the worst rapids in this most rapid of rivers, but I never experienced the same feeling of utter helplessness that I did in the hour which ensued. The broken masses of ice clasped our frail bark in an embrace which bade fair to be the embrace of death. The utmost strength of our Indians was insufficient to guide us in the proper channel, and when we were evidently drifting towards hidden dangers their shouts and frantic efforts with their paddles betokened their fears. Upon all sides huge cakes of ice would suddenly rise perpendicularly from the water to a height of ten or twelve feet, as they were forced upon rocks near the surface, and then fall with a crash that would have buried us if we had been beneath them. Often we felt the thin bottom of the canoe bend as we glided over stones hardly covered, and we were in momentary expectation of a blow that would leave us struggling without hope in that frightful turmoil of waters.

Just before dark our crew gave a joyful cheer, and said that the rapids were passed. Having the utmost confidence in their knowledge of the river, Shep and I philosophically stretched ourselves in the bottom of the canoe to make up our loss of sleep. As I drifted into dreamland, I could fancy that we had just escaped from some living monster, and that the ceaseless grinding of the ice was the expression of its impotent rage. Occasionally we would be awakened, and find ourselves closely encompassed by drifting cakes, through which we could hardly move. Then a clearer spot would be reached, and we would wrap our blankets around us for other dreams.

At eleven P. M. we reached Fort George, and found that our boat had returned below the Isle de Pierre Rapids, fearing that an ice gorge might occur there during the night. We had gradually been leaving the main

body of ice behind us, and now began to breathe more freely. Our appetites were sharpened by our nocturnal trip, and we at once started our preparations for supper. In the midst of these our boy Billy walked in, a perfect icicle. He had capsized a canoe, and taken an involuntary plunge into the stream. The short walk from the river to the Fort had frozen his clothes as stiff as a coat of mail. We gave the fellow some dry clothes and a glass of brandy, and by his delighted grin were satisfied that for another drink he would have taken a second bath.

At two A. M. we again embarked for Isle de Pierre, fifteen miles below, where we found a jam of a mile in length, around which we were compelled to pack our blankets and traps to the boat below. Noon saw landus again afloat, and at nine P. M. we ed at the head of the Grand Rapids, oppo site a blazing camp-fire built by some halfstarved and ragged miners who had arrived during the day. The offer of a "square meal" and plenty of grog was thankfully ac cepted by them, and the better part of the night was spent by them in eating and drinking. We were now but twenty miles from Quesnelle, and they had decided to leave their boat and take to the woods rather than drag it across the ice gorge in the cañon below. By the aid of a fat man in the party, who seemed quite averse to the physical exertion of walking, I succeeded in dissuading them from this course; and in the forenoon of the next day the united crews dragged both boats over the half mile of treacherous ice, and launched them in comparatively clear water below. Evening saw us at Ques« nelle, feeling somewhat similar to Richard son's when, after his escape from a Southern prison, he telegraped to his friends, "Out of the gates of Death, out of the jaws Hell!"

G. B. Wright.

I.

DURING the latter part of February, 1873, an Italian fisherman, grappling for some lost chains at the foot of Commercial Street wharf, San Francisco, found his irons entangled in something which required an extra outlay of strength to raise. Several times the grapple lost its hold, and when the weight was finally brought to the surface, the unsightly face of a corpse parted the muddy waters of the bay, and so suddenly confronted the fisherman, that he loosened his hold upon the rope, and allowed the face to disappear. In a few moments it was again drawn up, and finally deposited upon the wharf. The idlers

were wont to lounge in the vicinity slowly gathered about the body; the saloons along the water front contributed their quota, women and children swarmed from the enements, and within fifteen minutes several undred people had reached the spot.

a pine shell, leaving the matter still as much a mystery as on that afternoon when the body fouled with the fisherman's grappling hooks.

The detectives, however, were not idle, and the police and the tireless reporters of the press vied with each other in discovering and tracing clues. Who should first fix the date of the killing? A reporter on a daily paper announced that it was Thursday, February the 13th. His theory was based upon the fact that on the afternoon of the 13th the owner of the Shamrock, a fishing smack, had purchased a bar of pig iron at a junk shop, and broken it in two pieces to use as ballast for his boat. He put out from the wharf on the morning of the 14th, complaining that one of the pieces of iron had been stolen the night before. The news gatherer held that the weight attached to the body was the missing piece of iron. In spite of the assertions of the police to the contrary, this theory proved correct, as the Shamrock arrived in a few days, and the skipper identified his missing ballast by simply fitting the broken parts together. He also gave a satisfactory account of his whereabouts on the 13th, and it was evident that he had really been the victim of a theft.

As the mud and slime of the bay gradualy trickled from the body, and the sun dried be salt water from the face, half a dozen eople attempted to identify the dead, and resently disputes arose as to who he might ave been when living. The object of their priosity was dressed in broadcloth, and the et were encased in French calf; a circumance which tended to arouse the prejudices the rabble. When the police arrived, ey found a stab in the neck, and the mark a cut across the back of the right hand. e legs were tied together at the knees, and piece of pig iron, weighing about fifty unds, had been lashed to the waist by a lor's not.

By this time the newspaper discussion had so stirred the curiosity of the town that little else was talked of beyond the "Commercial Street wharf mystery," as it was commonly known. It was the topic of the boudoir, the street car, and the grog shop, and new and startling theories were advanced daily.

Still the body was not identified, and the murderer was not arrested.

II.

On the 10th of March following the events I have related, I was at the residence of John Denton, in Oakland; I had arrived about noon, and expected within one hour to be

married to his daughter, Helen Denton, after an acquaintance and courtship of less than six months. The members of the family were all pleased with the match, except the aunt of my prospective wife, who seemed to have many misgivings over the affair, always insisting that Mary, Helen's sister, should have been the bride.

"It'll all be over at two o'clock, auntie," I said in a tone of forced cheerfulness.

"Don't be too sure, young man," she answered dolefully; "there's many a slip between the cup and the-"

short.

"Some one wants to see Mr. Marston," said a voice in the hall, and I stepped out. There were two men standing in the door. The larger one asked me to come outside, and on the porch showed me a warrant for my arrest.

"On what charge, pray?" "Murder."

In a few seconds the household had filled the hall, Helen leading the way in her bridal robes. John Denton was the first to recover his composure and inquire for particulars. The officers gave the necessary information.

"What!" he exclaimed, "the murder committed on Commercial Street wharf?"

The two men nodded.

I ventured to ask the amount of bail re quired.

once.

"We must take you to the city prison at We have no option in matters of bail. A moment later a pair of handcuffs were slipped over my wrists, and one of the men tapped me significantly upon the shoulder as he pointed to a hack standing at the gate. I turned to kiss Helen "good-by," but her aunt had led her back into the hall, and as I went down the steps between the officers I caught the tones of John Denton's voice: "This comes of making hasty matches with strangers."

I entered the hack; the door was slammed only to rebound again. As the driver was adjusting the catch, it gave Mary Denton time to run down the walk and grasp my

encouragement nor sympathy. I thought with a thousand bitter pangs of the falling away of the Denton family from me upon the accusation of a crime of which I was guiltless. How little my affianced could have loved me to have made so sudden and willing a retreat. In the midst of this the fidelity of the heretofore plain and commonplace Mary was the bright and steady light gleaming in all this darkness. An hour later I had time to continue my reflections more at leisure in one of the iron cells of the city prison of San Francisco.

gazed at my face. I cannot explain how it was, but when he went away I began to pace up and down the cell, possessed with a strange excitement. Two years of confinement had seemingly benumbed my mental faculties, and my brain had sunk into that dormant state which is in thorough accord with the routine of convict life and the surroundings of gray walls. From this on I was more active and wakeful, but my faculties seemed continually groping about, as a man moving in the dark stretches forth his hands expecting momentarily to touch something. The authorities soon found that I could be trusted with certain privileges without risk. Having a knowledge of pharmacy, I had much to do in the chemist's laboratory, and came into frequent contact with the new officer. Whenever we met his eyes always refused to confront mine, and one day it came upon me like a flash from the darkness that his face was an exact counterpart of my own, as were also his movements and general physique. None of the convicts appeared to have noticed the resemblance which now seemed to me so remarkable-at least, none of them had ever mentioned the subject to me. The man's name was Henry Johnson.

The next afternoon I was in the laboratory mixing some compound for a cold, when I heard Johnson and a guard talking in the

next room.

and how strangely he had acted at various times in my presence. Here was the key to the murder for which I was suffering punishment. Could I ever find the door? Doubtless the witnesses had mistaken me for him on the trial, and testified to what they be lieved to be the truth. My unfortunate resemblance to this man Johnson might have deceived even acquaintances, under the circumstances. Although my brain had been stagnant since my imprisonment, now its sluggish waters became a whirlpool of plots and plans. Every circumstance of the case was being drawn into the sweep of the flood and rotated toward the vortex. Everything connected with the trial was revived to me, and I made a new study of it.

As the days went by I concentrated all my thoughts upon some plan of proving to the world the guilt of Johnson. Six months passed, but I had made no progress with my plans. Mary Denton continued to write, and sometimes I thought of invoking her assistance. I knew she was doing what she could to clear my name, but I did not dare to mention this clue in my letter to her, every one of which passed under the eyes of the Warden. I had about given up hope when Johnson was taken sick with fever, and I was ordered to his bedside by the physician. There was considerable sickness in the prison, and being a trusty about the labora tory I had often acted as nurse and watcher.

during the night. Chance had thrown this man under my hand when I least expected it, and I determined that before he recov ered I would wring the secret from him. I contented myself with watching him the first night, but on the night following he was slightly delirious, and I gave him a few grains of hasheesh, the extract of Indian hemp.

He soon became restless and voluble under the influence of the drug, and I mentioned the circumstance of the murder. It acted like an electric shock. He rose to a sitting posture, shouting and beating the air savagely with his arms.