No. 663

Original contributions solicited from all. Puzzles containing obsolete words will be received. Write contributions on one side of the paper and apart from all communications. Address ‘Puzzle Editor,’ Golden Days, Philadelphia,Pa.

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ANSWERS TO LAST WEEK’S PUZZLES

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No. 1.	Tied, diet, tide
No. 2.	C A L A M U S A V E R I L L L E G A L L Y A R A M E A N M I L E A G E U L L A G E S S L Y N E S S
No. 3.	Eve r
No. 4.	A B A A B J U R E S A U G U R Y R U M O R E R O T I C S Y R I N G E C G E
No. 5.	Beta, bet, be, bate, bat, at.
No. 6.	S I S N E T G E N E R A T E S E M I N A L R E C O R D D E N T S
No. 7.	F-all
No. 8.	P A D P I L E D P I C A M A R A L A L I T E D E M I S E D D A T E R R E D
No. 9.	O we go
No. 10.	S P A S P E C T R E A C T I O N T I N T S R O T A T E E N S T A M P E M P
No. 11.	Edmund Dantes
No. 12.	R C A R C A M E L R A M B L E R R E L A T E D L E T T E R S R E E N A C T D R A G O O N S C O R N E D T O N E D N E D D

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NEW PUZZLES

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New York city

Lucrezius Borgers

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No. 2. Square

1. Pain in the ear. 2. Town of France. 3.A body reflecting light brightly. 4.A purchaser. 5.A sharp, shrill, harsh sound. 6.P.O. Ontario N.Y. 7.Placed in regular form before a court.

Brooklyn N.Y.

Moonshine

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Charleston, S.C.

Osceola

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No. 4. Right Star

1. A letter. 2. A pronoun. 3. A spectre. 4.Quadrupeds of the genus Equus. 5.Defensive arms. 6.Unsweet (Obs.). 7.Startles (Obs.). 8.A bone. 9.A letter.

Pontiac, Ill.

Can’t Tell

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New York city

Jejune

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No. 6. Half Square

1. Clairvoyance. 2. Computation. 3. Parts of a flower consisting of the stalk and the anther (Bot.) 4.Buffoons. 5.A hard amorphous mineral. 6.Open thefts (Rare.) 7.Belonging to it. 8.To see (Obs. Word Supp.) 9.A letter.

Rochester N.Y.

Theo Logy

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Iowa City, Iowa

Tanganika

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No. 8. Octagon

1. To destroy. 2. A venomous reptile inhabiting the East Indies. 3.The bleak. 4.Little wheels. 5.Comely. 6.A friend. 7.An Arabian prince, military commander and governor of a conquered province. 8.Drives together (Obs.).

Louisville, Ky.

X Actly

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Philadelphia, Pa.

Snowball

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No. 10. Newark Icosahedron

1. A small cask. 2. A genus of climbing shrubs. 3.A kind of cover for the finger. 4.Exemption from oblivion. 5.To dye. 6.Images. 7.A genus of acanthopterygious fishes. 8.A house whose walls are composed of logs. 9.General figure. 10. To stir. 11. One who mingles. 12. Asurgeon’s instrument for scraping bones. 13. To plow.

Newark, N.J.

Jo Hooty

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Charleston, W. Va.

R E Flect

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--> Answers will appear in our next issue solvers in six weeks.

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SOLVERS.

Puzzles in Puzzledom No. 657. were correctly solved by Madora Carl, Hello Ian, Ran-de Ran, Night Owls, Lowell, Weesle, Charles Goodwin, Crovit, Willie Wimple, Romulus, Night, Windsor Boy, Osceola, Flora Nightingale, Addie Shun, Jejune, Stanna, Carrie Wolmer, Mary McK., Lucrezius Borgers, Claude Hopper, Katie O’Neill, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, John Watson, Dovey, Fleur de Lis, Rosalind, Little Nell, Spider, C.Saw, Legs, Joe-de Joe, Flare, Dorio, Marcellus, Maxwell, Louise M. Danforth, Cora Denham, Woggins & Co., Herbie O., Brig, War Horse, EssieE., B.Gonia, Mary Roland, Theresa, Mary Pollard, Uncas, Duchess, Olive, Coupay, May De Hosmer, Al Derman, Meandhim, Beta, Tanganika and Arcanum, V.I. Olin, Lib Bee and A.L. Vin.

Complete List—Madora.

EASY METHODS OF

Making Slides for the Magic Lantern,

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BY JOHN BOYD.

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The new three-wick and four-wick magic lanterns which are now made are so good, and give so much better results than the old oil lanterns, that they are coming largely into use, and for ordinary purposes they do remarkably well. The better class of them stands comparison even with the oxy-hydrogen light, although of course they are excelled by it. They are so easily manipulated that many boys now possess them and work them with good effect. The more expensive ones are fitted with first-class lenses, and can be used also with the oxy-hydrogen light.

Two years ago my boys became the happy owners of one, and many a pleasant evening has been passed since, looking at photographs and pictures by its aid.

It has been used with good effect, even in large rooms, to show diagrams, to illustrate lectures and to exhibit pictures to the Sunday-school children.

No sooner had the lantern been obtained, however, than a demand arose for pictures to show with it. In most large towns they can be hired from the opticians, but they cost at least twenty-five cents a dozen per night and, apart from the expense, it is not always convenient to get them; then to purchase them is more than most boys can afford, as the commonest, full-sized chromolithographed slides cost from two and a half to three dollars a dozen, while hand-painted pictures or photographs vary from three to ten dollars a dozen.

Accordingly we determined to try if we could not make slides for ourselves, and, as our efforts were crowned with a fair measure of success, Ithink it will interest the boy-readers of Golden Days, many of whom, Ifeel sure, own lanterns, to hear what systems we found to be the best and easiest. Ishall confine myself to those pictures that can be made entirely by hand, and accordingly will leave photographs out altogether.

Bought hand-painted slides are usually first photographed on to the glass from a large outline drawing, and then colored; but so few boys have the means of making their slides in this manner that it will be best to pass this system by, especially as I shall describe a method of making the sketch which answers as well, and is much easier.

At the very outset, we were met with a difficulty that we feared would be insurmountable, and that was that it was almost impossible to make a neat, fine-lined sketch with a brush and paint on plain, smooth glass; and, even when this last had been managed, the coloring process often washed out the outlines and made unsightly smudges, and, as every little line, spot or smear shows with painful distinctness when magnified on the sheet, we soon saw that amateur work on these lines would never do. Fortunately I remembered a process, which I once saw used by a microscopist, to make diagrams for the lantern to illustrate his lectures, which answered admirably.

This was simply to draw, with a very hard lead pencil, on ground glass, then to cover the ground surface with varnish, which rendered the glass perfectly transparent.

I tried this plan, and got such good results from it that I can strongly recommend it. By following out the instructions and hints I shall give, any boy can readily and rapidly make a large series of excellent pictures for his lantern, which will answer his purpose quite as well as the most expensive bought slides.

This system has four great advantages: 1.Pictures can easily be traced on the ground glass, and to those who, like myself, would find it difficult to invent their own pictures, or to copy them, this counts for a great deal. 2.The outline can be made very fine, but still very distinct. 3.The paint will not take on the lead-marks; this renders it much easier to prevent the color going over the edge of an outline. 4.It is also very much easier to paint on the slightly rough surface of the ground glass.

There should be no difficulty in procuring this glass at any glazier’s. It need not be plate glass; ordinary ground glass will do, care being taken to select that with a sufficiently fine and smooth surface, and not too thick.

I have found water colors for lantern slides the best for painting with. They are very much easier to use than the oil colors, and are quite as transparent. Ordinary paints will not do, as some of them come out perfectly opaque, but a box of the special paints can be procured for a dollar. Acamel’s-hair brush, however, is of no use; you must have a stiff sable brush. One No.3 or No.4 will be a handy size, and will answer for all purposes, even for the finest lines.

In selecting subjects, use those where the outlines are clear and of a size adapted to the usual sort of slides, which are invariably made now three and a quarter inches square.

First rub a dozen ground glasses perfectly clean with a wash-leather that has been washed in water in which a little soda has been dissolved, to make it quite free from grease. During this cleaning process, the surface of the glass can be sufficiently moistened by breathing onit.

Trace the entire series of outlines on the ground glasses with an H. H. H. pencil, making the lines even lighter than the original, for it will be found most convenient to have a number of slides, say a dozen, in process at one time. Brush off any loose fragments of black lead, taking care that they do not mark the glass.

You are now ready to proceed with the coloring, but, as you will wish to be sure as you go on that you are keeping them sufficiently transparent, it will be found to be a great help if you can always see through them, even while painting them.

FIG. 1
see text

You had better, therefore, make an inclined stand, and this can easily be done, the only tools really required being a knife, a brad-awl and a screw-driver. Procure one piece of wood 14 inches by 6 inches, one piece of wood 12 inches by 6 inches, one piece of wood 14 inches by 12 inches, all ? inch or ¼ inch thick.

Divide the first piece along the dotted line A to B, by cutting right through it with the point of your knife. These two pieces will make the sides of your stand. The piece 14 inches by 12 inches will make the bottom.

Cut two laths 14 inches long, ½ inch wide, out of wood ¼ inch thick, and tack them along the upper inner edges of the two sides a quarter of an inch below the top. These will form two ledges. Now fasten the piece 12 inches by 6 inches to rest on these ledges, which will serve to support the hand. The upper portion remaining must be filled up by a piece of strong, clear glass, 14 inches by 8 inches, which will rest on the ledge at each side, and need not be fastened in, as it will sometimes have to be removed to be cleaned.

Fasten all the parts together with screws, so that you can take it to pieces and pack it away flat when not in use. Those screws with a ring at the end instead of a head, such as are used to fasten into the backs of picture frames to hang them by, are the handiest, as they can be put in with the fingers, and cost hardly any more than ordinary screws.

This stand will be large enough to hold six slides at once, and enables the light to shine right through them. Asheet of white paper should be placed underneath to throw the lightup.

Should the light be too strong it can easily be modified by spreading a sheet of thin, white tissue-paper between the glass and the slides.

Of course daylight is best to work by, but I find you can get on very nicely with an ordinary oil lamp, if placed at a convenient distance from the stand.

An ordinary paintbox will contain twelve colors—namely, two blues, neutral, crimson, brown, yellow, scarlet, burnt sienna, orange, two greens and black, all but the last being quite transparent. These will be found sufficient for ordinary work, as they can be greatly varied by judicious mixing.

First of all the skies should be painted in on all twelve slides. As long as you do not go over the outlines, great care need not be taken about laying the color on evenly.

Now cut off a small piece of clean washleather, which has an even, smooth surface. Let the color become nearly dry, then proceed to dab it all over with the washleather, held on the end of the finger, breathing on the slide when necessary, in order to keep it sufficiently moist.

This process must be continued carefully until the whole painted surface is perfectly even and shows no mark of the brush, and only sufficient paint must be left on to give a blue tint.

You must always remember that if too darkly painted the pictures will be too opaque. Clouds can be put in nicely also with the bit of washleather, but extra work of this sort is hardly worth while.

Then proceed to tint the other portions of the pictures with suitable colors, doing one color at a time right through the set of slides, but after applying each color, immediately dab with the washleather, to render the color even and light.

You will find that by keeping to one color at a time you will get along much quicker, and will also make the pictures more uniform.

When you have completely tinted all the pictures and “dabbed” all the colored portions, you may then go over them all again and shade them up where required with rather stronger colors, taking care, however, not to overdo this.

You will find for faces yellow, with a very slight addition of crimson, answers the best. It may not look all right on the slide, but it will when thrown on the sheet.

You will need to consider the effect of the various colors, as some show much more strongly than others. The next process is to varnish the glasses to render them transparent.

With most color boxes for painting magic lantern slides a bottle of varnish for this purpose is supplied, which answers fairly well. It has to be painted on, after the slides are thoroughly dry, with a large camel’s-hair brush.

Lay one coat on by drawing the brush right across from one side to the other, taking care that the lines of varnish so deposited slightly over-lap one another. When this coat of varnish is perfectly dry and hard, another and sometimes even a third coat must be applied, and it is best to lay it on at right angles to the previous coat, so that all the surface is sure to be covered.

Make each coat as thin as possible, and to facilitate this keep the brush soft by occasionally applying a little turpentine to it. This, however, is a slow and tantalizing process of varnishing, and there is an easier and better one. Procure a bottle of Canada balsam in benzole. It is used for mounting microscopic objects in, and can be got from any optician’s. It should be quite fluid. Get a large wide-mouthed bottle and pour the balsam and benzole into it. Then add to it as much again pure benzole. It should now be nearly as fluid as water. This is your varnish. Apply it just as a photographer coats his glass plate with collodion. That is done in this manner. Take hold of the slide by one corner and pour on to it a sufficient quantity of the balsam and benzole to coverit.

You may need to encourage it to flow by slightly tilting the slide, and sometimes it may even be needful to take a clean quill toothpick and direct it into some corners that otherwise would be missed. Then pour back all the superfluous varnish into the bottle from one corner of the slide; the varnish remaining will rapidly harden, as the benzole evaporates quickly, and the hardening may be hastened by applying a little heat, but while hardening the slides should be protected from dust.

FIG. 2.
see caption

I make mine perfectly hard by baking them on a thin iron plate fixed a few inches above a small spirit lamp, but you need to take care not to make the slides too hot, or they may crack. Ican easily varnish and harden a dozen slides in less than an hour.

A thin plate of iron, such as is used for an oven plate, can be arranged on blocks of wood, a sufficient height over the spirit lamp. One coat of this varnish is usually sufficient to render the slides perfectly transparent, but a second coat can be applied as soon as the first is hard if necessary.

The slides are now finished, but the varnished surface will easily scratch, and must be protected by a piece of clean glass. Between the glasses a thin paper mount should be laid, which may be a circle, an oval, or a square, according to which is most suitable to the pictures, and then the two glasses must be fastened together by narrow slips of paper gummed round the edge. These mounts, and slips of paper ready gummed, can be procured from any optician, and will save labor, especially in fixing up the edges.

Before you join the glasses together insert at the right hand top corner a number, so that by looking at this number you can readily arrange the pictures in their proper sequence, and also tell which is the right side up when putting them into the lantern carrier.

Sometimes you may wish to copy some other slides, but owing to their having the covering glasses on you cannot trace them readily direct on to your ground glasses.

This difficulty is overcome by using tracing paper, making the lines with a fine crow-quill and ink. Then you can easily trace from these copies through the ground glass. We also made some very good sets of shadow pictures by cutting out suitable sketches in paper from the comic and other illustrated journals, and mounting them between two sheets of glass. These answered admirably, and when carefully cut out, no one would believe, when thrown on the sheet, that they had not been painted.

We also made some sets of tracings on plain glass, of sketches in black and white. Of course ink would not do, as a fine line could not be drawn with it, and it was too transparent, but we found that, by using black water color, in which a drop or two of thin gum had been mixed, it was quite easy to draw upon plain glass with a fine pen, and then the solid parts could be filled in with a sable brush.

Comic sets copied from the illustrated papers were very easily made, and came out exceedingly well on the sheet and afforded great amusement. This system, and the cutting out in paper, is very simple, and of course takes much less time than the colored and varnished drawings on roughened glass.

THE AKHOOND OF SWAT.

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BY J. H. S.

A number of years ago there came over the cable an announcement that the Akhoond of Swat had died, and immediately there was an outburst of merriment in the newspapers. No one could tell who or what he was, many believed him to be a myth, and for a long time the Akhoond was a standing joke among paragraph writers all over the world.

But the Akhoond was a real personage and no joke, and it is only recently that we have found out what a really great man he was.

Swat itself is a considerable province of Afghanistan, bordering on India, and just southwest of the Pamirs. The Akhoond was not, however, its civil ruler. At any rate, he was not nominally so. The title Akhoond merely means “teacher,” and he was, primarily, a religious teacher and nothing more.

He lived in the town of Saidu, and he reached manhood and began to teach the people more than half a century ago, when Dost Mohammed was Ameer of Cabul.

An intense fanatic and a mystic, he exerted a marvelous sway over the people of Swat, who like all the Afghan tribes, are nervous, imaginative, and given to mysticism. So he became not only their spiritual prophet, but their military leader as well.

He led the hosts of Islam against the Sikhs, in the days when Dost Mohammed planned to conquer all India, and many are the stories told of his prowess.

Nor did he fight alone against the Indians, but in 1863 he led the Afghans in their battle with the British at Umbeyla, and made himself the most feared man in all the Afghan empire.

When not busy in the wars, the Akhoond was always to be found at Saidu. From sunrise to sunset he sat in his mosque, reproving the erring, comforting the mourners, encouraging the faithful, and cursing the obstinate unbelievers.

Disputes of every sort were brought to him for settlement. Troubles of all kinds were brought to him to be made right. Hundreds of miracles were performed by him every day. The sick were made well in an instant.

A man would come, lamenting that his horse was lost, and would find it the next moment at the door of the mosque. Acarpenter was bewailing that a beam was three feet too short for the needed purpose, and in a twinkling it grew to exactly the length required.

A visitor in the city wished to return speedily to his home in Constantinople, thousands of miles away. He was bade to close his eyes, and the next moment opened them in his home.

To tell the people of Swat that these things were not so, would have been equivalent to telling them that light was darkness. No wonder, then, that the Akhoond was a power in the land, and that Ameer after Ameer sought his assistance.

Shere Ali was the last. When he began his last struggle with the British, he begged the Akhoond to lead his armies as of old. But death stepped in, and the Akhoond passed into history.

Yet still his virtues abide. The mosque in which he taught is the holiest place in all Swat, and miracles are daily wrought there. The Akhoond’s son does not succeed him as a teacher, but he inherits the worldly possessions of the Akhoond, and these are enough to make him the richest man in all Swat.

[This Story began in No.44.]

A Plucky Girl

OR,

“For Father’s Sake.”

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A STORY OF PRAIRIE LAND

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BY CELIA PEARSE,

AUTHOR OF “LITTLE GOTHAMITES,” “WILL SHE
WIN HER WAY?” “A WISE LITTLE
WOMAN,” ETC., ETC.

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CHAPTER XXIV.

Lottie was so vexed and indignant that, for a moment, she could neither move nor speak. Eva, too, was perplexed, and whispered into Lottie’s ear:

“What does the woman want? Is she going to take our things away fromus?”

Before Lottie could reply, the man who had been loitering around the barn and outside premises, came up to the door, and, with a smile meant to be ingratiating, bade them good-morning.

Lottie started at the sound of his voice. She thought she recognized it, but was not quite sure. She rose from her chair and returned the greeting.

“I’m one of your new neighbors,” continued the visitor, planting himself in the doorway and resting a hand upon the frame upon either side. “The old woman an’ me thought we’d come over an’ git acquainted. Ireckon she has told you who we air?”

Lottie listened to this speech with intent ears. Yes, the voice was the same she had heard that evening, weeks before, plotting to deprive them of their home.

She did not doubt that it was he who had persuaded Jimmy to run away; that he was the “friend” who had promised the boy work and wages and independence, and so had gotten him out of his way.

Lottie crossed the room, Eva still clinging to her hand, and, when but a few steps distant from the man in the doorway, stopped, and, looking him straight in the eye, said:

“Yes, Mr. Highton, I know who you are. Will you please tell me where my brother Jimmyis?”

Mr. Highton’s hands dropped from the door-frame, and he took a step backward. Adark flush spread over his countenance; his eyes wavered and fell. But he recovered himself almost instantly, and, with a harsh, disagreeable laugh, made answer.

“Tell you where your brother Jimmy is? Why, miss, Ididn’t know you had a brother Jimmy. Has the young man been gittin’ himself lost?”

“No, he has not been getting himself lost; but some one, pretending to be his friend, has persuaded him to leave us, promising him money and good times. And, Mr. Highton, Ibelieve that you are the man!”

Mr. Mart Highton laughed again, more harshly and boisterously than before. Then he said, still pretending to be amused:

“I declare I didn’t expect to be treated this way, or I shouldn’t ’a come to see you. I’ll send one o’ the boys next time, an’ mebbe you’ll treat ’em better. You hain’t so much as invited me in to take a seat!”

Lottie turned indignantly away, and, without giving the solicited invitation, retreated to the sitting-room.

Here she found Mrs. Highton, seated in the big arm-chair, looking about her with a self-satisfied air.

As Lottie and Eva entered, she exclaimed:

“Well, you an’ Mart’s been gittin’ acquainted, Ireckon. Iheerd you laughin’ together. He’s mighty friendly, an’ easy to git acquainted with. We all be, fer that matter. Some folks is so kind o’ stuck up, or somethin’, that it takes a month o’ Sundays to git to know ’em. But the Hightons ain’t that way!”

Lottie made no reply to these remarks. She was troubled and disgusted, and did not know how to get rid of her unwelcome visitors. She sank, silently, upon the couch by the window.

Mrs. Highton stopped her rocking, and turned her chair so that she could face her listeners, and resumed:

“Mart an’ me’s bin talkin’ ’bout the way you children’s situated here. Mrs. Green told me all about it, afore she went away. An’ she says to me, says she, ‘Them poor, motherless, orphant children hadn’t orto be livin’ over there by theirselves,’ says she; ‘but the oldest girl’—that’s you, Ireckon” nodding at Lottie—“‘is mighty sot an’ determined, an’ is bound to stick to the place.’

“So Mart an’ me, we’ve been talkin’ it over, an’ we concluded to come an’ hev a talk with you. He says to me, says he, ‘If the children want to go to their relations, we’ll buy their housell stuff—fer we’re a-needin’ the things—an’ they kin take the money an’ go. But if they’d ruther stay, why, let ’em stay.’”

Mrs. Highton paused a moment, as if expecting to be thanked for this generous concession. But as Lottie made no response, she continued:

“Him an’ me thought that if you was so sot to stay here, mebbe you’d be willin’ to let us move in with you. His brother Ike’s got a big family, an’ they’re about took possession of the cabin the Greens moved out of. The boys is goin’ to put up shanties on their claims, but we’d like to git settled quick as we kin, for we’ve been livin’ jest ‘anyhow’ long ’nough. We could all live together in one family, an’ that way your livin’ wouldn’t cost you a cent. Mart says he’d look after things on the place, an’ I’d be a kind o’ mother to you. It wouldn’t be near so lonesome fer you, an’ it would be a ’commodation to us. Our gittin’ the use o’ the house an’ sich like would make you square about the board-bill. Now, what do you say to our offer?”

see caption

see caption

MR. HIGHTON SHIFTED IN HIS SEAT, AND SAID, IN AN INSINUATING TONE, “YOU SEEM TO HEV A VERY POOR OPINION OF ME, MISS.”

Lottie shuddered at the idea of living in the house with these people. And, being forewarned, she was quick to see that this was a plan designed to entrap her—that the Hightons wished to get possession of the house, and a hold upon the place, so as to oust her completely; for that they would not scruple to get rid of herself and Eva, when it suited them to do so, she was well assured. Jimmy, poor, credulous boy, had already been gotten out of the way. Oh, why did not her father come?

Her heart felt as if it would burst, and for a moment she could not utter one word. But she struggled bravely for composure, and presently said, in a voice that in spite of her trembled a little:

“I cannot make any such arrangement. I hope and expect my father home soon. And he would not be pleased to find his house filled with strangers. Eva and I are getting along very well, and we have plenty to liveon.”

“It seems to me you orto be satisfied by this time that your father ain’t never goin’ to come back,” replied Mrs. Highton, in a harsh voice. “It’s orful silly of you to stick to that notion! An’ you orto consider ’tain’t fit fer you two girls to be livin’ here alone. There ain’t no knowin’ what might happen. It would be ’nough sight better if you had somebody here to look after you. Then ag’in, you wouldn’t be tied down to home like you be now. You’d hev somebody to leave the little girl with, an’ could git out an’ enjoy yourself like other young folks. You’d better think twice afore you say ‘no’ fer good an’ all.”

Lottie felt Eva’s fingers closing tightly upon her own, the poor child was imagining herself left to the care of Mrs. Highton! She pressed the quivering little hand reassuringly and rose to her feet.

“I don’t need to think any more about it. Ihave given you my answer,” she said, firmly.

At that moment a heavy step was heard crossing the porch, and Mr. Highton, with a sneering smile upon his face, thrust his head through the open window.

“Come, old woman,” he said to his wife, “you go along home an’ see ’bout gittin’ dinner, an’ I’ll settle this matter with little miss, here.”

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CHAPTER XXV.

The stars were growing dim, and a faint light was dawning in the east, when, at last, Jimmy Claxton’s slumbers were disturbed and he opened his sleepy eyes.

There was a confusion of sounds filling his ears, a snapping and snarling and growling that frightened and bewildered him. It was several moments before he could remember where he was or why he was there, lying on the ground beneath the open sky.

But his brain cleared presently, and he sprang to his feet and looked about him. Where was his friend and companion of the previous day? Where were the horses he had himself so carefully picketed the evening before? And what was that snarling, fighting mass just visible in the dawning light but a few rods distant?

Jimmy found himself very much awake about this time, for it had flashed upon him that at least a score of prairie-wolves were there before him and that the yelping that had awakened him came from their throats.

He involuntarily opened his mouth to call out for Mr. Highton, but the thought came quickly into his mind that a sound from him might draw the attention of the pack to himself, and this restrained him.

He wondered where Mr. Highton could be, and what it was that the wolves were fighting over and feasting upon. Aterrible fear took possession of him. Had the creatures killed Mr. Highton while he lay sleeping, and were they now devouring him?

He dared not venture nearer to investigate. He was afraid to move at all lest the beasts should hear him. But, after a little hesitation, he resolved to try to get away to the opposite side of the ravine and there conceal himself until the pack dispersed.

Jimmy moved cautiously away, but had not gone far when, turning to look back, he saw half a dozen of the wolves coming toward him at a gallop.

He knew that he could not outrun them, and, looking about for any possible refuge, he saw, not far away, projecting ten or fifteen feet above the surface of the ravine, the scraggy branches of a tree, which overhung the depths beneathit.

With his best speed the boy dashed forward, and, scrambling down the sides of the gorge until he reached the spot in which the tree was rooted, he began to climb up its bent and twisted trunk.

The tree was but a small one, and its upper branches were hardly strong enough to bear his weight, but he climbed upward until they swayed and bent, and threatened to snap beneath him; then, grasping the largest of them, one in each hand, and resting his feet on the best support he could find for them, Jimmy braced himself and awaited his pursuers.

They soon came up, and leaped and howled and snarled about the tree, but they could not reach their wished-for prey; and, after awhile, they seemed to realize that they were losing their share—and a slender one it must have been, or they would never have deserted it—of the feast being enjoyed by their fellows, and trotted back, to renew their fight over poor Cottontail’s bones.

Jimmy breathed freer for a few minutes after their departure, but his situation was anything but comfortable or agreeable. It was a strain upon his muscles to maintain his position, and there was constant danger that the limbs he was supporting himself by would break and tumble him to the bottom of the ravine. And yet he dared not descend to the ground, because, the wolves might attack or pursue him at any moment. The day grew brighter and the sun appeared, and still Jimmy clung to his swaying, uncertain support, until it seemed to him that he must descend and give relief to his aching arms and feet.

But he knew that a race between himself and the wolves upon the open prairie would be a hopeless one for him; for, emboldened as the naturally cowardly creatures always were by numbers, they would never give up the chase until they had run him down.

Thus two long hours passed, and meantime a painful consciousness grew upon him that his usual morning meal was lacking. He thought, with longing, of the delicious, mealy, baked potatoes and corn-fritters, with their respective accompaniments of cream-gravy and fresh butter, that had probably adorned Lottie’s breakfast-table, and wondered if, when released from his very unpleasant predicament, he would have strength enough remaining to enable him to make his way to the ranch, ten miles further on, according to Mr. Highton, where he could procure something to fill the “aching void” that was making him more and more uncomfortable.

At length, to his great joy, the sounds of fighting and snarling grew less and less, and although he was unable to see from his station the place where the pack had congregated, Jimmy felt sure that they had dispersed, and, wearied and cramped, he ventured to descend to the ground.

He stole cautiously out of the ravine to reconnoitre, and found his surmise correct. There was not a wolf to be seen. They had stolen away through the tall grass to their abiding-places, and the prairie showed no sign of any living creature save himself.

After waiting a short time to make sure that they were really gone, Jimmy ran forward to discover what it was that they had been feasting upon. As he neared the spot, he uttered a cry of dismay. The tall grass had hidden the object until he was within a few yards of it, but now he saw that it had been his pony. The bones were not yet picked clean, although more than half of the carcass was eaten, and Jimmy wondered, as he rushed forward, that the voracious beasts had left a morsel undevoured. But he did not wonder long; for a low, peculiar sound, seeming to rise from the earth at his very feet, startled him, and he saw, stretched upon the ground like a great cat, not six yards away, an animal the like of which he had never seen before. But he had heard of the lions which sometimes came down from the mountainous and broken country farther west, and knew that this creature must be one of them.

He understood then what had driven the wolves away, and wished himself safely back in his tree-top. The lion lashed its tail and partly rose from its position on the ground, but it subsided again as Jimmy stood stock-still, with eyes of horror fixed upon it. The probabilities are that it was satiated with food, and only wished to guard the prey it had already secured from further molestation. However that may be, it made no other movement than to lift its head and swish its tail, as if in warning, and Jimmy backed slowly away as long as he could endure the strain of moving slowly; and then, when he felt that he must run, he turned and flew over the ground with the speed of a deer until he was forced to stop from sheer exhaustion.

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CHAPTER XXVI.

When Jimmy at length stopped running, he found that he had left the ravine quite out of sight. The country about him was rolling, and as the wind waved the tall grass before his eyes, it was as if he were looking upon a great gray-green sea, and the ravine doubtless lay between the billow-like swells of land that spread out in vast expanse before him.

He looked about him and became more and more bewildered. He could not determine which course he ought to take in order to reach the ranch described to him by Mr. Highton.

It never occurred to him that this great cattle ranch, where he was to get “big wages” and have “lots of fun,” had no existence, save in his “friend’s” imagination.

Then again he fell to wondering where Mr. Highton could be. He could not bring himself to believe that a man—a grown man—had been so frightened by the lion that he had run away and left him—a boy—to take his chances, unarmed and alone!

And yet the last he knew of Mr. Highton, he was lying near him, with his saddle and bridle beneath his head, apparently sleeping and settled for the night.

And now Jimmy recalled the fact that, when he was awakened that morning and had looked about him, there was no saddle or other accoutrements to be seen, and the natural conclusion was that Mr. Highton had ridden deliberately away. It might be that he had gone upon some exploring expedition of his own and knew nothing of the lion—that he meant to return.

But Jimmy found little comfort in these reflections, and he began to wish most heartily that he was safely back in his own comfortable home.

Then his thoughts took a different direction. He wondered what Lottie and Eva would say, if they knew of the fate which had befallen poor Cottontail, their pet and favorite! And what would Lottie think when she discovered that he had abstracted papers from his father’s desk? She had always guarded the contents of the desk so jealously, that nothing should be destroyed or mislaid that had been placed there by her parents for safe keeping.

His conduct had put on a new appearance to him, all at once, and he felt miserable and ashamed. Mr. Highton had assured him that he wanted the documents only for a short time, to compare some figures and numbers, which would help him the better to locate a claim of his own, about which there was some difficulty.

But Jimmy’s confidence in his whilom friend was weakening with a rapidity that made him very uncomfortable; and the longer he meditated the more certain he was that he had been fooled and that Mr. Highton had purposely deserted him.

He began to realize how much easier it is to take a wrong step than to retrace it. It seemed to him that he could never return home and tell the dismal tale of the poor pony’s fate, and of his own guilt in the matter of taking those papers from his father’s desk.

What then was to be done? Jimmy did not know, and his unhappy reflections became so unbearable that he could no longer rest, and he hurried on again.

The sun beat down upon him, his thirst increased and he grew faint with hunger and weariness; but he walked on and on, hoping every moment to see some sign of human habitation. But he hoped in vain; not so much as a herder’s hut met his eye. On every side stretched the sea-like prairie, and no living thing was to be seen.

And so for weary hours he toiled on, distracted with thirst, sick for lack of food and growing more bewildered and disheartened with every step. At length he sank down, utterly exhausted.

It was then about four o’clock in the afternoon, and he had been walking beneath a burning sun since early morning, and had had no morsel of food or drop of water since the evening before.

He fell into a sort of stupor, and while he thus lay dark clouds began to gather, and mutterings of thunder rolled along the sky. And presently the sun was obscured and a kind of weird twilight settled down upon the prairie.

For a time the thunder ceased, the air grew thick and close, and the silence of death seemed to have fallen upon the world.

Then came a mighty roar, as if the elements were defying each other, and the rain was dashed upon the earth or swirled through the air with furious force.

The dashing of the rain upon his face aroused Jimmy, and he rose up, fighting against the wind, which threatened to take him off his feet, and, holding out his hands, he gathered enough of the down-pouring flood to appease his thirst.

Then he staggered on, buffeted by the wind and blinded by the driving rain, turning this way and that to escape the lashings of the deluge that swept over him, until his strength gave out, and he dropped to the ground more dead than alive.

At that instant he felt himself picked up and whirled through the air as if he had been a feather.

Then he knew no more until, opening his eyes, he found the sun shining upon his face and the clear, blue sky above him.

But the sun was not more than an hour high, and the thought that he must pass another night alone upon the prairie was discouraging.

His clothes were wet as they could be, and the cool wind, blowing upon him, made him tremble and shiver.

He was bruised and sore and weak, but happily his “ride upon the storm” had not resulted in serious injury. There were no broken bones to disable him.

The water he had drank had refreshed him greatly, but oh, how hunger gnawed upon him!

He sat up and looked about him in shivering despair. He found that he had been lying upon the verge of a fissure in the ground, such as are often come upon in prairie countries.

It was but a few feet deep and three or four wide at the top. He threw himself forward, face downward, and looked listlessly into this cleft in the earth, thinking that perhaps, if he had strength enough left to gather an armful or two of grass to lie upon, a bed down there, sheltered as it would be from the wind, would be more comfortable than where he then was.

But as his dull eyes roved over the bottom of the narrow chasm, they saw something that put new life and hope into his despairing heart.

A few yards from where he lay, evidently blown there by the storm that had just passed, were three or four prairie-chickens, huddled together, with drenched plumage, their lives drowned out of them.

The trench had been filled with water by the tremendous fall of rain, which had now soaked away through the fissures in its bottom, and the chickens had lodged against some unevenness of surface, as the water subsided.

Jimmy descended into the gap and quickly secured one of the birds; then he looked about for some means of cooking it. He was ravenously hungry, but could he eat raw meat?

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CHAPTER XXVII.

Lottie was startled out of her self-possession by Mr. Highton’s speech to his wife. She turned quickly, and stretching out an imploring hand toward her, begged her not togo.

But Mrs. Highton, with a coarse laugh, exclaimed, “Oh, you needn’t be afraid. He ain’t a-goin’ to hurt you!” and walked out of the room.

There were a few whispered words between man and wife before the woman left the house, and while these were being said, Lottie’s courage was coming back, and when Mr. Highton came in he found her seated composedly upon the lounge, with Eva nestled close to her side.

He threw himself into the arm-chair which his wife had vacated, and sat for some minutes eying Lottie from under his shaggy eye-brows, without speaking. Then he shifted in his seat, crossed one leg over the other and said, in an insinuating tone.

“You seem to hev a very poor opinion of me, miss.”

Lottie made no reply to this, and he continued, more roughly:

“You think I had a hand in your brother’s runnin’ off. How did you come by sech an idea as that?”

“I have already told you that I know some one persuaded him to go. No one but you could have had any object in doing that,” replied Lottie, steadily.

“Wal, I declare! What did I want the boy to run off fer?” asked Mr. Highton, in pretended surprise, while an angry flush rose to his cheek.

“I can’t answer that question.”

“Wal, it’s best not to throw out insinerations that you can’t prove. An’ it will be all the better fer you, if you make up your mind to be friendly with me. Because, if you ain’t, you’ll find yourself in a middlin’ bad box before very long. My wife an’ me, we wants to be friendly, an’ is willin’ to do the best we kin fer you; that’s what we come over this morning to talk about.”

“I am getting along very well—I don’t need any kind of help from any one, at present,” said Lottie coldly.

“You’re mighty inderpendent fer a bit of a girl; but when you come to find out jest how you air fixed, you may change your tune,” and Mart Highton grinned maliciously.

Lottie made no answer, and he continued:

“We come to you, my wife an’ I did, to let you know that this place belongs to us; but, not wishin’ to be too hard on you, we offered you the privilege of stayin’ on here with us till you could make some other ’rangements. Itold my wife to be easy on you, an’ not break the news too suddint, but she didn’t seem to work it jest right. So the next best plan is to come out plain an’ let you know exactly how you’re situated.”

“I’d like to know, if there’s anything I don’t understand,” said Lottie, so quietly that Mr. Highton looked rather astonished at the way she was taking the matter.

“Wal, then, this is the way the business stands. When your father settled down here, an’ entered his quarter-section, he jest made a mistake an’ put his improvements on the wrong quarter. Nobody didn’t happen to discover the mistake, fer folks wasn’t comin’ in here to no great extent; but, now a railroad is bein’ talked of, people is lookin’ after things middlin’ sharp. Ifound out how it was ’tother day, when I was over to the land office, an’ Ijest clipped in an’ filed on it quicker’n a wink. So now I’m goin’ to come right along an’ take possession. You kin stay, as I said afore, ’till you kin make other ’rangements—purvided you’re a mind to make yourself agreeable! ’Taint everybody as would be so easy on you, you must remember!”

“No, it is not every one who would try to rob helpless children,” answered Lottie, scornfully. “Ido not believe a single word of your story. You have prepared a scheme to rob us of our home—to drive us away from the only shelter we have; but you will not succeed in your wicked plans. Iintend to keep possession here, until father comes back, and will defend his home against claim jumpers as long as there is life in my body.”

Lottie had risen as she made this declaration, and stood cool and resolute before the man whom she knew had determined to drive her out of her father’s house. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes gleamed, her form seemed taller by an inch, and she looked quite unlike the bright-faced, merry girl that she usually was.

Eva clung to her hand and looked up at her in wonder. What had this hateful visitor said that had made Lottie so angry? She was not able to understand the meaning of his words, but Eva knew he had offended her dear sister, and she bent her brows and sent indignant glances in his direction.

But Mart Highton paid little heed to the child; he was wondering how this young girl, whom he had expected so easily to impose upon, had penetrated his scheme, and how long she would hold out against him.

He knew nothing of the solitary night watch when those words of his which had put her on her guard had reached her ears.

That a young girl like this should “show fight,” as he phrased it to himself, was a complete surprise, and for a moment he stared at her silently. Then he burst into a loud laugh, and, when he had laughed long enough, he said, jocosely:

“An’ so you’re a-goin’ to hold on to my quarter-section, be you? You’re a mighty peart sort of a girl! Ideclar’ Iadmire your spunk! But if I was you, Iwouldn’t look too strong fer that father o’ yourn. You’ll never set eyes on him till Gabriel blows his horn: an’ that’ll be a middlin’ long spell to hold out agin me an’ the land office.”

And Mart Highton laughed again at his own wit.

Lottie was too indignant at his brutality to make any answer. She felt her limbs trembling beneath her, and sat down again quickly that it might not be noticed, for she really feared the man.

But the gentleman in the arm-chair made no offensive movement, as she had thought he might do; for in her eyes he was a wretch capable of any crime, and, knowing that she and Eva were utterly alone and friendless in this isolated spot, might he not have it in his heart to kill them and so get them out of his way?

She knew instinctively that he was a man who would hesitate at nothing that would serve to gain his ends. If he could not get possession of the property he coveted in any other way, what was there to hinder him if he chose to take their lives? There was not a friend, not even an acquaintance, within miles of them who would be interested to inquire into their fate. And then a dreadful fear flashed upon her. Perhaps he had murdered Jimmy—had lured him away from home with fair promises, and had then killed him.

Her face blanched at the thought as she turned and looked searchingly at the hateful countenance confronting her, and, almost without knowing that she spoke, Lottie uttered the words, very nearly like those with which she had first greeted him:

“What have you done with my brother Jimmy?”

Mart Highton sprang to his feet, pale with anger, and, with one great stride, came to where Lottie was sitting.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

[This Story began in No. 45.]

At midday the big “dug-out,” called La Belle Acadienne, paddled up to the landing, under the charge of an old creole, who was to take Eph Clark to New Orleans and then to lodgings at a French house, when Eph was to seek an interview with the governor and carry out the instructions he had received.

The Belle Acadienne had an awning over her after part, where the passengers would be protected from the night-damp; and there were lots of things to eat, with a cooking place forward, presided over by a grizzled old negro, who produced some very nice dishes from his few pots and pans.

The “padron,” or head of the boat, and six paddlers, made up, with Eph and Eric and the old Creole, ten in all.

As soon as the passengers were on board, the canoe went away, almost north, up the bay.

By nightfall they had entered a deep but narrow bayou, and then there was a fresh surprise for Eph and Eric.

In the bow of the canoe, hanging well over the water, was an iron crane, which supported a grating, on which was kept burning, after dark, chunks of fat pine, which lit up everything around with a rich, yellow light.

As they got farther into the bayou, the banks seemed to disappear, and they were, as it appeared to Eph—who had never been in such a country—navigating between rows of huge trees, gray with moss, which hung from the branches in long festoons, like giant cobwebs.

The fire-light, glowing on the surroundings, showed the most surprising things to the boys, although the crew seemed to think nothing of them. Out of the darkness, among the trees and bushes, would peer two bright marks, which the men said was a deer.

Then would come a great plash in the still water of the bayou, and the pine knots showed a huge alligator, sulkily sinking, and apparently uncertain whether to make fight or not, at this invasion of his territory.

Great gar-fish shot away from the canoe as she went on, and big owls hooted at being disturbed, sometimes flapping almost into the burning knots. Herons, and other large birds flopped up from points where they had been fishing, and sailed away up the bayou with great croaks and hoarse calls, which were answered from the darkness of the dense bush and high trees by paroquets and many other birds and animals, disturbed in their slumbers by the unusual invasion.

The canoe paddled steadily on, until some time late in the night they reached a curious formation in the middle of the swampy forest.

It was an island, not more than an acre in extent, and quite high, where the padron said they were accustomed to stop to cook and sleep, for the men had had a long pull.

As soon as they had eaten the hot supper, which the cook served shortly after landing, the boys lay down in the canoe on soft mats and slept until the daylight began to show through the tops of the trees.

The old padron soon had the cook up, and he made a pot of coffee such as the boys, in their experience of ship’s cooking, had never tasted, and off they went again, threading the tortuous channels, which would be entirely impassable to any one not accustomed to them.

Once or twice they came into a great lake, full of cypress stumps and knees, and of alligators also, and several times, on the edges of the cane-brakes which they sometimes passed, were bears and deer and quantities of smaller animals, as well as birds.

Eph was so interested at all this that he almost forgot his new position as a messenger carrying important letters, and it was only, at last, when they pulled into a small canal, that he began to think aboutit.

This canal led up to a place where the water communication seemed to stop. The padron left them for a few moments, and then returned with a dozen negroes, who came from some huts in a grove of trees, and they quickly ran her up an incline, and were ready to launch her down again.

Then Eph and Eric were really astonished. They were on a great embankment, or levee, which seemed to hold in the water of a mighty river, running with resistless force.

The Mississippi, the padron told them; and then pointed to the other side, below, where there appeared the buildings of a large town, with towers and the masts of vessels.

It seemed strange to Eph to emerge from a wilderness and to see such evidences of civilization, but, young as he was, he had already passed through many strange scenes, and braced himself up for the business with which he was charged.

The men launched the canoe down into the brimming river on the other side of the levee—they were kept there for that purpose by Lafitte, Eph found out—and then they paddled away for the city.

It was a very different business from the navigation in the slack waters of the bayous. The current of muddy water ran with great swiftness, and great swirls, as of a whirlpool, sometimes almost turned the canoe round.

But she had Lafitte’s best crew, and they shot her across the wide, yellow expanse of water in a way which surprised Eph, as much as he had seen of boats and canoes.

As it was, they only brought up at the lower part of the town, where they landed.

There were some people there who seemed to know the canoe very well, and one long-bearded old Frenchman led Eph and Eric up to his house, where he gave them some dinner, and then told them they had better go to bed and rest.

He was Lafitte’s principal agent, and when he had read the letter his chief had sent him he at once began to prepare for an interview with the governor.

Everybody in New Orleans knew that an invasion by the British forces was now near at hand.

Governor Claiborne called his council together on the very day after Eph Clark got there.

Governor Claiborne was the first American governor of Louisiana, and he had a pretty hard time to reconcile American notions and laws with the long-settled customs of the district.

But he had a powerful advocate in Judge Edward Livingston, who spoke the language perfectly, and was a thorough lawyer.

Then there was General Villere, of the Louisiana militia, a brave and honest man.

When the governor heard that there was a messenger from Lafitte, he was at first much put out; but he called his council together, and summoned Eph Clark to appear.

Eph was under a sort of arrest—as two men followed him about—but he kept up a good face, and at ten o’clock appeared before the governor and his council with the letter Lafitte had charged him to deliver.

With it he delivered the letter of the English Captain Lockyer, with its proposals. They were opened and read aloud by a clerk, while Eph stood at the foot of the table, gazed at by all the council. Then a member of the council spoke and said:

“I do not believe in making terms with pirates. This story about the English captain is no doubt merely a scheme to get his brother, who is a prisoner here, released. He is here on a charge of smuggling, as you all know.”

Eph Clark’s temper rose at hearing this speech, and, losing all shyness, he replied:

“If it pleases your excellency and the rest of the gentlemen, Imay say that I know there are some bad men at Barataria, who are there from choice; but I was taken there against my will. Icould not help myself. Iam no particular champion of Lafitte, but he means right in this matter, Iknow, and I myself went with him to meet the Englishmen and bring them in. Captain Lockyer’s letter is genuine, and they mean all they say. Gambio and Johannot are bad men, but I believe Lafitte is not, and, if the enemy come here, will be willing to do all he can for our side.”

When Eph had got this far, and all the gentlemen had turned to listen, he stopped and stammered and blushed, astonished at his own temerity.

A thin, grave gentleman, whom he afterward knew to be Governor Claiborne, answered at once:

“Well spoken, lad! very well spoken!”

And then two other gentlemen, whom he afterward knew to be Judge Edward Livingston and General Villere, of the Louisiana militia, chimedin.

Judge Livingston said that he believed that Lafitte was well disposed, and that, as for his irregular trade, that was what was going on under the old state of things, and must be put a stop to gradually.

While he was speaking, a messenger hastily entered and gave the governor a written dispatch which announced the arrival of the enemy’s fleet, with troop ships, at the passes of the Mississippi.

In a few moments the feeling of the gentlemen who had opposed having anything to do with Lafitte, suffered a change, and it was agreed that Eph should hurry back by the way he came and bear a message accepting Lafitte’s offers of assistance in the defense of the city, as well as thanks for having declined the British advances.

When the letter was delivered to Eph, the governor and Judge Livingston and General Villere asked him about himself, and when Eph modestly and shortly told them his story, they were more astonished than ever.

“All right, lad!” said the governor. “Do you come back with any force which may be sent, and, after this trouble is over, these gentlemen and myself will promise to look out for you. Tell Lafitte that we know General Jackson is close at hand, with a force of Tennessee and Kentucky riflemen; but we need artillery for our works and men used to serving large guns. Let him send us those, and we shall be glad. Go now, and when you come back, let me see you.”

Eph was off at once to the agent’s, where he found Eric and the canoe’s crew, and was across the river and winding through the bayous before the sun went down. So full was he of his important message that he hardly allowed a halt of a few hours to cook and rest, and arrived at Barataria on the second morning after leaving New Orleans.

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CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION.

When the Belle Acadienne was announced as coming down the bay, Lafitte himself went to the landing, so anxious was he to hear the news of which Eph Clark was the bearer.

As they walked back together to the chief’s house, Eph told him all that had occurred in the council. And Lafitte told him that Johannot had reported the arrival of the British fleet, for he had been sent out to reconnoiter, and that he had also sent a message to the English captain which would prevent him from being certain whether they would be guided through the bayous or not.

While Eph got some needed refreshment, orders were sent to assemble all the guns’ crews of the pirate vessels in the fort.

There were about two hundred selected, the best and most capable gunners, and they were at once put under vigorous drill—Eph being made a lieutenant of the battery.

In the meantime canoes and boats were prepared to take the cannon and their carriages, with ammunition and stores and utensils of all kinds, through the secret route, and up to the plain of the east side of the river, where great works had been thrown up to resist the invaders, which works stretched between the river and the swamp on the left.

When the artillery and men arrived they were immediately sent to this work, where they found the battery of an American gun-boat, the Carolina, also stationed. There was another gun-boat, the Louisiana, afloat on the river, with a powerful battery of guns, which did good service in the approaching fight.

The long row of earth-works which the Americans occupied had not been quite finished, so the top of a great deal of the line was made of cotton bales, which protected the riflemen from the enemy’s bullets to a great extent, but were easily disarranged and set on fire by artillery. Some people thought that they would have been better without the cotton bales, but they were then, and they were always afterwards, associated with the battle.

When the firing actually began it was discovered that the British had found a quantity of sugar hogsheads in the plantations, and had used them in building their batteries, but they were not as good as the cotton bales at resisting fire, as it turned out.

Eph Clark had Eric as a sergeant in the battery of which he was lieutenant, on the night of the 7th of January, 1814, by which time all was ready.

They lay in a rough hut, back of the battery, and the men were talking and smoking, all around them, as they speculated on the chances of next day’s battle, for everybody knew it would occur then, probably at daylight.

At last they dropped off into an uneasy doze, and were roused from that by the order passed to turn out and man the battery.

They were hardly at their guns when General Jackson came along with a large staff, carefully inspecting the preparations by the light of the camp fires in the rear of the intrenchments.

General Villere, of the New Orleans militia, who had seen Eph Clark before, and who was accompanying General Jackson, said:

“Here are Lafitte’s men, general. And here is the youth I spoke to you about, an American boy.”

General Jackson had too many weighty matters on his mind that morning to do more than glance at Eph, in answer to the officer’s remark. But he did say:

“All right! Glad to see such pluck and determination.”

Then he passed on to the left of the lines—and all stood firm—peering into a dense mist, which had arisen as the day was near and obscured the field in front.

It was known that the flower of the British army was in front, and eager eyes and ears kept open to detect the first movement. The invaders had boasted that they would walk straight over the half-drilled riflemen from Kentucky and Tennessee and the militia of Louisiana. They had not quite heard of the artillery of Commodore Patterson and of Lafitte’s batteries, and were not prepared for them, while they had little idea of what the riflemen could do, although they wore no such gorgeous uniform.

Suddenly, before the sun had risen and while the haze still hung upon the ground like a curtain, a gun was heard from the left of the batteries—the one in which Eph Clark had charge of the guns.

His sharp sailor-eyes and ears had detected the advance of the enemy before any others, and, according to orders given beforehand, he fired a round of grape-shot slap into the advancing foe.

Just then the mist lifted a little, and, by the early light, could be seen the serried lines of the British force, advancing to the attack in magnificent order.

There were two columns of troops, one on the right and one on the left. At the head of each column was a regiment, bearing fascines for filling up the ditch and scaling-ladders for reaching the crest of the defense. Between the two columns were marching a thousand Highlanders, in their picturesque garb, ready to support either column on their flanks, as might be needed.

At once the riflemen, with their unerring aim, began a rolling fire, while the artillery, served with great steadiness and coolness, joined in the battle.

There was great slaughter and confusion among the attacking troops, but, like veterans as they were, they rallied and came on again.

At first, Eph Clark was shocked by the effect of the fire; but he soon became excited, and, going from gun to gun of his battery, saw that each was well loaded and well pointed.

Up to the very ditch surged the brave men in front of them, and one officer, a lieutenant, came over the breastwork uninjured. Seeing Eph and a captain of infantry standing by their guns, close to him, he called out:

“Surrender! surrender! The place is ours!”

Rather surprised at this speech from a single man, Eph replied:

“Look behind you, sir!”

The young English officer, whose name was Lavack, did as he was told, and saw his troops either dead or wounded or in full retreat, and already some distance away.

“I’ll have to trouble you for your sword, sir!” said Eph, after showing him this sight.

“And to whom do I surrender?” said the young officer, gazing at Eph’s rig of silk shirt and sash and loose white trowsers.

“To Lieutenant Clark, of Lafitte’s Battery.” And the young officer was led away, to be well treated.

In the meantime, while the surviving British troops were retreating from the front, Eph Clark and those about him heard the “advance” blown from a bugle in front of them, and, seeing no one standing so near as the notes seemed to come from, at last discovered, perched up in a small tree—which must have been exposed to all the storm of balls and bullets, for many of its branches were cut away—a small music-boy of one of the British regiments, who had sat up there, sounding the “advance,” all the time the fight was going on, and continued to do so when his regiment was half a mile away.

Amused at the curious courage and persistency of the little fellow, Eph and a lieutenant of Kentucky riflemen dropped down into the ditch, and went out and captured the courageous lad, who was not more than fourteen.

When they brought him in, the stolid little Englishman, who was entirely unhurt, was much astonished at the praises he received from those he considered deadly enemies.

The English did not renew their attack, but at once began preparations for retreat to their ships. And there was good reason, for the actual fighting had only lasted twenty-five minutes, and they had twenty-six hundred men killed, wounded or prisoners, while the American loss was just seventeen.

General Packenham, the English commander, General Gibbs, Colonel Keene and Colonel Dale, among the leaders, all lost their lives in that fatal assault.

And the worst of it all was that the battle was fought after a treaty of peace had been made between England and the United States. But there was no means of knowing that, as there would be in these days of steam and electricity.

That night Eph had the guard in his battery, for vigilance was not relaxed, as the enemy, though beaten, had not yet retired entirely, and he was pacing up and down the parapet, and wishing he could go to sleep, after all the long excitement and labor, when he heard a challenge of a sentinel at the rear, and soon a written order was brought by an orderly, directing him to report at headquarters on the following day at ten o’clock.

This official notice made him uneasy, but he did not know anything wrong which he had done, and he knew he had served his guns well. So, when the time came for him to be relieved, he quietly lay down and slept the sleep of a tired boy, until roused for the rough camp breakfast.

At the appointed time he went to the headquarters in a plantation-house in the rear of the lines, and reported himself.

An aid-de-camp came out and said:

“General Jackson wants to see you.”

Without a word, but with much inward perturbation, Eph followed the officer into the room, where a large, rawboned man, with hair standing straight up from his scalp, and clad in general’s uniform and high boots, was sitting at a table filled with papers.

Several officers were standing about the room, and Eph recognized General Villere and one or two others he had seen before.

The general looked up sharply from his writing—he had a piercing gray-blue eye—and said:

“My lad, you have been much commended for your conduct. You are an American?”

“Yes, sir. I did not go to Lafitte’s place of my own accord; but when I saw that I could do some good for my country, Iworked as hard as I could.”

The general waved his hand and nodded approvingly.

“Yes,” he continued; “I have heard how you acted from Governor Claiborne and Judge Livingston and General Villere. You are a sailor, Ibelieve?”

“Yes, sir. I have been a sailor for four years.”

“Do you like the life?”

“I have not had such success that I should like it. Ithink I would rather be a soldier.”

“Well said, lad,” and the grim general chuckled. “You shall be a soldier. They will listen to me after this work, and I promise you a lieutenantcy in one of the regular regiments. In the meantime I take you on my staff as a volunteer, and you may go to any tailor in New Orleans and be fitted out.”

“There is one thing I would like to say, general.”

“What is it? Speak quickly, for I have much todo.”

“There is a Danish youth, older than I am, who served in the battery, and was taken out of the brig with me. Ishould like to see what becomes of him.”

“Very good! I will give an order for his enlistment, and meantime he can remain with you.”

Two months after this Ephraim Clark received his commission as second lieutenant in the Second Regiment of United States Infantry, and Eric Ericcsson was transferred as a private to the same regiment, the headquarters of which were at the frontier town of St. Louis, in the Territory of Missouri.

[THE END.]

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COLUMBUS AND THE SCHOOL CHILDREN

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BY SIDNEY.

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October, 1892, will long be remembered as the quadricentennial anniversary of America. It has been a festival month, and hardly a town or hamlet in this country but has celebrated, in some way, the landing of Columbus. New York devoted almost an entire week to land and water pageants, and Chicago, in formally dedicating the Columbian Exposition, had three days of impressive ceremonies.

Two remarkable features are to be noted in connection with the October celebrations. One is, that the United States, by common consent, have monopolized the honors in connection with the discovery of this Western Continent.

Of course, Columbus did not discover the United States any more than Canada. Every one knows now that he never put foot on North America at all, his nearest approach being the West India Islands, and that he did discover South America.

Nevertheless it has always been recognized that here, if anywhere, rested his claims as a discoverer, and here, therefore, it was fitting that the quadricentennial should be celebrated.

The second feature was the zeal with which the school children entered into the celebration. Schools, we may be assured, were little known in the days of Columbus, when monarchs thought it no shame to be unable to write their own names. Nor had Columbus any special desire to educate or civilize the people whom he found in the new lands he annexed to the Spanish crown.

Yet it may be said, without exaggeration, that of all the benefits accruing to civilization that grew out of the discovery of America, not one bears any comparison with the public school system of the United States. Our forefathers were men who imbibed the love of liberty with every breath, and they early realized that liberty without intelligence was not possible, and that learning was a deadly foe to tyranny of any kind—not the learning which is confined to the few, but the learning which is free to all, without cost.

There are nations, even at the present day, which designedly keep the people in ignorance, for fear that they will know their rights and demand justice. America has no such fear. Every avenue of knowledge has been opened to the child of the humblest, and in the public schools all meet on a plane of equality.

So it was eminently fitting that the school children should celebrate the discovery of this new world where they are rightly considered the keystone of our national greatness. And they have celebrated it in a way such as the world has never seen.

In the great civic parade in New York city on October 10, twenty-five thousand school children marched to the music of a hundred bands, before the grand-stands, on which sat the dignitaries of the nation, and to the admiring plaudits of half a million spectators who crowded the sidewalks, balconies and windows along the route.

Shoulder to shoulder, the pampered darling of Murray Hill and the “kid” of the Bowery marched in accord, with flashing eyes and conscious pride in being what they are, and at their head marched the mayor of the Empire City.

It was a sight long to be remembered, and one calculated to make the dullest thrill with love of country.

Later in the month, on the twenty-first, the schools all over the land, from the primary to the high schools, joined in celebrating, each in its respective schoolhouse. Speeches were made, odes sung and flags raised.

Such a series of celebrations cannot fail to leave a deep impress on the youthful mind, and one that will tend to instruct and elevate.

In future years, when men and women, they will recall with justifiable pride that they were part of the quadricentennial festivities, and that the part they bore was second to none.

It will be a legacy to be cherished, and it is certain that in no portion of their lives will there be a brighter spot than when, as school children, they emphasized the power and dignity of the Republic.

CONDENSED FOOD.

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BY W. S. BATES.

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In journeying through foreign lands, especially in the East, the English or American traveler is constantly amazed to observe upon what meagre diet the natives exist. Accustomed to meat at every meal, he sees thousands of people who eat meat perhaps not once a year; used to an abundance of vegetables and fruits of infinite variety, he encounters people who live on two or three vegetables and as many fruits.

In the mines of Hungary the workers dine on two slices of black bread and an apple; the Italians are content with a little oil and a handful of maccaroni; the Chinese exist almost entirely on rice, and the Arabs will live for weeks on dried dates. The surprise is not so much that these people exist, but that they are healthy and strong. Travelers again and again have noted that the Turkish porters in Constantinople will carry a burden that two strong Americans can hardly lift, and that coolies can tire a horse in running with the jinrikisha in China or Japan.

Doubtless most of this abstemiousness is due to poverty, since all nationalities soon fall into our ways of eating when they come to these shores, but their sparingness is none the less a proof that much of what we eat is an unnecessary burden to our stomachs. The primary purpose of eating is to sustain life, not to please the palate. We need material to replenish the waste of tissue, material to make blood and bone and flesh, and that is all.

Out of a pound of meat, not more than one tenth is of any value, and the same proportion holds good with many other articles of food. Now, it is evident that if some method existed by which the nutritious elements could be extracted and concentrated, the process of eating would be greatly simplified, and much to our advantage.

The first effort in this line was made thirty years ago in the shape of condensed milk, and the inventor was heartily laughed at. He lived, however, long enough to laugh at other people, and died worth seven millions of dollars. Now the condensing of milk has grown to be a very large industry.

The processes employed are very simple, the fresh milk being put into a great copper tank with a steam jacket. While it is being heated sugar is added, and the mixture is then drawn off into a vacuum tank, where evaporation is produced by heat.

The vacuum tank will hold, perhaps, nine thousand quarts. It has a glass window at the top, through which the operator in charge looks from time to time. He can tell by the appearance of the milk when the time has arrived to shut off the steam, and this must be done at just the right moment, else the batch will be spoiled.

Next the condensed milk is drawn into forty-quart cans, which are set in very cold spring water, where they are made to revolve rapidly by a mechanical contrivance in order that their contents may cool evenly.

When the water does not happen to be cold enough, ice is put in to bring it down to the proper temperature. Finally the tin cans of market size are filled with the milk by a machine, which pours into each one exactly sixteen ounces automatically, one girl shoving the cans beneath the spout, while another removes them as fast as they are filled.

People in cities nowadays use condensed milk largely in preference to the uncondensed, regarding it as more desirable because of the careful supervision maintained by the companies over the dairies from which they get their supplies.

For their consumption the product is delivered unsweetened, but even in this condition it will last fresh two or three times as long as the ordinary milk by reason of the boiling to which it has been subjected. Milk fresh from the cow contains eighty-eight per cent. of water, condensed milk twenty-eight per cent.

After condensed milks come condensed jellies. They are made in the shape of little bricks, each weighing eight ounces, and with an inside wrapper of oiled paper. According to the directions, the brick is to be put in one pint of boiling water, and stirred until it is dissolved.

The mixture is then poured into a mold or other vessel and put into a cool place. In a few hours the jelly is “set” and ready to use, a pint and a half of it. It never fails to “jell,” which point is the cause of so much anxiety to amateur jelly-makers.

We have often heard that “one egg contains as much nourishment as one pound of meat,” which shows that nature has condensed the food essentials in this instance. But man has condensed them still more, mainly, however, because eggs have a bad habit of getting stale.

Great quantities of eggs are bought up in summer when the price of them goes down to almost nothing. They are broken into pans, the whites and yolks separated and evaporated to perfect dryness. Finally, they are scraped from the pans and granulated by grinding, when they are ready for shipment in bulk.

Bakers, confectioners and hotels use eggs in this form, which is an important saving at seasons when they are dear in the shell.

Extract of beef, although a liquid, is condensed beef; the vanilla bean is now concentrated into an essence and cocoanuts are condensed by desiccation; cider and lime juice are also condensed, so that a spoonful mixed with water makes a pint of the original liquid.

Finally, some genius has condensed coffee into lozenges weighing only fifteen grains, one of which makes a generous cup of coffee. It is merely necessary to put the lozenge or tablet in the cup, pour boiling water on it and the coffee is made.

What a boon for the housewife as well as the camper-out, the more so since one hundred lozenges, weighing a little more than four ounces, will make one hundred cups.

The processes by which coffee is thus concentrated are very interesting. To begin with, the beans are roasted in an enormous oven and ground in a huge mill. Then they are put into a great iron vessel, which is nothing more nor less than a gigantic coffee-pot, holding two hundred and forty pounds at a time. Hundreds of gallons of filtered water are pumped into the coffee-pot, which acts on the drip principle, and the infusion is drawn off to an evaporating tank. Asteam pump keeps the air exhausted from this tank, so that the coffee is in vacuo, being heated meanwhile to a high temperature by steam pipes. The water it contains rapidly passes off, and the coffee is of about the consistency of molasses when it is taken out. It is poured into trays of enameled ware, and these trays are placed on shelves in another evaporator.

When the trays are removed, a short time later, the coffee is a dry solid, which is scraped off the trays, ground to powder, and moulded into lozenges.

AN UNFORTUNATE EXPERIMENT.

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Some weeks ago we chronicled in Golden Days the particulars of a competition race in Europe, which was unique in its rules and intended to be scientific in its character. The Emperors of Austria and Germany arranged for a contest between the officers of their respective armies in the way of a long-distance ride between Berlin and Vienna, Austrian officers to ride from Vienna to Berlin, and German officers from Berlin to Vienna.

This entire distance of four hundred miles was to be covered in the shortest possible time, each rider using but one horse and choosing any route which suited his fancy.

Prizes were offered for the first man who covered the distance, and another prize was to be given to the contestant who brought his horse to the finish in the best condition.

It was a purely military race, and the outcome was expected to prove a great many things of value to Austria and Germany as to the endurance of man and horse, and naturally excited great interest, not only in Europe, but also in this country.

The result, however, has been far from gratifying. The start was made on time, and an Austrian officer was the first to cover the distance, in three days, one hour and forty-five minutes. Anotable victory, no doubt, but at what a cost!

Hardly had the applause died away, when the noble horse which had accomplished the feat, died in his tracks; and this was only the beginning. Since then fifteen or twenty horses have died, and every one of the remainder are dying or rendered forever useless.

Stories of pitiless cruelty on the part of the riders have been reported—of whippings, spurrings, and even absolute torture, to urge on the poor animals.

Under the circumstances, it is not to be wondered that the press and people are now unanimous in condemning the race as brutal and barbarous, and claiming that no good purpose was served by the exhibition.

It is true that a prize was offered to the rider who brought in his horse in the best condition, but this chance seems to have been lost sight of completely, and not a single horse arrived in a state less than pitiable.

Public sentiment in this age is quick to put the stamp of disapproval on unnecessary cruelty of any kind, and however much the Emperors of Austria and Germany may regard the result with satisfaction, or crown the visitors with laurels, humane people everywhere will condemn the exhibition and protest against any repetition.

OUR NEW PACIFIC STATION.

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BY ANON.

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In the days when the voyages and adventures of Captain Cook were read by every schoolboy, there was a great deal heard of the Navigators’ Islands, in the Pacific. Lying between seven and eight hundred miles south of the equator, this group of nine islands and some small islets has been a favorite port for many years, and all seamen and explorers unite in calling it an earthly paradise. The climate is perfection, the soil is rich, and the natives always have been friendly.

Similar conditions doubtless prevail in other islands of the Pacific, but our interests at present centre on the islands just described, since they are now known as the Samoan Islands, and in them lies the harbor of Pago-Pago, which our government has at last acquired, after years of negotiation.

The chiefs of the Samoan Islands have more than once petitioned to be taken under the protectorate of Great Britain or the United States, and in 1878 a commercial treaty was concluded with this country, and in 1879 Great Britain and Germany made almost similar treaties.

Had the United States so desired, the Samoan group would have been ceded to us years ago, but there is always vigorous opposition to this country acquiring territory outside of its present coast lines. No such scruples prevail in England or Germany, and, in consequence, both those powers are industriously engaged in annexing stray islands, whether the inhabitants desire protection or not.

But they did not take Samoa, mainly because of a well defined idea that the United States, although opposed to annexing these islands herself, was as strongly opposed to any other nation taking them, and European nations have, of late years, a wholesome respect for this nation.

It is true that our trade in the Pacific is not large, but it is rapidly increasing, and the need of a harbor has been apparent for some time. Of course all the harbors in the Pacific are open to our ships in times of peace, but there may come a time of war, when the ports will be closed to our shipping, and we will sorely need some ports of our own.

Then we need coal and supply stations for our men of war, such as England has in all parts of the world, and such as we ought to have and would have were it not for the perverse public sentiment which is opposed to any acquisition of territory, however needful or just.

Now at least we have Pago-Pago, and it is believed that Pearl Harbor in Oahu, one of the Hawaiian Islands, will be acquired in somewhat the same way.

The Germans have a harbor in Samoa and the English are negotiating for one, but Pago-Pago is believed to be the largest and best of all.

Here a coaling, supply and repair station will be built, the title to the land being vested absolutely in the United States.

Other nations may use the harbor as they please, but the United States will control it, and in case of any trouble in the Pacific it will be a point of vantage of the greatest value to this country.

—On Mount Washington, in New Hampshire, lives a little colony of butterflies that never descend below 2000 feet from the summit. They are completely isolated from others of their kind, no butterflies being found in any other spot in their immediate vicinity. It is supposed that the remote ancestors of this curious race were stranded on the mountain at the close of the glacial period.

[This Story began in No. 48.]

—THE MUTINY—