thousands of cart-loads having come to stock the princely building, and swarms of clerks, warehousemen, salesmen, and packers having poured into their new hive, it has been opened for business purposes; and buying and selling, money-taking and moneymaking, have become the order of the day.

If contrast were required to set off the noble proportions and grandeur of this commercial temple, it might easily be found in the immediate neighbourhood. It is true, there are warehouses in front of it, large and commodious buildings; but behind it and on the flanks are still remaining nests of old tenements similar to those that were removed to make room for this gigantic building. Crowded courts and alleys, unprepossessing culs de sac, pigmy houses, onesixth of the height of the towering edifice before them, packers' rooms, where the unemployed of that profession congregate, and while away their vacant hours with drink and cribbage; here you may see an intimation of a 'seller' being to let, warranted dry and airy; there a 'garratt' is open to an engagement-offering the houseless their choice of the two extremes in the scale of social life. Here live the people who make, or carry, or prepare for, the costly goods which lie in heaps in the palace opposite; they live, and sleep, and breathe in rooms where those goods would infallibly spoil. Such an atmosphere of dust and dirt would never do for money's worth-it matters not for human health and life. Yet to tell the truth, there are few living here, stifling themselves and their families in one or two small rooms, who could not afford to take a decent cottage of their own, if they were but thrifty and prudent. But this is not the place to moralise.

Let us first glance at the exterior. The front elevation is designed after the Italian style of architecture, following especially that modification of it which prevailed three centuries ago in the north of Europe. In adopting this style, however, considerable latitude has been observed; other things were necessary as well as beauty, and therefore the plan has been varied 80 as to suit the requirements of a building of this kind. Many things that an external observer might consider as mere architectural adjuncts, will be found on examination to answer important purposes in the arrangements and business of the establishment. The useful and the ornamental are here joined together in a way that would have astonished the architects of old. Perhaps you may remark the absence of those far-projecting buttresses you generally see in buildings of this style; ground is too valuable in the heart of this city to be wasted on projections and recesses, and so the front of the edifice is unrelieved by the light and shadow they produce; but to compensate in some measure for this, the windows of each story are different in design, and their bold and various outlines so diversify the lengthened front, that the sameness is quite destroyed. Four large pavilions mount upwards at equal distances along the front, which you would be almost sure to regard as intended chiefly for effect, and you would be surprised to learn that they fulfil one of the most important objects in the arrangements. In order to the preservation and proper examination of certain classes of goods, it is necessary that the bright rays of the sun should be kept from them; these towers, therefore, are so constructed that they supply light from the north side to one-half of the building, and thus meet that requirement. As far as possible, the same arrangement has been observed in the light borrowed from the roof, a large portion of which is of glass. York stone has been chiefly used for the front and sides, well rubbed and well laid-the same good stone from which so many noble churches, abbeys, and cathedrals were built in times of yore, and which still stand to attest the soundness of the

material. Of this, we are told, 73,000 cubic feet have been used in the construction; of timber, 40,000 cubic feet; of iron, 700 tons; of plate-glass, 27,000 square feet.

The principal entrance opens before us, with its splendid double-doorway, and a flight of massive stone-steps. We ascend into a vestibule, with ceiling groined and panelled, resting on columns of veined marble. The floor is formed of tesselated tiles, arranged in various patterns; the spandrels on either hand of the arcade are wrought in marble of different kinds. A prominent object on the pavement is a large box-scraper, guarded by two gilt-lions, couchant, and including fixed brushes for the further purification of the boots. By all means, let us make use of them; we are entering a temple that is sacred to the genius of commerce; let us leave the dirt of the common world outside. We are coming in contact, as Dr Johnson might have said, not with mere stuffs, silks, and cottons, but with the potentiality of growing rich beyond the dreams of avarice.' Are there any mammon-worshippers, we wonder, devout enough to slip off their Bluchers in the vestibule, and enter with bared feet upon this holy ground? We enter through mahogany doors, heavy with plate-glass, and find ourselves in an immense room, there being no partitions to separate the various departments, so that each floor presents the appearance of a large hall. The very first thing that strikes us is the principal staircase, which starts immediately in front of the entrance, and branches off flight by flight till it reaches the top of the building. It is of pitch pine-wood, and noble in proportions, bounded by a hand-rail rich with elaborate tracery. Looking either up or down through the space left in the centre, the effect is very striking; a large circular roof-window throws ample light through that depth of a hundred feet. There is another staircase at the back for the use of manufacturers coming to transact business; it is of solid stone, and fire-proof, so that every floor might be commanded from it in case of accident from fire. The open space on the ground-floor is not so large as on those above, a portion being set apart for the offices, which extend along the inner side of the building. Here is a private room for the firm, comfortably fitted up like a substantial family diningroom; two private offices, and a long suite for twenty clerks. In the centre is the cashier's desk, elevated so as to command the range on either hand; on one side is the department for receiving money; on the other, that for payments. Tubular communication is carried on from hence over the greater part of the house-to the packers' quarter, the goods receiving division, and to every sale-department overhead. Lavatories, with marble fittings, are placed here for the use of the clerks; and in this respect, admirable provision has been made throughout the establishment. These offices present a beautiful appearance: to divide them from the trade-department, a screen of elaborate workmanship extends through their whole length, which is fitted with plate-glass, on which ornamental devices are posted. The pinewood of which the screen is made being varnished, greatly resembles satin-wood, and the ornaments upon it (of iron) are picked out in green. The wood throughout has been chiefly treated in this way, and the effect is highly successful. Taste and skill have been taxed to the utmost in providing for every possible want, and introducing every possible beauty; the presses, the store-shelves, the counters, the columns, are all highly ornate; even the gas-jets take their rise from brass Corinthian columns, burning on the top of their capitals like fire upon an altar.

First, we wander about among piles of carpet, roll heaped up endwise upon roll, in columns of different

height; some drawn out to display their bright colour and fine texture; all sorts and conditions, from hemp to all-wool Kidderminster, from Dutch to velvet pile. Here is your modest library-carpet, small in device and of a mild hue-we prefer green by reason of our failing eyesight-there your royal fleur-de-lis pattern, sacred to church-communions; here again your richly wreathed and festooned drawing-room article, full of life and colour. One can't help thinking about the times when our sturdy ancestors strewed their rooms with rushes, and were as happy therewith and as brave as though they had trodden on the richest tapestry in Turkey. We pass by doormats, druggets, hearth-rugs, hassocks, and find ourselves amongst the linens, Scotch and Irish, done up in square packages, and piled in heaps. Here are about one hundred and twenty combinations of the same or similar materials, each having a separate name. Who would have thought that the genus linen had so many different species! Here we see the 'Royal Turkish,' and in close proximity the Russia Crash' (is it known by that name in the dominions of the Czar?) We are tempted to ask whether 'gray body lining' is not something good to eat? 'Brown ducks' we have seen in the course of our experience, but blue ducks'-who ever met with them? White unions' too must be connected in some way with wedding favours. Who was this 'Billy Foden' who has given his name to immortality in connection with 'satin stripes' and 'cross-overs?' The language of linen has its derivations and its doubtful points, and may yet puzzle the philologist. Sheetings bleached and unbleached, from Forfar, and Armagh, and elsewhere, lie packed in boards, and heaped up like walls, between which the visitor walks as in an alley. It would be idle to compute the square miles of ground which these myriads of yards would cover, or the beds they would furnish with decent pairs of sheets. Let us reserve our arithmetic and go up stairs.

We come here amongst the good broadcloths, types of old-fashioned English comfort and cordiality, furnished by western towns which have been celebrated for centuries for this class of manufacture, and furnished also by Yorkshire towns which rival them now in this branch. Connected with this department is a division for preparing patterns for the travellingagents of the firm-a slip of every new cloth introduced is furnished to each traveller, and several persons are constantly employed in arranging and supplying these. From beavers and doeskins we go on merinos, stuffs, and alpacas, many of which are manufactured at Bradford, and others are of French make. They are brought in rough packages from the dyers, and are here folded on boards, and bound round with paper-bands, in readiness for drapers' stock. A machine is placed in one corner for doing this folding, the power for which is borrowed from a most useful little steam-engine in the basement, which performs many other good offices in the establishment. The folding-machine is fitted with an index which marks the measurement of every piece as it is thrown off. Cotton handkerchiefs of Scotch make lie here by thousands, striving, by dint of much colour, to attain a close resemblance to silk; quilts and counterpanes of divers texture and weight, to lie softly on you in the dog-days, or keep you snug at Christmas; table-covers also, to match any possible carpet, or any conceivable paper. Then we get amongst the muslins, about which, in truth, we are afraid of shewing our ignorance. We do not profess to be judges of a muslin dress in the piece at per yard; when it has been duly cut and braided, and whaleboned into shape, expanded into modern proportions, and fitted to the fair form of the wearer, then only can we say whether it is pretty or not, whether it suits Miss Blanche's complexion, or becomes the style of Miss Brunette's beauty. We

cannot be far out in the matter of these white muslins, however, for we incline to the opinion of a writer we have lately read, that white muslin is the most elegant and becoming of all dresses, and one that never looks poor.' Ah me, in how many drawingrooms will these congregated muslins figure; at how many evening-parties will they rustle, and crush, and encounter untoward accidents; how often and with what metamorphoses and varieties of trimming will they be economically reproduced; over how many throbbing hearts will they spread their snowy beauty, and reveal no token of the love or grief or jealous pangs that may be at work beneath! We wonder whether the polite salesman ever thinks of these things, who now comes bustling up, fancying that he reads business in our meditative features. Manchester muslins, he calls them, and we like them none the less because they have been manufactured here; how light and clean to come forth from all our smoke and steam, and dust, and ashes! There are large heaps, however, from north of the Tweed which quite rival them in value and beauty. Here is spotless lawn, fine enough for the sleeves of an archbishop, and handkerchiefs per dozen, from dainty spider-web texture down to the coarsest cotton. Scores of other things there are too, the names and uses of which to us are deeply mysterious.

And now we are on the second floor, plunged into the midst of gloves. Boxes upon boxes, pile upon pile, white kids for weddings, and black kids for funerals; primrose for the secular dandy, and lavender for the clerical; homely worsted, such as warmed our school-boy fingers of yore; cotton; silk-every kind, and every kind in myriads. Here is something tasteful, something to suit the times-glove-boxes richly decorated, perfumed with some penetrating scent warranted permanent, and with portraits or landscapes painted on the lids in a really superior style of art. Their youthful royal highnesses stand first, of course. Windsor Castle, the palace of the Linden trees, a beaming picture of my Lord Palmerston, (slightly soiled), portraits of distinguished ladies-in short, a gallery of art, and all connected with gloves. The haberdashery department is chiefly represented by an infinitude of paper parcels, neatly folded, and labelled, and stocked. The inscriptions upon many of these would fail to give to the uninitiated the most remote idea of their contents. Who would suspect that the soldierly motto, pro patria, designated nothing better than a parcel of tapes, warranted full measure? Are the K.C.B.'s and C.B.'s aware that the heraldic legend of their most worshipful order, tria juncta in uno, has been appropriated by the threefold India cotton, 300 yards? We wander now amongst laces and sewing-silks, fringes and Berlin wools, whose beauties of colour are veiled, for they are rolled up in wrappers to keep them clean. This is the region of pins and needles, the habitants of which, however, do not look particularly uncomfortable; the pins are recommended as having superior solid heads'-an excellent quality in other articles than pins. We avert our looks modestly from the array of corsetage we now encounter, pass between hooks and eyes, through bobbins, braids, and buttons, and arrive at the quarter where umbrellas and parasols prevail, with travelling-bags of carpet and leather, purses, portemonnaies, and cloth-caps. Shirt fronts and collars also pass under review; among which shine conspicuous the Jullien Manifold' and the 'Boys' Eglintoun, with ribbon-bow.' We say nothing of some hundred and fifty different kinds of stockings and 'sox' thickly imbedded in the presses; nor of the vests, pants, Guernseys, and other articles which must be nameless, all of which are multitudinously represented here. There is a bright department just before us, gaudy with many colours-a garden of artificial flowers. A

rich tree stands in the centre, blooming with a hundred different kinds of blossoms, where the black daisies for the mourning-cap are ranged along with orangeflowers and jessamine, and ripe grapes are drooping from the same branch which breaks out at the next joint into full-blown geraniums. Each is marvellously true to nature, and not more artificial than painting or sculpture, or any other device of man to imitate the appearance of life.

Up another flight of stairs, and we are among the prints, chiefly dresses, from the common blue which workhouse paupers wear, to an article fit for a duchess. We connect print-dresses with summer-time, and fine weather, charming watering-place rambles, and familiar morning-calls. We remember on awkwardly upsetting the cream-jug at breakfast in the lap of our maiden aunt (from whom we had expectations), what comfort we derived from the assurance that it was a washing-print she had on at the time. Also, on that decisive morning when we stammered forth the important question, and sealed our fate, was it not a print-dress (straw-coloured flowers on a white ground) in which the lovely form of the present Mrs Smith was arrayed? So these fancy patterns of blue stars and green rosebuds and garlands gay are pleasant to our sight. Here are silk pocket-handkerchiefs; and among the variety of patterns, our eyes light upon that of an old acquaintance, stolen from our pocket in Whitechapel years ago, and by us re-purchased a few days after from an elderly Hebrew gentleman on Saffron Hill. No unimportant proportion of capital is represented by these shawls, of which many rich and valuable specimens are hung up for show. Bethinking ourselves of certain conjugal hints connected with this subject, we inquire the price of one particular article, with a view of investing therein for the benefit of Mrs Smith; but our benevolent intentions are frustrated by the statement of the salesman, that the firm does no retail business.' Nothing peddling, or in a small way, but all in proportion with the colossal building and stock. A part of this division, containing the shawl and mantle department, is carpeted, so that the goods unfolded and held up for inspection may receive no damage from coming in contact with the floor. The counters on which they are shewn slope downwards from the windows, so as to place them in a slanting light, the better to exhibit the texture and colour. For the same purpose, the windows are fitted with Venetian blinds, the bottom part, for about two feet high, being fixed, and the upper part constructed so as to draw up, or turn to meet the light. For the protection of these valuable goods from dust, a sliding cover is fitted into each division of the press, which, when drawn out, falls upon hinges, and shuts up the compartment like a box.

One more ascent up the broad staircase, and we are at the summit of the general business premises, the pavilion story being reserved for miscellaneous stores. Here an opened door reveals a recess in which lies coiled a length of hose, which can be fixed to a tap close by in the wall, and thus an abundant supply of water may be conveyed in a few seconds to any part of the building. Here is the receiving-room, into which goods are hoisted from the wagons below-the ceiling under this room being of sheet-iron, as better adapted to bear the jar and pressure of heavy weights above. Part of this floor is also set apart for a manufacturer's room, and is approached by the separate staircase before alluded to. We pass through the blocking department, where the ribbons are wound round cylindrical blocks of wood; the imported articles are usually brought in ready-wound, but the blocks are removed at the custom-house, before weighing the ribbon; the blocking here is done by hand. Here are rolls upon rolls of sarsnet (sarace

nette), the chief good which the Crusades conferred upon Western Europe; satins, silks, velvets, and muslins. Inconsiderable as the item of ribbons might seem among such a multitude of other articles, we are told that the transactions of the firm in this branch alone for the last week have reached tens of thousands of pounds. We observe in this quarter a few miles of that description of work which has occupied the attention of English womankind so much of late, termed embroidery, consisting (we speak reverently) in cutting out small holes with a charming pair of diminutive scissors, and industriously edging round the breach thus made. Further on are straw-hats and bonnets packed one in the other; laces, from Valenciennes and Brussels point, down to ordinary thread; hair-nets and fancy-caps; breakfast-caps to cover untrimmed hair; dress-caps to deck the matron for an evening-party; widows' caps, sombre and sad, and withal according to the latest fashion. Then, lastly, we get among the furs, cheap and costly, mock and natural; the royal and judicial ermine in unassuming contiguity with the common squirrel. With all his advancement, man has not yet quite forsaken his first clothing; silks and velvets have not altogether superseded the 'coats of skins.'

We have now seen all the show above-ground of this vast establishment. Overhead, in the pavilions, there is as yet nothing but the debris of broken boxes and spare wrappers. From the windows, however, one commands a view of the city, varying in extent and clearness according to the condition of the smoke. Early in the morning, we are told, the prospect of such a forest of chimneys, wide-spreading roofs, church-towers and steeples, is something imposing. At present, it is all thrown very deeply into shade; we therefore prepare to close our inspection by a visit to the basement. We descend-not in the ordinary way of down-stair travelling, but by means of a hoist, used for raising and sending down goods, Of these, there are two in the establishment, worked by steam. In two or three seconds, we are dropped in the immediate vicinity of the useful engine which works the hoists, turns the winding-machines, pumps water for the hydraulic-presses, moves the cranes, and discharges other important duties. On the basementfloor we find, first, an entering-room, through which all parcels have to pass before they leave the establishment, the contents being duly booked, and the account checked of the department from which they have come. Next, a saleroom for heavy linens and flannels, the bulk of which excludes them from the rooms up stairs; and near this, we observe a vault sunk in the wall, iron-lined and fire-proof, for the protection of the books of the firm. Here is also a division for the manufacture and repair of packingcases and boxes for general use. Finally, we reach the packing-room, in which the goods sold are done into shape, rolled, put up in boxes or in paper as the case may be, and duly directed before they leave the premises. Two large hydraulic-presses are placed here to assist in this process, and the way in which they reduce a mountain of miscellaneous goods to a very mole-hill of a package is a marvellous thing to witness.

Our obliging conductor now leads the way up stairs, and informs us that we have inspected all the chief wonders of the establishment. Other wonders there are, no doubt, not quite so patent as these. We should like to hear some illustrations of profitable speculation, some examples of market-risks and fluctuations; we should like to have some idea as to the capital employed, the value of the credit given, the amount of profit realised; we are puzzled to think how the firm can make up their income-tax returns, having experienced some difficulty in that matter even in our small way. But these are trade secrets, and it

would be impertinent to inquire into them. One thing our visit has taught us-how beauty may be united to usefulness with mutual advantage, and at no great additional cost. What might have been a huge draper's shop, is here converted into a very temple, and the stock itself becomes a decoration. So we see how trade may be made graceful, and commerce turned into a fine art; how there may be poetry in L. s. d.; and tender strokes touch the soul even while the question is concerning linsey-woolsey or mousseline-de-laine. We feel as if we had done much more than inspect mere warehouse-stock, as we pass forth from the merchant's palace.

OCEOLA:

A ROMANCE.

CHAPTER LXVIII.-A VICTORY ENDING IN A RETREAT.

I SAW not the speaker, who was completely hidden behind the thick trellis of leaves. It was not necessary I should see him, to know who addressed me; on hearing the voice I instantly recognised it. It was Oçeola who spoke.

I cannot describe my sensations at that moment, nor tell exactly how I acted. My mind was in a chaos of confusion-surprise and fear mingling alike in my emotions.

I remember facing once more towards my followers. I saw that they were not all dead-some were still lying where they had fallen, doubled up, or stretched out in various attitudes of death-motionless-beyond doubt, lifeless. Some still moved, their cries for help shewing that life was not extinct.

To my joy, I observed several who had regained their feet, and were running, or rather scrambling, rapidly away from the ground; and still another few who had risen into half-erect attitudes, and were crawling off upon their hands and knees.

These last were still being fired upon from the bushes; and as I stood wavering, I saw one or two of them levelled along the grass by the fatal bullets that rained thickly around me.

Among the wounded who lay at my feet, there was a young fellow whom I knew. He appeared to be shot through both limbs, and could not move his body from the spot. His appeal to me for help was the first thing that aroused me from my indecision: I remembered that this young man had once done me a service.

Almost mechanically, I bent down, grasped him around the waist, and, raising his body, commenced dragging him away.

it had taken up-though the Indians retained the freedom of the forest beyond. To have retired from ours, would have been the ruin of the whole army; since there was no other mode of retreat, but by recrossing the stream, and that could only have been effected under the fire of the enemy.

And yet to hold our position appeared equally ruinous. We could effect nothing by being thus brought to a stand-still, for we were actually besieged upon the bank of the river. We had vainly endeavoured to force the Indians from the bush. Having once failed, a second attempt to cut our way through them would be a still more perilous emprise; and yet to remain stationary had also its prospects of danger. With scanty provisions, the troops had marched out of their cantonments. Their rations were already exhausted-hunger stared the army in the face. Its pangs were already felt, and every hour would render them more severe.

We began to believe that we were besieged; and such was virtually the fact. Around us in a semicircle swarmed the savages, each behind his protecting tree-thus forming a defensive line equal in strength to a fortified intrenchment. Such could not be forced, without the certainty of great slaughter among our men.

We perceived, too, that the number of our enemies was hourly increasing. A peculiar cry-which some of the old Indian fighters' understood-heard at intervals, betokened the arrival of fresh parties of the foe. We felt the apprehension that we were being outnumbered, and might soon be overpowered. A gloomy feeling was fast spreading itself through the ranks.

During the skirmishes that had already occurred, we noticed that many of the Indians were armed with fusils and muskets. A few were observed in uniform, with military accoutrements! One-a conspicuous leader-was still more singularly attired. From his shoulders was suspended a large silken flag, after the fashion of a Spanish cloak of the times of the conquistadores. Its stripes of alternate red and white, with the blue starry field at the corner, were conspicuous. Every eye in the army looked upon it, and recognised in the fantastic draping, thus tauntingly displayed, the loved flag of our country.

These symbols were expressive. They did not puzzle us. Their presence among our enemies was easily explained. The flag, the muskets and fusils, the uniforms and equipments, were trophies from the battle-field where Dade had fallen.

All blamed his imprudence in having ordered such a desperate charge-especially with so small a force. For myself, I had gained the credit of a bold leader; but how I chanced to be the only one, who came back unscathed out of that deadly fire, was a puzzle which at that moment I did not choose to explain.

For an hour or more the fight continued to be carried on, in the shape of a confused skirmish among swamps and trees, without either party gaining any material advantage. Each held the position

It is not improbable we might have shared their destiny, had we remained much longer upon the ground; but a plan of retreat offered, of which our general was not loath to take advantage. It was the happy idea of a volunteer officer-an old campaigner of the 'Hickory' wars-versed in the tactics of Indian fighting.

By his advice, a feint was made by the troops who had not yet crossed-the volunteers. It was a pretended attempt to effect the passage of the river at a point higher up-stream. It was good strategy. Had such a passage been possible, it would have brought the enemy between two fires, and thus put an end to the surround;' but a crossing was not intended-only a ruse.

It had the effect designed; the Indians were deceived by it, and rushed in a body up the bank to prevent the attempt at crossing. Our beleaguered force took advantage of their temporary absence; and the 'regulars,' making an adroit use of the time, succeeded in getting back to the safe side' of the

river. The wily foe was too prudent to follow us; and thus ended the battle of the Ouithlacoochee.'

In the hurried council that was held, there were no two opinions as to what course of action we should pursue. The proposal to march back to Fort King was received with a wonderful unanimity; and, with little loss of time, we took the route, and arrived without further molestation at the fort.

CHAPTER LXIX.

ANOTHER 'SWAMP-YIGHT.'

After this action, a complete change was observed in the spirit of the army. Boasting was heard no more; and the eagerness of the troops to be led against the enemy was no longer difficult to restrain. No one expressed desire for a second expedition across the Ouithlacoochee, and the Cove' was to remain unexplored until the arrival of reinforcements. The volunteers were disheartened, wearied of the campaign, and not a little cowed by the resistance they had so unexpectedly encountered-bold and bloody as it was unlooked for. The enemy, hitherto despised, if it had aroused by its conduct a strong feeling of exasperation and vengeance, had also purchased the privilege of respect.

The battle of the Ouithlacoochee cost the United States army nearly a hundred men. The Seminole loss was believed to be much greater; though no one could give a better authority for this belief than that of a 'guess.' No one had seen the enemy's slain; but this was accounted for by the assertion, that during the fight they had carried their dead and wounded from the field!

How often has this absurd allegation appeared in the dispatches of generals both victorious and defeated! It is the usual explanation of a battlefield found too sparsely strewn by the bodies of the foe. The very possibility of such an operation argues either an easy conflict, or a strong attachment between comrade and comrade-too strong, indeed, for human nature. With some fighting experience, I can affirm that I never saw a dead body, either of comrade or foeman, moved from the ground where he had fallen, so long as there was a shot ringing upon the ear.

In the battle of the Ouithlacoochee, no doubt some of our enemies had 'bit the dust;' but their loss was much less than that of our own troops. For myselfand I had ample opportunity for observation-I could not swear to a single 'dead Indian;' nor have I met with a comrade who could.

Notwithstanding this, historians have chronicled the affair as a grand 'victory,' and the dispatch of the commander-in-chief is still extant-a curious specimen of warlike literature. In this document may be found the name of almost every officer engaged, each depicted as a peerless hero! A rare monument of vanity and boasting.

To speak the honest truth, we had been well 'whipped' by the red skins; and the chagrin of the army was only equalled by its exasperation.

Clinch, although esteemed a kind general-the 'soldier's friend,' as historians term him-was no longer regarded as a great warrior. His glory had departed. If Oçeola owed him any spite, he had reason to be satisfied with what he had accomplished, without molesting the old veteran' further. Though still living, he was dead to fame.

*

* *

A fresh commander-in-chief now made his appearance, and hopes of victory were again revived. The new general was Gaines, another of the 'veterans' produced by seniority of rank. He had not been ordered by the government upon this especial duty; but Florida being part of his military district, had volunteered to take the guidance of the war.

Like his predecessor, Gaines expected to reap a rich harvest of laurels, and, like the former, was he doomed to disappointment. Again, it was the cypress-wreath.

Without delay, our army-reinforced by fresh troops from Louisiana and elsewhere-was put in motion, and once more marched upon the 'Cove.'

We reached the banks of the Amazura, but never crossed that fatal stream-equally fatal to our glory as our lives. This time, the Indians crossed.

Almost upon the ground of the former action-with the difference that it was now upon the nether bank of the stream-we were attacked by the red warriors; and, after some hours of sharp skirmishing, compelled to shelter our proud battalions within the protecting pickets of a stockade! Within this enclosure we were besieged for a period of nine days, scarcely daring to trust ourselves outside the wooden walls. Starvation no longer stared us in the face-it had actually come upon us; and but for the horses we had hitherto bestrode-with whose flesh we were fain to satisfy the cravings of our appetites-one-half the army of Camp Izard' would have perished of hunger.

6

We were saved from destruction by the timely arrival of a large force that had been despatched to our rescue under Clinch, still commanding his brigade. Having marched direct from Fort King, our former general had the good-fortune to approach the enemy from their rear, and, by surprising our besiegers, disentangle us from our perilous situation.

The day of our delivery was memorable by a singular incident-an armistice of a peculiar character.

Early in the morning, while it was yet dark, a voice was heard hailing us from a distance, in a loud 'Ho there!-Halloa!'

It came from the direction of the enemy-since we were surrounded, it could not otherwise-but the peculiar phraseology led to the hope that Clinch's brigade had arrived.

The hail was repeated, and answered;. but the hope of a rescue vanished when the stentorian voice was recognised as that of Abram, the black chief, and quondam interpreter of the council.

'What do you want?' was the interrogatory ordered by the commander-in-chief.

'A talk,' came the curt reply.
For what purpose?'
'We want to stop fighting.'

The proposal was agreeable as unexpected. What could it mean? Were the Indians starving, like ourselves, and tired of hostilities? It was probable enough for what other reason should they desire to end the war so abruptly? They had not yet been defeated, but, on the contrary, victorious in every action that had been fought.

But one other motive could be thought of. We were every hour expecting the arrival of Clinch's brigade. Runners had reached the camp to say that he was near, and, reinforced by it, we should be not only strong enough to raise the siege, but to attack the Indians with almost a certainty of defeating them. Perhaps they knew, as well as we, that Clinch was advancing, and were desirous of making terms before his arrival.

The proposal for a 'talk' was thus accounted for by the commander-in-chief, who was now in hopes of being able to strike a decisive blow. His only apprehension was, that the enemy should retreat, before Clinch could get forward upon the field. An armistice would serve to delay the Indians upon the ground; and, without hesitation, the distant speaker was informed that the talk would be welcome.

A meeting of parlementaires from each side was arranged; the hour, as soon as it should be light. There were to be three of the Indians, and three from the camp.