CHAPTER I.

_The beginning.――My earliest recollections.――My home.――My parents.――A fearful scene._

Kind reader, as you and I are about to take a ramble together, I beg leave to settle one or two points at the outset. In the first place, then, I shall tell you my story in a very simple, plain way; for the circumstances of my life have qualified me to speak in no other fashion. In the next place, I shall endeavor to make my story the means of giving you some useful information. I have been a wanderer over the Far West; have seen the rivers, the mountains, the valleys, the wild animals, the tribes of Indians that are there; I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, and stood upon the shore of the broad Pacific; and I have thus picked up a good deal of information. While, therefore, I shall give you an account of my adventures, I shall endeavor to make you acquainted with some matters relating to the geography, the natural history, and the manners and customs of the great West. Thus, while I shall try to amuse you, I will try also to give you some little knowledge. I hope this arrangement will suit you; for if I give you _cake_, to which I compare tales of adventure, you should be content to take, now and then, a slice of solid _bread and butter_, to which I compare such useful matters as geography and natural history.

And now to begin. At the period of my earliest recollection, I must have been about six years old. My father was then living on the White river, about one hundred miles west of the Mississippi, and in what is now the state of Arkansas. His house, which was only a log cabin, was four or five miles from any other white man’s dwelling. There was no town or village in that quarter; excepting a few scattered settlers here and there, the country was still uninhabited, except by native wild animals, or roving tribes of Indians.

The latter were at peace with the whites for a long period, and therefore we had no fear of them. We frequently saw parties of Indian hunters, and occasionally considerable numbers came into the region where we dwelt. They often visited our cabin, but never gave us any annoyance. But the time arrived when a change took place. We heard fearful stories of Indian massacres, and more than one family, in the region where we lived, were entirely cut off.

I remember that one night my father came home and told my mother that a party of Kickapoos had been in the neighborhood and killed every member of the family which lived nearest to us. He, of course, expected they would be upon us before morning. What was now to be done? The number of the savages was over a dozen, and it seemed quite hopeless to attempt either resistance or escape. If we were to fortify the house, we might make a brief defence, and kill a few of the enemy, but we must yield at last, and fall into the hands of our exasperated foe. If we were to fly, the savages, keen as bloodhounds in following their prey, would soon track us out, and we should become their easy victims.

People who are brought up in quiet and secure towns, free from the dangers of the wilderness, and who only hear of adventures with the Indians, can hardly appreciate the feelings of those who are inured to every species of danger and trial. I remember the looks of my father and mother upon that fearful night, when they expected the savages to be upon their dwelling in a few hours, and to see themselves and their children become the victims of their bloody vengeance. They were brave people, and, though their countenances looked troubled, there was more of courage than fear in their faces.

There were four of us children: my brother Dick, about fourteen years old; my sister Jane, two years younger, and little Harry, a year younger than myself. The decision of our parents being to fortify the house and make the best defence in their power, we were all, except Harry, employed in the preparations. The latter was the only one who did not comprehend what was going on. While the rest of us were busy in bringing in the axes, hoes, spades, and other implements capable of being used for a deadly encounter, Harry was running about, seeming to enjoy the flurry and rejoice in the spirit of activity that animated the scene.

Everything that could be done was at last accomplished. The windows were strongly barred; the door was barricadoed; the wide-mouthed chimney, down which an Indian might easily have slid, was defended by large sticks crossed and jammed into the crevices of the stone work of the fire-place. Near the door sat our dog, Tiger; he was stretched upon his belly at full length on the floor, with his chin between his extended fore legs. He was not asleep, for it was evident that he understood that something fearful was in the wind. An erect forecorner of his ear showed that he was listening intently; and his eye, steadily bent toward the door, betokened the expectation of danger in that direction.

My father loaded the old gun, now our chief hope, with care; he picked the flint, examined the priming, looked at his stock of powder and ball; and now, as if everything was prepared, sat down. I remember how he looked, when he now turned round and viewed my mother and us children. I remember how she looked too. My father’s lips trembled, and his eyes seemed to grow dim, for he lifted his hand and brushed it across his brow; but in a moment he looked again at his priming, glanced at old Tiger, and fixed his eye on the door and sat still. His face now became as stern as marble. My mother sat on a bench in one corner, and we children behind her upon the floor. By her side was an axe. She was very pale, and her eye turned often, first on father and then up to Heaven. Once in a while, she looked round on us, and especially upon little Harry, with a long gaze, as if it might be her last, and then a kind of shudder came over her. I think my mother was a very beautiful woman, for never in any dream has anything so like an angel visited my fancy, as my faint remembrances of my mother in that fearful hour. Her eyes were blue, her hair light, and her whole appearance soft and gentle. Never did she seem so gentle as when she looked around on us; yet, as she gazed on the axe at her side, and stole a glance around upon the defences of our little fort, her look changed, and she had the aspect of a hero.

We sat for more than an hour in breathless silence. Every ear was stretched to catch the slightest sound, until the effort became painful. At last, Tiger lifted his head and uttered a low growl. In an instant after, he sprang to his feet, his eye glittering like fire, every muscle of his body being stretched for action. My father looked through a crevice he had left for observation. It was a clear moonlight night, and soon he saw four dusky figures gliding through the edge of the adjacent forest. He turned to mother, and said, in a firm tone, “They are coming!” She reached for the axe; I saw her fingers tremble as she grasped it. Dick, with a stout club, moved forward and stood by my father. He was a noble fellow; black-eyed, black-haired, and daring as a wild-cat. His look gave tone and courage to us all. He was stout for his years, and as he turned round to look at the group in the corner, there was something in his manner which seemed to say,――“You shall have a brave defence!”

There was silence for some time, when suddenly the most fearful yell burst upon our ears! It seemed to come from a hundred voices, and filled the forest with its terrific echoes. The scream of the panther is not so terrible as the war-cry of the savage, especially when heard at night, and by those who are exposed to his fury. Nearer and nearer came the yell, and at last we heard the enemy around our dwelling. My father, who kept his eye steady at the crevice, now slowly thrust the muzzle of his gun through the hole, and taking a deliberate aim, he fired. There was one wild yell, a heavy fall, a brisk scampering, and then a death-like silence. This continued for some time, when again the war-whoop burst from the forest, and at least a dozen savages immediately surrounded our dwelling. They encompassed it with dry leaves and branches, and set them on fire. In a few minutes the smoke began to issue into the room, and shortly the outside of our little cabin was wrapped in a sheet of flame.

Up to this time, my remembrance of the scene is very distinct; but what immediately followed, I cannot clearly recall. I have a faint recollection, or fancy, of my father, rushing out through the blaze, and struggling with a tall Indian in the flames, till they both fell exhausted and involved in the conflagration. I have a dim remembrance of my mother, bursting out through the falling timbers, carrying little Harry on her back, and leading Jane and myself through the flames. But I was suffocated with smoke and overwhelmed with the terrors of the scene. From this point my memory of that dreadful night is a blank――save one incident alone. Old Tiger and Dick went before my mother, as if they were her peculiar guard. The poor dog was dreadfully singed, for he had already had one or two deadly tussles with the Indians in the flames. The long silken hair of his ears and tail was burnt off, and the latter stuck out straight and stiff, looking actually as if it had been cooked. In that fearful hour, I remember to have thought that it had quite a ludicrous appearance.

The poor dog, however, had his senses about him, and kept with my mother and Dick, till we had proceeded a considerable distance. We were concealed from the view of the Indians by a dense cloud of smoke, that rolled between us and them. We had not gone far, however, before we were discovered, and two savages immediately pursued us. Coming up with us, they fell upon Dick, who defended himself for a time, but receiving a blow upon the head, he was laid prostrate on the earth. Tiger, half dead as he was, sprang upon his body, and stood erect for his defence. One of the savages struck him over the head, and, with a sad moan, the poor creature lay dead by the side of his master. A sickness now came over me. I tottered, and fell unconscious to the ground.――(_To be continued._)

Passage of Mountains in India.

Armies sometimes find it necessary to pass over the mountainous districts of India. In such cases their cannon, tents, and baggage are transported by means of elephants. It is always a difficult, and not unfrequently a dangerous business; the elephants being so clumsy, and withal so heavy, that a single misstep might prove fatal not only to them, but to all who accompany them. The following is an account of the manner in which the guns belonging to a regiment were conveyed, by means of elephants, over a high hill, or ghaut as it is called.

Having cut a good deal of the most prominent part of the hill away, and laid trees on the ascent as a footing for the elephants, these animals were made to approach it, which the first did with some reluctance and fear. He looked up, shook his head, and, when forced by his driver, roared piteously. There can be no question, in my opinion, that this sagacious animal was competent instinctively to judge of the practicability of the artificial flight of steps thus constructed; for the moment some little alteration had been made, he seemed willing to approach.

He then commenced his examination and scrutiny, by pressing with his trunk the trees that had been thrown across; and after this he put his fore leg upon them with great caution, raising the fore part of his body, so as to throw its weight on them. This done, he seemed satisfied as to their stability. The next step for him to ascend by was a projecting rock, which we could not remove. Here the same sagacious examination took place, the elephant keeping his side close to the side of the bank, and leaning against it. The next step was upon a tree; but this, on the first pressure of his trunk, he did not like. Here his driver made use of the most tender epithets, such as, “Wonderful, my life!”――“Well done, my dear!”――“My dove!”――“My son!”――“My wife!” But all these endearing appellations, of which elephants are so fond, would not induce him to try again. Force was at length resorted to, and the elephant roared terrifically, but would not move. Something was then removed; he seemed satisfied, as before; and thus in time ascended that stupendous ghaut. On his reaching the top, his delight was visible in a most eminent degree; he caressed his keepers, and threw the dirt about in a very playful manner.

Another elephant, a much younger animal, was now to follow. He had watched the ascent of the other with the most intense interest, making motions all the while, as though he was assisting him by shouldering him up the acclivity; such gestures as I have seen some men make, when spectators of gymnastic exercises. When he saw his comrade up, he evinced his pleasure by giving a salute something like the sound of a trumpet. When called upon to take his turn, he seemed much alarmed, and would not act at all without force. When he was two steps up, he slipped, but recovered himself by digging his toes in the earth. With the exception of this little accident, he ascended exceedingly well. When this elephant was near the top, the other, who had already performed his task, extended his trunk to the assistance of his brother in distress, round which the young animal entwined his, and thus reached the summit of the ghaut in safety.

Having both accomplished their task, their greeting was as cordial as if they had been long separated from each other, and had just escaped from some perilous achievement. They mutually embraced each other, and stood face to face for a considerable time, as if whispering congratulations. Their driver then made them salam or bow to the general, who ordered them five rupees each for sweetmeats. On this reward of their merit being ordered, they immediately returned thanks by another salam.

WHISTLING TOM;

A FORECASTLE BALLAD. MUSIC AND WORDS COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM.

[Illustration: Music]

1

Did you never hear of poor whistling Tom, A sailor who loved the sea? As brave as a lion was whistling Tom, And blithe as a lark was he!

2

A gale was a frolic to poor old Tom,―― He called it a cracking breeze,―― And gaily he whistled whenever the blast Drove the maddened ship o’er the seas.

3

His trill was soft as a nightingale’s song, Yet you heard it above the roar: Though the vessel dashed and the billow flashed, Tom only whistled the more.

4

If reefing a topsail that shivered aloft,―― While the yards dipped deep in the spray,―― Like a careless bird in his stormy swing, He whistled and worked away.

5

But the bravest must die, and poor old Tom One night made the wave his pillow―― He sleeps there yet, though he whistles oft, When the tempest lashes the billow.

6

I have heard his note in the midst of the blast―― It wailed like a spirit’s tone―― He seemed aloft on the staggering mast, And whistled――“poor Tom’s alone!”

7

As the tempest rises the strain grows wild, And shrieks in the ocean’s roar―― When the storm is past it dies away, And poor Tom is heard no more.

LITTLE LEAVES FOR LITTLE READERS.

[Illustration]

The Giraffe, or Camelopard.

Here is a picture of the tallest animal that is known. He measures almost six yards from the ground to the top of his ears. He is as tall as a small house.

The giraffe lives in the wilds of Africa; he is never tamed and put to work like the horse. His skin is fawn-colored, with black spots. He is a timid creature, and runs away as fast as he can scamper whenever a man comes near.

Sometimes the lion attacks the giraffe; his only defence in such a case is to turn round and kick the lion as hard as he can. Sometimes he succeeds in defending himself in this way, but often he falls a victim to the fierce king of beasts.

The giraffe is occasionally caught and carried to Paris and London and this country. There have been several in the United States; but they are tender creatures, and are very apt to die if taken away from their native country.

[Illustration]

The Arbor.

Here are two girls and a boy in the arbor; one of the girls is reading, and the others are listening. It is a pleasant thing to be beneath a roof of green leaves, and to be surrounded by sweet-scented flowers. It is a very pleasant thing to sit down in such a place with an agreeable book. Do you not envy the children in the picture?

And what book do you imagine they are reading? Perhaps it is one of the numbers of Parley’s Cabinet Library, which Messrs. Bradbury & Soden have just published. No doubt you have read them; but I will tell you about one of the volumes that is to be published in a few days.

It is entitled Curiosities of Human Nature, and it gives an account of a great many wonderful people. It tells about Zerah Colburn, who was a natural arithmetician. One day, his father heard him, while he was a little child playing among the chips, saying the multiplication table to himself. His father then began to examine him, and he found that he could answer almost any question in arithmetic, although he was only six years old, and could not read, and had never been taught anything.

His father took Zerah to Boston and New York, and other places, and the child astonished everybody, by his wonderful answers to arithmetical questions. He could tell how many minutes there were in two thousand years; how many steps, three feet long, it would take to go round the earth; he could find the square root and the cube root of any number. His performances were indeed amazing.

Mr. Colburn, finally, set off with his son for England; here the child was visited by thousands of people. They then went to France, and he excited such an interest there, that Bonaparte had him put into one of the colleges of Paris.

I cannot tell you the whole story of Zerah, but you will find it, and many other curious and wonderful lives, in the number of Parley’s Cabinet Library of which I speak. You will find the story of a miser, who shut himself in a vault with his money, and where, though surrounded with silver and gold, he perished miserably for the want of bread and water. You will find the story of the great Sir Isaac Newton, who, when a child, made a little mill, and put a kitten in it, whom he called the miller; you will find the story of Elijah Thayer, who went, a few months since, to see Victoria, queen of England, and tell her that she would very soon be obliged to wash her own dishes.

Among other things in Parley’s book, you will find the story of a very wonderful man named Joseph Clark. This person could twist his face about so that his most intimate friends would not know him. He could also distort his body in the most strange manner. Here is a picture of him.

[Illustration]

Clark was a pleasant, funny fellow, and he often amused himself and others with his queer tricks. One day he went to a tailor to have a coat made. When the tailor measured him he had a huge hump on his right shoulder. When he went to try on the coat, the hump was on the left shoulder. The tailor was greatly astonished――begged pardon for his blunder, and straightway undertook to alter the coat. When Clark went again to try it on, behold the villanous hump was in the middle of his back!

Fire-works at Rome.

All my little readers have heard of the great city of Rome, in Italy. It was begun about 2500 years ago, and a great many wonderful events have taken place there.

Rome is not so large and splendid as it once was, but it is still a great city. The pope, who is the head of the Catholic church, lives there, and the ceremonies of that church are very grand and imposing in Rome. I could tell you a great deal about these ceremonies, but I have not time now.

I will, however, say a word of what is called the _Carnival_. This is a time in which the Catholics have feasts, dances and frolics. Some of them dress up in strange attire, and go about, making a great deal of sport. The carnival in Rome is really a great time. Thousands of people, from all the countries round about, flock to the city, where they amuse themselves in various ways.

One of the most wonderful things that takes place, is the fire-works. Perhaps you have seen fire-works on Boston common, but those of Rome are far more splendid. St. Peter’s Church is suddenly illuminated, and the great castle of St. Angelo sends up a vast flood of rockets,――red, blue, purple and yellow. The air seems filled with golden lights; the skies appear to be showering down stars of every hue; and while all this is going on, the glad voices of thousands of people are applauding the scene.

[Illustration: _Fire-works at Rome._]

[Illustration]

Careless Nancy.

Carelessness is a sad thing. How many troubles flow from it! Look at the picture――and see what has happened!

Nancy left her best bonnet in the chair, and the dog, Flirt, has got it. Here’s a pretty kettle of fish! See how the puppy munches the straw-braid, and how he mumbles the boquets of ribbons!

Now, who is to blame for all this? Is Flirt to blame?――why, he is only a puppy――a young creature so full of fun and frolic that he hardly knows what to do with himself. But Nancy is a rational creature; she has been told to be careful; she knows that Flirt is a playful rogue, and is very likely to seize upon anything left in his way.

Oh, Nancy, Nancy! you scold Flirt, and you box his ears, and lay the ruin of your nice new bonnet to him; but, my dear child, it is you who are in fault.

[Illustration]

Charity.

Charity is a beautiful word, and means many beautiful things. Here, in the picture, is a poor old man; he is lame, and cannot hardly walk. He sits by the way-side and holds out his hat to those who are passing by; and you see that the boy is dropping a piece of money into his hat. Thus the poor old man gets a living.

This giving to the poor is called _charity_, or _alms-giving_. It is our duty to give a part of what we have to those who are poor and needy. But there are other kinds of charity, which it is our duty to practise.

We should not only give money to the poor, but we should give to all, kind thoughts, kind wishes, kind words. This is a noble species of charity, and while it tends to make others happy, it cultivates sweet peace in our own bosoms. Let all my young friends practise this species of charity.

Inquisitive Jack.