The captain carried a Spencer carbine, and so did Mr. Brown. Mr. Baker preferred a lance. There were but two of the Spencers available, and we had no ammunition to waste, although there was enough for ordinary occasions on a long voyage. The Spencer was a short, repeating rifle, rather heavy, but an extremely handy gun. Its magazine carried seven cartridges, with a lead projectile half an inch in diameter, or thereabouts, and the rifle was sighted for half a mile, to the best of my recollection. It was a gun which had done good work in the Civil War, and there were a good many of them in New Bedford. When we had got away from the beach I was so glad to feel the springy turf under my feet that I ran ahead at the top of my speed, which was good enough to distance everybody, although several of the men were running clumsily. That is, I distanced everybody but Smith. He could outrun me easily, and kept ahead, flinging back over his shoulder good-natured taunts. Somewhat stung by his taunts, I went after him, and he led me off to one {257} side, up a slope covered thickly with huge boulders, or perhaps outcroppings of rock. He ran up the steep sides of these rocks—as I thought, to show off—and I followed, struggling up where he had leaped, and jumping from the tops, as he had done. At last we came to a rock steeper and higher than any other that we had been over. Smith leaped lightly up its side, and jumped from its top. My breath was gone, and I was tired, but I managed to get up; my foot slipped as I was about to jump, and I fell instead, striking my head. When I came to myself Smith was on the top of the great rock from which I had fallen, bending over, his hands busy with a big round stone which rested on the rock, very near the edge. Even in my dazed condition I knew enough to spring out of the way, for the stone would have fallen upon me in a few seconds more. “What are you doing?” I cried angrily. Smith smiled pleasantly, and kept on tugging at the stone. “Only trying to move this stone. I was afraid it would fall on you.” My head was clearing—and aching. I was sure the stone had not been there when I fell. And why, if his object was to save me, had Smith not dragged me out of its way? It would have been easier, and simpler, and the natural thing to do. Was he trying to kill me, and in a way which would make my death seem a regrettable accident? It was not to be borne. A great rage filled my heart as the question seemed to answer itself.