CHAPTER III.

_The return of our party.――Sports and festivities._

After I had been about a month in the village, a swift Indian, despatched by the warriors who had been absent on an expedition against some distant tribes, came in, and announced that the whole party were near at hand, and would enter the village the following morning. Preparations were therefore made to receive them.

All was bustle and activity, though this seemed to consist more in running about, and chattering like a set of magpies, than anything else. The children leaped, frolicked, shouted, and fought mimic battles as well as real ones, in which they bit, scratched, kicked and pulled hair, in honor of the coming celebration. The women went about from tent to tent, talking with great animation and keeping up the hum, which might be heard at the farther extremity of the village.

Evening at last came, but there was no cessation of the excitement. The greater part of the night was spent in talking, squabbling, dancing, jumping, leaping and yelling. At length the morning came, and just as the sun was rising, an Indian, painted blue and red, carrying on his head the skin taken from the pate of a grizzly bear, was seen creeping along in the edge of the adjacent wood. He was soon followed by another, painted in a similar manner, with the horns and pate of a buffalo upon his head. Others succeeded, all of them painted and dressed in the most wild and fantastic manner, until about a hundred warriors had gathered in the thickets of the forest, close to the village.

A pause of at least half an hour ensued. All within the wood was silent, and not a trace of the savages that lurked in its bosom, could be discovered. The women, children and old men of the village had gathered in the open space encircled by the tents, where they awaited the coming spectacle in breathless expectation.

At last, a wild yell, as if a thousand demons filled the air, broke from the forest. In an instant after, the warriors started from their cover and ran toward the village with the greatest swiftness. Approaching the group of women and children, they formed themselves in a circle and began to dance in a most violent manner. They leaped, jumped, ran, brandished their weapons, screamed, chattered, and appeared more like infernal spirits than human creatures. They were all on foot except about a dozen, who were on horseback, and attired in the most fantastic manner. These rode round the circle with great swiftness, flourishing their long spears, and performing a sort of wild mimic battle.

Nothing could be more fierce and frightful than the whole scene, yet the women and children were greatly delighted, and evinced their ecstasy by uproarious acclamations. The warriors were excited by this applause to greater feats, and for about an hour they kept up their savage revel. They seemed to be as proud of their greasy paint and their savage foppery, as a well-dressed company of militia marching on a muster-day through one of our villages. A bear’s or buffalo’s pate was fully equal to a cocked hat; a raccoon’s or oppossum’s hide was equivalent to a pair of epaulettes; the bow and arrow were an offset to the sword.

But the Indian warriors had one advantage over our training-day soldiers. They had been in actual service, and carried with them evidences of their victory. Several of them bore in their hands large bundles of bloody scalps, which they had taken from their enemies, and these they flourished in the faces of the admiring spectators. It is obvious that the same vanity and foppery which are found in the fair-weather soldiers of towns and cities, belong to the savage warrior of the wilderness.

At length, the ceremony was over, and the savages dispersed themselves to their several wigwams. The next day, however, they had a great exhibition, which was a kind of war-dance, in which the warriors attempted to exhibit their several battles and exploits. It was in fact a sort of pantomime, in which several of the Indians displayed great powers of mimicry. Though I was not much accustomed to these things, I understood a good deal of what the Indians meant by their performances.

One of these fellows amused me very much. He seemed to be fond of fun, and, like the clown in a circus, appeared to think more of making a laugh than anything else. It seemed from his representation, that, on one occasion, he was sent to spy out the situation of a party of Indians, whom they intended to attack. It was night, and as he was proceeding along a deer path in the forest, he chanced to see a skunk immediately before him. The creature stood still, and positively refused to stir a step.

The Indian hesitated for some time what to do, but at last he put an arrow to the bowstring, and shot the impertinent animal to the heart. The air was, however, immediately filled with the creature’s effluvia, and the Indians, whom the spy was seeking, being ever on the watch, were startled by the circumstance, and the spy himself was obliged to retreat for safety. This whole story was easily comprehended from the admirable mimicry of the actor. Nothing could exceed his drollery, except the applause of the spectators. He seemed to have the reputation of an established wag, and, like Andrews at the late Tremont Theatre, he could hardly turn his eye, or crook his finger, but the action was followed with bursts of applause.

There was one thing that characterized all the warriors, and that was a love of boasting and self-glorification. Every one represented himself as a hero and as performing the most wonderful feats of strength and valor. Boasting, I suspect, is a thing that naturally belongs to those who have little refinement, and modesty is doubtless the fruit of those finer sentiments which belong to civilization.

For several days there were sports and festivities, and every one seemed to give himself up to amusement. The warriors had brought home with them a young Indian prisoner, who was about eighteen years old. He was a fine, proud-looking fellow, and when he was brought out and encircled by all the Indians, he seemed to survey them with a kind of scorn. He was tied to a stake, and the young Indians, stationed at a certain distance, were allowed to shoot their arrows at him. Several of them hit him, and the blood trickled freely down his body. He stood unmoved, however, and seemed not to notice the wounds. The women then surrounded him, and jeered at him, making mouths, and pinching his flesh, and punching him with sharp sticks.

At last, it was determined by the warriors, to let him loose upon the prairie and give him a chance of escape. The warriors were to pursue him. If he was retaken, he was to die; if he outran his pursuers, he was to have his liberty.

The prisoner was unbound and placed at the distance of about six rods in advance of those who were to pursue him; the signal was given, and he departed. He seemed fleet as the mountain deer, and life was the wager for which he ran. He was, however, pursued by more than a dozen Indians, scarcely less lightfooted than himself. He struck across the prairie, which lay stretched out for several miles, almost as level as the sea, and in the distance, was skirted by the forest.

He kept in advance of his pursuers, who strained every nerve to overtake him. On he flew, casting an occasional glance backward. The yells broke often from his pursuers, but he was silent. It was for life that he fled, and he would not waste a breath. On he sped, and as he and his followers seemed to grow less and less in the distance, my eyes grew weary of the scene. But such was the interest that I felt for the poor fugitive that I kept my gaze bent upon the chase for almost an hour.

The Indians seemed at last in the remote distance to be dwindled to the size of insects; they still strained every limb, though they seemed scarcely to move; they still yelled with all their might, but only an occasional faint echo reached our ears. At last, the fugitive plunged into the forest; his pursuers followed, and they were lost to the view. After the lapse of several hours, the pursuing party returned, without their prisoner. He was at liberty in the unbounded forest.

The Smuggler.

Who would imagine that a dog had been made serviceable as a clerk, and thus made for his master upwards of a hundred thousand crowns? And yet an incident like this happened upwards of forty years since. One of those industrious beings who know how to live by skinning flints, determined, in extreme poverty, to engage in trade. He preferred that species of merchandise which occupied the least space, and was calculated to yield the greatest profit. He borrowed a small sum of money from a friend, and repairing to Flanders, he there bought pieces of lace, which he smuggled into France in the following manner.

He trained an active spaniel to his purpose. He caused him to be shaved, and procured for him the skin of another dog, of the same hair and the same shape. He then rolled his lace round the body of his dog, and put over it the garment of the stranger so adroitly, that it was impossible to discover the trick. The lace being thus arranged, he would say to his docile messenger, “Forward, my friend.” At the words, the dog would start, and pass boldly through the gates of Malines or Valenciennes, in the face of the vigilant officer placed there to prevent smuggling. Having thus passed the bounds, he would wait his master at a little distance in the open country. There they mutually caressed and feasted, and the merchant placed his rich packages in a place of security, renewing his occupation as occasion required. Such was the success of this smuggler that in less than five or six years he amassed a handsome fortune and kept his coach.

Envy pursues the prosperous. A mischievous neighbor at length betrayed the lace merchant; notwithstanding all his efforts to disguise the dog, he was suspected, watched, and discovered.

But the cunning of the dog was equal to the emergency. Did the spies of the custom-house expect him at one gate,――he saw them at a distance, and instantly ran to another. Were all the gates shut against him,――he overcame every obstacle; sometimes he leaped over the wall; at others, passing secretly behind a carriage or running between the legs of travellers, he would thus accomplish his aim. One day, however, while swimming a stream near Malines, he was shot, and died in the water. There was then about him five thousand crowns’ worth of lace――the loss of which did not afflict his master, but he was inconsolable for the loss of his faithful dog.

The Poet’s Dog.

The manner in which Pope, the great English poet, was preserved by the sagacity of his dog, is truly remarkable. This animal, who was called Marquis, could never agree with a favorite servant of his master’s; he constantly growled when near him, and would even show his teeth whenever this servant approached. Although the poet was singularly attached to this dog,――who was a spaniel of the largest species,――yet, on account of his extreme neatness, which he pushed almost to excess, he would never allow him to remain in his chamber. Nevertheless, in spite of positive orders, the spaniel would frequently sneak, towards evening, into the apartment of his master, and would not be driven from it without the greatest difficulty.

One evening, having slipped very softly in without being perceived, the animal placed himself under the bed of his master, and remained there. Towards morning, the servant rushed hastily into the chamber of Pope. At this moment, the dog suddenly left his post and leaped on the villain, who was armed with a pistol. The poet started from his sleep; he threw open the window to call for assistance, and beheld three highwaymen, who had been introduced by his servant into the garden of his villa, for the purpose of robbing him. Disconcerted by this unforeseen accident, the robbers hesitated a moment, and then took flight. The servant, thus betrayed by the watchful dog, was sentenced to forfeit his life.

The same dog, shortly after this singular event, exhibited another proof of his remarkable instinct. Pope, reposing one afternoon in a little wood about twelve miles distant from his house, lost a watch of great value. On returning home, the poet wished to know the hour, and found his watch was not in his fob. Two or three hours had elapsed, and a violent storm was just commencing.

The poet called his dog, and making a sign, which Marquis very well understood, he said, “I have lost my watch――go look for it.” At these words Marquis departed, and repaired, no doubt, to every spot at which his master stopped. It happened that the poor animal was so long occupied in the search as to create great anxiety, for midnight had arrived, and he had not returned. What was the astonishment of Pope, when, on rising in the morning, he opened his chamber door, and there beheld his faithful messenger lying quietly and holding in his mouth the splendid jewel, with which he had returned perfectly uninjured, and which was the more highly valued by the poet, as it had been presented to him by the queen of England.

A Shark Story.

Some years ago, while sitting on the quarter-deck of a West Indiaman, borne rapidly along before the trade wind, the captain and passengers were amusing themselves by telling stories and cracking jokes to beguile the sameness of the voyage. It came at last to the turn of a gentleman remarkable for his love of cigars and taciturnity; one who enjoyed a good anecdote, but abhorred the trouble of relating it himself. He was, however, so strongly importuned on this occasion, that with much reluctance he related the following, by fits and starts, filling up each pause by vigorous whiffs of his favorite weed:――

In the year 1820, the good ship Rambler sailed from Greenock, with goods and passengers, towards Jamaica. She had crossed the tropic. One day, when nearly becalmed, the steward, who had the care of the captain’s plate, had occasion, after dinner, to wash some spoons and other articles in a bucket, and thinking he had taken all out of the water, he chucked it over the gangway, when, to his vexation, he found he had thrown out with it a valuable silver table spoon. He saw it shining through the clear blue ocean, and wavering from side to side as it sank from his view. Several sharks had been observed near the ship, and it is known they generally dart upon anything white, a piece of rag often serving for a bait. He did not, however, observe any of them near the spot at the time; and the captain being a testy man, he kept the secret of the loss to himself, and the matter was soon forgotten.

The ship in due time reached Jamaica, and when the circumstance became known, the value of the spoon was deducted from the wages of the steward. The vessel lay some time at Kingston, received on board a cargo of sugar, and proceeded on her homeward voyage. When crossing nearly the same spot on the aqueous world where the spoon was lost, a number of sharks again showed their tail fins above the water as they cut along the ship’s side, or in her wake; and a shark hook being baited with a piece of salt pork, was lowered over the stern. Presently one of the largest of these devouring monsters, or, as the sailors call them, “_Sea Lawyers_,” half turning on its side, took the huge bait into his pig-like but tremendous jaws, and was securely hooked.

The fish was with difficulty hauled alongside and hoisted on deck, where it flapped about and showed prodigious strength and tenacity of life. When its struggles were ended by a blow on the head with a mallet, one of the men proceeded to open it. His jack-knife soon came in contact with something in its belly, and――said the narrator, with earnestness, “what do you think was really found?” “Why, the spoon, of course!” exclaimed the listeners simultaneously. “The spoon!” he rejoined, with a smile, “No! no!” “What then?” they hastily inquired. “Why, nothing but the entrails, to be sure!”

The taciturnity of the waggish messmate was not again disturbed for another story during the voyage.

* * * * *

JOYFUL MEETING.――A few days since, at Buffalo, a boat load of Germans landed from the canal, evidently direct from Germany. Among them was an old lady and some three or four children, quite grown up. Several tavern-keepers were around the boat, as is customary, to solicit patronage from the emigrants, and one of these approached the old lady, who, immediately upon seeing him, threw herself upon his neck and wept. The children also embraced him, and tears and smiles alternately bore their sway.

The explanation of the scene given was, that the old lady was on her way to Detroit in search of her husband, who had emigrated some years previous, and she had thus unexpectedly fallen upon him at this place. What a meeting!

* * * * *

MIRAGE.――Brig. Wm. Ash, 6th July, 1843, 8-1/4 P. M.――Being at anchor off the Pilgrims, river St. Lawrence, to wait the tide――fine weather and light wind, I was called to by our pilot, Wm. Russell, saying there was a ship sailing in the air. When, looking in the air, in the direction pointed out, I distinctly saw the appearance of a full-rigged ship, under full sail, passing very swiftly over the land, in a S. S. W. direction. I watched it with the spyglass, until, to my view, it vanished into smoke. It was witnessed also by the pilot’s apprentice, Dennis Glen. WM. MORRISH, Master.

* * * * *

“Our Father”――said a bishop, who was benevolently teaching the Lord’s prayer to a poor beggar boy, to whom he had just given a hard crust of bread. “What,――not _our_ Father,” said the boy. “Yes,” said the bishop, “_our_ Father.” “Then we are _brothers_; _and an’t you ashamed to offer your brother such a crust as this?_”

Eccentric Characters

[Illustration: OLD BOOTS, OF RIPON]

Among the infinite variety of human countenances, none was ever better calculated to excite laughter, than that of the person whose portrait we have given above. He was servant of an inn at Ripon, in Yorkshire, England, where it was part of his duty to wait upon travellers and take charge of boots and shoes. Hence, he went under the title of Old Boots.

It was his custom to introduce himself into the room, with a pair of slippers in one hand and a boot-jack in the other. His features at once amazed and diverted every visitor; for nature had given him such length of nose and chin, and brought them so near together, that he could hold a piece of money between them, like a thumb and finger, or a pair of nippers. This feat he was always ready to perform, and he became, in fact, the great curiosity of the place.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN SNARLY.]

There is nothing more easy than to find fault, particularly after a little practice; for the thing grows upon us as we get used to it. Of all countries, there is none that furnishes such inveterate fault-finders, as England. Many of them are very much addicted to grumbling, even in their own country; but when out of it, everything goes wrong. The other day I saw a boy with a snapping turtle, which he had just taken out of a muddy pond. The creature was very savage――and if you pointed your finger at him, he would snap at you in the most spiteful manner. Nothing could move around him, but he would snap at it. I must confess that when I looked at the creature, he put me in mind of Captain Hall, Mrs. Trollope, Major Hamilton, and other English travellers, who have visited our country, and gone home and reviled everything they saw.

But we must now turn to the subject of the present article, Joseph Cappur, whose portrait is placed at the head of this article, and whom we call Captain Snarly. He lived at a place near London, called Kensington, and though he was rich, his habits were exceedingly stingy. He was chiefly famous for his love of finding fault; and he loved nothing so well as a snarling companion. One day, as he was walking about the place, he came to a small tavern. He entered, and asked the landlord if he could furnish him lodgings. “No!” said the landlord, fiercely――and then ordered him out of the house. This pleased old Snarly so much, that he immediately took up his abode at the place, and there he lived for twenty-five years. His greatest sport was to poke fun at the landlord and make him mad with fury.

Old Snarly was a great politician and a champion of the king. He would let nobody speak ill of either. He hated the French, and one of his chief occupations was to kill flies, which he called Frenchmen. He died at the age of seventy-two, and left one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to his relatives, whom he would not see while he was living.

[Illustration]

JOHN BAKER.

This man was wonderful for the power he had over the muscles of his face. Though he had not a long nose, yet he could move it in such a manner as to take a piece of money up from a table between his nose and chin, and hold it there firmly. Nay more, he could draw his nose down in such a manner as to take it into his mouth, and then his under lip appeared even with his eyes and forehead! He could also put the stem of a tobacco pipe through his nose, and then take up a wine glass and hold it between his nose and chin, as shown in the portrait.

The performances of this man astonished all who saw him, and several eminent medical men expressed great wonder at his feats. He was both a sailor and a soldier, in the British service, and served in the revolutionary war, in America. He was twice married, and had a family of thirteen children. His life was one of great vicissitude, and when an old man, he was famous at Wapping, for his stories about what he had seen and done. He had a good opinion of himself, and used generally to wind off his long tales with the declaration that his equal was not to be found in the whole world!

[Illustration]

Punch and Judy.

There are some wise old people, who, when they hear the music of the showmen in the streets, are very much annoyed, and wish to have the vagrants sent off to the work-house. Gently――gently――Mr. Snarl. This very exhibition of Punch and Judy, has given more innocent pleasure than almost any other that was ever invented.

The story of Punch and his wife Judy, had its origin in Italy. As it is a pleasant story, I will tell it. In the district of Acezza, near Naples, the people are very much addicted to the making of wine from grapes; and it is curious that from antiquity they have been famous for their love of droll wit and comic fun.

Well, many years ago, in the season of the vintage, which is a time when everybody seems to be full of joke and frolic, some comic players came along, through Acezza. They began to poke fun at the vintagers, and in the war of wit, the players got the worst of it.

Now there was, among the vintagers, a fellow with an enormous red nose, long and crooked like a powder horn; and he was the very drollest and wittiest of the whole company. The players were so tickled with his witty sayings, all set off by his odd face and very queer air and manner, that they almost cracked their sides with laughter.

After they went away, they began to think that this droll fellow would be a great accession to their company: so they went back and made offers to him. These he accepted; and such was the success of his efforts that the company acquired great fame and a great deal of money. Everybody went to see this witty buffoon, and all were delighted.

This example led to the establishment of a droll or buffoon in all companies of comedians; and he was always called after the original one, whose name was Pucco d’Aniello. This was, in the course of time, softened into Polecenello; the French made it Polichenel, and the English, Punchinello. After a time, the English, for the sake of brevity, left off the latter part of the word, and called it plain Punch.

How Judy originated, history does not tell us; but it is easy to smell out her story. Such a merry fellow as Punch has as good a right to a wife as anybody, if he can get one. Why not? You may think that his beet-like nose would stand in the way of his finding a woman willing to marry him; but his wit is a fair offset to this. Women are fond of wit, and Punch would play his part ill, if he could not make it cover his nose.

Well, we now suppose Punch to have a wife, and also suppose her name to be Judy. What, then, is more natural than for this amiable couple, now and then, to have a bit of a breeze? They live a wandering life, and do, like other people in their station, take a little liquor to raise their spirits. After the effect is over, feeling a little peevish, they fall to calling each other hard names, and hard blows follow, as natural as life. So here is the whole history, fairly made out.

Gentle reader! if you are young, you will not quarrel with the showmen, nay, you will stand by, clap your hands and pay your pence. If you are old, consider that you were once young, and tolerate the innocent exhibition, in behalf of those who are now what you were some half century ago.

* * * * *

PETRARCH.――Petrarch, the celebrated Italian poet, recommended himself to the confidence and affection of Cardinal Coloma, in whose family he resided, by his candor and strict regard to truth. A violent quarrel occurred in the household of this nobleman, which was carried so far that recourse was had to arms. The cardinal wished to know the foundation of this affair; and, that he might be able to decide with justice, he assembled all his people, and obliged them to bind themselves by a most solemn oath to declare the whole truth. Every one submitted to the examination; even the cardinal’s own brother was not excused. Petrarch, in his turn, presented himself to take the oath; the cardinal said, “As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient!”

[Illustration]

Attakullakulla.

On the river Tennessee, in former times, there was situated a fort, called _Fort Loudon_. This fort was far back in the woods, 500 miles from Charleston, and at a distance from any white settlement. It was built in 1756, for the purpose of preventing the encroachments of the French, who used to steal down from Canada, and annoy the white English inhabitants, who were forming settlements in that part of the country. At the same time, it was a safeguard against the Indians, numerous tribes of whom lived round about. These Indians, at all times savage and cruel, were particularly hostile to the whites; and more so, as they perceived them forming settlements in their neighborhood.

In the above fort, at the time my story commences, there were but few soldiers. This fact the Indians, by some means, discovered, and they determined to make an attack upon it; and, if possible, to massacre the soldiers.

The plan was conducted, as usual, with much secrecy and cunning; and, before the soldiers were aware, the fort was surrounded by a large number of savages, thirsting only for their blood. The fort was strong, however; the gates were shut, and the Indians found it impossible to enter. But they could watch it. They might perhaps in time force the soldiers to surrender, because their provisions could not last always. A guard was, therefore, constantly kept round about; and so vigilant were they, that not a single white man durst venture abroad, nor could any come to their assistance.

For a time, the provisions in the fort held out well; but, at length, the soldiers were obliged to resort to the flesh of their horses and dogs, which, by reason of scanty food, had dwindled away nearly to skeletons. For two long months, however, the soldiers bore up under the pressure of confinement, and stinted fare. The enemy that surrounded them, they well knew, were at all times savage and cruel; but _now_ they would be doubly so, having become exasperated by watching for so long a period.

The soldiers had stout hearts and good courage; but, at length, they told their officers, that they could hold out no longer. Upon this, the officers came together, and, after due consultation, it was agreed to surrender, and to obtain the best treatment from the Indians they were able.

There was one man among them, whom the Indians esteemed. His name was _Captain Stewart_. He was accordingly selected to inform the Indians that they had held out sufficiently long, and were willing to surrender, provided they were treated kindly.

In reply, the Indians told Captain Stewart that they might march out with their guns, and a little powder and shot; but that they must leave the fort that very day. The Indians added, that they would accompany them to Fort George, where their white brethren lived.

As these were better terms than were expected, the English officers did not hesitate to accept them. They marched out accordingly, and that very day set out upon their journey for Fort George. It was noon when they left the fort, and night before they paused.

Wearied with their toilsome march, they soon laid themselves down to rest. Just as they were doing this, they perceived that the whole body of Indians were leaving them. The object of this movement they were unable to explain; but, well knowing how cunning and treacherous the Indians were, they could sleep no more. A few, perhaps, more weary than the others, were occasionally lost for a few minutes; but the painful state of anxiety in which they were, made their sleep short and unrefreshing. Several hours passed in this state of suspense; but as no Indians came near them, they began to indulge the hope, that the enemy had left them, to return no more. They, therefore, generally laid themselves down, and one after another became lost in sound sleep. About the dawn of day, one of the men, who had been placed as a guard, came running, in great haste, to inform them that a large body of Indians were secretly approaching.

The alarm was instantly given, and the men ordered to stand to their arms. The summons, however, was so sudden, and the terror so universal, that not a single soldier had his gun loaded when the tremendous war-whoop broke upon them. The onset of the savages, upon this comparatively feeble and unprepared band, was so furious, that resistance was in vain. Some were killed, and the rest taken prisoners. Captain Stewart had his hands tied behind him, and at the head of the others, was led back to the fort.

On their arrival, an Indian chief, taking Captain Stewart by the hand, conducted him to his own hut, unbound his arms, and fed him from his own bowl. This was _Attakullakulla_. A few days following, the Indians held a great council about the disposal of the prisoners. The chiefs were all present, and, though some differed for a time from others, in conclusion, they sent for Captain Stewart, and informed him that they were about proceeding to the attack of Fort George. “You and your men,” said they, “will accompany us. You will fight with us. This is the result of our talk!”

“You must do more,” added they. “Write to the captain of Fort George――tell him of our coming――tell him that if he surrenders the fort peaceably, it is well――if not, we will strip his friend Captain Stewart, and burn him before his eyes.”

This was indeed cruel. Captain Stewart seated himself; and, in the presence of the savages, wrote the letter required; but he thought within himself, that before he would fight his brethren, he would undergo the pains, even of savage torture. On returning home, said he to Attakullakulla, “You are my friend. You have shown your friendship, in the hour of danger and of trial. Now, can you show it again?――I cannot fight my brethren――I must escape, or I must die.”

Attakullakulla replied, “I have been your friend once; I will be so again. You must not fight your brethren. The red men must not kill you. Come with me, and I will take you far from the reach of the bloody tomahawk.”

Before the next morning, Attakullakulla and Captain Stewart were far on their journey, in the depths of the wilderness. By day, they travelled with great expedition, and at night slept upon the open ground. The sun and moon served as guides to the sagacious Indian chief; and, as they kept on over hills and mountains, valleys and rivers, Captain Stewart wondered where their journey would end. On the _fourteenth_ day, they saw fires at a distance, and they knew that men were near. As they came nearer, they met a party of soldiers, who told them that they were in _Virginia_, and that this was the camp of _Colonel Bird_. They told them to go on further, where they would see Colonel Bird himself. When they came up to this officer, Captain Stewart introduced himself and his Indian friend to the colonel. He was delighted to hear of his escape, and was much pleased with the friendship which the Indian had shown to the white man. “This,” said he, “is _true friendship_, which shows itself in action, not in words.”

When Attakullakulla said he must depart that night, the two officers begged him to remain with them for a few days. But the old man said, “No.” When they found that he could not be persuaded, they loaded him with presents of all kinds, and bidding him “Farewell,” they saw him depart for his home. On his return to his tribe, he met some soldiers, who told him they had been sent from _Fort George_, the place which the Indians were going to attack. They said that the captain of Fort George had received their letter, and had heard that they were coming to fight him. But he desired Attakullakulla to inform his brethren, that they must not come to Fort George; for that there was much powder and ball buried in holes around the fort to blow up any enemies, who might come; and that if they dared to come, they would certainly be blown in pieces.

The chief promised the soldiers that he would tell the Indians of this, and again proceeded on his way. On reaching Fort Loudon, he called the Indians together, and told them of the word that the white men had sent them. They were much frightened, when they heard of the powder and shot, and blessed the Good Spirit that he had not permitted them to attack the fort, as they must all have been killed.

But to return to Capt. Stewart. Now that he had himself escaped, he began to think of the poor soldiers whom he had left in captivity. For a time he could hear nothing of their fate; and was in doubt, whether his escape might not have led to the massacre of them all. But, at length, he had the pleasure to know, by means of one who had escaped like himself, that they were alive, though still in captivity.

Upon this intelligence, he collected such articles, as he thought would be acceptable to the Indians――beads, buttons, red belts, &c., and sent them to his old friend, Attakullakulla, and begged him to divide them among the chiefs, and to ask them that their white prisoners might be sent to him in return. The presents proved acceptable to the Indians; and, in the fulness of their joy, they said they must send something in return to their friend Captain Stewart; but for an appropriate present they were quite at a loss. Attakullakulla told them he could help them out of their difficulty, and now informed them of the request of Captain Stewart. To this, they unanimously assented, and forthwith communicated to their prisoners that they were at liberty.

The joy of the prisoners need not be told. Under the guidance of the man whom Capt. Stewart had sent with the presents, they were conducted in safety to Fort George, where they had the pleasure to meet once more their friend and benefactor, Captain Stewart, and to thank him in person for his kind remembrance of them in the land of their captivity.

From the above story it may be useful to remark, that although Indians have many bad traits of character, yet they are not destitute of good ones. This good chief, Attakullakulla, saved, by his faithfulness, the life of his friend, and was the means through him, of saving all the other prisoners. It is an excellent thing to be faithful to our friends. “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”――So Captain Stewart found it.

A Droll Mimic.

A clergyman of some distinction once had a tame baboon which became so fond of him, that wherever he went it was always desirous of accompanying him. Whenever, therefore, he had to perform the service of his church, he was under the necessity of shutting it up in his room.

Once, however, the animal escaped, and followed his master to the church; where, silently mounting the sounding-board above the pulpit, he lay perfectly still till the sermon commenced. He then crept to the edge, and overlooking the preacher, imitated his gestures in so grotesque a manner that the whole congregation were unavoidably made to laugh.

The minister, surprised and confounded at this levity, severely rebuked his audience for their conduct. The reproof failed of its intended effect; the congregation still laughed, and the preacher, in the warmth of his zeal, redoubled his vociferation and action; this last the ape imitated so exactly that the congregation could no longer restrain themselves, but burst out into one long and continued roar of laughter.

A friend of the preacher at length stepped up to him and pointed out the cause of this apparently improper conduct; and such was the arch demeanor of the animal, that it was with the utmost difficulty that the parson himself could maintain his gravity, while he ordered the servants of the church to take the creature away.

[Illustration]

Whale Stories.

CONTEST ABOUT A WHALE.

It is a custom among whalemen, that whenever a whale gets loose, even although it may have once been taken by a crew, it is considered a free prize to any one who can seize it.

Several years since, two ships, which were in search of whales, happened at the same time to approach one, which was dead, and which was lying in some broken ice, not far distant from a large field of ice.

No sooner had the respective crews discovered the whale, than each made all possible sail to reach it before the other. On each bow of the two ships was stationed a harpooner with his appropriate instrument, in readiness to discharge it the first moment they should be sufficiently near. But it so happened that the ships came in contact with each other, when within a few yards of the fish, and being under full sail, the shock was so severe, as to do considerable damage to both.

The harpooners, however, intent on their prey, both discharged their harpoons at the same instant; and both fell short of their mark. Observing this, a hardy seaman belonging to one of the ships leaped overboard, and urging his way through the water, reached the fish, and seizing one of its fins, proclaimed it a lawful prize.

But the fish being greatly swollen, and withal quite slippery, the sailor was unable to climb upon it but was obliged to remain in the water, until assistance could be sent. This was no pleasant sport, for the water was intensely cold, and the poor fellow was seen quite benumbed.

Elated with this good luck, his captain forgot to send a boat, as he should have done, to relieve him; but gave orders to moor the vessel to an adjoining piece of ice.

In the mean time, the other vessel tacked, and the master stepping into a boat pushed off and rowed towards the dead fish. On reaching it, and observing the poor fellow still holding on to the fish, but quite benumbed, he observed, “Well, my lad, you have a fine fish here.”

“Why, yes,” replied the seaman, “something of a fish, to be sure.”

“But an’t you cold here in the water?”

“That I am,” said the shivering sailor――his teeth chattering so that he could scarcely utter the words. “Will you let me come on board your boat until ours arrives?”

This was readily acceded to, and the poor fellow was assisted over the boat’s side. But no sooner was he fairly on, than the captain seized a harpoon, and darting it into the fish, raised a flag and claimed it as his lawful prize.

Though it was a hard case, by the rules of whale-fisheries this was considered altogether right. The disappointed captain, having no redress, withdrew his vessel, leaving to his competitor a valuable prize, which he had lost through a very foolish neglect.

DISTRESSING ADVENTURE OF FOURTEEN WHALEMEN.

In the year 1813, the ship Volunteer, meeting with a severe gale, near a large piece of ice, in a high latitude, the captain deemed it expedient to set an anchor in the ice, to prevent his ship from being driven out to sea.

For this purpose a boat was manned with fourteen men, who proceeded to the ice with the anchor. At the same time, the ship was brought as near as possible; but no sooner was the anchor fastened to the ice, than a wave, dashing against the vessel, pulled the anchor from its fastenings, and she went adrift.

Before the sails could be properly set, she had reached a considerable distance. In attempting to near and return, the ship fell to leeward, and was driven out to sea.

This, to the poor seamen left behind, was a terrible disaster. The air was intensely cold. They were fourteen in number――with only a small open boat, insufficient to support them in such a gale as was prevailing――without shelter――without food――and on a detached piece of ice, which was liable every hour to float out to sea.

In this distressing situation, what should they do? Some advised to remain on the ice; but this might be broken by the increasing swell. Others were anxious to attempt to join the ship, while she was yet in sight; but the force of the wind, and the violence of the sea, rendered such an attempt little short of madness.

At length, however, the majority decided on the latter course; and having embarked, they launched forth on the swelling tide. But soon it was perceived to be all in vain――the boat could not live even a quarter of an hour, and their only safety lay in again returning to the ice. But even this was found to be impracticable. Each one now viewed his situation as desperate; and every moment expected to be engulfed in the rolling waters.

At this critical juncture,――this moment of deep despair,――suddenly and almost miraculously, as it seemed to them, a ship hove in sight. She was indeed bounding over the tumultuous waves――but she was advancing directly towards them.

But would she see them, and if seen, could they be taken on board in such a storm as was sweeping over the main? Fortunately, a small flag was in the boat. This was unfurled, and, streaming as it did in the wind, attracted the notice of the people on board the ship. The humane captain and his crew, from the first moment, determined, if possible, to afford them relief. This was difficult, and even perilous. But it might be done――and it was done. A kind Providence smiled upon the attempt, and the poor seamen, to their inexpressible joy, were rescued from a watery grave.

The ship proved to be the Lively, from the same port as their own vessel; and from their townsmen and acquaintances they had the pleasure to receive every token of kindness and affection which their pitiable condition required.

The Life of Columbus.