Copyrighted, 1859, by BRADLR AN . Entered M the Pan Ofice M. New York, N. Y., 9.5 Second Class Mail Matter. Jun. 19, 1589.

 

2.“ Published Weekl b Beadle and Adams 1- In,
“gavel; No. 98 WILIEAMYST“ NEW YORK. ‘ 1 FIVCréénts. V01. XX-

 

 

 

 

 

Black Jim's Doom.

 

Black Jim’s Doom;

on,

BILLY BOWLE_GS"S REVENGE.

BY LIEUT.-COL. HAZLETON,
AUTHOR or “ OLD NANCY’S WARD,” “ THE
MARKED MINER," “THE SILVER BUGLE,”
ETC., ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
THE OLD MAN‘S STORY.

THE Everglades of Florida! How much of
interest clustered around them during tiie mem-
orable war of 18—. Twenty millions of people
were eagerly watching the movements of those
two warrior Chieftains, Colonels Taylor and
Twizgs, expecting a happy termination of hos-
tilities, and another star to be added to those
sohining amid the constellation of America’s

wu.

At the time of whish we write, there had been
a cessation of hostilities for over a year. That
is, of actual hostilities. But the Seminoles were
becoming very bold in their depredations, and
at length the commander of the United States
forces gave notice to the chief of the Seminoles
—-au intelligent but relentless Indian, or half-
breed, known as ‘Y Billy Bowlegs”—that, if his
warriors did not observe, to the letter, the
treaties which had been made between his tribe
and the Federal authorities he might expect
extermination.

At that time, Colonel Twizgs, (afterward
General,) occupied a post of considerable im-
portance at Tampa Bay, near the spot where
now stands Fort Brooke. Under his command
were about three hundred soldiers. They held
possession of a rude, thodgh strong work known
as Fort Chickakanicle, an ap llation given it
by the garrison. There was, a so, quite a Settle-
ment at this point, perhaps thirty or forty
dwellings, some of which were occupied by
soldiers and their families, others by settlers
and transient traders, drawn thither from its
importance as a military post.

military road terminated at a beautiful

» sheet of water known as Lake Kissimmee. and

directly south of this lake are the Everglades of

Florida, which afforded such protection for the

savages, who, seeking shelter within them. and

guided by the cunning Billy, so long baffled the
clitoris of our troops for their capture.

 

It was a night in the month of December.
The winds swept across the Gulf, and sighed
mournfully through the oaks, and the mad
waters lashed the base of Chickakanicle with a
fury unprecedented. The guard buttoned his
coat tightly around him, and shuddered, for
even in those Southern latitudes, the nights of
winter are sometimes bitterly cold. It was per—
haps the hour of eleven. Everything: within the
Iort and settlement was quiet, and only an
occasional light gleamed from a trader’s cabin
or some Officer’s quarters. Presently, a voice
was heard to exclaim:

“ Haltl Who comes there?”

In answer to the challenge from the sentinial,
a voice replied:

“ An old man from the lake wishes to see the
commander.”

“ Impossible to-night. He has retired."

“ But my business is most urgent."

“ Business always is.”

“ But, sir," continued the old man, " it is con-
cerning the Indians, and a renegade, and my
only daughter, too!” The voice quivei'ed with
emotion. “An hour’s delay may win all. I
pray you, inform the colonel of what I say.”

“ Well, I’ll try. Hold on a bit. Corporal
of the guard,” called the sentinel. In a few
moments this person made his appearance, and
after learning the occasion of the call, he de~
termined at once to consult the lieutenant of
the guard. This being done, the officer replied:

“ Certainly. Bring the old man to my qualu
ters at once.”

The applicant was soon Within the fort, and
was met by the lieutenant.

“ I thank you, sir, with all my heart]! said
the old man. “My child is gone—has been
taken—1’ he could not proceed, for his choked
voice failed of utterance.

“Never mind now,” interrupted the officer.
” I understand you are in trouble with the red.
skins, and that your daughter has been torn
from you. This is enough for Neil Judson to
know, until you make further statements in the
presence of the commanding officer. Follow
me.”

He led the way through a long range of yvind-
ing passages. and at length. paused at the door
of an ordinary looking bulldlflg-  llght Was
visible through a small Window, _wh1cli was our-
tained, however, thus Pl'9V9m'Pg, 811V person
from the outside from peering Within. The New
tenant knocked loudly ut thedoor.

“Come in,” was the quiet response. The
party entered. , .

Seated at the table examining some mpeivs,
was a man of marked appearance.

almost white, covered his chin and throat. hang:
ing in heavy maSSes upon his breast. He arose
to receive his visitors. A person ot more com-
manding mien did not belong to the serv1ce. It
was Colonel David Twiggs. ‘

“ What is your business, Lieutenant J udsonfl”

asked the colonel.

“ To present this old gentleman to you.”

“ You have business with me?" asked thecom-
mander.

“ I have," replied the old man, with still trem— ,

ulous voice. _ _
“Be seated, sir." Then resuming his lace
at the table, and drawing paper, pen anr ink

before him, as if preparing to write, the colonel '

asked:

“Your name, sir.”

“ It is Stephen Leveday, colonel.”

“ And your residence?"

“ Is near Lake Kissimmee.”

“,Well, go on and state your business with
me. ,

“I will, colonel. It is now nearly a yearsince
my daughter Jessie was stolen from me by a. rut-

 

flan called James MacDonald, better known as
Black Jim the renegade.”

He was '
pewerfully built, while his board, which was '

  

    

, alas»  

 

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fl Black Jim's Doom. 8

 

" I have heard of the villain. But go on.”

1" “I made every effort to find my child, but in

A, vain. At length I gave her up as dead. Still,

" in spite of my better judgment, a father’s love
has revived a father‘s hopes many times, and 1

 have dreamed my darling would yet be restored
to me.”

-. “ I cannot see as you have any especial reason

to despair. She is probably among the Indians,

and I will demand her return."

“ Oh, God bless you. colonel.
learn where she is to—night.”

“ In what manner?”

“I was going to explain. Four days a o I
saw a party of the savages pass my ea in.
Among their number were many whom I have
seen before under the command of Black Jim,
and that villain himself. I saw them strike into
the military road, and the thought occurred to
me that they might be coming here.”

“ How many were there?"

“ About fifty.”

“ It is not a war~party then?”

“ They were not in their war- aint.”

“ Perhaps the proclamation issued has had
its effect, in spite of the defiant answer that
Billy Bowlegs sent me. Was he with the

rty?”

“ I do not know, colonel. I have never seen
g him to my knowled e.”

j A “ Neither have He is a strange savage.
Always present, but never seen. But, go on
with your story.” '

“ Well. sir, it was hard work for the old man
to travel twenty-five miles a day, and slee
upon the ground at night in the cold. Of cour
I dared not build a fire, for fear of being dis-
covered. But something nerved me up, and I
arrived here as soon as they.’

“ Where are this party?”

“ There are about forty-six or seven of them
concealed in the forest upon the opposite side of
the river. Three of them crossed in a small

 canoe. I also succeeded in finding a little boat,
and in reaching this side.”

“ Did you lose sight of the three?”

“ I did. But, as l. was passing one of the
traders' cabins in the settlement, I saw them
drinking within. ”

“ Yes, I understand. These red devils are

. whisky-mad, and must have it at any price.

\ The chief has undoubtedly sent this arty tor-
‘ Q ward to purchase it. They will be c soon.”

7 “ But my child l” exclaimed the old man.

, “ Well, what has all this to do with her?‘7

.“ Black Jim is one of the three who are drink-
ing at the cabin. Will you not have him ar-

, rested. and force from him a confession as to

3 what has become of my Jessie?”

. “ Of course I will. Lieutenant J udsnn, order
outs. file of men; arrest the Indians and the
notorious Black Jim, and bring them to my

uarters at once. I will have the truth from

t t fellow, or he shall hang.”

“ Thank you, colonel. If my child can only
he found, the old man will bless vou forever.”

“ How old was your daughter?”

“ She, was but seventeen when she was stolen.”

But, I may

,om...‘ ~ .  .

4'

w.

\

 

 “ Well, you may accompany the lieutenant,
 for the p oi! pointing out where these fel-
§~ lows are. e Will settle the matter soon.”

My ~_

 

The oflicer left the room, followed by Mr.
Loveday, and proceeded to detail the guard. As
they moved toward the spot, Judson asked:

“ Was Jessie your only child?”

“ My only living child.”

“ Is her mother living?“

H No.”

“ Did you not have a son by the name of
Frederick?"

“ Ohl my poor boy, Fred. Did you know
him?”

“ I knew Fred Loveday; and as noble a boy
he was as ever trod the deck of a warsman.”

“ But he is gone !“

“ Yes, poor Fred fell, through the treachery
of a red-skin.”

“ Tell me the particulars.” ’

“ I know but little of the afiair. We were
anchored off the Florida coast when your son,
With a party of two others, visited the shore in
a small heat. They were captured by a band of
savages, and brutally murdered. Their bodies
were thrown into the Gulf."

“ I have heard this before; but I am glad to
meet one who knew my Fred.” '

“ I wonder that you remain in this horrible
country, now that you are alone. You have
sufl‘ered much from the savages.”

“ True; but it is the spot where rest the re-
mains of my beloved partner, and it seems like
hallowed ground. I could not leave it.”

“If you find your daughter, would you not
leave it for her sake?”

“ Oh, esl In that case I should leave it at
once. ut we are at the cabin now, and there
are the villains.”

Judson at once entered with his soldiers, when
the egarty sprun to their feet, and one of them
ask . in plain nglish:

“ What means this?”

“ James MacDonald, you and your oom—
panions are under arrest.’

In a few moments they were conveyed to the
quarters of Colonel Twiggs.

CHAPTER II.
THE LOST CHILD.

As Judson entered the colonel’s apartment
with his prisoners, Twifigs raised his eyes, and
fixed upon them awit ering look. Although "
there was lightning in that 826, it did not ap-
pear in the least to distur or disooncertthe
captives, for they. returned the gaze steadily,
while a ~contemptuous curl settled upon their
lips. Twiggs saw this, and it .rendered him
furious. He struck the table, beside which he
was sitting, a violent blow with his clinched
fist. and exclaimed, in a loud voice:

“ Dogs, put less of insolence in your looks, or
I will hang you in ten minutes.”

“ Are you the Od—deen-yo?” asked one of the

party“.
“ hat do you mean b Od-deen— o?”

“ Ugh! The white c ief of~o these cut-
throats.” The speaker pointed to the guard,
and indicated those without.

“ Cut-throats, do you call them? Then I will
have them verify your appellation by commenc-
ing upon you.”

‘ Are you Colonel Twiggsi"

“ I am. What then!”

 

 

4 Black Jim's Doom.

 

“ Then you are a coward I”

“By heavens!” shrieked the colonel, as be
seized his sword and sprung upon the speaker,
“I will teach you to apply such language to
me.” He was about to strike, but, seeing the
captive stand with arms folded, and without in~
dicating the slightest fear, he paused. Twiggs
was not the man to commit such an act as to
cleave down an unarmed prisoner. He gazed
upon his captive a moment, and then said:

“I do not care to strike a prisoner. But
your insult provoked me, and your manner is
ins‘ofint." Is your name James MacDonald?"

is.

“ What were you doing in this settlement?"

"I came to purchase some articles which I
needed.- But, Ltake it, we have a right to
visit a trading-post without being arrested, or
questioned, either.”

“ How many came with you?”

“ You see them all before you.”

“You are a liar! There are nearly fifty of
your tribe concealed in the woods, opposite the
river.”

“But they are not in the settlement,” was
the ready response. “They are simply await-
ing, upon the other side, to convey such things
as we might purchase to the lake. But how
did you know that our warriors were opposite?"

“ 0 you know that old man?” The colonel
pointed to old Mr. Loveday. MacDonald
turned, and gazing upon the old man an in-
stant, said, with something like a sneer:

“ I think it is my fatherdn-law."

“ Villain!" cried the old man, as he clutched
MacDonald by the throat, “ where is my child
——my poor Jessie?”

“Take your hands off, old man,” yelle‘l the
renegade. At the same instant he hurlcd'him.
with great violence to the floor. The wretched
father received a wound upon the head, from
which the blood flowed freely, and otherwise
bruised, but was not rendered insensible. The
villain was immediately seized by the soldiers,
and tightly bound.

“Now answer me,” exclaimed Twiggs, and
there was a meaning in his tone; “where is
Jessie Loveday?”

“ 1 know of no such person.”

“ You stole her from my home, and conveys!
her to your tribe." cried the old man, “ and. if
she is alive, you must know where she is. Oh!
tell a wretched father!"

“ Had you not better make another attempt
tosqueeze the information out of my throat?"
added the villain.

“I will do that, very soon, if you do not an-
sWer.” re lied Twiggs.

“ Oh! will answer, for it will tickle the old
man. Not, sir, because I fear you, even though
I am bound.”

“ Where is my child?"

“ At my home, in the Everglades.”

“Then she is alive and well?"

“ Yes, and happy!”

“Happy! How can she be happy while she is
acaptive, and away from her poor old father
who loves her so much?"

“She is with a husband' who loves her an!
whom she loves. Why should she not be happy i"

“ Is she indeed married?”

 

" She is; I am her husband—that is, we were
married according to Indian rites.”

“That is no marriage at all. Oh! will you
not restore her to me?"

“ Couldn’t think of it.”

“ Will you not permit me, then, to go to her
and live and die by her side?”

“It would do you no good.”

“ It would—oh! it would. I Will not take her
from you, but will teach her to love you even
more, if you will be kind to her. And you shall
never hear a word of complaint or reproach
from my lips. If you knew how much I love
my child, you would not refuse me. And she is
all I have in the world to love. Let me go to
her.”

“ I tell you, old man, it would do you no
good. She will not know you.”

“Whatl not know her own father, arid so
short a time absent? Impossible!”

“ And yet I tell you it is so. She is mad!"

“ Oh! my God i” groaned the old man.

“ Yes, perfectly insane. She knows nothing—
cares for nothin but her child." , I

“ Her child! h! monster! You have driven
her to this!" And the old man fell upon his
knees, sobbing as if his heart would break.

“ Shouldn't wonder!” was the heartless re-
svnnse.

. One of the other captives. when he heard these
words, stepped directly in front of MacDonal-l,
and fixed his eyes upon him. He did not speak,
but the villain quailed beneath that gaze.

This man was very singular in appaaranxe.
He was very large, square built, long arm:,
head apparently set directly upou the'shouliiers,
dispensing entirely with the neck; in fact. he
was an absolute deformity. He appeared to be
a half-breed. His dress was a. singular mixture
of the savage warrior, the hunter and the
wrecker. Indeed, he might have been mistaken
(01' 0'10 of those vagaboud Bahainans. There
was nothing about the face, excepting the eyes,
which indicated the slightest degree of intelli-

once.

3 It was evident that Twiggs interpreted this
movement as imposing silence upon MacDonald,
for he said:

“ 0h! he need not speak further to-nizht.
Sergeant. take that fellow to the shore and lash
him to a tree. Place a guard over him also. I
think by to-morrow he will be less insolent.”
MacDonald was taken forthas directed.

“And now, you, sir." con‘inued Twiggs.

" What is your name?” He addressed the ques-

tion to the strange-looking person who had con-,1 

fronted the villain. There was no reply. A-
“ You had better flni your tongue, or you

shall share MacDonald’s punishment.” Only a
look of scorn answared this.
“ Take him awavl" cried the colonel. “ These

savages have of late been committing the most
outrageous depre'lations, and I am determined
to put a sto-i t i them. These follows shall give
me all the inf ir n itinn I require, eVen if I have
to wrinz it turn than by torture. You will
find vmn' tongue to—morrow, I think,"

“ I will!" replied the prisoner, in a tone full '

of mnanin .
“ I havegno doubt of it.” And the second pris-

oner was conveyed to the beach, where he was.

 

 

 

 

 

Black Jim’s Doom. _ 5

 

firme lashed to apost. Here he was destined
to remain during the remainder of the night,
which, considering the cold, was not at all
agreeable. The third was now brought up for
examination, and proved a little more commu-
nicative. But he could not or would not speak
plain English, and it was only through Lieuten—
ant Judson, who partially understood the Sem—
inole tongue, that his replies were at all intel-

ligible.
“ What is your name!” asked Twiggs.
H U h!”
“ Name! Big chief?”

“ Ugh i" repeated the savage, shaking his head.
“ Name Ou-yit—ha.”

“What is the meaning of that name, Lieu-
tenant J udson?”

“ I think, colonel, it signifies night-hawk, or
owl. It does in some of the more northern
tribes and I believe the word is general.”

“ here is your chief?”

u Ugh in

“ Big Indian. Big chief. Billy Bowlegs?”

“ There. Ugh !” The savage pointed outside.

“ Billy must be with the baud upon the oppo-
site side of the river,” said Twiggs. “If so, it
bodes us no good. See that a sharp lookout is
kept, and the men in readiness to repel any
attack. I will questlon these fellows more
closely to-morrow.”

CHAPTER III.
RETALIATION.

IT was some time after midnight before all
was again quiet at the fort. The guard had
been doubled on the side of the settlement next
the river. But. on the seaside it was deemed
unnecessary. It was upon or near the beach.
and but a short distance from the works, that
the two captives were bound. Two guards were
placed over the prisoners, who were not over-
vigilant, for reason that the Indian and the rene—
gade were so Securely bound, But the Amer-
ican savage is seldom without resources. Nor
did this occasion prove an exception.

The tour—o’clock relief had just passed its
rounds, when, to the rear of the fort, a.dark
'object appeared, creeping along with cat-like
stealth toward the spot where MacDonald was
bound.

The figure emer ed from the brake and sprung
lightly to the sire of MacDonald. The early
' rt of the night was very cloudy, but. although

he wind still blew a gale, the clouds at this
moment were broken, and the moon shone forth
brightly. MacDonald was soon free, and, in a
whisper, said to his deliverer:

“ You cannot go further. The space between
us and him is too open, and the moon is shin—
ing too brightly. You would be detected by
the guard, and instantlfiflshot.”

“Only two. See. 6 fire!” The speaker
raised his rifle. _ ‘

“No. There are others on the fort, Within
range, and ’we could not escape."

At this moment one of the guards asked:

“Who is there?” At the same time be ad-
vanced toward the spot, as it apprehenswe that
all was not right.

“Where is the canoe?" quickly asked Mac-
Donald.

 

 

 

“ Up there!” answered the savage, pointing to
the brake above.

“We cannot reach it and must swim for the
other side,” pointing over the river.

No time was to be lost. The guard was but a
few feet from them. The renegade seized the
rifle from the savage, and buried its contents in
the breast of the approaching soldier who fell
back, without so much as a groan. MacDonald
then sprung into the water, followed by the In—
dian, and both struck out for the opposite shore,
with the skill of expert swimmers.

Of course the report of the rifle gave the
alarm, and three or four shots was fired after
the two men, faintly seen in the water, but to
no purpose. The garrison was St on aroused,
and a body of men came rushing to the s at
where the murder had been committed. at-
ters were soon explained so far asthe facts could
be known. It was found that the other prisoner
still was secure. He was at once taken before
the colonel.

‘- Villain!” exclaimed Twiggs, “ you have mur-
dered one of my men.”

“ I have not,” was the sharp response. “ I
am no murderer !” He spoke like a Roman, in
dignity and purity of speech.

“ Your companion in villainy did so.”

" With that I have nothing to do.”

“ you have. It is all by your infernal treach—
er .

x You should leave the country of the Flor-
idas. You have no right here.”

" How was MacDonald released?”

“ You had better ask him.”

“ Lieutenant Judson, take that fellow out and
lash him till he confesses all that he knows about
this foul murder. We will learn what it means. ”

“ Colonel Twiggs,” exclaimed the prisoner, in
aloud and commanding voice, which slartled,
or at least surprised that officer, “listen to me.
You dare not c< ndemn me to the lash! You
have already tied me to a tree. This indignity '
was never placed upon me by mortal man be—
fore, and it shall not go unavcnged now.” There
was an air about the speaker Vi hich astonished
all who heard him. His, eyes flashed with an
unnatural light, and his powerful breast heaved
with terrible excitement. He drew a large
knife from concsalment, and then continued:

“These landsare mine—all mine! This very
fort and settlement stand upon my (property. I
have tolerated you and permitte you to re-
main here, even when my warriors and chiefs
have opposed it. I have endeavored to prevent
outrages, and have punished all those I detected
in committing them. I came here for the pur-
pose of renewing my treaty with you: but now,

will not do it. I will never trust you. You
tied me, the King of Florida, to a tree, and I
will avenge it. Before the sun shines you will
feel a blast from Billy Bowlegs. Remember
that Colonel Twiggs.”

With these words, the savage turned and
walked deliberatel away. Twiggs stood and
gazed after him li e one thunderstruck. For
some moments he did not utter a word, and
then, as if speaking to himself. he said:

“ So, that is the famous Billy Bowlegs, the
chief of the Seminole band! Strange I did not
know him 1”

a Black Jim’s Doom.

 

“ Is it your intention that he should escape?"
asked an officer.

“ Certainly not. Let him be arrested at
once.”

A guard started in pursuit, but it was too
late. The chief was nowhere to be found.

“ He will keep his word, colonel, with regard
to the burning of this settlement, unless the
greatest care is taken to prevent it, at 01100.

‘11:)”Wlll act with celerity, you may rest assur»
e( .

“ Oh! I have no tears of that. It is for those
who reside in the interior that l fear—those who
have not the protection of our arms.”

“ I think you have no occasion for that. Billy
is highvminded—that is, for an lndian—and he
will direct his vengeance directly against us.
That is his way—to strike the strongest.”

" I hope it will prove so.”

“I have not a doubt of it. Did you not ob-
serve the look he gave MacDonald when he was
speaking of the maniac girl and her child?"

“ I did; but I presumed it was a caution to
say no more.”

“ I thought it so, myself, at that time. But,
had I known it was the chief, I should have un-
derstood it differently."

“ What do you suppose it meant?"

“ Well, colonel, I think Billy knew nothing of
the circumstances connected with Jessie Love-
day, and that he would not, for a moment, pro-
tect MacDonald in any of his schemes of vil-
laiuy. I further believe that he will drive him
from the tribe, ani restore the girl to her ta-
ther, could he but understand all the circum-
stances.” '

“ God grant that he may do sol” exclaimed
the old man, who had been listening attentive
ly. “But will not his anger, or his desire for
revenge, prevent this now?"

“ It is an unfortunate occurrence; still, as I
said before, he will direct his vengeance against
% this especial settlement.”

“ But he must be aware that I was the one
who caused his arrest."

“ No, father Loveday, it was not his arrest
that you sought, but that of MacDonald. Billy
will understand this, and, I think, fully appre-
ciate your feelings. Look, colonel; you see that
he has commenced his work already!”

A stream of fire was seen darting through the
air, from the opposite side of the river. It
made a beautiful arch in the heavens, and then
fell close at the feet of Twiggs. He picked it
up, and after an instant of examination, ex-
claimed: _

“ It is an arrow. Its head is wrapped with
light moss, saturated with turpentine and gum ”
—-words scarcely sp )ken, when the whole air
appeared to be filled with the flaming messen-
gers. Many of them struck the roofs of the ad-
joining cabins, some of which were thatched
with straw or sea~grass. The best of them were
covered only with light pine shingles, and, in
less time than it takes to write it, a hundred
sheets of flame darted up from the buildings.

“ nick!” cried the colonel, “to the guns of
the ort. Pour a shower of canister into the
timber across the river. Judson, take a bun»
dred men, and proceed to the river. Give them
a dozen rounds, and more, if required. Cook,

 

take another hundred, and assist in subduing
the flames.”

The commands were rapidly executed. The
guns of the fort belched forth their deadly mes-
sengers, while the ringing reports of the rifle
and musket told of hot work beyond. In the
mean time, the flu mes crackled and roared, and,
as the wind was high, they swept from house to
house in maddening fury, resisting the com-
bined efforts of citizen and soldier to check
them.

Morning at length dawned, and the sun shone
upon a sad picture. The little settlement was
in ashes, while many a sad mother, with her
Weeping children clinging to her side in fear and
wonder, gazed upon their ruined homes and
prospects. Here and there were ghastly forms
of those who had seen the sun’s last setting, but
would never gaze upon it again. The arrow
andkthe ride of the savage had done a deadly
wor .

With the coming li ht the enemy had disap-
peared. A council 0 war was called by the
commander. In abrief time, a dozen officers
were assembled in the fort. It was determined
that a pursuit could not be commenced until'the
arrival of Colonel Taylor‘s men, as it would be
a futile attempt, with so small a band, to pierce
the enemy’s countr .

The old man,  Loveday, sat buta short
distance from the council, awaiting its deCIslon.
Upon his face were pictured the emotions which
were agitating his soul. Now it was flushed
w1th a crimson hue, as one would advocate an
immediate pursuit, and then a deathly puller
would overspread it, as another opposed the
same, denouncing it as madness.

The council ended“ All had been silent for
several moments. A sob and a stifled moan
from the old man drew the attention of those
around. As they gazed upon him, many a
soldier’s eye was filled with tears. At this mo-
ment Lieutenant Judson arose as if to speak,
but he was interrupted by the entrance of a
strange-looking person, who advanced, hat in
hand, toward the table where the colonel was
seated. Every one turned their eyes upon him
and‘evideutly awaited his words, as he ha
already made three or four efforts to speak.
Finally, as he did not succeed, the commander
asked. in an encouraging voice: .

v “ Well, my good man, what is your Will?” ,

After bowing half a dozen times, in the most
awkward manner, the new-comer pointed to
father Lovedny.

“ Oh! you know the old gentleman?” said the
colonel. '

The man struck his own breast two or three

violent blows, and then wiped one of his eyes ,

with the back of his hand. But a glance reveal-
ed the fact that he had but one eye, the other
being entirely sightiess and nearly closed. He
then said:

“ Mayhap I do, yer ’onor. There’s somethin’
in here as tells One-eyed Boh how he ought to
know him!” And One—eyed Bob. as he termed
himself, gave his breast two or three more vio-
lent thumps, as if to repress the emotion surging
within him.

“ So, your name is Robert, is it?” asked
Twiggs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Black Jim’s Doom.

7

 

“ No, yer ’onor.

it an’ nothin’ else.”
“Have you no other appellation?”
“ Any what, yer ’onor'!"

“ Any other name."

“Oh, yes, yer ’onor. Bob Bradley, that’s it
an’ nothin’ else!”

“Where do you reside, Mr. Bradley?” Bob
scratched his head, looked confused, and then
simply exclaimed:

u Ella?

Bob, One-eyed Bob; that’s

“Shall I call you Bob?”

“ Yes, yer ’onor; that’s as how folks alers calls
me, an’ I don’t take ter any other handle.”

“ Well, Bob, where do you reside—or rather
live I”

“Oh, I live just back a piece, on the river.
I'm a kind 0’ hunter ginerally. Me an’ my wife
Nancy, an' my little blind gal, Blanche—please
yer ’onor, my wife is precious eddicated, an’ she
got that name out on a book and would call her
so, although I told her we had better name, her
Polly. But, howsomever and notwithstandin‘,
if the gal is blind an’ got an outlandish name,
she’s as good an’ obedient as ever yer 'onor would
wish to meet with, that she is, an’ nothin’ else.”

“ Is she safe at home?” asked father Loveday,
as he started to his feet.

“Safe! Yes. 5er She’s safe with Nancy, an’
I’d like to see the rascal, white, black or red, as
would lay the weight of his finger on her, that I
would an’ nothin’ else.”

“ Watch over her, sir. You don’t know what
it is to lose a child. Watch her, I say i” and the
old man’s eyes gleamed with tears.

" Well, Bob," continued Tu iggs, “ what is
your business here?"

" Why. ye see, yer ’onor, I heard the shootin’
this mornin’ an’ I see’d the fire, an’ I says to
Nancy that somethin’ was up at the settlement,
an’ I’d go rite off to see what it was. So I
started an’ met a party of reds. I knew it was
them as did the work. So I watched e’m. They
are goin’ back to the lake, but they don’t go by
the road. I know every inch of the woods. an’
so I came to say, that if yer ’onor is goin’ to
chase ’em up, I’m yer man on the trail, an’
nothin’ else.”

“Thank you, Bob; but we have determined
not to follow until reinforcements arrive.”

“ So I heard at the door. an’ I‘ll tell ya what I
want: that is, a lot of powder an’ lead. I’ve
got a’most out. An’ the reason why I want it
is, I’m. goin’ to foller them reds up; an’ what’s
more, I’m goin’ in fur that old man’s daughter.
or mv Nancy won’t have a lovin’ husband, an’
nothin’ else.”

“ It is just what I was about to propose,” ex-
claimed Judson. “ In the confusion this morn-
ing the Indian who was confined in the
guard‘room escaped. He was aware of our
intention to follow as scan as possible. Besides,
I think MacDonald will remove the girl to Some
place of concealment. as I am satisfied that the
chief will now interfere with the scoundrel's
plans. If you will let me have three men, I
will undertake to see that Jessie Loveday is

 

not removed to any place where she cannot be

found." I
“ It will be a great risk, Lieutenant Judson.” f
“ Ithiuk not. Ishall avoid the main body

of the Indians. I think we will only have Mac-
Donald and a few of his personal friends to en-
counter. I shall undertake nothing rash, but
wait the approach of yourself and men at Lake
Kissimmee after my purpose is accomplished.
If. as I fear will he the case, MacDonald should
remove her, she might never again be seen.”

“ As you please. Select your men. It is a
mission of mercy which I have no wish to
thwart, and I trust, for the old man’s sake, you
will be successful. Her rescue must now be one
of our leading objects.”

“ You will go with me, Bob?”

“ Yes; and there is Charley Morris, as likely
a boy as ever walked, will go with us, too.
Poor Charley, he’s ’most broke his heart since
Jessie was stole away.”

“ Ser eant Cook and Arthur Allen are the
others shall select. Will 1you go with me?”

“ Most willingly,” was t e reply, as the men
stepped forth.

It was arranged that the forces should set out
as soon as the expected reinforcements arrived,
and that the first party should notify the troops
in case it should be necessary to lay out a differ-
ent rogramme from the one already arranged.
Fat er Loveday was to accompany the army.

With a thousand blessings upon their heads,
our friends took their departure in pursuit of
the foe, and for the rescue of the innocent.

CHAPTER IV.
‘ THE BLIND CAPTIVE.

MACDONALD and his rescuer soon reached a.
point of safety. Quickly as possible, they pro-
ceeded to the spot where the hand was con-
cealed, and communicated to them the condition
of affairs The savages manifested adis ition
to rush upon the settlement at once. an it was
difiicult for MacDonald to hold then: in restraint.
They proceeded to the bank of the river which
separated them from the settlement, and there
seated themselves, silently and sullenly looking
over the water.

It was not long, however, ere they heard a
splashing in the water, and the chief sprung to
their side.

“ Ahl” he yelled, “you are here in good time.
Level those white dogs’ cabin: to the ground!”

The order was understood, and received with
a wild vlhoop. It was a work of pleasurato
them, which long since would have been accom-
plished had it not been for the restraints put
upon them by their chief.

Never was there a Chieftain of the red—men
who held a more com lete control over his
tribe, than did Billy owlegs, of the Sum-
noles. And this man sat gazing 11pm the de-V
vastadng flame, while a malicious, almost a
demoniac, smile lighted up his idea. It soon,
however. became necessary for them to seek
the shelter of the trees. as the shot from the
fort, and the musketry, began to pour in u n
them with telling effect. A dozen ad beensain
or wounded, when Billy ordered a retreat, which
was pushed forward until the party arrived at
the head of Kissimmee Lake, the journey to
which was accomplished in three days.

Here a pause was made. Campfires were
built, and, as the darkness apprnachvd, the
savages prostrated themselves upon the ground

 

U... ans—w... ;

 

 

 

 

 

 

i
I:

8 Black Jim’s Doom.

 

to sleep. The chief sat gazing into the water,
watching the shadow of the fleecy clouds, the
moon, the stars, and the red flames of the camp-
fires, as they were mirrored in the silvery
waters of the lake. Long appeared to be his
reverie. At length he said, as if speaking to
himself:

“ I went to treat of peace, and be bound me.

‘ThisI will not submit to for mortal man. I

feel strangely. My heart up are so big, and
it aches! Iam thinking of er to-night, and
this I must not do. Oh! how vividly does the
time come back to me when I was among the
civilized, and when a wife used to greet me
upon my return from my daily toil. Oh! that
sweet face! It sometimes appears to form in
those shining clouds,.and smile upon me from
the lake’s reflection. Alas! the curse of being
a half-breedl Had it not been for this, the
white man could never have torn my loved and
once loving Wife from my heart and home. But
she and the child, which I never saw, are both
gone now.

“ The old man—his face haunts me. On—yit-
be,” he exclaimed as he roused a sleeper near
him, “ where is Black Jim?” The question was
repeated, as the savage started up, and indicat-
ed by a movement that the person sought was
to be found near the fire which was burning a
little apart from the others, and behind a
thick growth of underbrush. Billy walked in
that direction, but paused, just as he reached
a point where he could hear all the converse.-
tion which was taking place. The sound of
voices commanded his attention.

“ Will not my father come to-night?” asked a
soft sweet voice.

“l‘l’ot to-night, girl. Don’t trouble me."

“ Don‘t trouble you! You speak very strange-
ly to me to-night, dear E'lwa"d. Your voice
does not sound as it did when you first told me
that you loved me.”

“ When was that?"

“When was that? Oh, dear Edward, your
fatigue has made you ill and forgetful. Why,
how many times you have spoken of meeting
my father and myself at the fort, and of the
impression my helpless condition and my
beauty, as you termed it, made upon you. It
was then you toli me you would not be asham-
ed to make me your wife, and take me into the
great world. Oh! how your words have been
cherished! I should be perfectly happy if I
could only see you!"

An exclamation was heard by MacDonald, at
that moment. He sprung to his feet, and gaze]

, earnestly around; but, hearing nothing further,

be again seated himself.

“ hen will we be at the end of our journey,
Edward?” asked the female.

“Not for a week yet. But be quiet. I wish
tosleeii.”

“ You are deceiving me. You have spoken
to me but a few times for we last few days, and
then only in a. whisper. But, now that you
speak in a loud tone of vice, I know that it is
not the voice of Edward. -v

“ Well, you are right. I am not Edward."

“ Who are you, then?"

,“ Iain called Black Jim."

“ Oh! that dreadful maul” cried the poor

 

girl. “And why have you brought me to this
place?”

“Well, if you must know the truth of the
matter, and I suppose I shall be obliged to tell
you some time, took you to spite your Ed-
ward, of whom you think so much, and whom I
hate.” .

The poor creature sat silent for an instant,
and then said:

,“ Heaven will not permit this outrage to go
unpunished.” ~

“ N0! Heaven will not permit itl" These
words were spoken by the chief, as he entered
the inclosure. ,

“ What do you mean?” cried MacDonald,
starting to his feet, and turning pale.

“ That you are a devil incarnate l"

“ You dare not interfere with me.”

“Little daring there will be about it. What
are you doing with that girl?"

‘.‘ Nothing.”

“ Why is she here?"

“She is my captive. I have taken her, and

ropose to make her my squaw, and, by the
lhws of our tribe, you dare not prevent me.”

“ I shall make the effort, at least.” _

The chief took the girl by the hand, and, in
a gentle manner, asked her the particulars of

er parents, her home, and capture. 0f the
atter she knew nothing, further than the fact
that she had been met near her own home by
a. person whom she supposed to be Lieutenant
Judson, who informed her that the army was
to move to the lake. that her father had al-
ready gone there, and that her mother was a
captive, but would be rescued. _ .

“It is your purpose to convey this blind
girl into the Everglades?”

“ It is," replied the hardened man.

“ And the poor maniac and her child?”

“ You may have them, if you like!"

“ Yes, I will have them, for the purpose of
returning them to the poor old man we saw
at the fort. And that is not all. I Will pro-
tect this child.”

“ I will appeal to thetribe.” . _

“ Call them. We will have their desision
now.”

“ No, not until all the tribe are together can
the decision be made. This is a law you dare
not break.”

There was some truth in this. Billy had in-
terfered on several occasions of the kind, and,
on that account, coiisi'lerahle dissatisfaction
was felt. And, in many other things, the chief
had opposed the savage appetites of his men,
and he felt that Opposition to any regularly
established usage, with such a meow/Marc-
Donald to advocate his own cause, his chance
of success was small. And yet he.determined
to save the two poor creatures whom Mac-
Donald held in his personal power.

CHAPTER V.
MYSTERIES.

THE party who were to start in pursuit of
the savages, or rather to watch their move-
ments, first threw aside their uniform, and '
adopted the dress of hunters. This done. they
proceeded on their way. They were joined by
Charley Morris in a short time after leaving

 

 

 

 

 

_
-
l

 

 

 

 

Black Jim's Doom. 9

 

the fort. He was a young man of more than
ordinary manly beauty, but his pale, sad face
gave evidence of a heart ill at ease. He was
saluted cordially by the party, each of whom
had freduently met him in the forest and at
the settlement.

Lieutenant Judson had the command, or
rather the direction of the party, while Bob
Bradley was to act as guide. The former sug-

sted that Bob should pass his own dwelling,
in'order to take leave of his family, as he
might possibly be absent a long time. Old
Bob winked, looked vex-1y knowing, and said:

“I reckon as how ain’t the only one as
wants to see the women-folks. Oh! you needn’t
blush, Mr. Lieutenant. That gal is worth lov-
ing, it she is blind. But, I’ll tell ye what it
is. Before ye get hitched, I’ve got to tell ye
a secret about her.”

“ Can’t you tell me now, Bob?"

v “No. sir; and for the best reason in the
world.”

" What is your reason?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I should tell
you.”

“ Yes, I would."

“ We], then, the reason is just because thereis
one woman in the world who can keep a secret,
an’ nothin’ else." The entire party laughed at
this, and Judson said:

“ I don't understand you yet, Bob.”

“Well, then, it’s because I don’t know it
in self."

‘ Then how can you tell me?”

“ Oh, my wi—Nancy has got it, and she says

’ she will tell it to me at the right time; and I

know she will, for she always tells the truth.
And she says you have got to know it.”

“ Then you have no idea what it is?”

“ Oh, yes, I have some idea, and that‘s about
all. But stop!” The speaker started back, and
the crimson mounted to his bronzed features, as
he ‘gazed through the forest.

‘ 'hat is the matter, Bob?” asked Judson.

“ Don’t you see nothing there?” the hunter
pointed forward. 

“ I see nothing.”

“ Injuns.”

“ Are there Indians ahead!"

“They have been there, at In cabin. Don’t
you see it is in flames?" ithout further
words Bradley bounded forward, followed by
his friends.

It was but a few moments before they ar-

* rived full in sight of the burning dwelling.

Bradley had already reached it, and was bend-
ing over the prostrate form of a female, who
was stretched upon the turf, a short distance
from the flaming mass. He was beating his
breast and moaning in the most pitiful manner.

Judson, at a glance, saw that it was the
mother of Blanche, and it was painfully evi-
dent that she would live but a few moments
longer. His next thought was of his own blind

irl. He searched around, calling loudly upon
or name, but there was no response save the
dead echo which came back through the forest.
He now heard his name called, and he hastened
to the dying woman and knelt beside her. He
saw that the wound was upon the neck, and
that she was sinking from loss of blood. She

 

could speak with difficulty, and turning to Jud-

son, she said:
“ You love my poor child, don’t you?”
“Oh! God knows my heart I love her. M
resent agony attests this. lint, where is she ’
be dying mother pointed in the direction of
the lake.

“ In the hands of the Indians?”

“Worse!”

“ Not dead?”

“No. She is in the hands of James Mac-
Donald.”

“ But she shall be rescued, I swear it!” cried
Judson, in frantic tones.

“ She wishes to speak further to you, lieu-
tenant,” said Morris, as he called his attention
to a sign from her.

“ Raise me. 1 cannot breathe!” Old Bradley
raised her in his arms, and placed her in a sit-
tin Jposture, and she continued:

“ udson, under a slab of granite by the side
of the oak-tree yonder, you will find a box. It
contains a secret which you must learn before
you wed m child. And, oh! I beg of you not
to discard er. She is pure and innocent. I
am—oh!" and the poor mother fell back a
corpse. .

It was some moments before a word was
spoken. But at length Judson exclaimed:

“ Our presence here can avail little now. We
must act promptly. Let us send the body to
the fort for interment, and then continue our
journey."

“ No,” exclaimed Bradley. “She wanted to
be buried by the side of the river.”

“Well, let it be so.” In a short time the
rude burial was over, and the party were about
to set forward.

“ You forget the box, lieutenant,” said Mor-

ris,

“I did forget it. But no matter; another
time will do as well.”

“But you may never visit this spot a in.
We are now bent upon a desperate nnderta ing,
in which it is not impossible you might lose
your life. And perhaps this secret confided to
you by the dying woman may be for the future
welfare of Blanche, and should not be given to
another except through on.”

“ True, I will secure t e box." This was soon
done. Judson opened it, and found that it con—
tained nothing but a carefull folded paper.
He placed this in his breast wit out so much as
even lancing at its contents.

“ ould it not be well to read it now?” asked
Morris.

“ No. There is an indorsement upon it to the
effect that the secret is only for me; and I have
no desire to learn the contents of the paper until
I can secure the safety of her to whom the
gaper refers. Oh! Blanche, poor child—poor

lind bird, what will be her fate?” Judson
bowed his head, while his frame trembled with
thf. intensity of his feelings. in a moment he
so d'

“ Excuse me, Morris. Do not think that I am

childish.”
“ No. You feel as becomes a nbble heart.”
“ And yet I can but cry like a hub ."
“ No. Say rather that you weep ikeaman.

“As you please to term it. Morris you 

l

 

w 44.; :2. t .:

c
b.

 

10 “ Black Jim’s Doom.

 

not dream how I love that poor blind girl. To
me she is the embodiment of all that is lovely
and purew, it seems to me that heaven
never pain so fair, or form id so gentle a being.
Why, I have sat beside her for hours listening
to her voice, until lost in reverie—enchanted
by its tones, I have dreamed a thousand angels
were warblin their heavenly anthems by my
side. And w en, with such confiding fondness
she would rest her head upon my breast, the
joy that filled my heatt was perfect, and I in-
wardly thanked heaven for sending me such a
prize. Is it strange to you that a soldier could
thus love?”

“ No. She is a being to love. But have you
never felt regrets With regard to her great
misfortune?”

“ You refer to her loss of sight?"

' “ Of course.”

“The only regret I ever felt, was on her
own account. If she had the blessings of sight,
it is true she would enjoy a. greater degree of

leasure in gazing upon the beauties of life,
but it might divide the heart. I think she
loves mp better, and is much hapuier in that
love. from the fact that she is entirely de-
dent upon that love for her happiness.”

“ No doubt this is true to some extent. But,
do you know in what manner she became de-
prived of sight?”

“ I do not. This, also, is a secret I am to
learn some day.”

“ Well, Judson, you have much cause for
anxiety—great anxiety; but your case is not
alto ether hopeless, like my own.”

“ ou refer to Jessie Lovedayi”

“ Yes, I think I loved her as truly as mortal

can love. When she was stolen from me, it,

almost killed me. Night and day I assed in
searching for her, but to no purpose. became
satisfied, however, that she was a prisoner in
the Everglades. A hundred times have I made
acircuit of lake Kissimmee. calling upon her
name, even when my own judgment told me she
could not be near. But it was upon this lake I
last saw her, and it appeared to me like an en-
chanted place. It almost maddened me as I
gazed upon each familiar spot. Here was the
mossy bank beneath the great oak where we had
so often sat, but she was not therel Here was
the ripplin streamlet beside which we had so
often wan ered, listening to its soft music
which now appeared to me like her funeral
dir 8. Here was her mother’s grave, over
wh ch we knelt, asking that mother's pure
spirit to listen to us and bless us, as we spoke of
endless love, and plighted, each to the other,
our first vows. But Jessie was not with me,
and, in my soul’s anguish I almost wished that
she was lying beneath the sod, and Ibeside her!”

“She has been absent nearly a ear. Have

our’never received the slightest in ormation of

or

“ Never. I have passed 11 and down the
river a dozen times, and into ake Okeechobee,
which I have also explored in every part. I
also penetrated the EVerglades until I came
upon the Indian stron hold.”

“ And you saw not ing—no signs of Jessie?"
 "No. But I saw that which almost froze
my blood within me."

:s /

 

“ What was it?” ‘

“I will tell you—that is, so far as I know.
I found great difficult in forcing my way
through the swamps. here were numerous
narrow, well-beaten paths. But these it was
necessary for me to avoid, as there were fre-
quent parties of the Indians passing from their
stronghold to the lake. and back again. In the
more marshy places, I encountered alligators,
and poisonous reptiles; but it was for 1181‘ I
loved better than life that I was toiling, and I
thought not of danger. I felt my worst enemy
to be the savage who had stolen my J essie,”

“Do you not know that the abductor was a
white maul”

"Yes: the renegade, Black Jim. I know it
well. I never saw him but once, but his image
is fixed as with a brand of fire upon my memory
and I feel that we shall some day meet.”

“Well, go on with your narrative.”

“ At len th, bursting through a wall of brake,
I came su denly in sight of the Indian village.
It was a strange place. Surrounding a com-
paratively open space, or sparsely timbered
lawn, were rows of wigwams. in large num-
numbers and various in size and pattern. Some
of them were formed of blankets or skins, others
of cane and young saplings, while otheis, still,
were built of logs, and were quite large, run-
ning at angles, with a length perhaps of forty
feet, and a hight of eight or tan. These build-
ings wore mostly ranged at the outer ed e of
the circle, and appeared to he iiitende for
the double purpose of dwelling and defensive
works. At the western portion of the settle-
ment was situated what, to me, appeared to be
a freak of nature. It was a range of sharp,
ragged cliffs, over which I could plainly see, and
distinctly hear. the living streams of water, as
they came dashing over the sides of the elevation.

“ To this place I bent my steps, and ascended
to the highest peak. It was, indeed, a wild
spot. The range of hills, which were very much
broken, extended several miles toward the
west. Below me, and all around, lay the
monotonous Everglades, and f ir beyond I could
see the deep blue of the ocean. At a little
distance was the lake, and the winding river,
like a. thread of silver, presenting a picture long
to be remembered. But, at the base of this
directly at my feet, my greatest interest was
centered. Here I could see the rude wigwams,
the smoke curling up, as if to overcast and
ecli 6 some of this rare beauty. It seemed ‘to\
sett 9 around my soul, for the gloom there was
of the densest kind.

“ Was it possible that she—my Jesse—was a
prisoner there? And would some kind spirit
whisper to her that I was near? My heart did
not fail me, though, for a moment; my strength
did, and I sunk to the earth. I soon recovered.
Hope nerved me, and I determined to continue
my search, fully and unflinchingly.

“I commenced my descent of the hill, or,
rather, series of rocky ledges. I had proceeded
perhaps two hundred yards. when I found my
self upon a kind of flat, which overlooked the
village below. At a glance, I discovered that
the spot contained several wi warns, and one
large log-cabin, similar in buil to those below.
I saw a human figure seated near this latter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a...  4L

 

Black Jim’s Doom. 11

 

building, with the head bent low, resting upon
the hands. I instantly sprung behind a jutting
rock, and, as I thought, escaped observation.
I then turned to look at the Object, for its very
appearance had excited my curlosity. As I
peered over the rock, I saw that the figure had
raised its head, and was gazing toward me. My
very blood ran cold.”

“ It was a human being, I suppose?”

H Yes.”

“ Perhaps some poor captive?”

“ That is my 0 iniou.”

“ Well, go on.’

“ I will describe it, if I can. It was indeed
the form of a man; and yet unlike one. Upon
his person were a few tattered and filthy rags;
his hair was long, and hung in straggling,
matted knots over his shoulders; his beard was
of the same ragged appearance, and his eyes
so haggard, sunken and bloodshot, that I
shrunk almost in terror from their gazp. He
swayed to and fro. making a kind of guttural
sound, which, together with his wild appearance,
convinced me that he was not only a prisoner,
but a maniac.

“ My first impulse was to rush from my con-
cealment, and release the captive, for such I felt
he must be, as I saw that his ankle was bound
with an iron fetter, and, with a chain, was at.
tached to one of the logs forming the cabin. I
did so far leave my place of concealment that
the wretched man saw me, and, with a cry wild
and terrible, he sprung to his feet. His chains
rattled, and the sound chilled me. What strange
mystery could be connected with this wretched
prisoner?

“At this moment I felt a sharp tw' 9 near
my ten] Is. An arrow glided past. placed
my ban to my head, and found that the blood
had started, and was trickling down my face.
Instinctively I stepped again behind the rock for
protection. The man saw that I had been dis-
covered by some of the savages, for two more
arrows had fallen upon the spot where I had
been standing. He asked, in a voice which
thrilled me:

“ ‘ Are you alone?‘

“ ‘ I am,’ I re lied.

. “ ‘ Then run or your life! To remain here is
madnes.’

:géButI cannot leave you to suffer thusl’ I
or .

“ ‘ Your stay would but tighten my chains.
You have penetrated a spot never trod by a
white man before, unless he was a captive. Go,
bring friends—hundreds of friends. Do not
pause. It will only be to murder me and your-
self. Go, and return as a guide. An instant
more, and lyou are lost. Go, Charles Morris? ”

“ He cal ed you by name?”

“Yes. I had already commenced a rapid re~
treat when I heard my own name spoken.
paused, to question the wretched man further,

ut down among the rocks I saw the forms of a
number of the savage tribe, and I heard their
yells of rage. ‘ I knew I could not contend with
them for an instant, and so I darted forward.
For many miles the pursuit was kept up. But
at last I reached the lake, and s ringing into a
canoe which I found upon the s ore, I effected

my escape.”

“Have you no idea who the person was who
knew you, and addressed you by your name!"

“ Not the least."

“ You could neither recognize the features nor
the voice?"

“Neither. The appearance of the man was.
so utterly wretched, that I do not suppose there
is a vestige of his former self left, and the voice
sounded more like the echo of a clod upon a
coflln-lid, than anything human.”

“ When did this occur?”

“Only six days since.”

“ So recently?”

“ Yes. I have just returned from the Ever-
glades.”

‘gyliave you yet taken any action in the mat-

1‘

“ Yes. I have communicated all the particu-
lars to Colonel Twiggs. I am to meet the army
at Lake Kissimmee, and lead them against the
sava es.”

“ id you see old Mr. Loveday at the fort?”

“ I did. And I 'also learned from him that
MacDonald had actually been a prisoner at the
fort, but had escaped. Ohl if I could have met
him there!” ’

“ Did you learn nothing more with regard to
Jessie?"

“.Nothing, save that she was supposed still to
be in the Everglades.”

“ Nothing further?”

“No. Why? Is there any further informa-
tion with regard to her?”

“ _o——no.’

.t  1t there is, in Heaven's name let me know
1 A.

“ Simply the a certainty that she is there: and
alive.“

“ Then she will soon be free. Come. Now
let us forward to the lake, and see if anything
can be done for the poor captives.”

Old Bradley, during this conversation, had
been seated beside the new-made» grave. En-
tirely indifferent to all that was passing around,
he was bending forward. and big tears watered
the fresh earth. He was at length aroussd by
the voice of Judson.

“ Come, Bob. We have work before us. Your
child!” » »

The old man sprung to his feet, and gazed
wildly around, as if vainly ehdeavoring to col-
lect his scattered thoughts. But his eyes fell
upon the smoldering embers of what had so re-
cently been his happy home, and he exclaimed:

“Ohl my God! did hope it was some hor-
rid dream from which I should wake. But I
think I am awake now, and there it is, still be«
tore me, in all its dreadful reality. Mr. Judson,

ou mustn’t blame poor old Bob if he does weep.

ut there’s such a load here, I can’t help it!”
and the old man clutched wildly at his breast, as
if he would tear the heart from its place.

“ There is but one thing left l" exclaimed
Judson, with an earnestness almost startling,
“and that is leaving the dead behind to save
the living; and then for reyenge—extermi'n-
ation I Here, friends, this sod 18 wet. It covers
a clay that but an hour since was the inmate of
a happy home. Kneel with me here upon this
. earth, and swear by that pure soul, never to rest

 

 

Black Jim’s Doom.

 

until this barbarous tribe have been extermin-
ated, or the race swept from the country!"

In an instant the entire party were bending
beside Judson, With their hands raised to heaven.
with the exception of old Bob. He stood a little
apart, and as he saw the arms extended, and
the oath about to be registered, he laid his hand
upon the shoulder of Judson, and exclaimed:

“ Stop! That is an oath we have no right to
take!”

“But our wrongs and sufferings!” said Jud-
son.

“ Are very great. Yet we must not take
upon ourselves the work that belongs to Him.
But swear to bring the guilty to justice and to
punishment.”

“ Are they not all guilty 2"

“No. You may think I speak strangely; but
take the oath I suggest.”

“ We do,” was the response.

“ Now let us forward. Judson, when I can
explain the mystery connected with that grave,
or, at least, my part of it, you will understand
me better!” The apparently ignorant and rude
man talked like one different from the char-
acter played by old Bradley.

 

CHAPTER VI.
THE SURPRISE.

NOT more than two hours after the departure
of our friends from the fort, the lookout from
the fort gave notice that a fleet was coming up
the bay. All was joy; after the disaster of that
morning, nothing could be more welcome than
re—entorcements and fresh supplies.

Soon the vessels bearing the fresh troops were
were moored beside the fort pier, and the dis-
embarkation commenced, amid the cheering of
the soldiers as well as the citizens. Matters were
soon explained. It required but a few hours to
get everything in readiness for a move. By
noon the troops who were to participate in the
ex iti’on, were drawn up in line. There were
at east- five hundred of them—brave, hardy-
looking men as ever fought beneath the starry
flag. And this body of men were to be com-
manded, in their hazardous undertaking, by
Colonel Zachary Taylor. Twiggs was to remain
still in'command of the fort, which retained a
garrison sufficiently strong to hold.

Colonel Taylor learned all the particulars
with regard to the stronghold of the enemy in
the Everglades, and was informed that he would
be joined by Charles Morris at the head of the
lake, who would act as guide. The wagon-train
was in readiness, and among other things were
a number of boats, which were to be used, by a
portion of the army, for crossing the lakes and
descending the rivsr, and for the transportation
of supplies, as this could not well be done by the
trainé‘furthcr than the road had already been
open .

It was about two o‘clock when the little army
took up its march.

Justus the sun was sinking, on the third day,
the scouts, which were always in the advance,
returned. and reported a body of savages,
evidently encamped for the night, on the mar-
gin of the lake. They appeared to be entirely
at their ease, and unconscious of danger. The

 

army was immediately halted, and prepara-
tion made for a surprise.

“Have they canoes on the lake?” asked the
commander.

“ I could not tell. I simply saw their camp-
fires, and one or two sleeping Indians, when I

returned to warn you, lest the rumbling of the"

wagons should alarm them. ”

“ You did well. I will myselfgo forward and
reconnoiter.”

“ No use in that, or ’onor,” exclaimed old
Bob, who came up at t is moment. “ I‘ve got
the soundin’s right as a trivet, and of you’ll
let me giv’ ye a little bit of directions, ye can
trap the whole crew, just as slick as ever a cat
catched a mouse.”

“ Who are you?” asked the colonel.

“ Only One-eyed Rob. Reckon Colonel Twiggs
spoke to you ’bout me.”

“ Yes, I recollect. Well, what is your plan?”

“ Well, jest send a hundred of the boys down
the lake about a mile, another hundred up the
lake, about the same distance. Then take
another hundred and let them carry them boats
only a little ways, and I’ll show them where
there’s a small stream that empties into the
lake. Let ’em run down it, embark, an' cut off
the retreat by water. Then we will all advance
at once, and the reds will find themselves cut oil!
on all sides."

“ How many of the savages are there?”

“ I should say not over sixty at the most.”

“ Your plan is a good one, and shall be carried
out. You may accompany the party with the
boats.”

“Yes, colonel. But there’s one thing I wish
you would do.”

“ What is that, my friend i" ‘

“ Give orders to the men not to fire, without
they are absolutely compelled to do so.”

“Why do you make this request?"

“Because my child—my poor little Blind
Blanche, is a prisoner with them, and I fear you
might injure her.”

‘ It shall be as you wish.“ The commander
now gave the necessary instructions, and the
three parties set 011', while a fourth remained
behind ready to advance at the proper time. It
was agreed, that in one hour the encircling par—
ties should begin to concentrate, as this would
be suflicient time for each one to reach the de—
sired position.

Father Loveday remained with the colonel’s
party. He had made inquiry of Bob with re-
gard to Lieutenant Judson, Charles Morris. and
their friends, and learned that they had all separ-
ated as they neared the lake, and were probably
near at hand.

The appointed time for the advance arrived.
Cautiously the troops moved forward from
their various points. The movements were so
slow that nearly another hour elapsed before
the rear party came in sight of the Camp—fires.
As they drew near, they saw that the savages
had already been alarmed by the approach of
the boats upon the lake, and were crouching be-
hind the trees watching them. They did not see
that they were being closed in upon to the right,
left and rear, so intent were they upon the party
in the boats.

The boats had arrived to within a distance of

 
  

 
 
      
   
   
  
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
    
  
 
 
   
  
   
   
  
   
  
 
   
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Black Jim’s Doom. 13

 

forty yards from the shore, when a stream of
fire shot out from amon the trees, followed by
the sharp report of the ndian rifle. This was
quite unexpected to the commander. By the
clear moonlight he saw a number of his men
who occupied the boats, leap into the air, and
then pitch headlong into the water. This was
more than he could bear, and he cried out:

“ Fire upon them, men—give them one volley,
and then the bayonet.” Another sheet of flame
and a deafening report followed this command,
and with the most unearthly yells, of terror,
rage and pain, the savages turned to find them-
selves hemmed in upon every side. Some few
of them leaped into the water, but were soon
dispatched, or seized by those in the boats.

The Indians, finding themselves so closely
pressed on every side by the glittering bayonets
in the hands of determined men, with a few ex-
ceptions, threw down their arms in token of
surrender. But those few fought with the des-

ration of madness, and not until they were
iterally hewed in pieces, or picketed with
thetsbayonets, did they cease their frantic ef-
for .

"During this time there had been a voice heard,
high above the din of battle, urging the war—
ricrs to continue their efforts and yield only
to death. But no force could stand against such
odds.

When quiet was restored, the colonel advanced
and asked:

“ Where is the chief?”

“ He is here!” exclaimed the well-known voim
of Billy Bowlegs, as he stepped from behind a.
large tree.

Colonel Taylor had met this chieftain before
in battle, but had never been in a position' to
examine his features or general appearance.
There was a look of astonishment upon his face
as he asked.

“ Are you the celebrated Florida chief?”

‘1‘1,ain chief of the Seminoles. What is your
wi 11’

“ That you throw down your arms and sur-
render.”

“ Surrender! Me, the King of Florida, sur—
renderl Colonel Taylor, do you See those dead
bodies? They were my braves. They died fight-
ingl They chose death rather than surrender
to the usurperl The brave would not surrender!
Think you the chief will not imitate their ex—
ample?" ,

‘ And you will not surrender?”

“ Neverl”-—and Billy raised his tomahawk
high in the air.

“ Seize him," cried the colonel. A number of
soldiers sprung forward to do this, but uick as
thought Billy hurled his weapon at the end of
the commander, and with a single bound dashed
through the lines. '

It proved ve fortunate for the colonel that a

cunt: sapling intervened between him and the

nfuriated chief, for the tomahawk, striking a
limb, glanced a trifle from its destined course,
and fell harmless tothe ground, far beyond him.
The movement, too, upon the part of the savage,
was so unexpected, that he had cleared the circle
before any rson had time even to put forth the
slightest e ort to prevent his escape in the jun-
glee around them.

“ Fire upon him,” yelled the commander. A
volley went rattling through the oaks and
smaller trees. The chief was seen to spring,r into
the air, and clasp his hand upon his side as if
hurt, but he pauSed not, and in a moment more
was lost to View. An examination of the earth
in the direction he. had taken, proved that he
lfiad been wounded, but to what extent no one

new. ‘

And, indeed, it was hoped that his wound
would not prove mortal, because Billy was, in
reality, a humane chief. In case of his death, it
was feared the command “ould fall upon Mac-
Donald, who had much influence with the tribe.
He was a merciless villain, and had exhibited
the most intense hatred of the white race, of

. which he was, himself a renegade and outcast.

A search was now made for Blanche. Loudly
did poor old Bob call upon her name, but he re-
ceived no answer.

“ Oh, my Godl If she has been shot it will
complete my miser ,” said the old man, as he
searched around. ut not a trace of her, or of
MacDonald, could be found. It was not likely
that they would separate from the main party-—
certainly not before they reached the lake. If
not, they could not then be far distant. He pro-
ceeded to the margin of the. waters, and called
infill loudest tones. Once he thought he heard
a aint echo borne upon the breeze; but his re-
peated calls failed to elicit anything definite.

At length, he returned to the party, who were
evidently preparing for a night’s rest.

“Perhaps,” said the old man to the comman-
der, “ there are some of the Indians who can
speak English, and may give us some informa-
tion.” Such a one was Soon found.

“ Where is Black MacDonald?” asked the col—
one], of On- it-ha, or Night—hawk.

“ Ugh! here.” The savage pointed to the
spot where the renegade and his captive had been
seated when interrupted by the approach of the
chief. An examination was made at once. There
were the delicate footprints, and the fire beside
which they had been seated was yet burning.
Poor Blanche! She had been so nearly rescued,
and yet was a prisoner. It was a torturing
thou ht, whose agony was plainly written upon
old radley’s face. The rude soldiers around
were affected deeply by the old man’s sorrow.

The two soldiers, who had accompanied the
advance party, now came up, having been at
tracted by the firing. ‘

“ Have you seen Lieutenant Judson, or Charles
Morris?” asked Bob, eagerly.

“Not since we parted at twilight.”

z: '{rhey’went down the lake, did they not?”

es

-“ Both ether?”

“ No; J u son took a small canoe, but intended
keeping close to the shore, while Morris was to
travsl by land."

“ Were they to return here?”

“ Yes, at daylight, if they found nothing.”

“ Well, there is yet hope. for I know that Jud-
son will put forth every effort for the rescue of
my child. But to-morrow will bring news of
them, and, I doubt not, more work. So we will
rest to-night."

The bivouac was soon made, and, ere long,

 

the tired troops slept. But old Bob did not.

  

 
  

Black J im’s Doom.

 

His mind was too much disturbed, and his heart
too full, to permit forgetfulness in slumber; and
so the night passed—each hour one of repose to
the sleepers, but, to the distressed old man, each
minute was but sixty seconds of torture.

CHAPTER VII.
“ HERE, FATHER!”

AFTER. our friends had left the grave of the
murdered woman, they pushed rapidly forward
toward the lake, only pausing for rest anzi re«
freshments. It was late in the afternoon of the
third day, when old Bob announced that they
were only a short distance from the lake. A
consultation was held. It was not even sup-
posed that this party could effect a rescue.

‘heir intention was to track the foe, and fur-
nish such information as would enable the troops
to make a successful att 1ck when they came up.

There could scarcely be any danger anticipat—
ed by the savages; still, it was thought that,
with their usual precautlon, they would be like
ly to encamp in some retired spot. It was,
therefore, determined to wait until darkness
sh vuld set in, and then commence the search.

Judson and Morris took a lower route. follow-
ed by one of the soldiers, while old Bob and the
other soldier took the upper one. In a short
time they reached the lake. By chance Judson
found a canoe. He was satisfied, by the model
of the same, that it belonged to some settler. and
notto any of the Indians. He sprung into it,

 

saying:

“I will push out a short distance and see if
there are any camp-fires visible. Wait here a
moment, until I return.”

In a short time the boat glided noiselessly back
to the land, and Judson sald:

“A mile above, and about two miles below,
there are fires.”

“Those above are most likely to be the ones

" we want.”

“ Why so?"

“ Because they are directly in the path taken
by the savages.”

“I think differently. The one above is too
near the lake. They are fishermen. That down,
is a. little distance back in the forest, and not so
distinct.”

“At all events, Bob is in that direction. and
will attend to them. We will go below. What
is your plan i”

“ Let the soldiers join Bob above. I will ull
carefully along the margin of the lake, w ile
you may keep in the timber. If we should be
separated, remember, we must meet in two or
three hours on the road, and sooner, if we et
the information we want; for, if Colonel Tay or
arrived the da we left, as they expected, he
Will be at the la 6 by midnight, if not before.”

“ Well, go on; but look out for yourself; for
the moon is shining brightly, and any person
can see along distance upon the water—more
especially those savages, with their practiced
eyes.

" Remember the meeting." And Judson left
the shore.”

He pulled cautiously along, and arrived at a.
point opposite the lower fire. He soon discov-
eredwhat it was. A lar e stream of water here
emptied into the take. fire was burning upon

 

its bank, and some men and women were en-
gaged in fishing. After becoming fully con-
vinced that they were friends, he approached.
They w we not a little startled when they heard
the p? ‘n of cars and saw the [approaching
canoe. But they were reassured as they dis-
covered there was but one person, a white man,
in it. Judson pulled close to the party, who
eyed him a moment, and then one of them
said:

“ Confound it, stranger, ye e’ena’most .skeer’d
the life out on a teller. ’

“ I was not aware of having done anything to
frighten you, my friends. simply saw you
from the lake, and came up for the purpose of
glea hing some information, if possible.”

“ C-infound it, wife; he’s one of them nice-
spoken chaps as you sees down to the fort.
Shouldn’t be surprised ef he was a so‘er.”

“ I am an oflicer under Colonel aylor," re-
plied Judson.

“Want to know! We], we’re right down
glad to see ye. Won’t ye jist step on shore and
take a nip? I've got a bottle of the r’ale old
stin 0 here.”

“ bank you, not to-night. I am glad to pro
pose the toast: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your
health.’”

“ Alers do it at the fort,” said the fisherman,
with a wink and a knowing nod to those around
him. Then he continued:

“Stranger, I like you, and shall be glad to
give ye good grub in the morning, for you’re
goin’ to hang out on a peg with us to-uight, I
reckin.”

“No, I thank you. I have work before me

to-ni‘g .
“ ant to knowl May I ax what kind 0’
work you mought hev?”

“Certainly. I am upon the track of a band
of Indians."

“ Huntin’ Injins, hey? Wal, I reckon ye ain’t
a-duin’ it all alone, be ye?”

“ There are five of us who are tracking the
savages. But I expect Colonel Taylor, with an
army of five hundred men, dowu to join us to-
night.”

“ Hoard! That’s the talk. Here, wife, get
me my gun, for by the great lizards _I’m goinf
to j’ine cm. A chance to,hunt the vermints in
good company, don’t come every day, and i’m
in for a scrimmage to wipe out old scores, curse
em!

“ You may be useful as a guide,” replied J ud—
son, not noticing the earnestness of the man,
whose last words were uttered with terrible
flerceness.

“ Yis, an’ ef I can't get our little Willie back,
I‘ll hev the satisfaction of he] in’ to clear'em
out, anyway. Five hundred! coral Hooral"

“ Your little Williel What do you mean?”
asked Judson. '

“Wal, gin’ral, ye see that gal, thar? Wal
she‘s my wife, an’, about two year ago she had

 

one of the cutest little cusses—a baby, i mean—,-

looked jes’ like me, didn’t it, wife?——that ye ever
did see. We]. ye see, the big er it grew, the
more store we set by the litte critter. But.
about a year ago, a party 0’ the reds were goin’
past here, when they picked up the boy, an’
toted him off—no one knows whar. It e’en-

 

 
   

  
 
    
     
  
    
  
 
    
  
   
   
   
  
 
 
     
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
    
   
   
   
  
   
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
   
 
    
    
    
   
  

 

 

  

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Black J im’s Doom. 15

 

almost killed my wife, Sally, there; but we had
to'b’ai r it. It war harder’n havin’ our own hair
raise .

“And you have never heard anything of the
child?" .

“Not :1 whimper. Is’gect the liltle thing’s
dead before this time. ut, if I can get only
one shot :Lt—s What’s that?" A short distance
from the spot where they were standing, was
heard a. shot—a scream, being evidently that of
a female, and a voice calling:

“Judson! Judsenl”

“Come! Quick! Follow me!” cried Edward,
as he bounded into the forest.

With the speed of the wind, he ran for the
spot from whence he had heard the sounds pro-
ceeding, answering the calls. One better ac-
quainted with the Indian character would not
have done this, It proved unfortunate; for,
just as he brake through a thicket, he received
a blow uprn the head which sent him reeling
and senseless to the earth.

 

We will return, for a few moments, to Mac-
Donald.

After the conversation, which we have al-
ready narrated, had occurred betwaen him and
the chief, with referenceto the blind girl and
the maniac, the latter left the circle, fully re-
solved to liberate them, while the former was
anore- than ever resolved that it should not be

one.

MacDonald’s daring nature loved opposition.
He was quite a favorite with the tribe, on ac-
count of his courage—for the savage is apt to
mistake deeds of barbarism for those of heroism;
and, in the present case, he did not fear the re-
sult of the tribe’s decision, Whether or not he
should retain the maidens. who were his lawful
captives. Still, he could not but feel ill at ease.
He knew the disposition of the chief, and that,
when he had once resolved a thing, it was al-
most as good as done. He therefore determined
that he would proceed at once to the stronghold.

Taking Blanche by the hand, he led her to a
distant part of the camp, and arousing four of
the sleepers—those who were the most devoted
to him—communicated to them his intentions.
At first, they grumbled at being disturbed; but
the promise of a large amount of whisky had
the desired effect, and they followed the rene'

gade.

Blanche had become too much fatigued to
walk, and a rude litter was formed, upon which
she was carried.

“ It is but three miles to the house of old Bill
Silly. We can get a boat there. It is true, I
would rather avoid his house, for certain rea-
sons of my own; but it is the only way. Once
in the boat, our journey will be easy the balance
of the distance.” .

Poor Blanche, in spite of her anguish of mind,
had—overcome so entirely as she was by fatigue
—fallen asleep. The party kept on their way,
and at length arrived near the spot where the
conversation occurred between the fisherman
and Judson.

Upon a sudden, they came upon Charles
Morris. Neither saw the others until t ev were
but a few feet apart. Quick as though , Morris
raised his rifle. He comprehended at a glance

 

the condition of affairs. But he mistook his
man. He had intended to kill MacDonald, but,
fortunately for the villain, he had just relieved
one of the Indians at the litter, who was walk-
ing in the advance. The savage, therefore, re-
ceived the contents of Morris’s rifle in his breast,
and, with a groan, fell to the earth. At the
same time, Morris called loudly for Judson,
whom he supposed to be near. Blanche was
aroused by the shot, and gave vent to a scream
of terror. But MacDonald was not to be so
easily foiled. He had now only one adversar
to encounter, who held an unloaded gun.
second report soon followed, and Morris fell to
the ground.

These were the sounds heard by Judson, and,
dashing forward, he arrived at the spot just as
his friend had fallen, and himself receiving a.
blow which de rived him of consciousness.

MacDonald ent close to the face of the fallen
men, and examined each. He then said, in a
low tone, and with much bitterness:

“ It is Judson, as I expected, but he is only
stunned by the blow. Oh] I will have rare
sport. I will repay him for tying me to a tree.
And this other poor devil—if I remember him
rightly, he is the—or was, the lover of Jessie.
I’d like to see him squirm; but he‘s dead. Here,
boys, take up this man, and bring him along."

he Indians did as directed. Blanche was led
forward, and the party soon stood upon the spot
where Judson had met the fishermen. The lat-
ter, fearing that the savages were approaching
in large numbers, had deemed it prudent to
withdraw. Nothing stood in the way.

Judson, still insensible, was placed in a boat.
Blanche was also led into it. The renegade and
the three remaining savages sprung in, and
pulled rapidly for the middle of the lake.

“Blanche, do you hear that?” asked Mac-
Donald.

“ I hear the report of fire-arms,” answered the
girl, in timid tones.

“ Do you not see the flames and smoke!”

“ Why do you mock me, sir? You know I
can not see!” i I

“ Oh, yes. I had forgotten. But, listen!
There are three distinct volleys. Is it not a
heavenly sound?”

‘? To me it is one of terror.”

“ Do you know what it means?”

“ I can’t even guess. ’l

“ Those sounds are from the spot we have just
left. They are your friends; and, poor fools,
they think to find you there.”

“Why are you so cruel as to take me from
them?” '

“ Well, if you must know, it is because I wish
to he revenged upon your friends and your Mr.
Judson, the soldier-swain who loves to tie those
he don‘t fancy up to whipping-posts."

“ Judson? Do vou mean Edward Judson?"

“Yes; Edward Judson.
to see him?”

“ I would love to hear his voice once again.”

“ Well, he a good girl, and you shall hear his
voice in a few hours. Do you hear that voice?” .
“It is calling me by namel I heard. it dis-

tinctlyl”

“ Yes. Do you reco nize the tones?"

“ It is my father’s vo ce.” And Blanche arose, v

Would you not love

  

 

Black Jim’s Doom.

 

and with all her strength, answered the call.
The words, “Here, father I” rung out over the
water in tones of commingled despair and joy.

“It is useless,” said MacDonald, with a laugh.
“ You will never see your father again!”

“Never hear his voice again! Never feel his
fond caress a ainl”

“ Never fee old Bob Bradley’s paws again.”

“ And my mother?”

“ She is dead, and old Bob is a widower. He
is one-eyed now, sure,” and the heartless wretch
chuckled over his supposed witticism.

“ Ohl Heaven help me,” Sobbed Blanche, as
she sunk back into her seat.

“ Blanchel Blanche!” called Judson, as he re-
turned to half—consciousness. “ Blanche, where
are you—where am I?”

“ 0h! here, Ed ward, here,” cried the poor girl,
as she recognized the voice, and sprung to her

Bet.

“ Closer, Blanchel closer! I am cold. I—
I—-"aud Judson fell back again, unconscious.
The r blind girl had tottered forward, and
fell, aintlng, upon the body of her lover.

The renegade looked on. while a smile of grati—
fied revenge lighted up his hideous face.

Into such inhuman shape is human nature
sometimes warped by men’s own passions and
evil circumstances.

CHAPTE VIII.
THE s'rao GHOLD.

WKEN’ the morning broke, it was clear and
beautiful. Judson had recovered his reason, but
was still lying prostrate and almost helpless, in
the bow of the boat. Blanche had been separ-
ated from her friend, and placed in the stern of
the little craft. where, sobbing, she had fallen
into a fltful slumber.

She saw not the bright sun. At her waking
she could feel its genial glow, but the beauty of
its light was forever shut out from her. Its
golden reflection in the spil'kling‘ waters, its
ovely tints upon the forest oaks and its painting
of each shrub, were lost to her si htless orbs,
and evarmore must be. Oh! to ave earth’s
beauty and glow shut forever from our gaze. It
must be like a body animate buried in a death-
vault. ‘

Judson saw its glories, and, raising himself
upon his elbow he gazed long 11 n them. And
than as if giving utterance to is thoughts, he
as :

“ How fair is everything here i”

“Yes, it is a fine- prospect—one that I like!”
Judson turned his eyes upon the speaker, and
sin: I exclaimed:

“ acDonaldl”

“Yes. Black Jim MacDonald. Oh! you need—
n’t frown so, nor don’t go off in a fainting-fit
again, as you did last ni ht, because I want you
to keep awake. You be your turn a few days
ago, and you tied me toa post. I’ll have my
turn now.” .

“Do your worst, you infamous villain, and
detected ran 6 of your race.”

“Hal hal al Carrying; it bravely, ehl But,
on don’t know half that I can do yet. Do you
now where we are?"

“ I do not; nor do I care.

So long as you are
near, it is an accursed spot.”

 

“ We are upon the Kissimmee River, about
half the distance between that lake and Okee—
chobee. Do you kmw how you came here?”

“ I have an indistinct recollection of‘receiving
a blow. The rest is dark—save—save—” and a
half-smile flitted over his face.

“ Save what? It must be some pleasant thought
thus to cause you to smile. Let us know what
it was.”

“ I do not care to waste words with you.”

“ Oh, no matter. But I can tell you what your
thought was in our dream.”

“ Did I say I ad a dream?”

“ No, but you did. ’You dreamed that Blanche,
the blind girl, was in your arms.” Judson turned
a searching look upon the man, but was startled
by a voice asking:

“Who calls my name?” Judson pressed his
hands to his temples, as if making an effort to
recollect something, and then called:

“ Blanche l”

“ Here, Edward!” cried the poor girl, as she
threw aside the blanket which had formed her
covering, and reached forward as if she would
clasp her beloved. Judson groaned in very agony
of soul. He was a soldier. Suifering, capture,
wounds and death are things not unlocked for,
and when they come, not even a murmur is
heard. But, when the soldier saw the idol of his
soul—the helpless, harmless, beautiful Blanche
Bradley — in the hands of that remorseless
wretch, and apparenty far beyond the reach of
aid, it is no wonder that his heart was filled with
the most bitter anguish. He gazed upon the
poor girl, and for some time remained silent. He
was aroused from a half-reverie by her asking:

“ Are you near me, dear Edward T’

“ I am here, Blanche, like yourself, a captive,
in the power of a monster.”

“I can not feel you. Why don’t you take
my hand, and let me rest my head upon your
breast?” Judson made an attempt to rise, but
he staggered and fell back.

“ I’ll assist on, young man!” said MacDonald;
and he reached forth his hand which Judson
took, and with its help, he gained the stern of
the boat and seated himself beside the blind
girl. She threw herself into his arms, and
clung to him as if she feared some accident
might again part them.

“ Can you not save me, dear Edward?” she
asked. “ Take me anywhere away from his
presence?” she added, with a shudder.

“ I hope for the best, dearest.”

“ Are we both prisoners?"

“ Yes, Blanche.”

“ And in a boat upon the lake?”

“Upon the river.

“Are you hurt, Edward? You speak in a
faint voice.”

“ I received a slight wound last night, but it
is nothing serious, darling.” V

“ Who are those bad men who have taken us
captives?” .

“ Better not know—so say no more of them.”

“ 0h, let her speak,” exclaimed MacDonald.
“ It won’t hurt my feelings a bit. We all pro-
fess td'be bad men according to your standard.
Let her go on.”

” Where are they conveying us?” asked
Blanche.

v

   

«.4

    
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
    
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
    
    
   
  
 
 
    
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   

Huskies. ‘ g _

     -. -

a ....:x.~.~m..mew .‘L

 

a-

. humyvsssggn-‘n‘

,_,, A _ .q::.Wijw—gn—'

Black Jim's Doom. 17

 

“ I do not know, darling; robably to some
of their Everglades’ retreats w ere they hope no
civilized foot will ever pursue them.”

“And you will not leave me again, will you
Edward?”

“ Not if I can help it. But do not speak fur-
ther. Cling close to me, dearest, and we will
hope for the best.”

The savages plied their cars vigorously, and,
running as they were with the river, their pro-
gress was rapid. They soon arrived at lake
Okeechobee.

To cross this body of water re uired the
balance of the day and the night fo lowing, as
their progress Was less rapid than upon the
river. But it was at length accomplished, and
the Everglades of which Judson had heard so
much, but had never seen, appeared in view.

The lake had been passed, and the party were
about merging into the brake, when one of the
savages gave vent to an exclamation of surprise
and ointed toward the north. MacDonald
gaz in the direction indicated. A frown set~
tlerl upon his face, and he clutched his huge
knife as he muttered:

“ It is the chief and alone!” Judson remem-
bered the look that Billy had given MacDonald
at the fort, while he had been speaking of the
maniac, and, connectng this with the fact that
the renegade had separated from the party, and
that. the chief was evidently in pursuit, it could
not but inspire hope in his heart. His captor
observed the smile which lighted up his face,
and said:

“Your hopes are in vain, Judson. I grant
you that the chief would release the captives, if
he dared, for he has the heart of a. woman, or a.
chicken. But, you know the laws that govern
us? You are all my captives, and no person
dare interfere. If Billy should attempt it, chief
as he is, he would be bound and pun' bed. So

. make up your mind that no power on arth can

sta. me in my revenge. I have rmitted that
gir to remain at your side, and s a can remain
with you for some time to come. Do you know
the reason why I do this?”

“ I cannot say that I do.”
ta“? is to render your separation the more bit—
r.
“ Fiend! You will yet be foiled.”

“ You think so, do you? Well, upon my
word, you have a large amount of confidence in
something—I don’t know what; for, as matters
stand now, I don’t really see much that looks
like a. rescue. Do you see that rocky ledge?”

“ I do, plainly.”

“ There are a range of hills and ledges con—
nected with that which Satan and all his imps
could not take. At the base is the settlement,
where the Seminoles reside. It is our strong-
hold, aud will so remain, as long as I live to en-
courage the Indians to defend it."

“ I know it,” replied Judson. “ At a level
spot, or half, about half-way up the sides, is
your den. It is there that old Mr. Loveday’s
daughter is concealed; and another victim is
chained to your door. Is it not so?”

MacDonald looked surprised, and then raised
himself to his full hight, gazing in the direction
of the cliff. He evidently was endeavoring to
ascertain if Judson could see what he had de'

 

scribed. Satisfying himself that he could not,
he asked:

“ How did you learn this, Master Soldier?”

“ Oh, your stronghold and its surroundings
are well known to the army, and will be taken
in less than a week from this time. if I don't
miss my guess. If I had my wish, it would be
taken the moment your foot touches the shore.”

“Indeed! A pretty friend you are—a good
“ell-wisher!” he added, scornfiilly.

“ Yes. You will recollect that you have now
Colonel Taylor to deal with, and five hundred
veteran Indian-fighters. They are on your
track, and will hunt you and your bloodthirsty
crew to the death, as you so richly deserve.”

MacDonald did not reply for a few moments,
but at length said:

“Well, let him come. Here we could meet
and successfully cmtend with five ilcusand
white-livered puppets of your nir r n ' .( i nment.
Let Taylor come, and, rrayl c. l is :calp—lock
Will grace a Seminole lodge.‘

The stream was now bcc<,i..;i.g very narrow
running along the base of rugged rocks, some of
which were overhanging in such a manner as to
threaten to fall at any moment. At len th the
boat was moored alongside a rocky she f, and
the party disembarked. They passed along, for
a distance of about twenty yards, throu h a nar
row defile, and then emerged in a we l—beaten
path, which wound its way up the steep.

I It was a rugged ascent, and the wounded man
found much difficulty in toiling up: incumbered
as he was with the blind maiden. But at length
the open space, described by Morris, was
reached. There were the flat, the higlit above,
and the smoking valley below. There were the
rude wigwams and the log-works. Near him
was the cabin. and, around, the huts described.
Even the iron chain and the staple were in
view, but nothing was seen giving the slightest
indication of human life, save at the village in
the valley. Far beyond spread the lake; but.
not 8. speck appeared upon its surface. Friends
were not yet in sight. Judson sunk upon the
earth, panting for breath, while Blanche seated
herself by his side. .

In a moment the Indians who had accom-
panied MacDonald on ihhe journey disaggeared.

he renegade turned to Judson and ask :

“ Do you see any evidence of life around?” .

“ I do not. It looks like a tiger’s lair, await-
ing the tiger.”

” Ha, be! Good! You may consider our-
self the tiger’s prey. Ha, ha!" Then he a ded:
“ And you think, if I was absent, you could es—
cape Without difiiculty i"

“I see nothing to prevent me from finding
my way to the river, or to the coast, if I am left
fiee to go.” '

MacDonald placed a small, ecnliarly carved
bit of bone to his lips, and h ew a. shrill blast.
In an instant a dozen tawny forms appeared, as
if comin from the face of the clifl, or from the
earth be ow their feet.

“ These are my guard,” he continued. “If
you should attempt an escape in my absence,
you would be instantly seized by them. You
see I have my arrangements perfect, and, if you
are wise, you will not attain t to foil me, or to

   
  

.csl'ape. If Colonel Taylor a ould dare toad-

  
     

 

18

 

Black Jim’s Doom.

 

vance upon us here, you can easily imagine
what his fate would be. Our works below are
almost impregnable. Here the are uite so
and, with my own guard, I coul def im, and
cut him in pieces, man by man, as certainly

' shall do if he appears.”

“ Where is the cabin of your chief?”

“ Upon the second ledge you see, yonder. He
never troubles me here. But I must; leave you
now. Remember, you are to be free from fet-
ters so long as you make no attempt to escape.
When you do this, [shall place you in chains,
and ive you prison fare.”

“ ho talks of chains?" The voice came
from within 'the cabin. It was low and sepul-
chm—something frightfully hollow. At the
same time, the wretched being, which had been
described by Morris, came crawlin forth. As
his eyes fell upon Judson, he starter to his feet,
with a wild cry. He gazed steadily upon him
fora moment, and then, tottering forward, with
a half-choking, half-sobbing sound, he stam-
mered forth:

“ Ed~d—-Edward—Judsonl”

“ You know me!" ‘

“Yes! Yes!"

“ Great God! who are you i”

“FREDERICK LOVEDAYI your old shipmate,
yam?) you thought, perished on the coast of Flor-
l u

The friends met as only those under the
weight of such misery can meet.

 

CHAPTER IX.
run DAZED omxvn.

MACDONALD saw the recognition, and rubbed
his hands in very glee. T 9 joy he felt was,
that each one’s sufferings would be the keeneras
tgey gazed upon their friend. He therefore left
t em.

Explanations were soon made. Frederick, it
will be remembered. had landed in a small boat
upon the coast of Florida, from the vessel upon
which he belonged. It was supposed that his
entire rty had been killed. But such had not
been t e case. Frederick, however, was the
only one saved. He had been carried off by
the savages, and after a time, had by chance.
fallen into the hands of MacDonai . This was
shortly after the capture of his sister Jessie.

The renegade now felt that his position as
oaptor—imchief was, indeed, a proud one.
year before he had made overtures for the hand
of Jessie, to old Stephen Loveday, but had been
spurned. At that time he was a profess/ed hun-
ter, but report pronounced him a common plun-
derer. Upon his re'ection, the brute nature of
the man at once 8 owed itself, and he vowed
the most terrible revenge. He jniuei the sav-
ages, and, by his reckless daring, had managed
to raise himself to the position of second in
command. He was feared even by the savages
themselves, for he would not pause at any-
thing to gain his ends, or to grat fy his revenge.
Such was the monster who had possession of our
friends.

After the first joys of meeting had assed,
an]? texplanations were mutually given, udson
as e :

 

 

“ And your sister, where is she?”
A convulsive tremor shook the frame of Fred-
erick, as he replied:
“Near the end of all earthly suffering, I
think!”
“ Dying?"
1 “NJJ, I think not, yet. But she cannot last
on .
“ What is the matter with her?”

“ Oh, Judson!” exclaimed Frederick, while his '

breast heaved with a terrible excitement, “ you
never can know what I have suffered; and yet,
I am still alive 1” ‘

“ I see the traces of more than mental suffer—
ing Egon your face and form."

“ sister, bending under the weight of her

ief, ecame a maniac."

“ I heard this was the case.”

“Then you did hear of us?"

“0f Jessie, about a week since. 0f yourself,
a few hours after, from Charles Morris.”

V “ Oh, yes; I saw him. But did he know
me l”

,“ No; I did not even suspect who you were. I
had long mourned you as dead. But go on.
Tell me all about your sister.”

“ Better had she been dead. When I was
brought here, I found her but she knew me not.
She had been mad, I know not how long, nor
how long she had been a captive, for I am sure
she did not come here voluntarily.”

“ Did MacDonald represent that she had come
of her own free will?"

“ Yes, he said she had been tormented by one
of the officers of the garrison. and came here to
hide herself, and to escape her father’s promise
of her hand to the officer. To avoid any attempt

for her recovery, he said she was married to

him by Indian rites.”

“It is all false. She was forcibly seized by
MacDonald a year ago, and brought here. Her
father has made every effort to find her, and is
grieving his life away on her account. Her
professe marriage to MacDonald, if it ever
took place at all, was as forced as her abduction.”

“A year ago i” repeated Frederick, thought-
fully. ‘f Why her child is older than that, or
else I am a very bad judge.”

“ Her child! Oh! yes. I remember it was
said she had a child. Is it with her new?”

“ Yes; and appears to share all its mother’s
grief. It, also is quite ill.”

“ And you have watched over them for a
whole year!”

“Constantly, Ned: but. I can not endure it
much longer. I feel that I am sinking fast."

“ Courage. Taylor will be here with troopsin
a. day or two, and I hope for a rescue.”

“God grant that it may be so. But, would
you like to see J essie?"

“ I would, indeed. Perhaps I may be of ben-
efit to her."

“ Follow me.” Frederick entered the cabin,
followed by Judson, leading Blanche. In the
corner of the dreary lodge there had been
erected a platform of pl"nk. Upon this were
pl med 0. number of blankets and skins, forming
a very comfortable bed. It evidently contained
a human form. Judson approached. and bent
over the couch, but he started back with an ex-
clamation of horror.

  
   
 
      
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
   
  
   
 
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
    
     
   
   
    
  
   
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

gs:

 

 

 

to

 

, Black Jim's Doom. 19

 

“I have become accustomed to that face,"
said Frederick.

“ Is she not dead i"

“ Oh! no.” At this moment the invalid threw
off the covering from her face, and turm'd her
gaze upon the intruders. It was white as mar-
ble, while her great black eyes, which presented
so stron a contrast, shone with an unnatural
light. he first fixed her gaze upon Judson,
and then turned it upon the blind girl. Then
extending'her hand, she asked:

“Wh are ye here. pretty maid?" The pres-
ence o the maniac had not been explained to
Blanche, but, from the conversation she had
heard between her lover and the brother, she
comprehended the state of affairs. She there-
fore approached the bedside and attempted to
speak. But her feelings overcame her, and she
burst into tears.

“ Don’t wee , poor child l” said Jessie. as she
caressed the b ind girl. “ This should be a house
of joy and not of grief. Charles will be here to—
night, and then I am to be married. Oh! I
shall be so happy! Then you shall have my
boy. I am not his mother! I thought I was,
but there was a bright form came to my bed
last ni ht and ‘told me that I was not.” A
pair 0 little bright eyes peered timidly over
the shoulders of the maniac, and then nestled
down close by her side. Jessie pla -d her arms
around the little one, and exclaime :

“ ghere, don’t cry. Mamma will protect her

y.

“ What a sad sightl” exclaimed Judson, as he
stepped into the open air. “ And can it be
possible that this monster can retain that poor
girl in his possession, an unwilling captive,
from the mere desire of revenge? Her state is
evidently at its worst.”

“ What do you think of her case?” asked
Frederick, anxiously, rceiving that Judson evi-
dently read her condition with a physician’s eye.

“ I think she will recover. She has been strug-
gling with a violent fever, and I should judge it
to be turning now. She will either sink at
once, or begin to mend. If she should recover.
there is one especial consolation you will have.”

" What is that?"

“She will no longer be a maniac!"

“ Do you think 50'!"

" I am sure of it. Such cases are always
compensated for along, low sickness, by a. res-
31i-z'i’tion of mental clcarness, if they recover at

“ God grant then she may recover, and yet
rave a blessing to her friends, and see some~
hin of happiness, for her sufi‘erings have in-

d been great.”

“ Amen, and amen! And ma her persecutor
be made to feel the weight 0 sorrow he has
caused her to bear! Blanche, darling,” whis-
gared Judson to the poor girl who was yet weep—

g. “ don’t grieve. I trust a few days will
suffice to make us all happy again in restored
freedom."

“ Do you think we will be rescued?”

“ I do most confidently think so.”

“ And that poor JesSie will be restored to her
friends again?! . .

“ Yes; if we are saved, she, too, W11] share our

good fortune.”

 

“ And will she, if she lives, be restored to her
sound mind, fully, so as to know her friends?”

“ Yes, I think so.”

“ And marry Charley Morris?”

“ I see no reason to doubt it.” And yet there
was a look of pain passed over the face of
Judson.

“ And poor Blanche must remain in darkness
forever! Oh! it is hard—very hard! Why can
I not rend this black vail from before my 0 '8,
if only long enough to gaze once upon your ear
face. J udson?”

‘5 You must not repine, darling."

“I know it is wrong—very wrong— but I can
not help it. I can remember—oh! it seems like
a dream—when I was blessed with sight. The
sun was leiuiiiul—the heavens, the stars, the
earth, the grei n' fields—ob! do they look the
same now, dear J unson '1‘”

“ The same as then, darling. You must fancy
that you see things as you saw them then. You
can ear now, Blanche. You can bear the
waters of this little rippling brook as it goes
singing by, and you can hear the tickling of
that cascade. Its music is as sweet to your ears
as it is to mine. You can not see them, it is
true, while I, who can, have scarcely cast a
glance in that direction. And if you can not
see me, you can feel my touch, and hear my
voice.”

1“] 2lint, will you never weary of the poor blind
g r .

“ You are all the world to me.”‘

“ You are good—oh! so good, and you make
me so happy, dear Edward.”

The happy trio—balgpy in their companionship
of misery—Judson. ederick and Blanche—sat
for some time in silence. At length they were
startled by a cry, and the emaciated form of
Jessie Loveday shot rapidly past them. Judson
fpi'ung to his feet to clasp her, but he was too

ate.

Upon a ledge, or rather shelf of rock, but a
short distance from them, rew an oak of con-
siderable size. It had, to appearance, as it
increased in size by growth, gradually settled,
so that it hung over a chasm in a horizontal
manner. It was held last in this position by the
huge roots which clung with eat tenacity to
the rock and soil. To“ ard this tree Jessie bent
her steps, and almost before any person was
aware that she had left her bed, she was walk—
ing upon the trunk, and had even reached the
branches of the oak. There upon that giddy
hight she stood, erect. calling and beckoning to
some imaginary person. Further and further
she proceeded. until the frail limbs bent beneath
her weight. She then seated herself upon one
of the branches, and called:

“ Charles! Charles! Are you not coming?”

Her friends stood horror-stricken. They dared
not move—they dared not speak. The ver
blood appeared frozen within their veins.
false step or movement, and poor Jessie would
be dashed to pieces upon the rocks below.

“ What can be done? Is there no way to save
her?” whispered Frederick.

“ Hush! She is speaking again!” V

“Shall I come toyou, Charles? Well, wait
for me, and I will come." ‘

“ Oh! my God! She is going still further on.

  
  
  
  
   
   
 
   
 
   
 
 
    
   
  
   
    
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
    
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
    
 
  
     
   

 

80 Black Jim’s Doom.

 

Two more feet and she will be lost. I must—I
must—Jessiel J essie—«here is your Charles!"
The poor girl heard the voice, and reseating
herself, cast back a mournful glance, exclaiming
as she did so:

“No! You are deceiving me. Here he isl"
and she pointed away out in the airy world
before her.

She will be lost unless something can be done
at once.”

“ The child I"

“ What do you mean?”

“It is a hazard, but the only chance. See,
she is already making motions to her fancied
lover. Quickl bring the child!” Judson sprung
into the cabin, and soon returned with the child
in his arms. He hurried with it to the foot of
the tree, and holding it forth, exclaimed:

“Jessie—Jessiel Come. Baby wants you!"

It was a moment of intense anguish. Upon
the result of a. sentiment hung a human life.
And if death came—such a deathl It was her-
rible to contemplate. Great drops of perspir-
ation stood upon the faces of the two man.

When Jessie saw the child, she started up with
a cry of joy, and commenced to retrace her
steps. Her movement was so sudien that she
lost her balance, and she toppled over. But she
caught with one hand upon a slender limb, and
there hung with an almost superhuman strength.
A moment more, and she must lose her hold,
an'l he dashed in pieces upon the earth below.

“ On, God! Why am I chained!" groaned
Frederick, as he covered his face with his hands,
and fell almost lifeless to the ground. Judson
sprung for the oak. but he was seized by a pow-
erful hand and thrown aside. Then a voice ex—
claimed:

“ You are too badly hurt, young man, to at-
tempt so perilous a tee . It requires strength I ”
These WOl‘d-l did not stay the speaker, for he
had already reached the branches of the oak.

Jessie was still biyond his reach. He there
fore clasped th: body of the tree with his legs,
turning his head and body downward. Hang-
ing in this manner, he caught the girl in his
powerful arms. In a moment more, he sat
astride the trunk. After a short time he slowly
advanced, and Jessie was delivered safely into
the arms of Judson.

“ Oh! how can we ever thank you?" exclaimed
both brother and friend, together, as they saw
the danger passed.

“ Bill Bowlegs, chief of the Seminoles, wants
no than s for doing simply his duty."

” It was a noble act, and performed, I be-
lieve, from the promptings of a. noble heart. I
wish we could be friends.”

" And so we can, when the usurper’s foot is
withdrawn from my territory."

“ May I ask you one question?" said Judson.

” Proceed."

“ Is it by your consent that these maidens are
detained here prisoners?”

“ No. And not with my knowledge, until
very recently.”

“ Will you not release them?”

“ They shall be free I "

MacDonald had approached just 'in time to
hear the latter portion of the conversation. He
frowned bitterly, and then sprung into the path-

 

way, and without a word, commenced his de-
scent toward the Indian village.

Billy, after having dashed through the line of
soldiers, as stated in a previous chapter, bad
hurried forward, and had arrived just in time
to perform the noble part we have here described.

 

CHAPTER X.
THE KING DISCROWNED.

JESSIE was conVeyed to her bed, perfectly ex-
hausted. In a short time she sunk into a quiet
slumber. The chief bent over her a few mo-
ments, and then said:

“ It was a trying ordeal, but its results will
be beneficial.”

“ How so?” asked Judson.

“ Have you never heard that a sudden shock
sometimes restores the reason of a maniac, as
well as to deprive a sane person of reason?”

“I have heard of such cases, but never wit-
nessed one.”

“ This will be the case now, if I am not much
mistaken,” added the chief, speaking with car-
nestness.

“ God grant it, for the suiferer’s sake, if she
is to be permitted again to see her friends and
home. If.she is to remain here, she had better
never know her true condition.”

“ When the girl first conceived the idea that
her lover was in that tree, it was simply the de-
lirium of her fever, and not her former mal—
ady,” said the chief, not noticing the soldier's
remarks. “She became partially conscious of
her danger, while hanging upon that limb, and
fully so after I had raised her in my arms. She
turned upon me an unmistakable look of grati-
tude. She will rest quietly now. Perhaps she
will not wake for two or three days. When
she does, if I am not greatly mistaken, you will
find her reason restored."

“ And will you not then permit both her and
poor blind Blanche to return to their friends?”
persisted Judson, determined to press the pain-
ful moment for a propitious answer.

jlc‘lhe chief was silent for a moment, and then
~ 1 :

“ I will do all I can. How much that may be
remains to be seen."

“Are you not chief here? And can you not
command?"

“So far as our laws sustain me, but 'no
further. But I can use my influence. If I
cannot succeed by that, I will resort to strata-
gem. The brother shall also be free. But you,
lieutenant, will still be held, for you are a
prisoner of war.”

“I am content. Do with me as you wish,
but restore these innocent ones to their friends,
and I will bless you, chief.”

“ I would to God,” continued Billy, “ that this
war Was over. I am heartily sick of it. But I
must fight—fight to the bitter end. Whose
child is this?" he continued, taking the blind
girl by the hand.

“ It is the daughter of a Robert Bradley, an
honest hunter, living near the fort, at Tampa.
Her mother was murdered, a few days ago, by
MacDonald.”

“Horrible villain!” muttered the chief. He

V Woman.”

1%“

,

 

 

l
J,
i;
i
i
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nomad—ac

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Black Jim’s Doom.

  

ll

 

 

then continued, as he held both the hands of
Blanche in his own:

“ But you shall be saved, poor child. You do
not fear me. do you?” ,

“Oh! no! You speak so kindly that I am
sure you are good, and I will always love you.”

Atear started to the eyes of the chief. but
he dashed it aside, exclaiming, as he turned
awa :

“ have seen her face and heard her voice
before. It must have been when she was a
child, although I do not recollect ever having
heard the name of Robert Bradley.”

The chief walked from the cabin. He was
heard to speak in a loud and angry tone, and,
leaving Blanche seated by the side of the
sleeper, the brother and Judson followed. They
saw large numbers of the savages coming up
the winding pathway.

It was but a few moments before, perhaps. a
hunde warriors gained the flat, and, with
perfect silence, seated themselves upon the
ground. MacDonald was at their head.

“ What means this?” cried Billy, his eyes
flashing with rage.

“It means,” returned MacDonald, calmly,
“ that [have called a council.”

“ And have you dared to call a council of my
braves and warriors without consulting me?"

“ I have dared to do what every member of
the tribe has a right to do,” was the half-fero-
cious answer.

“ You shall be made to pay for this. I will
teach you your place. Men, seize that traitor!”
No one moved—mot a hand obeyed the call.

“ Speak to them again—they don’t hear you l”
The white savage smiled, as if his triumph were
complete.  '

“ Why have you called my warriors to—
gether?” asked the chief.

“ For council. I said.”

“ To what end?"

“ You threatened to release my captives. I.
have called the warriors together for them to
decide whether or not you have a right to do

“ Then let them decide.”

“And you will be governed by their deci-
sion?”

“No! I shall be governed by my own de-
cision—by justice! I shall repudiate all law
which permits such villainy as you have prac—
ticed even though it displace me from my com«
man , and reduce me to the position of a
prisoner.’

“ Which it will be very like] to do, if you
attempt to set aside the laws w ich you know
are not to be changed by any man's will.”

“ Well, go on. State your case to my men,
and make your appeal. I am prepared to an-
swer you~and to fight)” .

“ Men,” exclaimed MacDonald, stopping for-
ward, “ I have now in my possession four pris-
oners. I captured them without assistance.
Have I not a right to hold them, in spite of any
personal sympathy which the chief may feel? ’

[The different appeals were made in the lan-
guage used by the Seminoles, of which Mac,
Donald was perfect [hasten]

“ Yes! Yes!” was the low, but unanimous

response.

 

  

“But,” said the chief, skewing forward,” two
of the prisoners are women. 8 do not make war
upon such. BeSIdes, we have no right, by our
laws, to capture or retain any female who has
not a husband, father or brother in arms against
us. Neither of these females have any such
friend opposed to us. Has he seen a right to
keep them against my orders?"

“No! no!”

“ The chief is deceiving you,” continued Mac-
Donald. “ The first captive had a brother con-
nected with a war»vessel which was cruising off
our coast, and that brother was captured upon
our soil, and is one of my prisoners. Therefore,
is she not now lawfully my prisoner, beyond the
control of any person?”

” Yes—yesl” ,

“ Were you engaged upon a war-vessel?” ask-
ed Billy of Frederick.

“ I cannot deceive you—I was.”

“ Then there is no further hope in argument
on that question.”

“ What can he done?”

“ Circumstances will dictate.”

“ l have heard,” continued Judson, “that In-
dians are so perstitious. Can you not work upon
their fears?”

“In what way?"

“ Tell them that Jessie is mad—
some strange spirit—and would
upon them if detained here.”

“No. If such were the belief, she would be
instantly hurled from that rock, and dashed in
pieces. But, men,” continued Billy, “ this ex-
cuse cannot be urged with regard to the blind
girl. She has no such friend against us.”

“ There again the chief is mistaken. Her
father is a sworn enemy of the red-man, and is
this moment guiding the soldiers of Colonel
Taylor against us. You will learn the truth of
this by tomorrow. for the army will attack us
by that time. Now, what is your decision?
Have I a right to my prisoners!” '

The Indians at once arose to their feet, and
with one voice answered: “ The prisoners are .
yours.”

MacDonald advanced with the most insulting
air toward Billy.

“ You see the result of opposing me,” he said.
“ And what is your decision now?” On most
occasions Billy was very cool. and used much
f’udgment in all his actions. But, his sympathy
lad now become enlisted, and his anger fully
aroused. This, added to the insolcnt manner of
one whom he looked upon as so entirely beneath
him, was more than he could endure. He there—
fore cried: I ~

“ By the Great Spirit above, I say they shall
be free!” and with a blow from his ponderous
fist he sent MacDonald reeling to the ground.

Perhaps, had he committed this act without
uttering a word, it would not have been noticed
by the savages, but, to take exceptions, or to
oppose the decision of a council, was a serious
offense. MacDonald knew his advantage, and
with more composure than could have been ex-
pected from one of his character, he recovered
himself, saying:

“ Men, the chief swears he will not heed your
decision, but will set the captives free. Seize
him I” This was instantly done. To struggle

ssessed with
ring trouble

 

 

 

 

 

22 Black Jim’s Doom.

 

in their hands would have been death, and so he
quietly submitted to be bound. After this had
been done, he turned to his men and said:

“ Warri rs, look at me. You have bound
your chiefl This is an indignity never put upon
me but once before, and that was by the white
man. What was the result? I burned anddaid
waste their town. What will be the result of
thisll Why, that you will be without a chief!
Perhaps you think MacDonald will fill my place.
Is be true and tried? I have been chief of your
band for twelve years, and yourselves will at—
test that I have done my duty. Now, you have
bound your old leader because he wishes to set
free two poor, captive women, or rather chil-
dren. What are you to do? Will you trust to
that man? Not one drop of Indian blood flows
in his veins, and he will forsake you when it
becomes his interest to do so.”

There was a reaction in favor of the speaker,
and the savages began whispering together, and
casting gl‘lnces of hatred toward Men-Donald.
The renegade saw this, and he know that he
must counteract the effect of this speech in some
manner. He therefore said:

“Man, the chief tells you that I will prove
files to you in the hour of danger! Have you
not seen me often in battle? Did I ever flinch?
Did i ever desert you at such a time? I will tell
you something that will startle you, and I only
ask you to wait a short time, and you will learn
the truth of what I say. It is the intention of
the chief to sell you all! He has already plotted
to surrender you to the enemy as he did two
nights ago, the band that accompanied us to the
fort.” v

A series of yells followed this announcement,
and the savages danced fiercely around, bran-
dishing their tomahawks, and evincing the most
violent demonstrations.

In a short time, however, the chief—his feet
having,r also been bound—~anrl the captives were
left alone. But a guard was kept at a little dis-
tance, and the attempt upon the part of any of
them to escape, would have resulted fatally.

“Oh! my friend," said Judson, “you have
brou ht this upon yourself for me. I pity you.”

“ on are mistaken," replied the chief. “I
acted from my own free will, and was not in-
fluenced by your advice or wishes.”

“ Perhaps, I should have said for us?”

»“ It was only my duty to attempt what I

have.”

“ And think you it will prove altogether a
failure?”

“ Not altogether. The sick girl will be saved,~
but I fear for the blind one.”

“ What do you mean?" asked the lover, the
blood mounting to his very temples.

“ I mean this. MacDonald is well aware that,
upon the arrival of the enemy, his trick will be
found out. He will not remain, but take the
earliestopportunity torlepart. He dare not meet
me if I am ever a ain free. He cannot remove
the sick girl. In eed. I think he has little dis-

ition- to do so. He will, therefore, take the
ad one, if it is possible, for he is not the man
to give Over any well-matured purpose.”

' Can I not escape with her to-night'f”

“ It would be certain death to you to pass that
door after nightfall. But there is hope yet.

 

The troops may arrive before the traitor ex-
pects, and if the girl has not already been re-
moved, it will be too late to do so then. I
might possibly have saved them by pretending
that they were my own children, but, I can]
not tell so base a lie. There is one favor I wish
you to do for me. Will you?”

“ Anythingl What is it?"

“ After dark I will roll near the door of the
cabin. You will not be bound. You must un-
tie my hands and feet. If MacDonald comes
near us during the night, I will hurl him from
the precipice. But as daylight again ap
proaches, I must again be tied.”

This was done; but thelooked-for visitor came
not. Slowly the night passed away, while the
chief chafed under his restraint like a chained
tiger. As the hours waned, he felt the chances
lessen which he had hoped would offer to assist
him again to power.

CHAPTER XI.
PLOTTING OF A NIGHT.

POOR Jessie Loveday rested well during the
night. Not a. word or groan esreaped her; while
Blanche, in her loving confidence, slept as sweet-
ly as an infant reposing upon its mother's
bosom. Well was it for her that she could
sleep.

The lieutenant had confidence in the ultimate
triumph of the chief, and still more so as to the
result when the troops should arrive. And so
the night passed, not hopelessly, away for him.

Not so with Frederick. Often had his sister
appeared to regain, for an instant, her reason.
She would, at times, gaze mourufully into his
face and call him brother, but, soon 1101‘ mind
again would become clouded, and her ravings
perhaps more wild. Day by day he had watched
over her, hoping and praying, until at length
his very soul had sickened, and his strength and
courage almost forsaken him.

But Judson had said that the troops were com-
ing. There was ho e in that. The chief evi—
dently was the frien of the females, and here
was more hope, even though he was a prisoner
himself. Hours passed, and Frederick mused
on, striving to see deliverance even in that dark
time.

At length he arose to his feet, and stepped
softly to the bedside of his sister. She was
smiling sweetly. He bent his face close to hers,
and listened. She- was breathing soft and regu-
larly. The child was also sleepin by her side.

Blanche was resting upon a rude ed by the side
of Jessie. She, too, was smiling. Frederick
gazed upon her and exclaimed:

“ Sleep on, poor child. You are happy now.
Oh! that your waking could be equally sol’

“ Frederick l” l

“ Ahl Ned. Are you awake?"

“ Do on think I could sleep?"

“ Aml yet you require rest."

“ And do you not require rest, also?”

“ I have become accustomed to this watching.
It is my constant, endless duty.”

“ Well, they say one can get used to anything
but hanging.”

“ You are disposed to jest, Ned.”

“ Well, why not, Fred? Jessie is recoverin ,
and to-morrow we will all be free and happy.’

 

 

 

 

m...“

 

a

Black J im’s Doom 83

 

“ Why are you so confident?” .

“ Why? Didn’t I tell you that Colonel Taylor
was coming?“

“ Yes, but you do not suppose that he can
walk directly into this stronghold, as he could
walk into the open door of a church, do you?”

“ Well, I do expect there will be some 0 po-
sition, but that he will succeed, I am confl ent.
Zachary Taylor isa man who never attem ts
what he dare not carry out, if courage, reso u-
tion. and a quick mind can avail.”

“ He may. But it will be after a long siege.
You have no idea of the strength of the works
below. This spot is only approached by narrow,
winding pathways, up the sharp hillside. I tell
you, twenty determined men can hold this place
against a thousand.”

“ If that thousand were coming from below,
perhaps. But how from above?”

“ I do not know about that, never having
thought of such an approach.”

“Have you never been higher up than this
s at?”

“ Never. I was brought through the village
when I came here, and since that time I have
never left the place.”

“ Well, Charley Morris has explored these
bills, and is acquainted with the approaches to
this den. He will act as guide, and my word
for it, they will find some way to reach us.”

“ Well, that offers some comfort. Shall we
not question Billy with regard to the proba-
bilities of success, if the attack is made from
above?”

“ Not for the world, Fred. It would be a
direct insult."

“ He appears to be our friend !"

“Don’t say our friend, for he is not. He is a
friend to thoseinnocent creatures lying there,
for humanity’s sake. But he is not a friend to
either of us. We are his prisoners of war.”

“ But he is himself a prisoner, now i”

“Exactly. And that is one reason why we

"should not make any;1 propositions, or ask any

questions which won indicate that we enter-
tained the least suspicion he could prove false to
his band. No. I tell you, Billy is as true as
steel. He will be released before the fight he-
gins, and will head his men. It is this I fear
more than anything else. No, Fred, do not im-

ine for a moment that, because the chief re—
so ved to save those poor girls, he is a traitor to
his tribe.”

“Why do you so much fear the leadership of
Billy?”

“ Because he is the only one under whom the
men will fight well.”

“ I think MacDonald will head them welL”

11“”No. It is not his intention to head them at
a .

“ How do you know this?”

“ I will tell on. During the night and dark-
ness, I have en busy, as you will learn. I
crept cautiously to the edge of the next lodge.
I heard the rascal, and another white renegade
in conversation. It was very pleasant. The
first proposed to kill you, the chief, and mysel .
It Seems they havea quantity-of gold secreted
somewhere, which is the result of former plun-
ders. After we were quietly disposed of, they

. proposed to take Blanche, and make the best of

 

their way to the coast, where they would em-
bark for the Bahamas, and turn wreckers.”

“ Well, and what prevented them from carry-
ing out their pleasant rogramme’l”

‘ It was feared if t ey attempted to murder
the chief, the would be discovered. For, al-
though the ln ians are prejudiced against him
at the present time, they would not submit to
that and an attempt of the kind u n his part,
won (1 unmask the, vi ainy of Mac onald.’

“ What did they de ide to do?”

“Well, you may as well know, so as to be
prepared to meet it.”

“ Speak. I shall not be alarmed as far as any
plot may refer to myself.”

“ Well Fred, he is to wait until the boats ap-
pear at the edge of the lake, and the troops are
ready for a move. He is to appear very valo-
rous himself, and offer to lead on the warriors;
but, finally, in order to test Billy, he is to sug-
gest that the chief be released and permitted to
take command. This, of course, he will do, as
he could not see the whites approach without
being at the head of his men, if it was possible
for him to do so. After all the men, With the -
exception of a uard at this place, which will be
his confidant, ave been Withdrawn, Mac will
return, knock us quicku upon the head, take
Blanche, and: make his way to the coast.”

“ A very pleasant arran ement for us, truly.
But, what is to become of essiei"

“ ‘ If it is deemed safe to transport her, she will
be taken alon ; but, if she is too ill, she ‘will be
left behind. ut the scoundrel cares nothing
about her, and is, in reality, afraid of her on
account of her madness.”

“What steps can we take in this matter?"

“ As soon as I heard this conversation, I re-
turned and informed the chief of it. I could
distinctly see by the li ht of the moon that his
face was working wit the intensity of his
feelings. After a time he said:

“ If the enemy marches upon me, I shall fight
to the last. But, I desire that the women shall
be saved, and I am determined it shall he so.’
He then asked me to pledge him my honor, not
only for myself, but for you, that, in case be
left us, we would not offer to escape, provided
he left us with arms to protect the females;
or, if we found that we could convey them to
their friends, and did so, that we would return
and deliver ourselves up.”

“And you made the promise?”

“ I did. ’

“ But, if Taylor sh0uld be successful?”

“Then, of course, We are all free. Here is a
knife for you. I have another myself. But, re—

' member, we are to use them upon no erson ex-

cept MacDonald. You will also fin that the
staple to which the chain which binds on is at-
tached, has been loosened. It can e easily
drawn. But you are not to take advantage of
this, unless it becomes necessary to protect the
girls, or save yourself from assassination.”

“ Is Billy at the door?"

“ But a short distance from it."

“ And still bound?”

“He has been free since dark. But dnyis
breaking. I must fasten the cords, as this was
Billy’s request.” Igudson stepped into the open
air, and, in a she time the ropes were securely

 

   
   
  
  
   
    
  
   
   
  
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
   
   
   
 
   
  

«f. -.-.,_..7,...,<

541* 1-4“ ‘le-u-v'U—fif~

 

24 Black Jim’s Doom.

 

drawn around the chief. He seated himself by
his side, and watched the gray merging into the
blue, and the pale white receiving their golden
tints. The morning star lost its brilliancy, and
the god of day arose, blushing, from its bed.

It was a lovely December morning, genial in
that climate, as a May day in the more north-
ern latitudes. The birds trilled forth their- notes
of joy as merrily as if no saddened heart was
beatingr to their music. '

J uds )n gazed listlessly upon the lake, and far
away he thought he sawa dark speck, which
each moment assumed a form more definite.
But he was mistaken. It was but the shadow
of a fleecy cloud.

Of a sudden he appeared to recollect some-
thing, and placing his hand in his bosom, he
drew f irtb the paper which contained the se-
cret, and opened it. Then turning toward the
cabin, he called:

“ Frederick! Frederick I” That person im-
mediately made his appearance.

“ Be seated, Fred. If I am not mistaken, this
paper. which was given me, and is S'lld to con-
tain asecret with regard to Blanche, may, at
least a portion of it, be read aloud to you, Fred.

~ Let us move a little apart. You see the opening

paragraph commences with strange words: ‘ To
James MacDonald I urge all my miseryl’ ”

 

CHAPTER XII.
run MYSTERIOUS DOCUMENT.

“ WE’EBE has not that serpent left his sting?
But so on. Read.”

“The document is well written, showing a
person of no ordinary cultivation:

“ To James MacDonald I owe all my misery!

“ I was born in the year 1806, on the island of
Cuba, near the city of Havana. My father was
a wealthy planter. My early recollection is
identical with a house where all was sunshine.
I received a liberal education, in a seminary at
New Orleans. At the age of eighteen I gradu-
ated, and returned to my home. A grand fete
was to be given, which was tousher me into
society. My father’s mansion blazed with bril—
liancv, and the guests were alrea'ly assembling.

“ Upon a sud en, I heard a great commotion
below. I was preparing for the occasion in an
upper room. dispatched my maid to learn
the cause. She returned, speechless and trem-
bling. I rushed from my room to the scene. I
sawaflle of soldiers. My father was in cus-
tody. He was heavily ironed. The servants
were rushing, in a frantic manner, through the
rooms, while the guests stood paralyzed. My
mother was sobbing, and prostrate upon the
floor. I knelt by her, and begged that she
would explain. But she had fainted, and could
not. I sprung to my father’s arms. but was
rudely torn from him by one of the soldiers. A
mist came over my eyes, and I sunk upon the
floor, and became senseless, but not until I had
heard my father exclaim:

“ ‘ Farewell, beloved child—~farewell, Blanche,
I shall never see you more!’

“ When I returned to consciousness, I found
a few friends beside me, bathing my temples,
and otherwme ministering to me. My mother

r

sat near, her face pale as marble, her eyes fixed
upon me, and tears streaming from them.
must have remained unconsciousalong time,
for when I awoke the sun was shining brightly.
I inquired the cause of my father’s arrest, and
learned that papers had been found in his man-
sion which showed him to be the leader ofa
deep conspiracy against the Goverment of Spain,
directly connected with our own island.

“ ‘ And is my father guilty?' I asked.

“ ‘I cannot believe so,’ my mother replied,
‘but. the evidence is said to be strong against
him, and as there is known to be a plot on foot
for the overthrow of the Government, I fear for
the worst.’

“ I asked when We should learn the result of
his examination, and my mother informed me
that a stranger had offered to bring her word as
soon as his fate was decided. It was perhaps
an hour after this, as we were seated upon the
porch in anxious expectation, that a man rode
rapidly up to the mansion. He dismounted,
and approached. He wore upon his face that
which, to me, appeared to be a smile. At all
events, it gave me hope.

“ ‘ Is he saved?’ asked my mother.

“ ‘ I must see yourself and daughter alone!’
exclaimed the man. My mother was about to
lead the way into the drawingvroom when the
stranger said:

“‘No. Let your friends retire. I can see

on here.’ We were soon left alone, and he

an:

‘ Some five years since I landed in Cuba. I
was unfortunate and soon became nniless.
Your husband ’—-he addressed my mot er—‘ de-
tected me in a theft. I pleaded my poverty,
but it was of no avail. For four years I have
Ian ished in a prison. Iwas released at last,
an resolved upon revenge. 'th some dos
perate men I leagued myself. e commenced
a correspondence with regard to a conspiracy
against the Government. I assumed the name
of Pedro Costello, your husband’s name. Ire-
ceivel a large number of letters under this
name, and finally concealed them in your house.
Your husband knew nothing of them. I then
lodged the information with the authorities that
he was the leader of the conspiracy. and gave
them directions where the papers which would
implicate him, would be found. I swore to be
revenged. I have been. And now my revenge
shall follow his family. An hour ago your hus~
band’s head rolled from the block! My name is
JAMES MACDONALD.”

“ Neither my mother nor myself heard any—
thing more, for we had both again fainted.
When we recovered we found our mansion in
the possession of soldiers, we were informed
that it had been confiscated, that my father had
indeed fallen, and that my mother and myself
were ordered to uit Cuba within twenty-four
hours, never to re urn again.

“ At this decision my mother did not even
weep. As for myself, I felt that any place
would be preferable to that. now that my father
was no more. We prepared for a hasty de-
parture. A few valuables were permitted us,
and we wandered to the wharf in search of some
vessel upon which we could embark. Glad to

 

escape we seized upon the first opportunity and

.. .L'r

 

 

 

        
 

 

 

 

 

.. or

Black Jim’s Doom. ' 25

 

engaged passage in a small craft bound for
Savannah.

“ We were off the coast of Florida when a
violent storm arose. For a whole night we were
tossed about in the ra 'ng waters. Our vessel
was a frail one, and at ength she struck a rock
and was torn into a thousand fragments. I
recollect the roaring of the dark waters as I was
plun ed into them, and then all was dark.

"Igawoke and found myself in a strange

lace. Beside me set a stran er. His face was
Bind and it reassured me. e s ke, and his
voice was gentle. He had sav me from a
watery grave, and I felt gratitude, although I
scixietimes wished, that if it could have been
consistent with the will of Heaven, I mi ht have
perished. My mother was no more, an I was,
indeed, alone in the wide world.

“ It was a month before I was sufficiently re-
covered from the shock to leave my room. But,
on examination I found that my home was
no mean one. It was a frame dwelling, con-
taining but two rooms, it is true, but then it
was standing upon the bank of a beautiful river
which wound its course through one of the most
delightful groves I ever saw. The room which
I had occupied was furnished with considerable
taste, and several intere ting books and draw-
in s ornamented the table.

‘ My preserver, during my illness—a por—
tion of the time I was delirious—was gentle as a
mother could be, and I often gazed upon him
with wonder. Powerful as man could be,
swarthy as an Indian, fearless in time of dan-
ger, and yet, gentle as a lamb. Even after my
recovery, I lingered at this place, as if held by
some enchantment. Perhaps it was because I
knew not where to go. I ‘certainly felt an at-
tachment for me reserver, but I did not dream
of its depths. o ten observed that he would
sit for hours gazing upon me, and I could not
divine the cause.

“ At length I spoke of departure. I saw the
tears start to his eyes, and he begged me, if I
could only content myself in his poor home, to
remainalittle longer. I knew not then Why,
but I gladly accepted the invitation. He now
began to be absent from me more than he had
been. He was frequently called to St. Augus-
tine, a distance of twenty miles. He was also
frequently called to the coast, and he saved many
lives as he had done my own.

“ At such times I felt the greatest solicitude
for his safety, and was only happy when he re-
turned and smiled upon me. But, things could
not remain long as they were. I again spoke
of taking my eparture. He trembled like a
frightened child for a moment, and then told me
that when Iwent, it seemed to him as if the
sun of his happinem would set forever. He
loved me. Enough. that the educated Spanish
girl became the wife of William Montgomery,
the uncouth fisherman, hunter and wrecker of
the St. John’s River. But he possessed a fair
education and natural intellect, and I was happy.

“ We had been married nearly a year. I was
very load, during the absence of my husband,
of wandering through the grove, and by the
beautiful river. On several occasions I had seen
a stranger pass near to me, but I gave no heed
to it, until my husband had asked me at several

 

different times, who it was that had left the
dwelling just as he was approaching. I had
seen no one, except in the grove.

“ One day I saw William pick up a bit of pa~
per near my bedroom window, which had been
standing open. He glanced at it, and then
turned his gaze upon me. I did not understand
the meaning of that glance, and I asked him to
let let me see the paper. He did not reply, but
left the house with the first frown I had ever
seen resting upon his face.

“ I know not why, but his looks and the
thought of that paper troubled me. That night
he scarcely spoke to me. I be ed him to tell
me the cause, but he did not. hen he left me
on the following morning I observed that he
changed his coat, putting on one which he rel—
dom wore, except when he went to St. Augus-
tine. I asked him if he was going to that city,
and he replied that he was not. His kiss atpart— 1
ing was cold, and his brow was stern. I thought
I could detect a shade of sadness upon it. I
watched until he disappeared from view. I then
thought of the coat, and I instantly proceeded
to search the pockets. 1 found the slip of paper
and read upon it the following words.

“ ‘ Darling, we must be cautious. I fearyour
husband suspects our intimacy; if he should dis—
cover us, my life would be taken.’

“ As I read those words, my brain reeled and
I came near falling. I felt that fierce jealousy,
so peculiar to the Spanish character, instantly
arouse within me. flew to the books where
my husband had inscribed his name, and com-
pared the handwriting. There was certainly a
resemblance.

“ And the truth was out! My husband was
intriguing with another, and that a married
woman. He feared her husband suspected, and
had, no doubt written that slip to hand her, in
case he should have no opportunity to address
her. I passed the day in tears. My suspicion
at once fell upon a arty by the name of Mul-
ford, who resided a out three miles from us.

“It was quite late in the evening when my
husband returned, and jealousy had not left me
in a very good humor to receive him. I did
not even rise as he entered, but he came direct-
ly across the room and imprinted a kiss upon
my lips. But it appeared entire] formal. and
I did not return it. He then as ed me in a
voice which I thought trembled with emotion
who it was that had just passed up the road. I
had seen no person, but I wished to be sarcastic,
(findi I replied that it must have been Mr. Mul—

or . «

“ I do not think there was another word
passed between us that night. As usual, the
next day, he left me. Each subsequent day he
became apparently more indifferent to me, '
which naturally increased the jealousy and the
coldness upon my part. was soon to become
a. mother.

“ One day my husband left me, saying that
he was going to the city, and should not return
until the next da . I ight came on. I had
heard something 0 the Seminole Indians. and I
confess I felt uneasy. But, shaking off this feel—
ing as much as possible, I retired to my bed. It
was werbaps ten o’clock. I heard a noise at my

.win ow. I raised myself and listened. The

 

ea anon: Jim's Doom.

 

sash was raised, and a dark form entered. I
was almost paralyzed with fear, when the in-
truder called my name in a whisper and can—
tioned me to be silent, saying there were Indians
around. I thought it was my husband. At the
thought of danger, all my resentment vanished.
I sprung to his side, throwing my arms around
his neck.,

“ At this instant, the door leading to the sec-
ond apartment opened, and my husband entered,
holding in his hand a light. The stranger dis»
engaged m arms, hounded through the open
window ad was gone. I stood like a statue. I
was utterly confused—I knew not what to say.
Not that I had ever dreamed that my husband
was jealous of me. He staggered back and
gave vent to a groan that I never can forget. I
sprung forward to meet him, but he stepped
back, closed the door upon me, and I heard him
leave the house.

“ All that night I sat watching and listening.
Certain it was that my husband had cause to
think strange o'n discovering a man standing in
my room while I was encircling him with my
arms. But as he certainly had no reason to mis-
judge me, he should have waited for an explan-
ation. What was the motive of the stranger in
entering in that manner and addressing me as
he did? [at length arrived at the conclusion
that my husband loved another, and had wearied
of me, and that this was a lplot to fasten guilt
upon me, in order to furnis a. palpable excuse
for leavinz me.

“ The night passed slowly away. Mornin
came. A neigh )or passed the door and handed
me a letter. He then proceeded, and I was
alone. I glanced at the superscription and at
once recognized the handwriting of my husband,
I broke the seal and opened the paper. My eyes
immediately fell upon three separate slips. I
took up the first and road:

“ ‘ Darling, we must be cautious. I ear your
husband suspects our intimacy. If e should
discover us, my life would be taken I’

“ This was the paper I had before seen, and
which had been t e grounds of all my jealousy.
It explained nothing. I took the second slip
and read:

“ ‘ I learn your husband will go to St. Augus-

tine on Thursday next. If he should, I will
come.’
“ ad that Thursday was yesterday, the very
time that my husband was a seat. It was clear
to me that he was the writer, and that he had
passed the day with Mrs. Mulford. But why
should he send me those papers? Why, unless to
taunt me? I clutched the third strip:

“‘ Wednesday eve—Your husband oes to-
morrow, sure. I will come at ten o’cloc in the
evening. Expect me, darling.’

“But he was not there at that hour, for he

’ was here. It was just ten when he entered this

room and found the stranger. But let me read
his letter: ‘

“When I married you, I little dreamed it
would come to this. I loved you and do love
you still better than life. I wondered how you
could love me, but I did not think you capable
of such treachery. Oh! God! you have mur-
dered me. I have found these slips of paper
which were sent to and intended for you. Iwas

<"

 

a personal witness to your duplicity and my
shame, although I would to God my eyes had
been closed in death before that horrid sight
had been presented to them. You will never,
never, see me again; but oh! I beg of you, for
the sake of our unborn child, to beware of those
who would ruin yea. I leave the country a
broken-hearted man. WILLIAM.‘

“ Those slips were written for and sent to mel
What could it mean? I read the letter over and
over, and at length the truth began to break in
upon me. I had been the victim of a vile plot.
But I had no enemies. I called upon my hus-
band. Ho did not answer. I was almost fran-
tic, and in a voice of agony I cried:

“ Who- has done this? An answer came
which froze my very blood, and I fainted. That
an5wer was:

“ ‘ JAMES MACDONALD! And he will pursue
you and yours to death! He has sworn itl’ ”

“ Oh! the monstrous villain l” exclaimed J ud-
son, as he sprung to his feet, “ but he shall pay
for this.”

“ But go on with the paper, Ned; I am most
painfully interested.”

“ To proceed. ,

“ I scarcel recovered my consciousness until
after my chi d was born. I sought protection
of my neighbors; but they, believing me the
party in error, cast me off as unworthy. The
villain still pursued me. I determined to
go anywhere to escape him. So, with my
child in my arms, I left that home I loved so
much and wandered forth. Day and night I
kept on my way, but at length body and heart
both failed me, and I fell fainting at the door of
a cabin.

“ When I recovered, I found myself and child
kindly cared for by an old man. Since that
time I have made his house my home. Helearn—
ed my story, and for the safety of myself and
child, he called me wife; but I am not so. I feel
for him the affection of a sister, for he has ever
been kind, noble, respectful.

“ My story is near y ended. M child had ar-
rived at the a e of four. One 11 ght the cabin
was attacked fly a small band of Indians, but
Robert Bradley—that was my benefactor’s name
—succeeded in driving them away. During the
firing, the gun which Robert held exploded, and
the pieces flew in every direction. By this ac—
cident Mr. Bradley lost an eye, and my poor
Blanche her sight entirely. I learned afterward
that this attack was led by MacDonald, who,
true to his savage instincts, had in truth joined
the Seminoles.”

“ Then there were other words which appeared
to have been written at alater date. They were
as follows:

“ I have a presentiment of evil. Judson, if I
should die, be good to my poor child, and pity
her unhappy mother. I have seen, by chance,
my husband. He knows not that we are even
alive. He is—”

“Well, goon, Ned. Who is the father of
Blanche?"

“The paper is here folded over, and sealed
with half a dozen wafers. Wait a moment, and
I will break it open.”

“ Put up the paper. Here comes MacDonald,

 

 

 

 

 

W... . a.

we. in a... .c. .. . m

fir:

 

    

Black Jim’s Doom. 2‘!

 

and it is not best he should see it. He is too in-
timately concerned.” J unson returned the
paper to his bosom.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE BATTLE.

DOWN upon the lake were plainly to be seen
the boats which contained a few soldiers. and the
supplies for Taylor’s little army. And march—
ing alonfiythe edge of the Everglades were the
tree . hey had advanced most of the distance
by gland, and the transports, instead of being
brought directly across the lake in plain view as
the Indians had expected, were kept close to the
shore, and as much concealed as possible. Thus
the savages had been deceived, and their enemy
was upon them before they were aware of their
presence. although they were not unprepared to
receive them.

Bill Silly had joined the command of Taylor,
and informed that officer of all he knew concern-
ing Judson. Charles Morris had also recovered
from his wound, and was with his friends. The
ball from the rifle of MacDonald had cut a fur-
row in his temple, and had rendered bun sense—
less for a time, but the injury was not of a. seri-
ous character. He could not be induced to re—
main bebind. '

It was just us MacDonald wasapproaching our
friends that they discovered the troops. A smile
lighted up the face of Judson, as he pointed to
them and asked:

“ Do you See that?”

“ Yes,” returned the renegade, in the most
indifferent tones. “Does that afford you any
special comfort?”

“ To be candid with you, I should say it
did. ’

“ You expect a speedy release?”

“ I shall hope such may be the case.”

“ Do you think your troops will be able to take
the works in the valley below?"

u I do.”

“And the place where we now are?"

H I do."

“And then you expect to be free?”

“ Of course.”

“Shall I tell goo my plans?" asked MacDon-
ald, a curl o contempt playing about his
mouth. ,

“ qu can do just as you think [it about
that."

“ Oh! you are very indiflerent now; but you
will not remain so long. Do you see yonder
small black building?"

[6 es.” '

“It is the magazine. I am about to remove

on and your friends to that building. If there
is the slightest chance of your friends reaching
this place, the magazine will be blown to atoms.
What do you think of this? Are you indifferent
to my plans now?”

Both Judson and Fred clutched the knife
which Billy had given them. They had little
fear that the threat with regard to the maga-
zine wtinld be carried into exception. They
were sure that his object in removmg them was
that he mi ht the easier carry out his plans of
the night fore, and remove Blanche. They
resolved that the villain should die then and

there.

v'l'

 

But in this they were foiled, for, unseen by
them, four powerful Indians had approached
from the rear and seized them. They had made
an agreement to use the weapons upon no per
son but MacDonald, and they were, therefore,
compelled to submit. They were conveyed at
once to the magazine and firmly bound. They
were placed in such a position as not only to be
able to see all that took place around them, but
to hear any ordinary conversation which oc‘
curred at the cabin where the females were. and
in front of which the chief was lying. Below
they could see the savages forming in a square
which occupied the center of the village, and
they judged their numbers to be about three
hundred. They could not but express their sur—
prise that so small a number was remainin of
the two thousand warriors who formed t eir
army at the commencement of hostilities.

A dozen braves stood near MacDonald, evi-
dently awaiting orders. The renegade turned
to them and said: ,

“I wish to give our chief an opportunity to
vindicate himself. He shall lead you 10-day.
Unbind him.”

This was done. The chief sprung to his feet.
He gazed with a bitter frown upon the white
troo s, and then turning to his braves he asked:

“ hall I lead you?”

“ Yes,” was the ready response,

‘ “ And you will obey me in every particular?”

“ Yes.’

“ Then we will be victorious. MacDonald, go
you to the outer work with 'a hundred men. I
will join on soon.”

The fel ow hit his lips, but there was no alter-
native, and he did as directed.

Then turning to one of the braves, he said:

“ Defend the pass below with twenty men.
Lowery. follow MacDonald.” The person to
whom the chief addressed himself was the
white renegade with whom MacDonald had been
plottin the day before. He lisrened and asked:

“ An the guard?”

“Question me not,” yelled the chief, “but do
as I bid you." ‘

Lowery obeyed. The fighting had already
commenced.

“ It is Jprobable that the chief has forgotten
us,” said udson. “I do not think it was his in-
tention to have left us here hound. But his
Enoughts are now all given to the work before

1m.

“Well. I think we are safe, for, as far as I
can see, there is not a soul left behind excepting
ourselves and the girls.”

“ Can’t we manage to free ourselves? How
are our hands?"

“ ound so tightly that I cannot move them.”

“ Hold a moment. I think I can loosen one
of mine. and then, with the use of my knife, we
will both soon be free. No, I am so firmly tied
it is impossible.”

“ Fred. look below! Listen to those shouts!
By the Eternal. they are charging the works!
Look there! look there! Over they go! Hark
to the cheering! And, see! the savages are fly-
ing in wild Confusion! Hurrah! hurrah! The
day is ours! 0h! these infernal ropes!”

” The next stand they make will be at the base
of the hill, or perhaps upon this very spot.”

 

swings: a;    ' ..

N. w» c.;, 

,..—.~.......\‘.. by nu.

' at that point.

88 Black Jim’s Doom.

 

“Fred, we must be free."

“ Can’t we call Blanche?”

“ Blanche! Blanchel”

The blind girl apreared at the door when she
heard the voice 0 udson, and he continued:

“ Come to us, Blanche, at once.”

“ Is there not dan er that she will fall over
the rocks?” asked Fre .

“ No; I can guide her.
Do you hear in voice?”

“ Yes, dear dward."

“ Well, then, come—straight—there, a little
more to the right. Huzza! Fred, we will soon
be free!” ‘

“ I.think not!" MacDonald came bounding
up the pathway and reached the spot. He seized
B nncho as she had almost reached her lover,
and, raising her in his arms as he would have
done an infant, dashed forward, climbing the
rocks above.

“ Oh, God! and must I lose her, now that free—
dom appeared so near?” cried Judson. He made
a most desperate effort, and succeeded in releas-
ing his feet, but his hands still remained firmly
bound. He sprung from the but and attempted
to follow, but foam 1 it imposeible to do so. Mac-
Donald had disappeared from view.

There was now a rattle of musketry at the
base of the cliff. The yells of the savages and
the cheering of the soldiers told the story that
tilietre, too, victory for the latter had been ccnr
p e 9.

Billy came bounding up the pathway, and his
voice was heard above the din of battle, encour-
aging his men to make another and a last stand

This way, Blanche.

“ Release me~unbind my hands!" cried J ud-
son as he sprung toward the chief.

“ When I can fight no longer!" was the re-
spouse.

“Think no more of fighting until you have
attended to a more sacred duty ” cried Judson.
“ Your child requires your aidl'

“ What do you mean?” asked the chief, as he
severed the cords which bound Judson.

“ That Bnnncnn, the blind girl, is your own
dau liter 1”

" ow know you this?”

“By the confession of her own mother, your
wife. Here it is, written upon this aper. Look
for yourself." The chief snatched) the letter
and read:

“Her father, William Montgomery, is now the
chief of the Seminole band, and is known as Billy
Bowlegsl"

" It is her writing,” he cried. “ My God!
where is Blanche?”

“ In the power of MacDonald. He is hearing
her up the rock!" Billy was about to start in
pursuit, when a detachment of soldiers suddenly
came up and seized him.

“ Let me 0 until I have rescued hen—my
ch~thal§captnve.”

“ Wh it captive?"

“ Don‘t you see her? There—there upon that
rock, and in the hands of MacDonald.”

Upon a ledge, a hundred feet above them, the
renegade appeared, bearing his precious burden.
He paused, as il’ be was oppoaed by some obsta-

Bob Bradley. MacDonald placed his victim
upon the rock, and sprung u n his foe. The
struggle wasashort one. Bo staggered back
and fell. But another form appeared upon the
scene of action, and, seizing the villain, hurled
him from the rocks. His fall was broken to
some extent by the branches of the trees, but it
was a terrible one.

Charley Morris, for he it was, clasped poor
Blanche in his arms, and began his descent amid
the cheering of the soldiers, followed by Brad-
ley. They soon reached the landing.

Billy had sprung forward and seized Mac-
Donald, dragging him into the midst of the
group. The renegade was et alive, althou h
be was terribly mangled. e gazed fearful y
around him, and then said:

“Even in death I triumph. I killed your
wife—I—I.” The eyes of the wreteh met those
of Charles Morris, and he continued:

“It is to you I owe thisl But take your
maniac, and her brat—curse—cu—" The
wretched man spoke no more. He was dead.

Father and lover—old Mr. Loveday and
Charles—entered the cabin where Jessie was re-
posing. She had been awakened by the unusual
noise, and as her friends bent over her, she
looked up, extending her hands, and smiling
sweetly, she exclaimed: '

“Father! Charles!” Poor Jessie, indeed,
was n maniac no more. as was prophesied by her
noble deliverer, Billy Bowlegs.

The entire party now assembled in front of the
cabin, and explanations were the order of the
hour. They, indeed, were necessary, to clear up
the remarkable mystery which has envelope
our story like a veil.

CHAPTER XIV.
A FAMILY HISTORY.

A GROAN announced the presence of asuflerer.
In the midst of the rejoicings and explanations
of that rapturous meeting 0 friends, old Brad-
ley had lain a silent spectator; but even his
strong nature had to succumb to the ower of
his internal torture. Ina moment Ju son was
bending over him. Even in his ain a smile of
satisfaction would flit over his ace, to be fol-
lowed by the pallor and tremor which Only too
well told of his approaching end.

“ How is it with you, my friend?" asked J ud-
son, kindly, as he felt of the wounded man’s

u so.

“ The end’is near, Judson; and I am rejoiced.
for I have longed to be with her who has gone
before. You are young and have much happi-
ness in store; therefore ive and enjoy it. I am
past the meridian of life, and have long been
waiting for the hour of my deliverance from
myself.” He raised upon one elbow, when J ud-
son and Charles placed folded blankets under his
head, so that he rested in ease. For a minute
all was silent. Then he looked around \x'istlnlly,
as it seeking for some one. _

” Who is it you would see?”

“ Loveday—is be here?”

f The old man advanced and bent over the suf-
o--er.

 

ole. A form appeared beside him. It was old

Loveday’s face, with its thin lines and worn,

:-A~:-“-'f"~':+n-:v~£

arr-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

haggard expression, looked so like Bradley’s,
in feature and a certain family likeness, that a
stranger at once would have pronounced them
brothers. Were they so? Bradley smiled, at
length, as the old man sunk beside him on the
ground—one of those iuefiably sweet smiles
which betoken a pure heart and aclear con-
science. Then he said:

“ Henry, you know me now 3”

“ I recognize you, my brother; and would to
God it Were I who was to go.”

“Nay, not so, Henry; live to comfort your
child and to do me justice; for here on my bed
of death, I declare to you that never in all the

ast, have I wronged you in word or in deed.

on fled from the estate believing me to have
usurped the property and to have forced from
our dear father the will which gave me all; but
it was all your own mistake. I awaited your
return for years, keeping the property all in
good order, that on should share it With me,
equally—that we 5 ould live in brotherhood to-

ether, and thus fulfill the great law of love.
But you came not; and, only by chance did I
learn of your presence in this beautiful but
lonely and dangerous region. I came hither,
assuming a. false name, that I might approach
you as a stranger and accomplish a reconcilia-
tion before you should be made aware of my
identity. I am goin now, my dear brother,
and leave all to you. on will find the estate
in perfect order, and all you have to do is to
take ossession as the proper heir and successor,
since die childless.

“No, not so, dear Oscarl Is not Blanche
your own daughter?” asked Loveday, with much
emotion.

“Not my daughter by blood, but very dear
to me; and to you I commit her fortunes, if,
indeed, another shall not claim her as his own,”
and he looked inquiringly into the face of Jud-

son.

“ Blanche is my betrothed, and by the mem-
ory of her dead mother I shall take her to my
keeping as a most precious charge and treas-
ure."

The blind it] had stolen up to the spot, and
now sat on t a ground at old Bob’s head, hear—
ing all and sobbing convulsively in her speech-
less rief.

“ here is but little mystery about this, my
brother,” added Old Bob—for such we may con-
tinue to call him. "The mother of Blanche
came to in cabin, homeless, friendless, penni-
less. I too her and her child in, and they be~
came of my household. The mother was re-
garded as my wife and Blanche as my chili;
and this deception I permitted that they might
have my love and lprotection. The mother is
gone before me and shall son}: meet her.

Old Loveday was silent for some moments;
then be bent over the dying man and impressed
a kiss upon his forehead—the kiss of reconcili-
ation and affection. He said:

“I pray your forgiveness, Oscar; I know I
have been unjust to you and to the memory of
our father, whose name I had discarded. I
henceforth shall assume it, and shell seek to
atone for the wrong I have done you by rever-
ence of your truth and goodness. Blanche shall
be to me as my .own child.”

Black J im's Doom.

 

 

     

He could say no more; tears choked his utter-
ance; and few dry eyes were seen in the circle
which surrounded them. Old Bob smiled con—
fentedly and closed his eyes as if in sleep.

 

He was asleep—to waken never more in this
world of pain and tribulation. The crowd around
silently withdrew, leavmg old Loveday-Heniy
Ashcroft—alone with the dead.

 

During the enactment of this aflecting scene,
Bowlcgs had stood apart, as one in a dream.
In his hand was the Written story of his dead
wife’s sad life; its perusal had turned back the
tide of his past few years of turbulence, and
again the old love, the olden time, surged
throggh his memory. But uickly the part
play by MacDonald cume (like a lightning
stroke to his heart, and his face fairly quivered
in its agony of commingled hate and remorse.
Well was it that the monster was dead. beyond
the reach of a just vengeance; and Bowlegs’s
anger passed away, like a tropic storm, as sud-
denly as it came.

Judson approached. Billy reached out his
hand and gave the brave soldier a grasp of true
friendliness.

“ You know all, my friend," said the chief;
“ can you, then, still consent to take my child
to your bosom as your wife?"

“Indeed, I see no rennin for loving Blanche
any the less for her sorrows; and as for her
parentage, I am only too rejomed to hear it so
well authenticated. She, of course, knows noth-
ing, as yet, as to your relationship to her, not
having been informed of the revelations of that
paper; but, with your iermission, I will bring
her hither and she shall now all.”

Bowlegs was silent. A great struggle “as go-

ing on in his breast—— the affection of the parent
and the dot he owed to her. Atlength he said:
“ Much as desire to press the deer image of my
wron ed wife to my heart, I dare not permit
it. y life has been so apart from hers, and I
am so wedded to these savageshs their ruler and,
leader, that my fortunes are cast with them to
death. I am now conquered. and must leave
the Everglades to join those of the tribe in the
Upper Arkansas regions, already gone before
me.
Billy was left to his sorrows; but, ere long,
was seen down in the \illage, where the tribe
was gathered preparatory to the final breaking
up of the settlement and emigration to the far
West. In less than a week’s time we ma add,
the last of the Seminoles bad apart from
Florida forever, and Billy Bowlegs thereafter
passed from history.

A sad yet happy procession it was which
wende its way through the morasses of the
Kissimmee back to Tampa Bay. It bore the
body of Old Bob—Oscar Ashcroft—which loving
hands prepared to consrgn to the earth near the
spot where reposad the remains of Blanche‘s
mother. .

Jessie was happy both in her return to society
and in her restoration to the double love of

 

   

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30 Black Jim’s Doom.

 

father and lover. Weak and weary, she was
tmderly cared for by all-the soldiers never
tiring of bearing the litter on which she rested
tothe village near the fort after the lake and
boat conveyance had to be abandoned.

Old Bob Bradley was buried beside the re-
mains of her whose life-path be bad smoothed,
and whose gentle regard he had 50 truly treas-
ured. Henry Ashcroft purchased the spot, now
hallowed to him by touching memories, and
there be resolved his home should be. The
cabin was permitted to remain as the brother
had left it, with all its household treasures un‘
moved. Jessie and Blanche occu ied the room
of the dead mother, and were on y too glad to
contribute to the happiness of the living.

One sweet day—the first of the new year,
when the orange buds were just preparing to
put forth again, and the magnolia. was awaken-
ing from its almostimperceptihle sleep, Edward
Judson and Charles Morris became happy hus—

bands, and Jessie and Blanche Ashcroft happy

wives. The ceremony was performed in the
sweet-scented grove in front of the house,
where were gathered a large concourse of
spectators~-ofllcers and troops from the fort,
villagers and the hardy s uatters of the entire
country roundabout—to al of whom the parties
were as much endeared as if an actual family
relation existed between them and the worthy
couples.

When all was over, Henry Ashcroft, calling
his children around him, thus addressed them:

“My children—for such you now all are—I
have a word to impart to you and request to
make. My brother, Oscar, as you are aware,
left the Ashcroft estate. on the Savannah, with--
out an heir, and by law it reverted to me. I
find by correspondence with the faithful agent
left by Oscar in charge of the property, that it
is even larger and richer an inheritance than
when it passed into my brother’s keeping. My
heart is wedded to this spot—1 shall not leave it;
and to you, Edward and Charles, I desire to
commit the ownership of the Savannah River
estate. Here are the title deeds, duly executed

by my attorney in Savannah, and signed by

myself this day in the presence of our magis-
trate. Take this, and this,” presentin the title
deeds, “ and may God in his goodness less you
with peace—peacempoace—such as I have never
known until this moment.”

Thus was the Ashcroft estate restoer to its
old glory, for three years had not passed ere it
became one of the most notable and productive

properties on the river.

 

Is not our story complete? Not fully. A
strange episode remains to be added.

One day there came to the plantation astran-
gar—a foreigner—whose language none could
comprehend. He was tall and lithe as asavage,
as darkly bronzed as one, yet evidently not an
Indian. After vain efforts to render himself
understood he roduced from his pocket a slip of
paper inclosed u an envelope, on which was this
an perscription :

EL Aroma ELKAZAB.

U n the a _ was written, in clear ure
Engmh: p Per , ' p

 

“ Proceed to Savannah Citv, in Georgia. of the
American Union: proceevl up the savannah River to
the Ashcroft Estate seek out the wife of Edward
Judson, the daughter of William Montgomt r_\‘,' she
that is blind; use upon her th ‘ best art; let her be
healed and restored to the auty of light, and
the Prophet shall name thee CHOSEN among his
People.’

This was all. No signature, no other com-
mendation or introduction. A dark—visaged
man, talking in a tongue too strange for com-

rehension, stood before the household. Who
had sent him? Whither had he camel What
was his art?

Long and anxiously Judson debated in his
mind the true course to pursue. He was sittin
out on the piazza when the stranger advanc
up the walk, and had not announced his resence
to the household. While doubting and ebating
what course to pursue, light steps at the door
informed him of his wife’s presence. She at once
advanced to her usual seat, unconscious of the
stranger’s presence. He was occupying her
chair, but upon her appearance arose as silently
as a shadow, and she took the seat.

Without a word uttered, the man placed
his hand upon her forehead and gazed stem il y
into her eyes. She sat as one under the influ-
ence of a spell, a pallor cree ing over her face
but nothing more. Judson 'd not move. f01:b9
himself was conscious of a magnetic influeni e
which held him to his seat.

Gazing a. moment into that beautiful, spirit-
ual face, the man produced from his pecket a
lancet of peculiar construCtion, took her brad.
closely under one arm, and diawing ‘it back-
ward, had the open eyelids between his out-
stretched fingers.

Now Judson could not move. A word might
ruin all forever. His breath was almost su sa
pended, while great drops of perspiration stood
out upon his forehead.

It was all over in a few moments; the white
face was covered with blood, the beautiful for n-
was still and passive as marble. Then. is king
from his pocket a handkerchief of the softest,
thinnest silk, the stran or bound it over the eyo s.
A bottle was produce of an exquisitelg sn eet'
and permeating scent, with which the andage
was saturated. This done he motioned to J ud-
son, who at once stepped forward.

“ Blanche?"

“ Dear Edward!"

“ Are you hurt?”

“ I have seen the light!”

The stranger said nothing; but producing a
piece of paper he wrote in French:

“ Keep her in darkness one half-moon; give her
light gradually one-half a moon, and he is with you
forever after. Allah (l Allah I” .

This was all. He went down the pathway,
and was never seen after taking the steamer at
the landing. Whence he came or whither he
went is on y known to the mysterious presence
who sent him to heal the daughter of Billy Bow-
legs. , ‘

The new moon grew old, and a new moon ”
came a sin, to behold Blanche Judson restored
to sigh and a new life.

THE END.

 

 

  

 

 

BEADLE’S BOY’S LIBRARY.

Published Every Saturday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents.

 

1 Deerhuuter. the soy Scout oi the Great North Woods. By
Oil Coolues.

2 Buffalo Bill, from Boyhood to Manhood. By Col. 1". Inzrahmn.

3 Kit Cur-nun, King ofGlIi-lu. Bi- Allmrl W. Aiken.

4 Gordon Lillie, the Boy-Interyrntm'ui the Pawnees. By Major
ll. B. Stmlriunl

5 “rulu Adllln“, Old Grim'_ '

6 Deadwood llivk an n "0

7 “("11 Bill. the l’iatnl Prim

8 The Prairie Ham-h.

Roving Joe: The Hinton n “ Bord r Buy.” By A. H. Post.

Texun Jnok. the Mustang: 1;: By Col. Prentiss lngrahani.

11 Charley Skylark. A Sun-y ni' School-day Scrape: and College

    
 
 

Boy Piml. By Col. P. Inzraham.
liy Edward L. Wheeler.

By Col. Prentiss lngrnham.

mph E. Badger, Jr.

i-n

   

 
 

(Tapers. lh' Mnim' ll. ll uiIlnHI.
12 Mnrlponu Mur- 3 Joxvnh E. Badger, Jr.
13 Roving Ben. B lnlm .T, Max-shall.
13 8 ring Steel, Kn ‘ fihn huh. Bv J. E. Rudiger, Jr.
15 V1 itic-Au’uko (:1‘0I‘_'0,llm BUY Pioneer. By Ed. Vl'lllett
if; The Buy “'iznrd. it llnrrv Ringwild.

Pacer Pennants-nan, the Greenhorn from Gotham. By Noah

)1
m

_ u . .
Adriit on the Prairie, arm Amateur Hunter: on the
Buffalo Range. By 01] Canines.

1 The Fortune Hunter; nr, Roving Joe as Miner, Cowboy,
Trapper and Hunter. By A. ll. Post.

90 '[Zn't per Torn, thi- Wnnrl imp. By T. C. i'larbnuzh.

21 lei ow "air. the llny Chiui of tile Pawnees. Bv Colonel
Pro-miss in" m... ‘

22 The Huou . ii. Ii 1'. P. linrnunuh.

23 "ill Grizzli .\1lnuu. tlu- llmu“l‘mnur. By Dr. Frank Powell.

2-} “’oorln nml “nu-w . ii} Capt. Fr-duriclr Whittaker.

20 A Rolling stone: inrinenir in tlw Career on Sea and Land
of Col. l‘rrntiv Ingrahnm. By \Vui. R. Eyster.

26 Red River Ros’ern. ltyC. Dunning Clark.

2‘? l’lnzu and Phil"; or. Wild Adventurer oi"‘Bnckskin Sam.”
Maj. Sum.  Hall.) li_\' Cul. P. inurullnlu.

28 T e Sword Prim-e. 'lne Romantic Life of Col. Monsiory.
By Capt. Frail '-k Whittiker.

29 Snow-Shae Torn. il_\- '1'. C. iiarbangh.

80 Paul de Lacy, the French Benin Charmer. By C. D. Clark.

81 Rmnul the Camp Fire. ll" Jnmnh E. BMW", 3Y-

3 “llhlte Bearer, the llldiall )indiclne Chief. By Col. Prentiss

ngraimxn.

83 The Boy Crammer. isy Cant. Fred. Whittaker.

3-1 The. Chum: of the Great White Stag, and, Comp and

85

36

3

    
 

 

 

 

Canoe. By C. llunuiuz Clark.
0” Tm. Knuckle and ms Buy Chums. By R. Star‘nnch.
The "smiling Dragoon: "r. The Story 0‘ Gofl- Gnome A-
‘Cualer. liy Cant. Frrd. “'hitiukur.
3‘? hiulst-Iluwk George. lly L‘nl. Prentiss lngrahsm.
as The Boy Exiles oi’ h'ihcria. By T. 0- Harbnuzh-
89 The Young Bear liar-tern. By Morris Redwinz.
40 fimurt film. thu Lunl with a Land Head. By Edward Willstt.
4| Tho St-ttlur‘rl S II. By Edward 5. Ellis.
1’. “'ult. For sum in Cruiae. By C. Dunning Clark.
48 lillin and icyult’cr. liy Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
41 The Lost lioy \Vh it-rn. Bv T. C. Harinruizh.
45 “rout-o Billy. the. , i’rinne. By Col. l’. lngmhnm.
46 llluk, the fituwuwu) Hy Clmrhtl Murrifi.
47 Tile Colorado Boya; nr,l.ii‘e on an indigo Plantation. By
Join-pl: r2. liadL'e-r, lr.
4:8 The l’auspn.‘ Hunters; or, New York Boys in Buonos
Ayu's. liv T. (3. llurlmuuh.
49 The Adventurous Lli'e of Nebraska Charlie. By
Col. Preliils! Iii-,zrahmn.
50 Juck, llurrv and Tom, the Three Champion Brothers. By:
Cant. ma. (winner.
61 The Young- Luud-Lubber. By C. Dunning Clark.
5! The Boy "emotive-s. liy 'l‘. C. Harlmugh.
53 "orient. Hurry; or, ’l'hs Country Bov Adriil in the Citv. By
cm.th Morris. ' '
54 Grilling-qu Joe, the Myuterious Plainsman. By Col. Prentiss
ll‘ll'll ‘||ll.
55 Tip 'i‘ro-«cl. the Floater.
56 The. Snow Hunter-M; or,
do Forrest.
57  urry Hunters, the Sailor Bov Mauiriim. By S. W. Pearce.
58 llll‘. Advoutururln Life ol'Cssptuin Jutk, the Border
Iii) liv Col. Prentiss lltzrnlmlli.
5” Jaime, Tim. the Mule Boy of the Mines. By Charles Morris.
(ill The You" .: 'l‘rall Hunters; or, New York Boys in Grizziv
mini. Iiy r. (g llllrimllzll. ‘
61 The. Tllror Hunter-a: or, The Colorado Boys in Elsphant
Land. iv .lu-lrpll r1. iin-lgel', Jr.
82 "(rotor Carver, the “ Evil Spirit” of the Plains. By Cnl.
Prentiss in: ulxmn.
68 “junk llnr‘c liili, the Bandit Wrecker. ByRo er Starbuck.
fl 1 onus: Dink Talbot; or, A Boy: Rough and umbls Fight
. ’ ‘l'rvun \n-n' York to (‘nlilnrnim By A. W. Aiken.
ii» '1‘ he Bi); Pilot; nr, i'he Island Wrecker. By Col. P.1ngrahnm.
66 int-‘l'llent-I‘lhliover; or, Stowaway Dick Among tho Arlbl‘i.
_\' mi in: . vvrria.

67 Texan Charlie, the Boy Ranger.

 

 

  

 

8 Edward “'iiielt.
'inier in the Woods. By Barry

 

By Col. Prentiss Ingrahnm.

'68 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters. By Capt-in “ Bruin ”
s.

dam

 

69 The Young Nihilist; or- A Yankee Boy Among the Russians.
By Charla: Morris.

70 Pony the Cowboy; or, The Young Marshall’s Raid. By
Mu nr H. ii. Stnnldurd. l‘JxScout.

71 R Robnurt nut] "in Bear. By Captain “ Bruin " Adams.

72 The lee Ell: hunt. By Capt. Frederick Whiitaker.

78 The Young . oone-lluntera. By William ll. Manning.

74 The Boy Corxrlcli‘iaheru. 15y Riger Starbuck.

75 Revolver Billy, the Boy Ranger ofTexaa. By Col. Prentiss
lnzra ram.

76 The Condor Killern. By T. C. Hnrbaugh.

77 Lud Liouheeifl, the YoungTiger Fighter. By Roger Starbuck.

71-! Flathont Fred. By Edward Willett

79 Boone, the Hunts-r. By Ca tain F. Whittaker.

80 Kentucky Ben. the Long ifle olthe Cascades. By R.Si.orbuck.

81 The Kit Curt-on Club. By T. C. Harbanzh.

82 Little Buck. the Boy Guide. By Barr Ringgnld.

83 Pony Bob, the itsrkless Rider. By Co . l’. ingraham.

84 Captain Fly-by-leht. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

85 Cuptulu Rubin, the Your”: Explorer. By C. D. Clark.

86 tht e an Rook By Morris Redwinz.

i I l uuicrn. By Maj. H. Grenville.

83 The Boy rmnpa; or, Lii'e Among the Gipsies. By J. M.

Hellman.
89 ’Lonm-hore Lije. By L‘. D. Clark.

90 Rovlng Rifle, (inster’s Little Scout. By T. C. Harbaugh.

91 Oregon Joni], the Wizard Rifle. By Roger Starbuck.

92 Hurricane Kit. By A. F. Holt. I

93 Jumping Jake, the Colorado Circus Bo . By B. Bunbndge.
94 Sum Spence, the ilrondhurn Buy. By d. Willett.

95 Mononw to Siberia; or,A Yankee Boyto the Rescns. By

Chin'le Morris.
96 Fightin Fred. By T. C. linrbnugh.
By C. Dunnan Clark.

9? Orulue o the Fiyaway.

91" The Boy \ igllantes. By Mai. H. B. Stodd-i d

99 The \Vhlte 12ers. Bv Capt. Charles Howard.

100 The Snow-Shoo Trail. By St. George Rathbone.

101 Mariano, the Ottawa Girl. By Edward 5. Ellis.

102 The F‘iynway Afloat. By C. Dunning Clark.

103 Pat. Mulloney’n Adventures; or, Silver Tongue tho DI-
mtn'h Queen. By C. L. Edwards.

104 The Boy Pron eutor. By Roger Starbuck.

105 “mange, the \1 and Witch. By Edwin Emerson.

106 The Boy Crulnera. By Edward Willett.

107 The Border Rowan. By J. Milton Holfman.

108 Alunka. the Wolf-Queen. By Capt. Howard Lincoln.

109 Christian Jim, the White Man‘s Friend. By Ed. 8. Ellis.
110 Piueky Joe, the Boy Avenger. By J. M. iiofl‘man.

111 The Border Gunmnker. By James L- Bowen.

1113 Lott-"unde Pete. By Judenll E. Badger. Jr.

118 The River Rifles. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams.

114 Alone on the l’lainn. By Edward Willstt. 4

115 Silver Horn, and His Rifle Firodersth. By Roger Starbuck.
116 Exploltn of Hezekiah Smith, the Backwoodsmsn. By

Emerson Rodinnn.
117 The Young Min-tangent. By C. Dunning Clark.
118 014i Trupa; tr, the Boy Rivals. By Barry Ringgold.
119 Center Shot. the “'hito, Crow. BY '1‘. C. Harbaugh.
120 A Hot Trail. By Charles Morris.
121 Hunter Pard Ben. By Roger Starbuck.
122 The Esquimnux’ Queen. By G. Waldo Browne.
128 Tim, the Boy Acrobat. By Charles Morris.
124 Queen Bennie, the Border Girl. By Henry J. Thomas.
125 Tom Tabor, the Boy Fugitive. By Barry Ringgold.
126 Mink Coat, the Death—Shot. By Jon. E. Badger, Jr.
12? The Deer "sincere. By John J. Marshall.
128 Wolf-Cup; or, The Night-Hawks oi the Firs—Lands. By
Capt. Chris. Howard.

129 Sliverapur; or, The Mountain Heroine. By Edward Willem
180 Keetsea, Queen or the Plains. By Percy B. St. John.
181 “'iltah, thaChlld Spy. By George Gleason.
13% The Island Trapper. By Chsrles Howard.
183 The Forest Specter. By Edward Willett.
184 “Wild Nat, the Trooper.  Wm. R. Eystar.
135 The Silver Bugle. By Lieut. Col. Hazelton.
136 The Prnlrle Trapper. By C. Dunning Clark.
187 The Antelope Boy. By Goo. L. Aiken.

Beadlc's Boy’s Library is for sale by all Newsdnlsn, In
cents per copy, or sent by mall on receipt of six cent: each.

' BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,
' 98 William Street, New York.

 

 

 

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q
E
6—
2‘:
p
1

 

an”. r .9.“

.. .A..'._§... 52....

BEADLE’S BOY’S LIBRARY.

Published Every Saturday.

188 Long Shot; or, The DwuriGulde. By (hurt. Cnlmtock.

139 Colonel Crockett, the Bear King. By C. E. Lallllie.

140 01!] Pearl, tile Mountaineer. lly Lewis W. Curson.

141 The Glnnt Ilnuter. Ily Hurry lluzunl.

l 12 Black Panther. the liqu Blood. By .1. E Budger.

148 Cnrnon, the Guide. By Lieul. J. ll. Rnlulolpll

144 Kent, the Runner. By Edwurd S. Ellls.

145 Hill Robbins, Hunter. lly Edward Willett.

1.46 The llnli’vBreed llivul. By Jon. E. Budger, Jr.

147 The Masked Avenger. ily (fol. Pronti-zn inurlllmlu.

148 Nat, the 'I'mppt-r ulld iniiiilll Fighter. 153' Paul J. l'rencoit.

149 Tile Elk Demon; or, The Giant lir (hers. ily T. C.
Hluimnzh.

150 The Boy Muntnn -llunter; or. Enuiulie, “Is Beautiful
Amazon. By Frederic Whittaker.

151 Frank Yuten, the Young Trapper; or, Mountain Knte’n
Warning. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

152 “'ild Raven. the Scout. By 011 Coomes.

153 llifi‘lgx-Cnp; or, Four Truppcrn’Alnnuz the Sioux. By Paul
a.

154 The Champion Texan liidrr: m, Rad Builnlo And the
Hercules Hunter. By Hurry St. (ieurgc.

155 hunky Dick’s Doom. lly Jim. R. Bllfigi’r, Jr.
15“ Frank "all, the Boy Spy. lly Oil Gnomes.
157 Nick Doyle, the Gold ilunivr. By P. ii. Mym.

158 Kidnapped Dick: or, The Fate of the Fire Fly. By ‘. Stan-
lry Hundenun.

159 Sam’s Long Trnil. By W. J. iinvniimn.

180 llnnk Triplot‘n Vow. By Hurry lluuird.

101 The Mad Skipper. lly R. binrllullk.

162 The Trapper King. By Mnj. Mnx iii rtine.

168 Simon Kenton, Hunter. lly Emi-rmn Rndmnn.

164 The Buy Chief: or, Frnuk ill-il’a Cnmpuct. By Oll CoomeI.
166 The Truder Traitor. By J. Stanley Hi-micrson.

166 Old ann’n Clew. By Mrs. Orrin 'nrnl-a

16‘? The Young Trailer. By W. J. llmniiton.

168 The Specter Spy. By Moi. lmwin w. Cnrnon.

169 Lnnk Lute, the Old Colorado llnnti-r. By E. W. Archer.
170 The White “'oli’. By Edward Willi-ti.

1?] The Swnlnp Guide. By W. N. McNuii.

172 The Yankee l'cddler. By C. Dunning Clnrk.

178 The Flt-out. nud “in Young Chum. By Wurron St. John.
174 Blacksmith 'l‘om’n Mun-k. By Geo. D. Gilhm't,

l’fli The Buoknkiu Rider. By Guy Gri-pnwood.

1?“ The Squattcr’n Surprlne. By Mm. ll. .7. Thomnu.
177 Four Fellow Scouts. By .1. Stanley Hendcmm.

1?“ Old Kit and llis Comrndou. My JUN. 11 Blldirt'i, Jr.
179 l'neie Grill’l Dir-guise. iiy Hurry Hazard.

180 The Marked Miner. lly Limit. Col. anciiine.

181 The Wild lluntrenl. lly Cnpt. ilrulu Adams.

182 The Ilwurf Decoy. fly Mum 0. Rolfe.

188 Job Dean’n Traction. By inunldnhy North.

184 Yankee Eph’n Dilemma. By J. R. Worcester.
185 The “'in “'itl'h'fl “'urd. lly Edwin E. Ewing.
186 Frank, iim Furrier. ByJ. Stlluicy llvllulrrunn.

187 Dianna. the Fnir Mounlnincw. lly (‘nl-i. F. \\'lu'tluker.
188 Jaek’n “now. By Mrs. Ann E. Porter

18!) Ham, tile Swamp Smut. By w. .l. llllmiltnn.

190 Tf‘e DMhluu Trooper. By Frederick Dewey.

191 Tin‘ Buy Bruvo. » By Jumr-n L. llnvwn.

192 Rtlnlly Bill, 01' Tux”. By Edward “'illett.

198 Harry “'luklc’n Long (Jinn-e. Dy “'ln. R. Eyater.
19-1 Greener Cnto, like Shadow Sww- p Trailer. By F. Dewey.
195 The. Runner Detective. By iinrry liuzurd.

196 Gypoy Mug, tlm .\lnuulnln Witull. lly C. D. Clark.
197 The Brnnded Captain. lly W. J. llmnilton.

198 Old Cram-tin”! (‘rini-u ily (‘npt. Chnrlv's llowArd.
1:99 Zebra Zach-tho Texan. By W. J. Hamilton.

900 The Namelen Hunter. By George W. Robiulnn.
801 The Yankee Captives. By Edward Willelt.

 

Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents,

202 Teddy’s Lon: Tl-nil. ily Edward S. Ellis.
208 (Nd llnnk. he Hermit. lly Edward W. Archer.
20.1 Gooneheud’u Rel-t Shot. Bv Jun. E- “will”. v'r-
205 The Dlltehmnn’u Dread. lly Cnpt. Chns. llnwnrd.
206 Kit Burt‘s Mink. 33- W. J. Hamilton.

20? Hustle-Eyed Tim. lly C. Dunning Clark.

208 The Vlllugo Sport. l‘._\~ Julllen L. Bowen.

209 Buck Burt‘s Pluck. liy Edward Willet.

210 The Tell-Tull: Bullet. By J. Stunley Henderson.
211 The Boy Surveyor. llr \l’. J. Humilton.

212 Yunch Drover Hu'ipcn. Ily Seeiin Robina.
218 Silver City Tum. By .luurcs L. Bowen.

214 Nick, tho Dulci'iive. By Edwin Emerson.

215 Mustang Rider Roy. By Albert W. Aiken.

216 The Dukotu Dutchman. 11y Muj. Max Martina.
217 Yankee Josh, (no Rover, Bx Ii. ll. Ila-lknnp. M. D.
219 New York Nod In Culii’ornin. lly W. .l. llumilton.
219 Kentucky Knio’n Shot. By Edward \Villett.
2&0 ’Frlm-o Frnnk’n Rival. By Paul .1. Prvscnlt.
291 Doctor Bug. Detective. By Luwia .iny Swift.

222 Sly Snm’n Snore. By Louis Lcurnnd, M. D.

228 Old Nancy’s “’nrd. By Lient. Col. lluzultine.
22.1 Rnlllopnio. ihu Nnboh, By Scott R. Sherwood.

225 Nilrht-linwk “ill; or, The New York Spnrlsuwn's Claw.
Br 11'. J. llmniltml.

226 The )inakml “airline. lSy Einroi). Roliv.

227 Burney’n Bold Brunh. Hy Julnes L. Pmme

228 The Deadwood Rpm-tn. ily Liuul. S. G. Lnndng.

229 “um Schmidt, Jr.; or, The Diagniled ankee. lly W. J.
iinlnillon. I

2130 Lone Star’s: Sure Shot. ily Hurry llnzurd.

281 Murk Morzuu‘n Mask. By Capt. Churleu liownrd.

232 Billy Broum'u Firnt Crulne. lly ll. Minor K npp.

288 The Girl Rifle-Shot. By W. .1. llmuilton.

1384 "Id Kyle's Lung Tramp. ily Henry J. Thmnna.

285 (Nd Bill fiyve’u Plume. By Edwnrd Willow.

28“ The 0n-ihr-1Vinz Detective. lly i'Zd. S. Eliia.

28‘? The Dolphlu‘s Young Skipper. ly Rum-r Slnrburk.

238 Jonh‘n Buy l’nrds. By S. G. housing.

239 [.m- Dakln’u Dinzulne. liy Mum 0. Rolfe.

240 During: Dick‘s linen. By Arthur L. Mi-servr.

241 Flu-lo I‘Iphe‘n Boy-l. By J. Sinnloy “antler-«ml.

242 ’C_ dint Rob floured. By Capt. it. .‘ii. l-luwlimmu.

243 Fifth-Light Jon; nr. Bravo. the Cnnine Smut. lly Charles
‘. I «v.

241 Bob Bukcr’s LII-t Leap. B" 1'. lemon» Shield]. U. S. A.

245 North “'oodl Nut. By W. J. linmillnn.

24-16 {he ltllrl Chief; or, Dolly's hmli Disguise. By J. M.‘
’l'nrril .

24'? Denver Iliok, the Rutlkr; or, Tile Mini-rs ul hardwood
(Juli-ll. 13y Hun}v linzurd.

248 Block Jim‘n Doom; or, Billy llmrlrgk's R: run-g». iii Livut.
('ol. i‘luzeltiue. A

249 Morgan. the 8in Rover; cr.The Shrrwd Sn-udunuu’l Srheule.
By Juiln s. \Vurner.

2.10 Znoh’n Ghost. Tram or, Tin.- “minted-Hume Havoc. By
George Appluuulo Ri‘u-ly Jnnuury 2-.

251 Kyd'n Bold Gamer or, The ileutllvail Mystery. By
l’nul mun. vauiy mun...”- a.

252 Hunt-ill) Huln‘n Shot; 1. . For! ill My)": Spnrler [lid-us.
By George GlL'ilIilll. Ilruvly February 1.

258 (‘rnfly Crazy Hillel": or, Thr- Frt‘lli‘il Fugiiive.
liuznrll. Randy mommy in.

$54 The Fln‘hilu-r (bunker: or. Tln- Drnll Durhy‘s Dismuy.
uy I'ulwurri  Elfin. ll ndy Fuhruury mi.

955 Tht.l Hunger"! liirr‘t (‘rulrmz 1on Tim Yankee Tar Abroad.
By John S. Wulnrr. andy March '2.

Be-dle’s Boy'» Liilrnry in fur sulv by all Newndenlen,flvl
cent: per copy, or sent hr mull on receipt of six l'eilis enrh.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, l’ublinherl,
98 Willlnm Street, New York.

lly; llurry