughters he sup-
posed to be equally engrossed with those cares,
onsuch occasions, left to the female members
of the household.

Had the proud planter—still proud, though
now in comparative poverty—had he at that
moment been told that his eldest born was
abroad in the woods, it would have startled him.

. of a love appointment—it would have caused
him to desist from his preparations for travel——
rhaps thrown him into a terrible rage. And,
, still better ac uainted with the circumstances—
told who was he man thus favored with a noc-
‘ turnal 'assignation, and that it was his own
, daughter, his eldest, the pride of his house and
' , ~ hm who had made it—it is just 'ble he
v . w‘ have dropped whatever duty he was en-
.; ,f‘ ,h 3% upon, sprung to hispistels, and rushed oi!
'1 _\. ' ' Woods, on the track of his straying child,
" ‘ there, perhaps, to enact a traged sanguinaryas

' the go‘receunted, if not so rep 've.
. Fortunately, he had no knowledge of a ht
' thatwas ' . Engrossed in the cares of he
',. last he wastospendonhisold plan-

‘ns ‘ no sus icion of Helen being
, 'fa t from the house. 9 saw Jessie there;

” she, her sister’s confidante—both as to the
.zwh'hmoe and its cause—took pains to conceal

_:r s 4 It * s

‘ St' steeping in her gait—castin  in-
, , story glances'to right, to lo t forward,
and “ ' intervals stopping to listen—-

- "I ’  continues on in her nocturnal
e .

” F mam Wheres“?
t ' e 0 cc 'va groun
 " " the al greet meets the maize-field:

I

    

‘, .' '  "> herkustedmaidl‘l‘Jiile”Ihh.addeposited
5'. containingherpoto
  to a stop ungraits a reading
_ ‘ ' the throws open her cloak, the
' V and stands with uncovered-face.
 no fear now. The place is beyond
,   bl night-strolling Degrees. Onl one
"  *~ of ’possum or ’coon, wouldbe ' ely
', v , gammy. liutthisisacontingencytoo
1, her uneasiness. \
tenures set in expectation, she stands
 the tree—within the darkness of its

3AM the fireflies ' to her
- ‘is one (1 a better ht.
tnder the pale, corusca 'on

-- ”—so coarsely, as inap-

- Minty is beyond cavil

named

Black hair,ka eyes and eye-
 , ‘ _ z . ‘on of golden brown, features of
_  . ‘ .n which the hooded cloak adds
, , . T; -;_ . ' amnion—all combineinform-
‘ .   appropriate to it: framing, the

‘ ii'    who; enopgh to t back her
 ' b meme us on ingemaking her

{3  --‘ wood—more difficult in the
ghemotions, too, contribute to

; ' wgaiilfgrittodhhe  £6ng
, , M, stun g on p , e
h‘ndaloft and commences groping

*  '_  The fireflies gleitim oplher
 ' ‘ mgemasthesesra ong
 resting upon theed, of a
 1-. snot-solo inthe tree.‘ lag this
"éyhfiwis ‘and after a moment drawn
’ ‘ there is no appearance of disappoint-
' t. On the contrary, the phosphoric gleam
hting up her features, rather shows
#1: on—still further evinced in the phrase
. ", , falls from her lips with the tone of its utr
finance. 'She sa s, contentedlyzm
g. , “He has got i I” ‘
g.» .the same fltful light, soon after can be
zap-Hooked». change—the slightest expression of
chagrin; as she adds, in munuured interroga-
imx .
v’Y‘HWhy‘has he not left an answer?"
' ~ she sure he has not! No. But she soon

‘ ' . ‘ he.
“fiflth this, determination, she a in faces
- toward the tree; once more inserts er slender
 led fingers; plunges in her white hand to
. _ 1m; the 'cavity all round; t on
_ triathe han out again, this time with an ex-

of

might at least have let me know whether
' or not-a word to say that l

have been

Further informed as to her errand—the keepinrr “

thi ' only of preparations for. the '

on stronger than disappointment. The
disco

 He here
K . Ilahosdtainitisthehuub-Miitf’,

' 7 The N...“ m ~'     9. 9-1 v } 

 

' She is not so. It is but a conjecture; and in about to leave the neighborhood—indeed, that

this she me be mistaken— rha wrongm
him. To mike certain, shepdrawlgs the watch
from her waistbelt; steps out into the moon-
light; and holds the dial close to her e es. The
old glances bright, and the jewels ash joy-
ully under the moonbeams. But there is no
joy in Helen Armstrong’s face. 011 the contrary,
‘ a mixed expression of sadness and chagrin.
For the hands of the watch point to ten min-
utes after the hour she had named in her letter.

There can be no mistake about the time—she
had herself aipointcd it. And none in the
time- )iece. S c has full confidence in her
watc i; it is not a cheap one.

“Ten minutes after and he not here! No
1 answer to my note! e must certainly have
received it. Jule put it into the tree; she as-
sured me of that on her return. Who but he
could have taken it out? No one is likely to
know of it. Oh! this is cruel! He comes not—
I shall 0 home.” '

The c oak is once more closed around her; the
hood drawn over her head.

Still she lingers—lingers and listens.

No footstep; no sound to break the stillnem of
the night; only the chimp of tree—crickets,
and the ' king of owls. .

takes a last look at her watch—sadly,
despairing] . ,It shows fifteen minutes after
the apipom hour—nearer twent ! She re-
stores to its place, with an airo determina—
tion. ess, ', chagrin—all three dis-
agpear from her 'countenance. Anger is now
i 'ression, fixed and stern. The corusca-
tion 0 the firefly has a response in flashes less
6 than its own hosphorescen ks from

e eyes of an in ignant woman! elen Arm-
strong is surely this; as, closely drawing her
cloak around her, she turns away from the tree.

She has not passed beyond the shadow of its
branches, ere her ste are stayed. A '
of fallen leaVes—a amo those the.
still adhere to their hranc es—a ootfall with
tread solid and heavy—the footfall of a man!

The 11 of one is seen; indistinctly at first,
but sure y a man.

“ He'has been detained by some good cause,”
she jo fully reflects; her sadness and spite both
«gigging, as he apgrs drawin nigh.

y are as stands by or side.

But, fl e, deterinined tomake a
of forgi she be tgrupbraidixig 
“ You are here at ast, ! Well, wonder

Lou came at all. There’s an old adage ‘ Better
to tllian netver.’ Perhaps you thibxgk it fitting?
S in o m . on may nustak' en.
Never ni'nd! may or not, I’ve been here
long enough, alone. And the hour is too late
for me to stay any longer. So good-night, sir—
good night!”

Her speeches are spiteful in tone, and bitter
in some She intends them to be both.

While giving utterance to them, she has
drawn the hood over her head, and is moving
off—as if determined. to give a lesson to the

lover who has similar.
Seeing this, he himself in front, inter-
rupting her steps. Despite the darkness, she

can perceive that hh‘ arms are in the air, and
gractched l“towalid her appealingtllyi’iii The atti-
e s apo regre con on—every-
thgiig fiegggfle toning,‘ h lf frgi
e rs en - « erse o v-
ingll‘x, (in his h _ gut not without ohe more
we *

O W. .
“’Tis :pl'Uel thus to have tried me. Oh!
Charles! Charles !- why have you done so
“Helen ,mynamsisnotCharlcs,
but Richard. ' hard Barks!”

am

CHAPTER X.
m WRONG IAN.

RICHARD Dam instead of Charles Clancy!

Disappointment! Thilwould be too tame a
word to elxlpress t pang that shot through the
heart of elen , , . .on discov the
mistake she had made. ‘
with a commingling
though I
promised er.

She did not sink to the earth, nor yet show
signs of fainting. She was not a woman of this
way. No cry came from her lips—nothing that
could betray surprise, or even ordinary emotion.

As Darke stood before her with arms uprais-
ed, ri ht in‘ her th, she simply said:

“V ell sir; i you are Richard Darke, what
then? Your being so does not giVe you any
ri ht to intrude upon me. I wish to be alone.”

he cool, firm tone caused him to quail. He
had hoped that the sur rise of his unexpected
a )pearance —coupled wit his knowledge of her
clandestine ap )intment —- would have done
something to su ue, perhaps 'make her submis-
sive.

0n the contrary, the thought of this last but
stung her to rewntment, and he soon saw it.
His arms came down; he was about step-
ping aslde and leaving her free to pass; though
not without making an attempt to justify him-
self. He did so, saying: ' '

“ If I’ve in u n you, Miss Armstrong,
Iamsorryforit. It beenaltogetheranac-
Leident, I assure you. Havmgheard youwere

 

i

 

on start to-morrow morning—I was going over

your father’s house to say fareWell. I am
sorry that my comin this way, and chancing
to meet you, should a me open to the charge
of intrusion. I shall s ill more re t if it has
interfered with an appointment. ome one else
ex ~ted, I so pose.“

or a time s e was silent-abashed by the im-
pudent interrogatory.

Recovering herself, she said:

“And even so, what gives you the right to
question me? I have told you I wish to be
alone.”

“ Oh, if it’s your Wish, I shall at once relieve
you of my presence.”

He stepped to one side in saying so. Then con‘
tinued:

“As I’ve said, I am on the we to youi
father‘s house to take leave of the amil '. If
you are not going immediately home, perhaps I
ma be the bearer of a nlcssa re for you?”

c iron was evident; but clcn Armstrong
was not t linking of this. Only how she could
get disem of this man who had ap-

ed at a moment so mat-a . Charles

c —for he was the emne—might
have n detained oy some cause unknown a
delay still possible of 'ustiflcafion. She ha a
 hope he mig t yet come, and her e 'c
Inng the forest with a quick, sub 10
g ce.

Notwithstanding its subtlety, notwithstanding
the obscurity surrounding them, Darke saw it—
understood 1t. ‘ _

Without waiting for a rejoinder, he proceeded

to as :

“ Eli-om the mistake you have just made, Miss
Armstrong, I presume you took me for some one
bearin r the baptismal name of Charles. In these

know 0111 one person who carries that
cognomen—Char es Clancy. If it be he you are
expecting, I think I can save you the necessity
of staying out in the night air any longer; that
is, if you are staying for him. He will‘certainly
not come.”

“ What mean you, Mr. Darke? Why do you
sa that?”

e disa pointin speech had made its impres—
sion, and t own t )0 proud girl of! her ard.
She spoke confusedly, and without reflection.

Darke’s rejoinder was more cunning; a studied

one.

“ Because Imet Charles Clanc this morning,
and he told me he was oin 0 on a journey.
He was just startingw en saw him. Some
aflair of the heart, I believe; a little love-scrape
he’s glot into with a pretty Creole who lives in
Nate ez. By-the-way, he showed me a photo-
graph of yourself, which he said he had just re
ceived. A v excellent likeness, I call it. Ex—
cuse me to;- te ,' that Clancy and I came
near quarreling a t that picture. He had an-
other photograph, that of his Creole chere-am'ie,
and would insist that she is more beautiful than
you. It is true, Miss Armstrong, that you’ve

'ven me no great reason to be your champion.
Still, I couldn’t stand that; and, after question-
was taste, I plainly told him he was
m en. I’m ready to repeat the same to him,
or any one who says you are not the most beau-
tiful woman in the State of Mississippi.”

At the conclusion of the fulsome speech Helen
Armstrong cued but little for his champion-
figuand not much for anyth' else.

V V heart was nigh to  g. She had
gm her affections to Charles Clancy—in her

, late written she had laViShed them.

, been trifled with—scorned. She

, a Creole girl! There was full
  

We . , 1 c _ ing
bgast of her sugpliance and signs, showing her
p otogra ,an proclaiming trium hhehad
obtainedPhOh God! p

This was the e 'on  escaped from
Helen Armstro s %‘u the hitterthoughts
swept through er W Alongwithitcama

reused muss, y, she

Darkesawhiso rismit orthoughtso'ami
again flung himselfpgefore K612 ,

“Helen Armstrong!” he cried, in the earnest
ness of ssion—a passion, if not pure, at least
heartfe t and strong—“ why should you care for
a man who thus mocks you? Here am 1, who
love you trul —madly—niore than my own life!
It‘s not too ate to withdraw the answer you
have given me. Gainsay it now, and there will
be no need for any change—any oingto Texas.
Your father’s home may still be is, and yours.
Say you will be my wife, and everything shall
be restored to him—all will be well. ’

She listened for the conclusion of the speech,
Its a pealin sincerity sta ed her, though she
couldp not te , or did not th nk, why. It was a
moment of mechanical irresolution.

But, soon as it was ended, again came back
into her soul, the bitterness that had just swept
throu h it.

An there was no balm in the words spoken
by Richard Darke; on the contrary, his speech
was like pouring in fresh poison-

To his appeal die made. answer, as once before
she had answered him—with hut a‘single word.

And they ,
was

Itwas npeamdtmfimand inatonqnot

Ii
\ .

" 7 ‘vol': I. .

 

 

to be mistaken. On speaking it, she parted from l
the 5 0t; her proud, haughty step, with a deny- l
ing i not disdainful gesture, telling him, she was ,
not to be further accosted. . '

Spitcd, chagriiied, angry as he was, in his
craven heart he felt cowed and teartul. He dared
not follow her, but remained under the tree,
from whose hollow trunk still seemed to rever-
berato her last word, thrice emphatically pro-
‘lOlllerd:

“ Never—never——nevw I”

 

CHAPTER XI.
“ qu COMES 11s NOT?”

IF, on that night, Helen Armstrong went to
bed reflecting bitterly of Charles Clancy, there
was another Woman, who sat up, thinking sadly
about him. 7

Some two miles from the gate of Colonel
Armstrong’s plantation, near the road that led j
past the latter, stood a house, of humble aspect '
compared with the dwelling of the planter. 1t

w hilt 
W‘h‘il‘lllli >>\\ .. Hill 
\ \fli‘l‘lp‘w \‘ l ‘l,

‘ l

g .

I

/r2/=4=:’
/ A A M
/7
I

I;
- r 4.57

4

.. v A M A A ' "r w ‘ “Av ,\ " i‘u'//,'< 73’
A g I  r'  -, "  . 1/! ; /
/ , \‘1 , [2‘ ,1 ' ‘ . ‘ x 
bq w -  in" r
‘ .41 C ‘1 L ‘  l r ‘  "'
‘-.  *5 ~ 7,4 _

W
“M

The Death-Shot; or,

scribed as being sad. He was her son—her only
child. and she his only living parent.
As'already known, her widowhood was of re'-
cent date. She still were its emblems upon her
person, and carried its sorrow in her heart.

TrachedfltofiDeath,

Her husband, of good lrish lineage, had found ‘

his way to Nashville, the capital city of Tennes—
see; where, in times long past, many Irish fami-
lies had made settlement. It was there he had

married her, she herself being a native Tennes- ;

scan, sprung from the old Carolina pioneer

stock, that had gone into the country near the '

end of the eirhteenth century, along with the
Robertsons, ffyneses, Hardings, and Bradfords,
leaving to their descendants a certain patent of
nobility, or at least a family name deserving,
and generally obtaining, respect.

In America, as elsewhere, it is not the rule for
Irishmen to grow rich; and still more excep—
tional in the case of an Irish gentleman. When
these have riches their hospitality is too apt to
take the shape of spendthrift profuseness, end-
ing in pecuniary embarrassment.

).
v“
/_.

I

might have been called a cottage; but the name
is scarcely known in the State 01' Mississippi.
Nor yet was it either log-cabin or “shanty‘” ‘
but a. frame—house, with walls, of “ weather
boarding,” planed and painted, the roof beinrrof !
“ shingles.” it was a c ass of dwelling occasibn—
ally seen in the Southern States~though not so
frequently as in the Northern—inhabited by
men in moderate circumstances, poorer than
planters, but richer or more gentle than the
" white trash,” who live in log—cabins.

Planters they are in social rank, though poor;
imrhaps owning three or four slaves, and culti-
Vfltlng a. small holding of land, from twenty to
fifty acres1 A frame-house vouchers for their
respectability, while two or three log structures
at tho back, re iresenting barn, stable, and other
out-buildings, ll of there being land attached.

Of this class was the habitation s oken of as
standmg two miles from the gate 0 the Arm—
strong plantation, It was the home of Charles
Clanc ; and inside it was the woman whose

 

thou ts about him on that night we have de-

qi-Z/ll/I/ /

 

It was so with Captain Jack Clancy, who got '

wealth with his Wife, but soon squandered it
upon his own and his wife’s friends. The result
was a move to Mississi )pi, where land was at
the time cheaper, and w ere his attenuated for-
tune enabled him to hold out a little longer.

Still the propert he had purchased in Missis- f
t, ' She had noticed her son’s abstracted air, and

sippi State was bu a poor one; and he was con-

. explain the tardiness of his return.

templating a further flit into the rich “red ‘
lands ” of North Eastern Texas, then becoming ‘

famous as a field for colonization. As said, his

son Charles had been sent thither on a trip of ,

exploration; spent twelve months upon the
frontier prospecting for their new home; and
returned with a report in every way favorable.

But the ear into which it was to have been i

s )okcn could no more hear. Before his return,
(.a itain Clancy was in his coffin: and to the
on y son there remained only a mother.
his was several weeks antecedent to the
tra dy, whose details are already before the
er. Charles had the intervening
time in endeavoring to console his dearly—be—

 

2’7

 

loved mother, whose grief, pressing heavily, had
almost brought her to the grave. It was one of
a long series of reverses which had sorely taxed
her fortitude. Another might end her life.

Some such prescntiment was in her mind, on
that very day as the sun went down, and she
sat beside a dim candle, her ear keenly bent to
listen for the returning footsteps of her son.

He had been absent since noon. He had gone
out deer-stalking, so he had told her. She could
spare him for this, and pardon a prolonged ab—
sence. She knew he was devoted to the chase;
he had been so from a boy; but more than ever
since his trip to Texas, where he had imbibed a
passion for it—or, rather, cultivated that iii-
stinctive to him. While in Texas he had made
an expedition to the furthest frontier, and there
hunted buffalo and grizzly bear, with trappers
and Indians for his companions. Thus inocu-
lated, a man rarely gets over his ILpenchant for
the pursuit sanctified by St. ubcrt. His
inothei‘, knowing this, would have thought noth-

But on the present occasion he was beyond
the usual time. It was now night; the deer
must have sought their coverts; and he had not
gone “ nirch-hunting.”

Only one thing could she think of that might

The eyes of
the mother had been of late watchful and wary.

heard si hs that seemed to come from his inner
heart. \ 'ho could mistake the signs of love,
either in man or woman? Mrs. Clancy could not,
and did not. She saw that her son had fallen
into this condition.

Rumors that seemed wafted on the air—signs
slight, but significant—perhaps the whisper of a.
confidential servant—these had given her assur—
ance of the fact: telling her, at the same time,
who had won his affections—Helen Armstrong.

The mother was not displeased. In all the
neighborhood there was no woman she would
have more wished for her daughter—in-taw than
this youn lady. Not from any thought of her
remarkab 6 beauty, or high  standing.

\

’e

  

' since have retired to rest; and

The NW York. 9110???-

Vol. I.

 

 

 

 

Caroline Clancy was herself too well descended
to make much of the latter circumstance. It
was the reputed noble character of the lady
that influenced her approval of her son’s choice.

Thinking of this—remembering her own youth
and the stolen interviews with Charles Clancy’s
father—often under the shadows of night—she
could not reflect harshly on the absence of that
{lather’s son from his home, however late the

our.

It was only when the clock struck twelve. she
began to think seriously about it. Then came
over her a feeling of uneasiness, soon changing
to apprehension. Why should he be staying out
so late—after midnight? The same little bird,
that brought her tidings of her son’s love affair,
had also told her it was clandestine. Mrs. Clan—
cya might not have liked this. It had the sem-
b nce of a slight to them, the Clancys, in their
reduced circumstances. But then, to satisfy
her, came up the retrospect of her own days of
courtship.

Still, at that hour the young lady could not——
dared not—be abroad. All the more unlikel
that the Armstrongs were oin away—as al
the nei hborhood knew—an in nded starting
earlyt enextmo ‘ .

Colonel mtg-3% household would long
. an interview
wrth his daughter could not be the cause of
Charles Clancy’s detention. Something else
must be keeping him. What?

Thus ran the reflections of the fond mother.
At intervals she started from her seat, as some
sound reached her from without; each time
gliding to the door and looking out—only to re-

to her room disappointed. -
. For long spells she stood in the porch, her eye
mterrogatirgg the road that ran past the cottage,
her ear kee y hste' ning for footsteps

There was a brilliant moonlig t. But no
as m? for Mr Mir
0 com ee ‘—0 ess sa e
nocturnaf voices of the forest—the chil'pvilllflfisee-
crickets, the gél‘llck-gluck of frogs, and the shriek-
ing of owls. t amo them no sound bearing
resemblance to a foo

One o’clock, and still silence, or the same
monotone of animal sounds; to the mother of
Charles Clancy now become terribl op resolve,
as with keen apprehension she wa for
return.

At short intervals she lanced at the little
“ Connecticut” clock that 'cked over the man-
tel. A peddler’s thing, it might be false, as the
men who came south selling them. It Was the
reflection of a southern woman, and she hoped
her conjecture might be true.

But, as she lingered in the porch, and looked
at the , moon she blew it must be late—
quite two do ock. And still no fall of footsteps
—no son returning. °

“ Where, where, is my Charles? What can
be detaining him?” .

Phrases almost identical with those that had
fallen from the lips of Helen Armstrong but a
few hours before! The place only unlike, and
the words prompted by a different pe-ion,
though one equally strong and pure.

Bo h doomed to disappointment alike hard to
bear. Alike in cause, and et how dissimilar
the impression roduced! e sweethefl be-
lieving herself s hted, forsaken left without a
lover; the mother tortured with the presenti—
ment she no longer had a son! _

m “t in “a.” Mt"°ci”tt$id“‘- 1“ ‘33
m , a , con 0 wr m
came craw ' 08 the gate and Mrs.
rec her son’s favorite hunting
ho she could still (nly have‘ icion of the
terri truth. But it was a suspicion that, to
the mother’s heart, already filled with forebod-
ing, felt like certain . Too much for her
strength. Wearied an worn with watching,
prostrated by the intensity of her vigil, when

he hound crawled up the steps of the porch and
under the dim light she saw his bedraggled
form—blood as we 1 as mud upon it—the sight
produced a climax, a shock nearly fatal.

Mrs. Clancy swooned upon the spot and was
carried inside the house by a faithful negro
slave—the last that was left to her.

 

CHAPTER XII.
A LAST LOOK AT LOVED scams.

LONG before the hour of daybreak on that
same morning, a light wgon, loaded with lug-
e and other personal 6 sets, out from
flog gate of what had lately n Archibald
Armstrong’s plantation.
It was he no more. The mortgage had been
foreclosed, and Ephraim Darke was now its
owner.

Close following the baggage-wagon was a car-
riage of lighter construction, the old family
barouche, inside which were seated Colonel
Armstrong and his two daughters. They were
all of family he had; and it was the last time
they were ever to ride in that carriage, either
for airing or journey.

It was a journey on which they were now

bEnt' not a ve long one by nly to
Natchez; whelhyce a steamboat would convey
them, along with other passengers, up the Red
River of Lansiana.

The boat was not to start before daybreak; i
but there were some miles, and much rough !
road, between the plantation and the town of f
Natchez; hence the early hour of removal from i
a house never more to be their home.

Colonel Armstrong had chosen the boat, as I
the time of departure, for a special reason. 1'
Feeling himself a bankrupt, broken man, he 3
did not desire to be seen leaving his old home
under the glaring light of day. lVot that he ,
had any fear of being detained. He had satis- .
fled all legal claims, and had still something left
—en0ugh to give to him a handsome start ill ,
Texas. He had converted it into cash; which ‘
will account for the accompaniment of only a ‘
single wagon, loaded with personal effects, and j

‘ some endeared objects—such as compose the

household gods of ever old family. Half a
dozen male and female 5 aves—Jule among the
latter—were part of the retained chattels. His
early start was due to a feeling of sensitiveness,
not shame. He shrunk from being stared at in
his hour of humiliation.

By the light of a southern moon, the two ve-

5 hicles, transporting him and his, rumbled along

 

the road, or sunk into its ruts; at length, enter-
ing the quaint old city of Natchez; which
stands upon one of those very rare projections
that surmount the Mississippi river, known as
the “ Chicasaw Bluffs.”

It was still not quite day when he and his be-
longings, after slowly crawl' down the steep
hill that leads to the river lan ' g, got aboard
the boat ; and on] just sunrise as the steamer’s
bell, tolhng for t e third time, proclaimed the
si of departure.

n after, Colonel Armstrong and his two
dau hters, standing upon the “guards ” outside
the 'es cabin, looked their last on the city
of Natchez; in the best society of which they
had for many years mingled and where the
eldest had reigned supreme. It was no thought
of parting from this pleasant ascendancy—no
tho ht of exchanging her late luxurious life
for t 6 log cabin and poverty her father had
promised her—that brought the tear into Helen
Armstron ’3 eye. She could have borne all
these, an far more—ay, looked forward to
themt with cheerfulness—had Charles Clancy

rue.

He had not, and that was an end of it.

Was it?

No; not for her, though it might be for him.
In the companyI of his new sweetheart, the
Creole girl of w om Dick Darke had given her
the first information—for Helen Armstrontg had
never heard of her before—he would soon orget
the vows he had made, and the sweet words
spoken under the magnolia; a tree that, in re-
trospect, seemed now to her sadder than any

cyarress. _
ould she ever forget him? Could she? No,
not unless in Texas, whither she was going,
there should be found the fabled Iethean
stream. She thought not of this. If she had,
it would not have been with faith in the efficacy
of its waters. There was no water on earth, nor
spirit, that could give either oblivion, or solace
to the thoughts that tortured her.

Perha not lea sad, though ve different,
would ey have been if she had but own the
truth. If, instead of making that early start
from the old lantation home, her father had
waited for dayglreak, all would have been differ-
ent—all that aflected her happiness. Had the
carriage Colonel Armstrong and his daughters
butro edalongtheroadw enthesunwasshin-
i upon 1 they would have heard tidings—a

e to t all three, but more e iall her-
self. With lier it would have pene rated the
heart’s inmost core, displacing the bitterness
there alread lodged bygone also galling, though
unlike in us . Per ps it might have been
easier to endure? Perhaps Helen Armstrong
would rather have behaved Charles Clancy
dead than think of his traitorous defection?

Which of the two calamities she would have
preferred—preferring neither—there could be
no opportunit of test . Lon before it was
known that C ancy had 11 ' ed—before the
hue and cry was raised, resounding throu h the
settlement—the boat on which the Arms ron
were embarked had steamed far away from t e

scene of the tragedyl.
Little thou t elen, as she stood on the
stern- rd lg  back with tearful e es,

that t 6 man making her weep was at bat
moment a corpse, lying cold under shadowy

cy resses.
Had she known it, she would have been shed-
ding tears—not of spite, but sorrow.

 

CHAPTER XIII.
WHAT HAS BECOME or m coarse?

THE sun was up—high up over the to of the
tallest forest trees. Around the reel ence of
widow Clancy a crowd had collected. They
were mostly men, with an admixture of boys,
half-grown youths, and women. They were
her nearest neighbors; while those who dwelt
at a greater distance were still in the act of as—
semb ing. Every few minutes two or three
horsemen were seen riding uire carrying long
rifles over their shoulders w h powder—horns
and bullet-pouches strap across their breasts.

 

Those already on the ground were similarly
armed and accoutered.

The cause of this warlike muster was known
to all. That morning at an ear] hour, a report
had been spread throughout the plantations,
that Charles Clancy was missing from his home,
under circumstances that justified a suspicion
of foul play having befallen him. His mother
had sent messengers to and fro; and this had

‘ brought the gathering around her house.

Ill tho South-Western States, on occasions of
this kind, it does not do for ally one to show in-
difference, whatever be his station in life. The
proudest or wealthiest planter, as well as the
poorest white, is expected to take part in the
administration of backwoods justice—some—
]times not strictly on rche with the laws of the
and.

For this reason every neighbor, far and near,
summoned or not summoned, is pretty sure to
be present; as they were on this occasion.
Among the rest Ephraim Duke and his son
Richard.

When all or nearly all, had got upon the
ground, the business that brought them to ether
was discussed It was to search for C arles
Clancy still absent from his home. The
mother 8 story had been already told, and only
the late comers had to hear it again. Her son

gone out deer—huntin , as often, almost
every day before. He ha taken his favorite
hound With him. She knew not in what direc-
tion he had gone. It had never been her habit
to in uire which we he went on his hunting
expedltions. Enou for her that he came
home a in; whic , until that .day, he had
always one before the goi down of the sun.
He had never before staye out after night.
He new she was alone: and, bein a good son,
always returned within the thlight, if not
sooner. Ha ' failed to do so on the night be—
fore, she natu ly felt uneasy. At a later hour
her uneasiness became alarm. Later still, she
was in a state of agonised apprehension' which
came to its climax when, in the gray ' ht of
mormr'erag, the dog came ' g home, his coat
cove with mud, and blood upon it.

The animal was before their e es still in the
condition spoken of. They coul all see it had
been shot—the tear of a bullet was visible u n
its neck, having cut through the skin. Besi es
there was a piece of cord kn aroun
the dog’s throat, the other end showin as if it
had been first gnawed b the ’s teeth,
and then broken off as wi a pluck.

All these circumstances had a significance;
though no one could explain or even offers. con—
jecture as to their meaning. It looked as if the
animal had been tied——perhaps to a tree—and
afterward succeeded in setting itself loose.

But why tied? And why had it been shot?
These were the questions that not anybody

could answer. .
s , too, in the hound having reached
the hour lt did! Its missing master
was never abroad after sunset—so Mrs. Clancy

assured them. If an ' had happened to
him before that hour—an 'ng tose rate him
from the do and keep back—w had the
latter delay returnin home? As cy had

gone out about the mi dle of the day, he could
not have roceeded to such a distance from
the house or his hound to have been nearly all
niggt in getting back to it.

as it he himself who fired the bullet whose
mark was made upon the dog? This was also a
point in the preliminary investigation.

Not for long. The ' n was soon answer-
ed. There were old oodsmen among the
mustered crowd—hunters who knew how to in-
terpret a “sign” as exactly as would Champol-
lion an E tian hieroglyglh. These having ex-
amined t e score on e hound’s skin, pro-
nounced the bullet to have come from a smooth-
bore, and not a rifle. It was known that Charles
Clancy never hunted with a smooth-bore, but
always with a rifle.

This was a point of very important charac-
ter, and did not fail to make im ression on the
minds of the assembled backw smen.

After some time spent in discussing what was
best to be done, it was at length agreed to insti—
tute a search for the missing man. In the res
ence of his mother no one spoke of scare ing
for his body; though there was a eneral appre-
hension that this would be the end; of it.

She, most interested of all, had a too true
forebodin of it. When her neichbors, startin

out, told er to be of good cheer, her h
more truly said to her, 3 e would never see her
son again.

On leaving the house the searchers separated
into three distinct parties, intending to take dif~
ferent directions' which may did.

With one of these, and 0 largest, went the
dog- an old hunter, named Simeon Woodley
con ucting it. It was thought that the 
might be in some way useful, if taken back on
his tracks—supposing that these could be dis-
covered. Along wit this party went Richard
Dtirke, his father choosing to accompany an-
0 er.

Just as had been con 'ectured, the dog did
prove useful. Once insi e the woods, without
even setting snout to the ground, he started. off
upon a straight run—going so swiftly that it

 

“‘i

 

 

No. 2.

Eras difficult for the horsemen to keep up with
im.

It put them all into-a gallop; continued for
miles through woodland, to the edge of the
swamp. Here it ended, by their all pulling up
under a tree—a eat buttressed cypress, by the
side of which the staghound had made a stop,
and commenced a lugubrious baying.

The searchers, having ridden up, dismounted,
and gathered around the spot; many of them
ex ctingtosee the dead body of Charles Clancy.

ut there was no body there—dead or alive.
Only a large pile of S anish mess, that appear—
ed to have been recent y torn from the branches
above. It looked as though it had been first col-
lected into a heap, and then scattered apart.

The dog had taken stand in a central spot,
from which the parasite had been disturbed,
and there stood, giving tongue. As the men
drew closer and bent their eyes upon the ground
they saw something red upon it; which proved
to be blood. It was dark crimson, almost
black. and coagulated. Still, it was blood.

 

From under the edge of the moss-heap pro- [
truded the barrel of a gun. On kicking the L
loose cover aside, they saw it was a rifle—of the 
kind common among backwoodsmen. There ‘1
were many present who identified the piece as i
that which belonged to Charles Clancy. ’ i

.More of the moss being removed, a hat was ‘
discovered. It was Clancy‘s! Half a score of i
the searchers knew the hat—could swear to it. i
. During all this time Richard Darke remained
in the background, not taking an active part in l
the scrutiny. This was strange, too. Up to
that moment he had been, to all appearance, 1
among the foremost and most zealous. 1,

Why did he now hold back? Why stand with ‘
pallor upon his cheeks, eyes sunken in their ‘
sockets, teeth chattering, as if an ague chill had 
suddenly attacked him

It would haye been fortunate for him had no
one taken notice of his reticence and changed 1
appearance. But some one had. Simeon Wood-
ley had, and others as well. Despite the 0b 1

‘ ii
i
ii

The Death-Shot; or, Tracked to Death.

 

scure light under the shadow of the cypress,
Darke’s strange behavior and scared looks were ‘
observed. I

Something besides—something yet more sig- .
nificant—attracted the attention of his fellow-
searchers. Once or twice, as he approached the
blood-stained spot, the dog sprun toward him
with a fierce growl, and continued it until beaten
offl

Men made note of the matter, but no com-
ments at the time. They were too much occu-
pied with conjectures as to what had actually
occurred. Death to Charles Clancy they were
now convinced; and proceeded with the search
for his body. .

All around, the forest was explored; along
the swamp edge: up and down the sides of the ‘
slu gish creek that ran close by.

everal hours were spent by them in tramp- .
ing about. But not a trace could be found of
living man, or dead body. The searchers only
looked for the last. Not one of them had the
slightest hope of Clancy being still alive. How ,

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CUTTING our EVIDENCE.—-Page 29.

could they, with such evidence of his death be— '
fore their eyes? ,
Nor was there any doubt about his having 1
been killed. There was no sign to make them .
think he had shot himself, or otherwise commit-
ted suicide. All they had yet seen or heard, or
knew, pointed to assassination—to stark, down- :
ri ht murder.
ut what had become of the corpse? If car—
ried awa , wh ? Who could have carried it

away? here ore and whither? And for what 1
reason surreptitiously? An accumulation of
m 'steries!

uzzled, almost awed by them the searchers
at length left the ground. Not, however, until
after giving it that sort of investigation that 1
satisfies the instincts of a crowd. They had 2
5 nt most part of the day in this, Without i
t inking of aught else, not even of their dinners. i
But night was ap roachin : they had grown ?
hungry; and one aFter anot er hurried toward
their homes; at first in odd individuals, then in l

29

straggling groups; the movement at length be—
coming general. They went home, determined
to return on the following day, and, if neces-
sary, renew the search.

Only two men stayed—Simeon Woodley and
a companion, a young backwoodsman—like
himsel, a professional hunter.

“l’m darned glad they’re gone off,” said
VVoodley, as soon as the two were left alone.
“ Dan Boone himself kedn't take up a track wi’

; sech a noisy clanjamfrey arouii’ him. I’ve tuk

notice 0’ somethin’, Ned, the which I didn’t
weesh to make known whiles they war about—-
’specially while Dick Darke war on the oun’.

‘ Le‘s go now, and see if thai"s anythin to be

made out o’ it.”

The young hunter, whose name was Heywood
—Edward Heywood—simply made sign of as-
sent. and followed his elder confrere.

After walking about two hundred yards
through the forest, ‘Woodle made stop beside a
cypress “knee,” with his ace toward it, and
his eyes fixed upon a spot nearly on a level

with his chin. It was one of the largest of those

: singular vegetable excrescences that perplex the

botanist. ,

“ You see that Ned?” said the old hunter, at
the same time ex riding his finger to point out
something near the summit of t e “ knee.”

The last Heywood did not need.
were already on the object.

“ I see a bullet-hole, sure—and something red
around the edge of it. Looks like blood?”

“It air blood, an’ nothin’ else. It’s a bullet—
hole, too; and the bit 0’ lead lodged in thar has
fust passed throu h some critter’s skin. Else
why shed thar ’a’ n blood on it? Let’s dig it
out and see what we kin make 0’ it.”

Woodley took a knife from his cket; and,
Springmg1 open the blade, inserte it into the
bark of t e cypress, close to the bullet-hole. He
did this dexterously and with caution; taking
care not to touch the encrimsoned orifice the

His eyes

' ball had made, or in any way alter its a pear-

ance. Making a circular incision aroum , and

 

30

The New York Library.

\

Vol. I.

 

 

gradually dee ning it, he at length extracted
the bit of le along with the wood in which it
had got imbedded.
bullet inside.
him so. He had probed the hole, before com-
mencing to cut it out.

Weighing the piece of wood in his hand, and
then passing it into that of his companion, he

said:

“ Ned this here chunk o’ timmer’s got a bul-
let insit e o’ it that never him out 0’ my rifle.
Thar’s big eends o’ an ounce weight 0’ it. Only
a. smooth—bore ked ‘a’ discharged sech.”

“ You‘re right there," answered Heywood, in 3
like manner testing the pcnderosity of the,

piece.
of it.”

“Well, then, who
through these hyar woods? Who, Ned Hey-
wood.’

“ I know only one man who does.”

“ Name him! Name the rascal I”

“ Dick Darke.”

“Ye may drink aforc me, Ned. That’s the
skunk I war a-thinkin’ ’bout, an’ hcv been all
the day. I see’d other sign before this—the
which escaped e o’ the rest. An’ I’m
gled it did; for I di ’t want Dick Darke to be
abort when I war follerin’ it up. For that ree-
zun I drawed the people‘ aside-“~so as none 0’ ’em
shed notice it. By good luck they didn’t.”

“ hat other sign have on seen?”

“ racks in the mud, c est in by the edgzco’
the swamp. They’w a good bit from the p e
whar the poor young fellur hez gone down, an.’
makin’ awa from it. I got onl a glimp at
’em, but her see they’d been by a man
runnin’. You bet yur life on’t they war made
by a pair 0’ boots I ve see DickDarke wearin’.

It’s too gloomsome now to make anythin’ out o"

’em._ Sp let's you an’ me go by ourselves in the
momin at the earliest o daybreak, afore the
peggle git about. Then we kin gi’e themtracks
a orrer scrutination. If they don’t prove to
be Dick Darke’s, then can Sime Woodley a
thick-headed woodchuck.”

“ How shall' we know them to be his‘! If we
only had his boots, so that we might compare

them?” ‘ I
“If! Thar’s no if! We shall hevhisboots—
et them?”

boun’ to hev ’em.”

“ But how are we to

“ Leave that to me. ’ve thought 0’ a to
git purssession o’ the skunk’s futwear an eve -
thin’ else belongin’ to him that kin throw lig t
on this dark bimess. Come, Ned! Le’s go now
to the widder’s house, an’ see if we ken 8%8
word 0’ comfort to the poor lady—for a y
she air. Belike enough this thing ’11 be the
death 0’ her She warn’t stron at best an’
she’s been a on] weaker since the usban’ died.
Now the son’s.ng too. Come on, He oodl
Le’s show her she ain’t forsook by every y.”

“ I’m with you, Woodley!”

 

CHAPTER XIV.
m  OF THE ASSASSIN.
 ‘ af‘terClancy’s assassination Richard
Darke di not slee soundly. He scarce slept at

all. Two causes 6 t him awake—the weight
of guilt upon his cats, and the sting of scornful
words yet in his ear—these last uttered

by the woman he loved—wildly worshiped.
Either should have been sufficient to torture
him, and did—the last more than the first. He
had no remorse for ha killed .the man, but
much cha¥1n at having slighted by the
,woman. he s ht had contri uted to the
crime, making the tter less re nted of. Had
it served his pm'p0se, there we (1 have been no
thought of repentance. But it had not. He
had done murder, and made nothing out of it.
For this reason only did he regret having done

it. ,

In his half waking half dreaming, slumbers,
he fancied he could hear the howling of a hound.
It awoke him: but when awake, he thought no
more of 1t, or only with transient apprehension.
His thoughts were of Helen Armstrong—of her
scorn, and his discomfiture. This was a sure
thing now; and he could no longer hope. Next
morning she would be one from him—forever.
A steamboat, leaving ,atchez at the earliest
hour of day, would convey Colonel Armstrong,
with all his belongings far away from the

lace. It would know them no more; and he,

ichard Darke, in all probability, would never
again set eyes on the Woman he loved—so madly
as to have committed murder for her sake.

“ Why the devil did I do it?” '

In this coarse shape did he express himself, as
he la upon his couch—lightly thinking of the
dre deed, but weightin grieving how little
it had availed him.

Such Were his reflections on the first night
after it. Far different Were they on the sec—
ond. Then Helen Armstrong was no more in
his,thou rhts, or having there only a secondary

lace. en the howls of the hound were
card, or fancied more frequently. They did
not startle him rom his sleep, for he slept not
at all. All night long he lay thinking of his

' , crime or rather of the peril in which it had

plac him. .
~ The events of the day had given him gtclearer

“ It‘s the ball of a smooth-bore, no doubt :

carries a smooth-berm

comprehension of things; and he now knew he
was in danger. No one had said anything to

He knew there was a gun- 1 himself about the suspicion directed u 011 him.
The point of his knife—blade told l Still there was the circumstance, whie

might

be known, that he and Clancy were rival aspi-

rants to the hand of Helen Armstrong. He t id

l not think it was known—he hoped not, as their

rivalr would point to a motive for the murder.
For a , he feared it.

He reviewed his own conduct throughout the

day. During the search, and in the presence of l

the searchers, he had borne himself satisfacto-
, rily. He had taken an active part, counterfeit—
ing surprise, zeal, and sorrow equal to that felt
by any of the party, if not greater. It was the
worst thin he could have done: since it had
attracted o servation. Though he had not no-
ticed it, eyes were upon him, keenly watching
his every movement and ears listening to every
speech he uttered.
in his countenance that was not noted; and
comments made upon it—behind his back. As
he had not heard them, he then felt secure—
though far from being confidently so. He was
only confident that there was no evidence, ex-
cept what might be called circumstantial; and
this only slight. For all, he had at times, dur—
ing the day, come very near convulsive tremb-
ling. Not from any remorse of conscience, but
a cold shiver had crept over him as he up
groached the spot where the deed had been

one. And when he at length stood upon it,
under the somber shadow of be c ress among
the moss with which he had s on ed the
corpse- when he saw that it was no longer
there, hisfear'Was intensified. It became awe
—.dread, mysterious awe. Sure of havin
there left a dead body—the onl one sure 0
this—what had become of it? ad the dead
come to life again? Had Charles Clancy, shot
thro h the breast—he had noted the lace, by
the gfood gushin from it, as he he] the pic-
ture before his vic im’s face—could Clanc have
again risen to his feet! Could a man, avin

his bod;r bored by a uarter-ounce ba ,
and lai rostrate along the earth, ever get 11p
agaig? as it possible for him to have sur-
v1ve ? ‘ -

As the murderer put these questionsto him-
self, on the spot where the murder had been
committed, no wonder he was awed, as w'ell as
mystified—no wonder his features showed that
singular expression—so as , vs at«
tracted attention! They who notl _ how-
ever, said no —at least, in his presence.

had n been so reticent. As we have

said, the bbruteseemedalso to havetaken
new of his weird, wild look, and had repeatedly
“Email: at;th sufll t f
ar e cien resence o
mind to explain this to the scare ing -
telling them he had once corrected the! and
while out huntin with his friend Clancy, and
that ever since 6 animal had shown hostility

to him!

Thetalewas usible. Forallthis,itdid t
deceive those topghom he told it. Some of 
drew deductions from it, still more unfavorable
to the teller. '

But if the myste of the -missin body had
troubled him during he day—‘in-the our when
his blood was up, and his nerves strung with ex-
citement—in. the night, in the dark silent hours,
as he lay twian his couch, it more than
trgunbled, more wowed—it  

vain e tried compose himse ,
a an explanation of the mystery. 11%:' 001in
' comprehend it; he could not even form a
bable conjecture. Was Clancydead, or still
vingl Had he walked away from the ground?
0r been carried from it, a cor '9

In either case the r to im, Darke, would

be almost ual. Be r, of course, if Clancy

were dead. or then there would be but cir-
c tiql evidence against his 

alive,'he could himself 've testimony of the
attempt; which criminal y would be almost the

same. »

Darke hoped he was dead. The night before
he felt sure of it. Not so now. As he lay toss-
ing on his couch—struvgling with. distracted
thoughts—with fears that appalled him—he
would have 'ven the best runaway nigger he
had ever caug it, to be assured of Charles Clancy
being a corpse. ' ,

And he would have granted to half a score of
his father‘s slaves their full freedom—cheerful! y
given it—if this could have guaranteed him
against detection, or punishment.

He was bein piniishcd, if not throu h rc—
morsc of conscience, by craven fear. 0 now
knew how hard it is to sleep the sleep Of the
assassin, or lie awake upon a murderer’s bed.

 

CHAPTER XV.
Tm: HOUSE or MOURNING.
To the mother of Charles Clancy it was a day

of dread suspense while they were abroad
searehh for her son. Far more fearful the
ni ht a ,r they had returned—not without

ti ings of the missing man. Such tidings! The
too certain assurance of his death—of his having
been assassinated, with no trace of the assassin,
and no clue to the whereabouts of th body,

 

The mother’s grief, hitherto kept check by

There had been no change 3

Pb

a still lin ering hope, now esca )ed all bounds
and becagie truly a onizing. Htr heart seemed
‘ broken; if not, sure y was it breaking.

Althou h, in her poverty without many
‘ friends, 5 e was not left alone in her sorrow.
‘ It could not be so in the far Southwest. Several
, of her neighbors—rough backwoodsmen though
‘ they were—having kind hearts under their
, coarse homes )un coats, determined to stay with
‘ her through t 6 night.
‘ They remained outside in the porch, smoking
1 their pipes conversing of the occurrences of the
1 day, and the mystery of the murder.
' t first theyjspoke cautiously, two and two,
’ and only in w spers. These gradually became

mutterings pronounced in louder tone; while the

, name of Richard Darke was frequently men—
‘ tio’ned. He was not among the men remaining
1 in the widow Clancy ’s cottage. '
Soon the conversation grew general; these
‘ who took part in it expressing themselves more
‘ o nly, until, at length, Dick Darke—as, for
l s iort, his neighbors called hint—became the sole
1 to ic of discourse.

Iis behavior durin
their notice. Even

 

the day had not escaped
e most stolid among them
had remarked a stran ness in it. In his coun
terfeited zeal he h overdone himself. The
sharpestof the searchers only observed this; but
anndwere struck first? less  something be—
yo surprise,wn esaw eoturnu n
and bark at him. Whaty could that Ifieani p0
Just as one  put this interrOgatory, and
answers or surnnses were being altered, the same
dog—the hound—was heard again giving tongue.
The animal had g out om he porch and

commenced bar , as if some rson Was
making ap reach to the house. 0st simul-
taneously e little wicket gate in front turned
upon its bin es.

A negro, t e onl one attached to the estab-
lishment, quieted 6 dog; went out, and spoke
to the party at the gate. Only a few muttered
words were exchanged. Then the ne canio
back to the house—two men follow close
upon his heels. These were Simeon Wgodley
and Ned Heywood. ,

The others, recognizing, rose to receive them;
and the new comers became rtof the conclavo,

still discussing the events 0 the da .
Woodle , looked up to by all as
w light on the series of mysteries

em, soon

libel to

' 8 th MechlefW—the

miefinlng to himas ifhe were MPG.

I There wasno loud talking done. On t e con—

trary, the discussion Was carried on in a low

tone—a daigigtk in wh' rs—the little
up permi e part in it has their

figgds close together, so that the WD and

others should at hear what was said. -

man most

They who thus deliberated were in darkness.
At least there was no light in the h where
occasional

of a candle, 0 across the corridor

‘ room_to room. When this flitte‘d over

M Mat showed 11 one and all of them,

an expressmn (lilferen from that likely to be
called forth by any '

could be seen sparklin wi
gag, held in restraint;

 sat, except what came from t
E. a ..

ti t1 ressed n
th that seemed set de rmignedlv 1:311 somepgdr-

se, wanting only an additionaly word to give
t the cue for action. .

The 333.1%? candleggieamh reviigl‘tle‘glf t2: form of

0 can 0 11

holding in his in: an object which, wiggogé
bein 1d what it was, no one could%ve recog-
mug. But the toth was' ' g it
knew well. m a‘ _ of cypress wood,
inside of which wad the t of a gun. They
hag received full. explanations as to how the
be had been "thus buried, and saw the blood
tinge gonnd the orifice it had made on enter—
ing. short, they had been made aware of
ever hing already known to the two hunters.

0t er circumstances were stated and discussed ;
and to lselect few Woodley communicated his
discoVery of the footprints, as also his conjec—
ture about the boots that might be found to cor-
res nd to them.

ow he was to confirm this to himself, and

prove it to the others, was also made known to
this same select few; who, shortly after, mount—
ing their horses rode away from the house,
leaving enough friends to stay by the afflicted
woman—to give her their company, if they
could not comfort her in her affliction.

The men who rode ofl' with Woodley, instead
of scattering, each to his own home, kept to—
gethcl' along the road leading to the country
town. When near its suburb, they stopped at
a hug; house—known to be the resulcnce of the
shcri .

A knock at the door, a summons to this oili—
mal and he was soon in their midst. A word
or two from Woodley; and, hastily ordering
his horse, he mounted and placed himself at their
head.

Then all tin-nod back along the road, as if go—
ingta aim to the house of Mrs. Clancy. ,

0 so, however. Instead, the cavalcade at
a crossin ' took a different direction, and headed
toward t e lantation of Ephraim Darke; the
gate of which the passed through, just as dawn
be an to dap le t e eastern sky. ‘

efore day ight had declarec itself, they halt-

 

 

 

"Nag.

[The DeathSh'ot ;' or,  Death.i " _ ‘ '  a

 

 

ed in front of the house; half a dozen men de-
taching themselves from t e main body, and
riding roundto its rear, as to guard against
the of the inmates. _ ,,

He, t 6 cause of these recautionary move—
ments, was still abed; tossmg, as throu hout all
the night, upon a sleepless couch. But is mid-
night agony was easy, compared With thathe
was called upon to endure, when the morning
light came through the window of his chamber
and along with it voices. They were man“ and
strange, all speaking in tones of vengeance.

The assassin. sprung to his feet, and, rushing
across the room, looked out. It did not nee
this to tell him what the noise was about. His
guilt heart had already it. Among
the half-Score horsemen who had drawn up
arciuld the house, he recognized the sheriff of
the comity, and beside him two others, whom
he knew to be Woodley and Heywood.

These three had already dismounted, and were
entering the door.

in ten seconds after, they were inside his
sleeping-chamber; the sheriil‘, as he step )ed
across its threshold, saying, in a firm, cear
voice:

“ ichard Darke, I arrest you!”

“ For what?"

“ For the murder of Charles Clancy!”

This splendid romance of Border Life and
Strange Story of Men‘s IIfilPSjllHl Passions and
Touching Narrative of \Voulan’s Love and Faith
by this Mas'rsn ROMANCER OF THE AGE, will be
continued ill Number Three of the NEW YORK
LIBRARY.

 

SCORE ANOTHER

FOR THE

New York Library.

THE CELEBRATED

BUCKSKIN SAM,

(MAJOR SAM. 8. BALL)

(.“omes to the front as narrator and story teller,
and ill Number Three, to issue June 7th, gives
our readers?—

KIT CARSON, Jr.,

The Crack Shot of the West.

A ROMANCPOF THE BIO GRANDE.
-0very word of which is written by his own ,
hand! It is a remarkable story of his own re-
markable experience as Ranger, Scout and
Fighter, as well as of his comrades, “pards”
and coadjutors,

BIGFOOT WALLACE,
RECKLnss Jon Boom,
“OLD RIP,” COL. FORD,
Ton CLARK, THE Set-Scour,
STAGE DRIVER JACK Hones,

Jm; Bearfield, Ben Thompson, Phil Coe, Jim
Ransom (3,”); Haynes, Mrs. Kate Luby, Mat
Nolan, John Littletoii, Willi 'W’l‘u, Beautif‘fl “
Martha Wells, Bill George (Texas Bill), -“€7lo‘3m,”
and other men noted'in Texan life. . ' " ' ‘

It is literally a Life Transcrth in whose story .
we see and hear these men as they arr, and i
have a narrative that vies with any creation of
the novelist in its exciting, strange and signifi-
cant incidents and adventures.

Kit Canon Jr., though young in years, is
every inch a hero, worthy of his illustrious pa—
rentage; and that he should lead such a band of

‘ these here named shows him to be a

2 out alone, Calvo

 

1"valor.

The Line of‘ileath.

BY GEORGE W.‘ BROWNE.

 

 

“HOLD! If you value your life, don‘t take
another stop! You are upon the ‘ Line of
Death !’ But one man ever crossed it and lived!"

It was a startling command, given in an ex-

cited tone, and although I saw nothing to war- ‘

rant its need, I had, nevertheless, respect enough
for m friend to heed his singular warning, and,
accorl 'ngly, stopped abrupt in my coulse, to
wait impatiently or his e lanation.

We were in the Silver ountain district, and
had that morning, at my own desire, left the
camp for the express pm
wilds in that Vicinity. icompanion was a
man who had spent half of is life ill the moun-
tains, and knew eve inch of the land we were
traversing.
announcement already given, just as I
reached an o nin in the forest just a little in
advance of im, felt there was some hidden
meaning ill his words. But where the danger
was to come from was more than I could deter-
mine. I saw only a pleasant clearing, some
twellt rods in width, and covered With a
sparse y—grown sward of green grass.

“A narrow escape!” panted my companion,
as he reached my side.

“ Escape from what?” I cried.
dan er.”

“ f you was not a stranger in these parts, you
would not ask that ques ion,” said my guide.
“But, look here; you see that line where the
green grows to the edge of the timber,
above and below us as far as you can see.
Well, that is called ‘The Line of Death.’ If you
take but one step over that line, you 0 down
into a quicksand of unknown depth. hus, if
you had not stopped just as you did, you now
would have been floundering in that quicksand,
and, in spite of all I coul have done, would
have perished there. _

I knew the speakch well to think for an in-
stant that he was jesting, and felt thankful that
I had escaped such a terrible death.

“ I have been in these diggings twenty odd
years,” continued my companion, after a pause,
“and during that time, no less than eight per—
sons h’ave gone down beneath that treacherous

ass.

“ But you said, a moment ago, that one person
escaped. How came he to be so much more for-
timate than the others?” I asked, my curiosity
thoroughly aroused.

“It was, indeed, a. miracle; and if on will
give me your attention a few minutes, will tell
you how it happened.”

The story w oh the old mountaineer told was
in substance as follows:

“ A few years ago, there came to the mines a
Mexican named Castello Calvo. But, Cast
Calvo, as we used to call him was not of the
common order of Mexicans, for he was as noble,
true-hearted a fellow as ever lived and he soon
got to be a great favorite me the boys.

“ One day as Calvo was on prospecting he
chanced to come this way and not kno of
the terrible trap that is here he attemp to
cross to the other side. ut, at the first step he
sunk into the quicksand up to his knees, an in
his frantic efforts to get out, he sunk still deeper

“I seeno

' into its unknown de the.

“Not dreamin o the peril he was encounter-
ing, Calvo at firs thought nothing serious of his
situation; but, attem ting to get upon solid
footing, baa  fulfil. er sped funithgr from thg
bank, an ‘ ntinning s eeper an
d r into the frightful depths below him,
wit out any prospect of touching bottom, he
began to realize the danger menacinghim and
exercisin more care than he had at rst done,
he labo with redoubled ener .

“But, too late! the sand yie without re-
sistance and slowly but surely be felt himself
drawn own, down into its dark and fathomlem

,d ths.

‘As soon as he found that he could not get
to shout for help, yet
knowing that there was not one chance in a.
thousand of his being heard. Still, as he felt
himself sinking deeper and deeper into the mire,
he knew his only hope lay in that direction
sum." as it was, and he shouted louder an

louder," till he was hoarse and faint.

“After  for help till he was neaigfi
speechless, and rying to extricate himself '
he was almost exhausted, and still finding that
he wasonly thinlntO- the uicksand worse
and worse, no chance of h 8 being rescued,
hope died out. He was-in nearly 11 to his
shoulders, and it seemed as if he must perish.

To add to the terror of his terrible situation ,
night was fast setting in—a night which he felt .

would last to him forever.

“ At the critical moment w 11 death seemed
so near, he suddenly thought 0 the lasso which,
true to the character of his race, he always-car-

. 1.1m. Then his hopes brightened, .for
' ' ‘mechanceofesca .
“cm the bank
tree, about 1'
ins

thelaasoiwastakenintocustody. ' _-,

 

.7 9")“.1.’ _ 
1,. .I‘;{tfl .. ‘

of exploring the i

Thus, w en he made the  ‘

from his person, Calvo, with the rovei‘bial skill a
of his countrymen, dextrously gnaw the run-
ningnoose over the end, where it ' , and
wassecurely held. But the movemen caused
him to sink still deeper into the quicksand;how—
ever, he heeded it not, as be supposed he could
n0w draw himself out'upon term jirma without
difficulty.
“ Poor Calvo! Judge of his su rise and con- , .
sternation when he found he coul raise himself "1“-
but a few inches, at the most. When, after rc— . ’
ated trials, he found that he cnuld not draw
imself out, and [at the best could only keep in
his present position, he fastened the rope around
j his waist, to save the strain upon his armsin I
‘ holding his wei ht, and repared for the inevit~
able—to pass a oner nig t in that terrible place,
down into the living quieksand up to his shoul-
' ders hanging there by the lasso. '
“ barkness soon came on, enveloping the scene
iii the impenetrable gloom of the night; still
Calvo was in that terrible place' suffering all the
agonies of a living deat . At times he was
tempted to cut the rope and thus let himself
down into the quicksand—into eternity! But
the love of life i‘sstron , so he would thrust aside
suicidal thoughts, an cling to the re with f f '
the desperation that a. drowning man w’ catch ‘
at a straw. . .
“ Thus, hour after hour wore tediously away, , '
bringing him sufferings which can be better ‘
ima 'ned than told. ‘ '
“ orning dawned at last, and soon.after day-'- -
break a of miners chanced to pass near
the place, w en, hearing poor Calvo’s feeble
cries, they hastened to his rescue' and after'con~ . ‘
siderable difllculty they succeeded in getting. 
him out n solid footing. But he was more‘ -‘ '
dead than ive; and it was months and months
before be full recovered from the eflect of that
night’s fearf adventure. » <

   
   
   
    
 
   
   
   
  
   
   
   
 
 
   
  
    
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
  
   
  
  
   
    
 
 
 
  
   

 

 

 

The Cunning Oriental,

As detectives, the East Indian policemen,
says a writer in Once a Week, exhibit an acumen
that would not disgrace the most intelligent of
our own force. I will give an instance of .
that happened lately. One day a well
woman, apparently of the better class, en . p .
the house 0 a sowcar or money-lender in"Hy‘ Q. . '
derabad. She seemed to be in the most  "*3"
distress, and was crying bitterly. She informed ; .
the sowcar that her husband was a merchant,- ‘. -" 11
and that he had embarked his all in stoc ' a. «
sho ; that the shmkeepers had agreed  ‘
fie ertoruinhim, tteyhadsucceededin is.

oing so; and that he was now lyingtin prison”. I ,i- ~,
sunkunderaloadofdebt. . -. " 

The only way of helping him that she could »‘ 'M.
think of wasto pawn r jewels, and that she; * ' "
had accordingly brou t them With her hopin - ‘1
that the sowcar won! advance her su a 
on them as would be sufficient to liberate’h'er ‘-
husband. She then produced her 
diamotiid rings ear—rii , l necklaces—aw
pareny wo seve t ousand rupees, 
entreated him to lend her two thousandm ' " 
on them without dollar fie accordingly, v-’ ' 
ingfirsttesbdthe o ' ,andfound ‘5
ofpuregold,jud theje tobealsogenui“
me, and thou ht that be t make a good 
thin out of t e transaction. , after  5
her own a hundred rupees, he gave her :1. ,_
money. . ‘ ‘

The sowcar shortly afterward ha

 

'I

ppened .t'o' _.
show these jewels to a friend who was Visiting
him, and was advised by him to examine the3  -
stones carefully, which as yet he had not done, ~ ‘
He acted accordingto his‘friend’s advice,and '
then discovered,-to his horror, that they were . ’ .
all only clever imitations, worth nothing. He ‘ "
had been swindled cleverly out of fifteen hun- W
dred rupees. _ I I ‘
The only thing that remained for him todo
was to put the matter into the hands of die"
game, m_ the hope of capturing the 
ey adwsed him to say nothing of his 
been cheated, but to give out that his  «
beellly'éfi‘pkelil a band elf thievuc M}
eve in n mmed' 0 am Which
was‘a large quantity of w  ~
ing to the woman was to minutely described
—aud that he should offer a large rewarzhf
the discovery of the stolen goods, as, from " x . ,
having been deposited on edge. he wouldbo;
involved in a. great loss. he did, ha ' 
am with beat of tom-tom through all

rs. - ’ .
Two or three days filter a man cametoflfi'f'
sowcar, and said that he had been in prised "
debt; that hiswife had pawned her jam  4' L
t him out; that, since then, his father  ‘
led and had left him property, andthlttnow ‘
l he wished  redeem the jewels that‘had 
; deposited With him. Of course, the sowcar nude
5 he could not produce them, as they had has:
5 stolen; but would the man give him time? a m
4 was refused, and the fullvalu‘d demand
the sum lent and interest. afireat deal of '
gling was done, in order to ow 
police to be summoned. On 

's.

 

\ '  . ' ’ ‘3!
‘ ~. ., a“.

A

.FRANK"

18rARRs

l.--..“ ,

New York LibrarymTen Cent Pocket Library

TWO NEW SERIES JUST

160 PAGES COMI’LETE.

 

 

READY, AND FOR SALE

BY NEWSDEALERS EVERYWHERE.

 

 

 

 

i,  \ No. 1. FRANK STARR’S 10 Cts. Frank Starr S  York Library,
 TEN CENT POCKET LIBRARY. NUMBER 1 CONTAINS

i: .  V V  LR  ‘ ‘ , ,
iv, a " -. v v — A HARD CROWD,
a:

E A startling, deeply-exciting tale of the border,
 ‘ when “over the Missouri” was out of the “States.” It
 is of a Hard Crowd—a lawless set of rufiians such as no
  other country in the world could produce—gamblers,

 

outcasts, horse-thieves, plainsmen, Indiawfighters and
hunters, with an occasional army officer or adventurer
to leaven the unleavened massz—a story not merely of
ruifianism and lawlessness, but a remarkable series of
acts by an extraordinary bevy of men and a not less
extraordinary young woman, who as heroine and actor
renders that HARD CROWD a singular‘ service and gives

JV . it the blow that kills. Those who have read “Tiger

1 ,1. N , d Dick”——a very peculiar and powerful story of Western

 V‘ 4;? , i, ~ ' , _  - x 4  4‘ life—will find in this new work, from its author’s hands,
 - , -- , ' .4 if   \ ‘  something to excite wonder, surprise and delight.

It . . . . ~ g - \  \ \\\\\ _ A HARD CROWD is given in one number, price

 

 

 Hurricane Nell,

n

\

THE QUEEN OF 'THE SADDLE AND LASSO.

‘ . . 7—. .A7. A.

FRANK shim"; co., 41 PLATT or, N. Y.

 

 

 

When she awoke it was with n startled scream.
" l The vast plain was as light as day.
, - ’Way off to the north, to the south, to the east and west—in fact, all around her,
circled an awful seething sea of name.
. «The outlaw had keptlils word.
“ Oh, God i” cried the girl, her great hazel eyes npralsed to the starlit heaven,
“hear me swear unto you that, as sure as there is a God and a ruling power on

'  earth, I will have revenge or this heartless act of the outlaw chief and his mur-

' derqns gang. Ay, revenge! remmge! Though i must leave the bodies of my
parents to roast in the flames. i will escape and live to spill the blood of every
scanned wretch who was with Bob Woolf to-day; and will reserve him for my

a last victim. Girl though lam, and young and feeble, i will sweep like a hurri-

cane into the robbers’ ranks, and take a life for every word that the desperndo

chief uttered ten hours ago ! I swear it! before high heaven! I swear it I”
a, - a e e s- o e e n It

A heavy north wind had risen. and this. together with the roar and crackle

, or the great fire, made a noise not unlike the raging voice of the tornado.
, ,b e e s 4: e on e

1.
l

* ,lowed close in the wake of the southern boundary of the tire. now here, then

7 Far away to the south, speeding with the wind, like a startled deer, she rol-
the , and it e the veritable hurricane, she swept on everywhere. She was
_ two res, both wafled tn the same direction. * It a:
' e was considering what to do, when a strange sound attracted his attention.
It came nomrthe‘dark leaf coverts among the branches or the tree, at the foot
of which slept Long Snout.

With eager eyes Cecil watched, and strained his ear to catch any other sound

. » that mightbe made. .

x
J \
.- i

n
..’~

_ The lower branches of the tree were only about three feet above Long Snont’s
head. and were so large that only a heavy weight, or shock, could jar them.

Presently apebble dropped through the leaves and fell at the sentinel’s feet.
But he did not awake.

' The next instant a body swung down into mid-air, .headmremost, the feet and
legs being locked about the limb above, and the head and shoulders were brought
on a level with those of the lndian.

In a second the plump, muscular arms were straightened down. one hand

only ten cents. In the same number is commenced

Captain MAYNE ‘REID’S

Magnificent Romance of the South-West,

THE DEATH SHOT;
TRAGKFDOi‘o DEATH.

One of the great Romancer’s most splendid works.
Given with all the original beautiful illustrations, 25 in
number, received direct from . the London Illustrated
News, and used by special arrangement with the author.

The “New York Library” will comprise as its first
issue ' 2
No. I.-—A HARD CROWD; or, Gentleman Sam’s

Sister. By the author of Tiger Dick. Now
Ready. . -

No.-II.——THE DARE-DEVIL; or -
Witch of the See '
Ingraham. 1:” ‘

No. IIl.——. 1'"

 

y.

 clutched the sleepin Long Snout by the throat, and the other, which contained ' ‘
. , along knife, drove t e glittering blade repeatedly to the hilt in the band breast. ‘. ' “
YThe redskin writhed and twisted fiercely, but could not break away, or even yell ‘
y . for the grip about his windpipe was like a twisted cord. He sunk down, m"
V .. ' wgwdsplu‘rtag from‘edvery gasih in streams. Quickly the assailav“ "‘
' -,. ‘\ e to l s t am row an ron-stam from an inner poo" '
t 1- Half-moon, which, a’fter dipping into the li c-blood of Long Sm “‘1 Incomparably In- 3
.nem ever offered at any price.

I“ a, forcibly down upon the forehead, leaving a bloody impression—a
“A
“in STARR 8'

In an instant more the strange avenger had (lis‘appmrvrl
Platt a Willl'a

 , branches. silently. like athlug of shadow. 0 t t
‘ Even he spoke he felt something drop over his shoulders an
about his waist. ‘Twas a lasso. The next moment he began ti
pulled rafildly up among the branches.
These few extracts are from the intensely exciting and late
Sent by mail on receipt
. be had of all news dealers wno keep to sup  . .. , , ‘
No.1 HURRICANE we”. the tree mm en die: a. .umo ' ’ -1 “  ' 
v”, l;— :‘gdyaé‘g. TWP: 18:16:33” 13mm“ 5 D n 1 {STAKES New York Library, Ten Cent P00
- o. . - . EIJST or t e rend alder of u   - - .e
' .. fill-e no... smd. By ceo.w.m3wne3 neodymium,  land Qu'Ctner current publlcatlons 0f the

 

n..1.1.'-'i. ._-

ff “Hurricane Nell. the Queen 0! the Saddle and Lasso. or the Girl _
 No. 1 of Frank Starr's new and beautiful series: the Ten Cent Por nary,
 9, now ready and for sale by every live news agent in the United Staten. 1'0 be fol—
v, ~ bung other new and original brilliant stories by brilliant authors. Tales of
'1' the )0 er, Plains and Wilderness! Stories of the Trail, the Scout and the Hunt!
mono! Adventure and Peril on Sea and Land!

NOTHING LIKE THEM EVER 07"! ED!

      
 

 

,,\ ‘l a:
. W