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74 recognised him with awe as one of the three best amateur wicket-keepers in the country.

"What do you think of this?" said Joe, exhibiting Mike, who grinned bashfully. "Aged ten last birthday, and playing for the school. You are only ten, aren't you, Mike?"

"Brother of yours?" asked the wicket-keeper.

"Probably too proud to own the relationship, but he is."

"Isn't there any end to you Jacksons?" demanded the wicket-keeper in an aggrieved tone. "I never saw such a family."

"This is our star. You wait till he gets at us to-day. Saunders is our only bowler, and Mike's been brought up on Saunders. You'd better win the toss if you want a chance of getting a knock and lifting your average out of the minuses."

"I have won the toss," said the other with dignity. "Do you think I don't know the elementary duties of a captain?"

The school went out to field with mixed feelings. The wicket was hard and true, which would have made it pleasant to be going in first. On the other hand, they would feel decidedly better and fitter for centuries after the game had been in progress an hour or so. Burgess was glad as a private individual, sorry as a captain. For himself, the sooner he got hold of the ball and began to bowl the better he liked it. As a captain, he realised that a side with Joe Jackson on it, not to mention the other first-class men, was not a side to which he would have preferred to give away an advantage. Mike was feeling that by no possibility could he hold the simplest catch, and hoping that nothing would come his way. Bob, conscious of being an uncertain field, was feeling just the same.

The M.C.C. opened with Joe and a man in an Oxford Authentic cap. The beginning of the game was quiet. Burgess's yorker was nearly too much for the latter in

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Rh the offering of precious things, merely because they are precious, not because they are useful or necessary. It is a spirit, for instance, which of two marbles, equally beautiful, applicable and durable, would choose the more costly, because it was so, and of two kinds of decoration, equally effective, would choose the more elaborate because it was so, in order that it might in the same compass present more cost and more thought. It is therefore most unreasoning and enthusiastic, and perhaps best negatively defined, as the opposite of the prevalent feeling of modern times, which desires to produce the largest results at the least cost.

Of this feeling, then, there are two distinct forms: the first, the wish to exercise self-denial for the sake of self-discipline merely, a wish acted upon in the abandonment of things loved or desired, there being no direct call or purpose to be answered by so doing; and the second, the desire to honour or please some one else by the costliness of the sacrifice. The practice is, in the first case, either private or public; but most frequently, and perhaps most properly, private; while, in the latter case, the act is commonly, and with greatest advantage, public. Now, it cannot but at first appear futile to assert the expediency of self-denial for its own sake, when, for so many sakes, it is every day necessary to a far greater degree than any of us practise it. But I believe it is just because we do not enough acknowledge or contemplate it as a good in itself, that we are apt to fail in its duties when they become imperative, and to calculate, with some partiality, whether the good proposed to others measures or warrants the amount of grievance to ourselves, instead of accepting with gladness the opportunity of sacrifice as a personal advantage. Be this as it may, it is not necessary to insist upon the matter here; since there are always higher and more useful channels of self-sacrifice, for those who choose to practise it, than any connected with the arts.

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Rh the first over, but he contrived to chop it away, and the pair gradually settled down. At twenty, Joe began to open his shoulders. Twenty became forty with disturbing swiftness, and Burgess tried a change of bowling.

It seemed for one instant as if the move had been a success, for Joe, still taking risks, tried to late-cut a rising ball, and snicked it straight into Bob's hands at second slip. It was the easiest of slip-catches, but Bob fumbled it, dropped it, almost held it a second time, and finally let it fall miserably to the ground. It was a moment too painful for words. He rolled the ball back to the bowler in silence.

One of those weary periods followed when the batsman's defence seems to the fieldsmen absolutely impregnable. There was a sickening inevitableness in the way in which every ball was played with the very centre of the bat. And, as usual, just when things seemed most hopeless, relief came. The Authentic, getting in front of his wicket, to pull one of the simplest long-hops ever seen on a cricket field, missed it, and was l.b.w. And the next ball upset the newcomer's leg stump.

The school revived. Bowlers and field were infused with a new life. Another wicket—two stumps knocked out of the ground by Burgess—helped the thing on. When the bell rang for the end of morning school, five wickets were down for a hundred and thirteen.

But from the end of school till lunch things went very wrong indeed. Joe was still in at one end, invincible; and at the other was the great wicket-keeper. And the pair of them suddenly began to force the pace till the bowling was in a tangled knot. Four after four, all round the wicket, with never a chance or a mishit to vary the monotony. Two hundred went up, and two hundred and fifty. Then Joe reached his century, and was stumped next ball. Then came lunch.

The rest of the innings was like the gentle rain after the thunderstorm. Runs came with fair regularity, but wickets fell at intervals, and when the wicket-keeper was run out at length for a lively sixty-three.

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76 the end was very near. Saunders, coming in last, hit two boundaries, and was then caught by Mike. His second hit had just lifted the M.C.C. total over the three hundred.

Three hundred is a score that takes some making on any ground, but on a fine day it was not an unusual total for the Wrykyn eleven. Some years before, against Ripton, they had run up four hundred and sixteen; and only last season had massacred a very weak team of Old Wrykynians with a score that only just missed the fourth hundred.

Unfortunately, on the present occasion, there was scarcely time, unless the bowling happened to get completely collared, to make the runs. It was a quarter to four when the innings began, and stumps were to be drawn at a quarter to seven. A hundred an hour is quick work.

Burgess, however, was optimistic, as usual. "Better have a go for them," he said to Berridge and Marsh, the school first pair.

Following out this courageous advice, Berridge, after hitting three boundaries in his first two overs, was stumped half-way through the third.

After this, things settled down. Morris, the first-wicket man, was a thoroughly sound bat, a little on the slow side, but exceedingly hard to shift. He and Marsh proceeded to play themselves in, until it looked as if they were likely to stay till the drawing of stumps.

A comfortable, rather somnolent feeling settled upon the school. A long stand at cricket is a soothing sight to watch. There was an absence of hurry about the batsmen which harmonised well with the drowsy summer afternoon. And yet runs were coming at a fair pace. The hundred went up at five o'clock, the hundred and fifty at half-past. Both batsmen were completely at home, and the M.C.C. third-change bowlers had been put on.

Then the great wicket-keeper took off the pads and

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12 While in its second branch, that which is especially concerned with the arts, the justice of the feeling is still more doubtful; it depends on our answer to the broad question, can the Deity be indeed honoured by the presentation to Him of any material objects of value, or by any direction of zeal or wisdom which is not immediately beneficial to men?

For, observe, it is not now the question whether the fairness and majesty of a building may or may not answer any moral purpose; it is not the result of labour in any sort of which we are speaking, but the bare and mere costliness—the substance and labour and time themselves: are these, we ask, independently of their result, acceptable offerings to God, and considered by Him as doing Him honour? So long as we refer this question to the decision of feeling, or of conscience, or of reason merely, it will be contradictorily or imperfectly answered; it admits of entire answer only when we have met another and a far different question, whether the Bible be indeed one book or two, and whether the character of God revealed in the Old Testament be other than His character revealed in the New.

IV. Now, it is a most secure truth, that, although the particular ordinances divinely appointed for special purposes at any given period of man's history may be by the same divine authority abrogated at another, it is impossible that any character of God, appealed to or described in any ordinance past or present, can ever be changed, or understood as changed, by the abrogation of that ordinance. God is one and the same, and is pleased or displeased by the same things for ever, although one part of His pleasure may be expressed at one time rather than another, and although the mode in which His pleasure is to be consulted may be by Him graciously modified to the circumstances of men. Thus, for instance, it was necessary that, in order to the understanding by man of the


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Rh gloves, and the fieldsmen retired to posts at the extreme edge of the ground.

"Lobs," said Burgess. "By Jove, I wish I was in."

It seemed to be the general opinion among the members of the Wrykyn eleven on the pavilion balcony that Morris and Marsh were in luck. The team did not grudge them their good fortune, because they had earned it; but they were distinctly envious.

Lobs are the most dangerous, insinuating things in the world. Everybody knows in theory the right way to treat them. Everybody knows that the man who is content not to try to score more than a single cannot get out to them. Yet nearly everybody does get out to them.

It was the same story to-day. The first over yielded six runs, all through gentle taps along the ground. In the second, Marsh hit an over-pitched one along the ground to the terrace bank. The next ball he swept round to the leg boundary. And that was the end of Marsh. He saw himself scoring at the rate of twenty-four an over. Off the last ball he was stumped by several feet, having done himself credit by scoring seventy.

The long stand was followed, as usual, by a series of disasters. Marsh's wicket had fallen at a hundred and eighty. Ellerby left at a hundred and eighty-six. By the time the scoring-board registered two hundred, five wickets were down, three of them victims to the lobs. Morris was still in at one end. He had refused to be tempted. He was jogging on steadily to his century.

Bob Jackson went in next, with instructions to keep his eye on the lob-man.

For a time things went well. Saunders, who had gone on to bowl again after a rest, seemed to give Morris no trouble, and Bob put him through the slips with apparent ease. Twenty runs were added, when the lob-bowler once more got in his deadly work. Bob, letting alone a ball wide of the off-stump under the

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78 impression that it was going to break away, was disagreeably surprised to find it break in instead, and hit the wicket. The bowler smiled sadly, as if he hated to have to do these things.

Mike's heart jumped as he saw the bails go. It was his turn next.

"Two hundred and twenty-nine," said Burgess, "and it's ten past six. No good trying for the runs now. Stick in," he added to Mike. "That's all you've got to do."

All ! . . . Mike felt as if he was being strangled. His heart was racing like the engines of a motor. He knew his teeth were chattering. He wished he could stop them. What a time Bob was taking to get back to the pavilion! He wanted to rush out, and get the thing over.

At last he arrived, and Mike, fumbling at a glove, tottered out into the sunshine. He heard miles and miles away a sound of clapping, and a thin, shrill noise as if somebody were screaming in the distance. As a matter of fact, several members of his form and of the junior day-room at Wain's nearly burst themselves at that moment.

At the wickets, he felt better. Bob had fallen to the last ball of the over, and Morris, standing ready for Saunders's delivery, looked so calm and certain of himself that it was impossible to feel entirely without hope and self-confidence. Mike knew that Morris had made ninety-eight, and he supposed that Morris knew that he was very near his century; yet he seemed to be absolutely undisturbed. Mike drew courage from his attitude.

Morris pushed the first ball away to leg. Mike would have liked to have run two, but short leg had retrieved the ball as he reached the crease.

The moment had come, the moment which he had experienced only in dreams. And in the dreams he was always full of confidence, and invariably hit a boundary. Sometimes a drive, sometimes a cut, but always a boundary.

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Rh "To leg, sir," said the umpire.

"Don't be in a funk," said a voice. "Play straight, and you can't get out."

It was Joe, who had taken the gloves when the wicketkeeper went on to bowl.

Mike grinned, wryly but gratefully.

Saunders was beginning his run. It was all so home-like that for a moment Mike felt himself again. How often he had seen those two little skips and the jump. It was like being in the paddock again, with Marjory and the dogs waiting by the railings to fetch the ball if he made a drive.

Saunders ran to the crease, and bowled.

Now, Saunders was a conscientious man, and, doubtless, bowled the very best ball that he possibly could. On the other hand, it was Mike's first appearance for the school, and Saunders, besides being conscientious, was undoubtedly kind-hearted. It is useless to speculate as to whether he was trying to bowl his best that ball. If so, he failed signally. It was a half-volley, just the right distance away from the off-stump; the sort of ball Mike was wont to send nearly through the net at home. . ..

The next moment the dreams had come true. The umpire was signalling to the scoring-box, the school was shouting, extra-cover was trotting to the boundary to fetch the ball, and Mike was blushing and wondering whether it was bad form to grin.

From that ball onwards all was for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Saunders bowled no more half-volleys; but Mike played everything that he did bowl. He met the lobs with a bat like a barn-door. Even the departure of Morris, caught in the slips off Saunders's next over for a chanceless hundred and five, did not disturb him. All nervousness had left him. He felt equal to the situation. Burgess came in, and began to hit out as if he meant to knock off the runs. The bowling became a shade loose. Twice he was given full tosses to leg, which he hit to the terrace bank. Half-past six chimed, and two hundred and fifty went up on

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Rh scheme of Redemption, that scheme should be foreshown from the beginning by the type of bloody sacrifice. But God had no more pleasure in such sacrifice in the time of Moses than He has now; He never accepted, as a propitiation for sin, any sacrifice but the single one in prospective: and that we may not entertain any shadow of doubt on this subject, the worthlessness of all other sacrifice than this is proclaimed at the very time when typical sacrifice was most imperatively demanded. God was a spirit, and could be worshipped only in spirit and in truth, as singly and exclusively when every day brought its claim of typical and material service or offering, as now when He asks for none but that of the heart.

So, therefore, it is a most safe and sure principle that, if in the manner of performing any rite at any time, circumstances can be traced which we are either told, or may legitimately conclude, pleased God at that time, those same circumstances will please Him at all times, in the performance of all rites or offices to which they may be attached in like manner; unless it has been afterwards revealed that, for some special purpose, it is now His will that such circumstances should be withdrawn. And this argument will have all the more force if it can be shown that such conditions were not essential to the completeness of the rite in its human uses and bearings, and only were added to it as being in themselves pleasing to God.

V. Now, was it necessary to the completeness, as a type, of the Levitical sacrifice, or to its utility as an explanation of divine purposes, that it should cost any thing to the person in whose behalf it was offered? On the contrary, the sacrifice which it foreshowed, was to be God's free gift; and the cost of, or difficulty of obtaining, the sacrificial type, could only render that type in a measure obscure, and less expressive of the offering which God would in the end provide for all men. Yet this costliness was generally a


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80 the telegraph board. Burgess continued to hit. Mike's whole soul was concentrated on keeping up his wicket. There was only Reeves to follow him, and Reeves was a victim to the first straight ball. Burgess had to hit because it was the only game he knew; but he himself must simply stay in.

The hands of the clock seemed to have stopped. Then suddenly he heard the umpire say "Last over," and he settled down to keep those six balls out of his wicket.

The lob bowler had taken himself off, and the Oxford Authentic had gone on, fast left-hand.

The first ball was short and wide of the off-stump. Mike let it alone. Number two: yorker. Got him! Three: straight half- volley. Mike played it back to the bowler. Four: beat him, and missed the wicket by an inch. Five: another yorker. Down on it again in the old familiar way.

All was well. The match was a draw now whatever happened to him. He hit out, almost at a venture, at the last ball, and mid-off, jumping, just failed to reach it. It hummed over his head, and ran like a streak along the turf and up the bank, and a great howl of delight went up from the school as the umpire took off the bails.

Mike walked away from the wickets with Joe and the wicket-keeper.

"I'm sorry about your nose, Joe," said the wicket-keeper in tones of grave solicitude.

"What's wrong with it?"

"At present," said the wicket-keeper, "nothing. But in a few years I'm afraid it's going to be put badly out of joint."

got his third eleven colours after the M.C.C. match. As he had made twenty-three not out in a crisis in a first eleven match, this may not seem an

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70 my return to the seat of government at the close of the ensuing month, but on my return I found that you were expected to be on here in person, and this expectation continued till winter. I have since received your favor of Dec. 30.

In the former you mentioned the plan of the town which you had done me the honour to name after me, and to lay out according to an idea I had formerly expressed to you. I am thoroughly persuaded that it will be found handsome, & pleasant, and I do believe it to be the best means of preserving the cities of America from the scourge of the yellow fever which being peculiar to our country must be derived from some peculiarity in it, that peculiarity I take to be our cloudless skies. In Europe where the sun does not shine more than half the number of days in the year which it does in America, they can build their towns in a solid block with impunity; but here a constant sun produces too great an accumulation of heat to admit that. Ventilation is indispensably necessary. Experience has taught us that in the open air of the country the yellow fever is not only not generated, but ceases to be infectious. I cannot decide from the drawing you sent me, whether you have laid off streets round the squares thus or only the diagonal streets therein marked. The former was my idea, and is, I imagine, more convenient.

You will recieve herewith an answer to your letter as President of the Convention; and from the Secretary at War you recieve from time to time information and instructions as to our Indian affairs. These communications being for the public records are restrained always to particular objects and occasions. But this letter being unofficial, and private, I may with safety give you a more extensive view of our policy respecting the Indians, that you may better comprehend the parts dealt out to you in detail through the official channel, and observing the system of which they make a part, conduct yourself in unison with it in cases where you are obliged to act without instruction. [The] system is to live in perpetual peace with the Indians, to cultivate an affectionate attachment from them, by every thing just & liberal which we can [offer?] them within the bounds of reason, and by giving them effectual protection against wrongs from our own people. The decrease of game rendering their subsistence by


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Rh hunting insufficient, we wish to draw them to agriculture, to spinning and weaving. The latter branches they take up with great readiness, because they fall to the women, who gain by quitting the labours of the field [for] these which are exercised within doors. When they withdraw themselves to the culture of a small piece of land, they will perceive how useless to them are their extensive forests, and will be willing to pare them off from time to time in exchange for necessaries for their farms & families. To promote this disposition to exchange lands which they have to spare and we want for necessaries, which we have to spare and they want, we shall push our trading houses, and be glad to see the good and influential individuals among them run in debt, because we observe that when these debts get beyond what the individuals can pay, they become willing to lop them off by a cession of lands. At our trading houses too we mean to sell so low as merely to repay cost and charges so as neither to lessen or enlarge our capital. This is what private traders cannot do, for they must gain; they will consequently retire from the competition, and we shall thus get clear of this pest without giving offence or umbrage to the Indians. In this way our settlements will gradually circumscribe and approach the Indians, and they will in time either incorporate with us as citizens of the United States or remove beyond the Missisipi. The former is certainly the termination of their history most happy for themselves. But in the whole course of this, it is essential to cultivate their love. As to their fear, we presume that our strength and their weakness is now so visible that they must see we have only to shut our hand to crush them, and that all our liberalities to them proceed from motives of pure humanity only. Should any tribe be fool-hardy enough to take up the hatchet at any time, the siezing the whole country of that tribe and driving them across the Missisipi, as the only condition of peace, would be an example to others, and a furtherance of our final consolidation.


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14 condition of the acceptableness of the sacrifice. 'Neither will I offer unto the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing'. That costliness, therefore, must be an acceptable condition in all human offerings at all times; for if it was pleasing to God once, it must please Him always, unless directly forbidden by Him afterwards, which it has never been.

Again, was it necessary to the typical perfection of the Levitical offering, that it should be the best of the flock? Doubtless, the spotlessness of the sacrifice renders it more expressive to the Christian mind; but was it because so expressive that it was actually, and in so many words, demanded by God? Not at all. It was demanded by Him expressly on the same grounds on which an earthly governour would demand it, as a testimony of respect. 'Offer it now unto thy governour'. And the less valuable offering was rejected, not because it did not image Christ, nor fulfil the purposes of sacrifice, but because it indicated a feeling that would grudge the best of its possessions to Him who gave them; and because it was a bold dishonouring of God in the sight of man. Whence it may be infallibly concluded, that in whatever offerings we may now see reason to present unto God (I say not what these may be), a condition of their acceptableness will be now, as it was then, that they should be the best of their kind.

VI. But farther, was it necessary to the carrying out of the Mosaical system, that there should be either art or splendour in the form or services of the tabernacle or temple? Was it necessary to the perfection of any one of their typical offices, that there should be that hanging of blue, and purple, and scarlet? those taches of brass and sockets of silver? that working in cedar and overlaying with gold? One thing at least


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72 Combined with these views, and to be prepared against the occupation of Louisiana by a powerful and enterprising people, it is important that setting less value on interior extension of purchases from the Indians, we bend our whole views to the purchase and settlement of the country on the Missisipi from it's mouth to it's Northern regions, that we may be able to present as strong a front on our Western as on our Eastern border, and plant on the Missisipi itself the means of it's own defence. We now own from 31° to the Yazoo, and hope this summer to purchase what belongs to the Choctaws from the Yazoo up to their boundary, supposed to be about opposite the mouth of Acanza [Arkansas]. We wish at the same time to begin in your quarter, for which there is at present a favorable opening. The Caskias [Kaskaskias] being extinct, we are entitled to their country by our paramount sovereignty. The Peorias we understand have all been driven off from their country, and we might claim it in the same way; but as we understand there is one chief remaining, who would, as the survivor of the tribe, sell the right, it will be better to give him such terms as will make him easy for life, and take a conveyance from him. The Kaskaskias being reduced to a few families, I presume we may purchase their whole country for what would place every individual of them at his ease, and be a small price to us: say by laying off for each family wherever they would chuse it as much rich land as they could cultivate, adjacent to each other, inclosing the whole in a single fence, and giving them such an annuity in money or goods for ever as would place them in happiness; and we might take them also under the protection of the United States. Thus possessed of the rights of these three tribes, we should proceed to the settling their boundaries with the Poutawatamies and Kickapoos; claiming all doubtful territory but paying them a price for the relinquishment of their concurrent claims, and even prevailing on them if possible to cede at a price such of their own unquestioned territory as would give us a convenient Northern boundary. Before broaching this, and while we are bargaining with the Kickapoos, the minds of the Poutawatamies and Kickapoos should be soothed and conciliated by liberalities and sincere assurances of friendship. Perhaps sending a well qualified character to stay some time in Decaigne's village


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Rh as if on other business, and to sound him and introduce the subject by degrees to his mind and that of the other heads of families, inculcating in the way of conversation all those considerations which prove the advantages they would receive by a cession on these terms, the object might be more easily and effectually obtained than by abruptly proposing it to them at a formal treaty. Of the means however of obtaining what we wish you will be the best judge; and I have given you this view of the system which we suppose will best promote the interests of the Indians and of ourselves, and finally consolidate our whole country into one nation only, that you may be enabled the better to adapt your means to the object. For this purpose we have given you a general commission for treating. The crisis is pressing. Whatever can now be obtained, must be obtained quickly. The occupation of New Orleans, hourly expected, by the French, is already felt like a light breeze by the Indians. You know the sentiments they entertain of that nation. Under the hope of their protection, they will immediately stiffen against cessions of land to us. We had better therefore do at once what can now be done. I must repeat that this letter is to be considered as private and friendly, and not to controul any particular instructions which you may receive through an official channel. You will also percieve how sacredly it must be kept within your own breast, and especially how improper to be understood by the Indians. [For] their interests and their tranquillity it is best they should see only the present [stat]e of their history. I pray you to accept assurances of my esteem and consideration.

 March 2, 1803 Am. Sta. Pa. Public Lands, I, 161

Mr. [John] Randolph, from the committe to whom were referred a letter from William Henry Harrison, President of the Convention, held at Vincennes, declaring the consent of


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Rh excessive reward. But it was all that he expected. One had to take the rungs of the ladder singly at Wrykyn. First one was given one's third eleven cap. That meant, "You are a promising man, and we have our eye on you." Then came the second colours. They might mean anything from "Well, here you are. You won't get any higher, so you may as well have the thing now," to "This is just to show that we still have our eye on you."

Mike was a certainty now for the second. But it needed more than one performance to secure the first cap.

"I told you so," said Wyatt, naturally, to Burgess after the match.

"He's not bad," said Burgess. "I'll give him another shot."

But Burgess, as has been pointed put, was not a person who ever became gushing with enthusiasm.

So Wilkins, of the School House, who had played twice for the first eleven, dropped down into the second, as many a good man had done before him, and Mike got his place in the next match, against the Gentlemen of the County. Unfortunately for him, the visiting team, however gentlemanly, were not brilliant cricketers, at any rate as far as bowling was concerned. The school won the toss, went in first, and made three hundred and sixteen for five wickets, Morris making another placid century. The innings was declared closed before Mike had a chance of distinguishing himself. In an innings which lasted for one over he made two runs, not out; and had to console himself for the cutting short of his performance by the fact that his average for the school was still infinity. Bob, who was one of those lucky enough to have an unabridged innings, did better in this match, making twenty-five. But with Morris making a hundred and seventeen, and Berridge, Ellerby, and Marsh all passing the half-century, this score did not show up excessively.

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82 We now come to what was practically a turning-point in Mike's career at Wrykyn. There is no doubt that his meteor-like flights at cricket had an unsettling effect on him. He was enjoying life amazingly, and, as is not uncommon with the prosperous, he waxed fat and kicked. Fortunately for him—though he did not look upon it in that light at the time—he kicked the one person it was most imprudent to kick. The person he selected was Firby-Smith. With anybody else the thing might have blown over, to the detriment of Mike's character; but Firby-Smith, having the most tender affection for his dignity, made a fuss.

It happened in this way. The immediate cause of the disturbance was a remark of Mike's, but the indirect cause was the unbearably patronising manner which the head of Wain's chose to adopt towards him. The fact that he was playing for the school seemed to make no difference at all. Firby-Smith continued to address Mike merely as the small boy.

The following, verbatim, was the tactful speech which he addressed to him on the evening of the M.C.C. match, having summoned him to his study for the purpose.

"Well," he said, "you played a very decent innings this afternoon, and I suppose you're frightfully pleased with yourself, eh? Well, mind you don't go getting swelled head. See? That's all. Run along."

Mike departed, bursting with fury.

The next link in the chain was forged a week after the Gentlemen of the County match. House matches had begun, and Wain's were playing Appleby's. Appleby's made a hundred and fifty odd, shaping badly for the most part against Wyatt's slows. Then Wain's opened their innings. The Gazeka, as head of the house, was captain of the side, and he and Wyatt went in first. Wyatt made a few mighty hits, and was then caught at cover. Mike went in first wicket.

For some ten minutes all was peace. Firby-Smith scratched away at his end, getting here and there a single and now and then a two, and Mike settled down

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Rh at once to play what he felt was going to be the innings of a lifetime. Appleby's bowling was on the feeble side, with Raikes, of the third eleven, as the star, supported by some small change. Mike pounded it vigorously. To one who had been brought up on Saunders, Raikes possessed few subtleties. He had made seventeen, and was thoroughly set, when the Gazeka, who had the bowling, hit one in the direction of cover-point. With a certain type of batsman a single is a thing to take big risks for. And the Gazeka badly wanted that single.

"Come on," he shouted, prancing down the pitch.

Mike, who had remained in his crease with the idea that nobody even moderately sane would attempt a run for a hit like that, moved forward in a startled and irresolute manner. Firby-Smith arrived, shouting "Run!" and, cover having thrown the ball in, the wicket-keeper removed the bails.

These are solemn moments.

The only possible way of smoothing over an episode of this kind is for the guilty man to grovel.

Firby-Smith did not grovel.

"Easy run there, you know," he said reprovingly.

The world swam before Mike's eyes. Through the red mist he could see Firby-Smith's face. The sun glinted on his rather prominent teeth. To Mike's distorted vision it seemed that the criminal was amused.

"Don't laugh, you grinning ape!" he cried. "It isn't funny."

He then made for the trees where the rest of the team were sitting.

Now Firby-Smith not only possessed rather prominent teeth; he was also sensitive on the subject. Mike's shaft sank in deeply. The fact that emotion caused him to swipe at a straight half-volley, miss it, and be bowled next ball made the wound rankle.

He avoided Mike on his return to the trees. And Mike, feeling now a little apprehensive, avoided him.

The Gazeka brooded apart for the rest of the

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84, chewing the insult. At close of play he sought Burgess.

Burgess, besides being captain of the eleven was also head of the school. He was the man who arranged prefects' meetings. And only a prefects' meeting, thought Firby-Smith, could adequately avenge his lacerated dignity.

"I want to speak to you, Burgess," he said.

"What's up?" said Burgess.

"You know young Jackson in our house."

"What about him?"

"He's been frightfully insolent."

"Cheeked you?" said Burgess, a man of simple speech.

"I want you to call a prefects' meeting, and lick him."

Burgess looked incredulous.

"Rather a large order, a prefects' meeting," he said. "It has to be a pretty serious sort of thing for that."

"Frightful cheek to a school prefect is a serious thing," said Firby-Smith, with the air of one uttering an epigram.

"Well, I suppose— What did he say to you?"

Firby-Smith related the painful details.

Burgess started to laugh, but turned the laugh into a cough.

"Yes," he said meditatively. "Rather thick. Still, I mean— A prefects' meeting. Rather like crushing a thingummy with a what-d'you-call-it. Besides, he's a decent kid."

"He's frightfully conceited."

"Oh, well— Well, anyhow, look here, I'll think it over, and let you know to-morrow. It's not the sort of thing to rush through without thinking about it."

And the matter was left temporarily at that.

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28

day a horseman, covered with dust and dirt, came into Poland on the gallop and drew up in front of the general store and post-office.

"Fort Sumter has been bombarded!" he cried to the crowd gathered around to receive the mail.

"Fort Sumter bombarded?" questioned half a dozen men. "You are sure of this?"

"Yes, the news came into Youngstown an hour and a half ago."

"If it's true, it means war!"

Instantly there was great excitement, just as there was excitement in every town, village, and hamlet throughout the length and breadth of the land. As the news travelled from mouth to mouth, the people gathered to talk it over and speculate upon what would be the outcome.


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Rh "It means a long war," said one.

"Oh, pshaw! there will be no war at all. It will all be over in two or three months," added another.

"The South can't fight, and one big battle will finish the whole thing," said a third.

Nobody dreamed of what was in store for the Nation,—four long years of a bloody contest, fathers and brothers slain, families divided, fortunes lost, business paralyzed, and the best of friends made the bitterest of enemies. It was truly a time to try men's souls. Nobody knew what to expect, nobody knew what would happen next.

In the post-office, sorting out mail matter, was William McKinley. He had given up teaching the district school and was now acting as an assistant postmaster. As the talk from outside sifted to his ears, he looked up in wonder.

"So the South has started the war?" he said.

"Yes, the South has started the war, William," said a man who was waiting for his mail. "They're foolish to do it, for they can't hold out long."

At this McKinley shook his head. "I


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30 don't know about that. They have a good many men down there, and they have seen to it that they are pretty well provided with guns and cannon. I read of it in the papers."

"But they can't stand up against us," put in another man. "We will soon knock the spots out of 'em."

"Don't you be too sure of that," came from an old soldier who sat near the door, on a cracker barrel. "I fought alongside of some of those fellows in 1812, and in the Mexican War, and I tell you they can fight just as well as any of us. If war comes, it will be a long and bloody one, mark my words."

The news concerning Fort Sumter proved true. "The shot that was heard around the world" was fired on Friday, April 12, 1861. The cannonading was fast and furious, and Major Anderson, in command of the fort, could do little either to defend himself or in retaliation. The Unionists held the quarters for thirty-four hours and then accepted terms of evacuation offered by General Beauregard, and marched from the place a few hours later.


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Rh This was on Sunday, and all day long the people of the North wondered what President Lincoln would do. Great crowds walked the streets at night, and the little village of Poland shared in the general anxiety. On Monday the President issued a proclamation calling for seventy-five thousand men to put down the rebellion.

Seventy-five thousand men! The eyes of the nation were opened at last. Grim war was a reality. The excitement grew, and as the call to arms was made in every city, town, and hamlet, men, young and old, poured forth, to fight for the flag they so loved. And while this was going on in the North, those of the South were equally active and equally anxious to strike a blow in the defence of their principles.

The town of Poland was as patriotic as any in the North, and when recruiting began at the old Sparrow House tavern, William McKinley walked over to listen to the speech making and see who enlisted. He had already been over to Youngstown with a cousin to see some soldiers off, and this had fired his patriotism. The old tavern was gayly decorated with the stars and


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32 stripes, and on a board was posted Lincoln's call for volunteers. On a small box on the porch of the tavern stood a recruiting agent, talking earnestly to all who had gathered.

"Our country's flag has been fired upon," said the speaker, pointing to Old Glory. "It has been trailed in the dust by those who should have cherished and loved it. And for what? That this free government may keep a race in the bondage of slavery! Who will be the first to defend the glorious stars and stripes?"

There was a painful silence, and one man looked at another. Then a veteran of the Mexican War spoke up.

"I will go. Come on, boys. Show what you are willing to do for Uncle Sam!"

"I will go," cried one of the young men, who had been McKinley's schoolfellow.

Then several others stepped forward and put down their names. One or two looked at William McKinley.

"Are you going, Will?" asked a friend.

"I expect to go," was the answer.

"Then why don't you put down your name?"

"I want to tell mother first," he answered,


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Rh and hurried away. It did not take him long to reach the house in which he lived, and rushing in, he found his mother hard at work in the kitchen.

"Mother, I am going to enlist," he said.

"Enlist, William?" she said slowly, and dropped her broom.

"Yes. They need soldiers to fight the South and put down this rebellion. The others are enlisting, and I don't want to hang back."

"But you are so young," pleaded the mother. "And you are not very strong."

"Oh, I'm stronger than I was. Of course, if they reject me, I'll have to stay home."

The mother demurred, for she loved her boy greatly; but at last, when she saw that his heart was set upon going, she consented. Back to the tavern he rushed, and put down his name on the list of volunteers.

"Hurrah! we'll have great sport," cried one of the young volunteers. "We'll soon show those rebels how to behave!"

"It will not be sport to kill people," replied McKinley. "And the sport, as you call it, may be on the other side. In the


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34 Revolution the soldiers of the South fought as well as did the soldiers of the North. They are surely in earnest, or they wouldn't have bombarded Fort Sumter."

"Oh, they knew they had a sure thing there," was the reply. "It was their game from the start. But when we meet them on an open battlefield, they will sing a different tune."

So the talk ran on, the majority thinking that going to war was to be very much like a huge "picnic," as some expressed it. A few thought the rebellion would last six months, but the majority thought that thirty or sixty days would see its conclusion. Could they have foreseen those four long years of blood and carnage, how they would have shuddered!

The volunteering of the recruits was followed by drilling on the town green. There were no uniforms, and not enough muskets to go around, and the officers wore only belts and swords. At first the company was an awkward one, and the mistakes made in military tactics were laughable. Here William McKinley learned to "line up," "march," "wheel," and the like, and


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Rh learned the manual of arms. It was a busy time, and the green was always crowded with those who desired to see how the young soldiers were progressing.

At last came the day when the volunteers were to leave Poland, march to Youngstown, and there take the train first for Cleveland and then for Camp Chase at Columbus. It was a holiday in the town, but a sorrowful one, for many who marched away so bravely were never to return. Flags fluttered from many windows and housetops, and an old cannon roared out a parting salute. In the ranks marched William McKinley, a private, going to fight for the Union which he, in later years, helped so greatly to prosper. On the sidewalk were his folks, his mother weeping silently, and the others scarcely less affected.

"Good-by!" he shouted bravely, even though there must have been a strange lump in his throat. "Good-by all!"

"Good-by, and God bless you, my boy!" said the fond mother, and then the drum rattled, the fife piped up its merry tune, and the Poland volunteers were off for the war.


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36

trip from Youngstown to Cleveland and then to Columbus did not take long, and arriving at the latter place, the Poland recruits were immediately marched to Camp Chase, a beautiful spot well adapted to the purposes of mustering troops into the United States service.

Here every volunteer had to be examined physically, and it may well be supposed that William McKinley was exceedingly anxious concerning this part of the proceedings. He had set his heart upon going to the war, and had he been rejected on account of his health, he would have been sorely disappointed.

When his turn came, he found himself in the presence of General Fremont, known as the "Pathfinder of the West," because of


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Rh his trip of years before. General Fremont looked him over, thumped him on the chest, gazed into his clear grayish eyes, and then said pleasantly, "You'll do."

It was a great relief from a mental strain, and McKinley hurried back to his tent with his face full of smiles.

"I guess you're going, Will," sang out one of the volunteers. "He didn't turn you down, did he?"

"No; he said I'd do," answered McKinley. "And I'm going to do—the very best I can."

The Poland volunteers became Company E of the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and were mustered into service for three years on June 11, 1861. The regiment was in many respects a remarkable one. Its first colonel was William S. Rosecrans, afterward Major-general and Commander of the Department of the Cumberland; its lieutenant-colonel was Stanley Matthews, afterward United States senator, and associate justice of the Supreme Court; and its first major was Rutherford B. Hayes, who after the war became governor of Ohio and then President of the United


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38 States. Before the regiment went into the field, however, Colonel Rosecrans received a commission as brigadier-general in the regular army, and was succeeded in command by Colonel E. P. Scammon.

It was a solemn proceeding when the regiment was sworn into the service of the United States, a proceeding which none of the young recruits forgot for many years afterward. The swearing-in was followed by constant drilling, and each soldier was measured for his uniform and given a rifle, ammunition-box, knapsack, and blanket.

It is said by those who were in the regiment with him, that William McKinley took to soldiering naturally and learned his Hardee's Tactics with scarcely an effort. With one who had been so studious, this was not to be wondered at; and it will surprise nobody when told that he was always on hand when wanted.

Fourth of July was passed in camp by the soldiers, who did what they could to make the day a patriotic one, with the firing of guns, and huge camp-fires at night, around which the boys congregated to sing "Hail, Columbia," "America," and other


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Rh songs. Then came orders to go to Clarksburg, West Virginia, and hither the regiment went, late in the month.

Hardly had the regiment reached Clarksburg when it was ordered to Weston. The Rich Mountain range was full of guerillas,—lawless men who cared only for plunder, regardless of the rights of the North or the South,—and these were chased over and around the mountains and through the deep ravines. It rained almost constantly, and the soldier boys were often wet to the skin, and had to sleep that way during the night.

"Tell you what, this is tough," growled one volunteer. "I didn't bargain for it, when I joined."

"We'll have to take the weather as it comes," said McKinley, philosophically. "We are no worse off than the men we are fighting."

The regiment had been divided into two parts, but on the 1st of September the wings came together at Bulltown, and then joined the forces under General Rosecrans and moved on Carnifex Ferry. Here the Confederates under General Floyd were


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40 drawn up in battle array, and it was here that William McKinley received what soldiers would call his " baptism of fire." As a private of Company E he marched to the firing line, musket in hand, alert, and ready to do or die as the occasion might require. He was but eighteen, full of patriotism and the fervor of youth. Floyd was beaten back and retreated across the Gauley River. The rain came down in torrents, rendering it difficult to pursue the Confederates, but it was attempted, and a number of prisoners were taken as a result.

After this engagement there was but little for Company E to do, and, as cold weather came on, the majority of the regiment went into winter quarters, although some companies pushed through a blinding snowstorm to the Blue Stone River, driving a detachment of the enemy before them.

The winter proved an unusually hard one, and there was much sickness in the camp. But the rugged outdoor life, instead of breaking William McKinley down, built him up, until he was as healthy and strong as any of his fellow-soldiers. The war records show that during his whole term of


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Rh service he suffered from no serious sickness, and that he was absent only once on furlough.

There was constant recruiting, drilling, and discipline, and often the soldiers had to sit up and wait upon those who were sick, and who could not get into the overcrowded hospital. Of this latter work McKinley did his full share, and many stories are told of his good-heartedness, of how he gave up his dry tent to a sick soldier whose tent was wet, and of how he loaned his blanket to the suffering. These noble deeds are not recorded on paper, but they are recorded in the hearts of those who were thus comforted.

One day, early in April, came a little surprise for William McKinley the private. His actions had been noticed by his superiors, and now he was appointed commissary sergeant of the command. To those who may not know what a commissary sergeant is, let me say that he is an under-officer who looks after the cooking and serving of food to the men in the ranks. Although humble, the place is, after all, quite important, for men must have their


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42 eating, and have it regularly; and if food is not properly cooked, there is much danger from sickness. The newly appointed commissary sergeant entered upon his duties at once, and how well he performed them, even under great difficulties, we shall see later.

Coming out of its winter camp, the regiment proceeded to Princeton. It was expected that a battle would occur at this place, but, fearing they could not hold the town, the Confederates set fire to it and retired. Rushing in, the Union soldiers did what they could to stop the flames and then quieted the inhabitants.

After the taking of Princeton, nothing of importance occurred for several weeks; then the regiment was ordered first to Green Meadow and then to Camp Piatt, on the Great Kanawha.

"We are bound for Washington!" cried some of the soldiers, and the report proved true. From Camp Piatt the regiment took transports to Parkersburg and from thence travelled in cars to the capital.

It was William McKinley's first visit to Washington, and when he had a few hours to himself he lost no time in inspecting the


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Rh Capitol Buildings and the White House. But in those days it is not likely that he ever thought to occupy the chair then filled by Abraham Lincoln, or that he, like Lincoln, would fall by the hand of a foul assassin. All he thought of was to do his duty fully and faithfully, and let the future take care of itself.

The victory at Bull Run had inspired the Confederates in Virginia with great confidence, and while General McClellan was in Washington, doing his utmost to bring order out of chaos and put our army on a proper footing, previous to a contemplated campaign on the peninsula, the soldiers of the South followed up their advantage by defeating General Pope. This brought them close to the Maryland line, and under the command of General Lee they crossed the Potomac, marched along the eastern slope of Catoctin Mountain, and directed their steps toward Frederick, the state capital.

The people of Maryland who were loyal to the old flag heard of the coming of the Confederates with great alarm, and instantly McClellan was appealed to, to save


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44 them from the invaders. As a result the Union forces moved out of Washington and the neighborhood, eighty-seven thousand strong, marching by five routes, so that the enemy would not have any chance to move around them and thus assault Washington or Baltimore.

With this vast array of soldiers went Company E of the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteers. William McKinley had never before seen such an army, and as he marched along, with musket on his shoulder, doubtless he dreamed of all the possibilities of a soldier's life and wondered if he would ever rise from the ranks to lead a company, a regiment, or a brigade.

A great battle was expected at Frederick, but it failed to materialize, and the Union troops occupied the city with comparatively little resistance.

"They are afraid to meet us," said some of the Union soldiers. "Before long you'll hear of General Lee retreating to the south."

Leaving Frederick, the Confederate army had found its way to South Mountain, and here it held a strong position on the


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Rh and behind the rocks and trees. To South Mountain marched McClellan's army, and with this went the Twenty-third Ohio, commanded by Lieutenant-colonel Hayes.

"You will advance by yonder road and attack the enemy," was the order sent by the division commander; and along the muddy and broken road hurried the regiment, and was the first to get into the contest which led up to the bloody battle of Antietam. From behind rocks and trees the Confederates poured in a deadly fire of musketry, grape, and canister, filling the air with smoke and dirt and a din which is indescribable. Men began to drop here and there—Colonel Hayes had his arm broken, a captain was shot through the elbow, several lieutenants were wounded, and out of a force of three hundred and fifty that went into the action nearly a hundred were either killed or wounded. Colonel Hayes was taken from the field, but soon reappeared, with his wound half dressed, and insisted upon continuing the struggle.

"We are going to lose the day!" was the cry, when, with a cheer, the balance of the division hove into sight, on the


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46 double-quick, and with renewed courage what remained of the gallant Twenty-third Ohio Infantry pushed on, until the Confederates were forced to give up their position and take a new location in the woods beyond.

McKinley had had great trouble in bringing up his supplies for the regiment, but he was on hand with all that was necessary when the fighting ceased, and soon gave to the tired soldier boys the food and drink they craved. But to hurry supplies forward during the battle that followed was much harder work, and what this led to, through the pluck and persistence of the young commissary sergeant, will be told in the chapter to follow.


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Rh

battle of Antietam Creek, or Sharpsburg, followed immediately after that of South Mountain, and lasted two days. The Confederates had taken a strong position near the Potomac, with the creek in front of them, and with General Longstreet on the right wing, and General Hill on the left wing, while General Hood, with two brigades, covered a road running northward.

There was a small skirmish on the 16th of September, but on the 17th the battle opened in earnest. Hooker's force near Keedysville did some hard fighting and was supported by Mansfield's command, the gallant commander losing his life on the field. The divisions of Sedgwick, Richardson, and French were also to the front, and aided by the artillery, helped to make the Confederate position too hot to


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48 be held. Burnside was ordered across the creek, and went, although somewhat delayed. Then some two thousand fresh Confederate troops appeared, and Burnside was compelled to retire, when darkness put an end to the fighting, which had already lasted fourteen hours.

In this battle the Twenty-third Ohio Infantry fought with the Kanawha division. This division made a disastrous charge during the closing hours of the battle. As they were advancing, the enemy suddenly came forth from a neighboring cornfield and poured a deadly fire at them, shooting down their colors and several of the officers. For the instant there was a panic, but the soldiers rallied around Major Comly, who secured the fallen flag and raised it up, and then another rush was made. Soon a battery in the rear came to the aid of the Ohio troops, and the Confederates retired as quickly as they had come.

As commissary sergeant, William McKinley was not supposed to play a prominent part in the battle, yet the records show that he exhibited rare bravery in doing something which had never been done


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Rh, and which has seldom been done since.

The soldiers had had an early and scanty breakfast when called into action, and so rapid were their various movements that by noon many were faint and hungry. But the provision wagons were miles away, and it looked as if they must continue to fight on empty stomachs, no matter how much they craved food and drink.

With the provision wagons was Sergeant McKinley, and soon word reached him that the boys were hungry and thirsty, and dropping out right and left.

"If you could only give them a can of coffee, they'd be satisfied," said his informer.

"They shall have coffee and other rations too," cried the young commissary sergeant. "Here, help hitch up these mules!"

The provisions were in two wagons, and soon McKinley, aided by several army stragglers, had the mules hitched to these, and the journey to the front began. The way was uncertain, shot and shell flew in all directions, and while one wagon got stuck in a mud-hole, the mules of the other were disabled by the firing. But,


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50, McKinley pushed on, driving the leading wagon himself and picking up a stray pair of mules as he went. At last he reached the field of battle, much to the amazement of many officers and to the intense delight of his command.

"Hurrah, here's Sergeant McKinley with rations!" was the cry. "Hurrah!" And somebody else added: "What have you got, Mac? Be sure and give us the best, for we may be dead men by next meal-time!"

And give them his best Sergeant McKinley did, boiling up coffee and handing it around by the cup, canteen, and kettle, along with the rest of the provisions. One poor fellow, who was shot and who was leaning against a tree, received his portion of coffee with a muttered "God bless the lad!" that went straight to McKinley's heart and repaid him, so he said, for all the trouble he had taken.

And what was the result of this unexpected devotion to duty? When the fighting was done, many laughed at the young sergeant, and some commissary men sneered at him for "going beyond his line of duty," as they put it. But Colonel Hayes did not


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Rh sneer. Instead, when he heard of it, he was deeply impressed, and, later on, told Governor Todd the particulars.

"Such a fellow deserves promotion," said the governor, and at once wrote to headquarters, requesting that McKinley be made a lieutenant. The request was favorably considered, and on September 24, 1862, William McKinley became a second lieutenant. A loving attention to duty had won him his shoulder straps. Of this incident, Ex-President Hayes, in making an address years afterward, said:—

"From Sergeant McKinley's hand every man in the regiment was served with hot coffee and warm meats, a thing which had never occurred before under similar circumstances in any army in the world. He passed under fire and delivered with his own hands those things so essential to the men for whom he was laboring."

As a lieutenant McKinley was warmly received, although some mourned over losing such a conscientious commissary sergeant. Of his days as a private, McKinley himself wrote:—

"I always look back with pleasure upon


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52 those fourteen months in which I served in the ranks. They taught me a great deal. I was but a schoolboy when I went into the army, and that first year was a formative period in my life, during which I learned much of men and affairs. I have always been glad that I entered the service as a private and served those months in that capacity."

Early in October the regiment returned, with the rest of the Kanawha division, to West Virginia, marching by way of Hagerstown. There was a report of a Stuart raid in Pennsylvania, and a quick march was made in that direction. Quick marches were the order of the day, and on returning to Hancock the regiment ate breakfast in Pennsylvania, dinner in Maryland, and supper in Virginia, which was certainly a remarkable accomplishment when it is considered that the troops covered the ground largely on foot.

In the middle of November the regiment went into winter quarters at the falls of the Great Kanawha. The records show that during the campaign of 1862 it marched about six hundred miles. It had lost


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Rh valuable officers and a large number of men; in round figures, over two hundred. Many were sick, and the camp equipments were no longer of the best. More than this, the eyes of every volunteer were now wide open to the fact that the soldiers of the South could fight just as bravely and sturdily as those of the North, and that the war was likely, in consequence, to last for a long while to come.

"Tell you what, it ain't going to be no picnic, after all," drawled one of the privates. "It's going to be hard work and plenty of it."

Yet for the time being there was little to do. The regiment remained where it was until the middle of March, 1863, when it was ordered to Charleston, Virginia, remaining there several months. During this time Lieutenant McKinley was occupied in drilling a portion of the command. His spare time was used in reading history and the biographies of noted military men, for he was now thinking strongly of making the army his chosen profession. In speaking of those days, one old veteran has said:—


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54 "He was a model officer, and a good fellow to boot. To be sure, there was a certain reserve about him, so that one couldn't get too familiar, but he was never harsh, and he never swore at us as some officers did. He never seemed to care for rough stories, and I don't think he ever told such a story in his life, even though he would occasionally make a good-natured joke. He was a great fellow to read and to watch how matters were going in camp, and he kept his uniform and equipments as clean as the cleanest."

At this time Morgan's guerillas were doing much harm in the vicinity of Buffington Bar and Hockingport, on the Ohio River, and about the middle of July the regiment moved upon the noted raider, in company with other commands.

Morgan's raid was remarkable in the dash and fire with which it was carried out, and also in the amount of property which was either carried off or destroyed by the raiders. The daring guerilla had under him several thousand cavalrymen, almost as daring as himself, several regiments from Tennessee, and a battery of artillery. With this


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Rh force he, late in June, set out from Sparta, Tennessee, and marched into Kentucky. After one or two small encounters, he reached New Market, and then set out for Lebanon. This town was guarded by a force of four hundred men who fought for seven hours, but were at last forced to surrender. Entering the place, the raiders supplied themselves with all they desired, and then pushed on to Bardstown and other places. At Shepardsville, a train was stopped, and the guerillas captured a number of soldiers, and confiscated a large amount of valuable mail matter.

The next stop was made at Brandenburg, where Morgan secured passage over the river into Indiana. There was now more alarm than ever, for the noted guerilla was steadily gaining strength, and there was no telling where he would strike next. The Union forces gathered at Springfield and marched to Brandenburg just after Morgan left it.

General Hobson was in command, with Kentucky and Ohio cavalry and mounted infantry numbering three thousand men. Other forces were speedily rushed to the


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56 front and traps were laid in all directions to catch the wily Confederate, who moved about with the slyness of a fox, striking when least expected and vanishing before he could be cornered.

But at last Morgan began to find himself gradually hedged in, and then his one thought was to get to the South again. After a brief stop at Harrison, he moved along through Glendale and other towns and crossed the Miami River at Miamiville, the Union forces being only a few hours behind him.

"We'll get him yet!" was the cry of those who were following, and day by day the pursuit was kept up, through numerous towns and villages and across rivers and mountains, until the Confederates reached the Ohio, near Buffington's Island. Here they tried to cross, but were driven back, and a small portion of them surrendered. Then the others were pursued, first to a spot fourteen miles above Buffington, where more of the guerillas were captured, and then to New Lisbon, where the noted raider Morgan was himself taken with four hundred more of his followers.


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Rh In the rounding up of Morgan and his daring men the Twenty-third Ohio took an active part. It was led by Colonel Hayes, who was at the head of two regiments and a battery of artillery. There was a small battle one day and a heavy contest the next. The Confederates, knowing it was their last chance, fought with a desperation wonderful to behold and worthy of a better cause. But they could not withstand the galling fire poured into them and at last surrendered as above mentioned.

When the fighting was over, the route taken by the raiders was carefully gone over, and it was found to be literally filled with things first taken and then cast aside because of the hurried flight,—carriages, wagons, rolls of silks, muslins and calicoes, lace goods, gloves, watches and jewelry, all mingled with guns, pistols, parts of uniforms, ammunition, and boxes of provisions. The woods were full of horses and mules, many shot dead or disabled by those who had thus been forced to leave them behind, and even large packages of United States greenbacks were discovered, torn to shreds. Some of the valuables were returned to


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58 their rightful owners, but the majority of the things remained unidentified, and were either kept by the victorious soldiers or turned over to the government at Washington.


text: American Boys' Life of William McKinley/Chapter 6


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Rh

walked off the ground feeling that fate was not using him well.

Here was he, a well-meaning youth who wanted to be on good terms with all the world, being jockeyed into slaughtering a kid whose batting he admired and whom personally he liked. And the worst of it was that he sympathised with Mike. He knew what it felt like to be run out just when one had got set, and he knew exactly how maddening the Gazeka's manner would be on such an occasion. On the other hand, officially he was bound to support the head of Wain's. Prefects must stand together or chaos will come.

He thought he would talk it over with somebody. Bob occurred to him. It was only fair that Bob should be told, as the nearest of kin.

And here was another grievance against fate. Bob was a person he did not particularly wish to see just then. For that morning he had posted up the list of the team to play for the school against Geddington, one of the four schools which Wrykyn met at cricket; and Bob's name did not appear on that list. Several things had contributed to that melancholy omission. In the first place, Geddington, to judge from the weekly reports in the Sportsman and Field, were strong this year at batting. In the second place, the results of the last few matches, and particularly the M.C.C. match, had given Burgess the idea that Wrykyn was weak at bowling. It became necessary, therefore, to drop a batsman out of the team in favour of a bowler. And either Mike or Bob must be the man.

Burgess was as rigidly conscientious as the captain of a school eleven should be. Bob was one of his best friends, and he would have given much to be able to put him in the team; but he thought the thing over, and put the temptation sturdily behind him. At batting

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86 there was not much to choose between the two, but In fielding there was a great deal. Mike was good. Bob was bad. So out Bob had gone, and Neville-Smith, a fair fast bowler at all times and on his day dangerous, took his place.

These clashings of public duty with private inclination are the drawbacks to the despotic position of captain of cricket at a public school. It is awkward having to meet your best friend after you have dropped him from the team, and it is difficult to talk to him as if nothing had happened.

Burgess felt very self-conscious as he entered Bob's study, and was rather glad that he had a topic of conversation ready to hand.

"Busy, Bob?" he asked.

"Hullo," said Bob, with a cheerfulness rather overdone in his anxiety to show Burgess, the man, that he did not hold him responsible in any way for the distressing acts of Burgess, the captain. "Take a pew. Don't these studies get beastly hot this weather. There's some ginger-beer in the cupboard. Have some?"

"No, thanks. I say, Bob, look here, I want to see you."

"Well, you can, can't you? This is me, sitting over here. The tall, dark, handsome chap."

"It's awfully awkward, you know," continued Burgess gloomily; "that ass of a young brother of yours— Sorry, but he is an ass, though he's your brother"

"Thanks for the 'though,' Billy. You know how to put a thing nicely. What's Mike been up to?"

"It's that old fool the Gazeka. He came to me frothing with rage, and wanted me to call a prefects' meeting and touch young Mike up."

Bob displayed interest and excitement for the first time.

"Prefects' meeting! What the dickens is up? What's he been doing? Smith must be drunk. What's all the row about?"

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Rh Burgess repeated the main facts of the case as he had them from Firby-Smith.

"Personally, I sympathise with the kid," he added. "Still, the Gazeka is a prefect"

Bob gnawed a pen-holder morosely.

"Silly young idiot," he said.

"Sickening thing being run out," suggested Burgess.

"Still"

"I know. It's rather hard to see what to do. I suppose if the Gazeka insists, one's bound to support him."

"I suppose so."

"Awful rot. Prefects' lickings aren't meant for that sort of thing. They're supposed to be for kids who steal buns at the shop or muck about generally. Not for a chap who curses a fellow who runs him out. I tell you what, there's just a chance Firby-Smith won't press the thing. He hadn't had time to get over it when he saw me. By now he'll have simmered down a bit. Look here, you're a pal of his, aren't you? Well, go and ask him to drop the business. Say you'll curse your brother and make him apologise, and that I'll kick him out of the team for the Geddington match."

It was a difficult moment for Bob. One cannot help one's thoughts, and for an instant the idea of going to Geddington with the team, as he would certainly do if Mike did not play, made him waver. But he recovered himself.

"Don't do that," he said. "I don't see there's a need for anything of that sort. You must play the best side you've got. I can easily talk the old Gazeka over. He gets all right in a second if he's treated the right way. I'll go and do it now."

Burgess looked miserable.

"I say, Bob," he said.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing—I mean, you're not a bad sort." With which glowing eulogy he dashed out of the room, thanking his stars that he had won through a confoundedly awkward business.

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88 Bob went across to Wain's to interview and soothe Firby- Smith.

He found that outraged hero sitting moodily in his study like Achilles in his tent.

Seeing Bob, he became all animation.

"Look here," he said, "I wanted to see you. You know, that frightful young brother of yours"

"I know, I know," said Bob. "Burgess was telling me. He wants kicking."

"He wants a frightful licking from the prefects," emended the aggrieved party.

"Well, I don't know, you know. Not much good lugging the prefects into it, is there? I mean, apart from everything else, not much of a catch for me, would it be, having to sit there and look on. I'm a prefect, too, you know."

Firby-Smith looked a little blank at this. He had a great admiration for Bob.

"I didn't think of you," he said.

"I thought you hadn't," said Bob. "You see it now, though, don't you?"

Firby-Smith returned to the original grievance.

"Well, you know, it was frightful cheek."

"Of course it was. Still, I think if I saw him and cursed him, and sent him up to you to apologise— How would that do?"

"All right. After all, I did run him out."

"Yes, there's that, of course. Mike's all right, really. It isn't as if he did that sort of thing as a habit."

"No. All right then."

"Thanks," said Bob, and went to find Mike.

The lecture on deportment which he read that future All-England batsman in a secluded passage near the junior day-room left the latter rather limp and exceedingly meek. For the moment all the jauntiness and exuberance had been drained out of him. He was a punctured balloon. Reflection, and the distinctly

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Rh discouraging replies of those experts in school law to whom he had put the question, "What d'you think he'll do?" had induced a very chastened frame of mind.

He perceived that he had walked very nearly into a hornets' nest, and the realisation of his escape made him agree readily to all the conditions imposed. The apology to the Gazeka was made without reserve, and the offensively forgiving, say-no-more-about-it-but-take care-in-future air of the head of the house roused no spark of resentment in him, so subdued was his fighting spirit. All he wanted was to get the thing done with. He was not inclined to be critical.

And, most of all, he felt grateful to Bob. Firby-Smith, in the course of his address, had not omitted to lay stress on the importance of Bob's intervention. But for Bob, he gave him to understand, he, Mike, would have been prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law. Mike came away with a confused picture in his mind of a horde of furious prefects bent on his slaughter, after the manner of a stage "excited crowd," and Bob waving them back. He realised that Bob had done him a good turn. He wished he could find some way of repaying him.

Curiously enough, it was an enemy of Bob's who suggested the way—Burton, of Donaldson's. Burton was a slippery young gentleman, fourteen years of age, who had frequently come into contact with Bob in the house, and owed him many grudges. With Mike he had always tried to form an alliance, though without success.

He happened to meet Mike going to school next morning, and unburdened his soul to him. It chanced that Bob and he had had another small encounter immediately after breakfast, and Burton felt revengeful.

"I say," said Burton, "I'm jolly glad you're playing for the first against Geddington."

"Thanks," said Mike.

"I'm specially glad for one reason."

"What's that?" inquired Mike, without interest.

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90 "Because your beast of a brother has been chucked out. He'd have been playing but for you."

At any other time Mike would have heard Bob called a beast without active protest. He would have felt that it was no business of his to fight his brother's battles for him. But on this occasion he deviated from his rule.

He kicked Burton. Not once or twice, but several times, so that Burton, retiring hurriedly, came to the conclusion that it must be something in the Jackson blood, some taint, as it were. They were all beasts.

Mike walked on, weighing this remark, and gradually made up his mind. It must be remembered that he was in a confused mental condition, and that the only thing he realised clearly was that Bob had pulled him out of an uncommonly nasty hole. It seemed to him that it was necessary to repay Bob. He thought the thing over more fully during school, and his decision remained unaltered.

On the evening before the Geddington match, just before lock-up, Mike tapped at Burgess's study door. He tapped with his right hand, for his left was in a sling.

"Come in!" yelled the captain. "Hullo!"

"I'm awfully sorry, Burgess," said Mike. "I've crocked my wrist a bit."

"How did you do that? You were all right at the nets?"

"Slipped as I was changing," said Mike stolidly.

"Is it bad?"

"Nothing much. I'm afraid I shan't be able to play to-morrow."

"I say, that's bad luck. Beastly bad luck. We wanted your batting, too. Be all right, though, in a day or two, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, rather."

"Hope so, anyway."

"Thanks. Good-night."

"Good-night."

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Rh And Burgess, with the comfortable feeling that he had managed to combine duty and pleasure after all, wrote a note to Bob at Donaldson's, telling him to be ready to start with the team for Geddington by the 8.54 next morning.

Uncle John was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He had been an army surgeon in the days of his youth, and, after an adventurous career, mainly in Afghanistan, had inherited enough money to keep him in comfort for the rest of his life. He had thereupon left the service, and now spent most of his time flitting from one spot of Europe to another. He had been dashing up to Scotland on the day when Mike first became a Wrykynian, but a few weeks in an uncomfortable hotel in Skye and a few days in a comfortable one in Edinburgh had left him with the impression that he had now seen all that there was to be seen in North Britain and might reasonably shift his camp again.

Coming south, he had looked in on Mike's people for a brief space, and, at the request of Mike's mother, took the early express to Wrykyn in order to pay a visit of inspection.

His telegram arrived during morning school. Mike went down to the station to meet him after lunch.

Uncle John took command of the situation at once.

"School playing anybody to-day, Mike? I want to see a match."

"They're playing Geddington. Only it's away. There's a second match on."

"Why aren't you— Hullo, I didn't see. What have you been doing to yourself?"

"Crocked my wrist a bit. It's nothing much."

"How did you do that?"

"Slipped while I was changing after cricket."

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92 "Hurt?"

"Not much, thanks."

"Doctor seen it?"

"No. But it's really nothing. Be all right by Monday."

"H'm. Somebody ought to look at it. I'll have a look later on."

Mike did not appear to relish this prospect.

"It isn't anything, Uncle John, really. It doesn't matter a bit."

"Never mind. It won't do any harm having somebody examine it who knows a bit about these things. Now, what shall we do. Go on the river?"

"I shouldn't be able to steer."

"I could manage about that. Still, I think I should like to see the place first. Your mother's sure to ask me if you showed me round. It's like going over the stables when you're stopping at a country-house. Got to be done, and better do it as soon as possible."

It is never very interesting playing the part of showman at school. Both Mike and his uncle were inclined to scamp the business. Mike pointed out the various landmarks without much enthusiasm—it is only after one has left a few years that the school buildings take to themselves romance—and Uncle John said, "Ah yes, I see. Very nice," two or three times in an absent voice; and they passed on to the cricket field, where the second eleven were playing a neighbouring engineering school. It was a glorious day. The sun had never seemed to Mike so bright or the grass so green. It was one of those days when the ball looks like a large vermilion-coloured football as it leaves the bowler's hand. If ever there was a day when it seemed to Mike that a century would have been a certainty, it was this Saturday. A sudden, bitter realisation of all he had given up swept over him, but he choked the feeling down. The thing was done, and it was no good brooding over the might-have-beens now. Still— And the Geddington ground was supposed to be one of the easiest scoring grounds of all the public schools!

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Rh "Well hit, by George!" remarked Uncle John, as Trevor, who had gone in first wicket for the second eleven, swept a half-volley to leg round to the bank where they were sitting.

"That's Trevor," said Mike. "Chap in Donaldson's. The fellow at the other end is Wilkins. He's in the School House. They look as if they were getting set. By Jove," he said enviously, "pretty good fun batting on a day like this."

Uncle John detected the envious note.

"I suppose you would have been playing here but for your wrist?"

"No, I was playing for the first."

"For the first? For the school! My word, Mike, I didn't know that. No wonder you're feeling badly treated. Of course, I remember your father saying you had played once for the school, and done well; but I thought that was only as a substitute. I didn't know you were a regular member of the team. What bad luck. Will you get another chance?"

"Depends on Bob."

"Has Bob got your place?"

Mike nodded.

"If he does well to-day, they'll probably keep him in."

"Isn't there room for both of you?"

"Such a lot of old colours. There are only three vacancies, and Henfrey got one of those a week ago. I expect they'll give one of the other two to a bowler, Neville-Smith, I should think, if he does well against Geddington. Then there'll be only the last place left."

"Rather awkward, that."

"Still, it's Bob's last year. I've got plenty of time. But I wish I could get in this year."

After they had watched the match for an hour, Uncle John's restless nature asserted itself.

"Suppose we go for a pull on the river now?" he suggested.

They got up.

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94 "Let's just call at the shop," said Mike. "There ought to be a telegram from Geddington by this time. I wonder how Bob's got on."

Apparently Bob had not had a chance yet of distinguishing himself. The telegram read, "Geddington 151 for four. Lunch."

"Not bad that," said Mike. "But I believe they're weak in bowling."

They walked down the road towards the school landing-stage.

"The worst of a school," said Uncle John, as he pulled up-stream with strong, unskilful stroke, "is that one isn't allowed to smoke on the grounds. I badly want a pipe. The next piece of shade that you see, sing out, and we'll put in there."

"Pull your left," said Mike. "That willow's what you want."

Uncle John looked over his shoulder, caught a crab, recovered himself, and steered the boat in under the shade of the branches.

"Put the rope over that stump. Can you manage with one hand? Here, let me— Done it? Good. A-ah!"

He blew a great cloud of smoke into the air, and sighed contentedly.

"I hope you don't smoke, Mike?"

"No."

"Rotten trick for a boy. When you get to my age you need it. Boys ought to be thinking about keeping themselves fit and being good at games. Which reminds me. Let's have a look at the wrist."

A hunted expression came into Mike's eyes.

"It's really nothing," he began, but his uncle had already removed the sling, and was examining the arm with the neat rapidity of one who has been brought up to such things.

To Mike it seemed as if everything in the world was standing still and waiting. He could hear nothing but his own breathing.

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Rh His uncle pressed the wrist gingerly once or twice, then gave it a little twist.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"Ye—no," stammered Mike.

Uncle John looked up sharply. Mike was crimson.

"What's the game?" inquired Uncle John.

Mike said nothing.

There was a twinkle in his uncle's eyes.

"May as well tell me. I won't give you away. Why this wounded warrior business when you've no more the matter with you than I have?"

Mike hesitated.

"I only wanted to get out of having to write this morning. There was an exam. on."

The idea had occurred to him just before he spoke. It had struck him as neat and plausible.

To Uncle John it did not appear in the same light.

"Do you always write with your left hand? And if you had gone with the first eleven to Geddington, wouldn't that have got you out of your exam.? Try again."

When in doubt, one may as well tell the truth. Mike told it.

"I know. It wasn't that, really. Only"

"Well?"

"Oh, well, dash it all then. Old Bob got me out of an awful row the day before yesterday, and he seemed a bit sick at not playing for the first, so I thought I might as well let him. That's how it was. Look here, swear you won't tell him."

Uncle John was silent. Inwardly he was deciding that the five shillings which he had intended to bestow on Mike on his departure should become a sovereign. (This, it may be mentioned as an interesting biographical fact, was the only occasion in his life on which Mike earned money at the rate of fifteen shillings a half-minute.)

"Swear you won't tell him. He'd be most frightfully sick if he knew."

"I won't tell him."

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96 Conversation dwindled to vanishing-point. Uncle John smoked on in weighty silence, while Mike, staring up at the blue sky through the branches of the willow, let his mind wander to Geddington, where his fate was even now being sealed. How had the school got on? What had Bob done? If he made about twenty, would they give him his cap? Supposing. . ..

A faint snore from Uncle John broke in on his meditations. Then there was a clatter as a briar pipe dropped on to the floor of the boat, and his uncle sat up, gaping.

"Jove, I was nearly asleep. What's the time? Just on six? Didn't know it was so late."

"I ought to be getting back soon, I think. Lock-up's at half-past."

"Up with the anchor, then. You can tackle that rope with two hands now, eh? We are not observed. Don't fall overboard. I'm going to shove her off."

"There'll be another telegram, I should think," said Mike, as they reached the school gates.

"Shall we go and look?"

They walked to the shop.

A second piece of grey paper had been pinned up under the first. Mike pushed his way through the crowd. It was a longer message this time.

It ran as follows:

"Geddington 247 (Burgess six wickets, Neville-Smith four). Wrykyn 270 for nine (Berridge 86, Marsh 58, Jackson 48)."

Mike worked his way back through the throng, and rejoined his uncle.

"Well?" said Uncle John.

"We won."

He paused for a moment.

"Bob made forty-eight," he added carelessly.

Uncle John felt in his pocket, and silently slid a sovereign into Mike's hand.

It was the only possible reply.

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Rh

got back late that night, arriving at the dormitory as Mike was going to bed.

"By Jove, I'm done," he said. "It was simply baking at Geddington. And I came back in a carriage with Neville-Smith and Ellerby, and they ragged the whole time. I wanted to go to sleep, only they wouldn't let me. Old Smith was awfully bucked because he'd taken four wickets. I should think he'd go off his nut if he took eight ever. He was singing comic songs when he wasn't trying to put Ellerby under the seat. How's your wrist?"

"Oh, better, thanks."

Wyatt began to undress.

"Any colours?" asked Mike after a pause. First eleven colours were generally given in the pavilion after a match or on the journey home.

"No. Only one or two thirds. Jenkins and Clephane, and another chap, can't remember who. No first, though."

"What was Bob's innings like?"

"Not bad. A bit lucky. He ought to have been out before he'd scored, and he was out when he'd made about sixteen, only the umpire didn't seem to know that it's l-b-w when you get your leg right in front of the wicket and the ball hits it. Never saw a clearer case in my life. I was in at the other end. Bit rotten for the Geddington chaps. Just lost them the match. Their umpire, too. Bit of luck for Bob. He didn't give the ghost of a chance after that."

"I should have thought they'd have given him his colours."

"Most captains would have done, only Burgess is so keen on fielding that he rather keeps off it."

"Why, did he field badly?"

"Rottenly. And the man always will choose Billy's

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98 bowling to drop catches off. And Billy would cut his rich uncle from Australia if he kept on dropping them off him. Bob's fielding's perfectly sinful. He was pretty bad at the beginning of the season, but now he's got so nervous that he's a dozen times worse. He turns a delicate green when he sees a catch coming. He let their best man off twice in one over, off Billy, to-day; and the chap went on and made a hundred odd. Ripping innings bar those two chances. I hear he's got an average of eighty in school matches this season. Beastly man to bowl to. Knocked me off in half a dozen overs. And, when he does give a couple of easy chances, Bob puts them both on the floor. Billy wouldn't have given him his cap after the match if he'd made a hundred. Bob's the sort of man who wouldn't catch a ball if you handed it to him on a plate, with watercress round it."

Burgess, reviewing the match that night, as he lay awake in his cubicle, had come to much the same conclusion. He was very fond of Bob, but two missed catches in one over was straining the bonds of human affection too far. There would have been serious trouble between David and Jonathan if either had persisted in dropping catches off the other's bowling. He writhed in bed as he remembered the second of the two chances which the wretched Bob had refused. The scene was indelibly printed on his mind. Chap had got a late cut which he fancied rather. With great guile he had fed this late cut. Sent down a couple which he put to the boundary. Then fired a third much faster and a bit shorter. Chap had a go at it, just as he had expected: and he felt that life was a good thing after all when the ball just touched the corner of the bat and flew into Bob's hands. And Bob dropped it!

The memory was too bitter. If he dwelt on it, he felt, he would get insomnia. So he turned to pleasanter reflections: the yorker which had shattered the second-wicket man, and the slow head-ball which had led to a

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Rh big hitter being caught on the boundary. Soothed by these memories, he fell asleep.

Next morning he found himself in a softened frame of mind. He thought of Bob's iniquities with sorrow rather than wrath. He felt towards him much as a father feels towards a prodigal son whom there is still a chance of reforming. He overtook Bob on his way to chapel.

Directness was always one of Burgess's leading qualities.

"Look here, Bob. About your fielding. It's simply awful."

Bob was all remorse.

"It's those beastly slip catches. I can't time them."

"That one yesterday was right into your hands. Both of them were."

"I know. I'm frightfully sorry."

"Well, but I mean, why can't you hold them? It's no good being a good bat—you're that all right—if you're going to give away runs in the field."

"Do you know, I believe I should do better in the deep. I could get time to watch them there. I wish you'd give me a shot in the deep—for the second."

"Second be blowed! I want your batting in the first. Do you think you'd really do better in the deep?"

"I'm almost certain I should. I'll practise like mad. Trevor'll hit me up catches. I hate the slips. I get in the dickens of a funk directly the bowler starts his run now. I know that if a catch does come, I shall miss it. I'm certain the deep would be much better."

"All right then. Try it."

The conversation turned to less pressing topics.

In the next two matches, accordingly, Bob figured on the boundary, where he had not much to do except throw the ball back to the bowler, and stop an occasional drive along the carpet. The beauty of fielding in the deep is that no unpleasant surprises can be sprung upon one. There is just that moment or two for collecting one's thoughts which makes the whole difference. Bob, as he

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100 stood regarding the game from afar, found his self-confidence returning slowly, drop by drop.

As for Mike, he played for the second, and hoped for the day.

His opportunity came at last. It will be remembered that on the morning after the Great Picnic the headmaster made an announcement in Hall to the effect that, owing to an outbreak of chicken-pox in the town, all streets except the High Street would be out of bounds. This did not affect the bulk of the school, for most of the shops to which any one ever thought of going were in the High Street. But there were certain inquiring minds who liked to ferret about in odd corners.

Among these was one Leather-Twigg, of Seymour's, better known in criminal circles as Shoeblossom.

Shoeblossom was a curious mixture of the Energetic Ragger and the Quiet Student. On a Monday evening you would hear a hideous uproar proceeding from Seymour's junior day-room; and, going down with a swagger-stick to investigate, you would find a tangled heap of squealing humanity on the floor, and at the bottom of the heap, squealing louder than any two others, would be Shoeblossom, his collar burst and blackened and his face apoplectically crimson. On the Tuesday afternoon, strolling in some shady corner of the grounds you would come upon him lying on his chest, deep in some work of fiction and resentful of interruption. On the Wednesday morning he would be in receipt of four hundred lines from his housemaster for breaking three windows and a gas-globe. Essentially a man of moods, Shoeblossom.

It happened about the date of the Geddington match that he took out from the school library a copy of "The Iron Pirate," and for the next day or two he wandered about like a lost spirit trying to find a sequestered spot in which to read it. His inability to hit on such a spot was rendered more irritating by the fact that, to judge from the first few chapters (which he had managed to

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