422 
FOREST AND STPtEAM. 
[Nov. 30, igoi. 
Adventures in Tropical America. 
VI.— Alone ia an Indian Village. 
In camp when troubles come, life is a serious problem. 
A parly of us were in the Honduranian jungles, miles 
away from anywhere. The superintendent of our ex- 
pedition had gone to look for men to help him on some 
mipossible plans of navigation with heavy boats up the 
Rio Patuca, which the Indians living near" us said would 
be an impossible task. On account of their fear of these 
boats the Indians refused to come near our camp; the 
cngmeer was dangerously sick, and the cook objecting 
violently to the burden of work. That morning he said 
to me : "Mr. Frank, it ain't no ways reasonable, me to 
be cooking and cleaning, cutting wood and fixing stores; 
and with him sick and kicking mor'n' enough, there won't 
be no getting along with it." Then he sent the axe 
crashing into the log he was chopping, and .shouldering a 
quantity of wood, marched away to the kitchen. Just then 
I heard the engineer asking for water, which 1 hurried 
to give him. Something had to be done. Salt provisions 
and heavy work promised to make us all sick. It was still 
early in the morning. I knew that seven to nine miles 
across the jungles and savannas there was an Indian 
village, and I resolved that I would go there and find 
help. I took my rifle, gave some directions to the cook 
and hmted to a little Spaniard who hung around camp 
that if he would mind his own business it would be appre- 
ciated. Then I hurried out on the trail to look for help. 
I had never been alone in the tropical jungles, and was 
all excitement with a sort of fear because of the unknown 
in the wilderness about me. Gradually this feeling wore 
off, and as the day passed my only anxiety was that 
night might come before I could find the Indian village. 
I knew that it was a long way before I started, but now 
as the narrow trail led me on and on, sometimes through 
a dense jungle, agam in and out and among the great 
trees of an open forest, or through tangled bushes along 
the edge of the savanna, it seemed as though I would 
never reach the end, and now anxiety and fears of a lonely 
night in the jungles were my constant companions. I was 
alone, and, perhaps like a lost man, becoming panic 
stricken, yet I hurried on, and late in the afternoon saw 
a group of trees and little houses some distance ahead 
across the savanna. Urging my steps, I presently reached 
the village, tired and hungrsr, only to find the place de- 
serted. Sometimes the Indians go away for days, and I 
looked anxiously for signs of life. Then from one of the 
houses I heard voices, and on hurrying to the door and 
looking in. I saw one of the most beautiful examiiles of 
Indian life that I have ever known. The house w^a^ full 
of children, little and big. all perfectly contented, talking 
together and laughing pleasantly. The boys were mend- 
ing bows and arrows, or swinging in hammocks. The 
girls were busy at miniature housekeeping, and the very 
little ones were either asleep or staring contentedly at 
the others. Outside it- was all burning sun, but in the 
hut there was subdued light and cool air, like that of the 
deep woodlands. 
For an instant I watched the half-naked children, as 
healthy and graceful as little wild animals; then they saw 
me. The bigger boys caught up their knives, tlieir bows 
and their arrows, and stood defiantly in front of the girls ; 
but just for an instant; the next moment some of the boys 
who had been at our camp recognized me, weapons were 
thrown aside, and I was receiving a welcome such as 
can be had only in the boisterous good will of healthy 
children. Then some got a hammock for me, others took 
off my boots, while still others ran to bring fruits and 
cool water. In a very short time I was most comfortable, 
and had quite forgotten the burning sun and long tramp. 
Presently some of the children came, bringing an old 
woman— the grandmother of all the village. She could 
speak a little English, and on learning that I wanted some 
men, said that they had all gone hunting, but would come 
back at night. Then she had the children gather up my 
things, and we all went to her house, where she and some 
younger women immediately began preparing a good din- 
ner for me. 
When all was ready I was brought a large wooden 
plate, and the food was placed around my hammock in 
[gourds, each presided over by a bright little Indian child 
;armed with a forked' stick, with which to pick up the 
fo'-.d ir^ isfpr it to my plate as I might want it. I 
jhiu) bui.fd cfiickOT. rice, yams, plantam, smoked wild 
pork, yiif ' rtud various fniics. The children v/ere eager 
in their and it w;is> a beautiful diimci. .V'>i{<,\t 
mc was ; c , -nsa sunlight and deep bine ekv over the 
fojien ^*vauf73,\arounc? me a pleasant Siiade and soft 
breeze blov. mr ?n at the w<ie-oj>trL ^oor tin J <Iie children, 
pretty little creatures, laughed and chntied togethe.-, each 
eagerly pressing me to eat of whal he ui '-he had to 
offer, while the old Indian woman sat looking on &\\ 
smiles at my enjoyment of her things, her satisfaction \u 
creasing every moment, and I must confess that I ' -^at 
a lot, but then there was plenty. After dinner"! 
the people showing them my watch, compass and me u w 
other things I had with me, and presently evening came, 
and with it the people of the village ; men laden with 
game from their hunting, and women bearing fruits and 
vegetables from their gardens and cultivations among the 
woodlands. 
So soon as my Indian friends learned that the super- 
intendent had left camp, they were all quite ready to go 
with me, but I wanted onlj- two men, and having picked 
out a pair of sturdy-looking fellows, we all went to the 
chiefs house to sit around and have a talk. The children 
came, too, but now they were quite subdued in the pres- 
ence of the men, and sat meekly looking on. From time 
to time women came in to look at the white stranger; each 
carried a torch, and generally an arm full of gourd dishes, 
all very much alike, which probably they had been wash- 
ing ; these_ were all laid on the ground in front of the 
house, while the Indian women came in to satisfy their 
curiosity. Presently one came along with her torch and a 
good supply of gourds in her arms. • She placed them 
on the ground with care, layi^ig the torch beside them, ■ 
and came stalking in with a savage look at the boys. Evir 
dently she was no favorite with them ; there W^s a whis-: 
pered consultation, then the little scamps sneaked cau- 
tiously out of the door, went to her torch, and carefully 
made two torches of it, putting each in a separate place a 
little distance apart ; then they divided her gourds, placing 
some by each torch; after that they hid behind some 
bushes and waited. Presently the woman, haying satisfied 
her curiosity, went out, and walked up to the nearest- 
pile of gourds with a puzzled expression ; she had brought 
eight, now there were only three, with a small torch, and 
hers had been a big one; then she went to the others, 
then she came back to the first, and went angrily toward 
the others again. Evidently she wished to be careful 
about touching what might not belong to her, and now 
stood looking about her with an angry, puzzled expres- 
sion. Then a stifled laugh came from behind the bushes ; 
instantly she seemed to grasp the situation; with one 
sweep of her long arm she gathered up her gourds and 
made a dash for the boys, but they were too quick for 
her, and, scattering in all directions, the half-naked little 
scamps went dancing about among the houses, screaming 
with laughter and delight at her efforts to catch them. 
For some time she kept up an angry, determined chase, 
but finally gave in and went to her hut, with loud ex- 
pressions of opinion that .sounded like very bad words. 
The men laughed heartily, and, encouraged by this, the 
boys came with doubtful steps into the house, but the chief 
made a sign to the young men, and the boys made a wild 
da.sh for the door. It was no use this time; they were 
soon caught, their ears were soundly boxed and for a time 
lamentations filled the village. 
I talked with the Indians late into the night, and then 
slept on a mahogany board under a good mosquito net, 
and would have been comfortable if only I could have 
found one soft spot on that board. In the morning I and 
. my two men tramped back to our camp, where the Indians 
soon made us comfortable. Francis C. Nicholas. 
In the Ranger Service. 
BY ROWIAND E. ROBINSON. 
XIII. — Succor. 
Two canoes' ptit out to meet us, and, commg along 
side, took us on board. Then there was no more pad- 
dling for our weary arms, nor aught to do but lie 
at lazy length munching the biscuits that were prudently 
dealt out, and answering questions that were put with 
less stint. But questions were few compared with the 
curses that were bestowed on the faithless wretches 
who had been sent to succor us. If they could have 
been delivered into the hands of the rescued survivors 
and their friends at Number Four, the trouble and ex- 
pense of a court-martial would have been saved, and a 
justcr measure of punislmient dealt out. 
Captain Ogden being sick. Major Rogers did me the 
honor to send me up the river with the relief party, as it 
was needful the Major should remain at Number Four 
to prepare his report and dispatch it by a messenger to 
General Amherst at Crown Point. There never was a 
kinder nor a braver leader than Major Rogers, nor a 
more useful service than that of his Rangers. Years 
afterward, when fortune frowned and slander befouled 
his name, I could not forget the cool courage, the ready 
change of plans to suit sudden contingencies, the stead- 
fast holding to his purpose, that distinguished this fore- 
most of Rangers and master of woodcraft. 
Two boats laden with ample provisions, and manned 
by strong and faithful crews, were despatched at once 
for the relief of the sufferers at Coos, while other boats 
proceeded rtiore slowly up the river on the lookout for 
stragglers who might strike shore below. Some such 
were found who had followed the small streams down 
to the great river, and were delivered from the jaws of 
death at the last moment. ■ 
We made good progress, but to me who could but 
dwell upon Mercy and her scant fare of lily roots and 
birch bark tea and whose desire outran all possible 
speed of water craft, it seemed as if boat never moved 
so sluggishly. We made long days, borrowing begin- 
nings and ends out of the night, and before the close 
of the fifth day, well within the Major's promised time, 
had the happiness to come to our people whose forlorn 
camp now became a scene of rejoicing. All were in bet- 
ter heart than seemed possible for men in their plight. 
One like to another in weaiy waiting, their days had 
passed. The stronger ones had built shelters of boughs 
and bark, wherein they passed the nights and rainy 
weather, and the sick moped out the unchanging dreari- 
ness of their hours. Those who were able went hunting 
with little profit, or dug the roots which were their main 
food. But one of our people had died since my de- 
parture. Three who had wandered away during the re- 
tTC-at had meantime come straggling into the rendez^'ous 
iruare de&d than alive. These took most nursing to 
rj^storC, and «fc trouble to prevent all doing them- 
3etv«& more nana in gorging than they had got in 
starving. Though it wrenched us sorely to persevere in 
cr-ieky that was kinder than indulgence, _ yet we with- 
stood' pi aye r; ?-s bravely as curses. During the whole 
St. Francis pxfiedition, over two score of our force were 
Idlled by the pursuing enemy or died of hunger and 
hardship. 
Mercy had borne tip bravely, so Angelique said, till 
near the last, when, very weak and despondent, she 
took to her bed of hemlock with the notion she was 
never to leave it. I did the best that so sorry a being 
as I felt myself and must have looked, to cheer her out 
of this mood, but she shook her head feebly, and said: 
"No, Paul. 1 am near the end of my troubles. They 
have been "heavy to bear of late, not so much for my 
body as my heart, and that concerning you. Oh,_ T can- 
not leave you forever without telling you of it, and 
asking — " 
I was sure .sbe was about to confess and ask my for- 
giveness, and had no mind that she should torment her- 
self with such an unpleasant duty, 
■ ' "You need tell me nothing!" I broke ia. "I know 
it all. and I bear you no ill will, as I hope I have proved. 
^ will hear no last words. We shall soon be on our way 
down the -river, and before a month goes by- you will be 
§afe with vour husband." 
She looked at me in amazement and alnaost sffright. 
"Poor Paul," she said, as if to herself, "are you, too, 
getting light-headed with all these trials? 'Safe with my 
husband?' What can you mean?" 
"Why, Mercy," I cried, both grieved and angry that 
she should longer try to hoodwink me. "I heard of it 
almost as soon as you were married to Lot WitherelU 
Poor Billy Jarvis told me just before the Ticonderoga 
fight, where he was killed." 
"And you believed it? O, you poor, poor boy!" She 
put her arms about my neck and drew my face to hers, 
and fell to kissing me and crying, for all Angelique 
was looking at us in great wonderment. 
" And that is why you were so cold and .hard at St. 
Francis, and it was not a week since I waked myself 
thrice one night, calling your name! If I had believed 
the tales told me I would have been as merciless as you. 
Nay, I would not have spoken to you at all. Paul, 
how could you believe I would ever forsake you?" 
Then, indeed, I besought her to live that I might 
prove an equal constancy in the future, and I greatly 
blamed my haste to believe poor Billy's lying story that 
he doubtless repented of as he lay dying at Ticonderoga. 
Food and hope and a happy heart did much to mend the 
rayages of famine and despair. We were soon ready for 
our voyage down the river, and we bade a willing fare- 
well to Coos. I little thought that so many happy 
years of my life would be passed in a homestead on these 
same meadows, but not till I had played my part as 
Ranger in the Revolution. 
The separation from my poor girl that had seemed to 
me more hopeless and final than death, was ended. 
Now there was naught that could put us asimder but 
death, nor that even save for a little while, so we told 
each other as we voyaged leisurely down the beautiful 
Connecticut. There were days when the lowering sky 
hung low over the river, whose dark sameness was un- 
varied by no reflection, though the scarlet flames of the 
last maples still blazed here and there along the shores. 
Then came other days of Indian Summer, when the 
November sky arched the sparkling stream and the wide 
forest from snow-capped eastern hills to the western 
range with as soft a blue as a sky of June; and as we, 
resting in comforting laziness in the gliding batteaux's 
stern, looked abroad on the day of gloom or the day of 
sunshine, we saw in neither the shadow of separation, 
and the river shone before us like a path one might 
journey on to the gates of eternity. 
A Cruise on the Connecticut. 
Springfield, Vt. — Six o'clock on a clear fall morning 
found us on board the electrics, with carefully packed 
outfit and spirits keyed to the highest pitch.. On the six- 
mile ride to Charlestown, N. H,, we saw from the car 
three deer — a handsome buck and two does — which we 
took for a good omen. We were still viewing the world 
through rainbow glasses when the early accommodation 
train for the north drew into the station. The outfit was 
thrown aboardj the canoe carefully lifted and shoved into 
the baggage car — almost. Turn it as we would, there 
was two feet too much of that canoe. "She won't go. 
Pull her out. All aboard." We hadn't_ looked for this; 
it was a bad case of "rattled." The train had gone with 
our luggage, and we stood on the platform with an 
eighteen-foot canoe, and" said nothing. There was nothing 
to say. The English language was never designed for 
emergencies like this. The next train was five hours 
later. We were very happy. 
Well, we killed those five hours, but they each contained 
sixty of the longest minutes we had ever known. 
If you buy a canoe to travel with, don't let it be 
over sixteen feet long, or a combination baggage car is 
likely to interfere with your plans. 
The noon train came, only an hour late. A full-length 
baggage car took the canoe all right, and we rode for the 
next few hours along the beautiful Connecticut and 
studied the river as carefully as we could from the car 
windows in the hope of getting valuable information for 
the return trip. 
At Wells River we change, again at Wing Road, where 
the good wife of the station agent got two hungry men 
a supper that warmed their hearts. 
We started again at 8:10, changed at Whitefield Jtmc- 
tion, again at Coos Junction, and here we struck the Maine 
Central Railroad, which landed us at West Stewardstown, 
N. H., at 10:16, right on time. During all these changes 
we had looked after the canoe ourselves, and although 
an 18-foot boat is a mean thing to shove on to a hurried 
baggage agent, we everywhere received the most courteous 
treatment, and for our part we saw to it that the boys lost 
nothing out of it. Good cigars placed where they would 
do the most good made the canoe slide very smoothly. 
Hotel Pike, at West Stewartstown, is the headquarters 
for visiting tourists and sportsmen. We were warmly 
welcomed by the genial proprietor, Mr. Pike, and every 
want was supplied ; he can give sportsmen full informa- 
tion, as he knows the country thoroughly. 
After breakfast the next morning, with a- two-seated 
wagon and pair, and Jim Duranty holding the ribbons, we 
left at 8 A. M. for the twenty-six-mile drive to Second 
Lake. It was a beautiful morning, clear and cool; the 
foliage was just commencing to turn, the fields were yet 
green, and the bright sunlight flooding the hills made the 
old earth seem a very good place to live in. As we fol- 
lowed the winding stream and breathed the dry air, fra- 
grant with the odor of balsams, we felt very "fit," and 
wished we were already in the woods. The horses seemed 
to share in the exhilaration, and took us along at a 
rattling gait. 
Seventeen miles from West Stewartstown is First Lake, 
the largest of the chain of three lakes which form the 
headwaters of the Connecticut River, about five miles 
long and one and a half miles wide. It is a fine body 
of water, and I understand that Jhe fishing is good ; but 
for a man who wants to get away to the woods there are 
too many people here. Camp Metallack, nicely situated 
on the shores of the lake, is the best place to stop if you 
corne here. To me it is the least beautiful of the three 
lakes, as the shores show the effect of the raising of the 
lake by the big dam at the outlet, made by the lumber- 
men for the purpose of storing the water to run logs down 
the. river. 
Second Lake is nine miles further in, The roads ar? 
