Volume One--Chapter Four.

Volume One--Chapter Four.“When I came home from the Baltic, I and others were landed at Yarmouth, and sent to the hospital. I was some time in getting well. I’ll tell you what set me on my legs again. One day as I was lying on my bed in the crowded ward, thinking if I should ever recover, and be fit for sea again, the news came that a brig of war had entered the harbour with Lord Nelson on board. Would you believe it, I was thanking Heaven that our brave admiral had come back safe, and was in a half dreamy, dozing state, when I heard a cheer, and opening my eyes there he was himself going round from bed to bed, and talking to each of the men. He knew me at once, and told me that I must make haste and get well and join his ship, as it wouldn’t be long probably before he again hoisted his flag.“‘You shall have any rating you like, remember that,’ said he, taking my hand. ‘We must have medals and prize-money for you; you have gallantly won them, all of you.’“He passed on, for he had a kind word to say to many hundred poor fellows that day. When I got well I went home for a spell; but before long I heard that Lord Nelson had hoisted his flag as commander-in-chief of the channel squadron on board the ‘Medusa’ frigate. I went on board, and the admiral instantly rated me as quartermaster. We had plenty of work before us, for General Bonaparte, who was now Emperor of France, wanted to come and invade England. He had got a flotilla of gunboats all ready to carry over his army, and he had a large fleet besides. Many people thought he would succeed. We knew that the wooden walls of old England were her best defence, and so we afloat never believed that a French soldier would ever set foot on our shores.“They had, however, a large flotilla in Boulogne harbour, and it was determined to destroy it with the boats of the squadron. I volunteered for one of our boats. The boats were in three divisions. We left the ships a little before midnight. It was very dark, and the divisions got separated. We knew that it was desperate work we were on. Ours was the only division which reached the harbour. There were batteries defending the place, and troops on the shore, and soldiers on board the flotilla, and the outer vessels were guarded with iron spikes, and had boarding nets triced up, and were lashed together. In we darted. It was desperate work, and the fire of the great guns and musketry soon showed our enemies to us, and us to them.“‘Just keep off, you brave Englishmen, you can do nothing here,’ sung out a French officer in very plain English.“‘We’ll try that!’ was our reply, as we dashed on board, in spite of iron spikes and boarding nettings. On we went; we cut out several of the vessels, and were making off with them with loads of Frenchmen on board, when, would you believe it, if the enemy didn’t open their fire on the boats, killing their own people as well as us. To my mind, those French, in war, are as bad as cannibals—that’s what Lord Nelson always said of them. If it hadn’t been for this we should have burned or captured most of them. While I was just springing on board another vessel, among the flashes from the guns, the flames and smoke, the hissing and rattling shot, I got a knock on my head which sent me back into the bottom of the boat. I knew nothing more till I found myself on board my own ship, and heard that we had lost some hundred and seventy poor fellows. I was sent to the hospital, where one of our gallant leaders, Captain Parker, died of his wounds.“The next ship I found myself on board was the ‘Victory.’ There wasn’t a finer ship in the navy, more weatherly or more handy—steered like a duck, and worked like a top. Lord Nelson himself got me appointed to her. Away we sailed for the Mediterranean. While Admiral Cornwallis watched the French fleet at Brest, we kept a look-out over that at Toulon under the command of Admiral La Touche Treville, who had commanded at Boulogne, and boasted that he had beat off Lord Nelson from that port. He could not boast, though, that he beat him off from Toulon; for, for eighteen long months, from the 1st of July, 1803, to the 11th of January, 1805, did we keep watch off that harbour’s mouth. If such a gale sprung up as would prevent the French getting out, we went away, only leaving a frigate or so to watch what took place; but we were soon to be back again. Thus the time passed on. We saw the shore, but were not the better for it; for few of us, from the admiral downwards, ever set on it. At last the French admiral, La Touche Treville, died, and a new one, Admiral Villeneuve, was appointed. We now began to hope that the French would come out and fight as; for you see Lord Nelson did not want to keep them in—only to get at them when they came out. If it hadn’t been for the batteries on shore, we should have gone in and brought them out. We had gone away to the coast of Sardinia, when news was brought that the French fleet was at sea. Instantly we got under weigh, passing at night through a passage so narrow that only one ship could pass at a time, and fully expecting the next morning to be engaged with the enemy. First we looked for them about Sicily; then after them we ran towards Egypt, and then back to Malta, where we heard that they had put into Toulon. Now, we kept stricter watch than ever, without a bulkhead up, and all ready for battle.“It was on the 4th of April, that the ‘Phoebe’ brought us news that Admiral Villeneuve, with his squadron, had again slipped out of Toulon, and was steering for the coast of Africa. Frigates were sent out in every direction, to make sure that he had not gone eastward; and then after him we stood, towards the Straits of Gibraltar, but the wind was dead against us, and we had hard work to get there. I had never seen the admiral in such a taking before. We beat backwards and forwards against the head-wind, but all to no purpose—out of the Gut we could not get without a leading-wind, and so we had to anchor off the Barbary coast; there we got supplies.“At last, on the 5th of May, an easterly breeze sprung up, and away we went, with a flowing sheet, through the Straits. We called off Cadiz, and the coast of Portugal, and then bore away for the West Indies, where we heard the French had gone. We sighted Madeira, and made Barbadoes, then sailed for Tobago; and next we were off for the Gulf of Paria, all cleared for action, making sure that we should find the enemy there. We thought it would have killed the admiral when he found that he had been deceived. Back we sailed, and heard that the French had captured the Diamond Rock. You’ve heard about it. It’s a curious place, and was commissioned like a man-of-war. If it hadn’t been for false information, and if Lord Nelson had stuck to his own intentions, we should have caught the French up off Port Royal, and thrashed them just at the spot Lord Rodney thrashed Admiral de Grasse—so I’ve heard say. Well, at last, we found that the French had left the West Indies for Europe, so back across the Atlantic we steered; but though we knew we were close astern of them, they kept ahead of us, and at last we sighted Cape Spartel, and anchored the next day at Gibraltar.“I know it for a fact, that it only wanted ten days of two years since Lord Nelson himself had last set his foot on shore. It was much longer than that since I and most on board had trod dry ground. That was serving our country, you’ll allow—most of the time, too, under weigh, battling with tempests, and broiling under the sun of the tropics.“We victualled and watered at Tetuan, then once more stood to the west’ard—then back to Cadiz, and once more crossed the Bay of Biscay, thinking the enemy were bound for Ireland. Foul winds made the passage long. Once more the enemy had baffled us, and at last, when off Ushant, we received orders to return to Portsmouth to refit.“That very fleet Sir Robert Calder fell in with on the 22nd of July, just thirty leagues westward of Cape Finisterre, and, although his force was much smaller, he captured two of their line-of-battle ships. It was a very gallant affair; but people asked, ‘What would Nelson have done?’ While the admiral was on shore we were busily employed in refitting the ‘Victory,’ while a number of other ships he had wished to have with him were got ready for sea. On the 14th of September he once more came aboard the ‘Victory,’ and hoisted his flag. The next day, we sailed for Cadiz. We arrived off that place on the 29th, where we found the squadron of Admiral Collingwood blockading the French and Spanish fleets under Admiral Villeneuve.“What Lord Nelson wanted, you see, was to get the enemy out to fight him. He wanted also, not only to win a victory, but to knock the enemy’s ships to pieces, so that they could do no more harm. To get them out we had to cut off their supplies; so we had to capture all the neutral vessels which were carrying them in. You must understand we in the ‘Victory’ with the fleet did not go close into Cadiz, but kept some fifty or sixty miles off so that the enemy might not know our strength. We had some time to wait, however. Lord Nelson had already given the French and Spaniards such a taste of his way of going to work, that they were in no hurry to try it again. You’ll understand that there was a line of frigates, extending, like signal-posts, all the way from the fleet to the frigate cruising just off the mouth of the harbour—that is to say, near enough to watch what was going on there.“Early in the morning on the 19th of October, the ‘Mars,’ the ship nearest the chain of frigates, repeated the signal that the enemy were leaving port, and, at two p.m., that they were steering S.E. On this Lord Nelson gave orders for the fleet to chase in that direction, but to keep out of sight of the enemy, fearful of frightening them back into port. Still, you’ll understand, the frigates kept in sight of them, and gave notice to the admiral of all their movements. The enemy had thirty-three sail of the line, and seven frigates, with above 4000 riflemen on board. Our fleet numbered only twenty-seven sail of the line, and four frigates. We were formed in two lines. Admiral Collingwood, in the ‘Royal Sovereign,’ led fourteen ships, and Lord Nelson, in the ‘Victory,’ eleven.“On the morning of the 21st of October, 1805—you’ll not forget that day, it was a glorious one for England, let me tell you—we sighted the French and Spanish fleet from the deck of the ‘Victory’ off Cape Trafalgar. They were formed in a double line in a curve, one ship in the further line filling up the space left between the ships of the nearest line. They also were trying to keep the port of Cadiz under their lee, that they might escape to it. Lord Nelson determined to break the line in two places. We led the northern line with a light wind from the south-west. Admiral Collingwood led the southern, and got into action first, just astern of the ‘Santa Anna.’ We steered so as to pass between the ‘Bucentaur’ and the ‘Santissima Trinidade.’“‘Well, there are a lot of the enemy,’ exclaimed Tom Collins to me, as I was standing near the gun he served.“‘Yes, mate,’ said I; ‘and a pretty spectacle they will make at Spithead when we carry them there.’“‘Ay, that they will,’ cried all who heard me, and I believe every man in the fleet felt as we did.“We were watching all this time the magnificent way in which the brave and good Admiral Collingwood stood into action and opened his fire. That was about noon. There was a general cheer on board our ship and all the ships of the fleet. At our masthead flew a signal. We soon knew what it meant. It was—‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ For nearly half an hour the noble Collingwood was alone among the ships of the enemy before any of his followers could come up. We, at the same time, had got within long range of the enemy. On we floated slowly, for the wind was very light, till at last our mainyard-arm was touching the gaff of the ‘Bucentaur,’ which ship bore the flag of Admiral Villeneuve; and though our guns were raking her and tearing her stern to pieces, we had ahead of us in the second line the ‘Neptune,’ which poured a heavy fire into our bows. Our helm was then put up, and we fell aboard the ‘Redoubtable,’ while the ‘Téméraire,’ Captain Blackwood, ranged up on the other side of her, and another French ship got alongside the ‘Téméraire.’ There we were all four locked together, pounding away at each other, while with our larboard guns we were engaging the ‘Bucentaur,’ and now and then getting a shot at the big Spaniard, the ‘Santissima Trinidade.’ Meantime our other ships had each picked out one or more of the enemy, and were hotly engaged with them. At the tops of all the enemy’s ships marksmen were stationed. The skylight of the admiral’s cabin had been boarded over. Here Lord Nelson and Captain Hardy were walking. More than one man had fallen near them. Mr Scott, the admiral’s secretary, had been struck down after we had been in action little more than an hour. Suddenly as I turned my head I saw a sight which I would rather have died than have seen. Lord Nelson was just falling. He went on his knees, then rested on his arm for a moment, and it, too, giving way, he rolled over on his left side, before even Captain Hardy could run to save him. Captain Hardy had to remain on deck. I, with a sergeant of marines and another seaman, carried him below, covering his face with a handkerchief. We placed him in one of the midshipmen’s berths. Then the surgeons came to him. We feared the worst, but it was not generally known what had happened. I can tell you I was glad enough to get on deck again. It was bad enough there to see poor fellows struck down alongside me, but the sights and sounds in the cockpit were enough to overcome the stoutest heart—to see fine strong fellows mangled and torn, struggling in their agony—to watch limb after limb cut off—to hear their groans and shrieks, and often worse, the oaths and imprecations of the poor fellows maddened by the terrible pain; and there lay our beloved chief mortally wounded in the spine, parched with thirst and heat, crying out for air and drink to cool the fever raging within. For two hours and a half there he lay suffering dreadful pain, yet eagerly inquiring how the battle was going. Twice Captain Hardy went below to see him; the first time to tell him that twelve of the enemy had struck; the last time that still more had given in, and that a few were in full flight, after whom our guns were still sending their shot. Thus Lord Nelson died at the moment the ever-to-be-remembered battle of Trafalgar was won.“It was a sad voyage we had home, and great was the sorrow felt by all, from the highest to the lowest in the land, for the death of our beloved leader. I will not describe his funeral. It was very grand, that I know. Many of the old ‘Victory’s’ attended his coffin to his grave in Saint Paul’s Cathedral. When they were lowering his flag into the tomb—that flag which had truly so long and so gloriously waved in the battle and the breeze—we seized on it and tearing it in pieces, vowed to keep it as long as we lived, in remembrance of our noble chief. Here is my bit—see, I keep it safe in this case near my heart.”England’s greatest military chief now lies by the side of one who had no equal on the ocean, in the heart of her metropolis. Within the walls of her finest cathedral, what more appropriate mausoleum could be found for Britain’s two most valiant defenders, Heaven-sent surely in the time of her greatest need to defend her from the hosts of her vaunting foes.

“When I came home from the Baltic, I and others were landed at Yarmouth, and sent to the hospital. I was some time in getting well. I’ll tell you what set me on my legs again. One day as I was lying on my bed in the crowded ward, thinking if I should ever recover, and be fit for sea again, the news came that a brig of war had entered the harbour with Lord Nelson on board. Would you believe it, I was thanking Heaven that our brave admiral had come back safe, and was in a half dreamy, dozing state, when I heard a cheer, and opening my eyes there he was himself going round from bed to bed, and talking to each of the men. He knew me at once, and told me that I must make haste and get well and join his ship, as it wouldn’t be long probably before he again hoisted his flag.

“‘You shall have any rating you like, remember that,’ said he, taking my hand. ‘We must have medals and prize-money for you; you have gallantly won them, all of you.’

“He passed on, for he had a kind word to say to many hundred poor fellows that day. When I got well I went home for a spell; but before long I heard that Lord Nelson had hoisted his flag as commander-in-chief of the channel squadron on board the ‘Medusa’ frigate. I went on board, and the admiral instantly rated me as quartermaster. We had plenty of work before us, for General Bonaparte, who was now Emperor of France, wanted to come and invade England. He had got a flotilla of gunboats all ready to carry over his army, and he had a large fleet besides. Many people thought he would succeed. We knew that the wooden walls of old England were her best defence, and so we afloat never believed that a French soldier would ever set foot on our shores.

“They had, however, a large flotilla in Boulogne harbour, and it was determined to destroy it with the boats of the squadron. I volunteered for one of our boats. The boats were in three divisions. We left the ships a little before midnight. It was very dark, and the divisions got separated. We knew that it was desperate work we were on. Ours was the only division which reached the harbour. There were batteries defending the place, and troops on the shore, and soldiers on board the flotilla, and the outer vessels were guarded with iron spikes, and had boarding nets triced up, and were lashed together. In we darted. It was desperate work, and the fire of the great guns and musketry soon showed our enemies to us, and us to them.

“‘Just keep off, you brave Englishmen, you can do nothing here,’ sung out a French officer in very plain English.

“‘We’ll try that!’ was our reply, as we dashed on board, in spite of iron spikes and boarding nettings. On we went; we cut out several of the vessels, and were making off with them with loads of Frenchmen on board, when, would you believe it, if the enemy didn’t open their fire on the boats, killing their own people as well as us. To my mind, those French, in war, are as bad as cannibals—that’s what Lord Nelson always said of them. If it hadn’t been for this we should have burned or captured most of them. While I was just springing on board another vessel, among the flashes from the guns, the flames and smoke, the hissing and rattling shot, I got a knock on my head which sent me back into the bottom of the boat. I knew nothing more till I found myself on board my own ship, and heard that we had lost some hundred and seventy poor fellows. I was sent to the hospital, where one of our gallant leaders, Captain Parker, died of his wounds.

“The next ship I found myself on board was the ‘Victory.’ There wasn’t a finer ship in the navy, more weatherly or more handy—steered like a duck, and worked like a top. Lord Nelson himself got me appointed to her. Away we sailed for the Mediterranean. While Admiral Cornwallis watched the French fleet at Brest, we kept a look-out over that at Toulon under the command of Admiral La Touche Treville, who had commanded at Boulogne, and boasted that he had beat off Lord Nelson from that port. He could not boast, though, that he beat him off from Toulon; for, for eighteen long months, from the 1st of July, 1803, to the 11th of January, 1805, did we keep watch off that harbour’s mouth. If such a gale sprung up as would prevent the French getting out, we went away, only leaving a frigate or so to watch what took place; but we were soon to be back again. Thus the time passed on. We saw the shore, but were not the better for it; for few of us, from the admiral downwards, ever set on it. At last the French admiral, La Touche Treville, died, and a new one, Admiral Villeneuve, was appointed. We now began to hope that the French would come out and fight as; for you see Lord Nelson did not want to keep them in—only to get at them when they came out. If it hadn’t been for the batteries on shore, we should have gone in and brought them out. We had gone away to the coast of Sardinia, when news was brought that the French fleet was at sea. Instantly we got under weigh, passing at night through a passage so narrow that only one ship could pass at a time, and fully expecting the next morning to be engaged with the enemy. First we looked for them about Sicily; then after them we ran towards Egypt, and then back to Malta, where we heard that they had put into Toulon. Now, we kept stricter watch than ever, without a bulkhead up, and all ready for battle.

“It was on the 4th of April, that the ‘Phoebe’ brought us news that Admiral Villeneuve, with his squadron, had again slipped out of Toulon, and was steering for the coast of Africa. Frigates were sent out in every direction, to make sure that he had not gone eastward; and then after him we stood, towards the Straits of Gibraltar, but the wind was dead against us, and we had hard work to get there. I had never seen the admiral in such a taking before. We beat backwards and forwards against the head-wind, but all to no purpose—out of the Gut we could not get without a leading-wind, and so we had to anchor off the Barbary coast; there we got supplies.

“At last, on the 5th of May, an easterly breeze sprung up, and away we went, with a flowing sheet, through the Straits. We called off Cadiz, and the coast of Portugal, and then bore away for the West Indies, where we heard the French had gone. We sighted Madeira, and made Barbadoes, then sailed for Tobago; and next we were off for the Gulf of Paria, all cleared for action, making sure that we should find the enemy there. We thought it would have killed the admiral when he found that he had been deceived. Back we sailed, and heard that the French had captured the Diamond Rock. You’ve heard about it. It’s a curious place, and was commissioned like a man-of-war. If it hadn’t been for false information, and if Lord Nelson had stuck to his own intentions, we should have caught the French up off Port Royal, and thrashed them just at the spot Lord Rodney thrashed Admiral de Grasse—so I’ve heard say. Well, at last, we found that the French had left the West Indies for Europe, so back across the Atlantic we steered; but though we knew we were close astern of them, they kept ahead of us, and at last we sighted Cape Spartel, and anchored the next day at Gibraltar.

“I know it for a fact, that it only wanted ten days of two years since Lord Nelson himself had last set his foot on shore. It was much longer than that since I and most on board had trod dry ground. That was serving our country, you’ll allow—most of the time, too, under weigh, battling with tempests, and broiling under the sun of the tropics.

“We victualled and watered at Tetuan, then once more stood to the west’ard—then back to Cadiz, and once more crossed the Bay of Biscay, thinking the enemy were bound for Ireland. Foul winds made the passage long. Once more the enemy had baffled us, and at last, when off Ushant, we received orders to return to Portsmouth to refit.

“That very fleet Sir Robert Calder fell in with on the 22nd of July, just thirty leagues westward of Cape Finisterre, and, although his force was much smaller, he captured two of their line-of-battle ships. It was a very gallant affair; but people asked, ‘What would Nelson have done?’ While the admiral was on shore we were busily employed in refitting the ‘Victory,’ while a number of other ships he had wished to have with him were got ready for sea. On the 14th of September he once more came aboard the ‘Victory,’ and hoisted his flag. The next day, we sailed for Cadiz. We arrived off that place on the 29th, where we found the squadron of Admiral Collingwood blockading the French and Spanish fleets under Admiral Villeneuve.

“What Lord Nelson wanted, you see, was to get the enemy out to fight him. He wanted also, not only to win a victory, but to knock the enemy’s ships to pieces, so that they could do no more harm. To get them out we had to cut off their supplies; so we had to capture all the neutral vessels which were carrying them in. You must understand we in the ‘Victory’ with the fleet did not go close into Cadiz, but kept some fifty or sixty miles off so that the enemy might not know our strength. We had some time to wait, however. Lord Nelson had already given the French and Spaniards such a taste of his way of going to work, that they were in no hurry to try it again. You’ll understand that there was a line of frigates, extending, like signal-posts, all the way from the fleet to the frigate cruising just off the mouth of the harbour—that is to say, near enough to watch what was going on there.

“Early in the morning on the 19th of October, the ‘Mars,’ the ship nearest the chain of frigates, repeated the signal that the enemy were leaving port, and, at two p.m., that they were steering S.E. On this Lord Nelson gave orders for the fleet to chase in that direction, but to keep out of sight of the enemy, fearful of frightening them back into port. Still, you’ll understand, the frigates kept in sight of them, and gave notice to the admiral of all their movements. The enemy had thirty-three sail of the line, and seven frigates, with above 4000 riflemen on board. Our fleet numbered only twenty-seven sail of the line, and four frigates. We were formed in two lines. Admiral Collingwood, in the ‘Royal Sovereign,’ led fourteen ships, and Lord Nelson, in the ‘Victory,’ eleven.

“On the morning of the 21st of October, 1805—you’ll not forget that day, it was a glorious one for England, let me tell you—we sighted the French and Spanish fleet from the deck of the ‘Victory’ off Cape Trafalgar. They were formed in a double line in a curve, one ship in the further line filling up the space left between the ships of the nearest line. They also were trying to keep the port of Cadiz under their lee, that they might escape to it. Lord Nelson determined to break the line in two places. We led the northern line with a light wind from the south-west. Admiral Collingwood led the southern, and got into action first, just astern of the ‘Santa Anna.’ We steered so as to pass between the ‘Bucentaur’ and the ‘Santissima Trinidade.’

“‘Well, there are a lot of the enemy,’ exclaimed Tom Collins to me, as I was standing near the gun he served.

“‘Yes, mate,’ said I; ‘and a pretty spectacle they will make at Spithead when we carry them there.’

“‘Ay, that they will,’ cried all who heard me, and I believe every man in the fleet felt as we did.

“We were watching all this time the magnificent way in which the brave and good Admiral Collingwood stood into action and opened his fire. That was about noon. There was a general cheer on board our ship and all the ships of the fleet. At our masthead flew a signal. We soon knew what it meant. It was—‘England expects that every man will do his duty.’ For nearly half an hour the noble Collingwood was alone among the ships of the enemy before any of his followers could come up. We, at the same time, had got within long range of the enemy. On we floated slowly, for the wind was very light, till at last our mainyard-arm was touching the gaff of the ‘Bucentaur,’ which ship bore the flag of Admiral Villeneuve; and though our guns were raking her and tearing her stern to pieces, we had ahead of us in the second line the ‘Neptune,’ which poured a heavy fire into our bows. Our helm was then put up, and we fell aboard the ‘Redoubtable,’ while the ‘Téméraire,’ Captain Blackwood, ranged up on the other side of her, and another French ship got alongside the ‘Téméraire.’ There we were all four locked together, pounding away at each other, while with our larboard guns we were engaging the ‘Bucentaur,’ and now and then getting a shot at the big Spaniard, the ‘Santissima Trinidade.’ Meantime our other ships had each picked out one or more of the enemy, and were hotly engaged with them. At the tops of all the enemy’s ships marksmen were stationed. The skylight of the admiral’s cabin had been boarded over. Here Lord Nelson and Captain Hardy were walking. More than one man had fallen near them. Mr Scott, the admiral’s secretary, had been struck down after we had been in action little more than an hour. Suddenly as I turned my head I saw a sight which I would rather have died than have seen. Lord Nelson was just falling. He went on his knees, then rested on his arm for a moment, and it, too, giving way, he rolled over on his left side, before even Captain Hardy could run to save him. Captain Hardy had to remain on deck. I, with a sergeant of marines and another seaman, carried him below, covering his face with a handkerchief. We placed him in one of the midshipmen’s berths. Then the surgeons came to him. We feared the worst, but it was not generally known what had happened. I can tell you I was glad enough to get on deck again. It was bad enough there to see poor fellows struck down alongside me, but the sights and sounds in the cockpit were enough to overcome the stoutest heart—to see fine strong fellows mangled and torn, struggling in their agony—to watch limb after limb cut off—to hear their groans and shrieks, and often worse, the oaths and imprecations of the poor fellows maddened by the terrible pain; and there lay our beloved chief mortally wounded in the spine, parched with thirst and heat, crying out for air and drink to cool the fever raging within. For two hours and a half there he lay suffering dreadful pain, yet eagerly inquiring how the battle was going. Twice Captain Hardy went below to see him; the first time to tell him that twelve of the enemy had struck; the last time that still more had given in, and that a few were in full flight, after whom our guns were still sending their shot. Thus Lord Nelson died at the moment the ever-to-be-remembered battle of Trafalgar was won.

“It was a sad voyage we had home, and great was the sorrow felt by all, from the highest to the lowest in the land, for the death of our beloved leader. I will not describe his funeral. It was very grand, that I know. Many of the old ‘Victory’s’ attended his coffin to his grave in Saint Paul’s Cathedral. When they were lowering his flag into the tomb—that flag which had truly so long and so gloriously waved in the battle and the breeze—we seized on it and tearing it in pieces, vowed to keep it as long as we lived, in remembrance of our noble chief. Here is my bit—see, I keep it safe in this case near my heart.”

England’s greatest military chief now lies by the side of one who had no equal on the ocean, in the heart of her metropolis. Within the walls of her finest cathedral, what more appropriate mausoleum could be found for Britain’s two most valiant defenders, Heaven-sent surely in the time of her greatest need to defend her from the hosts of her vaunting foes.

Volume Two--Chapter One.The Grateful Indian.We cannot boast of many fine evenings in old England—dear old England for all that!—and when they do come they are truly lovely and worthy of being prized the more. It was on one of the finest of a fine summer that Mr Frampton, the owner of a beautiful estate in Devonshire, was seated on a rustic bench in his garden, his son Harry, who stood at his knee, looking up inquiringly into his face.“Father,” said Harry, “I have often heard you speak about the North American Indians—the Red men of the deserts. Do tell me how it is that you know so much about them—have you ever been in their country?”“Yes, my boy; I passed several of the earlier years of my life in that part of North America which may truly be said to belong as yet to the red men, though as there are but some fifty thousand scattered over the whole central portion of it, it must be acknowledged that they do not make the best possible use of the territory they inhabit. A glance at the map of North America will show you where the Red River is, with its settlement founded by Lord Selkirk. I was very young when I went there with my father, my elder brother Malcolm, and John Dawes, a faithful servant who had been brought up in the family from childhood. John was a great sportsman, a most kind-hearted fellow, and could turn his hand to anything. We went through Canada to Lake Superior, and from thence it took us, by a chain of lakes and rivers, about twenty-five days to reach the banks of the Red River, I need not describe how we selected our ground, built a cottage, ploughed a field, and stocked our farm; we will suppose all these preliminaries over and our party permanently settled in our new home. I must tell you before I proceed a little about the Indians of this region.”

We cannot boast of many fine evenings in old England—dear old England for all that!—and when they do come they are truly lovely and worthy of being prized the more. It was on one of the finest of a fine summer that Mr Frampton, the owner of a beautiful estate in Devonshire, was seated on a rustic bench in his garden, his son Harry, who stood at his knee, looking up inquiringly into his face.

“Father,” said Harry, “I have often heard you speak about the North American Indians—the Red men of the deserts. Do tell me how it is that you know so much about them—have you ever been in their country?”

“Yes, my boy; I passed several of the earlier years of my life in that part of North America which may truly be said to belong as yet to the red men, though as there are but some fifty thousand scattered over the whole central portion of it, it must be acknowledged that they do not make the best possible use of the territory they inhabit. A glance at the map of North America will show you where the Red River is, with its settlement founded by Lord Selkirk. I was very young when I went there with my father, my elder brother Malcolm, and John Dawes, a faithful servant who had been brought up in the family from childhood. John was a great sportsman, a most kind-hearted fellow, and could turn his hand to anything. We went through Canada to Lake Superior, and from thence it took us, by a chain of lakes and rivers, about twenty-five days to reach the banks of the Red River, I need not describe how we selected our ground, built a cottage, ploughed a field, and stocked our farm; we will suppose all these preliminaries over and our party permanently settled in our new home. I must tell you before I proceed a little about the Indians of this region.”

Volume Two--Chapter Two.There are different tribes. Some are called Crees, others Ojibways or Salteux, and these are constantly at war with the Sioux to the south, chiefly found across the United States boundary. There are also found on the prairies Assiniboines, Blackfeet, Bloodies, and others with scarcely more attractive names. All these people were at that time sunk in the most abject state of heathenism, and were constantly at war with each other. They were clothed chiefly in skins made into leather, ornamented with feathers and stained grass and beads. The tents of the prairie Indians were of skins, and those of the Indians who inhabit the woods of birch bark. Many had rifles, but others were armed only with bows and spears, and the dreadful scalping-knife. Of these people the Sioux bore the worst character, and were the great enemies of the half-bred population of the settlements. These halfbreds, as they are called, are descended from white fathers and Indian mothers. There are some thousands of them in the settlements, and they live chiefly by hunting and fishing, and retain many Indian customs and habits of life. Such was the strangely mixed community among whom we found ourselves.The autumn was coming on, and the days were shortening, but the weather was very fine—sharp frosts at night, though warm enough, yet bracing, with a bright sky and pure atmosphere during the day. Sometimes a light silvery mist or haze hung over the landscape. Such is the Indian summer, the most delightful period of the year in North America.The day’s work was over, and while my brother and I were preparing the table, and Sam Dawes was cooking the supper, we were startled by a loud and peculiar shout, or rather shriek. Our father, who had been sitting reading, started up, and taking his rifle from the wall, turned to the door. Sam, quitting his frying-pan, also took down his rifle and followed with us. In the distance was an Indian decked with war paint and feathers bounding over the ground towards us, while further off were five or six more, as if in hot pursuit of the first.“That first fellow is an Ojibway by his adornments, and a young man by the way he runs,” observed Sam. “He’s seeking protection here, that’s poz.”“And he shall enjoy it, though we should have to fight for him,” observed my father warmly. “We must teach the Red men that we always protect those in distress.”The fugitive came on at great speed. He was flying for his life. His pursuers, however, were gaining on him. They had fire-arms in their hands, but did not use them.“They have exhausted their powder,” observed my father. “That is fortunate.”The young Indian was within fifty yards of us. We could see the gleam of the scalping knives which his foes had drawn, thirsting for his blood. He bounded on up to the door of the hut and fell exhausted within. Then for the first time his pursuers perceived that we stood armed at the entrance. Guessing truly that we possessed plenty of ammunition, and two or more of their number might fall if they attempted to advance, they paused, casting glances of disappointed vengeance to wards their victim, who lay unconscious behind us. Our father told Malcolm and me to take him in and to try and revive him. We did so, and when we had moistened his lips with water he quickly revived. Springing up he seized Malcolm’s gun and hurried to the door. The other Indians had not moved. On seeing him, however, they instantly darted behind some trunks of trees for shelter, and then we saw them darting away till they got beyond range of our fire-arms. The young Indian would have followed, but my father restrained him, and gave him to understand that though he had saved his life he had no intention of allowing him to take the lives of others. Darkness was coming on, and we soon lost sight of the band. Having closed our door with more than usual care, we placed food before our guest, of which he eagerly partook, and then told us that his name was Sigenok; that he with others of his tribe had been out hunting, and had been surprised by a war party of Sioux, who had taken the scalps of all the rest. He had wandered away unarmed from the camp when he saw all his companions killed. To revenge them, which the Indian thought was his first duty, was then impossible, so he took to flight, hoping to retaliate on another occasion. His wary foes, however, discovered his trail and followed. He had caught sight of them when they were not aware of it, and redoubled his speed, making for the settlements. He gave us to understand that he could not have continued his flight many more hours, and that he was very grateful to us for preserving his life. We had brought a dog from England, and we had lately got another, both very sagacious animals, and so we stationed them outside the hut at a little distance to give us due notice should the Sioux return.Sigenok, as soon as he had satisfied his hunger, praying his confidence in us, laid himself down in a corner of the room and was immediately fast asleep. He spent two days with us to recover his strength, which had been greatly tried, and then set off to carry to his tribe the sad tidings of the loss of their friends. For an Indian he was a good-looking young man, and decked with his war paint and feathers he had a picturesquely savage appearance.

There are different tribes. Some are called Crees, others Ojibways or Salteux, and these are constantly at war with the Sioux to the south, chiefly found across the United States boundary. There are also found on the prairies Assiniboines, Blackfeet, Bloodies, and others with scarcely more attractive names. All these people were at that time sunk in the most abject state of heathenism, and were constantly at war with each other. They were clothed chiefly in skins made into leather, ornamented with feathers and stained grass and beads. The tents of the prairie Indians were of skins, and those of the Indians who inhabit the woods of birch bark. Many had rifles, but others were armed only with bows and spears, and the dreadful scalping-knife. Of these people the Sioux bore the worst character, and were the great enemies of the half-bred population of the settlements. These halfbreds, as they are called, are descended from white fathers and Indian mothers. There are some thousands of them in the settlements, and they live chiefly by hunting and fishing, and retain many Indian customs and habits of life. Such was the strangely mixed community among whom we found ourselves.

The autumn was coming on, and the days were shortening, but the weather was very fine—sharp frosts at night, though warm enough, yet bracing, with a bright sky and pure atmosphere during the day. Sometimes a light silvery mist or haze hung over the landscape. Such is the Indian summer, the most delightful period of the year in North America.

The day’s work was over, and while my brother and I were preparing the table, and Sam Dawes was cooking the supper, we were startled by a loud and peculiar shout, or rather shriek. Our father, who had been sitting reading, started up, and taking his rifle from the wall, turned to the door. Sam, quitting his frying-pan, also took down his rifle and followed with us. In the distance was an Indian decked with war paint and feathers bounding over the ground towards us, while further off were five or six more, as if in hot pursuit of the first.

“That first fellow is an Ojibway by his adornments, and a young man by the way he runs,” observed Sam. “He’s seeking protection here, that’s poz.”

“And he shall enjoy it, though we should have to fight for him,” observed my father warmly. “We must teach the Red men that we always protect those in distress.”

The fugitive came on at great speed. He was flying for his life. His pursuers, however, were gaining on him. They had fire-arms in their hands, but did not use them.

“They have exhausted their powder,” observed my father. “That is fortunate.”

The young Indian was within fifty yards of us. We could see the gleam of the scalping knives which his foes had drawn, thirsting for his blood. He bounded on up to the door of the hut and fell exhausted within. Then for the first time his pursuers perceived that we stood armed at the entrance. Guessing truly that we possessed plenty of ammunition, and two or more of their number might fall if they attempted to advance, they paused, casting glances of disappointed vengeance to wards their victim, who lay unconscious behind us. Our father told Malcolm and me to take him in and to try and revive him. We did so, and when we had moistened his lips with water he quickly revived. Springing up he seized Malcolm’s gun and hurried to the door. The other Indians had not moved. On seeing him, however, they instantly darted behind some trunks of trees for shelter, and then we saw them darting away till they got beyond range of our fire-arms. The young Indian would have followed, but my father restrained him, and gave him to understand that though he had saved his life he had no intention of allowing him to take the lives of others. Darkness was coming on, and we soon lost sight of the band. Having closed our door with more than usual care, we placed food before our guest, of which he eagerly partook, and then told us that his name was Sigenok; that he with others of his tribe had been out hunting, and had been surprised by a war party of Sioux, who had taken the scalps of all the rest. He had wandered away unarmed from the camp when he saw all his companions killed. To revenge them, which the Indian thought was his first duty, was then impossible, so he took to flight, hoping to retaliate on another occasion. His wary foes, however, discovered his trail and followed. He had caught sight of them when they were not aware of it, and redoubled his speed, making for the settlements. He gave us to understand that he could not have continued his flight many more hours, and that he was very grateful to us for preserving his life. We had brought a dog from England, and we had lately got another, both very sagacious animals, and so we stationed them outside the hut at a little distance to give us due notice should the Sioux return.

Sigenok, as soon as he had satisfied his hunger, praying his confidence in us, laid himself down in a corner of the room and was immediately fast asleep. He spent two days with us to recover his strength, which had been greatly tried, and then set off to carry to his tribe the sad tidings of the loss of their friends. For an Indian he was a good-looking young man, and decked with his war paint and feathers he had a picturesquely savage appearance.

Volume Two--Chapter Three.The winter came—we did not feel the cold so much as we expected—it passed on and spring approached. We were looking forward to the pleasures of summer and to a buffalo hunt which we had promised ourselves, when, after finding the heat unusually great at night, on rising in the morning, loud cracks in the ice were heard, and we discovered that a thaw had commenced. We were surprised at the rapidity with which the snow melted, and the low shrubs and the green grass appeared, and long dormant Nature seemed to be waking up to life. “How jolly,” exclaimed Malcolm; “we shall soon be able to paddle about in our canoe; we may as well have a look at her to see that she is in order.”We had a supply of gum with which to cover up the seams as the Indians do, and our canoe was soon fit for launching.“We must look to the plough and our spades,” remarked our father; “we shall speedily be able to get in our seeds.”Perhaps Sam Dawes thought more of his fishing lines and nets and guns.The next day an Indian coming up from the lake told us that there was an extraordinary accumulation of ice at the mouth of the river, which had begun to swell, with an impetuous torrent, carrying vast masses along with it. Speedily it rose higher and higher, the waters came up the bank and then filled the narrow gully which usually discharged water into it after rain, but now carried its waters backward into the plain.“It will soon subside,” observed our father. “That current will soon carry away the barriers at the month.” So we all went as usual to bed.The next morning when we looked out we were on an island. The water covered our field and the greater part of the garden round the house. Between us and the house of the nearest settler to the south was one sheet of water, while to the north not an habitation was visible. We made out at the distance of a mile our neighbour and his family crossing in a large boat to the hills on the east. “We may possibly have to follow his example,” observed our father; “but I hope that the waters may decrease before that becomes necessary.”The sheep and cows were now collecting of their own accord in the garden, and we had to drive up the pigs, whose stye was threatened with submersion. The scene was truly one of desolation as we looked beyond our own homestead; trunks of trees and palings, and now and then a haystack, and barns, and parts of houses, and occasionally whole dwellings came floating by, showing what ravages the flood must have committed above us. Malcolm and I agreed that it was fortunate we had repaired our canoe. As the waters extended, the current in the river was less strong. Our father observed this. “My sons,” he said, “freight your canoe with the tent and some provisions, and take this case of books, and go off to the hills. Should the waters increase return for Sam and me; we must remain to look after the cattle. Mounted on our horses we shall be able to drive them to yonder rising ground on the south-west.”He pointed to a slight elevation, between which and us he considered that the water was not more than one foot and a-half deep. Accustomed to obey without question, Malcolm and I, having loaded our canoe with as many valuables as she could possibly carry, prepared to cross to the eastern hills, hoping that our father and Sam would start at once with the cattle towards the more remote but seemingly more accessible ground to the west. Just as we were shoving off he remarked—“The water has not risen lately; we may still avoid a remove. Heaven prosper you, my dear boys.”We hoped that his words would prove true—the sky was bright, the water smooth, and it was difficult to believe that there was any danger. Malcolm and I were expert with the use of the paddle, but in crossing the river we were swept down some way, and narrowly escaped staving in the canoe against stumps of trees or palings and remnants of buildings. We persevered, however, and at length reached the eastern hills, or the mountains as they were called. Here we found our neighbour and several other families encamped. He told us that he had driven his cattle off on the first day, and wished that we had done the same. The waters did not appear to be rising, though we looked with anxiety towards our home; but it was too small a speck to be visible among the wide expanse of waters at the distance we were from it. We had put up our tent and were intending to occupy it, when we recollected that there were several of the other settlers’ wives and daughters without so good a covering, so we went and begged them to occupy it, while we slept under our canoe.The night was bright and starlight, but we could not sleep much for thinking of our father and Sam Dawes. We resolved as early as we could see in the morning to go back to them. We were awoke early in the morning by a peculiar murmuring and hollow sound. As soon as it was daylight we looked out over the flooded country.We asked others if they had heard the noise. They replied that they had, and that it was caused by the water rushing over the land. “Then the flood must have increased,” exclaimed Malcolm and I with anxiety.“No doubt about it, boys,” was the unsatisfactory reply.We were for starting off immediately, but one of the farmer’s wives, to whom we had given up our tent, insisted on preparing some breakfast for us, and in putting a supply of food into our canoe.“It is a long voyage, my boys, and you do not know what you may require before you return,” she observed.We paddled on very anxiously. We had only the line of eastern hills we were leaving and some high land to the south to guide us, but we thought that we could not help hitting upon the spot where our abode stood. For a long way we paddled on easily enough, only taking care not to run against stumps of trees, and as we got nearer the settlement, stakes or ruined buildings were our chief danger. Too many evidences met us on either side that the water had increased considerably since the previous day. In vain our eyes ranged around, in no direction was our cottage visible. We must have mistaken the locality. The current was here very strong, we thought that we might have drifted down further than we had calculated on doing. We went further west, and then steered south, where the current was less strong. After going some way, Malcolm stopped paddling suddenly, and exclaimed—“Look, Harry! look there! Do you know that tree?”“Its head is very like one that grows close to the house,” I answered.We had both mechanically turned the head of the canoe in the direction in which he pointed. We had been engaged in fastening a flag-staff to the tree near our house. A minute would decide whether this was it. Our hearts sank within us, our paddles almost dropped from our hands, when we perceived among the bare branches the rope and the pole which we had been about to erect. Where was our cottage? where our kind father and the faithful Sam? Not a vestige of the cottage remained, it had too evidently been carried away by the flood.“Had they been able to escape with the cattle?” was the question we asked each other. We hoped they might; but still it was too possible that our father would have persisted in remaining in the house, as a sailor will by his ship, to the last, and Sam we knew, would never have deserted him. We could just distinguish the heads of some strong palings above the water, marking the position of our cottage. We made fast to the tree for a few minutes to rest and recover ourselves, and to consider what course to pursue. We naturally turned our eyes towards the rising ground in the south-west, to which our father intended to drive the cattle. It seemed a long, long way off, still we determined to attempt to reach it. We felt thankful that the farmer’s wife had supplied us with provisions, though we were too anxious just then to be hungry. We left the tree and paddled on, but it was very hard work, for there was a current against us setting towards Lake Winnipeg; but the canoe was light, and as there was no wind we managed to stem it. Hitherto the sky had been bright, and there had been a perfect calm, but as we paddled on we saw clouds rising above the high ground for which we were steering. They rose, and rose, and then rushed across the sky with fearful rapidity, and the water ahead of us, hitherto bright and clear, seemed turned into a mass of foam, which came sweeping up towards us.“We cannot face it,” exclaimed Malcolm. “Quick, quick, about with the canoe, we must run before it.”We were hardly in time. The blast very nearly upset the canoe, and we had to throw our whole weight over on the side the wind struck her, to prevent this, as she spun round like a top, and away we flew before it. All we could do was to keep the canoe before the wind, and to steer her clear of logs of wood or stumps of trees, against which she might have been cut and knocked to pieces.“But where are we going?” we asked ourselves. “If we continue thus, we may be driven into Lake Winnipeg, and hurled among the masses of ice which are dashing about on its waters.”We thought still more about our father and Sam. How disappointed they would be, should they have reached the dry land when the storm came on, and they knew that we could not get to them. But our attention, I must own, was soon concentrated on our own situation. The rain fell in torrents, sufficient of itself almost to swamp our light canoe, while the thunder roared and the lightning darted from the sky, filling my heart, at all events, with terror. I felt both awe-struck and alarmed, and could scarcely recover myself sufficiently to help Malcolm. He was far less moved, and continued guiding the canoe with his former calmness. At last I could not help crying out—“Oh, Malcolm, how is it that you cannot see our danger?”“I do, Harry, clearly,” he answered gravely; “but we are in the performance of our duty, and God will take care of us.”His words and tone made an impression on me which I have never forgotten. When dangers have surrounded me, I have asked myself, “Am I engaged in the performance of my duty? then why need I fear, God will protect me. He always has protected me.” The grandest receipt for enabling a person to be truly brave, is that he must ever walk on in the strict line of duty.We were driving northward at a fearful rate, for the rapidity of the current was greatly increased by the wind. We wished that we could get back to our oak tree, as we might make fast to its branches, but it was nowhere visible. To have paddled against the gale would have only exhausted our strength to no purpose. As Malcolm found that he could guide the canoe without me, he told me to bail out the water. As I turned round to do so, I shouted with joy, for I thought I saw a large boat under full sail coming down towards us. On it came, much faster than we were driving; but as it drew near, it looked less and less like a boat, till to my bitter disappointment I discovered that it was a large haystack which had been floated bodily away. At length just before us appeared a clump of trees, and we hoped that the ground on which they stood might be out of water. Malcolm steered towards the spot. We might remain there till the storm was over. The trees bent with the wind, and it appeared as if they could not possibly stand. We approached the spot perhaps with less caution than we had before employed. Suddenly the canoe spun round, a large rent appeared in her bows, over she went, and we were thrown struggling into the water. Before we could regain the canoe she had floated far away, and not without a severe struggle did we succeed in reaching the land. We climbed up by, some bushes, and found ourselves on the summit of a little knoll rising out of the water, and not comprising more than fifty square yards. Our first impulse was to look-out to see what had become of our canoe, and we stood watching it with a bewildered gaze as it floated away half filled with water. It was not till it had disappeared in the distance that we remembered—it had contained all our provisions. That was bad enough, but we had never experienced hunger, and did not know how long we might exist without food. What appeared, then worse was, that the waters were rising round our island, and we might soon have no dry spot on which to rest our feet. We might climb up into the trees, but we had seen other trees washed away, and such might be the fate of these our last refuge. The day wore on, the storm ceased, and the weather again became calm and beautiful. I now grew excessively hungry, and cried very much, and felt more wretched than I had ever done before. Malcolm, who bore up wonderfully, tried to comfort me, and suggested that we should hunt about for roots or underground nuts such as we had seen the Indians eat. We fortunately had our pocket knives, and with these we dug in all directions, till we came upon some roots which looked tempting, but then we remembered that we had no means of kindling a fire to cook them, nor could we tell whether they were poisonous or not. The hunt had given us occupation, and prevented us for a time from dwelling on our misfortunes.We then tried every device we could think of to kindle a fire, for we wished to dry our clothes, if we could not cook our roots. None of our attempts succeeded, and Malcolm suggested that we should run round and round our island to try and warm ourselves before night came on. At last I felt very sleepy, and so did Malcolm, but he said that he would let me sleep first while he watched, lest the waters should rise and carry us away before we had time to climb up a tree.I lay down and was asleep in a minute, and when I awoke the stars were shining out brightly through the branches of the trees, the young grass blades reflecting them on their shining surfaces, while I saw my good brother still walking up and down keeping guard over me. The noise of the rushing waters sounded in my ears and made me desire to go to sleep again, but I aroused myself, ashamed that I had slept so long, and urged my brother to lie down.“No, Harry,” he answered, “I wished you to get as much rest as possible; but look there, we shall soon be obliged to climb a tree for refuge.”Walking a few paces, I found that the water had greatly encroached on our island; a southerly wind had begun to blow, which sent large waves rolling in on us.“Should the wind increase, they will completely sweep over where we stand,” I exclaimed. “Oh, Malcolm, what shall we do?”“Trust in God,” he replied calmly. “From how many dangers has He not already preserved us. But remember, our father has often told us that it is our business while praying to God for help, to exert ourselves, and so let us at once try and find a tree we can climb quickly in case of necessity, and whose boughs will afford us a resting-place.”I loved Malcolm dearly. I admired him now more than ever, and was ready to do whatever he wished. We soon found a tree up which we could help each other. The wind howled and whistled through the trees, the waves lashed the shore furiously, and Malcolm had just time to shove me up the tree, when one larger than the rest swept completely over the ground on which we had been standing, with a force sufficient to have carried us off with it. We had seated ourselves among the branches, which waved to and fro in the wind, and as we looked down, we saw the water foaming round the trunk, and often it seemed as if it must be uprooted and sent drifting down with the current.Malcolm said that he felt very sleepy, and told me that if I would undertake to hold him on, he would rest for a few minutes. I gladly promised that I would do as he wished, but asked him how he could think of sleeping while the tempest was raging round us.“Why, Harry, we are as safe up here as on the ground,” he answered, in his usual sweet tone of voice, “God is still watching over us!”I need scarcely say how tightly I held on to his clothes, trembling lest he should fall. I felt no inclination to go to sleep, indeed I soon found that I must have slept the greater part of the night, for before Malcolm again opened his eyes, I observed the bright streaks of dawn appearing over the distant hills in the east. Daylight quickly came on. It was again perfectly calm, and on looking down, we could see the blades of grass rising above the water. Malcolm woke up, saying that he felt much better. Looking down below us, he said that he thought the water had decreased since he went to sleep. He might have been right, I could not tell.At that moment there was only one thing I thought of, the pain I was suffering from hunger. “I shall die! I shall die!” I exclaimed. Malcolm cheered me up.“Help will come though we cannot now see how,” he observed; “God will protect us. Trust in Him.”Still I felt that I should die. It is very difficult to sustain gnawing hunger, such as I then felt for the first time. I have no doubt that Malcolm felt the same, but he was too brave to show it. Hour after hour passed by; the water did not appear to be rising; the blades of grass were still seen below us round the tree. I however felt that I could not endure many more hours of suffering. “I must fall, indeed I must,” I cried out over and over again. I should indeed have let go my hold, had not my brave brother kept me up. Even he at last showed signs of giving way, and spoke less encouragingly than before. He was silent for some time. I saw him looking out eagerly, when he exclaimed—“Cheer up, Harry, there is a canoe approaching; it will bring us help.”I gazed in the direction towards which he pointed. At first I could only see a speck on the water. It grew larger and more distinct, till I could see that it was certainly a canoe. Then we discovered that there were two Indians in it. We shouted, but our voices sounded shrill and weak. The Indians heard us, for they waved their paddles and turned the head of the canoe towards the clump of trees. The canoe could not get under the tree, but one of the Indians jumped out, and Malcolm told me to slide down. The Indian caught me and carried me in his arms to the canoe, for I was too weak to walk. Malcolm followed, and the Indian helped him along also. It was not till we had been placed in the canoe that we recognised in our preserver the young Indian, Sigenok, whose life we had saved. We pronounced his name. He gave a well-satisfied smile.“Ah, you have not forgotten me, nor I you,” he said in his own language. “Favours conferred bind generous hearts together. Sigenok guessed that you were in distress. Your elder brother has long been looking for you.”It appeared that Sigenok had been at a distance hunting when the flood commenced; that he had hastened back, and soon perceiving from the height the water had attained that our house was in danger, had embarked in his canoe and hastened toward it, but on his nearing the spot found that it had been swept away. Guessing that we had escaped to the eastern hills, he paddled there, when our friends told him that we had proceeded in search of our father and servant. Having ascertained the exact time of our departure, with the wonderful powers of calculation possessed by Red men, he had decided the events which had occurred and the course we had pursued, and was thus able to look for us in the right direction. Had he not found us there, he would have visited other places which he mentioned, where we might have taken refuge. As he was leaving the hills the farmer’s wife had given him a supply of food for us, and on his producing it our hunger was soon satisfied. We now told him of our anxiety about our father and Sam Dawes. He listened attentively, and then shook his head.“They and the cattle never reached the hills,” he observed. “We will search for them. There are still some hours of daylight. If the house has held together, they will be found much further down than this.”I fancied by the Indian’s manner that his hopes were slight. We now shoved off from the little island which had afforded us so valuable a refuge, and Sigenok and his companion paddled off at a rapid rate to the north. Anxious as I was, I soon fell asleep, and so I believe did Malcolm for a short time. I was aroused by a shout from Sigenok. I lifted up my head and saw a dark object in the distance rising above the water.“It is our house!” exclaimed Malcolm, “Sigenok says so. Oh, that our father may be there!”We kept our eyes anxiously fixed on the distant object. It was growing dusk. Malcolm said that he saw something moving on it.“Man there, alive!” observed Sigenok.Our hopes were raised; but he spoke only of one man. How long the time appeared occupied in reaching the spot! Even through the gloom we could now distinguish the outline of our log hut, which had grounded on a bank among some strong fences and brushwood, and was now fixed securely, partly tilted over.“Who is there? who is there?” we shouted. “Father, father! we are Malcolm and Harry!”“Woe’s me, young masters, your father is not here,” said a voice which, hollow and husky as it was, we recognised as that of Sam Dawes. We were soon up to our hut, to the roof of which Sam was clinging. The Indians lifted him into the canoe, for he had scarcely strength to help himself.“But our father, Sam! our father!” we exclaimed. “Where is he? what has happened?”“He no speak till he eat,” observed Sigenok, after he had secured the canoe to the hut.We took the hint, and gave him some food. In a short time he revived, and told us that our father, after we went away, would not believe that the water would rise higher, and that they had retired to rest as usual, when they were awoke by the sound of the water rushing round the house; that they both ran out and mounted their horses to drive off the cattle, as had been arranged. Our father took the lead, urging on before him the cows and horses, while he followed with the sheep, when his horse fell and he was thrown into a deep hole. As he scrambled out, the current took him off his legs. He was nearly drowned, but after floundering about for some time, he found himself carried up against the hut. He immediately climbed to the roof and shouted as loud as he could in the hopes of recalling our father, but there was no answer. Again and again he shouted. He tried to pierce the gloom which still hung over the land, though it was nearly morning. He felt a wish to leap off and try and follow his master, but what had become of his horse he could not ascertain. The waters were increasing round the cottage. He felt it shake violently, when, to his horror, it lifted and floated bodily away. The logs had been put together in a peculiar manner, dove-tailed into each other, which accounted for this. He told us how forlorn and miserable he felt, without another human being in sight, believing that his master was lost, uncertain as to our fate, and that he himself was hurrying to destruction. More than once he felt inclined to drop off the roof, but love of life, or rather a sense of the wickedness of so doing, prevailed, and he clung on till the hut grounded where we found it.We were now in as secure a place as any we could find in the neighbourhood, and so Sigenok proposed seeking some necessary rest before continuing our search. We proposed going into the house to sleep, but we found that our bed-places had been carried away, and so, of course, had every particle of furniture, as the bottom of the hut had literally come out. We therefore returned to the canoe to sleep. At early dawn we once more paddled south. There was little current and a perfect calm. The waters, too, were subsiding, for several slight elevations, before submerged, were now visible. After paddling for many hours, we reached the south-western hills I have before described. Several settlers were there, but no one had seen our father. We crossed back to the eastern hills before night-fall. There were no tidings of him there. The flood subsided, and we, like others, set off to return to the now desolate site of our former abode. Sigenok conveyed us in his canoe, and we pitched our tent on the very spot our hut had occupied. In vain we searched for our father, in vain we made inquiries of other settlers, no one had seen him. Day after day we waited, thinking that he might have been swept downward with the flood clinging to a piece of timber or some other floating body, and that he might as yet be unable to return. Sam Dawes looked more and more sad when we spoke of his return. Sigenok, who had remained by us, shook his head. “He gone, no come back,” he observed. Our hearts sank within us as the sad truth forced itself on our minds that we were orphans.

The winter came—we did not feel the cold so much as we expected—it passed on and spring approached. We were looking forward to the pleasures of summer and to a buffalo hunt which we had promised ourselves, when, after finding the heat unusually great at night, on rising in the morning, loud cracks in the ice were heard, and we discovered that a thaw had commenced. We were surprised at the rapidity with which the snow melted, and the low shrubs and the green grass appeared, and long dormant Nature seemed to be waking up to life. “How jolly,” exclaimed Malcolm; “we shall soon be able to paddle about in our canoe; we may as well have a look at her to see that she is in order.”

We had a supply of gum with which to cover up the seams as the Indians do, and our canoe was soon fit for launching.

“We must look to the plough and our spades,” remarked our father; “we shall speedily be able to get in our seeds.”

Perhaps Sam Dawes thought more of his fishing lines and nets and guns.

The next day an Indian coming up from the lake told us that there was an extraordinary accumulation of ice at the mouth of the river, which had begun to swell, with an impetuous torrent, carrying vast masses along with it. Speedily it rose higher and higher, the waters came up the bank and then filled the narrow gully which usually discharged water into it after rain, but now carried its waters backward into the plain.

“It will soon subside,” observed our father. “That current will soon carry away the barriers at the month.” So we all went as usual to bed.

The next morning when we looked out we were on an island. The water covered our field and the greater part of the garden round the house. Between us and the house of the nearest settler to the south was one sheet of water, while to the north not an habitation was visible. We made out at the distance of a mile our neighbour and his family crossing in a large boat to the hills on the east. “We may possibly have to follow his example,” observed our father; “but I hope that the waters may decrease before that becomes necessary.”

The sheep and cows were now collecting of their own accord in the garden, and we had to drive up the pigs, whose stye was threatened with submersion. The scene was truly one of desolation as we looked beyond our own homestead; trunks of trees and palings, and now and then a haystack, and barns, and parts of houses, and occasionally whole dwellings came floating by, showing what ravages the flood must have committed above us. Malcolm and I agreed that it was fortunate we had repaired our canoe. As the waters extended, the current in the river was less strong. Our father observed this. “My sons,” he said, “freight your canoe with the tent and some provisions, and take this case of books, and go off to the hills. Should the waters increase return for Sam and me; we must remain to look after the cattle. Mounted on our horses we shall be able to drive them to yonder rising ground on the south-west.”

He pointed to a slight elevation, between which and us he considered that the water was not more than one foot and a-half deep. Accustomed to obey without question, Malcolm and I, having loaded our canoe with as many valuables as she could possibly carry, prepared to cross to the eastern hills, hoping that our father and Sam would start at once with the cattle towards the more remote but seemingly more accessible ground to the west. Just as we were shoving off he remarked—

“The water has not risen lately; we may still avoid a remove. Heaven prosper you, my dear boys.”

We hoped that his words would prove true—the sky was bright, the water smooth, and it was difficult to believe that there was any danger. Malcolm and I were expert with the use of the paddle, but in crossing the river we were swept down some way, and narrowly escaped staving in the canoe against stumps of trees or palings and remnants of buildings. We persevered, however, and at length reached the eastern hills, or the mountains as they were called. Here we found our neighbour and several other families encamped. He told us that he had driven his cattle off on the first day, and wished that we had done the same. The waters did not appear to be rising, though we looked with anxiety towards our home; but it was too small a speck to be visible among the wide expanse of waters at the distance we were from it. We had put up our tent and were intending to occupy it, when we recollected that there were several of the other settlers’ wives and daughters without so good a covering, so we went and begged them to occupy it, while we slept under our canoe.

The night was bright and starlight, but we could not sleep much for thinking of our father and Sam Dawes. We resolved as early as we could see in the morning to go back to them. We were awoke early in the morning by a peculiar murmuring and hollow sound. As soon as it was daylight we looked out over the flooded country.

We asked others if they had heard the noise. They replied that they had, and that it was caused by the water rushing over the land. “Then the flood must have increased,” exclaimed Malcolm and I with anxiety.

“No doubt about it, boys,” was the unsatisfactory reply.

We were for starting off immediately, but one of the farmer’s wives, to whom we had given up our tent, insisted on preparing some breakfast for us, and in putting a supply of food into our canoe.

“It is a long voyage, my boys, and you do not know what you may require before you return,” she observed.

We paddled on very anxiously. We had only the line of eastern hills we were leaving and some high land to the south to guide us, but we thought that we could not help hitting upon the spot where our abode stood. For a long way we paddled on easily enough, only taking care not to run against stumps of trees, and as we got nearer the settlement, stakes or ruined buildings were our chief danger. Too many evidences met us on either side that the water had increased considerably since the previous day. In vain our eyes ranged around, in no direction was our cottage visible. We must have mistaken the locality. The current was here very strong, we thought that we might have drifted down further than we had calculated on doing. We went further west, and then steered south, where the current was less strong. After going some way, Malcolm stopped paddling suddenly, and exclaimed—

“Look, Harry! look there! Do you know that tree?”

“Its head is very like one that grows close to the house,” I answered.

We had both mechanically turned the head of the canoe in the direction in which he pointed. We had been engaged in fastening a flag-staff to the tree near our house. A minute would decide whether this was it. Our hearts sank within us, our paddles almost dropped from our hands, when we perceived among the bare branches the rope and the pole which we had been about to erect. Where was our cottage? where our kind father and the faithful Sam? Not a vestige of the cottage remained, it had too evidently been carried away by the flood.

“Had they been able to escape with the cattle?” was the question we asked each other. We hoped they might; but still it was too possible that our father would have persisted in remaining in the house, as a sailor will by his ship, to the last, and Sam we knew, would never have deserted him. We could just distinguish the heads of some strong palings above the water, marking the position of our cottage. We made fast to the tree for a few minutes to rest and recover ourselves, and to consider what course to pursue. We naturally turned our eyes towards the rising ground in the south-west, to which our father intended to drive the cattle. It seemed a long, long way off, still we determined to attempt to reach it. We felt thankful that the farmer’s wife had supplied us with provisions, though we were too anxious just then to be hungry. We left the tree and paddled on, but it was very hard work, for there was a current against us setting towards Lake Winnipeg; but the canoe was light, and as there was no wind we managed to stem it. Hitherto the sky had been bright, and there had been a perfect calm, but as we paddled on we saw clouds rising above the high ground for which we were steering. They rose, and rose, and then rushed across the sky with fearful rapidity, and the water ahead of us, hitherto bright and clear, seemed turned into a mass of foam, which came sweeping up towards us.

“We cannot face it,” exclaimed Malcolm. “Quick, quick, about with the canoe, we must run before it.”

We were hardly in time. The blast very nearly upset the canoe, and we had to throw our whole weight over on the side the wind struck her, to prevent this, as she spun round like a top, and away we flew before it. All we could do was to keep the canoe before the wind, and to steer her clear of logs of wood or stumps of trees, against which she might have been cut and knocked to pieces.

“But where are we going?” we asked ourselves. “If we continue thus, we may be driven into Lake Winnipeg, and hurled among the masses of ice which are dashing about on its waters.”

We thought still more about our father and Sam. How disappointed they would be, should they have reached the dry land when the storm came on, and they knew that we could not get to them. But our attention, I must own, was soon concentrated on our own situation. The rain fell in torrents, sufficient of itself almost to swamp our light canoe, while the thunder roared and the lightning darted from the sky, filling my heart, at all events, with terror. I felt both awe-struck and alarmed, and could scarcely recover myself sufficiently to help Malcolm. He was far less moved, and continued guiding the canoe with his former calmness. At last I could not help crying out—

“Oh, Malcolm, how is it that you cannot see our danger?”

“I do, Harry, clearly,” he answered gravely; “but we are in the performance of our duty, and God will take care of us.”

His words and tone made an impression on me which I have never forgotten. When dangers have surrounded me, I have asked myself, “Am I engaged in the performance of my duty? then why need I fear, God will protect me. He always has protected me.” The grandest receipt for enabling a person to be truly brave, is that he must ever walk on in the strict line of duty.

We were driving northward at a fearful rate, for the rapidity of the current was greatly increased by the wind. We wished that we could get back to our oak tree, as we might make fast to its branches, but it was nowhere visible. To have paddled against the gale would have only exhausted our strength to no purpose. As Malcolm found that he could guide the canoe without me, he told me to bail out the water. As I turned round to do so, I shouted with joy, for I thought I saw a large boat under full sail coming down towards us. On it came, much faster than we were driving; but as it drew near, it looked less and less like a boat, till to my bitter disappointment I discovered that it was a large haystack which had been floated bodily away. At length just before us appeared a clump of trees, and we hoped that the ground on which they stood might be out of water. Malcolm steered towards the spot. We might remain there till the storm was over. The trees bent with the wind, and it appeared as if they could not possibly stand. We approached the spot perhaps with less caution than we had before employed. Suddenly the canoe spun round, a large rent appeared in her bows, over she went, and we were thrown struggling into the water. Before we could regain the canoe she had floated far away, and not without a severe struggle did we succeed in reaching the land. We climbed up by, some bushes, and found ourselves on the summit of a little knoll rising out of the water, and not comprising more than fifty square yards. Our first impulse was to look-out to see what had become of our canoe, and we stood watching it with a bewildered gaze as it floated away half filled with water. It was not till it had disappeared in the distance that we remembered—it had contained all our provisions. That was bad enough, but we had never experienced hunger, and did not know how long we might exist without food. What appeared, then worse was, that the waters were rising round our island, and we might soon have no dry spot on which to rest our feet. We might climb up into the trees, but we had seen other trees washed away, and such might be the fate of these our last refuge. The day wore on, the storm ceased, and the weather again became calm and beautiful. I now grew excessively hungry, and cried very much, and felt more wretched than I had ever done before. Malcolm, who bore up wonderfully, tried to comfort me, and suggested that we should hunt about for roots or underground nuts such as we had seen the Indians eat. We fortunately had our pocket knives, and with these we dug in all directions, till we came upon some roots which looked tempting, but then we remembered that we had no means of kindling a fire to cook them, nor could we tell whether they were poisonous or not. The hunt had given us occupation, and prevented us for a time from dwelling on our misfortunes.

We then tried every device we could think of to kindle a fire, for we wished to dry our clothes, if we could not cook our roots. None of our attempts succeeded, and Malcolm suggested that we should run round and round our island to try and warm ourselves before night came on. At last I felt very sleepy, and so did Malcolm, but he said that he would let me sleep first while he watched, lest the waters should rise and carry us away before we had time to climb up a tree.

I lay down and was asleep in a minute, and when I awoke the stars were shining out brightly through the branches of the trees, the young grass blades reflecting them on their shining surfaces, while I saw my good brother still walking up and down keeping guard over me. The noise of the rushing waters sounded in my ears and made me desire to go to sleep again, but I aroused myself, ashamed that I had slept so long, and urged my brother to lie down.

“No, Harry,” he answered, “I wished you to get as much rest as possible; but look there, we shall soon be obliged to climb a tree for refuge.”

Walking a few paces, I found that the water had greatly encroached on our island; a southerly wind had begun to blow, which sent large waves rolling in on us.

“Should the wind increase, they will completely sweep over where we stand,” I exclaimed. “Oh, Malcolm, what shall we do?”

“Trust in God,” he replied calmly. “From how many dangers has He not already preserved us. But remember, our father has often told us that it is our business while praying to God for help, to exert ourselves, and so let us at once try and find a tree we can climb quickly in case of necessity, and whose boughs will afford us a resting-place.”

I loved Malcolm dearly. I admired him now more than ever, and was ready to do whatever he wished. We soon found a tree up which we could help each other. The wind howled and whistled through the trees, the waves lashed the shore furiously, and Malcolm had just time to shove me up the tree, when one larger than the rest swept completely over the ground on which we had been standing, with a force sufficient to have carried us off with it. We had seated ourselves among the branches, which waved to and fro in the wind, and as we looked down, we saw the water foaming round the trunk, and often it seemed as if it must be uprooted and sent drifting down with the current.

Malcolm said that he felt very sleepy, and told me that if I would undertake to hold him on, he would rest for a few minutes. I gladly promised that I would do as he wished, but asked him how he could think of sleeping while the tempest was raging round us.

“Why, Harry, we are as safe up here as on the ground,” he answered, in his usual sweet tone of voice, “God is still watching over us!”

I need scarcely say how tightly I held on to his clothes, trembling lest he should fall. I felt no inclination to go to sleep, indeed I soon found that I must have slept the greater part of the night, for before Malcolm again opened his eyes, I observed the bright streaks of dawn appearing over the distant hills in the east. Daylight quickly came on. It was again perfectly calm, and on looking down, we could see the blades of grass rising above the water. Malcolm woke up, saying that he felt much better. Looking down below us, he said that he thought the water had decreased since he went to sleep. He might have been right, I could not tell.

At that moment there was only one thing I thought of, the pain I was suffering from hunger. “I shall die! I shall die!” I exclaimed. Malcolm cheered me up.

“Help will come though we cannot now see how,” he observed; “God will protect us. Trust in Him.”

Still I felt that I should die. It is very difficult to sustain gnawing hunger, such as I then felt for the first time. I have no doubt that Malcolm felt the same, but he was too brave to show it. Hour after hour passed by; the water did not appear to be rising; the blades of grass were still seen below us round the tree. I however felt that I could not endure many more hours of suffering. “I must fall, indeed I must,” I cried out over and over again. I should indeed have let go my hold, had not my brave brother kept me up. Even he at last showed signs of giving way, and spoke less encouragingly than before. He was silent for some time. I saw him looking out eagerly, when he exclaimed—

“Cheer up, Harry, there is a canoe approaching; it will bring us help.”

I gazed in the direction towards which he pointed. At first I could only see a speck on the water. It grew larger and more distinct, till I could see that it was certainly a canoe. Then we discovered that there were two Indians in it. We shouted, but our voices sounded shrill and weak. The Indians heard us, for they waved their paddles and turned the head of the canoe towards the clump of trees. The canoe could not get under the tree, but one of the Indians jumped out, and Malcolm told me to slide down. The Indian caught me and carried me in his arms to the canoe, for I was too weak to walk. Malcolm followed, and the Indian helped him along also. It was not till we had been placed in the canoe that we recognised in our preserver the young Indian, Sigenok, whose life we had saved. We pronounced his name. He gave a well-satisfied smile.

“Ah, you have not forgotten me, nor I you,” he said in his own language. “Favours conferred bind generous hearts together. Sigenok guessed that you were in distress. Your elder brother has long been looking for you.”

It appeared that Sigenok had been at a distance hunting when the flood commenced; that he had hastened back, and soon perceiving from the height the water had attained that our house was in danger, had embarked in his canoe and hastened toward it, but on his nearing the spot found that it had been swept away. Guessing that we had escaped to the eastern hills, he paddled there, when our friends told him that we had proceeded in search of our father and servant. Having ascertained the exact time of our departure, with the wonderful powers of calculation possessed by Red men, he had decided the events which had occurred and the course we had pursued, and was thus able to look for us in the right direction. Had he not found us there, he would have visited other places which he mentioned, where we might have taken refuge. As he was leaving the hills the farmer’s wife had given him a supply of food for us, and on his producing it our hunger was soon satisfied. We now told him of our anxiety about our father and Sam Dawes. He listened attentively, and then shook his head.

“They and the cattle never reached the hills,” he observed. “We will search for them. There are still some hours of daylight. If the house has held together, they will be found much further down than this.”

I fancied by the Indian’s manner that his hopes were slight. We now shoved off from the little island which had afforded us so valuable a refuge, and Sigenok and his companion paddled off at a rapid rate to the north. Anxious as I was, I soon fell asleep, and so I believe did Malcolm for a short time. I was aroused by a shout from Sigenok. I lifted up my head and saw a dark object in the distance rising above the water.

“It is our house!” exclaimed Malcolm, “Sigenok says so. Oh, that our father may be there!”

We kept our eyes anxiously fixed on the distant object. It was growing dusk. Malcolm said that he saw something moving on it.

“Man there, alive!” observed Sigenok.

Our hopes were raised; but he spoke only of one man. How long the time appeared occupied in reaching the spot! Even through the gloom we could now distinguish the outline of our log hut, which had grounded on a bank among some strong fences and brushwood, and was now fixed securely, partly tilted over.

“Who is there? who is there?” we shouted. “Father, father! we are Malcolm and Harry!”

“Woe’s me, young masters, your father is not here,” said a voice which, hollow and husky as it was, we recognised as that of Sam Dawes. We were soon up to our hut, to the roof of which Sam was clinging. The Indians lifted him into the canoe, for he had scarcely strength to help himself.

“But our father, Sam! our father!” we exclaimed. “Where is he? what has happened?”

“He no speak till he eat,” observed Sigenok, after he had secured the canoe to the hut.

We took the hint, and gave him some food. In a short time he revived, and told us that our father, after we went away, would not believe that the water would rise higher, and that they had retired to rest as usual, when they were awoke by the sound of the water rushing round the house; that they both ran out and mounted their horses to drive off the cattle, as had been arranged. Our father took the lead, urging on before him the cows and horses, while he followed with the sheep, when his horse fell and he was thrown into a deep hole. As he scrambled out, the current took him off his legs. He was nearly drowned, but after floundering about for some time, he found himself carried up against the hut. He immediately climbed to the roof and shouted as loud as he could in the hopes of recalling our father, but there was no answer. Again and again he shouted. He tried to pierce the gloom which still hung over the land, though it was nearly morning. He felt a wish to leap off and try and follow his master, but what had become of his horse he could not ascertain. The waters were increasing round the cottage. He felt it shake violently, when, to his horror, it lifted and floated bodily away. The logs had been put together in a peculiar manner, dove-tailed into each other, which accounted for this. He told us how forlorn and miserable he felt, without another human being in sight, believing that his master was lost, uncertain as to our fate, and that he himself was hurrying to destruction. More than once he felt inclined to drop off the roof, but love of life, or rather a sense of the wickedness of so doing, prevailed, and he clung on till the hut grounded where we found it.

We were now in as secure a place as any we could find in the neighbourhood, and so Sigenok proposed seeking some necessary rest before continuing our search. We proposed going into the house to sleep, but we found that our bed-places had been carried away, and so, of course, had every particle of furniture, as the bottom of the hut had literally come out. We therefore returned to the canoe to sleep. At early dawn we once more paddled south. There was little current and a perfect calm. The waters, too, were subsiding, for several slight elevations, before submerged, were now visible. After paddling for many hours, we reached the south-western hills I have before described. Several settlers were there, but no one had seen our father. We crossed back to the eastern hills before night-fall. There were no tidings of him there. The flood subsided, and we, like others, set off to return to the now desolate site of our former abode. Sigenok conveyed us in his canoe, and we pitched our tent on the very spot our hut had occupied. In vain we searched for our father, in vain we made inquiries of other settlers, no one had seen him. Day after day we waited, thinking that he might have been swept downward with the flood clinging to a piece of timber or some other floating body, and that he might as yet be unable to return. Sam Dawes looked more and more sad when we spoke of his return. Sigenok, who had remained by us, shook his head. “He gone, no come back,” he observed. Our hearts sank within us as the sad truth forced itself on our minds that we were orphans.

Volume Two--Chapter Four.Long we continued to hope against hope. Neither was our father’s body, nor were any of the cattle he was driving off ever discovered. The current must have swept them down into Lake Winnipeg.“I aint much of a person for it, young masters,” said Sam Dawes, taking a hand of each of us and looking at us affectionately, “but I loves ye as sons, and I’ll be in the place of a father, that I will.”Faithfully did Sam Dawes keep his word.“Grief is right and does us good in the end, depend on’t, or it wouldn’t be sent; but it mustn’t make us forget duty. Now you see it is our duty to live, and we can’t live without food, and we can’t get food without we work, so let’s turn to and plough and sow the ground.”This proposal may seem like mockery, but among the valuables placed by our father in the canoe was a good supply of seed corn and other seeds, and we had discovered our plough driven deep into the ground. Sigenok disappeared the moment he understood our intentions, and Sam looked very blank, and said that he feared he did not like work and had gone off.“I think not,” observed Malcolm; and he was right. In a few hours Sigenok returned two horses and several hides well tanned, and needles, and fibre for thread. I thought Sam would have hugged him, he was so delighted. Without loss of time they set to work and cut out a set of harness, and, lighting a lamp, seated at the entrance to our tent, laboured at it the greater part of the night, Malcolm and I helping as far as we could. Sam made us go to sleep, but as I looked up they were still at work, and when I awoke in the morning it was finished. The horses were a little restive, evidently not being accustomed to ploughing, but they obeyed Sigenok’s voice in a wonderful way, though it was necessary in the first place to teach him what ought to be done. It is said by some that Indians will not labour. I have reason to know that they will when they have a sufficient motive. Sigenok showed this. His motive was gratitude to us, and affection excited by compassion. No white man would have laboured harder. When the wheat and Indian corn was in the ground, he with his horses helped Sam and us to bring in stuff for fencing and to put it up. All this time he slept outside our tent, under shelter of a simple lean-to of birch bark. Another day he disappeared, and we saw him in the evening coming up the river towing some timber. He brought a heavy log up on his shoulders. “There is part of your house,” he observed, “we can get the rest in time.”So we did; we borrowed a large boat, and taking advantage of a northerly wind, we brought up, piece by piece, the whole of our hut, which had grounded near the banks of the river. Our neighbours, in spite of the value of their time to themselves, came and helped us, and we very soon had our hut over our heads, though, excepting the articles we had saved in the canoe, we had no furniture remaining.“Sigenok live here with you,” observed our Indian friend.“Of course; very glad,” we answered, thinking he intended to take up his abode in our hut.We had arranged that morning to go to the Fort (Fort Garry, belonging to the Hudson’s Bay Company) to obtain flour and other articles. We were not without money, for our father had put his desk in the canoe, awl in it we found a sum of money, considerable for our wants. On our return from the Fort, we found that Sigenok had erected close to our door an Indian wigwam. It was simple of construction. It consisted of about a dozen long poles stuck in the ground in a circle, and fastened together at the top so as to make the figure of a cone. Against these pales were placed large slabs of birch bark, in layers, which, having a tendency to regain their circular form, cling round the cone, and are further secured with bands of fibre. In the centre is the fire, while the smoke escapes through an opening left in the top; some mats on the ground, and some lines stretched across on which clothes or other articles can be hung up, form the chief furniture of these wigwams. To these may be added a bundle of hides or mats, and an iron pot.We had purchased some bedding at the Fort, and Sam and Malcolm soon knocked up some rough furniture, which served our purpose. We should often have been on short commons had not Sam and Sigenok been expert fishermen, so that we were never without an ample supply of white-fish, or gold-eyes, or sturgeon.“This very well,” observed Sigenok. “Fish very good, but in winter buffalo better.”“Will you help us to go and hunt the buffalo, then?” we both exclaimed.Sigenok nodded; it was what he had proposed to himself that we should do. Although a wood Indian, he had connections among the prairie Indians, and from living with them had become a good rider and expert hunter. Sam did not like our going; he was afraid some accident might happen to us, but he had not the heart to tell us so. He was to remain at home to take care of the farm. Sigenok procured two other horses, one for himself, and another to drag a light cart which we bought, made entirely of wood. It was laden with our tent and provisions, and our rifles and powder and shot. We felt in high spirits when we were ready to start, and wishing Sam an affectionate farewell, set off to join a large band of hunters proceeding to the plains. There were nearly three hundred men, besides their wives and children. The greater number were half-breeds, but there were also a large body of Indians, among whom we found Sigenok’s relatives, who received us in the most cordial manner, and told us that we should be their brothers, that our friends should be their friends, and our foes their foes. The half-breeds had nearly five hundred carts, each with a distinguishing flag; and there must have been even a larger number of hunters, all mounted. Their tents, or lodges, are formed of dressed buffalo-skins. They are pitched in a large circle, with the carts outside; and when in a hostile country, with the animals in the centre, otherwise they feed outside the circle. They have a captain, and regular officers under him; and a flag hoisted on a pole in the centre serves as a signal. When hauled down, it is a sign that the march is to be continued. When the whole body was on the move, it reminded us of a caravan in the East, with the long line of carts winding along over the plain, and the horsemen galloping about on either side.For several days we travelled on without seeing any buffalo, till one day, soon after we had camped, notice was brought by the scouts that a large herd were in the neighbourhood. All was now excitement and preparation in the camp. Sigenok called us early in the morning, and, after a hasty breakfast, in high spirits we mounted our horses, and accompanied the band of hunters. We made a wide circuit, so as to let the wind blow from the buffaloes towards us. I should tell you that the animal denominated the buffalo by the North Americans is what is properly called the bison by naturalists. They roam in vast herds over the interior of America, from Mexico as far north as the large river Saskatchewan and Lake Winnipeg. We rode on, drawing nearer and nearer, till, as we ascended a slight elevation, we saw over it on the plain on the other side a vast herd of big-headed, dark, hairy monsters, more buffaloes than I supposed existed on the whole continent. They were feeding quietly, as if not aware of the approach of foes. Our captain, an experienced hunter, rode along the ranks commanding silence, directing every man to look to his arms, and exhorting the novices not to shoot each other, a danger which might justly be apprehended. Each hunter now ascertained that his rifle was loaded, and then filled his mouth with bullets—a ready-at-hand pouch, that he might the more quickly drop them into his piece. I was afraid of following this example, for fear of the bullets dropping down my throat or of my gun bursting. Malcolm and I kept close to Sigenok. He told us to do what he did, not to lose sight of him, assuring us that our horses understood hunting perfectly. Our hearts beat with eagerness. We had now got near enough, in the opinion of our leader, to charge. The signal was given, and at headlong speed the band of huntsmen dashed in among the astonished animals. The buffaloes fled in all directions, the horsemen following, firing right and left, and loading again with extraordinary rapidity, seldom missing; and as each animal fell, the hunter who had killed it dropped some article of his dress, or other mark, by which he might distinguish it.It was the most exciting scene in which I was ever engaged—the hunters, so lately a dense and orderly body, were now scattered far and wide over the plain, many miles apart, in pursuit of the buffaloes; some terror-stricken, others infuriated to madness. Sigenok had killed five or six, and Malcolm had also, much to our gratification, killed one, though I had not been so successful, from nervousness, I fancy; when the Indian being at some distance, as we were in full chase of another buffalo, a huge bull started out from behind a knoll, and rushed towards us. My brother’s horse started at the unexpected sight, and putting his foot into a badger hole, stumbled, and threw him over his head. The faithful animal stood stock still, but on came the bull. I shrieked out to Malcolm to leap on his horse and fly, but he was stunned, and did not hear me. The bull was not twenty paces from him; in another instant he would have been gored to death. I felt thankful that I had not before fired. Raising my rifle to my shoulder, I pulled the trigger, the huge animal was within ten paces of him; over it went, then rose on its knees, and struggled forward. I galloped up to Malcolm, who was beginning to recover his senses. With a strength I did not fancy I possessed I dragged him up, and helped him on his horse just before the monster fell over the spot where he had lain, and would have crushed him with his weight. By the time Sigenok returned, the buffalo was dead. He highly praised me when he heard what had occurred, but said that we had had hunting enough that day, and that he would now summon his people to take possession of the animals we had killed. The skins are called robes, and are valued as articles of trade, being taken by the fur traders and sent to Canada, England, Russia, and other parts of the world. Parts of the flesh of the slain animals was carried into the camp for immediate consumption, but the larger portion was prepared forthwith in a curious way for keeping. The meat is first cut into thin slices and dried in the sun, and these slices are then pounded between two stones till the fibres separate. This pounded meat is then mixed with melted fat, about fifty pounds of the first to forty pounds of the latter, and while hob is pressed into buffalo-skin bags, when it forms a hard, compact mass. It is now called pemmican, frompemmi, meat, andken, fat, in the Cree language. One pound of this mixture is considered as nutritious as two of ordinary meat, and it has the advantage of keeping for years through all temperatures.

Long we continued to hope against hope. Neither was our father’s body, nor were any of the cattle he was driving off ever discovered. The current must have swept them down into Lake Winnipeg.

“I aint much of a person for it, young masters,” said Sam Dawes, taking a hand of each of us and looking at us affectionately, “but I loves ye as sons, and I’ll be in the place of a father, that I will.”

Faithfully did Sam Dawes keep his word.

“Grief is right and does us good in the end, depend on’t, or it wouldn’t be sent; but it mustn’t make us forget duty. Now you see it is our duty to live, and we can’t live without food, and we can’t get food without we work, so let’s turn to and plough and sow the ground.”

This proposal may seem like mockery, but among the valuables placed by our father in the canoe was a good supply of seed corn and other seeds, and we had discovered our plough driven deep into the ground. Sigenok disappeared the moment he understood our intentions, and Sam looked very blank, and said that he feared he did not like work and had gone off.

“I think not,” observed Malcolm; and he was right. In a few hours Sigenok returned two horses and several hides well tanned, and needles, and fibre for thread. I thought Sam would have hugged him, he was so delighted. Without loss of time they set to work and cut out a set of harness, and, lighting a lamp, seated at the entrance to our tent, laboured at it the greater part of the night, Malcolm and I helping as far as we could. Sam made us go to sleep, but as I looked up they were still at work, and when I awoke in the morning it was finished. The horses were a little restive, evidently not being accustomed to ploughing, but they obeyed Sigenok’s voice in a wonderful way, though it was necessary in the first place to teach him what ought to be done. It is said by some that Indians will not labour. I have reason to know that they will when they have a sufficient motive. Sigenok showed this. His motive was gratitude to us, and affection excited by compassion. No white man would have laboured harder. When the wheat and Indian corn was in the ground, he with his horses helped Sam and us to bring in stuff for fencing and to put it up. All this time he slept outside our tent, under shelter of a simple lean-to of birch bark. Another day he disappeared, and we saw him in the evening coming up the river towing some timber. He brought a heavy log up on his shoulders. “There is part of your house,” he observed, “we can get the rest in time.”

So we did; we borrowed a large boat, and taking advantage of a northerly wind, we brought up, piece by piece, the whole of our hut, which had grounded near the banks of the river. Our neighbours, in spite of the value of their time to themselves, came and helped us, and we very soon had our hut over our heads, though, excepting the articles we had saved in the canoe, we had no furniture remaining.

“Sigenok live here with you,” observed our Indian friend.

“Of course; very glad,” we answered, thinking he intended to take up his abode in our hut.

We had arranged that morning to go to the Fort (Fort Garry, belonging to the Hudson’s Bay Company) to obtain flour and other articles. We were not without money, for our father had put his desk in the canoe, awl in it we found a sum of money, considerable for our wants. On our return from the Fort, we found that Sigenok had erected close to our door an Indian wigwam. It was simple of construction. It consisted of about a dozen long poles stuck in the ground in a circle, and fastened together at the top so as to make the figure of a cone. Against these pales were placed large slabs of birch bark, in layers, which, having a tendency to regain their circular form, cling round the cone, and are further secured with bands of fibre. In the centre is the fire, while the smoke escapes through an opening left in the top; some mats on the ground, and some lines stretched across on which clothes or other articles can be hung up, form the chief furniture of these wigwams. To these may be added a bundle of hides or mats, and an iron pot.

We had purchased some bedding at the Fort, and Sam and Malcolm soon knocked up some rough furniture, which served our purpose. We should often have been on short commons had not Sam and Sigenok been expert fishermen, so that we were never without an ample supply of white-fish, or gold-eyes, or sturgeon.

“This very well,” observed Sigenok. “Fish very good, but in winter buffalo better.”

“Will you help us to go and hunt the buffalo, then?” we both exclaimed.

Sigenok nodded; it was what he had proposed to himself that we should do. Although a wood Indian, he had connections among the prairie Indians, and from living with them had become a good rider and expert hunter. Sam did not like our going; he was afraid some accident might happen to us, but he had not the heart to tell us so. He was to remain at home to take care of the farm. Sigenok procured two other horses, one for himself, and another to drag a light cart which we bought, made entirely of wood. It was laden with our tent and provisions, and our rifles and powder and shot. We felt in high spirits when we were ready to start, and wishing Sam an affectionate farewell, set off to join a large band of hunters proceeding to the plains. There were nearly three hundred men, besides their wives and children. The greater number were half-breeds, but there were also a large body of Indians, among whom we found Sigenok’s relatives, who received us in the most cordial manner, and told us that we should be their brothers, that our friends should be their friends, and our foes their foes. The half-breeds had nearly five hundred carts, each with a distinguishing flag; and there must have been even a larger number of hunters, all mounted. Their tents, or lodges, are formed of dressed buffalo-skins. They are pitched in a large circle, with the carts outside; and when in a hostile country, with the animals in the centre, otherwise they feed outside the circle. They have a captain, and regular officers under him; and a flag hoisted on a pole in the centre serves as a signal. When hauled down, it is a sign that the march is to be continued. When the whole body was on the move, it reminded us of a caravan in the East, with the long line of carts winding along over the plain, and the horsemen galloping about on either side.

For several days we travelled on without seeing any buffalo, till one day, soon after we had camped, notice was brought by the scouts that a large herd were in the neighbourhood. All was now excitement and preparation in the camp. Sigenok called us early in the morning, and, after a hasty breakfast, in high spirits we mounted our horses, and accompanied the band of hunters. We made a wide circuit, so as to let the wind blow from the buffaloes towards us. I should tell you that the animal denominated the buffalo by the North Americans is what is properly called the bison by naturalists. They roam in vast herds over the interior of America, from Mexico as far north as the large river Saskatchewan and Lake Winnipeg. We rode on, drawing nearer and nearer, till, as we ascended a slight elevation, we saw over it on the plain on the other side a vast herd of big-headed, dark, hairy monsters, more buffaloes than I supposed existed on the whole continent. They were feeding quietly, as if not aware of the approach of foes. Our captain, an experienced hunter, rode along the ranks commanding silence, directing every man to look to his arms, and exhorting the novices not to shoot each other, a danger which might justly be apprehended. Each hunter now ascertained that his rifle was loaded, and then filled his mouth with bullets—a ready-at-hand pouch, that he might the more quickly drop them into his piece. I was afraid of following this example, for fear of the bullets dropping down my throat or of my gun bursting. Malcolm and I kept close to Sigenok. He told us to do what he did, not to lose sight of him, assuring us that our horses understood hunting perfectly. Our hearts beat with eagerness. We had now got near enough, in the opinion of our leader, to charge. The signal was given, and at headlong speed the band of huntsmen dashed in among the astonished animals. The buffaloes fled in all directions, the horsemen following, firing right and left, and loading again with extraordinary rapidity, seldom missing; and as each animal fell, the hunter who had killed it dropped some article of his dress, or other mark, by which he might distinguish it.

It was the most exciting scene in which I was ever engaged—the hunters, so lately a dense and orderly body, were now scattered far and wide over the plain, many miles apart, in pursuit of the buffaloes; some terror-stricken, others infuriated to madness. Sigenok had killed five or six, and Malcolm had also, much to our gratification, killed one, though I had not been so successful, from nervousness, I fancy; when the Indian being at some distance, as we were in full chase of another buffalo, a huge bull started out from behind a knoll, and rushed towards us. My brother’s horse started at the unexpected sight, and putting his foot into a badger hole, stumbled, and threw him over his head. The faithful animal stood stock still, but on came the bull. I shrieked out to Malcolm to leap on his horse and fly, but he was stunned, and did not hear me. The bull was not twenty paces from him; in another instant he would have been gored to death. I felt thankful that I had not before fired. Raising my rifle to my shoulder, I pulled the trigger, the huge animal was within ten paces of him; over it went, then rose on its knees, and struggled forward. I galloped up to Malcolm, who was beginning to recover his senses. With a strength I did not fancy I possessed I dragged him up, and helped him on his horse just before the monster fell over the spot where he had lain, and would have crushed him with his weight. By the time Sigenok returned, the buffalo was dead. He highly praised me when he heard what had occurred, but said that we had had hunting enough that day, and that he would now summon his people to take possession of the animals we had killed. The skins are called robes, and are valued as articles of trade, being taken by the fur traders and sent to Canada, England, Russia, and other parts of the world. Parts of the flesh of the slain animals was carried into the camp for immediate consumption, but the larger portion was prepared forthwith in a curious way for keeping. The meat is first cut into thin slices and dried in the sun, and these slices are then pounded between two stones till the fibres separate. This pounded meat is then mixed with melted fat, about fifty pounds of the first to forty pounds of the latter, and while hob is pressed into buffalo-skin bags, when it forms a hard, compact mass. It is now called pemmican, frompemmi, meat, andken, fat, in the Cree language. One pound of this mixture is considered as nutritious as two of ordinary meat, and it has the advantage of keeping for years through all temperatures.


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