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Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1890, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C

Entered as Second-class Matter at the

Vol. iF STREET & oP nate here:

31 Rose Street. 30x 2734.

New York, N. Y., Post Office, June 12, 1890

8 Ph Pt Oye eet eee e™, OM eee Retest ee ts

Subscription Price, $2.50 per Year.

New York. June 12 1890. ma, Br™H Crate ru Corr No. &

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“GET UP HERE AND GIVE US A PULL ON THE BRACES !

ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?”

GET UP--WHAT

IN

THUNDER

 

     

  

HIS OWN

THE FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES OF FRED WILDER.

BY I. P. MILLER.

—_————___.

 

 

(‘His OWN MasTER” was commenced last week. } } Wilder, got there. While Mr. Wilder was look-
z ing about the steamer a little girl, about four

years old, came up to the captain. Her name
was Alice Gurney, and she had been placed
Fred Wilder's home was in Centerville, Ver- | aboard the steamer at Liverpool by a man, who
mont. When he was about eight years old his | suddenly disappeared. Mr. Wilder was much in-
father went to Boston to see a brother, who was | terested in her, and took her home with him.
saptain of a steamer plying between New York ; Fred and Alice soon became firm friends. When
and Liverpool. The steamer stopped at Boston, | he was fourteen years old Fred went to Shrews-
and had just arrived when Fred's father, Thomas | bury to learn the carpenter’s trade, About two

SYNOPSIS.

 
SS

GooD

 

years after this Fred received a letter from his
father, requesting him to come home and spend
Thanksgiving. While on his way to Centerville
he entered Squire Safford’s orchard to get some
apples.
ward the barn, he discovered it in flames.
was found in the orchard near the barn, he was
accused of setting. it on fire. He escaped capture
and went toward his home. He did not go to
nis father, but loitered around the grounds until
he saw Alice, accompanied by Charcoal, his favor-
ite dog. He explained the situation to Alice, and
told her he was going to sea to escape the pun-
ishment he feared would be inflicted upon him on
account of the burned barn. He promised that
he would return to her within ten years. After
this he went to New Bedford, followed by Char-
coal, who would not be driven back, and met an
old sailor called Jake. They both shipped on a
whaling vessel. Whenthe Moutaineer, in charge
of Captain Chase, sailed out of the harbor Fred,
Jake, and Charcoal were among the crew, bound
for the Sea of Ochotsk and the Japan Islands in
search of sperm whales.

cnt eae

CHAPTER IV.
A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.

Tr CAN never forget the feelings with
I} which 1 watched the shores recede, as

{ the Mountaineer plowed her way to
S> seaward, rising and falling heavily in
the rapidly increasing waves, and occasion-
ally taking in a shower of spray over the
weather bow, carrying all sail, with the
wind nearly abeam. So soon had I fouud
out that “a life on the ocean wave” was
ont all pleasure. Being just out of port,
there was a great deal of work to be done;
and the loud commanding tones of the
officers as they issued their orders, so dif-
ferent to the manner in which [ had been
accustomed to be addressed; the terrors
of going aloft ever before my eyes; the
hopelessness of retreat or return; a dim
consciousness of the absolute power over
my liberty and my life possessed by my
superiors, the captain and officers;
thoughts, more vivid than I had felt since
I had first ran away from home, of the
sorrow and trouble my misconduct must
have brought to my kind old father and
to Alice; and, aAiiod to all these sources of
uneasiness, the premonitory qualms of
sea-sickness, made me wretched and pen-
itent indeed.

I said I was penitent; but I am afraid it
was the penitence of the rogue who re-
grets that his misdeeds are found out, not
that he committed them. Robbing Squire
Safford’s orchard had made me come to
sea; and it was for this I was penitent,
and not for stealing apples. But if I
could have only got on shore at that time,
I question much whether I had ever looked
at aship again. If I could only have ex-
changed my wretched position for a cell
in the prison, even though coupled with
the dishonor attaching to the name of
incendiary, how gladly it would have been

one.

But I had little time for continued re-
flection. The merciless mate (one of the
kindest.hearted men I ever met with) was
constantly roaring out orders in a voice
that would have rivaled. the Bull of
Bashan’s; and the inferior officers and the
boatsteerers would drag us poor green
hands to ropes with unheard-of names, and
make us pull thereon with all our might,
swearing at us when we did not pull to-
gether (which was about all the time), till
we were half insane from confusion and
terror. Then the wind gradually increased
and the same time hauled ahead, neces-
sitating the yards to be braced up sharply,
until the Mountaineer was at last close-
hauled vo the breeze, and diving her nose
occasionally beneath the ugly short seas
that were getting up; and last, but not
least by any means, came the terrible sea-
sickness. .

- IT was one of the first to yield to the lat-
ter tyrant; and I gave up thoroughly, too.
ying in the lee scuppers, half drowned by
the salt water that came in over the bows
and rushed along to the walst, I had
hardly energy enough left to groan. But
the third mate came along and shook me
rudely by the shoulder, calling out:

“Get up, here, and give us a pall on the
braces! Get up—what in thunder are you
doing down there (with another shake) ;
get up, or I’ll break your head !” 4

“Oh, don’t,” I moaned; “let me die—I’m
dying; I can’t—”

“Shut up! Yes, you can. There’s no
such word as can’t in the book. None of
your skulking here—up you get!”

With groans and wailings I arose to my
feet and staggered to a rope, but only to
throw myself on the deck again the instant
my tormentor was gone, to lie there til]
another would come along and force me
up. Most of the other green hands were as
sick as 1 was, but, there was a good crew
without us. The captain, three mates,
four boatsteerers, the cook, steward,
carpenter, cooper and two able seamen, all
of whom had been to sea before, made a
very decent crew for a ship of less than
four hundred tons, without the nineteen
green hands; but it is an article of faith
among whalemen that “the only way to
do seasick fellows any good is to keep

4 . 0d raw. whe : oe : 7 »
He had secured a few, when, eee | scene of agonized torture than is presented
s he |

 

them moving.”
lie in the scuppers and drown, as I wished,
but was driven and hustled about until
my life was a burden to me.

f any one has viewed a more wretched

on the deck of an outward bound whaler,
he has seen more than I ever have; for |
look back on that day’s experience with
horror and disgust, even now.

Jake and Charcoal rather seemed to en-
joy it; but the latter had been so much in
the way during the morning, that the mate
had shut him up in the potato locker;
and after I became seasick, I wouldn’t
have cared had he and I both been washed
overboard.

The wind at last freshened so much
that the fore and mizzen topgallant sails
were clewed up and furled; but none of
the greenies were sent up to those sails.
The flying jib was hauled down, however,
and to that I was sent, to assist the cooper
in furling it. The bowsprit and jib-boom
is the worst place in a ship to go upon,
and the most dangerous. There is but
little to hold on to, and nothing to clutch
at if you fall. The motion, as the ship
rises and settles, is very great, and the
danger of being washed off, in a ship that
pitches heavily, is imminent when _ the
sea is very rough. Then the motion of the
waters, apparently rushing past beneath,
now receding till the greenhorn is high
in the air, then rising so as almost to
touch his feet, is just what is best calcu-
lated to daze the brain of a landsman; and
that was what it did to me.

How I managed to get in on deck I do
not know; but I was told that the cooper
had his hands full to prevent me from
falling, as I didn’t seem to care whether I
went or not. And after I did reach the
deck again, neither persuasions nor threats
availed to rouse me any more. I was utterly
prostrated; and finding me hopelessly used
up, Mr. Thomas — mate) had me carried
to. my bunk and rolled in, wet,
miserable. So ended my first day at sea;
for I did not get out again till next morn-
ing, when the sea was smooth, the breeze
light, and the sun warm. I was much
better than I had been the day before, and
so were the other greenies; and in a few
days the horror of sea-sickness was re-
membered by many only to laugh at—but
I remember it yet with a shudder.

In a short time the green hands had
learned the names of the various ropes,
and to box the compass, to steer, hand
and reef; and before we reached Cape Horn
were able to do most of the common duties
pertaining to working the ship. <A few of
the greenies, who showed especial ‘apti-
tude for learning seamen’s duty, were kept
pretty constantly at work in the rigging;
and I was one of them. Going aloft had
long ceased to trouble me; I had learned
to cross a royal-yard, haul out an earring
when we were reefing down, to “steer a
good trick,” make a splice and serve a
rope; and I fancied that very few sailors
could beat me much at “sailorizing.” I
got over that fancy many years ago.

The Mountaineer was loaded down in
the water to her scuppers, having on board
wrovisions and stores for three years, that
veing the time for which we had signed
articles. A large part of the stores were
to be landed in the Sandwich Islands,
where we were to touch on our way to the
Ochotsk Sea. We had plenty of food, and
it was good, though the variety was not
great; the officers, who had at first seemed
to us so harsh and unkind, we found to be
good men, and not at all inclined to
tyrannize over those under their control;

‘and altogether, notwithstanding the mis-

ery of the start, our experience of sea life
was more favorable than often falls to the
lot of those “who go down to the sea in
ships and do business on the great deep.”

I was appointed to pull the bow oar in
the third mate’s boat. This position car-
ried with it some little responsibility, and
some privileges. The bow-oarsman assists
the boatsteerer to grind the harpoons (or

irons,” as they are called), and lances
and keep them polished and oiled; and
when a whale is fastened to, helps the
officer, who heads the boat and Kills the
wounded fish, by bowing on, handing
spade or lance as requirer’ and. assisting
in various ways. Inreturn, the bow-oars-
man escapes many unpleasant jobs on
board ship, by being engaged with his
craft (or boat’s gear) when anything is
being done which he doesn’t

do.
Off the Horn we hada gale of wind,

and had to lay to for five days. It was
too cold for us to work in the rigging,
and so we baited hooks with pieces of
pork, one day, and caught a large number
of albatrosses. The cook made us a sea-
pie of about twenty of them. It looked
and smelled nice, but oh, it was a fearful
mess to swallow. We didn’t trouble the
albatrosses again.

ew days afterward, when we had
doubled the’ Horn, and were steering to
the north-and-west, up along the coast of
South America, the captain’s boatsteerer
fastened to a porpoise, and we hauled
him on deck. He was cooked (part of
him), and proved much better than the
albatrosses. Porpoise is good eating; al-

So I was not allowed to |

cold and |

 

 

 

NEWS.

 

 

batross is not. That was the verdict of
our crew.

CHAPTER V.

A FAST BOAT,

YN
yy % S yet we had not seen a whale,

° though we had the boats down sev-

> ~ eral times, when it- was calm, to
“~~ practice the crews at the oars, and
see who pulled best. A constant lookout
was kept for spouts, and the captain had
promised to give five dollars to the man
who raised the first whale that was cap-
tured, the money to be paid at a port where
the crew were Atiowar liberty on shore.
The master also offered different rewards to
their boat’s crews, such as a box of cigars or
a bottle of rum, to be given to the men of
the boat that first fastened to a whale. A
spirit of rivalry was awakened, and we
were all eager to sight a fish. We had
not long to wait after rounding the Horn.

One Sunday morning the mate’s boat-
steerer, whose lookout it was at the main
topgallant yard (a seaman keeping watch
at the fore), had got as far as the cross-
trees, when he stopped, looked intently to
windward for a little time, and then gave
the long, low, clear hail, which denotes
that a whale is seen to spout:

“A-r-r blo-0-0-ows !”

“Where away, master?” demanded the
mate.

“A point for’ard of the weather beam, sir.
Spouts low and bushy—looks like sperm
whale, sir; he’s four miles  off—ar-r-r

/
c

| blo-o-ows—headin’ to windward, sir.”

“Ay, ay. Look out for him, and report
every spout. Steward, call the captain.
Brace the yards, then call the watch.
Keep her up to the wind (to the man at
the wheel)—full and by.”

The captain made his appearance in a
few moments, dressed in his shirt and
trousers only. He seemed eager and ex-
cited, as he asked:

“What do you
Thomas?”

“Sperm, sir, I think,” ed mate;
“he spouts as steady as clock-work, and
Martin reports it as low and bushy.”

Again the boatsteerer’s hail reached the
deck, and the mate continued:

“He must be a boomer, sir—he’s spouted
as much as twenty-five times, and—”

“There—goes—flukes!” came from the
masthead.

“What did they look like, Martin?”
hailed the captain; “could you see ’em
plain?”

“Not very, sir,” answered Martin; “he’s
along way off; but the flukes looked
forked and narrow, and the spout goes
right ahead of him, along the water; and
it’s white as milk. He’s sperm, sir, I'll
bet my new boots !”

“Call all hands,” said the captain; “Mr.
Thomas, let ’em get the lines in, and clear
away the boat as soon as they are up.”

Then, raising his voice, he addressed
Martin:

“Keep a good watch for that fellow, and
see how he heads when he comes up again.
I never saw sperm whale so far south
as this, though,” he muttered to himself,
as he went to the cabin to dress.

The watch below roused without making

make of him, Mr.

| any noise, and the Mountaineer’s deck soon

presented ascene of apparent confusion
—apparent only, for each man was doing

| his own particular duty, regardless of all
ithe rest.

The boatsteerers and bow-oars-
man got the line-tubs, containing the long
flexible whale-rope to which the harpoon
is bent, into the boats; the former exam-
ined the lance and iron heads, to make
sure they were keen and bright; the bow-
men slushed the rowlocks and the leathers
of the oars; the after-oarsman examined
the boats’ water-kegs, and placed the
lantern-kegs (containing tobacco, matches,
lantern, candles, hard bread and a bottle
of rum, and nicely coopered, so as to be
air tight), in the stern sheets; and then

all was ready to lower away, excepting |

that we had still to cast off the gripes
which hold the boats firmly in their places,
and to swing the cranes, on which they
rest when hanging at the davits, from be-
neath them.

Many eyes were now directed toward
where the whale had been last seen; but
though a full half hour had passed since
he had “turned flukes” (as whalemen

|} term the whale’s raising his tail above
rant to help |

water when he pitchs to go down), no re-
port of his appearance came from aloft,
nor could we detect any sign of him from
the deck. é

_ “What do you think of it, Mr. Thomas?”
inquired the captain; “he can’t have been
gallied (frightened) by the ship at this
distance?” '

“No sir, I should say not,” replied the
mate; “he’s a big fellow, I guess—eighty
barrels swimmin’ about, there, I warrant.
He’ll be up soon.

At this moment the hail came again
from aloft:

“Ar-r-r blo-o-ows !”

“Where is he now?” demanded the mate.

“Right abeam, sir—heading this way;
he’s feeding, I believe; he ain’t more’n
three miles off, sir. Ar-r-r blo-o-ows.”

Springing into the main rigging, Mr.

~

Thomas ran half way up to the bop, and
razed toward the point indicated by the
soatsteerer aloft.

“T see him, sir,” he exclaimed, address-
ing the captain; “can’t you make his spout
out from the deck?”

“J see him, too,” said Captain Chase.
“Down from aloft there, boatsteerer. Is
everything ready for lowering, Mr.
Thomas?”

“Yes, sir; all ready.”

“Hoist and swing, then—hoist and
swing. We'll have that fellow in the blub-
ber-room before to-morrow night. Come on,
here—the starboard boat’s crew. We'll
show the boys how to grease an iron pretty
soon, if we have eee luck. We’re a thou-
sand miles nearer home, boys, as soon as
that fellow’s alongside !”

I may as well explain here, that the
| boat which hangs on the ship’s starboard
| quarter is called the starboard boat, and is
|commanded by the captain of the ship;
;the one on the port (or larboard) quarter
lis called the larboard boat, and carries
ithe mate; next forward of the larboard is
| the waist. boat, the second mate’s; and
forward of the waist is the bow-boat, be-
| longing to the third mate. é

There are six oars in a whale-boat,
| usually, though some have more; five oars

for pulling, and the steering oar. The
boatsteerer (who is also harpooner) sits
|on the thwart in the extreme bow, and
pulls a short light oar, called the “har-
pooner;” the second oar from the boat’s
|stern is the “bow” oar; the third is the
“midship,” the fourth the “tub” (the line
tub being between this thwart and the last
|one from the bow), and the fifth and the
| last the “after” oar. The boat-header (or
| officer) steers the boat with a long oar
| (twenty-two feet generally), and lays the
boat on to the whale ; but when once the fish
is struck, the boatsteerer goes aft to the
‘steering oar, and tends the line, holding
it on around the loggerhead when the
whale is taking it out, and coiling it down
in the stern sheets as it is hauled in again;
while the officer goes to the bow, and kills
|the whale—if he can. The “loggerhead”
‘is a stout post of hard wood, rising above
the stern boat, around which the line is
| thrown with two or three turns as soon as
a whale is fastened to; this enables a great
| strain to be kept on the line, and yet it can
be eased instantly if occasion requires.
From the loggerhead the line is led to the
“chocks* on ths stern of the boat, pass-
ing between the rowers, who sit at the
sides; this keeps the strain of the line on
the center of the boat, or in line with
her keel. So much explanation I deem
necessary. My oar was the “bow,” in the
bow boat, headed by Mr. Anson, the third
mate, and steered by Bill Segur—both
quite young men; though Mr. Anson had
made four whaling voyages already, and
had the reputation of being a crack whale-
man, and got the same “lay” (proportion
of the proceeds of the voyage) as did the
second officer.

As soon as the word was given to “hoist
and swing,” the gripes were cast off, a
strain put on the davy-tackle falls, and
; the cranes swung from beneath the boats ;
| the captain gave a few instructions to the
steward (who was shipkeeper when all the

officers were away from the ship), and to
| the officer; and the mainyard having been
backed, the starboard boat was lowered
away, Captain Chase in the stern and his
| boatsteerer in the bow, the four oarsmen
following her down the side on the gripes,
; which hung overboard. As soon as the
| boat. touched the water the tackles were
‘let go, and unhooked from the boat by the
/men in the ends; the oarsmen bundled in
| and took their places, and she was pulled
astern of the ship, so as to get to wind-
ward of the whale without alarming him.

As soon as the captain’s boat was clear
of the ship the mate lowered; then the
waist-boat, and lastly ours, the lowes
“bow.” The third mate pulled away ahea
of the ship, in the opposite direction to
which the others had taken; he remarking
| to us, as we laid back at the oars, “I’ll be
either a long way off that oil-raft when he
comes up, or else the nearest boat. If we
strike that fellow, I’ll give every man
Jack of you a bottle of rum apiece, an
ten dollars among the boat’s crew the first
liberty dart

We pulled for nearly half an hour, de-
a a large semi-circle, and had got
about three miles from the ship, in a di-
rect line, when Mr. Anson gave the order, —
“Heave up—peak your oars. Bill, ste
the mast and lead the sheet aft—don’t
loose the sail just yet; keep a couple of
turns of the gasket.
box-line all right?”

“All right, sir,” said Bill; “put me
within three fathoms, and I'll fasten—may
do it at.four, but’ll warrant at three.”

“Well, Bill, if you never miss at three
fathoms, I won't growl if you don’t fasten
at four; though that’s not a long dart.
But I generally put my boatsteerer ‘woo
and black-skin,’” meaning that he ran
the boat directly against the black skin of
the whale. :

“That’s the talk for me, sir,” said Bill;
“give me ‘wood and black-skin’ and ri
stick him good—ah, see if I don’t. But
that fellow ought to—there he is, sir,” he ex-

 

 

 

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claimed, in a loud whisper, pointing down
toward the ship; “there he is, five ships’
lengths off, heatin’ to leeward. By thun-
der, we're the nearest’ boat—what say, sir
—loose the sail?”

“Keep cool, Bill, keep cool; loose the
Sail—haul aft the sheet, Tom (to the after-
oarsman) ; down to your paddles, all, and
don’t touch the side of the boat, nor
make any noise—don’t. Down to your pad-
dles, Bill—1’ tell you when to stand up.
That's it, boys, we'll fasten this rising,
Sure pop. We'll show ’em what the old

ow boat can do. Spin her, bullies, spin
her—paddle together, and don’t make a
noise.”

We paddled, sitting on the boats’ gun-
whale, and of course facing the bow; the
Oars remaining peaked, as rowing would
frighten the w ale—any unusual noise,

Owever, slight, being sufficient to “gally”
he huge monster. :

As we rapidly gained on him, with sail
and paddles both forcing the boat through
the water, the roar of his spout sounded
ike the sudden escape of a large body of
steam at high pressure, and was followed
Y a dull, low whistling sound, as he
Trew in a fresh supply of air. His low
thick spout, dull black color, small

ump” and square head (or “junk”)
marked him asperm whale—a prize in-
deed, if we could only catch him; but that
Was not at all certain, as yet.
have been in many situations since
that day, and seen and heard many strange
things ; but nothing ever gave me such an
idea of vast latent power as did the
breathing of that leviathan. I am not
S0ing to analyze my feelings at that mo-
ment, nor will I say I was not afraid;
hor acknowledge that I was; but I will
oast, that if 1 was frightened, I did not
et any one know it—the third mate after-
Ward telling the boat’s crew to “take pat-

m by Tom Wild; he don’t care for a
fish!” “Mr. Anson was a good whaleman,

ut he didn’t know everything.

h € were within a ship’s length of the
roe creature, when the officer gave the
Order, in a whisper, “Paddles out—don’t
make abit of noise, now—keep your seats,
— then stand by to paddle ahead like
Bin if I give you the word. Stand up,
don? and do keep cool—keep cool, and
on't dart till you’re sure of fastening.
ere he is, under water! Hold on, Bill,
‘old on, we're sure of him now! There he
rises; stand by for a dart when I give you

16 word, boatsteerer!” Then changin

1S excited whisper to a cool, firm, lou
and clear tone of command, that steadied

© herves of every man in the boat, he
Continued, “Down paddles—down to your
Cars, men;” and in a moment we were
ady to spring ahead or to stern, as we
Might be ordered.
eae another instant the loud roar of the
ale 8 spout again burst on our ears—we
Were fairly alongside of him, sailing along
&5out as fast as he was going, and so near
. at we could have touched him with an
one he was yet unconscious of the near
geProach of his insignificant enemies—
Some of whom anxious] y watched the huge
flu ces” as they swung heavily from side
Side beneath the water, propelling the
to oe carcass along with a motion similar
at of an oar in “sculling” a boat. But
€ officer’s voice alarmed him, and as he
uted he rounded his huge back above
© water, preparatory to going down, thus

8

_Presen ‘ing his broadside a fair mark for

nt

e iron.
sh Now, Bill, let him have it—dart, dart!”
Obert Mr. Anson; and the boatsteerer,
tae lent to the order, sent his harpoon
the fat mass of animated matter.
ond” Was a sharp cutting noise for a sec-
wen? and then a dull “chug’” as the iron
si aa home to the hitches” in the whale’s
eda An instant, and the second iron was
er’ €d in the fish; and then the boatsteer-
th S exultant shout of “fast” mingled with
ate, third mate’s loud order to “stern—
splas all,” and the deafening spank and
he poh of the wounded whale’s flukes as
ashed the water in his agony and terror.
fusion & moment there was noise and con-
the nin the boat; the oarsmen repeated
kn third mate’s “stern,” but as far as I
bi ee ho one obeyed it. The whir of the
the ; ukes as they swung trough the air,
ers Oud strokes ‘on the water, the show-
an ao Spray that flew over and around us,
had the spinning of the after oar (which
Wan pen icked high in the air by an up-
head low. of the whale’s tail) ever our
Teas S—all this was little calculated to
oth Sure a boat’s crew of green hands. The
Wate, boats could not see us for “white
spli Tr, and thought we were stove to
tip ters. But except the loss of the oar,
arm was done beyond giving us a

Rood duckin i
gz, and filling the boat half
way to the thwarts with water. In ten

theonds from the time the iron was darted,
an a pale was entirely beneath the water,
head the line whizzing around the logger-
“R 4s he sounded.
Ow up your sail, Bill—roll up any-
the ’ and pass the mast aft here,” ordered
War a cer, as the boat turned to wind-
and commenced to cut swiftly

t
trough the water; “quick’s your play, be-

®& gets s

Men, an ed on. Feather your oars,

look out for ’em—if one of ’em

 

 

 

OUD

catches, over we go to the old boy! Hi-
yah! how he walks to windward! This
ain’t bad, Bill—the bow boat the first one
in the ship to fasten.”

The sail was scrambled about the mast
in a hurry, and secured with a turn or two
of the sheet; and then the mast was passed
aft, the lower end of it stuck in beneath
the after thwart, and the principal portion
left projecting over the starboard quarter,
like an eccentric bowsprit. As the line
commenced to run out, the tub-oarsman
bailed up piggin after piggin of salt water,
and poured it over the coil as it lay nicely
packed away in its tub; but even then the
great strain on it, and the speed with
which it was taken round the loggerhead,
made the wood smoke again. As soon as
the mast was disposed of, the boatsteerer
took his place at the steering oar, and Mr.
Anson went forward. A lance was cleared
from its hooks, and placed in readiness to
use, the end of the long slender line at-
tached to it being made fast with an open
bow-line around the whale line, so that
the latter had plenty of room to travel
through it. A little blue flag, called a
“wheft,” was stuck up in the boat, as a
signal to the ship and the other boats that
we were “fast.” °

“Now, bullies,” said Mr. Anson, “it we
kill this fish before the other boats fasten,
I'll give two bottles of rum to each man—
you shall have one apiece for this, whether
we get him ornot. Now then—turn around
on your thwarts, and round in the line—
there it slacks, boys; in with it. Let’s
kill him before he gets awake!”

The whale took us along at a tremen-
dous rate, dead to windward ; and the other
boats, pulling with all their might in our
wake, were dropping astern fast. The
line (of which each of our boats carried
325 fathoms, nearly 2000 feet), had not
been more than half taken out of the tubs,
and soon slackened its strain, showing
that the whale was coming to the surface.

“In with it, boys—hand over—there’s no
strain on it; that’s the talk—we’ll have a
lance in that fellow’s life before he’s done
this spoutin’—in with it, hand over hand.”

Mr, Anson himself assisted to haul in
the line, the boatsteerer coiling it away
carefully in the stern as it came in, so
that it would run out again all clear; for
a “foul (or tangled) line” is one of the
whaleman’s greatest perils.

As the whale broke water and again
sent up his roaring breath, he seemed an
immense distance away from the boat; but
the line came in easily, after it had once
got straight along the surface of the water,
and we were soon within thirty feet of the
ponderous flukes.

“Take your oar, Bill,” called the officer,
“take your oar, and lay the boat off—sheer
her clear of his flukes, for they are no
playthings. Here, Wild, stand by to bow
on,” he continued, to me.

The whale was on the boat’s starboard
side, and Mr. Anson, reaching outside the
boat’s chocks and grasping the line,
brought the bight of it to me, on the star-
board bow. Holding the line with my un-
aided hands, while we were being drag-
ged along at ten or twelve’ knots, was no
easy matter; but? I was strong for my age,
and [ hung on like grim death.

This “bowing on” enabled the boat-
steerer to get the boat farther out from the
flukes, and much farther ahead on the
whale, than was possible while the boat
was towing with the line through the
chocks. The first iron was in well for-
ward on the fish, and we had got the boat
well up to the harpoon, while Mr. Anson
poised the long heavy lance, and started
it with all his strength at the whale; it
buried itself in his flesh, just abaft his
little side fin (or paddle), and low down
on his body.

The ‘lance had been “put in a tender
place,” for our officer knew his business
well; the boatsteerer’s looks and _ tone
evinced unbounded and undisguised ad-
miration, as he murmured:

“Beautiful! beautiful!” and then burst
out with, “Mr. Anson, that was a lovely
—lovely lance you gave him!” And even
the cold experienced whaleman could not
wholly conceal his whaleman’s vanity, as
he replied:

“Well, it was a good one, Bill, if I. did
make it; I know where the soft places are
—and can hit ’em, if my crew back me up
aright.” Then addressing us generally, he
went on:

“Boys, youare doing splendidly; as well
as any old spouters. You’ll make crack
whalemen, all of you. Ha! what’s that?”

The line had been running out at a fair
rate (though not nearly so fast as when
the fish was first struck), notwithstanding
that Bill was snubbing the whale all he
could, round the loggerhead; but it had
suddenly ceased to run, and hung slack
and loose at the bow, and the boat soon
became motionless, so far as headway was
concerned. .

“ Oh, dear, dear, dear!” exclaimed Mr.
Anson, in tones of disappointment; “he’s
off, boys—loose—loose !”

“Do you think my irons could ’a drawn,
sir?” queried Bill, anxiously.

“No; they were well in, Bill,” answered
Mr. Anson; “I must ’a‘cut the line with
my lance—never did such a thing before

 

 

NEw Ss.

in my life, either. Don’t see how I couid
this time—I darted under the line, so the
lance should float clear when it came out.
But haul in the line, man—haul in, and
let’s see what’s the matter. We may get
him yet—he’s sick, I know.”

We commenced to gather in the slack
line, gloomily enough; but suddenly. it
went out with a vicious jerk that took the
skin off our hands. for a little way, and
then stopped. Several of these jerks took
place in rapid succession; and our coun-
tenances brightened.

“All right yet, boys; he’s stopped down
there, and kicking, that’s all. We'll have
him yet—he’s sick, or he wouldn’t have
stopped running,” said Mr. Anson.

As he spoke, the line again commenced
to run out; and soon the great leviathan
burst from beneath the ocean, shooting al-
most his whole body into the air, and fall
ing back into the yielding element with a
mighty
water; anc
the surface, a dense column of blood, dark
almost to blackness, was thrown from his
spout-hole.

“Hurrah! dead fish!” yelled Bill, in wild
enthusiasm; “killed with one lance—well
done, the bow boat! Come on, you lub-
bers (to the other boat miles away to lee-
ward), we'll show you how to take
whales !”

“Keep cool, Bill, keep cool, my hearty,”
said the third mate, laughing; “gather in
the line, boys; we don’t want to be too
far from him when he goes in his flurry.”

We hauled up to within a hundred yards
of where the monster was struggling, and
laid on our oars, ready to stern or to
spring ahead, as occasion might require.
The whale gradually became more quiet,
and at last laid quite still.

The boatsteerer asked Mr. Anson if he
thought the fish was dead; but before an
answer could be given, the flukes went
into the air, sending the spray as high as
a topsail yard, when they descended; he
was just going into his flurry. Round
in a large circle he rolled and tumbled,
lashing the crimson water into a bloody
foam, and throwing his body half out of
the sea in his death-struggle; then his
blows became less and less violent, and
finally ceased. He slowly rolled over on
one side, “fin out,” and the bow’s crew
had won two bottles of rum apiece; for
the whale was dead, and the nearest loose
boat was stilla mile away. But I am
spending too much time on this one whale.
I will only say further of him that he was
towed to the ship and secured alongside,
in readiness to be cut in next, day, and
that the bow boat and her officer won un-
limited commendation from the captain
and the other mates and crew, for the cap-
ture.

We-turned in early (all hands, except-
ing a boatsteerer and one seaman, who
kept watch, the topsails being reefed, the
eourses hauled up and furled, the main-
yard laid aback, and the helm lashed hard
down), in readiness for an early start at
cutting in; but that whale was fated
never to be stowed in the Mountaineer’s
blubber-room.

(T0 BE CONTINUED.)
9 ———____..

T [ALKS
OHOR BOYS

omni

BY M. QUAD.

 

 

NUMBER THREE.

SLAHE last two articles have been de-
th? voted to the common trades. In
A’\ this one we will name some of the
~7* higher ones, and give such particu-
lars as are obtainable.

The manufacturing jeweler binds his
apprentice for four years. The pay for the
first year will not be over a dollar per
week, without board; for the second, $3
per week; for the third, $5; and for the
fourth, from $8 to $12. Of late years ma-
chinery has been called into use very
largely in the manufacture of jewelry, but
it will require an apprenticeship even to
operate these machines. The jeweler must
be true of hand and eye. He must com-
bine skill and taste. ‘There must be no
boteh-work, even in the mending of the
poorest ring or the manufacture of the
cheapest chain. So many chemicals are
used in manufacturing and repairing, that
the jeweler must of necessity be pretty
well posted in chemistry. There are two
classes of journeymen, viz.—the man who
can design and execute, and the man who
simply executes and repairs. The one who
can design badges, medals, birthday gifts,
souvenirs, etc., and execute them as well,
is paid a salary ranging from $20 to $35
per week. The workman is paid from
$12 to $18. It is a trade which no boy

   
 

  

splash and commotion of the |
as his head appeared above |

 

S7

—_—

should pick up without feeling bimself
perfectly competent to pursue to a amish.

A fine trade, and cone paying wel! crom
the start, is that ot gilaci (Le appren
ticeship is for three years, and tiie wages
are $2, $4, and $6 per week for the (irst,
second, and third years. ‘Ibis is without
board. The smatiest wages paid a good
guder are 25 cents per hour. Uniess at
work by the hour he works by the piece.
The trade is healthy, clean, and always
pursued in light and tidy apartmenis, It
is one a girl can pursue as wei! as a boy,
and one at which she is certain of makiag
at least $12 per week.

There is no rule among photographers re
garding apprentices, for the very good rea
son that apprentices: are seldom taken.
Indeeed, it is generally the practice to pay
the photographer something for the first
six months. It is a curious trade or pro
fession. One man will be a better artist
at the end of.six months than another will
at the end of six years. There is certain
machine work about the art—such as pre
paring the plates, arranging for lights
and shadows, making use of the sun, and
printing and pasting—but outside of this,
the operator who is the most artistic
is the greatest success. It is a business
which no boy of common tastes should
pick up. This assertion is borne out in
the fact that one or two photograph gal
leries in a city of 100,000 inhabitants will
have all the fine work and at least: half
the common. Each photographer uses the
same camera and the same process, but
one is a workman and the other an artist.
If one desired to learn the art with the
intention of establishing a gallery for
himself, he should seek to make arrange:
ments with some second-class shop. In
these one person photographs, retouches,
and prints. In the first-class galleries this
same work is given to three different
parties. A good operator is paid from
$15 to $25 per week; a printer somewhat
less; a retoucher from $25 to $50. The re-
touching and printing are often done by
young ladies.

About every tenth boy in the country
seems to want to learn the printer’s trade,
and most of them have the idea that
being a printer must lead to being an edi-
tor, if not the owner of a daily or weekly
paper. Years ago a printer signified a
man who could do everything around an
office. He could set type on the paper,
run a’press, set up a hand-bill, make up
the form of the paper, write out local hap
penings, set up all sorts of tables, and
sometimes do a little engraving. In these
days, in the office of a city daily, the work
is divided into many departments. The
men who set type on the newspapers are
called compositors, and a certain number
of them set up nothing but the advertise
ments. The men who do job-work are
called job printers; those who work on
book-work are book-printers; those on
show-work are show printers. The press
man does nothing but press-work, and the
passe:foadere are not asked or expected to

2arn any other branch. Therefore the lad
who wants to become a printer, in all that
the term implies, must seek the office of a
country weekly. The wages in a country
office to journeymen range from $9 to $15
per week. In a daily office compositors
earn from $12 to $20 per week; pressmen,
from $20 to $30; job printers, from $14 to
$20; press-feeders, from $5 to $9.

The lithographer divides his work into
four separate branches, viz.: the artist or
designer; the engraver; the transferrer,
and the pressman. Each branch takes
apprentices, but none for less than three
years, while the designers and* engravers
usually make the time five. In every
branch of this business there must be
taste and skill, and in the two highest
the apprentice must have something more.
The ranks of the artists are recruited from
boys who have great natural taste for
drawing. There is no pay for the first two
years of apprenticeship, but the third
would begin at $3 per week, without
board. The pay of a first-class artist in a
well-known conducted lithographic éstab-
lishment is not less than $40 per week,
and some receive $50. The engraver would
not pay an apprentice for the first year, as
most of his work is thrown away. If it is
seen that the boy will make a success, his
pay_for_the second year will be $3 per
week. When his trade is finished, or when
he can do fairly good work, his wages will
range from $15 to $25 per week. A first-
class engraver can command $30 per week
the year round: The transfermen and
pressmen can pay an apprentice $2 per
week after the first six months, and the
wages of a journeyman are from $15 to $25
ner week.

While there must be telegraph oper-
ators, and while about every fifth boy
seems to take up the art of telegraphy, there
are many discouraging things which should
been made known and taken into account.
In the first place, not one out of ten ordi-
nary boys will stick to the business over
six months, on account of the long hours,
close ‘confinement, and poor pay. In the
second place, while a boy may learn to be-
come an operator, he may never develop
into a first-class one. A slow or “plug”
operator might better be a carpenter. A

 

 

 

 

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SR:

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BSAA TAS

 

CDE Sats Nek

 
68s

GrooDpD

first-class operator who is receiving a sal- (in full. Two men are used, the one who

of $20 per week for working from 10
to 12 hours per day considers himself very
lucky. The salaries are fairly good for fe-
male operators, but the boy who can make
a good machinist, decorator, photographer,
or printer, had better give telegraphy the

o-by.
° ‘inca every newspaper you pick up con-
tains the injunction: “Boys, learn a trade.
Almost every lecturer has a word on the
subject.

has apparently been beheaded lying on the

Every boy-book warns the lads |

of this country that there is money or com- |

parative independence in a trade. This is
all right, but none of them haye a word to
say regarding the apprenticeship and
wages. The boys should be informed on a
score of points of which they are totally
ignorant, and this has been my purpose in
these articles, and this will be my excuse
for pursuing the matter of trades, arts,
and professions a little further. Among
the thousands of boy-readers of Goop NEws
there must be many who are ready to
start outin life for themselves. It is to
those boys I am talking, and with hopes
that my words may be of some benefit.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)
—_—_—_~+--e__—_

THE SPHINX.

RESUMABLY because of the great
cost this style of ‘ghost show” has

ILLUSION TRICKS.
never been exhibited in this country,

iS
although a modification, and, in a

sense, an improvement of the idea has been
used in other illusions.

Following the various kinds of ghost show
came Colonel Stodar’s living head or the
“Sphinx.” His was the first illusion dis-
pensed with parts of the body and opened a
new system of illusions and necromancy, and
then in rapid succession came the ‘“Mys-
terious Cabinet,” ‘‘Fatima,” ‘“Roman,” the
“Three Headed Girl,” and the ‘‘Decapita-
tion,” all of which are explained further on.
It is a significant fact that the famous
Sphinx was evolved from the kaleidoscope,
a toy that almost every child has at some
time or other had and found delight in its
ever-changing colors, diamonds, circles,

risms, and squares. The Sphinx speedily
Sesto famous in London and afterward in
this city for the cleverness by which the
body was concealed and its oracular utter-
ances and replies to questions.

We remember well in 1866, at Barnum’s
_ Museum, Broadway and Spring street, one
day a gentleman asked Sphinx ‘“How many
bricks it would take to build a house of cer-
tain dimensions?” giving height, depth and
width. Quick as a flash camethe reply, in
tones that suggested two o'clock in the
morning in a grave-yard:

“It depends on the size of a brick.” The
answer made a hit and was thereafter con-

THE SPHINX.
(AA, the mirrors. )

The body is hidden in ‘‘Sphinx” by two
mirrors, joined in the center with beveled
edges leaning toward the floor at an angle
and reflecting the floor, painted or draped,
in a manner exactly similar to the back-

ound and sides, even a fourth table leg

eing sometimes reproduced.

Colonel Stodar, who invented the Sphinx,
in his efforts to keep to himself all the pro-
fits of the “head without a body,” patented
it and thereby gave the secret of the con-
struction away, and set busy showmen to
work devising other illusions on the same
order. Had he not done so it is more than
probable that the secret would have re.
mained such to the present day.

E THE DECAPITATION.

This trick is used to-day by showmen with
eat success.

In this illusion the same system of glasses

as used in the Sphinx is taken advantage of,

but the legs are removed from the table and

it is apparently suspended by wires, the

being beveled back to show the room

.
8" ee ee ne.

eit
Le

floor with his head between the other’s
knees and the mirrors closed over his neck.

THE TRAPEZIST,

Among the Barnum illusions the most
popular one is “Thauma.” This is a pretty
young woman who has apparently been cut
in half. The figure from the waist up is
shown swinging on a dainty little trapeze.
By grasping the ropes at either side the
lady at times lifts her halffbody clear of the
trapeze. The lecturer, to show that there
are no concealed mirrors or supports, puts
his arm or @ cane under the trapeze and
'gome distance back of the bright lights at
the base of the stage,

 

 

 

This illusion is not produced by mirrors.

 

The whole woman is before your eyes, but
on account of the brightness of the lights in
front the darkness back of the curtains is
intensified. The human portion of the half
figure ends at the dotted line in our eee
The waist portion is a dummy, which is at-
tached to the real girl under the perfect

fitted dress waist. The body of the girl,
draped in sombre black, rests on an inclined
board, also draped in black, running back
into the curtained recess. It is impossible
for the spectator to see the faintest outline
of this black draped portion of the figure,
no matter how positive he may be that it is
near him, and therefore ought to be dis-

cernible.
Cw
Pe) A violin consists of three chief parts
= —-the neck, the table, and the sound-
board, On the belly is a bridge to bear up
the strings, which are, as you are perfectly
aware, four in number, and are stretched
from one extremity, calied the tail-piece, to
the other, near the head, where they are se-
cured to movable pegs, by which they may
be tightened or loosened at will. There are
fifty-eight distinct pieces employed in the
construction of a first-rate instrument.
These may be enumerated as follows: Two
pieces for the back, two on the belly, six for
the sides, twelve for lining the sides, one
for bass bar, twelve for purfling, one for
rest of tail-piece, one for neck, one for finger-
board, one for tail-piece, four pegs, one nut,
one for button of tail-piece, one for sound-
post, four strings, one catgut or wire to
connect the tail-piece with button, one
bridge, and six blocks at top, bottom, and
four corners. So many pieces are not, how-
ever, indispensable, for in many common
instruments the side linings and corner
blocks are left out, while even in some good
violins the back and belly each consist of
one piece, instead of two pieces joined
together. :

0 - © -

Wood Used in Violins.

IFFERENT woods are used, accord-
ing to the quality of the instrument.

 

 

—-—_—_—_—_——
No. 1 Still Free.

eens

We are still giving away a sample copy of
Goop News free. If you cannot get it from
your News Agent, write direct to this office and
it will be mailed to you free. Please inform

 

 

your friends of this fact,

 

NEW Ss.

ASK A POLICEMAN.

ection Gpamninniae

Copy wright, 1889, by Harding Bros.

The police force is a noble band, that safely guard
our streets,
Their vaior is unquestioned, and they’re monarchs
on their ‘‘beats ;”
If anything you wish to know, they’ll tell you with
a grin;
In fact, each one of them is 1 complete ‘inquire
within.”
CHORUS.
If you want to know the time, ask a policeman,
The proper city time, ask a policeman ;
Every member of the force has a watch and
chain, of course ;
How he got it, from what source? ask a police-
man,

And if you stay out late at night and visit regions

queer,
Thanks to those noble guardians, of danger you’ve
no fear;
If beer you want, and stores are closed, go to the
man in blue;
He'll show you where the side door is, and tell you
What to do.
CHORUS.
Ifyou want to get a drink, ask a policeman,
He’ll manage it, I think, will a policeman ;
He'll find out the secret way, where you can,
both night and day,
Get a cocktail right away, can a policeman,

And if your hired girl suddenly should leave her
cozy place,
Don’t publish an advertisement, her whereabouts
to trace ;
No matter what the neighbors say, if you wish
her to trace,
Go ask the fellow dressed in blue—he’ll soon find
out the place.
CHORUS.
If you don’t know where she’s gone, ask a police-
man,
Or where from you she run, ask a policeman ;
He may rf some dude did try to make her from
home fly,
You'll know better by and by from that police-
man.

And if you’re getting very stout, wish to be trim
and nice,
No need a doctor to call in, you just take my ad-
vice :
Go in for running all you can, both morning,
noon, and night,
And if you want a pattern, watch a policeman
in a fight.
CHORUS.
If you want to learn to run, ask a policeman ;
When a battle has begun, watch a policeman ;
Round the corner he will go, swift as arrow from

a bow ;
He don’t care to meet the foe, does a policeman.

Or it you’re called away from home, and leave
your wife behind,
You think, oh, would that I a friend to guard
the house could find,
And keep my love in safety; but let all your
troubles cease ;
You'll find the wished-for safeguards in our honest,
good police.
CHORUS.
If re wife requires a friend, ask a policeman,
Who to her wants will attend, ask a policeman ;
Or if manliness you'd trace, o£ a guileless,
honest face,
To take care of wife and place, get a policeman,

re pees

ON LAND AND SEA:

California in the Years 1843, 744 and *45,

By WILLIAM H. THOMES,

Author of «The Gold-Hunters of Australla,” “The
Bushrangers,” ‘‘The Gold-Hunters in Europe,”
“Life in the East Indies,” ‘A Slaver’s Adven-
tures,” “Running the Blockade,” “A Whale-
man’s Adventures,” “The Belle of Australia,”
ete.,

(“ON LAND AND SEA” was commenced in No. 3.
Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ]}

dtd dp aetna

SYNOPSIS.

On the 27th of October, 1842, Thom, as the au-
thor calls his hero, joined the crew of the Admit-
tance, of Boston, and set sail for California. The
vessel was cominanded by Peter Peterson. The
name of the chief mate was Prentice, Mr. David-
son Was 2d mate, and Mr. Goodhue 8d mate. Thom
was fifteen years of age, and there were five other
boys in the crew—s French lad, called Lewey,
and Bill, Tom, Harry, and Frank. The steward
Was a mulatto, and Chips was the carpenter. On
the ,forty-first day after leaving Boston the Ad-
mittancé was spoken by a slaver from the coast
of Africa, The captain of the slaver wanted a cask
of water, but as © pa Peterson would not give
itto him, he invited Peterson to partake of some
wine and cigars on board the slaver. A boat was
lowered and manned, and Captain Peterson was
rowed off to the slaver.

a

CHAPTER II.—(Continvusgp. )

HE dark pirate swung the man-ropes,

the captain took two steps, and was

, over the rail, and young Cushing fol-

_ lowed him, while black eyes were re-
garding us from various parts of the
schooner, and as we scrutinized them in
return, we saw men from the United States,
England, Spain, Germany, and one

Mr. Cushi

 

Frenchman, who chatted with Lewey in so

rapid a manner, that the words flashed over ~

their heads like chain lightning around the —

horizon, on a hot summer evening, and I
found that I could not understand one word
in twenty which they uttered.

The Frenchman said that they had two

hundred and ten blackbirds in the hold, and q

were compelled to leave the coast in a hurry,
because an English man-of-war had been

dogging the schooner for a month, and they —

had run out of the harbor one dark night, —

and got off the coast, and then been in the

doldrums for eight days or more, and had —

not made ten knots’ progress, nor seen a

cloud, or had a rain squall, and, as they left —

the African shore short of water, in conse-
quence of hurrying out of port most unex-
pectedly, they feared they would lose some

of their cargo unless good luck was with a
them. The Frenehman further stated that ~

it was an easy life he was living, that all the
men liked it, and, if they landed the cargo
safely, he would get three hundred dollars
for four months work. He said all the
sailors were partial to the business and the
only thing they dreaded was capture by an
English man-of-war. The American cruisers, —
he remarked, did not bother them much, un-—
less affairs were too publicly conducted.

While Lewey and the French sailor were
conversing, and many of the crew were
throwing in a word when occasion required
in various tongues, I went up the steps and —
looked at the deck, as white as sand and
holystones could make it, with all the brass-
work so bright that you could see your face
in it.

I mounted the steps, and glanced around.

4

The officer of the deck, the Spanish-looking 4

pirate, told me, in his native tongue, to come

over the rail, and peep down the hold, and
see the cargo. As the old man and the cap-
tain of the schooner were in the cabin drink-
ing wine, and smoking, I accepted the in-
vitation.

The fore and after hatches were off, but
there were iron gratings over the openings,
so that the blacks could not make a sudden >
rush for the deck, and throw the crew over-
board, or murder them in a dozen different
ways. The steam and rank odor that came |

up those hatchways was so terrible thatI —
could only give a glance, and saw that the —
slaves were all seated, chained, ~

unhapp
handcuffed, and crowded together so that
there was not an inch of spare room, as the
negroes were dovetailed together, and when |
one swayed by the motion of the vessel, the |
others were also obliged to do the same, or
feel the rough grating of the iron rods that
passed through their shackles, and prevented
them from tearing each other in their rage
and despair. ;

I looked down, but the eyes of the negroes ©
met mine ina mute appeal for water and
air. I could endureno more, and retreated —
to the boat.
that terrible odor, and even my clothes were
impregnated with it, or appeared to be.

ut, boy-like, I could not withstand the
temptation to take another survey, and, asI
lanced over the rail, I saw the mate smok-
ing his cigar, and looking as careless and in-
different as if he had a cargo of sheep, in-
stead of human beings, in the hold.

‘Senor pilote,” I said, in the best Spanish
I could command, on the impulse of the
moment, ‘how many slaves have you lost
since you left the coast ?”

“Don’t know,” was the answer, with @
smile and a shrug of his shoulders, and @
cloud of cigar smoke from his mouth.

“When do you expect to reach Cuba?” I~

continued, nothing daunted by his know-
nothingism.

‘Don’t know,” was the answer, and an- —
other shrug of his shoulders, and more”
smoke.

“How many slaves will die before you get
into port?” I continued.

“Don't know,” was the answer, and the |
man turned away, and walked aft, for who
could ‘tell what sufferings the negroes would
have to endure before the schooner dropp
anchor in port?

Lewey wanted to ask a few questions of
the mate, but, before he had a chance to do
so, our ship lowered a cask of water into the
sea, and Mr. Prentice hailed, and told us to
come alongside and tow it to the schooner,
which we proceeded to do, while the crew of
the slaver got up a tackle around the maiD-
mast head of their vessel, and were all ready
to sling and hoist in the water, when w@
arrived alongside.

It was aslow pull to tow a three-hundred
gallon cask, but we accomplished the task,
even before the old man had left the cabin.
The slaver’s crew hoisted in the water,
secured it on deck, and by. the time th
had accomplished the job, our captain

made their appearance, lookin
they had not spent.a disagreeable
6 old man handed. mea box

a

For a week after I would taste

 
 

   

 

 

 

 

 

GOOD NEWS.

So

 

cigars to put in the stern-sheets of the boat,
and while he was having a few last words
with the master of the slaver, I had a good,
fair look at the latter.

He was a young fellow, not more than
thirty years of age, with a light complexion,
& pleasant face, delicate mustache, thin lips,
and a look about his eyes that denoted a
Taging devil when there was occasion to
show temper. He was short and muscular,
and had a hand as delicate, but brown, as
a lady’s. The bosom of his white shirt
Was covered with embroidery, and in the
center gleamed a magnificent diamond, as
large as a filbert, while the red sash that he
Wore around his waist, to keep in place his
Spotless linen trousers, was of the finest
Canton silk, with fringe at each end at least
ten inches inlength. Take him all in all he
. Would have answered very well for Byron’s
Pirate, the ‘‘mildest-mannered man that ever
Scuttled a ship or cut a throat.”

“Well, captain,” said the slaver, as he ex-
tended his hand at parting, “I owe you
Many thanks for your kindness. I hope we
shall meet some time in Boston, and, with a
good dinner, talk over this fortunate visit.

am anative of Massachusetts, and a good
State it is, but rather fanatical in some
things, and slavery is one of them.”

hands, and came toward the gangway. I
‘on't know whether he had given slavery a
Single thought, but I suppose he looked
Upon it asa necessary evil, as most ship
captains didin those days.

. He captain stepped into the boat, and he

not look very much displeased, a few

Moments later, as we pulled on board,

hoisted up the boat, and secured it, while
€ ship was put on her course..

The slayer stood to the northward and
Westward, with all sail set, and her huge
Square canvas spread to catch every breeze,
and the last we saw of the captain of the
Schooner he was smoking a cigar, and wav-
ing his broad-brimmed Panama hat in ac-

howledgment of the old man’s salute.

ether the slaver ever run his cargo into
Port I never knew, but he certainly did
Command the handsomest and fleetest ves-
8el that I met on that cruise, so probably
Was successful.
th hile we were running down the trades
© discovery was made that our maintop-
Sail yard was badly decayed at the slings, and
at it was not safe to venture around Cape
rn with it in that condition, as it would
© certain to give way during some gale.
al € old man, Mr. Prentice, and Chips went
: oft, and held a consultation over the spar,
a decided that it must come down, and be
ine aced by a new one, and the next morn-
alg all hands were kept at work to send the
all yard to the deck, and fit a new one, with
the iron work and other necessary gear.
t € Captain was in hiselement. He bossed
© Carpenter, the mate, and all hands, and
= ad even have bossed me, but I. had
ed a lesson, and kept out of his way
i. €n he was on deck. However, the

&ster understood his business, and at eight

lls in the afternoon the new spar was in
Place, the topsail bent, and set, and the
aeons Cleared up for the night, and one

atch sent below. That was the only spar
ea ad tochange during the passage, as far
oe ecay was concerned, but the lower rig-
anie was not what it should have been, and
play, Sood care, and lots of tar, kept it in

“e until the voyage was ended.

Ca ® now began to make preparations for
8 oe Horn. The north star sank out of
hoe » the southern cross appeared on the
cee and a few Magellan clouds were
oat Schools of porpoises played
oe the bow of the ship, and the old
dart Used to go out on the martingale, and

rons at the fish, and fasten to them,
tore © rapid motion of the vessel always
com Out the harpoon, and the captain would
but 22 On deck, and growl at his bad luck;

°ne day he drove an iron clear through

Horpoise, and it appeared to be clinched,

®nt, on the opposite side. As the ship

We oN going more than six knots an hour,
line an the prize up ont of water, got a bow-
meee its tail, and then hoisted it in on
at and a mighty proud man the captain
he et the rest of the day. So happy that
of th « the steward to give the people some

% © meat for supper, and to let us have a

Pl ro the next day, while the same night
Mix, ~babepdte made fritters for the cabin table,

ai With flour and the brains of the fish.
th ldn’t think they were very good, for
the ad boy, Lewey, stole two of them from
Rot Billey, and gave me one and had they
Care fen stolen I don’t think I should have
and ponwch for them, for they tasted soggy
rainy,
lsat my chum if he must steal, to take
Said th ng worthy of his great talent. He
han, at he took all that he could lay his
on, but that some boys were never

 

The old man did not reply, but shook |

| satisfied, and I had better do my own steal-
ing in the futnre. This frightened me so
much that I apologized, and then shook
hands with the French lad, to prove that I
did not hold any animosity toward him.

The same night, to show that he could be
generous and forgiving, like the noble-
hearted son of France that he was, he ab-
stracted a quart of dried apple sauce from
the galley, and shared the plunder with me,
in the middle watch. This time I did not
rebuke him, as I should have done, for my
good words and example made no impres-
sion on him. But the apple sauce was deli-
cious, and the old man scolded the steward
at table for not making more, so that he and
his passenger and mates could have a taste
all round. The third officer did not get as
much as a smell, as he had to eat last, and
take the leavings, if there were any.

One forenoon when we were in latitude
about 30 deg. south, English Jack and I were
sent aloft to sew on a mat to the foot of the
foretop-gallant sail, where it chaffed against
the foretop-mast stays. We stood on the
topsail yard at work, Jack sewing, and
grumbling, as usual, when all at once he
stopped his labor, and his eyes grew large
and greedy, as he said:

‘‘May the devil fly away with me if there
isn’t a big school of sperm whales off our
weather bow, and not a single son-of-a-gun
of a blubber-hunter in sight. Just my luck.”

Jack had been in a spouter, and knew the
various species of whales, so I was sure he
‘was correct. The wind was light, and we

 

to see the huge monsters stand on their
heads, and wave their flukes back and forth,
as delicately as a lady waves her fan at an
evening’s entertainment, when the air is
close. Occasionally one, more circusly
inclined than the cthers, would breech,
throwing most of his form out of water,
and sending up spray and foam many
fathoms high; and then another, to
show that he could do even better than
that, would make a mighty effort, and out
of the water go full length, and when he
came down we could hear the concussion
quite plainly. Then the old bull, as though

astonished at the noise and tumult, would |

thrust his huge, square head out of the sea,
two fathoms long, or more, whirl around, to
get a view in all directions, and see that no
one was approaching. Even from our
elevated position, we could get a glimpse of
the little eyes of the whale, and were satis-
fied that it would have been difficult for a
boat to pull on him, and escape detection,
small as the eyes really were.

The animals, or fishes, just as you please
to call them, did not appear to be dis-
turbed at the near approach of the vessel, or
to care forus. They played and gamboled
around while we were close to them, but at
last we heard a rifle shot from the quarter-
deck, for the old man, who was an excellent
marksman, had been unable to resist the
temptation, and planted a ballin the old
bull’s head. We could almost hear it strike,
we thought, then, as if by magic, the mas-
sive jaw sunk out of sight, and, ina few

 

Pris
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en

 

T
Oth ape HE

oon pu

were not making less than four knots an
hour, and as the fish were not more than
two cable lengths from the vessel, from my
elevated perch I had a fine chance to see
them.

“There’s a shoal 6: sperm whales off the
weather bow, sir,” Jack cried, hailing the
deck.

“Well, keep on with your work, and they
won't hurt you,” was Mr. Prentice’s reply,
showing how much a merchant sailor cares
for such things, while, had we been a whaler,
the officers and crew would have become
frantic with delight at the bright prospect
before them.

We did make a pretense of doing the
work we had been sent aloft to perform, but
at the same time we paid more attention to
the monsters than sewing on the mat. The
sight was, indeed, one to watch with inter-
est. There were about twenty whales in the
school, and one of them was an old bull, a
massive fellow, which Jack said would ‘‘cut
in” all of eighty barrels, at least, and that
he should like to be fastened to him, with a
good boat’s crew at his back. He would
make the ‘‘old sojer” soon spout blood, and
‘turn him up” in less than half an hour, all
of which.I believed, as I did not know how
difficult it is to kill a sperm whale, espe-
cially a fighting one, that wages war with
flukes and teeth, and is crazed with rage
and pain.

Some of the females had calves by their
sides, as we could tell by the tiny spouts,
and the way they sported around their
mothers, and the interest the latter took in

 

 

 

their offspring, was as wonderful as it was |

Af
GAN

“VELL, VOT DOES YOU VANT OF ME DAT YOU FIRES AT MY SHIP ?” THUNDERED

 

THE CAPTAIN.

second’s time, there was not a whale to be
seen. Every one had disappeared below the
surface of the ocean, and when they came
up again, half an hour afterward, they were

far away to the windward, and going at the |

rate of ten knots an hour. That was the
last we saw of sperm whales until we were
in the waters of the Pacific Ocean near the
line.

The next day we raised a sail aheac, and
gained on her all the forenoon. The old man
was anxious to compare longitude with
some one, as he was a little doubtful of his
chronometer, the latter and his lunar ob-
servations disagreeing. He was desirous of
seeing which was correct. We did not make
any additional sail, for we had all that we
could carry, with the wind about one point
free, and the way we walked toward the
stranger gladdened every heart.

When about two miles astern of the fel-
low, he hoisted English colors, put up his
helm, and edged away, as though he did not
want to speak to us. We saw that the ves-
sel was a whaler, for she had three boats on
her port cranes, and we wondered at the

lack of courtesy, as a whaler will chase 4 |

vessel all day for the sake of a trade of some
kind. We showed our American colors.
The stranger responded by hoisting the
Stars and Stripes, but still edged away from
us, and then the old man got mad, and that
was not a difficult task when he was crossed,

“Take a small pull at de vedder braces,
Mr. Prentice,” the captain said. ey é vill see
if he runs away from us some more.

We checked in the yards, and then the
Admittance jumped, while the whaler, find-

ing that he could not run away from us
luffed up, backed his maintopsail, and
awaited our approach. He knew that we
were a merchant ship, and had no time
to waste, and, perhaps, that was the reason
he did not desire to speak us.

“Vot ship is dat?” hailed Captain Peter-
son, with an air that seemed to say, ‘‘I am
a crack Indiaman, and you are nothing but
a blubber-hunter, any way.”

‘The Amethyst, of New Bedford, seventy-
four days out. What ship is that, pray?”

“The Admittance, of Boston, fifty-one
days out.”

We had backed our maintopsail, and
| luffed up to the windward of the whaler, for
| we were going too fast to have a long chat
| under full sail.

“Vot is your longitude ?” roared the old
man, who cared more for that than he did
for compliments, just at that time.

“Forty-six, seventeen, west,” was the an-
swer. ‘What is yours ?”

‘‘Forty-six,” making a difference of some
miles between them, and the joke of the
matter was, neither would know for some
time which was right, and both would fear
being wrong, and they could worry the
heavenly bodies every night, until the truth
was developed, or by sighting some well-
known point of land, where the latitude and
longitude were well defined.

The Amethyst had touched at St. Cath-
erines for fresh provisions, and was bound
to the Sandwich Islands, picking up sperm
whales by the way if they could be found.

“There is another whale ship just ahead
of us,” the New Bedford man said. ‘‘It is
the Arab, bound around the Cape. You will
have hard work to overhaul her, as she is a
fast vessel.”

“Ve vill try,” our captain answered, and
waved his trumpet, but just then he hap-
pened to think of something and said, “I
ran through a school of sperm vhales yester-
day forenoon. There was a dozen or twenty
of dem. Thought you would like to know.”

‘Sperm whales ?” in tones of anxiety from
the whaleman.

“Yes, and big ones, too.”

‘Put your helm hard up,” the whaleman
| said to the man at the wheel. ‘Square in

your cross-jack yard. Haul that jib-sheet
| flat aft. I’m off for those whales. If you
| speak the Arab, don’t mention the matter, if
you please.” +

The skipper of the Amethyst waved his
speaking trumpet, his ship turning short on
jher heel, and away she went on another
tack, im search of oil and wealth, while we
resumed our course, hoisted a foretopmast
studding-sail, checked in the yards a little,
bounded along, and at eight bells, or twelve
noon, we raised the Arab from the foretop-
mast head, and at eight bells in the after-
noon we passed her, a mile to the windward,
for we were making over eleven knots per
hour at the time, and the Arab about seven,
but we had a press of sail, even to the main
royal, and drawing like the little pony that
it was, while the whaler was content with
topsails and maintopgallant sail. Her cap-
tain was inno hurry. Time was no object
}to him. We exchanged signals, and at dark
the New Bedford ship was far astern, and
that was the last we saw of her.

The nights commencéd to grow cool and
the days longer. It was now the nineteenth
day of December, and I began to think of
Christmas, and stockings, and nice presents,
but feared that I should come short. How
I envied the people in Boston, as I imagined
|the cheer that they would enjoy! Once,

when I confided to Lewey that if I was at

home I should have lots of mince pies, and
{ cake, and a glass of wine for dinner, he bade

me be comforted, for, if there was any good
grub for the captain, he would see that we
| had a share, even if he had to forswear re-
\ligion. While I told the bad boy that it was
| disgraceful to steal, I promised to aid him
|in his designs on the cook, unless the old
| man came down with plum duff and sea-pie,
| the latter we hoped to be made from one of
| the eight pigs in the pen on the fore hatch.

I may as well say that the captain did the

handsome thing, but there were no plumsin
‘our duff. However, l-ewey obtained a hand-
| ful of raisins, while the steward was picking
| them for the cabin pudding, in the galley,
! by pretending that the old man was calling
for a light for his cigar. While the steward
| was absent the raisins disappeared. and at
dinner We would takea mouthful of duff and
| two plums, and imagined that we were hav-
ing & royal feast.

If the master had suspected us we should
have remembered that Curistmas Day for a
long time to come. But Lewey was very
| skillful and very adroit in his manipulations,
having studied the art of legerdemain at
| schoo], and could do many curious things

with packs of cards, handkerchiefs, balance
plates on sticks, and make them whirl like
an experienced juggler, while he could keep

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
   
 
     
    
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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NEW S.

 

six round balls of wood, which the carpenter
had turned for him, in the air all the time,
and never let one fall to the deck unless the
ship gave a sudden pitch or heavy roll, He

get it, humming softly to himself religious
hymns, or plantation melodies, and then

|turn in, and his conscience, or indigestion,
| would

trouble him badly. We always

was a very valuable boy to have for a chum, | thought that the family he was supposed to

or messmate, especially as he was honest in
his dividends of the spoils, and took most
of the risk.

About this time Mr. Cushing, the pas-
senger, finding time irksome in the cabin,
with the stiff dignity of the old man to
contend with, and no one to talk to but
the mates, naturally desired a little more life
and jollity; so, during the dog watches, be-
tween the hours of six or eight o'clock in
the evening, he would slip down in the
steerage and have a nice time skylarking
with the boys, or those whose watch was
below. The captain did not discover it for
some weeks, and then he put a stop to the
fun. But while the visits lasted we found
them very entertaining and instructive. He
gave us the latitude and longitude of the
ship each day, all the petty gossip of the
cabin, the old man’s peculiarities, the mates’
notions, and all about our voyage.

It was then that we learned, for the first
time, that there was a large ship on the
coast of California, belonging to the same
owners as the Admittance—Messrs. Apple-
ton & Hooper—and that she had to be
filled with hides before we could load for
home. We had to collect for this vessel—
the Barnstable, Captain Hatch—and it was
stated that she should carry forty thousand
skins, full as many as our ship, and that,
unless cattle were plenty and fat, we should
be along time on the coast.

All 6f this was.far from pleasant news, for
we supposed we had no one but ourselves
to look after, and that the Mexicans would
struggle among themselves to see how quick
they could load us.

Lewey suggested that, in case hides did
not come to us as fast as desirable, he would
borrow one of the ship’s old muskets—terri-
ble looking things, and awful dangerous
work to those who handled them—go on
shore and shoot a few thousand bullocks a
day, just as a matter of sport, to help the
voyage along. We all applauded that idea
very much, and determined to broach the
subject as soon as we got on the coast, if the

der and lead.

Then Mr. Cushing would state what. he |
He |

intended to do as soon as we arrived,
said that there was a man on the coast,
named Henry Mellus, the owner’s super-
cargo, who did all the buying and selling,
and who had grown rich. He would be
pushed aside in the course of a few months,
and perhaps he (Mr. Cushing) would have
full charge, and would then boss the captain
just as much as he pleased, and it was prob-
able he might marry some rich man’s daugh-
ter, and take his wife on board to keep him
company, while cruising up and down the
coast.

We thought that would be pleasant, and
rather encouraged the idea. We looked
upon the young fellow as a greatman, whom
it was well to keep on good terms with, for
he might promote our fortunes as well as his
own, if he hadachanece, Alas for all our
bright hopes! When we arrived at Califor-
nia, we found that Mr, Mellus (the same
gentleman who went out with Mr. Dana in
the Pilgrim) was not the kind of a person
to yield his position in behalf of a clerk,
and poor Cushing’s dream was over. He
had much trouble with the supercargo, the
captain, and every one he came in contact
with, and at last was sent home as useless.

But we really enjoyed the young man’s
society, for he gave us something to talk
and think about. He was a rattle-brained
fellow, and made things lively inthe steer-
age, while he had the chance.

Once ina while he would smuggle into
our quarters small quantities of soft tack,
taken from the cabin pantry. He was not
naturally a bad boy like Lewey, but had no
desire to play second fiddle to any one,
- hence his trouble on sea and shore. He had
been sent: to “grow up with the country,”
but he grew faster than California, and, as
he could nots Spanish, and would not
learn it, he did not aid Mr. Mellus much,
or Mr. Frederick Teschemacher, another as-
sistant supercargo, whom -he found on the
coast (he was for several years Mayor of San
Francisco when the latter became a city), and
avery pleasant young gentleman we boys
found him, for he was always polite, and
saved us youngsters as much trouble ag pos-
sible, when boating, or up the creeks in the
neighborhood of Yerba Buena, as San Fran-
cisco was formerly called. ;

During allthe passage the boys in the
steerage had been terribly annoyed with the
groans, moans, and shrieks of anguish of
the cook. He would sit in his galley un-
til near ten o'clock at night, eating
galt horse, or cabin fare, just as he could

 

 

| have murdered appeared to him, and stuck
| pins in him, for he was usually grateful if a

stick of wood hit him fairly on the head,

;and awoke him, or a bottle was correctly

aimed in the dark. But we were nearly
frightened out of our wits sometimes in the
middle watch below, to wake up out of a

; sound sleep, and hear the doctor yell:

“Oh, de Lard, de debil hab got me now,
sure! Oh, let go, and hab mercy on dis
s ’ 8 ”
old nigger, and he neber do so no more,

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Enola, the Gipsy Captive

The Camp-Fires and Wigwams of the Prairies
A Tale of Life tn the Wilder-

ness, or Adventures in
the Far West.

By EDWARD S. ELLIS,
Author of “The Last War-Trail,” ‘Lost Trail,”
‘Ned in the Block-House,” ete;

nets

[“ENOLA, THE Gipsy CAPTIVE,” was commenced in
No.1. Back numbers can be obtained of all News
Agents. ]

pag os

SYNOPSIS.

In the summer of 1850 Warren Marewold was
crossing the plains of which now is the State of
Nebraska, on his way to California. One evening
he saw the smoke of a camp-fire rising from
among the trees at some distance ahead of him.
At first he thought he was near an Indian en-
campment, but finally concluded that he was
mistaken, and boldly rode up to where the fire
was burning. Here he met Preston Kendall, of New
Orleans, who was journeying across the prairies
alone in search of his sister Enola, who, eight years
betore, had been stolen from her home by a band
of gipsies. The two men at once became friends,
and as Marewold expressed a desire to accom-
pany Kendall in search of his sister, the latter

3 7 | ab Once accepted the companionship, and the two
old man would listen to us, and give us pow- | dain : B

journeyed along together, After many days travel,
the two friends came in sight of the gipsy en-
campment on the banks of the Saskatchewan
River, in what was then known as the Hudson
Bay country, and at once set about rescuing Enola
from the hands of her captors.

——_e———.

CHAPTER X.

FOUND—AN ADVENTURE.
ee
HE ground being newly dug, and all
of a rich, brown color, it was difficult
for us to make out the peculiarities
of the pit. Besides this, several large
trees completely over-shadowed it, so that we
were shistel ih midnight darkness; and
in the search which we instituted we were
guided solely by the sense of feeling. All at
once my hand struck something hard. At the
same moment Kendall exclaimed, in a husky
voice, that he had hit upon something.

“And here are more of them—in fact, here
isa whole pile. Ah! I see what they are.
They are their instruments of digging—a lot
of roughly fashioned shovels.”

So it proved upon further examination.
It was now settled that the gipsies must em-
ploy themselves delving—their object in
doing so was the mystery. |

‘This place,” said Kendall, a few moments
later, ‘“‘does not seem to be dug for the pur-
pose of receiving dead bodies.”

‘Strike a light, and we shall see.”

He succeeded in doing so, after some diffi-
culty, and then we examined the pit. The
instant the light lit up the darkness I saw
something glistening among the earth. It
looked like fine grains of silver, and seemed
tohave been flung all around us. Before
our taper went out I stooped and scooped
up a handful, and I saw Kendall at the same
moment pick up something.

‘‘We have learned enough,” said he; “let
us go.”

The light had revealed a sort of inclined
plane, by which it was an easy matter to
walk ont of the pit. It required a few min-
utes only to do this, and we were soon quietly
making our way back to our encampment.
Arrived there, we lay down and slept.

In the morning we examined the shining
particles which I had brought away. That
examination proved to us that during the
preceding night we had been examining a
GOLD MINE,

Incredible as it first seemed to me,
such was indeed the case. Kendall
had visited the mines of California,
and could not be mistaken in the
particles which we examined. | Besides
this, he had picked up a small sack, made
from the entrails of some animal which

 

had been used to contain the precious
dust. It had evidently been left in the mine
by accident, and it afforded at once a solu-
tion of the action of the three gipsies, and
explained what objects they carried in their
hands in going and coming. ‘They were
little sacks of gold dust, and, ragged and

squalid as appeared those gipsies, we felt |-

satisfied in regard to one matter. If they
were not already immensely wealthy, they
soon would be,

This discovery of,the existence of gold on
the Saskatchewan, although an important
one, excited but a momentary interest in us.
Tdoubtif Kendall had found a mine of ready
coined money whether he would have al-
lowed it to divert him for moment from the
object which had led him thither. After
commenting upon the future results of this
discovery, he said:

‘‘The people must be stirring by this time,
Marewold, and the duty which you have
taken upon yourself awaits you.”

“T shall start in a moment.”

So saying, we shook hands and separated.

When I reached the brow of the hill I
turned off to the right, and assuring my-
self that I was unobserved, I climbed a tree,
ensconced myself among its branches, and
commenced my watch. By parting the twigs
I had a full view of every hut, and of those
who passed out and entered them. More
than once I observed my fair fortune-teller
passing from cabin to cabin, and others go-
ing out and in until it seemed to me that
there could not be one in the village but
what had passed under my gaze. But not a
sign of the lost sister !

After a couple of hours, I noticed that the
fortune-teller entered the central cabin more
often than the others, and that when away
from it she was constantly glancing toward
it, as though guarding something within.
Her actions were such that I judged she was
fearing a visit from me, and was preparing
against any surprise. This led me to be-
lieve that the prisoner was in this central
habitation.

From time to time the men entered and left
the village, always carrying their tiny sacks
with them, and it was plain they were pro-
curing large quantities of the yellow metal
from the earth. At noon most of those out-
side entered their respective cabins, and I
suppose partook of their dinner, as they
issued forth again in the course of a half-
hour.

I now looked for some demonstration that
would tell me something of the captive,
When the fortune-teller made her appear-
ance my anxiety to see her movements was
so great that I came within a hair’s breadth
of losing my balance and coming down from
my perch. To my utter chagrin, she went
off with two of the gold hunters, and I saw
nothing more of her for several hours.

About the middle of the afternoon the
fortune-teller came in from the opposite
side of the clearing. It flashed across me
instantly that instead of going to the gold
mine, she had been seare ing the woods to
see whether I was in the vicinity. And
such was the case.

She paused a few moments on the edge
of the clearing, gazed carefully about her,
and then gave a call, the exact words of
which I did not understand. As she uttered
it, she looked toward the central cabin which
I have mentioned, and I fixed my gaze upon
it. In a moment the rude cabin was swung
open, and a man—he to whom I had first
spoken on the morning of the day before—
came forth. He stopped, exchanged glances
with the fortune-teller, and then turned and
spoke to some one within. The next instant
Enola Kendall stepped into view !

How my heart throbbed when I saw her !
There could be no mistaking her. She was
just as I had pictured her—rather small in
stature, of a petite figure, and graceful be-
yond deseription.

T saw her cross the clearing to the fortune-
teller, and they conversed together for a few
moments. All this time the latter kept
glancing about her, as though she feared the
approach of some one, It was evident
enough that my visit had excited suspicion,
and a closer surveillance was kept upon the
prisoner,

I debated with myself a moment, and then
I determined to step boldly forward and ad-
dress Enola—satisfied that this course would
accomplish as much as anything else. I slid
down from the tree, kept concealed until [
was within a few yards of the two, and then
stepped forward.

“‘Good-afternoon ! I meant to drop down
here before, but was prevented.”

A look of the most intense vexation passed
over the face of the fortune-teller as she re-
plied:

“You were not expected at this time.”

“T suppose not.”

I then glanced toward Enola as though I
expected an introduction; but my look was

 

disregarded. The fair captive stood silent
and sorrowful, her dark, lustrous eyes fixed
upon me with a wondering expression. 4

‘Well, what is your business ?” asked the —
fortune-teller, with a sneer. 5

“I came to see that lady,” nodding toward
Enola.

‘To see her !” she exclaimed, in astonish-
ment. ‘What do you want with her?”

“If you will withdraw, [ will tell it to
her.”

The fortune-teller raised her eyes, and an
expression of mingled scorn and hate set-
tled upon her face that made her beauty
terrible. She possessed a terrible temper,
and must have been provoked beyond en-
durance at having allowed herself to be out-
witted by me.

“T shall withdraw, and she will too.”

“Why not hear what the gentleman wishes
to say ?” said the captive, in a low voice.

“No gentleman would do as he has done,”
replied the other, in a spiteful tone.

“Tam not aware that I have been guilty
of any rudeness in your presence. If you
will explain in what I have offended, I will
make amends.”

“You can make amends by leaving at once ©
and never showing your face again.”

She took hold of Enola’s hand, as if to
move away, but the latter stood and looked
toward me as if to invite me to speak. The —
other noticed it and turned sharply around.

‘“‘Why do you wait? What can he say to ~
gipsies that can benefit them ?” 4

“I beg pardon. I wished to speak to one —
who is not a gipsy.”

A thunderbolt could not have startled the —
woman more, She did not stir, but her eyes
seemed to blaze with hatred. She was silent. —
a moment, and then she gave vent toa —
scream that would have startled a panther,
and which brought several men at once
around us--the bushy, heavy-browed fellow,
my first acquaintance, being at the head. 3

“What the devil is to pay now?” he de-
manded, bustling toward me. %

“Kill him! shoot him ! don’t let him live!” _
exclaimed the fortune-teller, bursting into
tears from very excess of madness. The
man raised his fist, I drew my revolver,
stepped back, and cocked it.

“Be careful, all of you!” said I. “Ihave —
not touched or insulted one of these persons, —
and I will not bear a blow from you.”

“He is after her! I know he is! he will
have her! He would like to kill me, I know —
he would !” fairly shouted the woman, stamp-
ing the ground and becoming hysterical.

“Young chap, ef you take yourself off
quiet and don’t show your face agin, you can |
go. But if you comes poking ’round here |
any more you'll never see another sun rise,”
said the burly gipsy, impatiently motioning —
me away. a

“T am going,” said I; “but before Igo, I
should like to ask what you are doing with
that person. She is not one of your people.”

“None of your business. Now go!” ’

“IT know,” said I, holding my rifle in one
hand and my revolver in the other. ‘You
stole her, years ago, in New Orleans. Her
name is Enola Kendall; and, by heavens, if
you do not restore her, you will suffer for
this !”

I saw Enola start as I uttered her name,
and I saw the ominous expression that flitted —
over the face of the one I addressed. It was |
fearful, and it meant deviltry. I had spoken —
in the heat of passion, and regretted the
words the instant they were spoken. I had
revealed the cause of my being there and
must now prepare for the consequences of —
that revelation. It was too late for regret,
however, and without another word between |
us I moved away. ;

When about half way to our place of en-
campment I heard the report of Kendall's —
rifle. Not wishing to return before he did,

I concluded to take a stroll in the woods for
an hour or so. The moment I made up my.
mind to this, I wheeled round with the in-_
tention of taking a direction parallel with —
the river, but not to approach it, as I should ©
encounter the gipsies. As I turned, I caught

a glimpse of a man as he dodged behind @
tree at a point several hundred yards from
me. I only obtained a mere glimpse of him,
but it was enough to convince me that it
was the bushy-browed gipsy following me.
I was certain of another matter--he had @~
rifle in his hand ! d

If he watched me, as I had every reason to
believe he did, he certainly did not suspect
from my actions I had seen him. I saun-
tered carelessly forward, as before; some-
times whistling and sometimes singi
snatches of songs, and contriving now an
then to throw a seemingly accidental glant
behind me. I was satisfied in my own min!
that this gipsy was only seeking the oppo:
tunity to put a rifle bullet through me.
determined to keep my eye upon him, 8
the instant he made any step toward it, |

| shoot him as I would a dog.

 
    

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NEWS.

 

My sensations were certainly uncomfort-
able as I reflected that at any moment he
might be leveling his gun at me. I walked
over a half-mile in this state of mind, and
then I began to speculate upon the probable
termination of this adventure. I certainly
should not walk all night, and it was not to
be supposed the assassin would wait much
longer before he fired. I became so wrought
up at length that I wheeled around, stepped
behind a small tree, and waited for him to
comeup. The sun was just setting, and as
there were but few trees surrounding us the
horizontal rays lit up the place like the light
of a conflagration, but I could: see nothing
of the gipsy.

I stood some twenty minutes, my rifle
cocked, and in atremor of expectation, until
it occurred to me that, after all, he might
have returned to the village, thinking I had
taken my final departure and was not will-
ing to shed any blood. I had just reached
this conclusion when the sharp crack of a
rifle awoke the stillness, a bullet whizzed |
toward me, and I fell to the ground !

My fall, however, was perfectly voluntary,
for I was not wounded in the least. — It
seems incredible to myself that simultaneous
With the flash of the rifle should come the
thought that by falling my foe would believe
me dead and not trouble me further. But
such I know was the case, and such was
the sole reason that brought me to the
ground. I laya moment and then cautiously
looked up, but saw nothing of my enemy.
The twilight was already settling over the
place, and it would soon be dark. . Finally,
Trose to my feet, carefully keeping behind '
the tree, and looked about me. A hundred
yards away I saw the gipsy walking |
leisurely from me, his back offering a tempt- |
ing mark,

“Now, my fine fellow, it is my turn!’ I
muttered, as I raised my weapon.

Three times the aim was perfect, and my
finger pressed the trigger; three times it
was lowered, and then raised the fourth
time. Long [ held it thus, but it came down
again.

“Go,” said I, “it is not for me to take
vengeance,”

 

CHAPTER XI.
THE HUDSON BAY TRAPPERS—RE-UNITED.

ENDALL and I returned to the en-
campment at the same moment. I
saw his eager anxiety in his face,
and immediately related all that had

been given in the preceding chapter.

“Thave been hasty and imprudent,” said I,

IM conclusion; “but I trust no evil will re-

sult from it.”

 

‘“How—many ?”

“Two.”

‘Come and join us.”

“We will.”

Kendall’s face was radiant.

“They are white men, certainly. How
Providence is favoring us.”’

A minute later.we were plunging along the
river-bank, speculating upon the number
and identity of our newly discovered
friends,

An hour brought us to the camp. We saw
figures passing to and fro before the fires,
and just as we came up, Kendall said, in an
undertone:

“They are all Hudson Bay men—every
one of them.”

So it proved. There were fifteen, among
whom were several clerks and a postmaster.
The latter, by right of his office, was the
leader of the party. He was the first to
greet us, and it required but a few minutes
for us to discover that he was an educated
gentleman in every respect. :

We exchanged the courtieses usual on such
occasions, and then joined him in a pleasant
smoke, after which we began an interesting
conversation.

The postmaster, Mr. Sanglid by name, told
us that he was on his way with his men to
establish a fort or post near the headwaters
of the South Branch, the stream upon which
they were encamped. He was direct from
Fort Garry, and, as we supposed, had abso-
lute command of all his men.

Ere he had talked a half-hour every one of
the latter, with the exception of two clerks,
were stretched out by their respective camp-
fires, and soundly asleep. The latter seemed
to be conversing of their far-off homes in
England, and were evidently homesick
enough. When these were unconscious,
Kendall related his story to Sanglid, reveal-
ing all, and asking his assistance.

He was silent for several minutes, and
then said:

“Your experience is the most remarkable
one I have ever known. The gipsies, to
whom you refer, have been located on this
river for five years, to my certain knowledge.
They are the only band, I may say, that has
penetrated the Hudson Bay Company’s Ter-
ritory. I promise you that your sister shall
be restored to you. It is now getting quite
late, and as we are early risers, perhaps it

I nodded assent as he turned off in the
woods, and Sanglid, with a sensibility that
did his heart credit, pretended not to see his
agitation. The next moment the trappers,
with a firm tread, entered the clearing, and
approached the cabins.

‘The surprise manifested by the gipsies
at the spectacle of a band of armed men
marching up to them, can scarcely be imag-
ined. The children set up a terrific scream-
ing, kept up until awed into silence by the
greater fear of their parents. The women
at first ran to their huts, and peeped out,
and seeing us halt came out again. The
men, about a dozen in number, stood sul-
lenly awaiting the words of the leader.

‘Who is chief, or ruler here?” asked the
latter, looking around him.

The bushy-browed gipsy, still bare-headed,
stepped forward.

‘Are you the head man here?” asked
Sanglidl, calmly surveying him from head to
foot.

“There are several heads here, but I'm
about the biggest toadin the puddle, and am
ready for business, if you have anything
particular.”

“T have something particular.
know me?”

*“Can’t say that I do,” returned the gipsy,
scratching his head.

“My name is Sanglid. I belong to the
Red River Settlement, and these men are all
mine—all trappers, who will do what I com-
mand them.”

*“S’pose so.”

“Do you know him ?”

Here I stepped forward. The gipsy glanced
at me, but did not start or betray any feel-
ing at my appearance.

‘Seen him before,’
same sullen manner.

“T shouldn’t wonder. I believe he has
seen you before. To come to the point then,
we came on his account. You hold, against
her will, a friend of his.”

“Who?” asked the man, with a stupid ex-
pression of wonder.

‘Enola Kendall, of New Orleans, stolen
by you several years since.”

“No such gal here,” said the fellow, turn-
ing away.

“Hold,” commanded Sanglid, in a-voice
of thunder. ‘‘She is here. He has seen
her and addressed her, If she is not brought

Do you

 

’

he returned in the

 

will be best to turn in for the night.”

Before retiring our friend piled more bush
upon the two fires, whose warmth was en-
joyable on those cold nights. Lying down
with our feet toward the fire, Kendall and I
soon joined the trappers in their land of
dreams.

They were early risers indeed, for there
were no signs of light when we were aroused

 

 

“You have been hasty, dear Marewold,
but I cannot see that it can injure us in the
least. On the contrary, I believe it will be
of benefit. There is but one plan for us to
pursue,”

‘What is that?”

“T shall call in the aid of the employees
of the Hudson Bay Company, as I said I
Should do in case of difficulty. Single-

anded we can do nothing. The gipsies
Must be met by an equal force, and com-
pelled to give up Enola. Nothing but death
Shall thwart me now. We will start down
the river in the morning.”

At daybreak, we were mounted and riding
dowrf the right bank of the Saskatchewan.

® had made.a long circuit so as to avoid
the gipsy village, and by noon had placed
& good many miles behind us.

When it was so dark that it was unsafe to
travel, we built our camp-fire near the mar-
gin of the river, cooked our dinner, and sat
down to our pipes.

We had smoked but a few moments, when

endall started up, and exclaimed:

_ “As sure as you live, Marewold, yonder
18 another camp-fire—two of them to-
gether.”

He pointed up stream as he spoke, and
turning my head I saw two bright fires ap-
parently within a few feet of each other.
Their situation was such that they seemed
in the very center of the stream, which re-
flected their light as distinctly as a mirror
Could have done.

‘Who can they be?” I asked.

“Not enemies, certainly. Come, let us
Mount, and be off. They are either Indians
or Hudson Bay men, and we have nothing

fear from them in either case. They
must have noticed usalso. Hark! they are
Signaling to us.”

A long, tremulous whistle came with great
Clearness over the water, and was instantly
followed by a faint halloo.

Kendall arose to his feet and repeated

oth signals. A moment afterward came
the words, uttered with great clearness and
With a full breath after each:
~“Who—are—you ?”

“Friends,”

by the bustle and the noise of the camp. It
is the custom of such bodies of nen as these
to travel several miles before taking break-
fast, so that in a very short time they were
ready for moving.

Having animals, it was decided that we
should keep along the river-bank, joining
them at their meals, while they would pro-
ceed by water, until near the gipsy village,
when they were to embark and approach it
in a body. It was just getting light as the
two canoes shoved off from the shore, and
propelled by the powerful arms of the sturdy
trappers, shot rapidly up stream. | A couple
of hours later they headed into land, and
when we came up were busy with their
morning meal. This required but a short
time, when they were under way again, and
Kendall was already impatiently looking for
the gipsy village.

But we did not reach it that night, although
we were Within a mile of it. Sanglid deemed
it best to approach the place in broad day-
light in such a manner that no chance would
be given any of them to play a trick with
us,

Morning again, and again we were under
way. The men rowed slowly until within a
quarter of a mile ofthe village. Here the
canoes approached the shore and were,pulled
high and dry upon the land. Sanglid had
acquainted them with what he intended to
do, and every one had manifested an eager-
ness for the adventure before them. After
breakfast the guns of all were examined, and
the men given their instructions. Under
no case were they to fire until they had been
assaulted, and were in imminent danger.

The preliminaries being settled, we moved
forward at an early hour in the forenoon,
the men walking in double file, and with
the regularity of soldiers. I could not help
looking toward Kendall as we drew nigher
and nigher to the village. His agitation be-
came more marked and more painful every
moment; and, when we caught a glimpse of
the cabins through the trees, he turned pale
and stopped.

““Marewold,” said he in a whisper, ‘I can
go no further. You take my place—I must

forth in ten minutes, we'll batter your old
place to the ground, and run you out of the
country !”

The gipsy stood for amoment as if irreso-
lute. He looked behind him at the women
and children clustering there, and then
said:

“J guess she isn’t here now, but will be
pretty soon.”

“That won't answer. If we don’t see her
in five minutes, I shall set my men search-
ing for her, and boys,” said Sanglid, facing
round toward them, ‘‘you needn’t be par-
ticular about what property you stumble
upon.”

The gipsy scratched his head harder than
ever.

-“There is such a gal here, but she has
lived with us so long that she won’t be will-
ing to leave us.”

“She shall decide that. Your time is up!”

The threat of Sanglid had been heard by
the women, who, satisfied that he would put
up with no trifling, had gone into Enola’s
tent, and at this moment we beheld her walk-
ing toward us. Not one of the gipsies spoke
a word, but they made way for our leader,
who advanced to meet her,

“My fair friend,” said he, gallantly, “after
this long and cruel separation from your
parents, a couple of your friends have come
to restore youto them. Need Laskif you
wish to return to them ?”

She turned deathly pale and endeavored
to speak, but her voice failed her utterly.
Sanglid saw her condition, and taking her
hand walked with her back to the head of
his men. The willingness with which she
accompanied him answered him his ques-
tion. Nothing more could be needed.

“She goes with us,” said Sanglid, address-
ing the gipsy. ‘Take warning from this.
Another such crime upon your part and
you shall be scourged out of the country,
without chance, too, of taking your wealth
with you.”

Thus we left them, not one of them utter-
ing a parting word, and none but Sanglid
speaking upon our side. The men wheeled
and marched out of the clearing, he walking
at their head, and Enola leaning upon his
arm, Thus we proceeded until we reached
the spot where Kendall had left us.*_ Here
Sanglid gave me a meaning look and yielded
Enola to me, moving on with his followers.
I stood in silence until they, had passed out
of sight and hearing, and said :

“Stand here amoment and be prepared
for a great surprise.”

 

 

 

 

 

see her alone,”

She was already surprised at the course

taken with her. I moved away with a mean-
ing smile. A few yards away I called to
Kendall. He instantly caméup, pale, trem-
bliag, and nearly beside himself.

‘She is yonder,” said I, motioning toward
her. ‘You will be alone with her.» When
your interview is finished, follow the track
of Sanglid ‘and his men, where they and I
will be waiting for you by the river-bank.”

As I said this I hurried on after the trap-
pers.

Such a meeting required no witnesses ;
neither could any pen properly portray it.
There are some scenes too sacred for the
eyes of any but the participants. The re-
union of Kendall and his sister was of this
nature; we drop the vail upon it.

(TO BE CONTINUED. )
——__~- +>

How Cantilever Bridges are Constructed.

CANTILEVER bridge consists of

two inverted trussed beams, each

balanced on a pier, one part extend-

ing over the river and the other to

the shore, where it is firmly anchored in

solid, heavy masonry. The ends extending

over the river toward each other from the

opposite piers are joined by a short truss in

such a manner as to permit expansion and

contraction consequent on changes of tem-

perature, and yet be proof against vertical

or lateral pressure. Sucha bridge, it is said,

sustains scarcely any strain in the center of

the span. Each half of the entire bridge is

self-balanced on its pier; and when a long,

heavy train is on it, the part of the train on

one side of the pier is balanced as on a

“teeter” by the part on the other side of

the pier—in front or behind. The bridge

across the Niagara River was the first of
the cantilever kind ever constructed,

and. the one over the Hudson River
was erected upon substantially the same
principle, the cantilever being utilized as
nearly as possible. In building the bridge
it was important to obstruct the Hudson as
little as possible, much opposition having
been raised against it by those interested in
the navigation of the river. Therefore a
combination of anchorage trusses and can-

tilever spans was adopted. The river is
crossed in five spans, with four piers in the
channel. On each of the two piers nearest
the shore, four sets of steel rollers carry the
ends of the anchorage trusses and of the
cantilevers of the east and west spans. The
bridge is made of steel. The cantilever
principle is again introduced in the famous
Forth bridge. Ata distance of six hundred
and eighty feet from the ends of either ap-
proach viaduct are the north and south can-
tilever piers, with their great arms stretch-
ing out to and joining with the girder ap-
proaches. In the opposite directions the can-
tilever arms extend for six hundred andeighty
feet toward Inchgarvie, and come within
three hundred and fifty feet each of meeting
the arms of the cantilever built on that
island. This cantilever pier is founded in
the bottom of the shallow water close to the
west of the islet.. The gaps of. three hun-
dred and fifty feet between the extremities
of the cantilever arms and of the ends of their
neighbors to the north and south are filled
in by connecting or central girders of the
hog-back lattice pattern. The total length
of each of the north and south. cantilevers
is one thousand five hundred and five feet,
while that of the central one, owing to its
having a longer foundation base, is one
thousand six hundred and twenty feet. The
two main spans measure each one thousand
seven hundred and ten feet, with a clear
headway above high water, for five hundred
feet in the center of the span, of one hun-
dred and fifty feet, while the half cantilever
spans to the approach viaducts north and
south are each of six hundred and eighty
feet. The measurement from the extremity
of one approach viaduct to the extremity of
the other gives the distance taken up by the
three double cantilevers and their connect-
ing girders as five thousand three hundred
and twenty feet, or just over a mile.

——~>2»>____
The Highest Peak on the Continent.

 

WYN

yee

“HE controversy concerning the loftiest
{i elevation of land in North America
-) must fiaally terminate in awarding
‘ the palm to Mount St. Elias, if the
cragged and snowy brow of the monarch
might appropriately bear that adornment of
tropical growth. According to the results
of careful triangulations made by Dr. Dall,
this peak reaches an altitude of about nine-
teen thousand feet; but, of course, it is im-
possible to fix the exact height until the
summit of the mountain can be reached. Its
precise location: varies materially from that
given it previous to the last survey.

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

thst SERS A mr

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
 
   
      

 

 

 

aes

See EETT TRS SarRy sca %

=

Pi Sate et Ca te Tow

.

 

 

 

     

        
     
      
    
   
   
   
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
    
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
    
   
 

    
   
   
  
    
     
   
    
   
   
 
 
     
   
   
     
   
    
   
  
  
 
   
   
  
    
  
    
    
  
 
  
   
  

GoonDpD

NEWS.

 

 

NEW YORK, JUNE 1, 1890,

 

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Contributors to this Number.

‘‘His Own Master,” by I. P. Miller.

“A Sailor In Spite of Himself,” by Harry
Castlemon.

“Enola, the Gipsy Captive,” by Edward S.
Ellis.

‘On Land and Sea,” by Wm. H. Thomes.

“Only An Irish Boy,” by Horatio Alger, Jr.

“Swipes,” by **Frank.” (Comic.)

“Around the Camp-Fire,” by Harry Horr.

“Things Generally,” by Max Adeler.

“Short Talks With the Boys,” by M. Quad.

“Saved by Fire,” by George H. Coomer.

‘TMlusion Tricks,” Illustrated.

—_—_~+-e-e—____-

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—e

 

 

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—_—_—__+--»__-__
Glorious News for the Boys.

 

Next week we will commence a rattling
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Startling Scenes, Hair- Breadth Escapes,
and Daring Exploits.

RECKLESS ROLL;

OR, THE

WOLF IN THE FOLD.
By JAMES K, LENNOX.

! The exciting scenes which abound in every
chapter are connected by a very ingenious
plot, which holds the reader to the end.

 

 

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emepnemcinelivcratiilencanes

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ep ge

 

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There will, no doubt, be a large number
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Now, boys, don’t miss this, or you will be
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Applause.

Iowa City, Iowa.
Messrs. STREET & SMITH :—

The Goop News, like the mother-in-law, has
come to stay, but unlike the aforesaid female, it
will receive a warm welcome.

Yours,
Gro. F. O'BRIEN.

NEw YORK, 1890.
STREET & SmitH—Dear Sirs :—

Iam pleased to say that I have read the first
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the weekly papers I think it is the best; that
is the ones that ‘are five cents. I passed a sta-
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{oping the Goop News will be ever prosperous,
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Respectfully yours,
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BROOKLYN, 1890.
Messrs. Street & Smrra—Dear Sirs :—

Permit me to say that your paper is very good,
and if it keeps up the way it has commenced it
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Wishing you success. I remain,

Yours respectfully,
ARTHUR ATHESON,.

NEw YORK, 1890.
DEAR Srrs:—I take great pleasure in stating
that the Goop News is the best and most interest-
ing story paper for boys published. I hope it will
increase in circulation, and be the favorite of all
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hope it will give satisfaction to all who read it.
Yours truly,
“SwIpEs,” a Reader,

BURLINGTON, Kans.

on

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I have been taking the ever since it com-
menced until yesterday, when your paper, Goop
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Yours respectfully,
C. B. SHEAFOR.
PortsmMovrTH, N. H.

Deak Strs:—I hope that you may be very suc-
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will be if you keep on publishing such interesting
stories by the leading authors. I remain

Yours with respect,

 

Epirx L. H.

ATHOL, Mass.
Messrs, Street & Suita—Sirs :—

My son has just come across your paper, Goop
NeEws; seems to be very much interested in the
same. Have taken your New York Weekly for
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A. J. THAYER.
WELLSVILLE, Montgomery Co., Mo.

I have subscribed for the Goop News through our
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ag it 1s a Splendid paper, and hope it will suc-
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t CuHIcaGo, Ill.
Goop News, New York Ciry—Gentlemen :—,

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Hoping that the paper will have a great boom,
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FRANK L. STAHLBERG.

PHILADELPHIA, Pa.
From what [ have seen of your paper I think it
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y DELPHOs, Ohio.
MEssrs. StreEET & SmitTH, Publishers of Goop News:
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183 BROADWAY, N. Y.

My DEAR Srrs:—I was going through the New
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I think your paper is one ofthe best I have ever
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Yours truly,

 

 

 

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Om

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Letter“‘A” Contes Closed,

“(DUNE 1st closed the most successful
Wf and novel contest on record. Only
=| three more numbers and the result
a will be known. This is the squarest
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thousands of homes to verify the count.
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appears in Goop News, dated May 15, 22,
29; June 5, 12, 19, 26.
Guesses mailed after June 1st cannot be
counted.
As there will be a number of our young
friends disappointed in not receiving a
prize, we will shortly start another guessin
match that will be equally interesting an

 

 

Very RaROCEy P
» ¥, PARSONS,

simple,

 

    

oy

    
 

 

 

Goonp

 

 

NEWS.

73

 

my head, his manner changed. A look of
interest and surprise passed over his grim
features, and pointing eastward through
the forest, he said, ‘‘Yonder is home. Pale-
face go toward rising sun. Indian no
hurt.’”

‘“«‘Oh, John!’ exclaimed mother, ‘was it
not the very Indian that you saved from
the wolves? Iam sure it must have been
he. What anoble face had that Miami
‘‘brave’—but, dear, dear! they are so ter-
|rible in war! ‘This defeat of Harmar’s is
| dreadful !’

‘No, Alice,’ said father, ‘I thought of
that, but-I am certain this was not the
man. He was younger than the Indian I

SAVED BY FIRE:

THE INDIAN CHER GRATITUDE,

By GEORGE H. COOMER.

-

 

 

mM
; LD Mrs. Randolph was very compan-
P ionable, and nothing interested me
Tn more than her stories of frontier life.
time of ao e lived on the border at the |
“and in St. Clair’s defeat, she remarked,
erent mare og eeuce of that event were in
used. to cy of being swept away. Father
red mer es Us & good many stories of the} years ago.’
Were a pe fod it was his opinion that they ‘How vividly this allusion recalled the
“Hh ea sve but injured people. He had terrible scene tomy memory. The wolves,
and q _Sentimentality upon the subject, the fierce, gray wolves—I could never think
€spised their lazy, vagabond life

 

 

rescued from the wolves, and that was ten |

| hideous as itself. The rock upon which the

hunter stood, and against which rose the
tree, may have overtopped the snow about
six feet; and up the sides of this rock we
| Saw the wolves leap like the cold, gray
| Waves on a wintry shore. But the clubbed
| rifle of the hunter beat them back. At last
| he broke it upon their steel-like skulls; but
grasping
bravely on.

It needed but that a single

| wolf should effect a lodgment upon the rock |

|to insure the red warrior’s destruction; but
| the manner of his defense showed him fully
|}aware of this. Father could not remain a
| tame spectator.

| §***f will not see him torn to pieces,’ he
said, ‘ashe certainly must be at last, if un-
| assisted.’ And snatching up his rifle, he

rushed from the house.

| “Scores of wolves were galloping occasion-
| ally near the house, and father was at once

 

|
; ho |
But he |
y were capable of greatness;
ited C nN possessed a rude magnanim-
aouer’ to their hearts; and that what
Pes tte cause ¢ of bre vil, and
ribebent imminent the white man’s
fees Necessity of self-de-
» the Indian originally

Was j : Ne
s a the right. Tecum-

less tha

*than he deteste air cruelty
meg t that the ested their cru Ity.
that they ofte

 

 

. Sf Phili

nV lip
: absurdly
& rebel,’

rebel’ Called

 

Y

ppoyather often
trai, ‘2 this

 

 

  

&ccomplished ie t
ong petitous measures, the i INDIAN : TRODE Yow
“the gt, © tremediable, nothing ;

It °ng arm could now protectus. [fof them without looking shudderingly
ene ain reason that he went with | toward the door, as if their elfish heads
bgen edeson the Miamis. I cannot de- | might start like apparitions from the solid
tS , Olation of our hearts during his | plank. .
atl, Sag wonder and joy at his re-} ‘Iwas but seven years old when the in-
req mane in the middle of the night, | cident occurred of which my father had just
y , Ston Weaponless. Oh, how we gath- |spoken. There had been a long period of

y unusual cold, when at the close of a most

etal little um mother and myself, ‘and | ul ;
hag i Ug "ie rothers and sisters ! Then | bitter winter’s day, we were startled by the
Als, “Ytneq V the army of General Harmar | report of a gun. Not far from our house
hs that au 16 Miami villages; and how, | Was @ narrow pass, between two abrupt
Ute, a Cyposed invincible army, in a| knolls, and in this stood a number of aged

d, hilicothe, had been utterly | trees, none of which, however, could be
had the Miamis avenged the | easily climbed. Looking out we saw in this

hy h, Pap Odges and their corn. | chasm an Indian hunter standing upon a
« aftia Qo Cried my little sister, Eloise, | rock, with his. back against a tree, and &
ny. AN the wild Indians get you?’ | clubbed rifle in his hand. A few feet in
i table. ot tell, my dear; it is unac-/| front of him a large gray object rolled and

| foundered upon the snow. It was a wolf

ong Tog: red the fallen trees like a mortally wounded. Almost at the moment
oe ut, Just as he clutched me by | of our discovering it, the dying creature was
Wirled his tomahawk around | seized by a score of its gaunt companions,

> W was “sHe c : et
Sani ho clea S pursued by a tall war

 
  
   
  
     
     
  
   
         
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

 
 
 

}

0

Aare
0

Y
Us iN

{ Rui ae /
N ty

THE INDIAN LEAPED UP, THEN
beset by a squadron of this terrible cavalry.
Oh, how we all crowded to the door, even
the little ones that knew not the cause of
terror,
him to return, and return he did very sud-

denly, having killed one of the enemy, but}
Then |

with a dozen avengers at his heels.
for the first time I realized what it is to en-
counter a wolf. As we attempted to shut
the door, a great, bristling head dashed

) through, and mother, with a shuddering |

| ery, slammed the oaken portal desperately
|upon the creature’s neck. Mother's dress
| chanced in her hurry to come in contact
| with his head, and, imprisoned as he was,
he snapped atit with his gaunt jaws.
what a clash they came together! There was
another head. and still another, just above

 

| seen the eyes which glared through that

|marrow opening! But father’s ax soon

| turned the scaie of victory, and the door was
closed.

“Again our attention was turned to the In-
dian. He defended himself nobly, but his
chances of final triumph were overy moment
lessening. A huge, undulating mass of gray,
horribly distinct upon the white ground-
work of snow, surged about his fortress,

knife and tomahawk, he fought |

 
   
    
         

EDMUND RANDOLPH’S AIM SEEMED INSTANTANEOUS, YET HOW FATALLY TRUE!

FELL BACK, STONE DEAD.

Mother herself was ont imploring |

With |

the back of this, and oh, if you could have |

‘**The cowardly, swarming devils!’ cried
father. ‘I know there must be some way
| to outwit them, andI will find it! I will
carry fire into their camp.’ He thoughta
moment. ‘A single brand -will not do,’ he
added; ‘it may goout. I must have the little
hand-sled that I finished last week; it is
just outside the door.’

“It was alittle sledge about four feet by
two. He opened the door cautiously and
pulled it close to the entrance. Wehad a
roaring fire, and he selected as many brands
as could well lie upon his novel engine of
war. Then, with ax in hand, he started to
relieve the besieged, pushing the sled, which
was itself on fire, before him as he went. It
had a stont tongue or shaft, with which he
easily directed its course. The army of
wolves rolled tempestuously about at his ap-
proach, like a sea at shift of wind. Gallop-
ing in wilder and wilder circles, they re-
| treated to the hill-tops, or howled dismally
|away down the dell. Then we saw the
| Indian leave the rock, and I recall to-day
{my wondering childish expression, when a
few minutes later, his stately figure dark-
ened the door-way of our cabin. Should
you askif he was profuse in expres-
sions of gratitude, I should say
that he wasnot. Such wordy
professions, in a warrior,
would have been wom-
anish; and besides, he
spoke little or no
English; but a
more dignified
and noble-look-
ing man I never
saw.

‘‘In the morn-

ing he strode
proudly into
the forest,
having, as we
discovered,
from their
mangled car-
cases, slain in
his encounter
of the previ-
ous day no
less than
twenty-nine
wolves. You
will not won-
der that my
mother, ten
years later,
should have
associated the
idea of this
warrior with
the preserver
of her hus-
band in Har-
mar’s battle.
Yet father was
confident that
he had never
before seen
the Indian
who pursued
and saved him
nor could he
imagine whya
wild and
blood - thirsty
savage should
have done so.

“From no
circumstan ce
of our frontier
life could we
account for
this interven-
tion of the
generous red man. Indeed, our only other
prominent adventure with the Indians
had been of a character so opposite to this,
that we had ever. since its occurrence
dreaded their revenge. When I was four-
teen, a band of six Shawnees attacked our
cabin, but. father firing from the loopholes,
in the course of the long day’s siege, killed

 

five of them, the other making his
escape. One lay partly against the door,

and when we opened it he fell in, the tips
of his eagle feathers making a bloody mark
|on the floor; for he had been shot in the
|head. Another lay at the edge of a wheat-
| field that reached nearly to the house, and
we could see @ corner of his blanket stir in
(the breeze, but we knew he was cold and
| dead.
“All these things we recalled on the night
(of father’s return from the battle of Chili-
jcothe.. We were far from the main army of
, Savages, yet thetide of war might at any time
reach us; as however our situation seemed
| little more exposed than previous to Har-
|mer’s expedition, as neighbors hdd of late
gathered within comparatively short dis-
tances of our home, and as father, moreover,
felt confident that another force would
| Shortly be organized to act against the

 
 
  
  
   
  

   
    
 

 

Ts

GooDp

NEw Ss.

     

 

 

 

Miamis, it was decided to remain where we
were, Little did we then think that another
and a more terrific defeat awaited the forces
of the pale-face at the hands of the wily foe.

“Shortly after the failure of Harmar, the
Randolphs (not, however, of political fame)
came to our settlement, and when I tell you
that Edmund, the oldest son, was a fine-
looking youth of twenty, presuming you
already aware that I was a blue-eyed maiden
of seventeen (and, if I was in the wilderness,
I knew what color my eyes were), you will |
not be much at a loss to guess what must
have followed. But athwart our dream of
happiness fell many a shadow of anxiety.
If upon the one hand were love and hope, and
all beautiful imaginings, upon the other
were the warriors of Little Turtle. Yet,
strange to say—and alas! that folly should
haunt all situations—we quarreled at last,
very bitterly. Yes, there in the wilder-
ness, whither our little settlement had
flowed like an almost undiscoverable arm
from the sea of humanity, we two quarreled.
You may call it a ‘fairy quarrel,’ if you will,
like something in ‘Midsummer Night’s
Dream,’ but it was a quarrel, nevertheless.
It happened when the autumn berries were
already glossy in the forest—when high anti-
cipations from the new expedition against the
Miamis were indulged by every heart—and |
when, as I well knew, the name of Edmund |
had been written upon the muster-roll of the |
American forees. The following morning
he was gone with the army of St, Clair.
Father, also, joined the expedition; for,
while it should be on foot, he argued that
little danger could threaten his family.

“T need not tell you that all peace had fled
from my heart, and my only consolation—a
selfish one, but very natural—arose from
my consciousness that Edmund must be
ill at ease. He had been piqued—absurdly
enough, it is true—at the admiration, real or
pretended, bestowed upon me by the officers
of St. Clair’s force—for he was human, and
very far from perfection—while I, upon the
other had, had ventured to tease him. But
he was gone, and wearily I awaited the
event.

“That event came like athunderbolt. The
tale, related by a straggling and famished
soldier, was confirmed by another and still
another. How crushing, how overwhelm-
ing had been the dreadful defeat of St. Clair.
My father and young Edmund—and you
may guess something of our anguish—-came
not with their comrades. ‘The rude soldiers
feelingly spoke of the battle, some of them
shedding tears over the fate of their fellows.
They told us how the warriors under Little
Turtle, in the gray of the November morn-
ing, came rushing upon the camp. Not even
at the defeat of Harmar, had the red men
fought with such reckless courage. Accus-
tomed, of late, to victory, inspired to hero-
ism by the presence of their ablest com-
manders, and thrilled to the depths of their
martial nature by the harangues of Tecum-
seh and the prophet, they charged the Amer-
ican Army, thongh it somewhat outnum-
bered their own, with surprising confidence.
It was Tecumseh’s second battle; but the
great chief, Little Turtle, had led in many
afray. There, too, were others of high re-
pute—Old-Tree, White-Lion, and Stone-
Eater, Wash-in-the-Water and Split-Log.
Never before, or since, perhaps, was an In-
dian force so ably led; and the result was
worthy of the commanders—a complete vic-
tory—a savage Bannockburn.

: “Father was among the last of the fugi-
tives to return, but at length, to our un-
speakable joy, he came; and again, he said,
as in the battle of Chilicothe, his deliverance
had been mysterious. Miles from the scene
of action he had sunk exhausted at the foot

 

of a tree. when there appeared a band of;
wild warriors in silent but swift pursuit.
They gathered fiercely about him, yelling
and brandishing their tomahawks; but these
demonstrations almost instantly subsided,
and they began looking curiously at their
prisoner.

“My father was a man not strikingly pe-
euliar in appearance, save that his hair was
eurly, clustering in short ringlets unusual
upon ® masculine head; an inheritance, I
presume, from his ancestors, who were of:
the Cavaliers, and one of whom, Sir Richard
Tyrone, defeated the Roundheads at Cov-
entry; riding forth at the head of his men—~
as saith the ballad of «The Sally from Cov-
entry:
‘And first, sitting proud

At the head of them all rode Sir Hlomany eee

“The red warriors little recked of gallant
cavalier or ridiculous ‘Puritan; yet’ their!
prisoners began to imagine his hair in gomo |
manner associated with his present salya-
tion, since they pointed significantly, he haq'
at first thought ominously, at the glossy !
curls. It was not pleasant, with the buck. '
horn hilt of the scalping-knife at his very
elbow, to feel those bronze} fingers among

 

his locks; but the manner of the grave
Miamis soon assured him that for some in-
explicable reason, they entertained toward
him the most friendly feelings. Though
but scantily provided with food, they shared
it freely with the ‘pale-face,’ and by signs
directed him upon the course homeward.
They traced upon the ground a rude rep-
resentation of the rising sun; next, the
windings of the Scioto and the Ohio; then a
figure which father was to understand as
signifying himself in his relative position,
the simplicity of the whole operation being
at once touching and amusing. My father
had never before seen any one of the In-
dians, and. knew only, concerning them,
that they were not Shawness.

“No tidings reached us of Edmund.
Seven hundred soldiers had fallen in the
fight, a far happier fate than that of the un-
fortunates captured by the merciless enemy;
and when a week had passed, and he still
came not, I almost hoped he had been among
the first to sink to death. What dreadful
vagaries of imagination haunted me! I
could find in our cabin no rest, but wan-
dered hourly to the forest side, and listened
for footsteps which still I had no expecta-
tion of hearing. Fear for myself had no
longer a home in my heart. Often ere this
had the leap of the gray squirrel startled me
as if it were the footfall of a savage; but now
it awakened only the momentary fancy—I
cannot say hope—of a more welcome pres-
ence. For my mother’s sake, I so far
heeded her warnings as to stray but a short
distance from the house,

“Upon one such occasion, however, I
had ventured farther than usual, and havy-
ing reached a gigantic oak, so old that the
gray moss hung in a most singular manner
from branch and trunk, I was turning. to re-
trace my steps, when my reverie was broken
by a slight scund, and almost before I could
raise my head, a Shawnee warrior leaped
upon me from the treacherous covert.

‘**Water Lily prisoner,’ he said. ‘No
make noisé. Me tie to tree till kill Crooked
Hair,’ meaning my father.

“He tied me to the moss-grown oak, then
tore off a portion of my dress and bound it
tightly over my mouth.

** Crooked Hair kill many Shawnee,’ he
said; and by counting his fingers he showed
me the number. He touched the thumb
and all the fingers of his left hand; so the
number killed had been five. I started, for
I began to comprehend the condition of
affairs.

“ Me get away,’ he continued. ‘Now me
come back-—kill Crooked Hair. Crooked
Hair come out to drive in cattle—then me
shoot,’

“Twas in the hands of the very Indian
who had alone escaped when my father,
whom he called ‘Crooked Hair,’ killed the
five Shawnees. From the moment of mak-
ing this discovery, I abandoned all hope.
The Shawnee crept to the edge of the
meadow, where, though it was now the be-
ginning of winter, our cattle were allowed to
stray in the day-time. He was sufficiently
acquainted with the habits of the settlers to
know that at nightfall my father would
drive his stock to the yard, through fear of
the wolves. The tree to which I was bound
stood not far from the meadow, and through
the moss, hanging like the ruined tapestry
of some old castle hall, I could catch
glimpses, not only of the grazing kine, but
even of our cabin. With what feelings I
saw the hideous Indian creep to the forest
verge, and, rifle in hand, watch for my
father’s coming !

*[ had been only a few minutes from the
house, and presumed that my absence would
cause no immediate apprehension. Never-
theless, mother came to the door and called
me. All among the great trees rang the
sound, but I could not answer. Then, as it
was near night, father came forth, partly,
perhaps, for the purpose of driving his cat-
tle to the yard, and partly from some vague
anxiety upon my account. He had his rifle
carelessly flung upon his shoulder. I longed
to cry out, and, in spite of my captor, would
have done so, had it been possible. No
danger to myself, no certainty of instant
death or lingering torure, could for a mo-
ment have restrained me; but the painful
bandage forbade. It was only at intervals
that I could catch a glimpse of my father’s
approaching figure, but I knew that he was
fast nearing the ambush. The Indian stirred
softly, and it almost seemed to me that the
line of dirty quills upon his head stood up
more fiercely, like the back fur ofa panther
at the unconscious approach of some hated
antagonist. I saw him slowly and stealthily
raise his rifle—saw the copper face lean
against the breech, one brown hand grasp
the barrel a little way out, and the other,
with the forefinger extended, clutch the
Stock at the guard.

*‘Olick !’ It was the cocking of a gun-

 

lock, but not in the direction of the Indian.

I turned my head. Not twenty paces from |
my side, resting upon one knee, and with |
the deadly rifle already at his face, knelt

Edmund Randolph. His aim seemed in-

stantaneous, yet how fatally true! The re-

port of the rifle was almost simultaneous

with my discovery, and instinctively look-

ing toward the Indian, I saw him leap

straight up, then fall at the foot of his tree,

stone dead.

‘Edmund had discovered me before ob-
serving the Indian. Knowing by my posi-
tion that some dreadful danger was immi-
nent, he had approached cautiously, and by
following the direction of my eyes, riveted
upon the savage, had perceived him crouched
in ambush.

“T might enlarge upon the extravagance
of my joy at the unexpected return of my
lost soldier, and the deliverance of our fam-
ily from a destruction which had seemed in-
evitable ; but you must be aware that joy
and sorrow can rise and sink only to certain
heights and depths; and after all, though
unspeakably happy, I was surprised to ex-
perience a feeling the nature of which I can
best express by saying that I was not as glad
as I thought I should be—an impression
which all who have been delivered from
great anxiety must, I think, have measur-
ably felt.

“The next day, while all the Randolph
family was at our cabin (for Edmund’s
father was our nearest neighbor), we were
attacked by eighteen Shawnee braves. From
the few families within the circuit of half a
dozen miles we could expect no assistance,
most of the men having fallen in St. Clair’s
disastrous fight. The Indians were more
cautious than in their attempt of years be-
fore ; yet for all this, a lucky shot now’ and
then thinned their ranks. They set our
haystacks in a blaze, but could not approach
us under cover of the smoke, the wind blow-
ing it away from the house. Sheltering
themselves behind large trees, a number of
which stood near the house, they next pro-
ceeded to improvise bows and arrows, the
former from oak branches, and the latter
from some dry, straight pieces of wood
which they split from fence rails. They
now shot arrows of fire. Thick and fast
upon the roof fell the blazing showers, any
unusual success calling forth appalling yells.
Soon the roof was ablaze, and although
seven of the assailants had fallen, eleven yet
remained, ready, from their now secure
coverts, to pour a deadly volley upon any
whom the smoke and flame should drive
from the house.

‘To remain within doors would soon be
impossible ; and already fatler, Mr. Ran-
dolph, and Edmund were peparing for a des-
perate sally, hoping that the smoke would
measurably cover their movements, when
from beyond the position of the enemy came
a far resounding yell, Then followed loud
shouts in the Indian tongue, apparently in
a tone of command. A prodigious rein-
forcement of savages had arrived, and now,
surely, all was lost. What, however, was
our surprise to see dimly through the smoke
a white flag, a handkerchief, doubtless a tro-
phy of St. Clair’s battle, taken from some
hapless officer, now displayed at the muzzle
of a rifle—a signal of truce—while in broken
English came the salutation :

“‘Orooked Hair no fire. Little Turtle
friend. Little Turtle come to door with no
rifle. Crooked Hair come out. Miami war-
riors put out fire—save lodge.’

‘Taking the little white flag in his hand,
and flinging down his rifle, the Indian strode
toward the house.. Father opened the door.
He remembered the battle of Chilicothe,

‘¢ ‘Tet Miamis put out fire,’ said the red
man, Andina moment the Indians swarmed
about the House.

“They soon extinguished the flames, when
their leader bade them bring material to re-
pair the roof. Never shall I forget the com-
manding presence of the chief. I do not
think he would have made any explanation,
had not father requested it.

‘““‘Me Little Turtle,’ he said, senten-
tiously. ‘Mary moons since, Crooked Hair
save Black Otter from wolf. Black Otter
very great hunter, but wolf many. Little
Turtle son of Black Otter. When Black
Otter go to happy hunting-ground, Little
Turtle bid his warriors remember the pale
face with crooked hair.’

“And so it was. Amid the forest shadows
and the battle smoke, this single peculiarity
of ‘crooked hair,’ which an ordinary ob-
server would hardly have noted, even in the
calmness of peaceful intercourse, had been
to these keen-eyed people a sacred talisman,
like the seal of the Great Spirit upon my
father’s head.

“With awe, and, I might say, with ad-
miration, I looked upon the great Western
sachem. Never before, nor have I since,
seen a more noble form and face than that

 

of Little Turtle. Years later, when I heal

of the total defeat of the red men by ‘ma.

Anthony Wayne,’ and all because they woul
not hearken to the counsel of Little Turi
who told them that the Americans were i
“2 WY
commanded ‘by a chief who never sleph)
could have wept for the misfortunes of @
great and once victorious patriot.
«« «They melt us—ay, like Aprii snow,
In the warm noon, we shrink ‘away ;
And fast they follow, as we go
Toward the setting day ;
Till they shall fill the land, and we
Are driven into the western sea.’”

A Sailor in Spite of Himsél

Wi
B
co
to
be

~ to

to
al

in

 

By HARRY CASTLEMON, +

Author of ‘Frank, the Young Naturalist,” ©
To His Colors,” ‘Frank in the Woods,” “4
Steel Horse,” “Frank on the Mountall§

“The Rod and Gun Club,” “Snowed Up,” #

spree

[A SATLOR IN SPTTE OF HIMSELF” was comme?!
No. 1. Back numbers can be obtained of all
Agents. ] f

perk ie
SYNOPSIS.

Bob Nellis was a student at the academy in #™
wood, a thriving town of one of the Soule
States. As the town was situated on a beau
bay, the boys at the academy had considel!
sport in rowing upon its smooth waters. 3
were two crews, the boats of which were 1@ z
the Mist and the Zephyr. Bob Nellis was)
stroke oarsman of the Zephyr, while his CO’
Gus Layton, headed the crew of the Mist. #
father had been considered wealthy, but atl
death it was discovered that he had left bul
property, and that was willed to his brothet
law, Mr. Layton, no provision having been By
for Bob, who was left as his uncle’s ward. ¥%
mother had died when he was quite young.
story opens with a race between the crews oft
Mist and the Zephyr. Gus Layton, who W®
mean fellow, thinking his crew could not Wily
race by fair means, resorted to foul play, DUY
plot was discovered in time, and the cf
the Zephyr won the race. Of course the W4%
affair was soon made kuown, and Gus foul

academy such an uncomfortable place thab 4g

One day Gus at
down among the wharves of Clifton, and SOU
an interview with a dissolute-looking man, wil
wooden leg. This fellow was named Barlow”
in the course of his conversation with GU®
hinted at the fact that Bob’s father—Captall 4
lis, he called him—was not dead at all, DUUE
disappeared in a mysterious manner.
further intimated that Mr. Layton was it
way connected with Captain Nellis’ sudden
pearance. At the end of the academic cou 4
returned home. His uncle informed him ¥
was time he sought employment of somekin@y
selected the lite of a sailor for bim, but BOOM

turned to his home in Clifton.

gu?

alt

he could never become a sailor, as he had pro’

his father to that effect. Meanwhile, GU?
been with Barlow, and the two had plot af
have Bob and Ben Watson, their old gal¥ag
run aboard of the ship Boston, bound for |
lia. One day Gus invited Bob to take a Walk
him. ‘They had not proceeded far when BOM,
attacked by Barlow and a burly assistant @y
Samson. He was soon conveyed on poard
Boston, where he discovered Ben Watson. a
not long before the ship was at sea, and ap
tempestuous voyage she passed the Cape ay
in at an uninhabited island to procure watel
and Bob contrived to be among the crew %,
boat that went ashore, and while the casks
being filled, the two slipped into the wood ,
escaped. Shortly afterward Ben sighté

ing vessel on the opposite side of the isiary )
was about to hail her, when he discover gp
there were but three white men on her d@ 0
remainder being Malays. Thinking it best?
hail them while the crew were busy,

Bob to. sit beside him andhe would tell
something about the Malays, ;

CHAPTER. XVII.

THE ENGLISH SCHOONER.
aC )
td MONG other things Ben told
> « young companion that the may
)& of vessels trading among |&
» islands employed Malays fot %
most hands. They were good sailot),
civil and orderly enough when well #@%
but they were ready enough to use &
knives on the slightest provocatio™ .
moreover, they had laws and custo? at
their own which everybody must 10%
from the cabin boy up to the mastet y
sides the three white officers who M® ag
the vessel, the Malays had officers Og
own, called the first and second 0
whose duties corresponded to thos ry
first and second mates. Did the rag
on watch desire to shorten sail or ® ff
the course of the vessel, he govt )
necessary orders, not to the men dite ay
to the tindal who was on watch WY” 4
and who saw that the work was @%%%
When punishment was found to be
sary—and that happened nearly evely oP
the officers did not inflict it thems #
described the offense to the, tind@™gy
dealt with the culprit as they saw Dg
times the offender was flogged until De a
scarcely move, and sometimes he wi po!
with mysterious indignities whit! apf
but himself and companions cow® | fof
stand. If the officers even so fat ag
themselves as to take the manag® gh
affairs entirely into their own han?
tiny was the certain result,

       

    
  

  
  

Goon NEWS.

 

     

 

75

 

 
 
    
     
  
     

a Y All this and more the old sailor explained
1 I heal

to Bob during the quarter of an hour that
by ‘MH ~ was occupied in hoisting and stowing away
oy Wa » the cask. When the work was done and
e Tam Ben said that the vessel’s people had dis-
vere My Covered them, he waved his hat and shouted:
sleph = © “Schooner, ahoy !”
s of “Ay! ay!” came the answer, in gruff
| tones.
; 2. *“We want to ship. Will you take us on
‘ay; Oard 2”

“Who are you?”

_ , “We belonged to the American ship Bos-
ton that came in here after water. She had
Make an offing, and went away in such

&hurry that she left us behind.”
he officers of the schooner could see no
“feason to doubt this story. They had come
' M there for water themselves, and, if they
not run so far up the creek, would also
ve been obliged to haul off shore to escape
4@ wind which was already howling through
& trees. They held a short consultation,
“nd then their boat was manned by two
lays, and came over and took Bob and
€n on board the schooner. Benand his
Young companion at once presented them-
Selves on the quarter-deck, where the cap-
M was waiting to receive them, and after
the old sailor had repeated the story he had
Made up for the occasion, and answered a
£W questions the officers had to ask him,
€y were told that they would be in the

nmencees
of all

    

Qj

  

my in
> Sou
a beaut
onsideny

ott uh Ond mate’s watch, and were ordered to
is waa fi a to, which meant go to work.

his Coty h Master Bob,” whispered Ben, as soon as
—_ at! 2 had opportunity to gain the boy’s ear for a

rt publ ~~ ~°Ment, ‘make up your mind to one thing,
prother 2 that is, that we are out of the frying-
veen My —-- Pan into the fire.

 
 
   
   
 

a p “Why so?” asked Bob, who had been con-
rews0§ > 8tulating himself on the ease with which
who Wi)  2@ had effected his escape from Captain
3, = tch’s tyranny.

YY ore B Cause this is an English craft,” replied
the W _ “TI made one short voyage under this
5 foul ; ne and I know that greater tyrants than
oul a Johnny Bulls never stepped. We've
‘and sou ag supping sorrow with a big spoon so
nan, WA » but we'll have to take it by the bucket-
orl ful now.” ?

tall W ‘Why, I thought you said the officers
all, DUG ouldn’t dare to show any tyranny.”

Te Neither will they where the Malays are

as in
dden

dis baeeetned, that is if they understand their

Q Siness and don’t take on too much red-
: ®, Which the captain and his mates never
noe on, judging by the looks of their
chal’ but you and me’ll have to walk a
is k mark, or take what comes. You'll
hey Something aboard this schooner you
lik & saw before—a man tied up and flogged
beast. Look there,” said Ben, jerk-
fit. 18 thumb over his shoulder toward the
“Tail,
: spob looked, and his blood ran cold when
te fell upon the instrument of torture
in €Suspended. It was a cat—he knew it
Ofte Moment from the descriptions he had
Boy 7°24 of it. The handle was about a
¥ ao Ong; the lashes, of which there were
Jeatyc” or more, were cut out of stiff
they =>) 22d to make the blows given by
Misr’ severe, they were each drawn
it tee or four hard knots. Altogether
48 a terrible-looking affair, and Bob
, t from its appearance it must have
wp ecently used.
back peor and don’t get it over your
tag wh: Ore you know it,” was Ben’s warn-

Bs’ a isper,
. told 7)” ty, Often as he found opportunity, Bob
re male ang ®d to look at the officers ofthe schooner,
ong , Unless Was forced to believe with Ben that,
5 for fo in “<4 their looks belied them, he had not
ailors Were |) Way bettered his situation. ‘hey
ay) tree Ing Tutal-looking men and very overbear-
se a boaea | ob soon found, for not even on
atiody | ag 7. ‘he Boston had he been ordered about
sto Mpjgn co? during the hour the crew were
st TOP tory V4 in putting things to rights. Be-
a me T Work was done he saw the cat in
.o mann Ca; tai he negro cook was ‘‘started” by the
ers 0b Ca in 4) that is, he was flogged from the
na tinh the 1, the deck because he had allowed
1080 Ong Pro MUP to get smoked. The only im-
he Om Which Rat on the Boston was in the food,
jor ~ Silo, 2 assured him was as good as any
gave het received.
dire ~ “Weath, h the three days the schooner lay
with 44 to j,.--5ound in the creek, Bob had time
, exeeng Gir on omething of his new mates and
» be Pug lookin toms. They were all brawny, fierce-

ON Wag 8 fellows except the first tindal, who

“pling scarcely older than himself ;

eve
sel ven but that } \
he was a sailor was evident from

indalé, A the

, fit. Ph Weng hover in which the decks and rigging
oT ae kept. ‘The eo :

til be ont he schooner was as neat and
was” Ben ® little man-of-war.

ich Om ayy @Wickly worked his way into the Ma-

ald we Ming, graces, When he made up his

Whole Yo desert the Boston he secreted his
the 8 pock of tobacco about him, and as
& th ~OOner’s company had nearly exhaust-

¢
“Ir stock of the article, the old sailor

 

 

freely distributed his among them. The
Malays in return for this gave Bob a bounti-
ful supyly of bed-clothing, so that they man-
aged to fare very well, and would have been
pleased with their new quarters, had it not
been for the dreaded eat, which they saw
every time they passed the mainmast.

On the third day the wind began to abate,
and on the morning of the fourth the boats
were got out, and the .schooner was towed
down the creek. Sail was made, and in an
hour more she was bounding over the waves
toward Singapore.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MUTINY.

c Zs
4s]. NOR the next three or four days noth-
FE ing exciting happened on board the
Ave), schooner. Of course there was the
“—** usual amount of punishment—not a
day passed that did not see the cat brought
into use—and even Bob and old Ben came
in for a share, the latter being knocked flat
by a blow from the mate’s fist, and the boy
being sent to the mast-head for two hours
under a broiling sun. What their offense
vas neither of them had the faintest idea.

The nearer the vessel progressed toward
her destination the more overbearing and
exacting the mates became, and the closer
the captain clung to his bottle, of which he
was very fond. Finally he got so much
under the influence of its contents that he
was obliged to keep his bunk for two days,
and his re-appearance on deck was the signal
of a scene, the remembrance of which dis-

| turbed Bob’s sleep for many a night after-

ward.

It had been blowing hard all day, and at
last the officer of the watch, after the main-
topmast had been carried away, concluded
that it would be best to shorten sail. The
work had just been completed, and the ves-
sel was beginning to make better weather of
it, when the captain staggered up the com-
panion ladder.

Bob had never in his life seen so fiendish
a looking man as he was at that moment.
The captain seemed to be highly enraged,
and the boy knew instinctively that some-
thing was going to happen. The negro cook,
who was well used to his moods, must have
thought so too, for he darted into the galley
and hid behind the door, and even the surly
second mate backed out of his way.

“What’s been goingon ’ere?” roared the
captain, glaring about him as if seeking for
some object to take vengeance upon.
‘What was that crash [ear just now?”

‘“‘We carried away the topmast about two
hours ago,” replied the mate, with more
civility than he usually threw into his tones
when addressing his superior.

“But what was that noise I ’ear just
now ?” repeated the skipper, with an oath.
“T’ear a horrid fuss and rumpus up ’ere.”

“We have been clearing away the wreck
and shortening sail,” was the mate’s reply.

“You ‘ave, hey! Been shortening sail
without horders, hey ? Don’t you know that
I command ’ere? Where’s the tindal?”

‘“‘He’s below with his watch.”

“Well, Pll soon snake ‘im hup, and teach
him not to shorten sail without horders
from me,” yelled the skipper, blundering to-
ward the forecastle. :

Bob and the old sailor were standing in
the waist, and as the frenzied captain went
staggering by, swinging his arms wildly
about his head and fairly foaming at the
mouth, they gave him all the room he
wanted. Their endeavors to avoid attract-
ing his attention drew it toward them, ard
seemed to increase his fury, for Bob was
sent reeling aft with a bleeding nose and
dizzy head, and Bob dodged just in time to
escape a vicious back-hander which the
skipper aimed at him. The latter thundered
across the deck to the forecastle, and missing
his footing at the head of the stairs, went head-
long down among the watch, who were eating
their suppers. Bob heard him swearing and
storming below, and presently saw him re-
appear at the head of the ladder, pushing
before him the first tindal, whom he had
seized by the back of the neck, and who was
utterly helpless in his powerful grasp.
Close behind came the watch, who swarmed
up the ladder like bees, and were speedily
joined by their friends on deck. They all
looked as fierce as the skipper himself, and
some of them carried their knives in their
hands.

“Heaven help us, our time has come at
last !” gasped old Ben. ‘That drunken fool
is going to be the death of us,”

Bob was too terrified to move or speak.

The captain pushed his unresisting prisoner
to the mast, and looked around for some one
to assist him. The second mate had re-
treated to the cabin, and Bob and Ben were
the only’ones near him, The skipper’s eyes
fell upon them.

 

“Come ere, you two, and ’elp me trice
hup this man,” said he.

The boy, at first, did not move, but old |
Ben, always prompt to obey orders, sprang |
at the work; and Bob, knowing that the |
sailor's judgment and experience would |
show him what ought to be done under the |
circumstances, thought it best to follow his
example, although he would much rather
have assisted in tying up the captain. He
caught up a rope, and fastened one of the
tindal’s hands to the shrouds, hauling down
on it in obedience to the captain’s order, un-
til the captive’s toes just rested on the deck.

‘Now Ill show these bloody ’eathen who’s
master ’ere,” exclaimed the skipper, snatch-
ing up the cat, and panting with the vio-
lence of his exertions. ‘‘’Ere, Watson, take
this, and lay on till I tell you to stop.”

But Ben drew back.

“Cap'n,” said he, ‘it’s something I never
done, and never will do. Id rather be
there myself.”

“You would, hey?’ shouted the skipper,
brandishing the cat in the air; “well Ill
soon ‘ave you there. Hey, boy? call hup |
my two hofficers, and tell ’em to bring my
pistols. ‘Ere’s a mutiny.”

Bob, to whom the command was ad-
dressed, ran to the cabin, but found the door
fastened. He called to the mates, and re-
peated the captain’s order, but there was no
response. Had he gone to the stern and
looked over, he would have found that one
of the small cabin windows was open, and
that the second mate was trying to squeeze
his burly form through it, to reach the boat
that hung at the davits. The two officers
knew what was likely to be the result of the
skipper’s unreasonable behavior, and were
preparing to leave him to his fate.

“Now then, boy,” screamed the. captain,
‘where are they?”

“T can’t make them answer, sir, and the
door is locked,” replied Bob.

“Call louder! Tell ’em I want ’em!
Knock the door down !” roared the skipper,
stamping furiously about the deck. “I’m
master ere.”

The* captain bared his arm as he spoke,
grasped the cat with a firmer hold and
swung it in the air; but just as the blow de-
scended upon the tindal’s back, the Malays
made the rush Ben had long been expect-
ing, flourishing knives and handspikes, and
yelling hideously.

The old sailor, loyal to the last, threw him-
self in front of his officer to protect him,
but was instantly stretched on deck by a
blow from a handspike, and a moment later
the captain lay senseless by his side.

CHAPTER XIX.
A FAMILIAR FACE,
OB gave himself up for lost. There
‘ was no place to which he could re-
oF treat for safety, and resistance was
not to be thought of. He could only
remain passive and await the fate he was
powerless to avert. He turned away and
leaned upon the rail, looking down upon the
water, and expecting every instant that a
blow from a knife or handspike would put
an end to his existence. But nothing of the
kind happened, and Bob finally ventured to
cast his eyes over his shoulder to see what
was going on behind him. =

The Malays were gathered in a group in
the waist, and while some of them were busy
binding the captain, the others were cutting
down the tindal. While he gazed, old Ben
was lifted to his feet and stood unharmed in
the midst of them. No one showed the
least inclination to molest him, but, on the
contrary, several of the crew gave him
hearty slaps on the back, which were doubt
less intended to assure him that he had
nothing to fear. The old sailor looked
around, and seeing Bob standing beside the
rail, pale and trembling, quietly joined
him.

‘Cheer up, my hearty,” said he. ‘I knew
what I was about when I refused to use the
cat on that man. You and me and the doc-
tor are safe ; but all the salt in the sea won’t
save the officers.”

“What will they do with them?’ asked
Bob.

“We'll never know. They say they’re
going to turn us adrift in the boat.”

“They might as well make an end of us at
once,” said the boy, gazing at the angry
white caps that were rolling on every side.

“Oh, no,” said Ben, cheerfully ; ‘‘a boat
will live in a worse sea than this.”

The tindal having been released, the Ma-
lays held a short consultation, and then an
ax was procured, and the crew marched ina
body to the cabin. The door was quickly

the mates were brave as well as brutal, and
then the crew reappeared, bringing with
them two more prisoners, who were laid on
deck beside the captain, and the bodies of
three of their number who had been stricken
down by the bullets from the mates’ pis-
tols.

This done, the first tindal. who was now
the master of the vessel, sent some of the
crew below to bring up a supply of pro-
visions and water, and ordered the others
aft to lower away the boat. As soon as it
touched the water, Bob, the old sailor, and
the negro cook—‘“‘the doctor’ Ben had
called him—were commanded to get in,
the provisions and water were handed down
to them, the Malays cut the falls with their
knives, and the schooner dashed _ on, leay-
ing the boat to the mercy of the waves,

The three castaways kept their eyes
fastened upon the vessel as long as she was
in sight, hoping to gain some clew to the
fate in store for the prisoners, but for the
next half-hour the Malays remained. stand-
ing on the quarter-deck, as if engaged in
consultation, and finally the increasing
darkness shut her out from view, and they
were alone on the deep.

How Bob managed to survive during that
dreadful night he scarcely knew. It seemed
to him like a dream, for his mind was in
such confusion that he could not think or
realize what was going on around him. Ben
and the doctor managed the boat, while
Bob lay stretched out under the thwarts in
a half insensible condition, from which he
never aroused himself until the sun -arose,
and a joyous exclamation from the old sailor
inspired a little life into him. Land was in
plain sight, and Ben declared that he could
make out the spars of a vessel which ap-
peared to be anchored in a little bay toward
which their boat was drifting. Upon hear-
ing this Bob straightened up and looked
about him. He relieved Ben at the oar, and
after two hours’ hard pulling worked his
sluggish blood into’circulation, and he began
to feel more like himself. By this time the
vessel was within hailing distance. She was
anchored in a little cove that set into the
island, and her boats were drawn up in line
on the beach, where the most of her crew
were. assembled, apparently engaged in
trading with the natives.

“Who are you and where do you come
from ?” asked the eaptain of the ship, who
appeared at the side in answer to Ben’s
hail.

The old sailor did the talking, trying to
make his long story as short as possible,
and while he was speaking Bob made a
through examination of the vessel. There
was something about her that looked fami-
liar; and after he had run his eyes over her
from truck to water line, he told him that if
he had not seen that same ship in the har-
bor of Clifton more than once, he had seen
one there that looked exactly like her. Old
Ben himself soon discovered something
about her to attract his attention, for he
suddenly began to stammer and hesitate,
and it was only by a great effort of will that
he was able to go on with his story. He did
not look at the man to whom he was talking,
but his eyes were fastened upon the after
part of the vessel. Bob looked in the same
direction, and saw that a bull’s eye which
probably opened into one of the cabin state-
rooms, was unclosed, and that a face was
pressed close to it—a pale, handsome face,
with thick gray whiskers and mustache, and
a pair of large black eyes which seemed to
be looking straight through him.

“Ben,” he cried, in great excitement:

‘‘Avast there,” replied the old sailor; ‘the
cap’in’s going to speak.”

‘I’ve got all the crew I want,” said the
captain, “but if youre a mind to come
aboard and behave yourselves, you can work
your passage to Singapore.”

“We'll do our duty the best we know
how, sir.” ;

‘All right, come aboard, then; but bear in
mind that I ama sailor allover, and a hard
man to suit.”

‘‘Ben,” repeated our hero, as the boat was
pulled up under the forechains.

‘“‘Avast there, will you? What's the good
of so much chin-music?” exclaimed the
sailor. ;

“But can’t I speak?’ demanded Bob,
greatly excited and surprised. “Ben, I
saw——

“You saw nothing. Belay your jaw.”

“But I tell you I saw my father looking
out that bull’s eye,” insisted Bob.

“Your father? Sah !” exclaimed the doc-
tor, opening his eyes in amazement.

“He saw his grandmother,” interrupted
Ben. ‘The boy is crazy, that’s what's the
matter with him. His father’s been under

beaten from its hinges, and the Malays | hatches nearly a year. Get aboard, doctor.

rushed in.
There was a fierce struggle in the cabin,

Now,” he added, turning almost fiercely
upon Bob, ‘fnot another word out of you

 

mingled with the reports of fire-arms, for

about what you saw if you want to keep on

 

 

 

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76

the good side of me. Mind that. Up you
a

Bob made the best of his way tothe deck
and looked about him. Then he was cer-
tain he knew the ship. She was the Ajax,
and she once belonged to his father. More
than that, his father was aboard of her that
very moment, for he had seen him with his
own eyes.

(TO BE CONTINUED. )

 

Reminiscenses of the Receut Rampus,

BY HARRY HORR,

 

ae

THE SECOND SPARK.

COFFEE-POT DICK’S EXPERIENCES AT A
WOMAN’S RIGHTS CONVENTION.

HE boys were in camp at Put-in Bay,
one of the most lovely retreats to be
found on the borders of that minia-
ture ocean, the Yellowstone Lake.

Near by, the Steamboat Springs were giv-
ing forth sounds in exact imitation of a
Mississippi high-pressure craft. On all
sides of the lake could be seen steam jets
arising from the springs on and near the
beach, and even to the experienced eye it
seemed as if the lake was swarming with
steam vessels. The camp-fire was burning
but a short distance from the beach, an
on the edge of a forest of pines and firs.
A few steps away, and on a small scaffold-
ing were the remains of the diminutive
eraft, “Anna,” in which two of Professor
Hayden’s party in ’71 made the circuit of
the lake.

It was here, on a beautiful night in
August, the boys were all assembled.
They had just eohethaedt from a visit toa
camp-fire of tourists, both ladies and
gentlemen, who were being piloted through
the Park by the old mountaineer and
guide, Jack Baronett. Our circle had
seen but little of female society for the
past twenty yeass, and the songs and _rip-
pling laughter of the fair ones from civili-
zation’s haunts, carried them -back to other
days where memory showed them the faces
of those whom they had loved and still es-
teemed even if they were at present rais-
ing embryo statesmen who were to save
the country at some remote period, or
mayhap raising flowers in the city, turnips
in the country, or cain in both.

“T tell you, boys, them songs of those
young ladies touched me square in the
soft spot,” remarked Wolverine William.

“Must have hit you in the head,” added
Quiet Jim, at which all the members
bowed their heads in assent.

“No use talking. I really think our trip
over to the city folks’ camp did us good,”
put in Quartz Joe. “If there is anythin
to make such grizzlies as you meek re
gentle, it is the society of refined females,
and if they only make you bow as they

ass on the trail, it will make you feel

etter for a whole month.”

This sentiment met with approval from
all save Coffee-Pot Dick, who filed this
demurrer :

“If you folks had seen as much of female
society as I have, you wouldn’t talk with
so much enthusiasm. If you had three girls
whom you fondly and simultaneously loved
unanimously ask you to please locate in
some Other country, have a strong female
hold your camp outfit because you owed

her a trifle for 3.
virago corral ae and a double-fisted

cause the wash bill wasn’ id in ad-
vance, then you wouldn't. le cthy oped

“Some are more like wom
That reminds me. You a i pan others,
Boone—GQld Ned we called him, Ww +
Ned struck it over in Alder just about th;
time Idid. We sold out our claims a
the dust turned into New York drafts’ os
thought we would take a spin first to the
old folks and then to the big camps in
America. In one of those places we took
a run out after supper, intending to brin
up at a theater. e would, but the trails
crossed each other so often that we got

 

 

lost. I wanted to inquire of the policeman
where the show was, but Ned wouldn’t
listen to it, but kept inquiring at every
drinking outfit we came to, and as we
drank strong lemonades at every one of
them, the consequence was we couldn’t
tell a theater outfit when we saw one—at
least Ned couldn’t.

“At last we came to a large building,
where a crowd was rushing up the steps.
We followed, but even then got off wrong.
Ned was bound to follow a tall female
who had specks, short hair, and a roll of
paper under her arm.

“Along a narrow, half-lighted trail she
led us and then scooted in through a side
door. We followed suit, and, dang me! if
we wasn’t on a big platform filled with
women, except another man besides our-
selves. We dropped into the first chairs.
Ned says:

“ ‘Democratic meeting, by gosh! ’

“I told him I thought it was Republi-
can.

“ “Anyhow,’ says Ned, ‘I’m a-goin’ to
shoot off a mouthful of mountain elo-
quence at ’em.’

“I told him. to go slow and not get off
on the wrong trail, and when he spoke to
kind of please all parties, seeing as how
we didn’t know the color of the animal,
whether it was Republican or otherwise.

“Just then a glaring-orbed female came
up and wished to know who we were. I
told her I was Major Bill Anderson, of the
only paper in the mountains, and then I
introduced Ned as Colonel Boone, the
silver-tongued orator of the Rockies. She
took his name down in a little book, and
asked him if he would address the meeting
after the aay. business had been
finished. Ned bowed like a Chesterfield
and kept his mouth closed for fear she
might drop on what kind of lemonades he
had been imbibing. In a short time the
wild-eyed female introduced him as ‘the
renowned champion of female suffrage, the
silver-tongued orator of the Rocky Moun-
tains.’ Ned’s eloquence flowed something
like this:

“ *Feller-citizens—The future is before
you and the past is behind you. This is a
glorious occasion. I do not stop to ask
what party you belong to, but as long as
you pan-out big you are all right in this
world anda few others to come. If you
don’t act square you'll find in the
clean-up nothing but a little black sand
and a few broken nails, and you’ll find
yourselves bu’sted on the bed rock of
misery and getting ready to pack up before
taking the trail to that place where over-
coats and snow-shoes ain’t at a premium.
I ain’t a-going to tell you my politics.

It’s enough for you to know that I don’t |
vote twice in one day nor scratch my |

ticket. Now, there was Coyote Sam, who
lived up at Boomerang. He voted twice,
and that day he went without his supper
and forgot to take his boots off.’

~~
eee hak

~

  

“The female aforesaid pulled his coat-
tails, and whispered to him that other
speakers were to follow, and so Ned wound
up like this: :

“ The old girl sitting behind me says it
is time for me to shut down my chin-gate,
as there are other orators who want to
speak. Well, I ain’t a camping on their
ground, but I want to say just this. I’m
all the way from Montana, me “and my
pard, and as we came to have a good time,
what do you say if all us boys go out and
fill our reservoirs while the girls run the
show?’’

“You just ought to near the yells. A

oliceman invited us out, and as he was

roke we had to do all the treating. He
made it an object forus to do so. Ned
was bound to go back, and, as he expressed
it, to see if any of them othe orators
come up to his speech. This time we took
up a location in a seat near the door
among the common folks. It was a sing-

&\ular sight. There wasn’t a single man

talking on the platform, but about twenty
emales were just banging away, and as

GOOD NEWS.

| eclatness?

 

each owned a shrill voice, I tell you it
made it rough on our mountain ears.
Then there was alot of boys and young
men who contributed lots of original re-
marks in quite loud tones, while the rest
of the audience were yelling, ‘ order.’
After every one thought they had acquit-
ted themselves in an admirable manner,
then the female who had introduced Ned
came and rapped on the little table, and
said: ‘Sisters, I take pleasure in introduc-
ing you to that golden-voiced, brave de-
fenderess of the cause we hold nearest and
dearest to our hearts, the noble, pure, un-
selfish, and gifted child of nature, Miss
Elmina Ireney Dilboy, of Skooperville.‘

“Says Ned: ‘I'll bet'an ounce if nature
lost that child she never sent any one out
to ring a bell for her.’ I indorsed the
same. I can only remember the last por-
tion of her speech, and probably I didn’t
hear it exactly as she said it, on account
of my remoteness. I think she wound up
something like this.

“*And is this all we ask of the tyrant
and monster, man?

“*Must we stoop to beg where we should
command? Must the coarser nater pre-
dominate over finer? Must we be confined
to the narrow rut of domestic life, and not
speak in public, save an occasional whisper
and whimper in the prayer-meetin’? Never,
never. Our nater forbids. It revolts at
the idee. Look around and see the posi-
tion filled by man. Oh, sisters, can we
not fill the same with more dignity and
If the ballot was ours would
we be driven to the polls like dumb cattle
and vote a straight ticket? Don’t they
know we would scratch? Of course they
do. If our country was in peril and con-
fronted by foreign foes, wouldn’t we be
good soldiers? Oh, sisters, in that dark
hour who but women would be the first to
spring to arms? Couldn’t we take charge
of the infantry, and wouldn’t we always
have sufficient baggage? Would we he
afraid to powder the face—I mean to face
the powder?

“ “Then look at other pursuits. Couldn’t
we improve the telegraph offices? When
us as. operators, wouldn’t we make
the messages fly, and be the happiest when
we were the busiest?

“*Wouldn’t the railroads be better for
being in our fair hands? Haven’t we
after a multitudinous experience at last
discovered the great secret of managing a
train? Would there ever be an accident
caused by our not switching on time?

“*There’s another calling the men
should be driven from. Painting. Don’t
they know we all paint—pinaforically
speaking? Couldn’t the lawyers give way
to us? Who better in a suit than we?
Hither spring, or breach of promise.
Wouldn’t we be at home on filing de-
murrers, and could they hold a candle to
us on examinations? Cross-examinations?
Wouldn’t we increase the right of dower
threefold—and more, if it was in the fig-
ures?

“ *Couldn’t the sawbones let us take
their profession, we who are so familiar
with it? Couldn’t we diagnose all the af-
fections of the heart? Would there be an
ailing sister in the land? Wouldn’t balmy
health spread her wings over all when we
would prescribe lace bonnets, a trip to
Europe, a jaunt to the national park, a
new house, and other little cordials of a
like nater? Why, of course. Men, don’t
oe know you would all be heathens if it
nadn’t been for the first one of our sex,
who was bound to get a taste of the
knowledge-tree fruit in the garden? And
didn’t she get it? And hain’t we been
brimful of knowledge ever since? And
can’t even some of us advanced ones tell
more than we really know? ’ Of course we
can. Then, again, there is the cooper.
Couldn’t we excel in this trade? Haven’t
we had experience in the dim past in the
hoop line? Of. corse tain’t to be supposed
we have forgotten that. Wouldn’t the
blacksmiths stand aside for us? Can’t we
shoe a horse, we who can so successfully
shoe a hen? Could the male architects
compete with us in planning, the farmers
in sowing, or the sailors in rigging out?
There is no calling in which we would not
excel, for calling is our: strong forte. If
your homes are in the red fiend’s path,
who but women could run with signal
success the fire-engine. Absurd, I hear you
say. Oh, timid creatures, don’t we al-
ready run with the hose And if——’ ”
* * * * * * *

And then the boys tied Dick snugly in
his blankets, rolled’ him down the beach,
and placed him where the sad waves would
toy with his ringlets, as a fearful example
to future maligners of the lovelier sex.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

———__-0-»

No. 7 Will be a “ Dandy.”

enter eeeea

We are preparing a Base-Ball picture that
will be issued as a supplement to Goop News
No. 7.

secure the best Base-Ball picture ever given

Boys don’t miss this opportunity to

away. Don't be ‘caught out” on this prize.

 

‘that mild-mannered mule slumbered.

 

Things Generally.

BY MAX ADELER,.

 

Why the Serenade Failed.

FR VER at New Hope, a Mr. Dunkel, ie
< 2) who had just returned from Europe, }

brought with him a ‘‘harmonicon.”
It is an instrument constructed a
good deal like a hand organ, but it is larger
and about ten times more powerful. When
it is turned on suddenly in a quiet place, it |
affects the nerves of unsuspecting people
very much as if a cannon were fired close to
their ears. A lot of young fellows who had
never heard it played got Dunkel to lend it
to them one night for the purpose of sere-
nading Miss Brown. They put the concern

MCA

in a wagon, and, with the help of an urbane J

mule, they hauled it around in front of
Brown’s house about eleven o’clock at night. 7
There they halted, and the suave mule went
calmly to sleep, while they made the ma- 7
chine ready for action. The first tune for |
which the barrel was set was ‘‘Thou’lt Never
Cease to Love.” Young McIntosh took hold
of the handle and gave it a few preliminary
grinds, in order to fill the bellows; and aa
0
one ever knew what he was dreaming of;
but the next minute McIntosh gave the
crank another turn, and a fearful B flat
came screeching out on the night wind with
the vehemence of a locomotive whistle.
second later that mule was proceeding dowB
the street at the rate of forty knots an hour,
with the harmonicon at his heels; and, be
fore he could be checked, he went over the
wharf into the river. Old Brown, mean-
time, had his head out of the window call-
ing for the police, under the impressio®
that he had heard a blood-curdling cry 0
“Murder !” and in a few moments the wholé
population of the village was in the street.
They fished out the serenaders, and thet
they angled for the mule and the harmoD-
icon, and the serenade was postponed for
that evening. The next strains that break
upon the ear of Miss Brown while she 18
slumbering will probably come from an a ~
cordion. Mules haven’t got enough senti-
ment for nocturnal music.

An Unlucky Actor.

‘

  

with another disaster. Last week ®
the manager put on a piece entitle?”
‘Wild Bill; or, the Scout of the
Rocky Mountains,” and in this Mr. Hamme!
was to be tied on the back of an unbroke® ~
horse and sent hurling over the edge of #
precipice. As nobody in town would lend #
horse for the purpose, the manager hired #
mule from the captain of the canal-bo@™
“The Roaring Maria.” During the rehearsal?

SSF

the mule did well enough, but on the fir#]-

night of the play the footlights must havé
scared it, for as soon as the savages had tl
Wild Bill upon its back, instead of chargil8
over that awful lath-and-canvas precipice © 7
refused to budge. And when the India?
chieftain prodded it in the side with a Hi
spear, it not only let out its heels ond kicked
that unfortunate brave into the wing 7
where his spear jammed savagely agaiD®y ©
the stomach of the prompter, but it reache
its head around and made an earnest ei
to chew Wiid Bill’s legs. Failing in this, ?
stood upon three feet and endeavored ¥ —
reach up to Mr. Hammer and scrape Di |
off with the hoof of its near hind leg. The?
the manager came out and tried to start the ;
mule with awhip. But it merely begaD ™ =
wheel round and round, until the tragediat ‘
felt seasick; and then it charged up agai®®
the scenery, kicked a brand-new sunset”
rags, reduced the entire precipice to spli2 :
ters, upset two muslin trees, and finally 4
brought up with one leg entangled 1D ™
Sea of Gallilee, which was pressed into
vice on this occasion to represent Salt Lak od ;
This frightened the mule so that it jerket
the Sea of Gallilee clear over on the 8 1
and then went into a fit, during which a
tumbled, and after rolling over and OY od
Mr. Hammer three or four times it plunge, f
into the-orchestra and expired with ? ;
haunches in the bass drum and its fore a
tearing the big fiddle into kindling WO? 4”

—

<r R. HAMMER, the actor, has met}

Bx

 

When they untied Wild Bill he rose, wipe
the blood from his nose with his sle® |
felt his legs to see that they were unbroké Ig
and then he went around to an alderme, 4
office and registered an oath never to P 1 5
anything again but low comedy if he eho of
live nine thousand years. ‘The Scot’.
the Rocky Mountains” has been withdr® io 1
and the captain of ‘‘The Roaring Mari@ pat 3

about to enter suit for damages 0
mule.

(uthipinnoalanst atacnesits +a

+> o>
A SIGN painter’s oath—‘‘Hang it.”

  

 

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NEW S.

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3 | GATHERING WILD FLOWERS TO-
: DAY.
Copyrighted 1889, by T. R. Harms & Co.
PB a oe ace
cel, ; Down the meadows green we go,
e, b Buttercups are growing there,
Poa And the daisies to and fro,
n. Bending on the balmy air.
| & Loud the childish voices ring,
ger 4 Romping in the woods at play,
n And the blossoms bright they bring,
st From the shady dell to-day,
ple ‘ CHORUS.
>to Gathering eon with the children,
: , Roses so red and gay ;
nad Out in the woods with the children,
1 it | Dancing along the way.
re- Bluebells, aerate and pansies,
; All in a big bouquet,
erm Happy are we and joyous,
— Gathering wild flowers to-day.
0 :
y , We know where the violets grow,
ght. Peeping out. among the grass ;
ent — Where the flowers blossom so,
mia- Nodding at us as we pass.
for ; And the roses ruby red,
3 q Seem to shake their heads and say,
ver
¢ ag Take us from our thorny beds,
ol ia AS we gather wild flowers to-day.
Ary | CHORUS.
stil
of SWIPES;
of; 5
the OR,
flat T
vith HE WORST BOY IN THE WARD.
A ee
_ By “ FRANK,”
“ua Author of “Smart Aleck,” ete.
the ‘eo Swirzs” was comme pa in No.1. Back number
i ¥v nced i ws de ers
i ; “40 be obtained of all News Agents.]
call- ts ee
ion
a . SYNOPSIS.
hole | nates was an orphan. Herr Frankfurt Noodle-
eet. hayee his employer, was a relative of Swipes, |
‘ louse Married the boy’s aunt. Swipes hada very
ae ety va ee ee ees
non F y .. Swipes was |
| for Ang Tst-lieutenant in Noodleheimer’s ahireatieh
ok the chief amusement of the old German was
ree. One ep the floor with Swipes about twice a week,
1e 18 wporning old Noodleheimer told Swipes that
1 Ace : ife’s cousin had died and left a large sum of
onti- | Condi to them, which they could secure only on
| ote ot phat they. abstained from, quarreling for
id 1 - Swipes promised to be good. While
! cai, Were conversing, Professor Cicero Gallus
Wag” into the saloon for an “eye-opener.” As he
40 “old-timer” he had often seen Noodle-

Dieter pulverize Swipes, and to please the pro-

lige of the saloon, he at once commenced to
Belzaq SW ipes. To his surprise, old Noodieheimer
Geyna, Lim and mopped up the floor with him. He
Quajended an explanation, and was made ac-
‘Z maed With the provisions of the will, which
Menge ately caused him to become a staunch
Men to Swipes. Our hero also had another

xepation and a *‘tank” from choice. Mr. Noodle-
vent and Professor Gallus have many thrilling
Congres, of which Swipes and Hemorrhage are
he Perec’ the authors, but the reader will see, as

Meng
there}

. 4re not so ‘black as they are painted,”
Wo

Wish to have a laugh at the expense of
€r gentlemen,

and
the

NUMBER FIVE.

x SWIPES STARTS ON A JOURNEY.
HE reader will remembered that in
Our last we left Professor Cicero
Gallus in the clutches of the law.

by”
| ae
of

eated in a fashionable restaurant,

 

Sed asa woman, he had been indulg-

 

d hamed Hemorrhage, who wasa reporter by |

S these columns, that our hero and his |

|
|

rofessor. Just as he
grip on the old man’s coat- collar

his balance, and over he went on
top of the table.

That piece of furniture, not being built
to stand such a strain as the weight of a
two-hundred pound Teuton, gave way.

Down it went with Noodleheimer and
the professor on top of it, and the police-
man on top of both of them.

The crash could have been heard a block
off. Ali the ladies in the restaurant
screamed and sprang to their feet, the
well-trained waiters. concealed sunny
smiles beneath their handkerchiefs, and
the proprietor of the place came rushing
forward with despair written upon his face
as he viewed his demolished stock-in-trade
and thought of the loss of caste his estab-
lishment would suffer by being the scene
of a row of this sort.

Swipes hurried in, an expression of deep
solicitude on his face, and began to pre-
tend to help the men to their feet. But as
soon as one of them would get. partiall
disentangled from the debris the yout
would artistically trip him up again, and
down he would go with the dullest and
most sickening kind of a thud.

At last the landlord “got onto” Swipes’
racket, and waving him away assisted the
three men to arise.

When at last they got on their feet they
were a sight for the gods.

The professor had lost his bonnet and
wig, and was bleeding profusely at the
noise. Mr. Noodleheimer had fallen with
his head in the ‘“cooler’’ which had con-
tained the champagne bottles, and as soon
as he got up he began picking large
chunks of ice out of his left ear.

As for the policeman, his uniform was

tempted to seize the
ot a
e los

— a Wy,
meen en ti (

 

 

Z

Z

THE PASSENGERS AROSE TO THEIR FEET,

AND DISGUST MADE A

#1 Bin ) ig- completely ruined, it being covered from
efor . eh Many of the most expensive luxuries neck to heels with ice-cream.
nis, } Old N, Season and having lotsof fun with| To say that that “ cop” was in a tower-
ed 1 hpodeheimer, when a policeman clap- ' ing rage would be but to faintly describe
, hiP ; the on the shoulder and informed him his feelings.
The2 Deans © was wanted on the charge of ap- “Come along with you now, both of you,”
rt ae Tho SR ee ee te ad he yen oe ao eogtn oe er
oe ie much startled, the professor de- one hand an e professor’s wi e
iad } %»2ed to make an attempt to “brass it other, “and if either of you make the
ine a Be se of, | siighiest resistance I’ll club the head of
a0 you mean e cried in as’ off him.”
set ft an tmitation of a woman’s voice as| “Mais, monsieur,” interrupted the res-
=i = | te in aie to give. on Eee? eo . taurant keeper, “who vill pay fo ze dam-
navy}. & public restaurant is unbearable! | age?”
in the | ante is th ietor?” “G for it If,” roared the offi-
iD 'S the proprietor x0 pay for it yourself,” roared the o
9 Ser" ing at Sall right,” said the officer, speak- | cer. “Say any more and I’ll gather you
Lake F lagg &low tone. “This is a respectable in, too. I'll have my eye on this place,
jerkee | ate jp2 we don’t want any disturbance | and if another row like this occurs in it
stag Om, al We can help it, so you’d better | it’ll be shut up, and don’t you forget it.”
nich Le Poh ee mictly.” And leaving the indignant Boniface
ove deg tes rofessor Gallus would have de- | uttering maledictions in choice French he
@ Dot follow this good advice, if it had | ran his two prisoners out of the place.
Une The n before Mr. Noodleheimer. They were followed. to the station-house
th YO Nea Old Dutchman had been so amazed _by acrowd of about two hundred; and
re le §h yy of the trick of which he had been | need we say that Swipes was among the

Nene °OScious victim that until this mo-
But i’ had been deprived of speech.
‘ tigg he n

ow began to recover his facul-

: oe, the lunch, he arose ae ne feet.

tar imminy,” he roared, “dot vos

i Rhy iO8t disgisting drick efer I haf heardt

th se fo a gpg you vas got to seddle
‘ °F dis.”

Mleem Make so much noise,” said the

Ge nots “Do you mean to say that you

Ung», Know that this was Professor

«

0

h, tainly I do,” bawled the old man.

Dy te half der life knock ouit of him,

Teached across the table and at-

  

  

W

Ng

. tho > And fi . “ z ‘
ly » filled with indignation as the
to, . of the ten dollars he would have |

 

number? :

He was in the front row; and every time
that either Noodleheimer or the professor
looked at him he pretended to be weeping
bitterly. ;

He did not lose sight of them until they
were safely lodged in their respective
dungeon cells. Then he returned to the
saloon, looking as if he had been to a
funeral instead of having one of the big-
gest “rackets” of the season.

Anyone not intimately acquainted with
Swipes nish have imagined that he had
had enough fun to satisfy even his voraci-
ous appetite for a week at least. But we
regret to be obliged to state that such
was not the case.

For several days the youth had in prep-:

aration a brand new racket which he ex-
— to play at the expense of Professor
allus.

To make this scheme of our hero’s fully
understood by the reader we must explain
that ever since the old professor had been
a frequenter of Mr. Noodleheimer’s saloon
he had been in the habit, whenever he had
taken a drop or two too much of his favor-
ite brand of Jersey lightning, of boasting
about certain great expectations of his.

The professor was an Englishman; and,
according to his story, if certain persons
in the old country would only have the
good taste to die he would succeed to an
estate worth about one hundred thousand
pounds per year and the rank of a baronet.

Swipes had carefully taken notes of the
professor’s utterances from time to time,
and had been to some trouble to investi-
gate the matter, thinking that there
might be fun in it.

He had discovered that there was some
truth in the story, but that about half of
England would have to die before the old
man would stand any chance of realizing
his dreams of wealth and fame.

However, knowing that the professor
still had the matter “on the brain,” he
had determined to profit by the fact, and
at the same time get a little wholesome
amusement.

In accordance with this resolution he
had written a letter to the old man, and
sent it to a friend of his—a former school
chum—in Boston, requesting him to mail
it in that city.

When he returned from the exciting
scene at the restaurant Swipes found the
letter, which he had addressed to the pro-
fessor in care of Mr. Noodleheimer, await-

 

|

 

ing hina.

 

AND WITH LOOKS INDICATIVE OF HORROR
RUSH FOR THE DOOR.

With a pensive smile he struck it in the
lass behind the bar to await the old pro-
essor’s arrival.

There seemed; however, to be consider-
able uncertainty as to when he would
come in to claim it.

If the judge before whom Professor Gal-
lus and Mr. Noodleheimer were arraigned
should take it into his head to send the
two distinguished gentlemen to tHe island
for their health, the joke would necessarily
be postponed until their return.

However, not to harrow up the feelings
of the reader too much, he didn’t. The
two old men, when they were hauled up in
court the next morning told a soul-sicken-
ing tale about their sorrows and sufferings ;
and the eens seeing that they had
been made the victims of some unprinci-
pled practical joker dismissed them with
a reprimand and a fine.

It was about eleven o’clock, A. M., when
they galloped into the saloon; and we need
not state that there was fire in the eyes of
both as _ they approached the bar, behind
which Swipes sat, reading a morning

pee.
He had seen them coming, and was all
ready for them.

“Saved, saved!” he howled, leaping to
his feet as they entered. “I have been
looking through the Howler, expecting to
find an account of your trial and imprison-
ment, but all is well now.”

“Don’d you gif me some more of dat,
Schvipes,” roared Noodleheimer, or it
vill not be vell for me.” ; :

“You have gone far enough, Swipes,”
added Professor Gallus. “We recognize
your hand in this affair.’

“Yah,” said the German, as he began
fiercely devouring the free lunch, for he
had had no breakfast, “ve vas recognize

both of dem. Schvipes, if you blay some
more dricks like dot again I vill be sdtry
for it, ain’d it?”

Swipes had listened to these impassioned
remarks with a bewildered expression of
countenance.

“Gentlemen,” he cried, “I am at a loss
to pesersean to what you refer. Are you
mad?”

“You pet I vas mad,” returned Mr.
Noodleheimer excitedly, as he swallowed
a whole Frankfurt sausage at one gulp.
“Dot racket haf gost me twenty tollas =
retty.”

“What racket?” gasped Swipes with an
expression that would have melted the
heart of a cigar sign. “Is it possible, Mr.
Noodleheimer, that you accuse me, your
best friend on earth of conspiring against

you? Oh, I must be dreaming!”

“Vell, Schvipes,” said the old Dutch-
man, visibly impressed, “dot peezness
looks pad for you, und I vould like dat
you make some oxplanations.”

“Make nothing!” shouted the professor.
“Noodleheimer, don’t let this boy hood-

wink you again. It is evident enough, no
matter what he chooses to say, that he,
and he alone is the author of all our suf-
ferings. It was he who put me up to play
that trick on you, he who informed the
police, he who—”

“J will not try to defend myself against
such base accusations,” interrupted Swipes
with dignity. “What you say, Professor
Gallus, is of little account, but I trust
that Mr. Noodleheimer will not allow
himself in a moment of passion to utter
rash remarks which might be the means
of robbing him of his wife’s cousin’s for-
tune.”

This brought the old Teuton to terms
at once.

“Schvipes,” he said, wreathing his feat-
ures into a so-called smile, “you und me
vas pen friendts alvays, ain’d it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Noodleheimer,”

“TI can expreciate a goot choke yoost so
vell like anyvon, I guess.”

“TI hope so, sir.”

“You would not go by dot lawyer und
schyear dot ve haf qvarrels hat alretty?”

“I should. be sorry to be forced to do so,”
said Swipes, shaking his head, ‘‘but—”

“Tf you do dot,” interposed Noodleheimer
in genuine alarm, “ve vill both lose dot
fortune.”

“I love money, Mr. Noodleheimer,” said
Swipes with his most sanctimonious ex-
pression of countenance, “but I love the
truth more.”

“Schvipes, dot vas foolishness, alretty,”
cried the saloon-keeper. “Schvipes, I vas
der pest friendt you haf efer got.”

“Now see here, Noodleheimer,” inter-
rupted the professor, who had listened to
these remarks with ill-concealed impati-
ence and disgust, “you’re going back on
every word you said. Before we came in
you told me that you were going to thrash
Swipes out of a year’s growth, but now
you are actually apologizing to him.”

“Oh, did Mr. Noodleheimer say that?”
exclaimed Swipes with a shocked look.

“Nein,” shouted the old man excitedly
“TI haf nodings of dot kind sait, und don'd
you belief me, Schvipes.”

“To put it mildly, sir,” hissed the en-
raged professor, “that is a falsification.”

 

 

“Py chimminy,” roared Noodleheimer,
“if you gall me ein fortification vonce
more [I vill knock you py der middle of
last veek.”

“Do it, sir, do it!” cried Professor Gallus
ete as he assumed a pugilistic atti-
tude.

But Swipes did not want them té6 fight
just then, so he interposed with:

“Gentlemen, you forget yourselves.
Other matters claim your attention. Here
is a letter for Professor Gallus.”

“A letter for me?” exclaimed the profes-
sor in surprise, for he had very few corre-
spondents.

“Yes, sir,” smiled Swipes handing it
over, “and I trust that it contains good
news.” ;

“Good news!” shouted the old man,
hastily scanning the contents of the epis-
nes “T should say it did! Just listen to
this.”

And the professor read as follows:

“PROFESSOR CICERO GALLUS—Dear Sir :—I am
pleased to inform you that by the recent death
of Sir Marmaduke Gallus, of Lincolnshire, Eng-
land, you succeed to the baronetcy and the estate,
the income from which, as you are doubtless
aware, is more than twenty thousand pounds per
year.
qe have for maby years been Sir Marmaduke's

solicitor, and trust to have an opportunity to serve
youin the same capaci ty.
“J have come to the United States expressly to
see you. 1 landed in Boston last hight, and in-
tended to go to New York at once. But unfor-
tunately I sprained my ankle, and am now con-
fined to my room, sol must ask you to come to
me. Please do not delay, as there,are several very
important matters about which I desire to con-
sult you. You will find me at the Parker House.
“Truly yours,

“BLACKSTONE BRIGGS.”

“Py chimminy,” gasped Mr. Noodle-
heimer, “you vas in luck at last, bro-
fessor.”

“Sir Cicero, if you please,” said the old
man with dignity. “Yes, Fortune has

 

finally decided to smile on me, and it’s
about time.”

 
  
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
      
   
    
    
  
   
  
 
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
    
  
   
  

 

  
  
  
 
  
 

 

 

   
   
   
 
 
   
  
 
    
   
    
  
 
    
  
  
 
     
   
  
   
   
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
      
         
  

 

 

 

               
       
         
   
         
 

 

     
    
   
      
   
783

“Dot vos so.”

“T will start for Boston by the three |
o’clock train, and you, Noodleheimer, shall |
go with me, if you will.”

“Vy, seertainly, brofes—
Cicero.” .

“J will stand all expenses,” continued |
the professor, capering about the room|
with joyous abandon, ‘‘and we will have
a never-to-be-forgotten time.”

“You pet ve vill.”

“Unfortunately I am short of cash, and
shall have to borrow the wherewithal for}
the journey from you, but I will repay.
you as soon as I get an installment of my
fortune.”

“Dot vos all right.”

“Can’t I go too, Sir Cicero?”
Swipes with an insinuating smile,

“Yes, my boy,” said the professor pa-
tronizingly. “If Mr. Noodleheimer has no
objections you may accompany us.”

“T vas got no jecobtions,” said Mr.
Noodleheimer; “aber rememper ein ding,
Schvipes !”

4 What is that, sir?”

“Der must be no funny peezness by dot
shourney.” : :

“Why, certainly not,” said Swipes, with
a well-assumed look of horror. “Do you
think I would venture to take such a lib-
erty with a real live baronet?”

“Dot vas all right, den. Now, Sir
Cicero, I vill write you ein check for aj
gouple hundred tollars for dot shourney.”

“Very good, Mr. Noodleheimer.’

In an hour the professor had cashed
his check, and had “spruced up” a little |
on a portion of the ee

At three o’clock the travelers started on
their pilgrimage.

All went well until the train had nearly |
reached New Haven. Then Swipes felt:
that he could not keep quiet any longer, |
He had not had a “racket” of any sort for
four or five hours, and the monotony was
beginning to wear on him. So, leaving:
the two old men engaged in conversation
he mingled with the other passengers. |

He presently returned to his seat with
an expression of countenance so serious
and meditative that if his two companions
had been paying any particular attention
to him they would have known that he
had some sort of a scheme in the wind.

- “What are all the passengers staring at
us for?” asked the professor a few minutes
later. “And I wonder why so many of|
them are leaving the car.”

As he spoke nearly all the remaining
passengers arose to their feet, and gazing |
at Noodleheimer and the professor with |
looks indicative of horror and disgust |
made a rush for the door.

Swipes’ scheme had begun to work.

“This is an outrage—nothing less!”
yelled one man, shaking his fist at the
amazed couple. “You two fellows ought |
to be ejected from this train without a}
moment’s delay.”

“ Vell, py cracious,” cried Mr. Noodle-
heimer, in utter bewilderment, “vat vas
der madder py me?”

As he spoke, the conductor entered and
approached, an expression on his face!
which showed that be meant business.

(TO BE CONTINUED. )

> 0 me

Only an Irish Boy;

I mean Sir

asked

 

}
}
|

Anty Burke's Fortes: ald Misfortnnes,

| stout boy.

| tion was essential to success in life.

 

By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.,
Author of “Ragged Dick,” “Fame and Fortune,”
“Sink or Swim,” “Tattered Tom,” “Brave
and Bold,” etc.

a icitnaciilty

[“Onty AN InisH Boxy” was commenced in No. 1
Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. }

~ olan

SYNOPSIS.

Andy Burke, who was ‘only an Irish boy,” was |
fifteen years of age when our story opens. He |
had been working for a farmer some distance from
his home, His mother was a poor widow, who
lived in Crampton with her daughter Mary, who |
was eleven years old. Andy was on his way home, |
his work on’ the farm having ceased, when he en- |
countered Godfrey Preston, the fifteen year old
son of Colonel Anthony Preston, the wealthiest
man in the town of Crampton. Andy had stopped
to inquire of John, Mr. Preston’s hired man, the
way to his mother’s residence, when young God-
frey, who was a very haughty lad, had called him
a beggar. Andy resented the insult, when God-
frey undertook to thrash him, but was himself
whipped by the Irish boy. fp the midst of the
battle Mr. Preston came along. Bein a sensible |
man, and not relishing the overbearing co ee t
his son, he took sides with Andy, when gon ¢ .
plained why the boys were fighting. This re tly
angered Godfrey, who at once sought his noth, >
Mrs. Preston, who was very much like her go on
disposition, always took sides with Godtre eha
in this instance told Mr. Preston he should have |
condemned the Irish boy. As Godfrey could get
no satisfaction from his father, and being too
much of a coward to again openly attack Andy,
he resorted to a mean trick for revenge. Mrs.
Burke occasionally received work from Mrs. Pres-
ton, and Godtirey suggested that his mother should
cease to give the widow any more employment. |
This Mrs. Preston did. Mrs. Burke was grieved at!
losing her work, but Andy cheered her with the
promise of soon finding something to do, He
Started out In search of employment, and was for-

‘

GooDpD

tunate enough to secure work at the home of a
couple of spinsters named Priscilla and Sophia
Grant—the compensation to be five dollars per
week. The Misses Grant were very kind to Andy,
and when school opened in September they con-
cluded to let the Irish boyreceive an education.
While at school one day Godfrey Preston took ad-
vantage of one of the smaller boys named Alfred
Parker, and was thrashing him, when Andy in-
terfered and gave Godfrey a sound drubbing.
Godfrey at once reported Andy’s conduct to the
teacher, Mr. Stone, who at once inquired into the
affair, and when the truth was told, instead of
punishing Andy, the teacher reprimanded God-
frey, greatly to that young gentleman’s disgust.
As soon as Godfrey arrived home he informed his
mother of what had occurred. Mrs. Preston re-
quested a call from the teacher, and as the visit
cf Mr. Stone resulted in a clear vindication of
Andy and the condemnation of Godfey, Mrs. Pres-
ton became very angry and refused to allow her
son to attend school while Mr. Stone occupied the
position of teacher.

a Genial

CHAPTER XVI.
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

ODFREY didn’t return to school at
all. He fancied that it would be
more aristocratic to go to a board-
ing-school, and his mother con-

curring in this view, he was entered as a
scholar at the Melville Academy, situated in
Melville, twelve miles distant. Once a fort-
night he came home to spend the Sunday.
On these occasions he flourished about with
a tiny cane, and put on more airs than ever.
No one missed him much outside of his own
family. Andy found the school considerably
more agreeable after his departure.

We will now suppose twelve months to
have passed. During this time Andy has
grown considerably, and is now quite a
He has improved also in educa-
tion. The Misses Grant, taking a kind in-
terest in his progress, managed to spare him
half the day in succeeding terms, so that he
continued to attend school. Knowing that
he had but three hours to learn, when the

| others had six, he was all the more diligent,

and was quite up to the average standard for
boys of his age. The fact is, Andy was an
observing boy, and he realized that educa-
Mr.
Stone, before going away, talked with him
on this subject, and gave him some advice
which Andy determined to follow.

As may be inferred from what [have said,
Andy was still working for the Misses Grant.
He had grown accustomed to their ways,
and succeeded in giving them perfect satis-
faction, and accomplished quite as much
work as John, his predecessor, though the
latter was a man.

As Christmas approached, Miss Priscilla
said one day to her sister:

“Don’t you think, Sophia, it would be
well to give Andrew a Christmas present ?”

‘Just so,” returned Sophia, approvingly.

‘He has been very faithful and obliging
all the time he has been with us.”

“Just so.”

“T have been thinking what would be a
good thing to give him,”

“A pair of spectacles,” suggested Sophia,
rather absent-mindedly. :

‘Sophia, you are a goose.”

‘Just so,” acquiesced her sister, meekly.

“Such a gift would be very inappropriate.”

“Just so.”

‘A pair of boots,” was the next sugges-
tion.

“That would be better. Boots would be
very useful, but I think it would be well to
give him something that would contribute
to his amusement. Of course we must con-
sult his taste, and not our own. We are
not boys.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, promptly. ‘‘And

| he is not a lady,” she added, enlarging upon

the idea.
“Of course not.
what do boys like ?”
_ Just so,” said Sophia, but this admis-
sion did not throw much light upon the
character of the present to be bought.
Just then Andy himself helped them to
a decision. “He entered, cap in hand, and
said:
“If you can spare me, Miss Grant, I
would like to go skating on the pond.”
‘‘Have you a pair of skates, Andrew ?”
“No, ma’am,” said Andy; ‘‘but one of the
boys will.lend me a pair.”
“Yes, Andrew, you can go, if you will be
home early.”
“Yes, ma’am—thank you.”
As he went out, Miss Priscilla said:
“J have it.”
“What ?” asked Sophia, alarmed.
“T mean that I have found out what te
give to Andrew.”
“What is it ?”
“A pair of skates.”
“Just so,” said Sophia.
them.”
“So I think, Suppose we go to the store
while he is away, and buy him a pair.”
Won't he need to try them on?” asked

Now the question is,

‘He will like

her sister,

 

NEWS.

“No,” said Priscilla. ‘‘They don’t need
to fit exactly as boots.”

So the two sisters made their way to the
village store, and asked to look at their
stock of skates.

‘‘Are you going to skate, Miss Priscilla?”
asked the shopkeeper, jocosely.

“No; they are for Sophia,” answered Pris-
cilla, who could joke occasionally.

“Oh, Priscilla,” answered the matter-of-
fact Sophia, ‘‘you didn’t tell me about that.
Iam sure I couldn’t skate. You said they
were for Andrew.”

“Sophia, you are a goose.”

‘Just so.”

‘“‘T was only in joke.”

“Just so.”

The ladies, who never did things by
halves, selected the best pair in the store,
and paid for the. When Andy had re-
turned from skating, Priscilla said, ‘‘How
did you like the skating, Andrew ?”

“Tt was bully,” said Andrew, enthusiasti-
cally.

“‘Whose skates did you borrow ?”

“Alfred Parker’s. They were too small
for me, but I made them do.”

“T should suppose you would like to have
a pair of your own?”

‘So I should, but I can’t afford to buy a
pair just yet. Il tell you what I want to do,
and maybe you'll help me about buyin’ it.”

“What is it, Andrew ?”

“You know Christmas is comin’, ma’am,
and Iwant to buy my mother a nice dress
for a Christmas present—not a calico one,
but a thick one for winter.”

‘Alpaca or de laine ?”

“T expect so; I don’t know the name of
whatI want, but you do. How much would
it cost?”

“T think you could get a good de laine for
fifty cents a yard. I saw some at the store
this afternoon.”

“And how many yards would be wanted,
ma’am ?”

‘“‘About twelve, I should think.”

‘Then it would be six dollars.”

‘Just so,” said Sophia, who thought it
about time she took part in the conversa-
tion.

“T’ve got the money, ma’am, and I'll give
it to you, if you and Miss Sophia will be
kind enough to buy it for me.”

“To be sure we will, Andrew,” said Pris-
cilla, kindly. ‘I am glad you are such a
good son.”

“Just so, Andrew.”

“You see,” said Andy, “mother won’t buy
anything for herself. She always wants to
buy things for Mary and me. She wants us
to be well dressed, but she goes with the
same old clothes. So I want her to have a
new dress.”

“You want her to have it at Christmas,
then ?”

“Yes, ma’am, if it wouldn’t be too much
trouble.”

‘That is in two days.
and I will buy the dress.”

“Thank you. Here’s the money,” and
Andy counted out six dollars in bills, of
which Miss Priscilla took charge.

The next day they fulfilled the commission,
and purchased a fine dress pattern at the
village store. It cost rather more than six
dollars, but this they paid out of their own
pockets, and did not report to Andy. Just
after supper, as he was about to go home to
spend Christmas Eve, they placed the bundle
in his hands.

“Tsn’t it beautiful?’ he exclaimed, with
delight. ‘‘Won’t mother be glad to get it ?”

“She'll think she has a good son, Andrew.”

“Shure, I ought to be good to her, for
she’s a jewel of a mother.”

“That is right, Andrew. I always like to
hear a boy speak well of his mother. It is a
great pleasure to a mother to have a good
son.”

‘Shure, ma’am,” said Andy, with more
kindness of heart than discretion, ‘‘I hope
you'll have one yourself.”

‘Just so,” said Sophia, with the forced
habit upon her.

‘Sophia you are a goose!” said Priscilla,
blushing a little.

“Just so,” Priscilla.

‘‘We are too old to marry, Andrew,” said
Priscilla; ‘‘but we thank you for your wish.”

“Shure, ma’am you are only in the prime
of life.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, brightening up.

*T shall be sixty next spring? That can
hardly be in the prime of life.”

“T was readin’ of a lady that got married
at seventy-nine, ma’am.”

“Just so,” said Sophia, eagerly.

Miss Priscilla did not care to pursue the
subject.

“We have thought of you,” she continued,
‘and as you have been very obliging, we
at a re you a Christmas present. Here
it is.

Andy no sooner saw the skates than his

‘To-morrow Sophia

,

 

 

al

¢ Wh

with the most evident” intr

face brightened u

satisfaction.

“It’s just what I wanted,” he said, joy
fully. ‘They’re regular beauties! I’m ever
so much obliged to you.”

“Sophia wanted to get you a pair of spet
tacles. but I thought these would suit yous
better.” s

Andy went off into a fit of laughter at thé
idea, in which both the ladies joined him® hot
Then, after thanking them again, he hurrie& ud wa
home, hardly knowing which gave hilt ay,
greater pleasure, his own present or [iil aye
mother’s. Ao an

I will not stop to describe Andy’s Chris ae
mas, for this is only a retrospect, but carly wee
my reader forward to the next Septembeng:..s oo
when Andy met with an adventure, whith} ¢
eventually had a considerable effect upon Dish he nv
fortunes. ; ae

Dlexion
rhich
Ne ey
DE a -
Olone]

le
ends:
Yself j
“How
ox see ' “Very
fer OLONEL PRESTON, as I have WCown he
as ready said, was a rich man. Biman of J
owned no real estate inthe town ®
Crampton except the house in whit
he lived. His property was chiefly ®
stocks of different kinds. Included in thes4
was a considerable amount of stock in# lung
woolen manufacturing establishment, sil®pojng 3
ated at Melville, some twenty miles distall¥ ‘
Dividends upon these were paid selllfo und
annually, on the first of April and OctoB@Able» ~
It was the custom of Colonel Preston ™ “You
these dates to drive over to Melville, recelMt ig pa
his dividends, and then drive back agai. Bas den.
Now, unfortunately for the welfare of “That
community, there aré some persons W)fhan
unwilling to make a living by honest#
dustry, prefer to possess themselves u
fully of means to maintain their unprofil
ble lives. Among them was a certain blac'@l
whiskered individual, who, finding hims®
too well known in New York, had soug™
the country, ready for any stroke of busil@
which might offer in his particular 108) “g,
Chance led his steps to Melville, where *]
putup at the village inn. He begat
once to institute inquiries, the answetS ™Pftaiq
which might serve his purpose, and to av@#hat Woul,
suspicion casually mentioned that he was “7 don’

capitalist, and thought of settling dowl Mrurreq to
Mount, y

CHAPTER XVII.

INTRODUCES AN ADVENTURER.

& } ~ ant 807

OWN

the town. As he was well dressed, and ™
a plausible manner, this statement was #
doubted.
Among other things he made inquiries
regard to the manufactory, what dividel
it paid, and when. Expressing himself@
sirous of purchasing some stock, he inqt
the names of the principal owners of 8
First among them was mentioned Col inn,
Preston, : ou di
“Perhaps he might sell some stocks,” si “Yog it
gested the landlord. ho sor
“Where can I see him?” asked Jaw : Ve sh.
Fairfax, for this was the name assum lad Of it
by the adventurer. a. :
“You can see him here,’ answered A yO
landlord, ‘‘in a day ortwo. He will be be
the first of the month to receive his ©
dends.” °
‘*Will he stop with you?” aii ty
“Probably. He generally dines with *29,
when he comes over.” pit
“Will you introduce me ?”
“With pleasure.” | aa
Mr. Fairfax appeared to hear this wa
satisfaction, and said that he would # gq
the colonel an offer for a part of his 8)
““Most of my property is invested 12 (jj Nth
estate in New York,” he said; ‘but I sh® sh
like to have some manufacturing stocki®y
from what you tell me, I think favora } p
the Melville Mills.” is
“We should be glad to have you |
down among us,” said the landlord. _ 4g
“I shall very probably do so,” said Fat g
“I amvery much pleased with your ef
and people.” .
In due time Colonel Preston drové
As usual, he put up at the hotel.
*Colonel,” said the landlord, ‘
gentleman stopping with me who dest >
introduction to you.”
“Indeed! What is his name ?”
‘James Fairfax.”
‘Is he from this neighborhood ?”

‘No; from the city of New York ?” jade n
“J shall be happy to make his a¢T gh” oct.
tance,” said the colonel, courteously. 70H > Yes
it must be after I return from the MU 4 %

shall be there a couple of hours, PlO™ |
We are to have a directors’ meeting.

“T will tell him.” 3

Colonel Preston attended the dt
meeting, and also collected his diVigs
amounting to eight hundred dollars.
in eight one hundred dollar bills, he
his pocket-book, and returned to thé
for dinner, "

“Dinner is not. quite ready, colon,
the landlord. ‘It will be ready
minutes,”

Set
8 the

’

Dlag

ov!
  
    
 
   
   
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
    
   
   
     
 
  
   
  
    
 
     
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
    
  
  
  

a

m Where is the gentleman who wished to
dena’ Mtroduced to me?” asked Colonel Pres-
“P92, who thought it would save time to be
‘oyeg troduced now,
ovel I will speak to him.”
ble e returned directly with a dark-com-
speck er man with black whiskers, and eyes
/ YOUN « Were rather sinister in appearance.
At, €yes oftenest betray the real character
Bia Where all other signs fail. But
€ Preston was not a keen observer,
ie Was he skilled in physiognomy, and
1) ng of Mr. Fairfax by his manner merely,
pis: read pleased with him.
% htién will pardon my obtruding myself
A tr you, Colonel Preston,” said the
call «eS, With great ease of manner.
ma bely Bie” am happy to make your acquaintance,
wbied Ahi - { ;
on DEI. cit : Stranger in this neighborhood.
een ig New York is my home. I have
riends ore by the recommendation of
Ayself .Who knew that I desired to locate
@ ‘a7. the country.”
«Ven, 10 You like Melville?”
ve May Much—so much that I may: settle
Benn of bes But, Colonel Preston, I am a
wn Of Usiness, and, if am to be here, I

whidbfown aa. local interest—some stake in the
ly Do .

ity itse f
thes eapuite Datural, sir,”
in 4 ou are a business man yourself, and
*tstand me. Now to come to the
Ht. Wools nd you have a manufactory here
i ss a Manufactory, which I am given
tob@able.» Stand, ig prosperous and profit-
on wm
ecellé mee OU are Correctly informed, Mr. Fairfax.
aid. has dene twelve per cent. dividends, and
of HA wp) 1° 8° for several years.”
, whoitl anT pe $ excellent. It is a better rate
est BY «7 or most of my city investments.”
anla¥ Stocks 0 have city investments—bank
vrofitd OU say and horse-railroad stocks, but, as
plackihe ma’ MY mill stock pays me better than
ims «oy, JOMty of these.”
soug’¥on not are a large owner of mill stock, are

ines) «cy, olonel Preston ?”

ug, 7 It; the largest, I believe.”

Ming t, a mformed. Would you be wil-
gan *) “Thay With any of it?”
vers “Bfraig I ® Never thought of doing so. Iam
o avebhat Would d not replace it by any other
% »© ®8 satisfactory.”

ame you, of course, but it oc-

Me that, having a considerable
“Toa you might be willing to sell.” ©

€
Tt cot ey hold on to a good stock when
ries TMore jg on of it. Indeed I would buy
{denn “He a Were any in the market.”

it have surplus funds,” thought

get “rer. ‘T must see if I can’t man-

" Herg th age into my possession.”

Mt din, 2 dlord appeared and announced

e din Was ready.

f _ pa ere, then?” said Fairfax.

OMe, % Will take me two hours to reach

A, Wo ‘“ *m obliged to dine here.”

ssun lad og ‘ all dine together it seems. I am
Ply Perm 48 at present I happen to be the

© Yon wheat guest at the hotel. May I

ef tere you live?”

rk hay Pton, 2

4 ee i enact favorably of it, and have

“He but y, 8 to come over to see the

ith ty, an ® fact is, I am used only to the
a weave ne country roads are so blind

‘ Won't ° en afraid of losing my way.”

al a t. au ride over with me this after-

is Med, 20U ay ‘irfax? I can’t bring you back,

1 DEP ise 5 Wite welcome to a seat in m

5 st0@8 ‘The Me way,” 5

Bhar’ & .

in * ‘invita’ of the adventurer sparkled at

[ sho, the tre Colonel Preston had fallen

yok; * eUght it he had laid for him, but he

ably D You ar &st not to accept too eagerly,
ail: oy ton,” h, Certainly very kind, Colonel

u an “but r answered with affected hesita-

waist Myo mich a afraid I shall be troubling

MEET. tony.
ar a ston, Raat whatever,” said Colonel

. Adve

  
  
  
  

 
 

 
  
 
 

th 4 beg). 7): ‘It is a lonely ride, and
vere All lone 7 4of 8 companion.”

‘so the Tide, is it?” thought Fairfax.
ere

    
  
  

yP Thy ¢ Stter for /
OF” Pow, faut ; my purpose, It shall not
oT wets wage 9 not come back with my
“llect, ned. The dividends you have

Th Yours.» "ul be better in my pocket

,

  

a

 

Wa

en eat he thonght, but he said:
bag “cept with pleasure. I sup-
0 .

  

Dack » CASily engage some one to bring
FO can’ °8

© have a livery stable, wh
@ y stable, where

ere ha Obtain a horse and driver.”
Tag eee oeded, and Fairfax made
hel p ally social and agreeable, so
thee Prog Teston congratulated himself
cs May 4 Peet of beguiling the loneliness
Party in , g g the loneliness
ok,  SUCh pleasant company. Fair-
; © th Stocks with such apparent
‘Dy. leman or’ colonel imagined him to
that a arge property. It is not

  

    

  

 
 

  
 
  

GOOD

which he spoke, having been for several
years a clerk in a broker’s counting-room in
Wall street. The loss of his situatien was
occasioned by his abstraction of some se-
curities, a part of which he had disposed
of before he was detected. He was, in con-
sequence, tried and sentenced to three years’
imprisonment. At the end of this period
he was released with no further taste for an
honest life, and had since allied himself to
the class who thrive by preying upon the
community.

This was the man whom Colonel Preston
proposed to take as his companion on, his
otherwise, lonely ride home.

CHAPTER XVIII.
RIDING WITH A HIGHWAYMAN.

ET into the chaise, Mr. Fairfax,”
said Colonel Preston.

“Thank you,” said the adventurer,

and accepted the invitation

“Now we are off,” said the colonel, as he
took the reins, and touched the horse lightly
with his whip.

“Ts the road a pleasant one?” inquired
Fairfax.

“The latter part is rather lonely. For a
mile it runs through the woods—still on a
summer day, that is rather pleasant than
otherwise. In the evening it is not so agree-
able.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Fairfax, rather
absently.

Colonel Preston would have been startled
could he have read the thoughts that were
passing through the mind of his companion.
Could he have known his sinister designs,
he would scarcely have sat at his side, chat-
ting so easily and indifferently.

“I will postpone my plan till we get to
that part of the road he speaks of,” thought
Fairfax. “It would not do for me to be in-
terrupted.”

“I suppose it is quite safe traveling any-
where on the road,” remarked the ad-
venturer.

“Oh, yes,” said Colonel Preston, with a
langh, ‘Thieves and highway robbers do
not pay us the compliment of visiting our
neighborhood. They keep in the large
cities, or in places that will better reward
their efforts.”

“Precisely,” said Fairfax; “I am glad to
hear it, for I carry a considerable amount
of money about me.”

“So do I, to-day. This is the day for pay-
ment of mill dividends, and as I have oc-
casion to use the money, I did not deposit
it.”

“Good,” said Fairfax, to himself.
is what I wanted to find out.”

Aloud he said:

“Oh, well, there are two of us, so that it
would be a bold highwayman that would
ventnre to attack us. Do you carry a pistol ?”

“NotI,” said Colonel Preston. ‘I don’t
like the idea of carrying fire-arms about with
me. They might go off by accident. I was
reading in a daily paper, recently, of a case
where a man accidentally shot his son with
the pistol he was in the habit of carrying
about with him.”

“There is that disadvantage, to be sure,”
said Fairfax. ‘So he has no pistol. He is
quite in my power,” he said to himself. “It’s
a good thing to know.”

“By the way,” he asked, merely to keep
up the conversation, ‘‘are you a family man,
Colonel Preston ?”

_ “Yes, sir; I have a wife, and a son of fif-
teen.”

“You have the advantage of me in that
respect. I have always been devoted to
business, and have had no time for mat-
rimony.”

‘Time enough yet, Mr. Fairfax.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose so.”

“If you are going to settle down in our
neighborhood, I can introduce you to some
of our marriageable young ladies,” said
Colonel Preston, pleasantly.

“Thank you,” said Fairfax, in the same
tone. “Imay avail myself of your offer.”

‘‘Won't you take supper at my house this
evening ?” said the colonel, hospitably. ‘I
shall be glad to introduce Mrs. Preston. My
son is at boarding-school, so I shall not be
able to let you see him.”

‘Have you but one child, then?”

‘But one. His absence leaves us alone.”

Godfrey’s absence would have been
lamented more by his father had his char-
acter and disposition been different. But
he was so arrogant and overbearing in his
manners, and so selfish, that his father
hoped that association with other boys
would cure him in part of these objection-
able traits. At home he was so much in-
dulged by his mother, who could see no fault
in him, as long as\he did not oppose her,
that there was little chance of amendment.

 

“That

 

’ fr}, Was deceived, forthe ad-
ey: Sally understood the subject of

So they yode on, conversing on various

 

 

 

 

     
   
 
  
  
     
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
    
   
   
 
  
  
     
     
 
   
    
 
     
   
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
    
    
   
   
       
    
  
   
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   

NEWS.

topies, but their conversation was not of
sufficient importance for me to report. At
length they entered upon a portion of the
road, lined on either side bya natural forest.
Fairfax looked about him.

“I suppose, Colonel Preston, these are
the woods you refer to?”

‘*Yes, ‘sir.”

‘‘How far do they extend ?”

“About. mile.”

They had traversed about half a mile when
Fairfax said:

“Tf you don’t object, Colonel Preston, I
will step out ® moment. There's a tree
with a peculiar leaf. I would like to ex-
amine it nearer to.”

“Certainly, Mr. Fairfax,” said the colonel,
though he wondered what tree it could be,
for he saw no tree of an unusual character.

The chaise stopped, and Fairfax jumped
off. But he seemed to have forgotten the
object of dismounting. Instead of examin-
ing the foliage of a tree, he stepped to the
horse’s head and seized him by the bridle.

‘‘What are you going to do, Mr. Fairfax?”
asked Colonel Preston, in surprise.

By this time Fairfax had drawn a pis-
tol from his inside pocket, and deliberately
pointed it at his companion.

“Good Heaven! Mr. Fairfax, what do
you mean?”

‘Colonel Preston,” said the adventurer, ‘I
want all the money you have about you. I
know you have a considerable sum, for you
have yourself acknowledged it.”

“Why,” exclaimed Colonel Preston,
startled, ‘‘this is highway robbery ?”

“Precisely,” said Fairfax, bowing mock-
ingly. ‘You have had the honor of riding
with a highwayman. Will you be good
enough to give me the money at once? I am
in haste.”

“Surely this is a joke, Mr. Fairfax, I
have heard of such practical jokes before.
You are testing my courage. I am not in
tre least frightened. Jump into the chaise
again, and we will proceed.”

“That’s a very kind way of putting it,”
said Fairfax, coolly; ‘‘but not correct. I am
no counterfeit, but the genuine article.
Fairfax isnot my name. I won't tell you
what it is, for it might be inconvenient.”

No man can look with equanimity upon
the prospect of losing money, and Colonel
Preston may be excused for not wishing to
part with his eight hundred dollars. But
how could he escape? He had no pistol,
and Fairfax held the horse’s bridle in a
strong grasp. If he could only parley with
him till some carriage should come up, he
might save his money. It seemed the only
way, and he resolved to try it.

“Mr. Fairfax,” he said, “if you are really
what you represent, I hope you will con-
sider the natural end of such a career. Turn,
Ientreat you, to a more honest course of
life.”

“That may come some time,” said Fair-
fax; ‘*but at present my necessities are too
great. Oblige me by producing your pocket-
book.”

“JT will give youa hundred dollars, and
keep the matter a secret from all. That will
be better than to expose yourself to the
penalty of the law.”

“Colonel Preston, a hundred dollars will
not satisfy me. You have eight hundred
dollars with you, and I shall not leave this
spot until it is transferred to my posses-
sion.”

“If I refuse ?”

“You will subject me to the unpleasant
alternative of blowing your brains out,”
said the other, coolly.

“You surely would not be guilty of such
a crime, Mr. Fairfax?’ said Colonel Preston,
with a shudder.

“TI would rather not. I have no desire to
take your life, but I must have that money.
If you prefer to keep your money you will
compel me to the act. You'll gain nothing,
for in that case I shall take both—your life
first, and your money afterward.”

“And this is the man with whom I dined,
and with whom, a few moments since, I was
conversing freely ?” thought Colonel Pres-
ton.

The adventurer became impatient.

“Colonel Preston,” he said abruptly,
“produce that money, instantly, or I will
fire.”

There was no alternative. With reluctant
hand the colonel drew out his pocket-book,
and was about to hand it with its contents
to the highwayman, when there was a sud-
den crash in the bushes behind Fairfax, his
pistol was ‘dashed from his hand, and our
young hero, Andy Burke, with resolute face,
stood with his gun leveled at him. All
happened so quickly that both Colonel
Preston and Fairfax were taken by surprise,
and the latter, still retaining his hold upon
the bridle, stared at the young hero who
had so intrepidly come between him and his
intended victim.

,

 

‘ 79

With an oath he stooped and was about
to pick up the pistol which had fallen
from his hands, but he was arrested by the
quick, decisive tones of Andy:

“Let.that pistol alone! If you pick it
up I will shoot you onthe spot.”

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

THE LOG CABIN LIBRARY.

Issued Every Thursday.

Price, 10 Cents Each.

-. THE WHITE Caps. By Marline Manly.

. THE KEWANEE BANK Roppery. By J. R.
Musick.

3. SEVEN PICKED MEN. By Judson R. Taylor;

. JESSE, THE OUTLAW, a story of the James
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5. THE WHITE Cap Derecrive. By Marline

Manly.

CAPTAIN KATE. By Leander P. Richardson.

- THE PrInERY DEN DerectivE. By Mark
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. BILL TREDEGER, a tale of the Moonshiners.
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. THE IRISH JUDAS; or, The Great Conspir-
ae Against Parnell. By Clarence Clan-
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No. 10. THE GOLD-HUNTER DETECTIVE. By Marline
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No. 11. ae OKLAHOMA DETECTIVE. By Old Broad-
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No. 12. THE MINER DETECTIVE. By Ned Buntline.

No. 13. HARRY LOVELL, THE GENTLEMAN RIDER.
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No. 14. DIAMOND DICK IN ARIZONA. By Delta Cal-
averas,

No. 15. THE GREAT CRONIN MysrERy. By Mark
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No. 16. THE JOHNSTOWN HERO. By Marline Manly.

No. 17. SILVER MASK. By Delta Calaveras.

No, 18. THE OysTER Pirates. By Eugene T. Saw-
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No. 19. LOUISVILLE LUKE, THE JOCKEY WONDER.
By Jack Howard.

No, 20. GUISEPPE, THE WEASEL. By Eugene T.
Sawyer.

No. 21. CATTLE KATE. By Lieutenant Carlton.
No. 22. OLD MAN Howe. By Wm. O. Stoddard.

No. 23. PHENOMENAL PAUL, THE WIZARD PITCHER
OF THE LEAGUE. By John Warden.

No. 24. THE SHANGHAIER OF GREENWICH STREET.
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No. 25, DARROW, THE FLOATING DETECTIVE. By
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No. 26. na THE FIGHTER. By William H. Bush-
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No. 28. THE GREAT ¥acut Race. By Marline
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No. 29. THE Liguts 0’ GornamM. By Ralph Royal.

No. 30. SHADOWED AND TRAPPED; or, Harry the
Sport. By Ned Buntline.

No. 31. THE HUMAN VAMPIRE. By K. F. Hill.

No. 32. RAMON ARANDA, THE CALIFORNIA DETEC-
TIVE. By Eugene T. Sawyer.

No. 33. THE Roap AGENTS. By Leander P. Rich-
ardson.

No. 34. KENTUCKY KATE. By Marline Manly.

No. 35. BoB SINGLETON. By David Lowry.

 

 

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No. 36. His HIGHEST STAKE. By Edwin S. Deane.
No, 37. Cy, THE RANGER. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

No. 38. ALF, THE CHICAGO Sport. By Edward Min-
turn.

No. 39. BARNACLE BacksTay. By Ned Buntline.

No. 40. THE GREAT RIVER MysrEry. By Bartley

Campbell.
No. 41. THE Stony PorInt TRAGEDY. By Mrs. Alice
. Fogg.
No. 42. Tae HATFIELD-McCoy VENDETTA. By W.
B. Lawson.
No. 43. RED RUBE Burrows. By Edwin S. Deane.

No. 44. Pigrain Demons. By Harry Temple.

No. 45. MounTaIn Tom. By Ned Buntline.

No. 46. GOTHAM BY GASLIGHT. By Dan McGinty.

No. 47. THE BLACK RIDERS OF SANTOS. By Eugene
T. Sawyer.

No. 48. THE OCEAN DETECTIVE.
Storms.

No, 49. THE YOUNGER Broruers’ Vow. By Jack
Sharp.

No. 50. FRANK AND JESSE JAMES IN MEXICO. By
W. B. Lawson.

No. 51. JENNIE, THE TELEGRAPH OPERATOR. By
R. M. Taylor.

No. 52. RazzLE-DazzLE Dick. By Donald J. Mc-
5 Kenzie.

No. 53. CoONSKIN, THE Scout. By Duke Cuyler.
No. 54. JESSE JAMES’ OATH. By W. B. Lawson.

By Richard J.

No. 55. THE STRANGLERS OF OnIo. By Marline
Manly.

No. 56. A BORDER VENGEANCE. By Ralph Ray-
mond.

No. 57. a JAMES IN St. Louis. By W. B. Law-

No. 58. OxTHopox JzEms. By Ned Buntiine.

No. 59. BRorHERHOOD Buck. By John Warden.
No. 60. TRACKLESS TERROR. By Roy St. Leger.
No. 61. Jessz JAMES AT LONG BRANCH. By W. B.

: Lawson.

No, 62, RAMON, THE BULL-FIGHTER. By Francis A.
Durivage.

THE LoG CABIN LIBRARY is for sale by all news-
dealers, or will be sent by mail, postage paid, on
receipt of price, by

e STREET & SMITH, Publishers.
25 to 31 Rose st., New York.

 

 

 
    
  
 
 

    
  
 
 

      
  

 
 

     

     
      
        
    
 
    
   
    
 

  
  
    
 
    
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“s+ 4°79 heat. 2 A woman's name.

80

Puzzle Cornet.

JOriginal contributions solicited. Address, “Puzzle
Eki » Goop NEws, New York City, P. O. Box 2734.]

BS ys
No, 1—NvMERICAL ENIGMA—

The answer contains 21 letters, and is an
old. proverb. ..The.5, 1, 15, 16 is a fine
substance. The 6, 4, 15, 19 is a liquor,
The 13, 7, 12 is a beverage. The 18, 1, 3,
91 is often high. The 11, 12, 10 is a cover-
ing. The. 6, 4; 8, 9 isa boy’s nick-name.
The 18, 14, 2, 20 is often deep. The 171s
in a sermon. JESS.

No. 2—CURTAILMENTS—

Whole, a part of a fish, ’tis true,
Curtail, and have what a fish can do.
LOBSTER,

No 3,—CHARADE—

My first my second came
On that field of battle.
Where many men were dying,
Amid the noise and rattle.

Along the line the general went,

Upon his handsome “iron gray,”
Commanding the men to retreat,

For the army, whole was golng to -

No, 4—ANAGRAMS—

1 Sob not. 2 Den Sick,

Our NED.
No, 5—LogoarirpH—

Whole I am one of the elements. Change
my head and lam toweary. Change my
last letter and I amsteady. Behead me
and change my last letter and I am anger.
Curtail me and I am a kind of tree. Re-
place my final and syncopate me andI
am an expression of contempt or oe
ANK.

No, 6—DIAMOND PUZZLE—

1 A consonant. 2 Skins. 38 A_ public
Jace in. Rome. 4 One who serves on a
ury. 5 A report, 6 To hurt. 7 A con-
sonant.

E. Hay,

No, 7—CHARADE—

My first and last mean the same.
- As my whole will certainly show ;
+ My seeond is a loving name,

y whole does in our garden grow,

No. 8—Dovus.E Acrostic—

3 To di-
minish toa point. 4 An Arabian tree. 5.
To repose. 6 Profuse. 7 A man’s name.
8 To possess. Primalsread name down a

gest battle fought in Belgium, aud the |

alg a battle fought in Greece. ¢
IG.

No. 9—WorD SQuaRE—
1A girl’s nick-name. 2 Pertaining to
Rome. 3A statue. 4 The fish-god. 5,
A

GUL.

No. 10—Cross WorD ENIGMA —
1 In pretty, not in fair ;
2 In sofa, not in chair;
8 In circle, not in square ;
In tiger, not in bear;
In peach, notin pear;
' 6 In frighten and in scare ;
In mend, not in repatr ;
8 In rend and In tear ;
9 In den, not in lair.
And in these rhymes I’ve tried to hide
A class of men known far and nye.
ING.

4
5
6
T

No, 11—HIpDEN NaMES—

’ 1 Tell Addie to hurry or she will be late.
2 Pa, Ulysses Grant is President. 3 Itis
half red and half blue. 4 Is Paul in Eng-
land? 5 Itis I, darling,

KRAIS,

No. 12—DovusLkr DECAPITATIONS—

Behead sleep and leave wood. Behead
once more and leave a fish of the salmon
family, ,

MILL,

No, 183—CONCEALED WORD SQUARE—

1 Isaac, aromance iscommenced in nearly
every number of Goop News. 2 The letter
was id “E. M. Patar, Omaha,
Neb.” 8 The crow Edward caught is
dead. 4 Some persons gave 50 cents, while
some gave nothing. 5 Sam, a damsel
_ awaits you in the parlor.
1 Well known to billiard players. 2 Odor.
8 Propelled through the water. 4 Found
in the Greek alphabet. 65 A feminine ap-
pellation.
; Ros. Roy.

No. 14—Caarape—
_ My first and last mean the same,
ane Whole will certainly show ;

Second is 'a loving name,
hy Whole does in our garden grow.

No. 15—Resus— ae

WIRE NAMES OF SUCCESSFUL

 

GoonpD

“This simple hydro-carbon,
called paraftin, gentlemen, is
Nature’s noblest gift to man.
It will illumine your room.

“It will propel your locomo-

“And lastly,
tive.

simple piece

PROFESSOR CARBO’S LECTURE; OR, NATURE’S NOBLEST GIFT

means of this ingenious but

—my own invention, gentle- ‘
men—it will, on applying,
while flaming, the ordinary
domestic match——”

NEWS.

TO MAN.

“Tt will cook your food,

oe
AZ
ZK

(CM:
{ A

“4

¢
What it did on applying
the ordinary domestic
match, ;

t
t
re

gentlemen, by

of mechanism

 

Auswers to Puzzles in No. 1 Good News,

No, -k-~A NAGRAM—
The seven days’ battles,

No. 2—DECAPITATIONS—

1 M-ink.
2 F-ox.

8 W-easel.
4 F-awn.
5 B-ear.

‘
. 3—D1amMonp—

. 5—DROPPED LETTERS—
Courser, course, Curse, cure, cur,

. 6—GEOGRAPHICAL—
C H-in-A-China.

Tas CHARADE—
April-fools’ day.

. 8—CHRYPTOGRAM—

I would rather live in a country with news”
papers and without government than ina
country with a government but without
newspapers,

. 9—HALF WorD SQUARE—

No. 11—TRANSPOSITIONS
Team meat, Lead
Rout tour, Dew w

No. 12—CHARADE—
Mother-in-law.
REBUS.

As pure as a diamond and brisk as a bee
- The Goop News shins brightly like stars on the

_ Nit tin, Lark Karl,

sea;
e@ sun of a nation, the peer of ifs name,
N stories of wonders, of wit and of fame.

 

 

GUESSERS
EXT WEEK.

Short Stops.

CARPETS are bought by the yard and worn by
the foot.

Tue easiest way to pay a gas bill is to burn
kerosene.

Aw unprincipled bachelor says troubles never
come single.

Why is good corn like a donkey? Because it
has large ears.

THE man who couldn’t find his match went to
bed in the dark.

A DENTIST at work in his vocation always looks
down in the mouth.

Wuar Is captital? Having more money than
you know what to do with.

A RECENT advertisement read: ‘‘Wanted—A boy
to open oysters 13 years of age.”

No WONDER Stolen kisses get buzzed about ; they
always travel from mouth to mouth.

‘“‘UNMANNED by the loss of her husband,” is the
latest style of indicating a widow’s grief,

WHEN does not ason take after hisfather? When
the father leaves nothing for him to take.

Wuar Is the similarity between a schoolboy and
akingdom? Each is governed by the ruler,

Way is the St. Louis Court-House like a dead
pigeon? Because it has wings and cannot fly,

WHEN is a soldier's ammunition-box like a
country road? When it is full of cart ridges.

Iris said tre Cape Cod pe have adopted as a
eee : “Don’t marry until you can support a hus-
and.”

How can we reconcile this? You take your
phe yy coal from a coal-seller, and put it in a coal-
cellar !

HERE’s a new view of the Christmas stocking—
a boy says he “set it, but didn’t catch any-
Ming.”

THE Mollychunkemunk is the euphonious title
of a new pleasure steamer recently launched on a
lake in Maine. ¢

Ir “Rome was not built in a day,” the inference
is that it sprung up in the night, and then became
a mushroomy city.

A poy, named Levi, ate ten baskets of straw-
berries on a Wager. We'll wager it didn’t Levi-ate
his condition much,

A FRENCHMAN intending to compliment a young
lady by calling her a gentle lamb, said, ‘‘She is one
mutton as is small!”

AN Ohio belle who went to Saratoga in hopes to
find a count, came sche engaged to a man@who
makes waterproof blacking.

A MAN may forget his business, his familly, and
all the sacred obligations of life, but he always re-
members where he got that counterfeit bill.

A LITTLF girl In the train was asked what motive
Was taking her tothe city,

‘| believe they call lt a locomotive,” said the lit-
tle innocent, :

and adaress of the writer. :

 

G

Our Mail Bagg

(Questions on” subjects of general interest 01
dealt with in the “Mail Bag.” Medical of
questions not answered. Goop NEws goes @
two weeks in advance of date of publication, an¢
fore answers cannot appear until two or thre

after we receive them

E. E. K. (Omaha)—Answers to correspon
will be inserted under the heading of ‘‘Mail

W. R. (St. Mary, l1l.)—We thank you very,
for the kind words you write us about GooD
The subject you mention will have our
attention.

Hearagain (N. Y. City) —Your criticism
and we thank you for your kind words. W
the authors: you name in mind, and yo
probably have an opportunity to read §
their works very soon. 4

Trade.—Your letter addressed to M.
ceived, and will have aitention. It may 0é¢
time, however, before the trade you inquif@
is written up by him, as a number of letter
received before yours came to hand that W
to be answered ahead of yours. 4

Phil Up.—1. The song will appear in 16
2, Red fire can be made as follows: Mix
sulphur, 23 parts carbonate of strontia, ©
chloral of potassa., Blue fire is made thus:
2 parts realgar (red arsenic), 3 parts chal
parts chlorate of potassa, 13 parts sulphur,
parts nitrate of baryta.

D. J. E. (Chicago)—We beg to decline you
for our “Nugget Library,” as we* have OB
all the stories we can use for some tfme #@
Besides this we only publish series
well known writers, All communications
ing to MSS. should be signed with thet

Luke Walton (Newark, N. J.) asks: How
an appetite? Wesuggest outdoor exercis
work or play, well ventilated room to Si
congenial companions, and abstaining from
ing, especially cigarettes. We are not a&
you of indulging in cigarette smoking, ™
mention this in case you do. ‘4

Jumbler (Brooklyn)—Learn a few re
and inflict them on yourfriends. Take
sons in elocution. Remember Demost
try a sea-coast or a moor to shout over”
slowly, pronounce ail your syllables, do PB
your words or run them together, and, 2
give the poor language a chance, 4

AMATEUR BALL PLAYERS. -Z

The Prairie Queens and Goop NeEws P)
Sixty-first street and Cottage avenue F
The result was a victory for the Prairie.
the following score ; 4 ein
Prairie QUEENS. .. 2... c.se eee eeses 210129
GOOUNEWS:... 2.566 es 501117

The batteries were Campbell and Sper
and Medleson. 9

W. P. (Brooklyn)—The trade you: me
good and healthy one, but, we would a@
not to Jearn it unless you have a strong
tion and are accustomed to outdoor wo
to some well-known builder in‘your city
get the book you write.us a
store at prices ranging from 10c..up. 0
Manual Library, price 10c., would prov
terest you: No.1 is entitied “The Alpum)
Assisant.” No. 2, “How to Dance.” No
to do Magic.”

Amateur Photographer.—1. The bes
toning-bath, and one that has stood
time, is chloride of gold two grains, 4
soda yi ains, water ten fluid oun
the day. before you use it. 16 is muc
mix each time you want it, as if lett
deposits the gold as a general rule.

a long time mixed before using. 2. H
of soda one ounce, water ten ounces, 15
proportion. Add about two drops of 8
monia to the bath before using. ave b
in it for fifteen minutes, moving them al®
3, The longer they are washed the bette™
permanence, If you have a proper *™
few hours may suflice ; if not, leave then!’
ing water all night.

Fred. W. Fossell (Chicago) wants t0
locomotive engineer. We are afraid,
your. age, seventeen, would be against
trade, telegraphing, that you are le
think very well of; but as you are Dl
we would suggest that you wait a few
you are more developed, and then 4
superintendent of some good road for &
fireman, which is the first step to a loc!
gineer; or better still, a position in
shop where you would learn the diff
anengine. When you think you ha’
the trade, and are over twenty-one J!
you will be obliged to take a civil §
nation by a Government Board of Insp
fore making any positive move cons
active engineer on a locomotive.

Miss Lillie C. (Medway. Mass.) aske«
send stamps or money order ?”—The me
sidered safe for smail amounts of mo
sending amounts,exceeding one dollar 8°,
by a Post-Office Money Order, Bans
Draft, or Express Money Order. We
recommend the American Express CoD
will receive pene at any of thei
acceas the delivery of any amo

for the low sum of five cents. We
sponsible for the money lost in transit
of the above ways. United States poor
are as acceptable to us as currency °
amounts under $2. Where the expres
convenient you can send Post-Office
the charges of which in the United
follows: For order not exceeding
exceeding $6 and under $10, eight ¢
ing $10 and under $15, ten cents; @
and under $30, fifteen cents; exceeY
under $40, twenty cents; exceeding ¥
$50, twenty-five cents, Less than $5¢
by postal note, for which the uniform
cents. Always write your name Pp:
the town or city, county and State;
of the complaints made by perso
books or pa arise from lack —
dresses on their part, for which W
We pay postage on all publicatio!
dress the envelope pe to STREET
lishers, 25-31 Rose New Yor!

naa