nook jargon, and could understand every word spoken in the council.
Saltese made known the grievance of the tribes. Two Indians had been
captured by a party of white pioneers and hanged for theft.
Retaliation for this outrage seemed imperative. The chiefs pondered
long, but had little to say. McClellan had been on friendly terms with
them, and was not responsible for the forest executions, but still, he
was a white man, and the chiefs had vowed vengeance against the race.
The council was prolonged for hours before sentence was passed, and
then Saltese, in the name of the head men of the tribes, decreed that
McClellan should immediately be put to death.

McClellan said nothing. He had known that argument and pleas for
justice or mercy would be of no avail. He sat motionless, apparently
indifferent to his fate. By his listlessness he had thrown his captors
off their guard. When the sentence was passed he acted like a flash.
Flinging his left arm around the neck of Saltese, he whipped out his
revolver and held it close to the chief's temple. "Revoke that
sentence, or I shall kill you this instant!" he cried, with his fingers
clicking the trigger. "I revoke it!" exclaimed Saltese, fairly livid
from fear. "I must have your word that I can leave this council in
safety." "You have the word of Saltese," was the quick response.

McClellan knew how sacred was the pledge which he had received. The
revolver was lowered. Saltese was released from the embrace of the
strong arm. McClellan strode out of the tent with his revolver in his
hand. Not a hand was raised against him. He mounted his horse and
rode to his camp, where his two followers were ready to spring into the
saddle and to escape from the villages. He owed his life to his
quickness of perception, his courage, and to his accurate knowledge of
Indian character.

In 1856, Rufus Choate spoke to an audience of nearly five thousand in
Lowell, Mass., in favor of the candidacy of James Buchanan for the
presidency. The floor of the great hall began to sink, settling more
and more as he proceeded with his address, until a sound of cracking
timber below would have precipitated a stampede with fatal results but
for the coolness of B. F. Butler, who presided. Telling the people to
remain quiet, he said that he would see if there were any cause for
alarm. He found the supports of the floor in so bad a condition that
the slightest applause would be likely to bury th