The Project Gutenberg EBook of Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 7, by Charles H. Sylvester This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Journeys Through Bookland, Vol. 7 Author: Charles H. Sylvester Release Date: November 7, 2007 [EBook #23405] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOURNEYS THROUGH BOOKLAND, VOL. 7 *** Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Miller, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of changes is found at the end of the book. Oe ligatures have been expanded. [Illustration: THE CANOE RACE] Journeys Through Bookland A NEW AND ORIGINAL PLAN FOR READING APPLIED TO THE WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE FOR CHILDREN _BY_ CHARLES H. SYLVESTER _Author of English and American Literature_ VOLUME SEVEN _New Edition_ [Illustration] Chicago BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1922 BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY CONTENTS PAGE THE DAFFODILS _William Wordsworth_ 1 TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN _William Cullen Bryant_ 4 TO A MOUSE _Robert Burns_ 5 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY _Robert Burns_ 8 THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET _Samuel Wordsworth_ 11 BANNOCKBURN _Robert Burns_ 15 BOAT SONG _Sir Walter Scott_ 17 THE GOVERNOR AND THE NOTARY _Washington Irving_ 20 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER _Samuel T. Coleridge_ 29 THE BLACK HAWK TRAGEDY _Edwin D. Coe_ 58 THE PETRIFIED FERN _Mary Bolles Branch_ 77 AN EXCITING CANOE RACE _J. Fenimore Cooper_ 79 THE BUFFALO _Francis Parkman_ 96 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE _Alfred Tennyson_ 147 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT _Robert Burns_ 149 BREATHES THERE THE MAN _Sir Walter Scott_ 151 HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE _William Collins_ 151 QUEEN VICTORIA _Anna McCaleb_ 152 THE RECESSIONAL _Rudyard Kipling_ 164 THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER _Francis Scott Key_ 167 HOW'S MY BOY? _Sydney Dobell_ 169 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM _Thomas Campbell_ 170 MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY _James Montgomery_ 172 THE OLD CONTINENTALS _Guy Humphreys McMaster_ 175 THE PICKET-GUARD _Mrs. Ethel Lynn Beers_ 177 MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME _Stephen Collins Foster_ 179 THE FORSAKEN MERMAN _Matthew Arnold_ 180 TOM AND MAGGIE TULLIVER _George Eliot_ 186 A GORILLA HUNT _Paul du Chaillu_ 247 THE CLOUD _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 257 BRUTE NEIGHBORS _Henry David Thoreau_ 260 ODE TO A SKYLARK _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 275 THE POND IN WINTER _Henry David Thoreau_ 280 SALMON FISHING _Rudyard Kipling_ 285 WINTER ANIMALS _Henry David Thoreau_ 293 TREES AND ANTS THAT HELP EACH OTHER _Thomas Belt_ 306 THE FAMILY OF MICHAEL AROUT _Emile Souvestre_ 314 ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE _William Cowper_ 331 THOSE EVENING BELLS _Thomas Moore_ 340 ANNABEL LEE _Edgar Allan Poe_ 341 THE THREE FISHERS _Charles Kingsley_ 343 THE REAPER'S DREAM _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 345 THE RECOVERY OF THE HISPANIOLA _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 352 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER _Grace E. Sellon_ 381 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 391 TO A WATERFOWL _William Cullen Bryant_ 395 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES _Grace E. Sellon_ 398 THE CUBES OF TRUTH _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 406 THE LOST CHILD _James Russell Lowell_ 409 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL _Grace E. Sellon_ 411 A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 418 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 419 DON QUIXOTE _Cervantes_ 431 PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES 487 For Classification of Selections, see General Index, at end of Volume X ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE CANOE RACE (Color Plate) _R. F. Babcock_ FRONTISPIECE A HOST OF GOLDEN DAFFODILS _Albert H. Winkler_ 2 THE FRINGED GENTIAN _G. H. Mitchell_ 4 THOU NEED NA START AWA _Albert H. Winkler_ 6 ROBERT BURNS (Halftone) 8 THOU BONNY GEM _Albert H. Winkler_ 9 INCLINED TO MY LIPS _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 12 THE NOTARY ENTERS THE CARRIAGE _R. F. Babcock_ 26 HE CANNOT CHOOSE BUT HEAR (Heading) _Donn P. Crane_ 29 I SHOT THE ALBATROSS _Donn P. Crane_ 33 AND STRAIGHT THE SUN WAS FLECKED WITH BARS _Donn P. Crane_ 38 I WATCHED THE WATER-SNAKES _Donn P. Crane_ 42 THEY GROANED, THEY STIRRED, THEY ALL UPROSE _Donn P. Crane_ 45 SLOWLY AND SMOOTHLY WENT THE SKIP (Color Plate) _Donn P. Crane_ 48 "O SHRIEVE ME, SHRIEVE ME, HOLY MAN" _Donn P. Crane_ 55 I PASS FROM LAND TO LAND (Ending) _Donn P. Crane_ 57 BLACK HAWK AND THE TWO RUFFIANS _R. F. Babcock_ 63 THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN CROSSED THE RIVER _R. F. Babcock_ 71 HAWKEYE ON THE TRAIL _R. F. Babcock_ 80 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER (Halftone) 82 HAWKEYE _R. F. Babcock_ 85 GRADUALLY I CAME ABREAST OF HIM _R. F. Babcock_ 106 ONE VAST HOST OF BUFFALO _R. F. Babcock_ 125 ON DUNE AND HEADLAND _G. H. Mitchell_ 165 THE LITTLE GRAY CHURCH ON THE WINDY HILL _Walter O. Reese_ 181 "TOM'S COMING HOME!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 188 "OH, HE IS CRUEL" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 199 "IS IT THE TIPSY CAKE, THEN?" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 206 "HERE, LUCY!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 224 "AH, YOU'RE FONDEST O' ME, AREN'T YOU?" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 243 GORILLA WITH HER YOUNG _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 251 THE BATTLE OF THE ANTS _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 265 WATCHING FOR THE LOON _R. F. Babcock_ 272 THE SKYLARK _R. F. Babcock_ 276 KNEELING TO DRINK _R. F. Babcock_ 281 SALMON FISHING (Color Plate) _R. F. Babcock_ 286 THE RED SQUIRREL STEALING CORN _R. F. Babcock_ 296 "HOW MUCH DO WE OWE YOU?" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 320 MICHAEL IS COME BACK _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 326 "MY MOTHER!" _Iris Weddell White_ 336 IN HER SEPULCHRE THERE BY THE SEA _Donn P. Crane_ 342 THE NIGHT RACK CAME ROLLING UP _G. H. Mitchell_ 344 THE CRESCENT MOON WENT BY _G. H. Mitchell_ 347 I LOOKED INTO THE CABIN _R. F. Babcock_ 354 WHITTIER'S BIRTHPLACE (Color Plate) 382 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (Halftone) 386 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (Halftone) 392 THY FIGURE FLOATS ALONG _Jerome Rozen_ 396 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES (Halftone) 398 DOWN THE SUNNY GLADE _Walter O. Reese_ 409 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL (Halftone) 412 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (Halftone) 420 DON QUIXOTE (Heading) _Donn P. Crane_ 431 DON QUIXOTE TILTS WITH THE WINDMILLS _Donn P. Crane_ 439 "DEFEND THYSELF, MISERABLE BEING!" _Donn P. Crane_ 444 THE LION PUT HIS HEAD OUT OF THE CAGE _Donn P. Crane_ 455 SANCHO FELL ON HIS KNEES _Donn P. Crane_ 464 THE HORSE BLEW UP, WITH A PRODIGIOUS NOISE _Donn P. Crane_ 475 THE DAFFODILS _By_ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd,-- A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I, at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company; I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought. For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. [Illustration: A HOST OF GOLDEN DAFFODILS] When we look at this little poem we see at a glance that the stanzas are all the same length, that the rhyme scheme is _ababcc_ (see "To My Infant Son," Vol. VI), and that the indentation at the beginning of the lines corresponds with the rhymes. This poem, then, is perfectly regular in form. There are other things, however, which go to make up perfect structure in a poem. First and foremost, the words are so arranged that the accented syllables in any given line come at regular intervals. Take, for instance, the first two lines of this poem. Each line contains eight syllables. If you number these syllables 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, you will see that it is the second one each time that bears the accent, thus: I wan´dered lone´ly as´ a cloud´ That floats´ on high´ o'er vales´ and hills´. Now, if you read the four remaining lines of the stanza you will see that in each one of these the second syllable bears the accent, until you come to the last line, where in the word _fluttering_, which, by the way, you pronounce _flutt´ring_, the accent is on the first syllable. If the poet did not now and then change the accent a little it would become tedious and monotonous. It is a very simple matter, you see, to separate every line of poetry into groups of syllables, and in every group to place one accented syllable and one or more syllables that are not accented. Such a group is called a _foot_. Thus in each of the first two lines in this poem there are four _feet_. Each _foot_ contains an accented and an unaccented syllable. If you examine _To the Fringed Gentian_, _To a Mouse_, and _To a Mountain Daisy_, the three poems which follow this, you will see the same structure, except that in _To a Mouse_ and in _To A Mountain Daisy_ there are some short lines and some double rhymes, making the last foot a little different in character from the others. When a line of poetry is composed of two-syllable feet in which the second syllable bears the accent we call that meter _iambic_. It is the prevalent foot in English poetry, and if you examine the different poems in these volumes you will be surprised to find out how many of them are written substantially on the plan of _The Daffodils_. In naming the meter of a poem two things are considered: First the _character_ of the feet, and second, the _number_ of feet. In this poem the feet are iambic and there are four of them, consequently we name the meter of this poem _iambic tetrameter_. Whenever you hear those words you think of a poem whose meter is exactly like that of _The Daffodils_. These words seem long and hard to remember. It may help you to remember them if you think that the word _iam´bic_ contains an iambic foot. In naming the meter we use the Greek numerals--_mono_ (one), _di_ (two), _tri_ (three), _tetra_ (four), _penta_ (five), _hexa_ (six), _hepta_ (seven), and _octa_ (eight), and add to them the word _meter_, thus: _Mo-nom´e-ter_, a line containing one foot, _dim´e-ter_, _trim´e-ter_, _te-tram´e-ter_, _pen-tam´e-ter_, _hex-am´e-ter_, _hep-tam´e-ter_, _and oc-tam´e-ter_. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN _By_ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night; [Illustration] Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. TO A MOUSE ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOW, NOVEMBER, 1785 _By_ ROBERT BURNS Wee, sleekit,[5-1] cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle![5-2] I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering pattle![5-3] I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker[6-4] in a thrave[6-5] 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave[6-6] And never miss't! [Illustration: THOU NEED NA START AWA] Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage[7-7] green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell[7-8] and keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie, here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter[7-9] past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald,[7-10] To thole[7-11] the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch[7-12] cauld! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,[7-13] In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley,[7-14] An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, For promis'd joy. Still them are blest, compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear; An' forward, tho' I canna see,[8-15] I guess an' fear. FOOTNOTES: [5-1] _Sleekit_ means _sly_. [5-2] _Brattle_ means a short race. [5-3] A _pattle_ is a scraper for cleaning a plow. [6-4] _Daimen-icker_ means an ear of corn occasionally. [6-5] A _thrave_ is twenty-four sheaves. [6-6] _Lave_ is the Scotch word for _remainder_. [7-7] _Foggage_ is coarse uncut grass. [7-8] _Snell_ means _sharp_. [7-9] The coulter is the sharp iron which cuts the sod before the plow. [7-10] _Hald_ means a resting place. _But_ here means _without_. [7-11] _Thole_ is the Scotch word for _endure_. [7-12] _Cranreuch_ is hoar-frost. [7-13] _No thy lane_ means _not alone_. [7-14] _Gang aft a-gley_ means _often go wrong_. [8-15] In this poem and the one _To a Mountain Daisy_, does the allusion to the poet's own hard fate add to or detract from the beauty of the composition? Do these allusions give any insight into his character? What was always uppermost in his mind? [Illustration: ROBERT BURNS 1759-1796] TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786 _By_ ROBERT BURNS Wee, modest, crimson-tippéd flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour, For I maun[8-1] crush amang the stoure[8-2] Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonny gem. Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonny lark, companion meet, Bending thee' mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckled[8-3] breast, When upward springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the parent earth Thy tender form. [Illustration: THOU BONNY GEM] The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield. But thou beneath the random bield[9-4] O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie[9-5] stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink! Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, That fate is thine,--no distant date: Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom! FOOTNOTES: [8-1] _Maun_ is the Scotch word for _must_. [8-2] _Stoure_ is the Scotch name for dust. [8-3] _Spreckled_ is the Scotch and provincial English form of _speckled_. [9-4] _Bield_ means _shelter_. [9-5] _Histie_ means _dry_ or _barren_. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET[11-1] _By_ SAMUEL WOODWORTH How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond[11-2] recollection presents them to view; The orchard, the meadow, the deep, tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot that my infancy[11-3] knew. The wide-spreading pond, and the mill[11-4] that stood by it; The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy house[11-5] nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered bucket I hail as a treasure; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell[12-6]; Then soon with the emblem of truth[12-7] overflowing, And dripping with coolness it rose from the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. [Illustration: INCLINED TO MY LIPS] How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb,[12-8] it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet[13-9] could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar[13-10] that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation,[13-11] The tear of regret will oftentimes swell, As fancy returns to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. If we compare _The Old Oaken Bucket_ with _The Daffodils_ (page 1), we will see that the lines of the former are longer, and when we read aloud a few lines from the one and compare the other, we see that the movement is very different. In _The Old Oaken Bucket_ the accents are farther apart, and the result is to make the movement long and smooth, like that of a swing with long ropes. Let us examine more closely the lines of _The Old Oaken Bucket_ in a manner similar to that suggested on page 2, for _The Daffodils_. If we place the accent on the proper syllables in the first four lines, they will read as follows: How dear´| to my heart´| are the scenes´| of my child´|hood, When fond´| rec-ol-lec´|tion pre-sents´| them to view'; The or´|chard, the mead´|ow, the deep´| tan-gled wild´|-wood, And ev´|'ry loved spot´| that my in´|fan-cy knew.´ The vertical lines above are drawn at the ends of the feet. How many feet are there in the first line; how many in the second; how many in the third; how many in the fourth? How many syllables in the first foot in the first line? How many other feet do you find containing the same number of syllables? How many syllables are there in the second foot in the first line? How many other feet are there containing the same number of syllables? Examine the feet that contain three syllables. On which syllable is the accent placed when there are three syllables in the foot? A poetic foot of three syllables which bears the accent on the third syllable is called an _anapestic_ foot. The meter of this poem, then is _anapestic tetrameter_, varied by an added syllable in most of the odd-numbered lines and by an iambic foot at the beginning of each line. Can you find any other poem in this volume in which the meter is the same? Can you find such poems in other volumes? FOOTNOTES: [11-1] Samuel Woodworth, the author of this familiar song, was an American, the editor of many publications and the writer of a great many poems; but no one of the latter is now remembered, except _The Old Oaken Bucket_. [11-2] This means that the author remembers fondly the scenes of his childhood, or remembers the things of which he was fond in his childhood. [11-3] As the term is used in the law-books, a person is an _infant_ until he is twenty-one years of age; though, probably the word _infancy_ here means the same as _childhood_. [11-4] Let us picture a large mill-pond with a race running out of one side of it past the old-fashioned mill, which has a big wooden water wheel on the outside of it. [11-5] The dairy house was probably a low, broad building through which the water from the stream ran. The milkpans were set on low shelves or in a trough so that the water could run around them and keep the milk cool. [12-6] If he could see the white-pebbled bottom of the well, it must have been a shallow one, or perhaps merely a square box built around a deep spring. [12-7] Water is usually spoken of as an emblem of _purity_, not of _truth_; but sometimes truth is spoken of as hiding at the bottom of a well. [12-8] The curb is the square box usually built around the mouth of the well to a height of a few feet, to protect the water from dirt. Sometimes three of the sides are carried up to a height of six or eight feet, and a roof is built over the whole, making a little house of the curb. The fourth side is left open, except for two or three feet at the bottom. In these old wells two buckets were often used. They were attached to a rope which ran over a wheel suspended from the roof of the well house. When a bucket was drawn up it was often rested on the low curb in front, while people drank from it. [13-9] _Blushing goblet_ alludes to wine or some other liquor that has a reddish color. [13-10] Nectar was the drink of the old Greek gods, of whom Jupiter was the chief. [13-11] _Situation_ and _plantation_ do not rhyme well, and _situation_ is scarcely the right word to use. _Location_ would be better, so far as the meaning is concerned. [Illustration] BANNOCKBURN ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY _By_ ROBERT BURNS Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled; Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie! Now's the day and now's the hour-- See the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power-- Edward! chains and slaverie! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor! coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw! Freeman stand or freeman fa', Caledonian! on wi' me! By oppression's woes and pains! By our sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be--shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Forward! let us do or die! On pages 2, and 13, of this volume we talked about the different meters in which poetry is written. In iambic poetry each foot contains two syllables, the second of which is accented. There is another kind of foot composed of two syllables. In this the accent falls on the first syllable. _Bannockburn_ gives examples of this. To illustrate, we will rewrite the first stanza, using the words in their English form, and mark off the feet and the accent: Scots´, who | have´ with | Wal´-lace | bled´, Scots´, whom | Bruce´ has | of´-ten | led´; Wel´-come | to´ your | go´-ry | bed´, Or´ to | glo´rious | vic´-to | ry´. Each one of these lines ends with an accented syllable, but that may be disregarded in studying the feet. This foot is called the _trochee_, and it will help you to remember it if you will think that the word _tro´chee_ has two syllables and is accented on the first. This poem, then, is in _trochaic trimeter_, with added accented syllables at the ends of the lines. Read the other stanzas carefully, throwing the accent prominently on the first syllable of each foot. When you read to bring out the meter of a poem you are said to be _scanning_ it. When you are in the habit of scanning poetry you will find that you can do it very nicely and without spoiling the sound. At first you will probably accent the syllables too strongly, and then people will say that you are reading in a _sing-song_ way, a thing to be avoided. Of course you will understand that the only way to bring out the meter of a poem is to read it aloud, but after you have become familiar with the various meters and have read aloud a great deal, you will be conscious of the rhythm when you read to yourself. It is this consciousness of rhythm that gives much of the enjoyment to those who love poetry, even when they do not read it aloud. BOAT SONG _From_ LADY OF THE LAKE _By_ SIR WALTER SCOTT Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honored and blest be the evergreen pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Ours is no sapling, chance sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow: Menteith and Breadalbane, then Echo his praise again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Row, vassals, row for the pride of the Highlands! Stretch to your oars for the evergreen pine! O that the rosebud that graces yon islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" The last of the common feet which we shall have to consider in reading English poetry is called _dactyl_. This foot consists of three syllables, the first of which is accented. Scott's _Boat Song_ is a very fine example of _dactylic tetrameter_, in which the last foot consists either of a _trochee_ (see page 16) or of a single accented syllable. In every stanza there are four short lines of _dactylic dimeter_. Study the four lines which we have divided for you below: Hail´ to the | chief´ who in | tri´umph ad|van´ces! Hon´ored and | blest´ be the | ev´er green | pine!´ Long´ may the | tree´, in his | ban´ner that | glan´ces, Flou´rish, the | shel´ter and | grace´ of our | line.´ This is one of the finest meters in which poetry may be written, and one which you will learn to recognize and like whenever you see it. To assist you in remembering what we have said on this subject in the four poems we have studied, we will give this brief outline: Poetic feet 1. Consisting of two syllables: _Iambic_, when the second syllable is accented. Example: I wan´|dered lone|ly as´| a cloud´. _Trochaic_, when the first syllable is accented. Example: Scots´, who | have´ with | Wal´lace | bled´. 2. Consisting of three syllables: _Anapestic_, when the third syllable is accented. Example: How dear´ | to my heart´ | are the scenes´ | of my child´|hood. _Dactylic_, when the first syllable is accented. Example: Hail´ to the | chief´ who in | tri´umph ad|van´ces. There are two other feet which are found occasionally in English poetry, namely the _spondee_, which has two accented syllables, and the _amphilbrach_, which consists of three syllables with the accent on the middle one. Of course it is not necessary for you to know the names of these different feet in order to enjoy poetry, but it is interesting information. What you must do is to notice whenever you read poetry the kind of feet that compose the lines and how many there are in the line. After a while this becomes second nature to you, and while you may not really pause to think about it at any time, yet you are always conscious of the rhythm and remember that it is produced by a fixed arrangement of the accented syllables. If you would look over the poems in these volumes, beginning even with the nursery rhymes, it would not take you long to become familiar with all the different forms. While study of this kind may seem tiresome at first, you will soon find that you are making progress and will really enjoy it, and you will never be sorry that you took the time when you were young to learn to understand the structure of poetry. THE GOVERNOR AND THE NOTARY _By_ WASHINGTON IRVING In former times there ruled, as governor of the Alhambra[20-1], a doughty old cavalier, who, from having lost one arm in the wars, was commonly known by the name of El Gobernador Manco, or the one-armed governor. He in fact prided himself upon being an old soldier, wore his mustachios curled up to his eyes, a pair of campaigning boots, and a toledo[20-2] as long as a spit, with his pocket handkerchief in the basket-hilt. He was, moreover, exceedingly proud and punctilious, and tenacious of all his privileges and dignities. Under his sway, the immunities of the Alhambra, as a royal residence and domain, were rigidly exacted. No one was permitted to enter the fortress with firearms, or even with a sword or staff, unless he were of a certain rank, and every horseman was obliged to dismount at the gate and lead his horse by the bridle. Now, as the hill of the Alhambra rises from the very midst of the city of Granada, being, as it were, an excrescence of the capital, it must at all times be somewhat irksome to the captain-general, who commands the province, to have thus an _imperium in imperio_,[21-3] a petty, independent post in the very core of his domains. It was rendered the more galling in the present instance, from the irritable jealousy of the old governor, that took fire on the least question of authority and jurisdiction, and from the loose, vagrant character of the people that had gradually nestled themselves within the fortress as in a sanctuary, and from thence carried on a system of roguery and depredation at the expense of the honest inhabitants of the city. Thus there was a perpetual feud and heart-burning between the captain-general and the governor; the more virulent on the part of the latter, inasmuch as the smallest of two neighboring potentates is always the most captious about his dignity. The stately palace of the captain-general stood in the Plaza Nueva, immediately at the foot of the hill of the Alhambra, and here was always a bustle and parade of guards, and domestics, and city functionaries. A beetling bastion of the fortress overlooked the palace and the public square in front of it; and on this bastion the old governor would occasionally strut backward and forward, with his toledo girded by his side, keeping a wary eye down upon his rival, like a hawk reconnoitering his quarry from his nest in a dry tree. Whenever he descended into the city it was in grand parade, on horseback, surrounded by his guards, or in his state coach, an ancient and unwieldy Spanish edifice of carved timber and gilt leather, drawn by eight mules, with running footmen, outriders, and lackeys, on which occasions he flattered himself he impressed every beholder with awe and admiration as vicegerent of the king, though the wits of Granada were apt to sneer at his petty parade, and, in allusion to the vagrant character of his subjects, to greet him with the appellation of "the king of the beggars." One of the most fruitful sources of dispute between these two doughty rivals was the right claimed by the governor to have all things passed free of duty through the city, that were intended for the use of himself or his garrison. By degrees, this privilege had given rise to extensive smuggling. A nest of contrabandistas[22-4] took up their abode in the hovels of the fortress and the numerous caves in its vicinity, and drove a thriving business under the connivance of the soldiers of the garrison. The vigilance of the captain-general was aroused. He consulted his legal adviser and factotum, a shrewd, meddlesome Escribano or notary, who rejoiced in an opportunity of perplexing the old potentate of the Alhambra, and involving him in a maze of legal subtilities. He advised the captain-general to insist upon the right of examining every convoy passing through the gates of his city, and he penned a long letter for him, in vindication of the right. Governor Manco was a straightforward, cut-and-thrust old soldier, who hated an Escribano worse than the devil, and this one in particular, worse than all other Escribanoes. "What!" said he, curling up his mustachios fiercely, "does the captain-general set this man of the pen to practice confusions upon me? I'll let him see that an old soldier is not to be baffled by schoolcraft." He seized his pen, and scrawled a short letter in a crabbed hand, in which he insisted on the right of transit free of search, and denounced vengeance on any custom-house officer who should lay his unhallowed hand on any convoy protected by the flag of the Alhambra. While this question was agitated between the two pragmatical potentates, it so happened that a mule laden with supplies for the fortress arrived one day at the gate of Xenil, by which it was to traverse a suburb of the city on its way to the Alhambra. The convoy was headed by a testy old corporal, who had long served under the governor, and was a man after his own heart--as trusty and stanch as an old Toledo blade. As they approached the gate of the city, the corporal placed the banner of the Alhambra on the pack saddle of the mule, and drawing himself up to a perfect perpendicular, advanced with his head dressed to the front, but with the wary side glance of a cur passing through hostile grounds, and ready for a snap and a snarl. "Who goes there?" said the sentinel at the gate. "Soldier of the Alhambra," said the corporal, without turning his head. "What have you in charge?" "Provisions for the garrison." "Proceed." The corporal marched straight forward, followed by the convoy, but had not advanced many paces before a posse of custom-house officers rushed out of a small toll-house. "Halloo there!" cried the leader. "Muleteer, halt and open those packages." The corporal wheeled round, and drew himself up in battle array. "Respect the flag of the Alhambra," said he; "these things are for the governor." "A fig for the governor, and a fig for his flag. Muleteer, halt, I say." "Stop the convoy at your peril!" cried the corporal, cocking his musket. "Muleteer, proceed." The muleteer gave his beast a hearty thwack, the custom-house officer sprang forward and seized the halter; whereupon the corporal leveled his piece and shot him dead. The street was immediately in an uproar. The old corporal was seized, and after undergoing sundry kicks and cuffs, and cudgelings, which are generally given impromptu by the mob in Spain, as a foretaste of the after penalties of the law, he was loaded with irons, and conducted to the city prison; while his comrades were permitted to proceed with the convoy, after it had been well rummaged, to the Alhambra. The old governor was in a towering passion, when he heard of this insult to his flag and capture of his corporal. For a time he stormed about the Moorish halls, and vapored about the bastions, and looked down fire and sword upon the palace of the captain-general. Having vented the first ebullition of his wrath, he dispatched a message demanding the surrender of the corporal, as to him alone belonged the right of sitting in judgment on the offenses of those under his command. The captain-general, aided by the pen of the delighted Escribano, replied at great length, arguing that as the offense had been committed within the walls of his city, and against one of his civil officers, it was clearly within his proper jurisdiction. The governor rejoined by a repetition of his demand; the captain-general gave a surrejoinder of still greater length, and legal acumen; the governor became hotter and more peremptory in his demands, and the captain-general cooler and more copious in his replies; until the old lion-hearted soldier absolutely roared with fury at being thus entangled in the meshes of legal controversy. While the subtle Escribano was thus amusing himself at the expense of the governor, he was conducting the trial of the corporal; who, mewed up in a narrow dungeon of the prison, had merely a small grated window at which to show his iron-bound visage, and receive the consolations of his friends; a mountain of written testimony was diligently heaped up, according to Spanish form, by the indefatigable Escribano; the corporal was completely overwhelmed by it. He was convicted of murder, and sentenced to be hanged. It was in vain the governor sent down remonstrance and menace from the Alhambra. The fatal day was at hand, and the corporal was put _in capilla_, that is to say, in the chapel of the prison; as is always done with culprits the day before execution, that they may meditate on their approaching end and repent them of their sins. Seeing things drawing to an extremity, the old governor determined to attend to the affair in person. He ordered out his carriage of state and, surrounded by his guards, rumbled down the avenue of the Alhambra into the city. Driving to the house of the Escribano, he summoned him to the portal. The eye of the old governor gleamed like a coal at beholding the smirking man of the law advancing with an air of exultation. [Illustration: THE NOTARY ENTERS THE CARRIAGE] "What is this I hear," cried he, "that you are about to put to death one of my soldiers?" "All according to law--all in strict form of justice," said the self-sufficient Escribano, chuckling and rubbing his hands. "I can show your excellency the written testimony in the case." "Fetch it hither," said the governor. The Escribano bustled into his office, delighted with having another opportunity of displaying his ingenuity at the expense of the hard-headed veteran. He returned with a satchel full of papers, and began to read a long deposition with professional volubility. By this time a crowd had collected, listening with outstretched necks and gaping mouths. "Prithee man, get into the carriage out of this pestilent throng, that I may the better hear thee," said the governor. The Escribano entered the carriage, when in a twinkling the door was closed, the coachman smacked his whip, mules, carriage, guards, and all dashed off at a thundering rate, leaving the crowd in gaping wonderment, nor did the governor pause until he had lodged his prey in one of the strongest dungeons of the Alhambra. He then sent down a flag of truce in military style, proposing a cartel or exchange of prisoners, the corporal for the notary. The pride of the captain-general was piqued, he returned a contemptuous refusal, and forthwith caused a gallows, tall and strong, to be erected in the center of the Plaza Nueva, for the execution of the corporal. "Oho! is that the game?" said Governor Manco; he gave orders, and immediately a gibbet was reared on the verge of the great beetling bastion that overlooked the Plaza. "Now," said he, in a message to the captain-general, "hang my soldier when you please; but at the same time that he is swung off in the square, look up to see your Escribano dangling against the sky." The captain-general was inflexible; troops were paraded in the square; the drums beat; the bell tolled; an immense multitude of amateurs had collected to behold the execution; on the other hand, the governor paraded his garrison on the bastion, and tolled the funeral dirge of the notary from the Torre de la Campana, or tower of the bell. The notary's wife pressed through the crowd with a whole progeny of little embryo Escribanoes at her heels, and throwing herself at the feet of the captain-general implored him not to sacrifice the life of her husband and the welfare of herself and her numerous little ones to a point of pride. The captain-general was overpowered by her tears and lamentations, and the clamors of her callow brood. The corporal was sent up to the Alhambra under a guard, in his gallows garb, like a hooded friar; but with head erect and a face of iron. The Escribano was demanded in exchange, according to the cartel. The once bustling and self-sufficient man of the law was drawn forth from his dungeon, more dead than alive. All his flippancy and conceit had evaporated; his hair, it is said, had nearly turned gray with fright, and he had a downcast, dogged look, as if he still felt the halter round his neck. The old governor stuck his one arm akimbo, and for a moment surveyed him with an iron smile. "Henceforth, my friend," said he, "moderate your zeal in hurrying others to the gallows; be not too certain of your own safety, even though you should have the law on your side; and, above all, take care how you play off your schoolcraft another time upon an old soldier." FOOTNOTES: [20-1] The Alhambra was the fortified palace, or citadel, of the Moorish kings when they reigned over Granada, in Spain. It was built in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and is one of the most beautiful examples of Moorish architecture. [20-2] A toledo is a sword having a blade made at Toledo, in Spain, a place famous for blades of remarkably fine temper and great elasticity. [21-3] _Imperium in imperio_ is a Latin phrase meaning a _government within a government_. [22-4] _Contrabandista_ is a Spanish name for a smuggler. [Illustration] THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER[29-*] _By_ SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE PART I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. "By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din." He holds him with a skinny hand. "There was a ship," quoth he. "Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!" Eftsoons[30-1] his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye-- The Wedding-guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner:[30-2]-- "The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. "The sun came up upon the left,[30-3] Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. "Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon--"[30-4] The Wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner:-- "And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. "With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who[31-5] pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe[31-6], And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. "And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.[32-7] "And through the drifts, the snowy clifts[32-8] Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between. "The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound![32-9] "At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough[32-10] the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name.[32-11] "It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through. [Illustration: I SHOT THE ALBATROSS] "And a good south wind sprung up behind;[34-12] The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! "In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moonshine." "God save thee, ancient Mariner, From the fiends that plague thee thus!-- Why look'st thou so?"--"With my cross-bow I shot the Albatross." PART II "The Sun now rose upon the right:[34-13] Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. "And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariner's hollo! "And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow,-- Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow. "Nor dim, nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist:[35-14] Then all averred I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.[35-15] "The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free;[35-16] We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. "Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! "All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand,[35-17] No bigger than the Moon.[35-18] "Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. "Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. "The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. "About, about, in reel and rout[36-19] The death-fires[36-20] danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue, and white. "And some in dreams assurèd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. "And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. "Ah! well a day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.[36-21] PART III "There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye! When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. "At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist: It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.[37-22] "A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged, and tacked, and veered. "With throats unslaked, with black lips baked We could not laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail! "With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy![37-23] they for joy did grin,[37-24] And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. [Illustration: AND STRAIGHT THE SUN WAS FLECKED WITH BARS] "See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel! "The western wave was all a-flame, The day was well-nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad, bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. "And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon grate he peered With broad and burning face. "Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres?[39-25] "Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a Death? and are there two? Is Death that Woman's mate? "Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. "The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; 'The game is done! I've won, I've won!'[39-26] Quoth she, and whistles thrice. "The Sun's rim dips: the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark;[40-27] With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark. "We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dew did drip-- Till clomb[40-28] above the eastern bar The hornèd Moon,[40-29] with one bright star Within the nether tip. "One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. "Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. "The souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whiz of my cross-bow!" PART IV "I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank and brown. As is the ribbed sea-sand.[41-30] "I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand so brown." "Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-guest! This body dropt not down. "Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide, wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. "The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand, thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. "I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. "I looked to heaven, and tried to pray But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. "I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,[42-31] Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. "The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. [Illustration: I WATCHED THE WATER-SNAKES] "An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. "The moving Moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside-- "Her beams bemock'd the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmèd water burnt alway A still and awful red. "Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. "Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. "O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.[43-32] "The selfsame moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea." PART V "O sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from heaven, That slid into my soul. "The silly[44-33] buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. "My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. "I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light--almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessèd ghost. "And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. "The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen,[44-34] To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. "And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge:[45-35] And the rain poured down from one black cloud: The Moon was at its edge. [Illustration: THEY GROANED, THEY STIRRED, THEY ALL UPROSE] "The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. "The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. "They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. "The helmsman steered; the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up blew; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew. "The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said naught to me." "I fear thee, ancient Mariner!" "Be calm, thou Wedding-guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest: "For when it dawned--they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. "Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. "Sometimes a-drooping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! "And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. "It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. "Till noon we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. "Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. "The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short, uneasy motion-- Backwards and forwards half her length With a short, uneasy motion. "Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. "How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard, and in my soul discerned, Two voices in the air. "'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. "'The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' "The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'" [Illustration: SLOWLY AND SMOOTHLY WENT THE SHIP] PART VI _First Voice_ "'But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing-- What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?' _Second Voice_ "'Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast-- "'If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.' _First Voice_ "'But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?'[49-36] _Second Voice_ "'The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. "'Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the mariner's trance is abated.' "I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: 'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high; The dead men stood together. "All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon[50-37] fitter: All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter. "The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. "And now this spell was snapt:[50-38] once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen-- "Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. "But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. "It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring-- It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. "Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew. "Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The lighthouse top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree? "We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway. "The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. "The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. "And the bay was white with silent light, Till, rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. "A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turned my eyes upon the deck-- O Christ! what saw I there! "Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood![52-39] A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. "This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land. Each one a lovely light; "This seraph-band, each waved his hand: No voice did they impart-- No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart.[52-40] "But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, And I saw a boat appear. "The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. "I saw a third--I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood." PART VII "This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. "He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve-- He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. "The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 'Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?' "'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said-- 'And they answered not our cheer. The planks look warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were "'Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod[53-41] is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young.' "'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look!' (The Pilot made reply) 'I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!' Said the Hermit cheerily. "The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. "Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. "Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. "Upon the whirl where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. "I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. "I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. 'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row.' "And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. [Illustration: 'O SHRIEVE ME, SHRIEVE ME, HOLY MAN'] "'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say-- What manner of man art thou?' "Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woeful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. "Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. "I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; The moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. "What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bridesmaids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer! "O Wedding-guest! This soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. "O sweeter than the marriage feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company! "To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay! "Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. "He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all."[57-42] The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. FOOTNOTES: [29-*] NOTE.--In 1798 there was published in England a little volume of poems known as _Lyrical Ballads_. This collection brought to its two young authors, Wordsworth and Coleridge, little immediate fame, but not long afterward people began to realize that much that was contained in the little book was real poetry, and great poetry. The chief contribution of Coleridge to this venture was _The Ancient Mariner_. The poem as originally printed had a series of quaintly explanatory notes in the margin, and an introductory argument which read as follows: "How a ship having passed the Line, was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical latitudes of the great Pacific Ocean, and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancient Mariner came back to his own country." [30-1] _Eftsoons_ means _quickly_. The poem is written in ballad form, and many quaint old words are introduced. [30-2] Such rhymes as this--_Mariner_ with _hear_,--were common in the old ballads which Coleridge so perfectly imitates. [30-3] Does this line tell you anything about the direction in which they were sailing? [30-4] Where was the ship when the sun stood "over the mast at noon"? [31-5] Two words are to be understood in this line--"As _one_ who _is_ pursued." [31-6] Is not this an effective line? Can you think of any way in which the closeness of the foe could be more effectively suggested? [32-7] Coleridge's wonderful power of painting word-pictures is shown in this and the succeeding stanzas. With the simplest language he makes us realize the absolute lonesomeness and desolateness of the scene: he produces in us something of the same feeling of awe and horror that we should have were we actually in the situation he describes. [32-8] _Clifts_ means _cleft rocks_. [32-9] "Like noises _one hears_ in a swound." [32-10] _Thorough_ is used here instead of _through_, as it often is in poetry, for the sake of the meter. [32-11] Besides the joy the sailors felt at seeing a living creature after the days in which they had seen "nor shapes of men nor beasts," they had a special pleasure in welcoming the albatross because it was regarded as a bird of good omen. [34-12] Coleridge does not state that it was the albatross that brought the "good south wind:" he lets us infer it. [34-13] In what direction were they sailing now? [35-14] _Uprist_ is an old form for _uprose_. [35-15] It was this attitude of the sailors toward the mariner's brutal act of killing the bird that brought punishment upon them; they cared nothing for the death of the harmless bird, but only for its effect upon them. [35-16] Note the striking alliteration in these two lines. Read this stanza and the succeeding one aloud, and see how much easier it is to read these alliterative lines rapidly than it is any of the other six lines. Such relation of movement to meaning is one of the artistic things about the poem. [35-17] How far northward had the ship returned? [35-18] When such a definite picture is presented, close your eyes and try to see it. Did you ever see the sun when it seemed to have no radiance--when it was just a red circle? [36-19] A rout is a confused and whirling dance. [36-20] The death-fires are a sort of phosphorescent light, or will-o'-the-wisp, supposed to portend death. [36-21] The shipmates try in this manner to fasten all the guilt on the ancient mariner and mark him alone for punishment. [37-22] _Wist_ means _knew_. [37-23] _Gramercy_ is an exclamation derived from the French _grand merci_, which means _great thanks_. [37-24] In a comment on _The Ancient Mariner_ Coleridge says: "I took the thought of 'grinning for joy' from my companion's remark to me, when we had climbed to the top of Plinlimmon, and were nearly dead with thirst. We could not speak from the constriction, till we found a little puddle under a stone. He said to me: 'You grinned like an idiot.' He had done the same." [39-25] Gossameres are the cobweb-like films seen floating in the air in summer. [39-26] Death and Life-in-Death have been casting dice for the crew, as to whether they shall die, or live and suffer. Life-in-Death has won the ancient mariner. [40-27] This is Coleridge's beautiful way of telling us that in the tropics there is little or no twilight. [40-28] _Clomb_ is an old form of _climbed_. [40-29] That is, the waning moon. Did you ever see the moon "with one bright star within the nether tip"? [41-30] In his notes on the poem, Coleridge stated that the last two lines of this stanza were composed by Wordsworth. [42-31] Can you see any reason for the repetition in this line, and for the unusual length? Does it suggest the _load_ and the _weariness_ in the next line? [43-32] This is the turning point of the poem. As soon as the mariner felt in his heart love for the "happy living things," the spell which had been laid on him for the wanton slaying of the albatross began to break. In the third stanza from the end of the poem, this point is clearly brought out. [44-33] _Silly_ here means _helpless, useless_. [44-34] _Sheen_ means bright, _glittering_. [45-35] Note this fine alliterative line. [49-36] The mariner has been thrown into a trance, for the ship is being driven northward faster than a human being could endure. [50-37] A charnel-dungeon is a vault or chamber underneath or near a church, where the bones of the dead are laid. [50-38] The sin is finally expiated. [52-39] The holy rood is the holy cross. [52-40] "The silence sank like music on my heart," is among the beautiful lines that you will often hear quoted. [53-41] An ivy-tod is a thick clump of ivy. [57-42] A friend of Coleridge's once told him that she admired _The Ancient Mariner_, but had a serious fault to find with it--it had no moral. Do you think, as you read this stanza, that her objection was a valid one? [Illustration] THE BLACK HAWK TRAGEDY[58-1] _By_ EDWIN D. COE I do not pose as an Indian lover. In fact the instincts and impressions of my early life bent me in the opposite direction. My father's log house, in which I was born, stood within a few rods of Rock River, about forty-five miles west of this city. The stream was the boundary line, in a half-recognized way, between two tribes of Indians, and a common highway for both. I well remember their frequent and unheralded entries into our house, and their ready assumption of its privileges. I can see them yet--yes, and smell them, too. In some unventilated chamber of my rather capacious nostrils an abiding breath of that intense, all-conquering odor of fish, smoke and muskrat, which they brought with them, still survives. I well remember their impudent and sometimes bullying demeanor; and the horror of one occasion I shall never forget, when a stalwart Winnebago, armed with a knife, tomahawk and gun, seized my mother by the shoulder as she stood by her ironing table, and shook her because she said she had no bread for him. I wrapped myself in her skirts and howled in terror. Having been transplanted from the city to the wilderness, she had a mortal fear of Indians, but never revealed it to them. She had nerve, and resolution as well; and this particular fellow she threatened with her hot flat-iron and drove him out of the house. So you see I have no occasion for morbid or unnatural sympathy with any of the Indian kind. Black Hawk was born in 1767 at Saukenuk. His father was the war chief of the nation and a very successful leader. Young Black Hawk inherited his martial spirit and conducted himself so valorously in battle that he was recognized as a brave when only fifteen years old. He was enthusiastic and venturesome, and before the close of his twentieth year had led several expeditions against the Osages and Sioux. It was his boast that he had been in a hundred Indian battles and had never suffered defeat. Life passed pleasantly with Black Hawk and his tribe at Saukenuk for many years. The location combined all the advantages possible for their mode of existence. When Black Hawk was taken to Washington after his capture in 1832, he made an eloquent and most pathetic speech at one of the many interviews which he held with the high officials of the government. He said: "Our home was very beautiful. My house always had plenty. I never had to turn friend or stranger away for lack of food. The island was our garden. There the young people gathered plums, apples, grapes, berries and nuts. The rapids furnished us fish. On the bottom lands our women raised corn, beans and squashes. The young men hunted game on the prairie and in the woods. It was good for us. When I see the great fields and big villages of the white people, I wonder why they wish to take our little territory from us." We are apt to regard the agriculture of the Indians as of small moment, but the Sauks and Foxes cultivated three thousand acres on the peninsula between the Rock and the Mississippi. Black Hawk said it was eight hundred acres, but the measurement of the cornfields shows that the area was nearly four times that. Of this the Foxes, who were much the smaller and weaker tribe, farmed five hundred acres; they also occupied considerable land on the opposite side of the Mississippi, where the city of Davenport now stands. These lands were all fenced with posts and rails, the latter being held in place by bark withes. The barrier was sufficient to keep the ponies out of the corn, but their lately acquired razor-back hogs gave them more trouble. The work of preparing a field for their planting involved much labor. The women heaped the ground into hills nearly three feet high, and the corn was planted in the top for many successive years without renewing the hills. Accordingly a field was much more easily prepared on the mellow bottom lands than on the tough prairie sod. They raised three kinds of corn: a sweet corn for roasting ears, a hard variety for hominy and a softer for meal. They also cultivated beans, squashes, pumpkins, artichokes and some tobacco. The Sauks at one time sold three thousand bushels of corn to the government officials at Fort Crawford for their horses. The Winnebagoes at Lake Koshkonong sold four thousand bushels of corn to General Atkinson when he was pursuing Black Hawk in 1832. The hundreds of acres of corn hills still visible about the latter lake show how extensively that region was inhabited and farmed by the Indians. Aside from the devastating wars which the tribe carried on with their new enemies west of the great river, whereby their numbers were steadily reduced, no serious shadow fell upon their life at and about Rock Island till the year 1804. A French trader had established himself a few miles below on the Mississippi. The young braves and squaws delighted in visiting his place and were always sure of a dance in the evening. One night in that year an Indian killed one of the habitues of the place, the provocation being unbearable. A few weeks after demand was made that he be given up, and he was at once surrendered and taken to Saint Louis. Soon after, his relative, Quashquamme, one of the sub-chiefs of the tribe, and four or five other Sauks went to Saint Louis to work for his release. A bargain was made to the effect that a tract of land including parts of Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin and Illinois, comprising fifty million acres, be ceded to the government, the consideration being the cancellation of a debt of $2,400, which the Indians owed trader Choteau, of Saint Louis, and a perpetual annuity of $1,000 thereafter. It was also tacitly agreed that the imprisoned Indian should be released. This part of the program was carried out, but the poor fellow had not gone three hundred feet before he was shot dead. We are sorry to say that General William Henry Harrison was the chief representative of the government in this one-sided treaty, though, of course, he knew nothing of the predetermined killing of the Indian prisoner. This treaty, made without due authority on the part of Quashquamme, was not accepted by the Sauks till 1816, when its ratification was made a side issue in an agreement which the government negotiated between the Sauks and the Osages or Sioux. Black Hawk always claimed that he had never consented to the sale of Saukenuk; and it is but fair to Quashquamme to say that he always insisted that his cession of land went only to the Rock--and therefore did not include Saukenuk--and not to the Wisconsin, as the whites asserted. I have been thus explicit, as the disagreement about this treaty led to the final conflict between the Sauks and the whites. One proposition of the original paper was that the Indians should be allowed to occupy all the territory as aforetime until it was surveyed and sold to settlers. Along in the '20's the frontier line rapidly approached the great river; and about 1823, when still fifty miles distant, squatters began to settle on the Indian lands at Saukenuk. Protest was made against this to the commander of Fort Armstrong (which was built on Rock Island in 1816) and to the government, but without avail. The squatters, relying for protection on the troops near by, perpetrated outrages of the most exasperating character. They turned their horses into the Indian cornfields, threw down fences, whipped one young woman who had pulled a few corn suckers from one of their fields to eat, while on her way to work, and finally two ruffians met Black Hawk himself one day as he was hunting on the river bottom and accused him of shooting their hogs. He indignantly denied it, but they snatched his rifle from his hand, wrenched the flint out, and then beat the old man with a hickory stick till the blood ran down his back, and he could not leave his house for days. Doubtless this indignity surpassed all other outrages in the proud old chief's estimation, and we can imagine him sitting in his cabin on the highest ground in the village, looking over the magnificent landscape, brooding upon the blight which had fallen upon the beautiful home of his tribe, and harboring thoughts of revenge. Still he refrained from open resistance till the spring of 1831. [Illustration: BLACKHAWK AND THE TWO RUFFIANS] It was the custom of the tribe to spend the winter months hunting and trapping in northeastern Missouri, returning in the spring to Saukenuk. This time they found the whites more aggressive than ever. They had fenced in the most of the cultivated land, plowed over the burying ground, and destroyed a number of houses. They received the Indians with hostile looks, but Black Hawk at last did what he ought to have done at first, ordered the squatters all off the peninsula. He then went to an island where a squatter sold liquor and had paid no heed to his entreaties not to sell to the Indians, and with a party of his braves knocked in the heads of the whisky barrels and poured their contents on the ground. The liquor vendor immediately hurried to Governor Reynolds, of Illinois, with his tale of woe and represented that Black Hawk was devastating the country with torch and tomahawk. Governor Reynolds at once issued a flamboyant proclamation calling for volunteers, and asked the United States authorities at Saint Louis for aid. A considerable body of regulars was dispatched up the river and reached Saukenuk before the volunteers. Black Hawk told his people to remain in their houses, and not to obey any orders to leave Saukenuk, for they had not sold their home and had done no wrong. But when he saw the undisciplined, lawless and wildly excited volunteers, who came a few days later, he told the people that their lives were in danger and they must go. Accordingly the next morning at an early hour all embarked in their canoes and crossed the Mississippi. They were visited there by the officials, and Black Hawk entered into an agreement to remain west of the river. Black Hawk's band spent the fall and winter, after their expulsion from Saukenuk, in great unhappiness and want. It was too late to plant corn, and they suffered from hunger. Their winter's hunt was unsuccessful, as they lacked ammunition, and many of their guns and traps had gone to pay for the whisky they had drunk before Black Hawk broke up the traffic. In the meantime Black Hawk was planning to recover Saukenuk by force. He visited Canada, but received little encouragement there, except sympathy and the assurance that his cause was just. Black Hawk's worst adviser was Neapope, his second in command, and a terrible liar. He also visited Canada and claimed that the British whom he had seen stood ready to help Black Hawk with men, arms and ammunition, and that a steamboat would bring them to Milwaukee in the spring. This was good news to the credulous old chief; and quite as acceptable as this was Neapope's story that the Winnebagoes and Pottawatomi would join in the campaign to secure his rights. Added to these encouragements were the entreaties of the homesick hungry women, who longed for their houses and cornfields at Saukenuk. Keokuk did his utmost to dissuade Black Hawk but in vain, and then he gave warning to the whites of Black Hawk's purpose. He feared that the whole nation might be drawn into the war if it was once started. Black Hawk's first move with his band in the spring of 1832 was to visit Keokuk's village, set up his war post and call for recruits. He wore a British uniform and displayed a British flag. This foolishness and gratification of vanity cost him dearly in the end. He made an impassioned speech and wrought the Indians up to such enthusiasm that they demanded that Keokuk join with Black Hawk. It was a critical moment for the young chief--even his life was in danger; but he was a more skillful master of oratory than even the eloquent Black Hawk, and, seeming at first to fall in with his plan, he gradually showed up its danger and its impracticable character, until at last he saved all his own party and even won a considerable number away from Black Hawk. On the 26th of April the Black Hawk band crossed the Mississippi several miles below Rock River. They numbered twelve hundred in all, less than four hundred being warriors, and these only partly armed. Their destination was Prophetstown, as Black Hawk's plan was to raise a crop there and go on the war path in the fall. The braves struck across the country, while the women, weak with famine, slowly paddled the canoes up against the swift current of the river. They reached Prophetstown late in April, the heavy rains which had swollen the rivers greatly impeding their progress. A marvelous feature of this journey across the territory which the whites claimed had been ceded to them, is the fact that not the slightest depredation was committed at any farm or house on the march. The inhabitants fled, but the hungry Indians touched none of the abundant food which they left behind. Not a gun was fired. Black Hawk had ordered that no offense be given, and he was strictly obeyed. Black Hawk was disappointed to find that the Winnebagoes were lukewarm as to his enterprise, and also reluctant to let him plant a crop, fearing to get into trouble with the government. He then pushed on to confer with the Pottawatomi, who had a village at Sycamore Creek about forty miles farther on. Here he found similar conditions; also he learned the falsity of the story that he could get aid from the British. He says that he then determined to return to Iowa and make the best of it there. But he was too late--Governor Reynolds had issued another proclamation, and two thousand volunteers besides a considerable body of regulars were on his trail. He had made a farewell dog feast for his Pottawatomi friends, when a scout brought news that about three hundred whites were going into camp five miles distant. This was a sort of independent command under Major Stillman, who had pushed ahead of the main body. It was composed of lawless, undisciplined material, and at that moment was suffering under the effects of drinking two barrels of whisky which the troops had poured down their throats rather than leave it on a wagon that was hopelessly stuck in the mud. Black Hawk directed three young braves to take a white flag, go to the camp, ask what the purpose of the command was, and to say that he desired a conference with them. He then sent five others on horseback to report the reception which the flag bearers met with. Three of them an hour later came at full speed into camp, reporting that the whites had surrounded the flag bearers and killed them and then chased the five who had followed, killing two of them, and were coming on in full force. All the devil in the old warrior's heart was roused by this brutal treachery, and calling on the forty warriors who were with him at the conference, the rest being in camp some miles away, he hastened to meet the enemy. Forming an ambush in the brush, the Indians fired their guns as the whites approached, just at nightfall, and rose up and charged with a wild yell. The drunken volunteers at once turned and fled, the panic gathering force as they went. The fugitives rushed through the camp pell-mell, and all who were left there joined in the stampede. In their desperate fear, every soldier thought every other an Indian and fired hither and yon. Eleven were killed, probably only one by the redskins. The survivors for the most part continued their flight, spreading the most exaggerated stories of the numbers and ferocity of the Indians, until they reached their several homes. As it proved, the three Indian flag bearers were not harmed till the stampede began, when one of them was shot by a soldier just mounting his horse to run. One of the surviving Indians immediately killed him with his tomahawk. This easy triumph changed Black Hawk's purpose. He regarded it as an omen of victory and determined to go on. But his strenuous efforts to enlist the Pottawatomi in the cause were unavailing. Old Chief Shaubenee had absolute control over them and steadily said "no." Even Chief Big Foot at the head of Lake Geneva refused. He was a drunken, sullen, brutal savage, but had given his word to keep the peace and did so, though he bitterly hated the whites and would have been glad to see the war go on. About one hundred reckless, lawless individuals of the Winnebago and Pottawatomi tribes joined Black Hawk, but gradually deserted him as his fortunes waned. Black Hawk was now anxious to take his women, children and old men to a place of safety, and, following the guidance of two Winnebagoes, they made their way up the Rock to Hustisford Rapids and there went into camp. Fish, game, clams, roots and the bark of trees constituted their food while there, but Black Hawk in his biography says they found it difficult to keep from starving. And, adding to their present misery, the thrifty, provident squaws saw another harvestless summer passing and a winter of famine before them. With his warriors he then returned to continue the contest. A few skirmishes and collisions took place along the line that now separates Wisconsin and Illinois, and predatory parties of Winnebagoes and Pottawatomi worked out their grudges and revenges on whites who had incurred their enmity. These outrages were numerous and were attributed to the Sauks, as their perpetrators expected would be the case. It is now believed that not a single case of the murder of an unarmed man or of a woman or child was justly chargeable to the Sauks. Governor Reynolds had called for a second levy of two thousand volunteers, and General Atkinson, with a considerable force of regulars, was in the field. All were under his command, and he followed Black Hawk, as the latter retired northward, with an army of four thousand, all mounted, fully twelve times as great in number as the starving band which he was pursuing. They camped near Beloit, camped at Milton, near the south end of Storr's Lake, and followed on cautiously to Lake Koshkonong, for Atkinson had a most wholesome regard for Black Hawk's prowess. At the lake they found an old blind Sauk who had been left behind. They gave him food, but a straggler coming along later shot him as he was crawling to a spring for water. His bones lay on the ground unburied for years after the country was settled, the skull having been hung on a bush. At the junction of the Bark and Rock rivers Atkinson went into utter bewilderment and uncertainty as to Black Hawk's whereabouts, and he finally built the stockade at the point which bears his name. He dispatched a considerable force under Colonels Alexander, Dodge and Henry to Portage for supplies. There they learned where Black Hawk's camp was; Henry and Dodge set out to attack it, while Alexander returned to Atkinson. The latter had heard that Black Hawk was in full force at Burnt Village on the Whitewater River, about four miles north of the location now occupied by the city bearing that name. He sent off messengers for the remainder of the army to join him for an attack. But in going and coming, the trail of Black Hawk and his entire band was discovered leading to the west. Henry and Dodge started in rapid pursuit, sending word to Atkinson that the game had been flushed. That doughty warrior had in the meantime learned that the Burnt Village story was a myth; and those of his men whose time had expired, broke ranks and returned to their homes, all believing that Black Hawk had finally escaped. The fugitive's trail crossed the site of the present city of Madison and also the University grounds, bearing thence northwest to the Wisconsin River. Singularly enough, Black Hawk struck this stream directly opposite the site of his people's ancient village of Prairie du Sac. Soon after leaving Fourth Lake the Indians discovered their pursuers and hastened their painful flight. All along the trail had been marked by evidences of their extremity: in the skeletons of ponies robbed of their flesh, in the trees stripped of bark for food, and the ground dug over for roots. To these proofs were now added kettles and blankets which the enfeebled women could no longer carry, and the dead bodies of famished papooses and old people. [Illustration: THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN CROSSED THE RIVER] About four o'clock in the afternoon, the rear guard of the Sauks was overtaken a few miles from the river. This was on the 21st day of July, and the troops had made a forced march of eighty miles in three days from the Rock to the Wisconsin, much of the way through swamps and dense forests. Until dark a series of skirmishes was maintained, the Indians skilfully forming new lines and holding the enemy back while the women and children were crossing the river. Black Hawk directed the fight while sitting on his pony, his stentorian voice reaching every part of the field. He always counted this battle as most creditable to his military genius, and there is reason for the claim, for he delayed the whites till the passage of the river was secured. Jefferson Davis, who was present, says that the squaws tore the bark off the trees and made little canoes in which to float their papooses and utensils across the river; and that half the braves swam the river holding their rifles in the air, while the rest kept the whites back, and then, having landed, fired on the whites from the other side, while the remaining braves crossed. Davis pronounced it the most brilliant defensive battle he ever witnessed. The next morning the Indians had disappeared, but during the night they had constructed a raft upon which a large number of the women and children and old men were placed and set adrift, hoping that they would be allowed to go down the river unmolested, and reach their late village in Iowa. But Colonel Dodge sent word ahead, and the soldiers at Fort Crawford lay in wait for them; and when the raft approached they fired upon the helpless creatures, killing a large number. A few were taken prisoners, but the rest were drowned or swam ashore and afterwards perished of hunger in the woods. Late in the night after the fight at Wisconsin Heights, a loud, shrill voice was heard from the eminence which Black Hawk had occupied during the conflict. It caused consternation at first among the whites, as it was thought to signify a night attack. But the voice continued in strong, impassioned harangue for more than an hour, eliciting, however, only jeers and an occasional rifle shot. It was afterwards learned that the orator was Neapope, speaking in the Winnebago tongue. He had seen a few Winnebagoes with the whites in the afternoon but did not know that they had gone away at nightfall. He told how they saw their great mistake in leaving Iowa, that they had their wives and children with them, that all were dying for want of food, and that they only asked to be allowed to go in peace; and they pledged themselves to return to Iowa, and never again come east of the river. Neapope was an orator of great power, and he presented his plea with all the eloquence of which he was master. But it fell on ears that understood not its purport. I know of no more pathetic incident in all the long chapter of human woe and despair than this pitiful prayer of a perishing people for mercy and forgiveness, spoken in a tongue that carried no meaning to those who heard. Let us hope that if the petition had been understood it would have been granted. The loss in the battle on the 21st had not been large on either side, and the Black Hawk band pursued their journey to the Mississippi without guides, through a rugged, trackless wilderness, sorrowing, suffering and despairing. The whites continued down the Wisconsin to Helena, where General Atkinson took command. Helena was a deserted village which had been built to carry on shot-making. The soldiers tore down the log houses and made rafts of the logs to cross the river. Five days in all were consumed before the Black Hawk trail was discovered, and then the pursuers were guided to it by crows and buzzards gathering in the air over the bodies of dead refugees left by the wayside. On the first of August the Indians reached the Mississippi and began crossing in two canoes. In the afternoon the steamer Warrior, which had been sent up from Fort Crawford to notify the Sioux Chief, Wabasha, one hundred and twenty miles above to look out for his enemy, Black Hawk, who was headed that way, stopped opposite the spot where the Indians had gathered. Black Hawk raised a white flag and tried to parley; but the captain assumed that it was an attempt to trap him and, without warning, fired into the Indians at short range with a cannon loaded with cannister. Thus a second time was the usage of all nations violated in this war by refusing to recognize the flag of truce. Twenty-three were killed by this discharge. There were twenty riflemen on the boat who then began firing, and the Sauks responded. The Warrior soon after steamed away to Fort Crawford, twenty miles below, and the Indians continued their efforts to cross the river, here three hundred rods wide and running a strong current. Some were drowned and others were carried down the stream on improvised rafts. A few of these were rescued at Prairie du Chien. The next day Atkinson appeared on the ground. Black Hawk seems to have been utterly demoralized and had told those who had not crossed that he was going to the Chippewa country, and that they had better follow. Only a few did so, and after going a few miles he turned back on August 2nd, just in time to see the closing scene of the massacre called the battle of Bad Axe. As Atkinson approached he was skilfully decoyed beyond the Indian camp some distance, but its location was finally discovered and a fierce onslaught was made. The poor wretches at first begged for quarter, but as the soldiers shot them down without discrimination, they fought for a time with desperation, and then men, women and children plunged into the river, the most of them to drown before reaching the other side. The steamer Warrior reappeared, and the sharpshooters fired at the swimmers, some of them women with babies on their backs. The incidents of the merciless slaughter are too harrowing for recital, and would be incredible if not thoroughly authenticated. It is difficult to understand the ferocity with which Black Hawk's band was pursued and destroyed. Probably the belief that he was still in the British service had much to do with it; also his first success at Stillman's Run, and the murder of the whites in Northern Illinois by marauders from other tribes, which were unjustly charged to him, may account for it in large part. About three hundred Indians succeeded in crossing the river, but their ill fate still pursued them. Their fierce enemy, Wabasha, was on their track, and before reaching the Iowa river half of the three hundred had been relentlessly slain. Of the twelve hundred who crossed the Mississippi in April, only one hundred and fifty, and they barely living skeletons, returned in August. Black Hawk gave himself up soon after the Bad Axe massacre to the Winnebagoes, and was surrendered to our officers at Prairie du Chien. Thence he was taken to Saint Louis, Washington, through the east, and back to Fort Armstrong, where he was delivered over to Keokuk, who became surety for his good behavior. Although always kindly treated by the latter, the old chief never ceased to be mindful of his subordination. For five years he brooded over his misfortunes and humiliation, and then died in his seventy-second year. Even his body was not allowed to rest in peace; it was stolen, and when the Indians discovered the theft and demanded the return of the bones, the building in which the skeleton was stored burned before it was delivered up, and only indistinguishable ashes remained. A word further is due the stalwart old chief, whose good qualities certainly surpassed his evil ones. He was honorable, brave, generous and magnanimous. He never permitted a captive to be tortured, and early gave up the practice of scalping the enemies he had slain. As a leader in Indian warfare he ranks high, and his final campaign had in its purpose the same comprehensive idea which actuated Tecumseh and Pontiac, that of a union of all Indian tribes; and he had the further intent of drawing in the British to enforce the treaty of 1815, which he claimed had been violated in his own case--the guarantee of immunity to all Indian allies of the British having been disregarded. Absolute honesty and truthfulness in business matters were among his characteristics. These he shared with his people generally. Colonel Davenport, who had a trading establishment on the island for many, many years, used often to go to dinner leaving his store full of Indians, and he said they never took so much as a clay pipe in his absence. Black Hawk was impulsive, hopeful and credulous, and so was easily imposed upon; he had an ardent love for the beauties of nature; he was deeply religious, and said that he never took a drink of water from a brook without sincere gratitude to the Great Spirit who cared for him. He was a tender husband and father, and, contrary to the usage of his tribe, married only one wife. When his father was killed he mourned and fasted five years. He did the same for two years, when a son and daughter died, eating only a little corn each evening, "hoping that the Great Spirit would take pity on him." We wish for the honor of our race that this poor savage whose only offense was that of loving his home too well to give it up without a struggle, had not gone out of life leaving such a red, indelible page on the book of history against us. FOOTNOTES: [58-1] The following account is taken from a paper read before the Loyal Legion at Milwaukee, May 6, 1896, by Mr. Coe. THE PETRIFIED FERN _By_ MARY BOLLES BRANCH In a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender, Veining delicate and fibres tender; Waving when the wind crept down so low. Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it, Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, Drops of dew stole in by night, and crowned it, But no foot of man e'er trod that way; Earth was young, and keeping holiday. Monster fishes swam the silent main, Stately forests waved their giant branches, Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches, Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain; Nature revelled in grand mysteries, But the little fern was not of these, Did not number with the hills and trees; Only grew and waved its wild sweet way, None ever came to note it day by day. Earth one time put on a frolic mood, Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean; Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood, Crushed the little fern in soft moist clay,-- Covered it, and hid it safe away. O the long, long centuries since that day! O the agony! O life's bitter cost, Since that useless little fern was lost! Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep; From a fissure in a rocky steep He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran Fairy pencilings, a quaint design, Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine, And the fern's life lay in every line! So, I think, God hides some souls away, Sweetly to surprise us, the last day. AN EXCITING CANOE RACE _By_ J. FENIMORE COOPER The heavens were still studded with stars when Hawkeye[79-1] came to arouse the sleepers. Casting aside their cloaks, Munro[79-2] and Heyward[79-3] were on their feet while the woodsman was still making his low calls at the entrance of the rude shelter where they had passed the night. When they issued from beneath its concealment, they found the scout awaiting their appearance nigh by, and the only salutation between them was the significant gesture for silence made by their sagacious leader. "Think over your prayers," he whispered, as they approached him; "for He to whom you make them knows all tongues; that of the heart, as well as those of the mouth. But speak not a syllable; it is rare for a white voice to pitch itself properly in the woods. Come," he continued, turning toward a curtain of the works; "let us get into the ditch on this side, and be regardful to step on the stones and fragments of wood as you go." [Illustration: HAWKEYE ON THE TRAIL] His companions complied, though to two of them the reasons of this extraordinary precaution were yet a mystery. When they were in the low cavity that surrounded the earthen fort on three of its sides, they found the passage nearly choked by the ruins. With care and patience, however, they succeeded in clambering after the scout until they reached the sandy shore of the Horicon. "That's a trail that nothing but a nose can follow," said the satisfied scout, looking back along their difficult way; "grass is a treacherous carpet for a flying party to tread on, but wood and stone take no print from a moccasin. Had you worn your armed boots, there might indeed have been something to fear; but with the deerskin suitably prepared, a man may trust himself, generally, on rocks with safety. Shove in the canoe nigher to the land, Uncas;[81-4] this sand will take a stamp as easily as the butter of the Jarmans on the Mohawk. Softly, lad, softly; it must not touch the beach, or the knaves will know by what road we have left the place." The young man observed the precaution; and the scout laying a board from the ruins to the canoe, made a sign for the two officers to enter. When this was done, everything was studiously restored to its former disorder; and then Hawkeye succeeded in reaching his little birchen vessel without leaving behind him any of those marks which he appeared so much to dread. "Now," continued the scout, looking back at the dim shore of William Henry, which was now fast receding, and laughing in his own silent but heartfelt manner; "I have put a trail of water atween us; and unless the imps can make friends with the fishes, and hear who has paddled across their basin this fine morning, we shall throw the length of the Horicon behind us before they have made up their minds which path to take." "With foes in front and foes in our rear, our journey is like to be one of danger." "Danger," repeated Hawkeye, calmly; "no, not absolutely of danger, for, with vigilant ears and quick eyes, we can manage to keep a few hours ahead of the knaves; or, if we must try the rifle, there are three of us who understand its gifts as well as any you can name on the borders. No, not of danger; but that we shall have what you may call a brisk push of it is probable; and it may happen a brush, a scrimmage, or some such divarsion, but always where covers are good and ammunition abundant." [Illustration: JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 1789-1851] It is possible that Heyward's estimate of danger differed in some degree from that of the scout, for, instead of replying, he now sat in silence, while the canoe glided over several miles of water. Just as the day dawned, they entered the narrows of the lake[82-5], and stole swiftly and cautiously among their numberless little islands. It was by this road that Montcalm had retired with his army, and the adventurers knew not but he had left some of his Indians in ambush, to protect the rear of his forces and collect the stragglers. They therefore approached the passage with the customary silence of their guarded habits. Chingachgook[83-6] laid aside his paddle, while Uncas and the scout urged the light vessel through crooked and intricate channels, where every foot that they advanced exposed them to the danger of some sudden rising on their progress. The eyes of the sagamore moved warily from islet to islet and copse to copse as the canoe proceeded; and when a clearer sheet of water permitted, his keen vision was bent along the bald rocks and impending forests that frowned upon the narrow strait. Heyward, who was a doubly interested spectator as well from the beauties of the place as from the apprehension natural to his situation, was just believing that he had permitted the latter to be excited without sufficient reason, when the paddle ceased moving, in obedience to a signal from Chingachgook. "Ugh!" exclaimed Uncas, nearly at the moment that the light tap his father had made on the side of the canoe notified them of the vicinity of danger. "What now?" asked the scout; "the lake is as smooth as if the winds had never blown, and I can see along its sheets for miles; there is not so much as the black head of a loon dotting the water." The Indian gravely raised his paddle, and pointed in the direction in which his own steady look was riveted. Duncan's eyes followed the motion. A few rods in their front lay another of the low-wooded islets, but it appeared as calm and peaceful as if its solitude had never been disturbed by the foot of man. "I see nothing," he said, "but land and water; and a lovely scene it is." "Hist!" interrupted the scout. "Ay, sagamore, there is always a reason for what you do. 'Tis but a shade, and yet it is not natural. You see the mist, major, that is rising above the island; you can't call it a fog, for it is more like a streak of thin cloud----" "It is a vapor from the water." "That a child could tell. But what is the edging of blacker smoke that hangs along its lower side, and which you may trace down into the thicket of hazel? 'Tis from a fire; but one that, in my judgment, has been suffered to burn low." "Let us then push for the place, and relieve our doubts," said the impatient Duncan; "the party must be small that can lie on such a bit of land." "If you judge of Indian cunning by the rules you find in books or by white sagacity, they will lead you astray, if not to your death," returned Hawkeye, examining the signs of the place with that acuteness which distinguished him. "If I may be permitted to speak in this matter, it will be to say that we have but two things to choose between: the one is, to return and give up all thought of following the Hurons----" "Never!" exclaimed Heyward in a voice far too loud for their circumstances. "Well, well," continued Hawkeye, making a hasty sign to repress his impatience, "I am much of your mind myself; though I thought it becoming my experience to tell the whole. We must then make a push, and, if the Indians or Frenchers are in the narrows, run the gantlet through these toppling mountains. Is there reason in my words, sagamore?" [Illustration: HAWKEYE] The Indian made no further answer than by dropping his paddle into the water and urging forward the canoe. As he held the office of directing its course, his resolution was sufficiently indicated by the movement. The whole party now plied their paddles vigorously, and in a very few moments they had reached a point whence they might command an entire view of the northern shore of the island. "There they are, by all the truth of signs," whispered the scout; "two canoes and a smoke. The knaves haven't yet got their eyes out of the mist, or we should hear the accursed whoop. Together, friends--we are leaving them, and are already nearly out of whistle of a bullet." The well-known crack of a rifle, whose ball came skipping along the placid surface of the strait, and a shrill yell from the island interrupted his speech and announced that their passage was discovered. In another instant several savages were seen rushing into the canoes, which were soon dancing over the water in pursuit. These fearful precursors of a coming struggle produced no change in the countenances and movements of his three guides, so far as Duncan could discover, except that the strokes of their paddles were longer and more in unison, and caused the little bark to spring forward like a creature possessing life and volition. "Hold them there, sagamore," said Hawkeye, looking coolly backward over his left shoulder, while he still plied his paddle; "keep them just there. Them Hurons have never a piece in their nation that will execute at this distance; but 'Kill Deer'[86-7] has a barrel on which a man may calculate." The scout, having ascertained that the Mohicans were sufficient of themselves to maintain the requisite distance, deliberately laid aside his paddle and raised the fatal rifle. Then several times he brought the piece to his shoulder, and when his companions were expecting its report he as often lowered it to request the Indians would permit their enemies to approach a little nigher. At length his accurate and fastidious eye seemed satisfied, and throwing out his left arm on the barrel, he was slowly elevating the muzzle, when an exclamation from Uncas, who sat in the bow, once more caused him to suspend the shot. "How now, lad?" demanded Hawkeye; "you saved a Huron[87-8] from the death-shriek by that word; have you reason for what you do?" Uncas pointed toward the rocky shore a little in their front, whence another war canoe was darting directly across their course. It was too obvious now that their situation was imminently perilous to need the aid of language to confirm it. The scout laid aside his rifle, and resumed the paddle, while Chingachgook inclined the bows of the canoe a little toward the western shore, in order to increase the distance between them and this new enemy. In the meantime they were reminded of the presence of those who pressed on their rear, by wild and exulting shouts. The stirring scene awakened even Munro from his apathy. "Let us make for the rocks on the main," he said, with the mien of a tried soldier, "and give battle to the savages. God forbid that I or those attached to me or mine should ever trust again to the faith of any servant of the Louises." "He who wishes to prosper in Indian warfare," returned the scout, "must not be too proud to learn from the wit of a native. Lay her more along the land, sagamore; we are doubling on the varlets, and perhaps they may try to strike our trail on the long calculation." Hawkeye was not mistaken; for, when the Hurons found that their course was likely to throw them behind their chase, they rendered it less direct, until, by gradually bearing more and more obliquely, the two canoes were, ere long, gliding on parallel lines, within two hundred yards of each other. It now became entirely a trial of speed. So rapid was the progress of the light vessels that the lake curled in their front in miniature waves, and their motion became undulating by its own velocity. It was, perhaps, owing to this circumstance, in addition to the necessity of keeping every hand employed at the paddles, that the Hurons had not immediate recourse to their firearms. The exertions of the fugitives were too severe to continue long, and the pursuers had the advantage of numbers. Duncan observed, with uneasiness, that the scout began to look anxiously about him, as if searching for some further means of assisting their flight. "Edge her a little more from the sun, Sagamore," said the stubborn woodsman; "I see the knaves are sparing a man to the rifle. A single broken bone might lose us our scalps. Edge more from the sun, and we will put the island between us." The expedient was not without its use. A long, low island lay a little distance before them, and, as they closed with it, the chasing canoe was compelled to take a side opposite to that on which the pursued passed. The scout and his companions did not neglect this advantage, but, the instant they were hid from observation by the bushes, they redoubled efforts that before had seemed prodigious. The two canoes came round the last low point, like two coursers at the top of their speed, the fugitives taking the lead. This change had brought them nigher to each other, however, while it altered their relative positions. "You showed knowledge in the shaping of birchen bark, Uncas, when you chose this from among the Huron canoes," said the scout, smiling, apparently more in satisfaction at their superiority in the race, than from that prospect of final escape which now began to open a little upon them. "The imps have put all their strength again at the paddles, and we are to struggle for our scalps with bits of flattened wood, instead of clouded barrels and true eyes. A long stroke, and together, friends!" "They are preparing for a shot," said Heyward; "and as we are in a line with them, it can scarcely fail." "Get you then into the bottom of the canoe," returned the scout; "you and the colonel; it will be so much taken from the size of the mark." Heyward smiled, as he answered: "It would be but an ill example for the highest in rank to dodge, while the warriors were under fire!" "Lord! Lord! that is now a white man's courage!" exclaimed the scout, "and, like too many of his notions, not to be maintained by reason. Do you think the sagamore, or Uncas, or even I, who am a man without a cross, would deliberate about finding a cover in a scrimmage when an open body would do no good? For what have the Frenchers reared up their Quebec, if fighting is always to be done in the clearings?" "All that you say is very true, my friend," replied Heyward; "still, our custom must prevent us from doing as you wish." A volley from the Hurons interrupted the discourse; and, as the bullets whistled about them, Duncan saw the head of Uncas turned, looking back at himself and Munro. Notwithstanding the nearness of the enemy, and his own great personal danger, the countenance of the young warrior expressed no other emotion, as the former was compelled to think, than amazement at finding men willing to encounter so useless an exposure. Chingachgook was probably better acquainted with the notions of white men, for he did not even cast a glance aside from the riveted look his eye maintained on the object by which he governed their course. A ball soon struck the light and polished paddle from the hands of the chief, and drove it through the air far in advance. A shout rose from the Hurons, who seized the opportunity to fire another volley. Uncas described an arc in the water with his own blade, and, as the canoe passed swiftly on, Chingachgook recovered his paddle, and, flourishing it on high, he gave the war-whoop of the Mohicans, and then lent his strength and skill again to the important task. The clamorous sounds of "Le Gros Serpent!"[91-9] "La Longue Carabine!"[91-10] "Le Cerf Agile!"[91-11] burst at once from the canoes behind, and seemed to give new zeal to the pursuers. The scout seized "Kill Deer" in his left hand, and, elevating it above his head, he shook it in triumph at his enemies. The savages answered the insult with a yell, and immediately another volley succeeded. The bullets pattered along the lake, and one even pierced the bark of their little vessel. No perceptible emotion could be discovered in the Mohicans during this critical moment, their rigid features expressing neither hope nor alarm; but the scout again turned his head, and, laughing in his own silent manner, he said to Heyward: "The knaves love to hear the sounds of their pieces, but the eye is not to be found among the Mingoes that can calculate a true range in a dancing canoe! You see the dumb devils have taken off a man to charge, and by the smallest measurement that can be allowed we move three feet to their two." Duncan, who was not altogether as easy under this nice estimate of distances as his companions, was glad to find, however, that, owing to their superior dexterity, and the diversion among their enemies they were very sensibly obtaining the advantage. The Hurons soon fired again, and a bullet struck the blade of Hawkeye's paddle without injury. "That will do," said the scout, examining the slight indentation with a curious eye; "it would not have cut the skin of an infant, much less of men who, like us, have been blown upon by the heavens in their anger. Now, major, if you will try to use this piece of flattened wood, I'll let 'Kill Deer' take a part in the conversation." Heyward seized the paddle and applied himself to the work with an eagerness that supplied the place of skill, while Hawkeye was engaged in inspecting the priming of his rifle. The latter then took a swift aim and fired. The Huron in the bows of the leading canoe had risen with a similar object, and he now fell backward, suffering the gun to escape from his hands into the water. In an instant, however, he recovered his feet, though his gestures were wild and bewildered. At the same moment his companions suspended their efforts, and the chasing canoes clustered together and became stationary. Chingachgook and Uncas profited by the interval to regain their wind, though Duncan continued to work with the most persevering industry. The father and son now cast calm but inquiring glances at each other, to learn if either had sustained any injury by the fire; for both well knew that no cry or exclamation would, in such a moment of necessity, have been permitted to betray the accident. A few large drops of blood were trickling down the shoulders of the sagamore, who, when he perceived that the eyes of Uncas dwelt too long on the sight, raised some water in the hollow of his hand, and, washing off the stain, was content to manifest, in this simple manner, the slightness of the injury. The lake now began to expand, and their route lay along a reacher, that was lined, as before, by high and rugged mountains. But the islands were few and easily avoided. The strokes of the paddles grew more measured and regular; while they who plied them continued their labor, after the close and deadly chase from which they had just relieved themselves, with as much coolness as though their speed had been tried in sport, rather than under such pressing, nay, almost desperate circumstances. Instead of following the western shore, whither their errand led them, the wary Mohican inclined his course more toward those hills behind which Montcalm was known to have led his army into the formidable fortress of Ticonderoga. As the Hurons, to every appearance, had aban