THE FOUR MACNICOLS-V

The night was coming on and they were far from Erisaig, but still old Sandy kept up his watch, studying the surface of the water as though he expected to find pearls floating there. And at last, in great excitement, he grasped Rob's arm. Leaning over the side of the boat, they could just make out in the dusk a great quantity of minute air bubbles rising to the surface of the sea.

"Put some stones along with the sinkers, Rob," the old man said in a whisper, as though he were afraid the herring would hear. "Go deep, deep, deep."

To let out a long drift net, which sometimes goes as deep as fifteen fathoms, is an easy affair; but to haul it in again is a hard task; and when it happens to be laden, and heavily laden, with silver-gleaming fish, that is a break-back business for four young lads.

But there is such a thing as the nervous, eager, joyous strength of success; and if you are hauling in yard after yard of a dripping net, only to find the brown meshes starred at every point with the shining silver of the herring, then even young lads can work like men. Daft Sandy was laughing all the while.

"Rob, my man, what do you think of the air bubbles now? Maybe Daft Sandy is not so daft after all. And do you think I would go and tell any one but yourself,

Rob?"

Rob could not speak; he was breathless. Nor was their work nearly done when they had got in the net, with all its splendid silver treasure. There was not a breath of wind; they had to set to work to pull the heavy boat back to Erisaig. The gray of the dawn gave way to a glowing sunrise. When at length they reached the quay, the people were all about. The lads were tired out, but there were ten crans of herring in the boat.

Mr. Bailie came along and shook hands with Rob and congratulated him; for it turned out that, while not another Erisaig boat had that night got more than from two to three crans, the Mary of Argyle had ten crans — as good herring as ever were got out of Loch Scrone.

Well, the MacNicol lads were now in a fair way of earning an independent and honorable living. Sometimes. they had good luck and sometimes bad luck; but always they had the advantage of that additional means of discovering the whereabouts of the herring that had been imparted to them by Daft Sandy.

And the last that the present writer heard of them was this: that they had bought the Mary of Argyle and her nets from the banker; that they were building a small stone cottage on the slope of the hill about Erisaig; and that Daft Sandy was about to become a sort of general major-domo, cook, gardener, and mender of nets.

WILLIAM BLACK

congratulated

fathoms

additional

A GALLANT CHARGE

The morning of July 1, 1898, opened hot and cloudless for the American army that was investing the old Cuban city of Santiago. On the preceding afternoon word had passed through the lines that the forward movement against the defenses of the city would begin with the rising sun, and preparations were made accordingly. The troops knew that a long and desperate struggle must ensue before the defenses could be taken, but all were eager for the advance.

Between the troops and the city were several hills, deeply wooded at their bases, bare on their slopes, and protected by rifle trenches and breastworks. Lines of barbed wire had been strung from trees and brush across the narrow trails, and on the hilltops were blockhouses defended by some of the best soldiers of the Spanish army.

The attack was to be made in two divisions, one composed of infantry, and the other of cavalry. The cavalry division consisted of two brigades of three regiments each. One of these brigades was formed of two regiments of United States Regulars and the First Volunteers, otherwise known as the Rough Riders. As their commander, Colonel Wood, was acting as general of the brigade, the Rough Riders on this memorable day were led by their lieutenant colonel, Theodore Roosevelt.

This regiment of volunteers was remarkable in many respects. Hundreds of its rank and file were from the southwestern states, where as cattlemen, hunters, and miners they had learned to face perils and to suffer hardships without flinching. A number of half-breed Indians had also enrolled, and their skill as riders and sharpshooters made them peers of the white troopers from the frontier. Most of these men had seen service in the Indian or border warfare of the Southwest.

In addition the regiment numbered scores of young men from the eastern states. Many of these had made reputations as famous athletes, while others had known only the life of ease and pleasure. And now they were to get their first real experience of battle, but there was no wavering or hesitation in their lines. The opportunity had come to show their loyalty in the face of danger, and they followed eagerly the lead of their gallant commander, Colonel Roosevelt.

When the order came to advance, the sun was beating down with the fierce heat of the tropics. The forward movement was slow, for the rough nature of the country and the barbed-wire obstructions compelled the troopers to move as infantry. The Spaniards had already opened fire, and as their artillery was posted on higher ground, and their sharpshooters were protected by covered rifle pits and other defenses, the Americans suffered severely in the first hours of the day.

As the Rough Riders neared the San Juan River which flowed at the foot of the hills, the fire from the enemy became hotter and more deadly, and the troops crossed to the other side as quickly as they could. Here they found themselves in a dense wood of trees and underbrush. Through this jungle the men moved along a narrow sunken lane. When they reached the foot of Kettle Hill a halt was called. This name was given to the hill on account of a huge iron caldron found on the summit after the charge. Here many of the bravest of the Rough Riders fell while waiting anxiously for the order to advance.

At last the bugles sounded the charge, and the men dashed forward. The bullets from the enemy on the brow and sides of the hill swept through their ranks like a driving hailstorm, and dozens fell on every side. But nothing now could stop that charge of cheering, shouting troopers. Soldiers and officers from different companies and regiments mingled and fought side by side. Regulars and volunteers, cowboys and college athletes, Indians and white frontiersmen, all were Americans following the same flag and fighting for the same cause.

The heat was intense, and as the troops struggled up the hill even the best of the athletes showed the effects of the strain. The machine guns of the Spanish artillery maintained an incessant rattling fire, and the volleys of the infantry became more furious. The ranks of the