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send the horse at all ; whereupon Murray walked straight into his lodge, noticed where the telescope was hanging, and calmly detached it and walked away. It was a crucial moment. The chief neither moved nor spoke, but the muscles of his face were working with ill-concealed passion; and I thought it just possible that he would not be able to restrain his hand from the tomahawk.' After this, and a further unsuccessful attempt on the part of the savage chief at preventing the white men from leaving the camp, it is not surprising that their parting was not affectionate on either side.'

They now at last set forth on their return journey, the brother of Murray's old host agreeing to act as guide; but a serious misfortune befell them at the outset, Vernunft being thrown from a vicious horse, who, having got his rider down, proceeded to jump on him. The guide thereupon, discerning in this calamity the anger of the Great Spirit, refused to go further, and insisted on their returning to the Pawnee village ; and the German being manifestly unfit to travel, this seemed to be the only possible course to pursue. Back, accordingly, they had to go, and were received most kindly by Sâ-ni-tsă-rish; who, however, shook his head a great deal over Vernunft's refusal to return to the lodge of the great chief's son, as he had formerly done over Murray's unfortunate disagreement with the father. These head-shakings, and the fact that the German found, though much bruised, that he had no bones broken, decided them to make a fresh start at once ; and the insulting behaviour of his late host (the prototype of Mahega), who suddenly appeared upon the scene, made them feel they had decided wisely. The interpreter having procured two new young men to act as guides, and a horse (who quickly proved to be unsound) in exchange for the vicious brute who had caused their return, they once more set forth on what was to be the most arduous part of their undertaking. It is

very characteristic of Murray that almost the only touch of weakness he records on this terrible journey was connected with the thought of the happy friends who would be gathering on the Scottish moors on August 12.

Not many days after this second start, a party of hunting Indians, who proved to be Pawnees, were seen hovering near

and while the new-comers declined to approach the travellers, they signed to the Indian guides to come and speak with them. From their behaviour on their return from this


conversation Murray became convinced that they intended to desert him, a suspicion that was soon turned into a certainty. It now became necessary to decide whether they should return to the Pawnee village with the guides, or endeavour to reach Fort Leavenworth without them; and he laid the case before his three companions, offering to abide by their decision. Thes unanimously decided to go on, and elected him to be the guide and chief of the expedition. These preliminaries being settled, he dismissed the false guides, and addressed himself, with what feelings he can best describe, to the task he had undertaken. * As soon as they were out of sight, I confess that the perils and difficulties of our situation pressed themselves most forcibly on my mind. ... I remembered that I had to guide our little party through six or seven hundred miles of barren unknown wilderness, where I knew not whether we might find water for ourselves and horses, where we were liable at any hour of the day or night to be fallen upon by some roving band of strange Indians, and where, if we lost any time by deviating from our right course, our provisions might fail, and we might find nothing wherewith the rifle could supply their place. All these reflections suggested themselves in rapid succession to my mind, but I felt how vitally necessary were energy and decision of action. The very feeling of the responsibility of my charge gave me excitement, and I felt a strong and buoyant confidence that unless some unfortunate accident occurred, I could conduct the party, without any great deviation, to the fort. So, with my telescope, compass, and rifle ready for use, I rode on a hundred yards ahead, and began my career as guide.' When one reflects on the nature of the accidents' that might occur,' that young figure riding so bravely into space with his little party of a sick man, a valet, and a raw frontier boy behind him, seems very heroic.

And the return journey, on which he started so confidently, yet with a full understanding of its difficulties, proved in no whit less perilous than he anticipated. Rattlesnakes were the smallest of the dangers to which they were exposed. They were without any efficient covering, and frequent storms drenched them and all their possessions; it was all they could do to keep their small and rapidly failing store of flour and powder fairly dry. They were exposed to extreme variations of temperature, to burning sun by day and piercing cold at night, when fuel was not to be come by. Their stores were damaged, their clothing in

very soon the

rags. On one occasion they met a party of Indians, who luckily proved to be Pawnees; and, on Murray making the Pawnee sign, were disposed to be friendly. On another, all their horses deserted in the night, and started to return upon their trail, causing a considerable delay before they could be captured and brought back. Of their joy at finding the Kanzas river, and their difficulty in fording it, as of their other trials and privations, space forbids to tell. On the 25th they struck a large trail, which, though the others could not recognise the spot, Murray felt almost certain must be their old trail; and discovery of a scrap of paper, which proved to be a fragment of an old · Times,' confirmed his hopes. Even then their adventures were far from being ended. They were still eight or nine days from the fort, and their provisions were running very short indeed; but from the time of their striking the trail the worst of their anxieties were over, and on September 4 Murray led his little party triumphantly back to what had once seemed to three of them a sort of Ultima Thule, but now smiled upon them with almost the welcome of home.

And here we must take leave of our hero. With the return to Fort Leavenworth, the more exciting of his American adventures came to an end. Let us conclude with one more quotation, his description of the feelings with which he returned to civilisation : 'I could not speak; I could not even think distinctly. But I made no exertion to arrange my thoughts. I rather allowed them to revel in that confusion of undefined pleasure, that delicious tumult, which, though vague and short-lived, is for a time more enjoyable than gaiety, more happy than even the "sober certainty of waking bliss.” As we passed onwards near enough to the haymakers to distinguish their features, and exchange a salutation in our language, the sight of them did my heart good. They looked like friends and relatives, and their voices were like old music.'

H. 0. S.



RATHER more than a couple of centuries ago an account was published of one of the most romantic and stirring events in the naval annals of England. The story told was that of the Friends Adventure, a little craft of eighty tons, which was captured by a French privateer of thirty-six guns. The master and most of the crew were removed, and Robert Lyde, aged twenty-three years, of Topsham, and John Wright, a lad of sixteen, were left on board with the prize crew of seven Frenchmen. What Lyde did, with the help of the boy, was to set upon the Frenchmen, kill two of them, make the other five prisoners, and bring them and the ship in safety to England. The deed was one of the most daring ever done by Englishmen, and may well be put alongside the best of Britain's achievements at sea.

The retaking of the Friends Adventure was a brilliant act even for the days when valiant deeds were as plentiful as blackberries, and were looked upon largely as matters of course. Never was a task performed with more deliberation than the wresting of the vessel from her captors; never were sailors' plans more fully realised. Lyde put his trust in Providence, and kept his warlike weapons ready for the fray. His accomplishment caused great commotion in England, even at a time when extraordinary performances at sea were common. There were those, however, who did not even praise the act, and were ready to assert that Lyde murdered the two men in cold blood, and cheered him with the prospect of being haunted by their spirits until the hangman got him. Others again said that the boy was the one to honour, and not Lyde; while a certain section attributed the whole of the success to an altogether different party, and said that not Lyde, but the Devil, brought the Friends' Adventure home.

To refute these accusations Lyde published a long and detailed statement of the affair, which, as your cordial and real friend,' he addressed to the courteous reader,' at the same time elegantly wishing prosperity to their majesties, and the settlement and happiness of the nation at large.

In February 1689, Lyde, a lusty young man, and a native of

In a

Topsham, sailed for Virginia in a pink of eighty tons. They arrived on May 18, and not long afterwards sailed homeward, with 100 merchantmen, convoyed by two men-of-war. fortnight, however, the pink and several other vessels were separated from the convoy, and began to make the best of their way home to England. But even they left each other's company, , although on October 19 they rejoined two of the vessels of the fleet. On the 21st they saw four ships which they took to be part of the convoy also, but one of which proved to be a French privateer. The Frenchman appears to have sighted another craft, for which he made and which he took, leaving the three in company an opportunity to escape. They got away, two of them, being badly in want of provisions, making for Galicia in Spain. The pink kept her course for England. Even at this early stage of his career, so full of hatred of the French had Lyde become that he had determined at all hazards to try and retake the ship in case she fell into the hands of the enemy; and to this end he made a compact with the mate. The understanding was that should the privateer capture them and they should lose sight of her, the two men should stand by each other and attack and overpower the prize crew, and, ‘if it did please God that we should overcome them, to carry home the ship.' On the 24th of the month the pink was taken by a French privateer of twenty-two guns, eight carronades, and more than 100 men; but the design of Lyde and the mate was spoiled, inasmuch as they were put on board the privateer with three more of their men, the master and four men and a boy being left on board with eight Frenchmen to take the prize to St. Malo, to which port the privateer belonged.

Incredible as it seems, Lyde endeavoured to persuade his four companions to rise and overpower the hundred Frenchmen, being very positive, with the assistance of God and theirs, to overcome them and carry home the ship.' But his comrades, reasonably enough, thought that such a triumph was impossible, and accord. ingly no attempt was made.

On the 28th of the month the privateer reached St. Malo, and Lyde and his companions were cast into prison. He passes lightly but effectively over his sufferings in the filthy den in which he and other Englishmen were confined. Many of his fellowprisoners died, including three of his own ship's company, while the survivors were so emaciated that they were mere skeletons, ard Lyde was so weak that he could not raise his hand to his

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