[Illustration: Fort Ticonderoga, from Eastern Shore.]
* * * * *
_HISTORICAL SERIES--BOOK II_
STORIES
OF HEROIC DEEDS
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
BY
JAMES JOHONNOT
[Illustration]
NEW YORK * CINCINNATI * CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1887,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
E-P 2
PREFACE.
In preparing this little book, three things have been kept constantly
in mind--the plan of the whole series, the thought and sentiment
expressed in each lesson, and the language used to express the thought.
The main feature of the plan is to furnish pupils interesting
historical stories for the purpose of giving them a taste for the study
of history, to enable them to distinguish between fact and fiction, and
to stimulate them to high endeavor by noble example.
In selecting, preparing, and arranging the stories, care has been taken
that the thought is such as to be readily understood, and that on the
whole it tends to awaken the higher emotions. The moral lesson involved
should be absorbed rather than learned, and the teacher should beware
of destroying the value of any lesson by dealing out moral pap.
The language is that of common life, such as the pupil hears every day
from parent, friend, and teacher--such as the morning newspaper brings,
and such as is necessary for him to master in its printed and written
forms in the shortest possible time. When a word is unknown, the
teacher should develop its meaning before permitting the lesson to go
on. The interest in the story will be a sufficient stimulus to secure
the best of attention, and the highest excellence in delivery.
In the use of language, it is far better that pupils should be obliged
to stretch upward rather than be remanded to the nursery. Baby-talk
should no more be revived than long-clothes, and the time spent in
writing stories in words of one syllable might be used to a much better
purpose.
The history of the Do-as-you-likes speaks for itself. It is a fancy
story rather than a myth, but it is one that children will like, long
before they will understand its whole significance; and we much doubt
whether the Rev. Charles Kingsley ever produced a more valuable and
original book than "Water-Babies," from which this story is taken.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MYTHS.
I. Latona and the Rustics 7
II. The Music of Pan 9
III. Baucis and Philemon 10
IV. The Dragon's Teeth 13
V. The Do-as-you-likes 17
INDIAN STORIES.
VI. Columbus and the Eclipse 25
VII. The Pequots 27
VIII. Schenectady 29
IX. The Story of Mrs. Dustin 31
X. Rogers's Slide 34
XI. General Clinton's March 36
XII. Frances Slocum 39
XIII. Obed's Pumpkins 43
STORIES OF THE REVOLUTION.
XIV. The Gaspé 50
XV. Ethan Allen 53
XVI. Joseph Reed 54
XVII. General Prescott 56
XVIII. Prescott and the Yankee Boy 58
XIX. Battle of the Kegs 62
XX. The Daring of Paul Jones 66
XXI. Fort Moultrie 71
XXII. Count Pulaski and his Banner 73
XXIII. Lydia Darrah 77
XXIV. The Liberty-Bell 80
XXV. The Tory's Horse 83
XXVI. General Schuyler 87
XXVII. Ode 92
SCOTTISH STORIES.
XXVIII. Edinburgh Castle 93
XXIX. Scottish Strategy 96
XXX. Castle Dangerous 100
XXXI. The Black Agnes 103
MISCELLANEOUS STORIES.
XXXII. A Little Maid 108
XXXIII. Alexander Selkirk 112
XXXIV. The Old-fashioned School 118
XXXV. Story of Franklin's Kite 123
XXXVI. The Case of John Hook 126
XXXVII. The First Steamboat in the West 128
XXXVIII. The Power of Kindness 134
XXXIX. Old Ironsides 137
XL. Chicago 142
MYTHS.
_I.--LATONA AND THE RUSTICS._
1. Once on a time the goddess Latona wandered into the country with
her infant twins in her arms. Weary with her burden and parched with
thirst, she espied in the bottom of the valley a pond of clear water,
where the country people were at work gathering willows and osiers. The
goddess approached, and, kneeling on the banks, would have slaked her
thirst in the cool water but the rustics forbade her.
2. "Why do you refuse me water?" said she; "water is free to all.
Nature allows no one to claim as property the sunshine, the air, and
the water; I come to take my share of the common blessing. Yet I ask it
of you as a favor. I only desire to quench my thirst. My mouth is so
dry that I can hardly speak. A draught of water would revive me, and I
would own myself indebted to you for life itself. Let these infants
move your pity, who stretch out their little arms as if to plead for
me."
3. Who would not have been moved with the gentle words of the goddess?
But these clowns would not desist; they even added jeers and threats of
violence if she did not leave the place. Nor was this all; they waded
into the pond, and stirred up the mud with their feet, so as to make it
unfit to drink.
4. Latona was so angry that she lifted up her voice to Heaven and cried
out, "May they never quit that pool, but pass their lives there!" And
so it came to pass. They now live in the water, sometimes below and
sometimes with their heads above the surface. Sometimes they come
out on the bank, but soon leap again into the water. They still use
their bass voices in railing, and, though they have the water all
to themselves, they still croak about it. Their voices are harsh,
their throats bloated, their mouths have stretched, their necks have
disappeared, and their heads are joined directly to their bodies. Their
backs are green, their huge bellies white, and they leap instead of
walking. Have you seen anything like them?
_II.--THE MUSIC OF PAN._
1. Pan, the earth-god, had great skill in music, and he performed upon
his pipes in a wonderful way. Everybody praised him, and he grew so
vain that he thought no one could equal him, and he sent a challenge
to Apollo, the god of the lyre, to a trial of skill. The challenge
was accepted, and Imolus, the mountain-god, was chosen umpire. Imolus
cleared away the trees from his ears, to listen. At a given signal, Pan
blew his pipes, and his rustic melody greatly pleased himself and his
followers.
2. Then Imolus turned his head toward the sun-god, and all the trees
turned with him. Apollo rose: in his left hand he held the lyre, and
with his right hand struck the strings. The music was truly heavenly,
and Imolus at once awarded the victory to the god of the lyre. All
agreed with him except old King Midas, who happened to be present. He
questioned the decision of the umpire, and declared that Pan's music
was the best. Apollo would not permit such a depraved pair of ears any
longer to wear the human form, but caused them to grow out long, and to
become hairy within and without, and movable at the roots. So the old
king, as long as he lived, wore the ears of a donkey.
_III.--BAUCIS AND PHILEMON._
1. On a certain hill in Phrygia stand a linden-tree and an oak. Not
far from the spot are a marsh, and a lake which was once the site of a
thriving village. Once on a time, Jupiter, in human shape, and Mercury,
without his wings, paid a visit to this country, and, after a weary
day's walk, they reached the village about nightfall. Here they applied
for shelter in vain. Everywhere they were driven away with insults, and
even, in some places, the dogs were set upon them. At last they reached
the outskirts of the village, where stood a humble thatched cottage.
Here Baucis, a pious old dame, and her husband Philemon, united when
young, had grown old together.
2. One need not look here for master or for servant; they two were the
whole household, master and servant alike. Here the two travelers found
rest. As they crossed the humble threshold, and bowed their heads to
pass under the low door, the old man placed a seat, and Baucis set
about preparing them some food. She raked out the coals, kindled up the
fire with dry sticks, and with her scanty breath blew it into a flame.
Her husband gathered pot-herbs from the garden, and cut a slice of
bacon from the flitch in the chimney, which Baucis quickly prepared for
the pot. She then filled a beechen bowl with clean water for her guests
to wash, keeping up a pleasant talk all the time.
3. On the bench where her guests were to sit she placed a cushion
filled with sea-weed, and then set out the table. This she rubbed down
with sweet-smelling herbs, and placed upon it some olives, radishes,
and cheese, and eggs lightly cooked in the ashes. All was served in
coarse earthen dishes. When all was ready, the stew, smoking hot, was
placed upon the table. Some wine was added; and, for dessert, apples
and wild-honey; and, over and above all, friendly faces and simple and
hearty welcome.
4. The guests sat down, and the old couple saw with astonishment that,
as fast as it was poured out, the wine renewed itself, and they then
knew that they were entertaining superior beings. They begged pardon
for the coarseness of their fare, but Jove raised them to their feet,
thanked them for their kindness, and then said: "We are gods. The
people of the village must pay the penalty for their indolence and
cruelty. Come with us to the top of yonder hill." They hastened to
obey, and, with staff in hand, labored up the steep ascent. At the top
they turned their eyes below, and they saw the whole village turned
into a lake, and their house the only one remaining.
5. But, while they gazed with wonder at the sight, their old
cottage changed into a temple. Lofty columns took the place of the
corner-posts, the thatch was changed to a gilded roof, the floors
became marble, and the doors were hung with ornaments of gold. Then
Jupiter spoke and said: "Excellent old people, what favors have you
to ask of us?" Then Baucis and Philemon took counsel together, and
answered, "Let us finish our lives here, where we have lived so long,
and we wish to pass from life together in the same hour."
6. The prayer was granted. For many years they were the keepers of the
temple, and when they were very old, as they stood before the steps
of the sacred edifice, they felt themselves stiffen so they could not
stir. At the same moment a leafy crown grew over the heads of each,
and they had scarcely time to say, "Good-by, dear Philemon," "Good-by,
dear Baucis," when they were changed into two stately trees--he into a
sturdy oak, and she into a graceful linden. There they stand, side by
side, to the present day, and when the wind rises the peasant can hear
the rustle of the leaves as the branches caress each other, which seems
to say, "Dear Baucis!" "Dear Philemon!"
_IV.--THE DRAGON'S TEETH._
1. For many years Cadmus traveled in search of his lost sister Europa,
who was carried off by Jupiter in the disguise of a white bull. As he
was unsuccessful, he dare not return to his own country, but consulted
the oracle to know where he should settle. He was told to follow a
cow, and where she lay down he should found a city and call it Thebes.
As he came out of the cave where the oracle dwelt, he saw the cow and
followed her. After several hours' weary tramp she lay down on a broad
plain, and Cadmus saw that here he must build his city.
2. He gave thanks, and, wishing to offer a sacrifice to Jupiter, he
sent his servants to bring pure water for a libation from a grove near
by. In the cave by the fountain lurked a horrid serpent with a crested
head, and scales glittering like gold. His eyes shone like fire, and
he had a triple tongue and triple rows of teeth. No sooner had the
servants dipped their vessels in the water, than out rushed the serpent
with a fearful hiss and killed them all with his fangs and poisonous
breath.
3. Cadmus waited until midday for their return, and then went in search
of them. He wore a lion's hide, and besides his javelin he carried
a lance. When he entered the wood and saw the dead bodies of his
men, and the monster with his bloody jaws, he exclaimed, "O faithful
friends, I will avenge you or share your death!" So saying, he lifted
a huge stone and threw it at the serpent, but it made no impression on
the monster. Cadmus next threw his javelin, and this penetrated the
serpent's scales. Fierce with pain, the monster broke off the handle
of the weapon but left the iron point still in the flesh. His neck
swelled with rage, bloody foam covered his jaws, and the breath of his
nostrils poisoned the air around. Now he threw himself forward upon
Cadmus, but the hero retreated backward holding his spear before
the monster's open jaws. At last Cadmus made a sudden thrust with the
spear and pinned the serpent's head to a tree. Then how the monster did
writhe, and hiss, and spit out his venom! but the spear held fast, and
he soon died.
[Illustration]
4. Then Cadmus heard a voice telling him to take out the dragon's teeth
and sow them in the ground. So he made a furrow in the ground, and into
it he sowed the teeth and covered them up. Scarce had he done so, when
the clods began to move, and the points of spears appeared above the
ground. Next helmets, with their nodding plumes, came up, and next the
shoulders and breasts and limbs of men. Soon a crop of warriors stood
before him, all armed for fight. Their looks became fierce and cruel as
they stood and glared at one another. Cadmus was afraid of his life,
but one of them said, "Meddle not with our civil war." At length one of
the warriors raised his sword and smote down another. Then commenced
a fight, and soon all of them were killed but five. These cast away
their weapons and said, "Let us live in peace." They joined Cadmus, and
helped him build his city of Thebes.
_V.--THE DO-AS-YOU-LIKES._
1. The fairy brought out from her cupboard a big book, and Tom and
little Ellie read in the title-page, "The History of the Great and
Famous Nation of the Do-as-you-likes, who came away from the Country of
Hardwork, because they wanted to play on the Jew's-harp all day long."
2. In the first picture they saw these Do-as-you-likes living in the
land of Ready-made, at the foot of the Happy-go-lucky Mountains, where
flap-doodle grows wild; and if you want to know what that is, you must
read "Peter Simple."
3. Instead of houses, they lived in the beautiful caves of tufa, and
bathed in the warm springs three times a day; and, as for clothes, it
was so warm there that the gentlemen walked about in little besides a
cocked hat and a pair of straps, or some light summer tackle of that
kind; and the ladies all gathered gossamer in autumn to make their
winter dresses.
4. They were very fond of music, but it was too much trouble to learn
to play the piano or violin; so they sat on ant-hills all day long and
played on the Jew's-harp; and if the ants bit them, why they just got
up and went to the next ant-hill, till they were bitten there also.
5. And they sat under the flapdoodle-trees, and let the flapdoodle drop
into their mouths; and under the vines, and squeezed the grape-juice
down their throats; and if any little pigs ran about ready roasted,
crying "Come, and eat me," as was the fashion in that country, they
waited till the pigs ran against their mouths, and then took a bite,
and were content, just as so many oysters would have been.
6. They needed no weapons, for no enemies ever came near their land;
and the stern old fairy Necessity never came near them to hunt them up,
and make them use their wits or die. And so on, till there were never
such comfortable, easy-going, happy-go-lucky people in the world.
7. "Well, that is a jolly life," said Tom. "You think so?" said the
fairy. "Do you see that great peaked mountain there behind, with smoke
coming out of its top?" "Yes." "And do you see those ashes, and slag,
and cinders lying about?" "Yes." "Then turn over the next five hundred
years, and you will see what happens."
8. And behold! the mountain had blown up like a barrel of gunpowder,
and then boiled over like a kettle; whereby one third of the
Do-as-you-likes were blown into the air, and another third were
smothered in the ashes; so that there were only one third left. "You
see," said the fairy, "what comes of living on a burning mountain."
9. "Oh, why did you not warn them?" said little Ellie. "I did warn them
all I could. I let the smoke come out of the mountain, and wherever
there is smoke there is a fire. And laid the ashes and cinders all
about; and wherever there are cinders, cinders may be again. But they
did not like to face facts, my dears, as few people do; and so they
invented a cock-and-bull story, which, I am sure, I never told them,
that the smoke was the breath of a giant, whom some god or other had
buried under the mountain; and other nonsense of that kind. And when
folks are in that humor I can not teach them, save by the good old
birch-rod."
10. And then she turned over the next five hundred years; and there
were the remnant of the Do-as-you-likes, doing as they liked, as
before. They were too lazy to move away from the mountain; so they
said, "If it has blown up once, that is all the more reason it will not
blow up again." And they were few in number, but they only said, "The
more the merrier, but the fewer the better fare."
11. However, that was not quite true; for all the flapdoodle-trees were
killed by the volcano, and they had eaten all the roast pigs, who, of
course, could not be expected to have little ones; so they had to live
very hard, on nuts and roots which they scratched out of the ground.
Some of them talked of sowing corn, as their ancestors used to do,
before they came into the land of Ready-made, but they had forgotten
how to make plows, and had eaten all the seed-corn which they had
brought out of the land of Hardwork years since; and of course it was
too much trouble to go away and find more. So they lived miserably on
roots and nuts, and all the weakly little children had great stomachs,
and then died.
12. "Why," said Tom, "they are growing no better than savages." "And
look how ugly they are all getting!" said Ellie. "Yes; when people live
on poor vegetables, instead of roast beef and plum-pudding, their jaws
grow larger and their lips grow coarser, like the poor people who eat
nothing but potatoes."
[Illustration]
13. And she turned over the next five hundred years, and there they
were all living up in trees, and making nests to keep off the rain.
And underneath the trees lions were prowling about. "Why," said
Ellie, "the lions seem to have eaten a good many of them, for there
are very few left now!" "Yes," said the fairy, "you see it was only
the strongest and most active ones who could climb the trees, and so
escape." "But what great, hulking, broad-shouldered chaps they are!"
said Tom; "they are as rough a lot as ever I saw."
14. And she turned over the next five hundred years. And in that
they were fewer still, and stronger, and fiercer; but their feet had
changed shape very oddly, for they laid hold of the branches with their
great-toes, as if they had been thumbs, just as a Hindoo tailor uses
his toes to thread his needle.
15. The children were very much surprised, and asked the fairy whether
that was her doing. "Yes and no," she said, smiling. "It was only those
who could use their feet as well as their hands who could get a good
living; so they got the best of everything, and starved out all the
rest." "But there is a hairy one among them," said Ellie. "Ah!" said
the fairy, "that will be a great man in his time, and chief of all the
tribe."
16. And when she turned over the next five hundred years, it was
true. For this hairy chief had hairier children still. The climate was
growing so damp that none but the hairy ones could live; all the rest
coughed and sneezed, and had sore throats, and went into consumptions,
before they could grow up into men and women.
17. Then the fairy turned over the next five hundred years. And they
were fewer still. "Why, there is one on the ground picking up roots,"
said Ellie, "and he can not walk upright." No more he could; for, in
the same way that the shape of their feet had altered, the shape of
their backs had altered too. "Why," said Tom, "I declare they are all
apes!"
18. "Something fearfully like it, poor, foolish creatures," said the
fairy. "They are grown so stupid now, that they can hardly think; for
none of them have used their wits for many hundred years. They have
almost forgotten, too, how to talk. For each stupid child forgot some
of the words it heard from its stupid parents, and had not wit enough
to make fresh words for itself. Besides, they have grown so fierce and
suspicious and brutal, that they keep out of each other's way, and mope
and sulk in dark forests, never hearing each other's voice, till they
have forgotten almost what speech is like. I am afraid they will all
be apes very soon, and all be doing only what they liked."
19. And in the next five hundred years they were all dead and gone, by
bad food and wild beasts and hunters; all except one tremendous old
fellow with jaws like a jack, who stood full seven feet high; and M. du
Chaillu came up to him and shot him, as he stood roaring and thumping
his breast. And he remembered that his ancestors had once been men, and
he tried to say, "Am I not a man and a brother?" but he had forgotten
how to use his tongue; and then he had tried to call for a doctor,
but he had forgotten the word for one. So all he said was "Ubboboo!"
and died. And that was the end of the great and jolly nation of the
Do-as-you-likes.
INDIAN STORIES.
_VI.--COLUMBUS AND THE ECLIPSE._
1. When Columbus first landed upon the shores of the New World, and
for a long time after, the natives thought that he had come down from
heaven, and they were ready to do anything for this new friend. But, at
one place, where he stayed for some months, the chiefs became jealous
of him and tried to drive him away. It had been their custom to bring
food for him and his companions every morning; but now the amount they
brought was very small, and Columbus saw that he would soon be starved
unless he could make a change.
2. Now, Columbus knew that in a few days there was to be an eclipse
of the sun; so he called the chiefs around him and told them that
the Great Spirit was angry with them for not doing as they agreed in
bringing him provisions, and that, to show his anger, on such a day,
he would cause the sun to be darkened. The Indians listened, but they
did not believe Columbus, and there was a still greater falling off in
the amount of the food sent in.
3. On the morning of the day set, the sun rose clear and bright, and
the Indians shook their heads, as they thought how Columbus had tried
to deceive them. Hour after hour passed, and still the sun was bright;
and the Spaniards began to fear that the Indians would attack them
soon, as they seemed fully convinced that Columbus had deceived them.
But at length a black shadow began to steal over the face of the sun.
Little by little the light faded, and darkness spread over the land.
4. The Indians saw that Columbus had told them the truth. They saw that
they had offended the Great Spirit, and that he had sent a dreadful
monster to swallow the sun. They could see the jaws of this horrible
monster slowly closing to shut off their light forever. Frantic with
fear, they filled the air with cries and shrieks. Some fell prostrate
before Columbus and entreated his help; some rushed off and soon
returned laden with every kind of provisions they could lay their
hands on. Columbus then retired to his tent, and promised to save them
if possible. About the time for the eclipse to pass away, he came out
and told them that the Great Spirit had pardoned them this time, and
he would soon drive away the monster from the sun; but they must never
offend in that way again.
5. The Indians promised, and waited. As the sun began to come out from
the shadow, their fears subsided, and, when it shone clear once more,
their joy knew no bounds. They leaped, they danced, and they sang. They
thought Columbus was a god, and, while he remained on the island, the
Spaniards had all the provisions they needed.
_VII.--THE PEQUOTS._
1. Early in 1621 the Pilgrims who settled at Plymouth, Massachusetts,
made a treaty with Massasoit, the chief of the Wampanoags, who
inhabited the eastern part of the State. This treaty was observed by
all the Indian tribes in the vicinity for a long time, and it was not
until three years after the first settlers arrived in Connecticut that
an Indian war broke out.
2. The Pequots were a small but very warlike tribe, living upon Long
Island Sound, near the border of Rhode Island. These Indians attacked
the settlers, and in 1627 they killed three men at Saybrook, and six
men and three women at Wethersfield.
3. These things caused great alarm, and a council was called at
Hartford to consider what was to be done. A force, consisting of ninety
white men and seventy friendly Indians, under the command of Captain
Mason, were sent against them.
4. They went down the Connecticut River from Hartford to Saybrook in
boats, and thence eastward along the Sound to the Indian fort Mystic,
near where Stonington now stands. They reached the spot about daybreak.
The Pequots had no suspicion that an enemy was near. But as they
reached the fort a dog barked, and the Indian sentinel called out,
"Owanux! Owanux!" (Englishmen! Englishmen!), and the savages sprang to
arms. The soldiers fired and killed many Indians, but it was a fight of
the little army of whites against six hundred.
5. The Indians fought bravely, and Captain Mason, fearful of being
defeated, called out, "We must burn them!" A torch was applied to a
wigwam, and soon the whole fort was in flames. Seventy wigwams were
burned, and six hundred men, women, and children perished.
6. A few Indians escaped, and, joining others of their tribe, took
refuge in a swamp in Fairfield. Here the whites pursued them, and
killed and captured nearly the whole tribe. The prisoners and all that
remained alive of the Pequots, were divided and given to the Mohicans
and the Narragansetts, two tribes friendly to the English.
_VIII.--SCHENECTADY._
1. In the winter of 1690 a small party of French and Indians made a
raid upon Albany. They concluded to destroy Schenectady first. The
people of Schenectady had been warned of their danger, but they would
not believe that men would come from Canada, a distance of two or three
hundred miles, through the deep snows of winter, to molest them.
2. But they were fatally deceived. A strong stockade, of more than a
mile in length, was built around the houses which composed the village.
This stockade had a gateway at each end, and these gateways were
usually carefully guarded at night. But, believing themselves safe,
the watchman became careless and went to sleep. The enemy arrived on
Saturday night, and succeeded in getting within the stockade without
giving any alarm. They divided themselves into small parties, so that
every house might be attacked at the same instant. They entered the
place about eleven o'clock.
3. The inhabitants were all asleep, and stillness rested upon the
place. With a noiseless step the enemy distributed themselves through
the village, and, at a given signal, the savage war-whoop was sounded.
What a dreadful cry was this to the startled fathers and mothers of
this unhappy town!
4. It is scarcely possible to describe the scene that followed. The
people, conscious of their danger, sprang from their beds, but were met
at the door and slaughtered by the savages; and the Indians, rendered
frantic by the wild scene, ran through the place, slaying those they
chanced to meet.
5. Sixty of the people were killed, and twenty-five were made
prisoners. Some attempted to escape, but as they were in their
night-clothes, and the night was very cold, only a part of them reached
Albany, sixteen miles distant, the nearest point of refuge, and of
these, twenty-five lost limbs by the cold. As the alarm was given, the
Indians returned to Canada without an attack upon Albany.
_IX.--THE STORY OF MRS. DUSTIN._
1. In the winter of 1696 a party of Indians made an attack upon the
town of Haverhill, Massachusetts. Among the people of that town was
a Mr. Dustin. He was in a field at work, when the news of the attack
reached his ears. He immediately started and ran to his house to save
his family. He had seven children, and these he collected for the
purpose of taking them to a place of safety before the Indians should
arrive.
2. His wife was ill, and she had an infant but a week old. He now
hurried to her, but, before she could get ready to leave the house, Mr.
Dustin saw that a party of savages were already close by. Expecting
that all would be slain, he ran to the door and mounted his horse, with
the intention of taking one of his children--the one that he loved
best--and flying with it to a place of safety.
3. But which should he take? Which of his seven children should he
leave to the savages? He could not decide, and therefore, telling
the children to run forward, he placed himself between them and the
Indians. The Indians fired at him, but they did not hit him. He had a
gun, too, and he fired back at them.
4. Then he hurried his little children along, loading his gun as he
went, and firing at his pursuers. Thus he proceeded for more than a
mile--protecting his little family, defending himself, and keeping the
enemy at a distance. At length, he reached a place of safety, where
the children were beyond the reach of the Indians. His feelings were
divided between joy for the escape, and grief for the poor wife left
behind.
5. But Mrs. Dustin was destined to undergo the severest trials.
Although she was very ill, the savages compelled her, with the nurse
and her little infant, to go with them. They soon left the town of
Haverhill, and set out to go to the homes of the Indians. These were
at a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. It was winter, and the
journey was to be taken on foot through the wilderness.
6. Mrs. Dustin and the nurse were soon overcome with fatigue. The
Indians, seeing that the little infant occupied much of their
attention, snatched it from its mother, and killed the little innocent
by striking it against a tree. After a toilsome march, and the greatest
suffering, Mrs. Dustin and her companion completed the journey.
7. But now the Indians were to remove to a distant place, and these
two women were forced to accompany them. When they reached the end of
their journey, they found out that they were to be tortured. They then
resolved to make their escape.
8. One night Mrs. Dustin, the nurse, and another woman rose secretly
while the Indians were asleep. There were ten of them in the wigwam
where they were. These the women killed with their own hands and then
departed. After wandering a long time in the woods, they reached
Haverhill, and Mrs. Dustin was restored to her family.
_X.--ROGERS'S SLIDE._
1. Major Rogers, a brave patriot, commanded a corps of rangers in the
winter of 1758. He was stationed on Lake George. One day he started
with a few men to spy out the position of his Indian foes.
2. A band of Indians surprised the party, and put them to flight. Major
Rogers, by the aid of his snow-shoes, was able to gain the summit of a
hill overlooking the lake. At this point the lake is narrow, and the
rocks are piled up in huge masses. One crag rises to the height of
about four hundred feet, with an almost perpendicular surface, sloping
down to the lake below.
3. The major knew that the Indians would follow rapidly on his track.
When he reached the brow of the cliff he quickly cast off his knapsack
and haversack, and sent them sliding down the icy path. He then took
off his snow-shoes, and, without moving them, turned himself about and
put them on his feet again. He retreated along the brow of the hill for
several rods, and down a ravine he made his way to the lake, found his
pack, and fled on the ice to Fort George.
[Illustration: Rogers's Slide, Lake George]
4. The Indians arrived at the spot, saw the two tracks, and supposed
that two people had cast themselves off the rock rather than be
captured. Just then they saw the bold ranger making his way across the
ice, and believed that he had safely slid down the steep face of the
rock. They thought that the pale-face must be protected by the Great
Spirit, and made no attempt at pursuit. The rock has ever since been
known as Rogers's Slide.
_XI.--GENERAL CLINTON'S MARCH._
1. In the War of the Revolution, the Indians belonging to the Six
Nations, living in Central and Western New York, mostly joined the
British. For several years parties of Tories and Indians, every little
while, would attack the frontier settlements and murder the settlers.
In 1778 General Sullivan was sent into the country around Seneca Lake
to break up the hostile force, and, if possible, to drive the Indians
out of the country. A part of this force, under the American General
Clinton, started from the Mohawk Valley to join Sullivan in Southern
New York.
2. The march was through an unbroken wilderness. As there were no
roads, their provisions were loaded into boats and floated up the small
streams, and there the freight, boats, and all, were carried by the men
to the head-waters of another stream. They had little trouble until
they reached Otsego Lake, and from this point they expected less, as
the outlet of the lake formed the Susquehanna River, and on this river,
far below, they expected to join Sullivan. But the weather was hot, and
for many weeks there had been no rain. The river had not water enough
to float the boats, and for a time Clinton thought he would be obliged
to turn back.
3. But at last he hit upon a scheme that promised success. He built a
dam across the river just where it flows out of the lake. His soldiers
rolled in great bowlders from the fields, and filled the spaces between
with brush and clay. The water could not flow out freely, and the lake
began to rise. In three weeks it was six feet above its summer level.
The boats were then made ready, with the provisions and men on board,
and the dam was torn down. The waters flooded the banks of the narrow
stream, and the whole party were carried down to the place of meeting
with Sullivan in safety.
[Illustration]
4. The Indians along the stream saw this sudden rise of waters, and
they were much frightened. No rain had fallen, and the only way they
could account for it was that the Great Spirit had sent the waters to
help the white men, and they everywhere fled in the greatest alarm.
General Clinton did not meet one armed enemy until he joined Sullivan,
and the combined army met no opposition until they reached the spot
where Elmira now stands. Here a battle took place, in which the Indians
were defeated. Upon the return of Sullivan from his successful raid
into the Indian country, he was obliged to kill his horses for want of
forage, and the place where the horses' skulls lay for a long time has
since been called Horseheads.
_XII.--FRANCES SLOCUM._
1. In 1778 the Tories and Indians made an attack upon the little
settlement of Wyoming, on the Susquehanna River, in Pennsylvania.
The fort was captured, and nearly all the prisoners--men, women, and
children--were murdered in cold blood. Every house was burned, and the
few people who escaped into the woods, went through terrible trials
before they reached a place of safety. Most of the savages had bloody
scalps hung to their belts, to show that they had taken part in the
battle and the murder that followed.
2. Near the scene of the Wyoming battle lived a Quaker, named Slocum,
who had been a great friend of the Indians. For a time no one troubled
him; but early one morning some Indians came down, scalped a boy, named
Kingsley, and carried away Frances, Mrs. Slocum's little daughter, five
years old. Soon after, Mr. Slocum was also murdered. The mother stayed
in the valley, hoping to hear of her lost child. When peace came, two
brothers of the lost one went to Canada in search of her, but all their
inquiries were in vain, and they gave her up as dead.
3. But the mother still hoped on. She was certain that Frances was
still alive. Other captives were found, but the mother went down to her
grave without any tidings of the child that had been so cruelly taken
from her. The brothers became aged men, and little Frances was almost
forgotten.
4. In 1837, fifty-nine years after her capture, an Indian agent and
trader gave an account of a white woman living with the Indians near
Logansport, Indiana. Joseph Slocum and a sister at once set out for
Ohio, where they met their younger brother, Isaac. The three then
went on to Logansport, where they learned that the white woman lived
about twelve miles distant. She was sent for, and the next morning she
came riding into town upon a spirited young horse, and accompanied
by her two daughters. She could not speak English, and an interpreter
was found. She listened to what her brothers had to say, but did not
answer. At sunset she started for her home, but promised to be back in
the morning.
5. She came, true to her promise. The mother had told Joseph years
before of one sure test. When they were little children Joseph, then
a child two and a half years old, while playing with a hammer gave
Frances a blow upon the middle finger of the left hand, which crushed
the bone and deprived the finger of the nail. When Joseph told this
incident the aged woman was greatly agitated, and, while tears streamed
down her face, she held out the wounded finger. There was no longer a
doubt. The love for her kindred which had slept for more than fifty
years was aroused, and she eagerly inquired after her father, mother,
brothers, and sisters.
6. Her full heart was opened, and she freely gave the story of her
life. She said the savages took her to a cave in the mountains the
first night. She was kindly treated, and was tenderly carried in their
arms when she was weary. She was adopted by an Indian family, and
brought up as their daughter. For years she had led a roving life, and
she liked it. She was taught the use of the bow, and soon learned all
the arts of the Indian household. When she grew up, her Indian parents
died, and she soon afterward married a young chief of the nation.
7. She was treated with more respect than Indian women generally are;
and she was so happy in her life that the greatest evil she feared was
that she should be obliged to go back to the whites, whom she regarded
as the Indians' worst enemies. Her husband was dead, and she had been a
widow many years. Children and grandchildren were around her, and life
was passing pleasantly away. When she finished her story, she lifted
her right hand in a solemn manner and said, "All this is as true as
that there is a Great Spirit in the heavens!"
8. The next day her brothers and sister went out to visit her at her
home. She was living in a well-built log-house, which was surrounded
by cultivated fields. She had a large herd of cattle and sixty horses.
She had saved her share of the annuity which the Government paid the
Indians, and had about one thousand dollars in specie. Her white
friends stayed with her several days, and had a delightful visit.
Afterward Joseph, his wife, and daughter paid her another visit, and
then bade her a last farewell. She died about 1844, and was buried with
great honors, as she was regarded as a queen by her tribe.
_XIII.--OBED'S PUMPKINS._
1. Moving was serious business ninety years ago, when the Moore family
migrated to Ohio, for everything had to be carried hundreds of miles in
a wagon, and there was no sending back for anything forgotten. So Obed
prudently secured passage for some pumpkin-seeds, lest a failure of
pumpkin-pies for Thanksgiving might annul that festival altogether in
the unknown wilderness.
2. There was only one room in their new house, and no regular up-stairs
at all--only a loft where the boys slept, and to which they had to
climb on a ladder when they went to bed. Ruth and Dolly slept in the
trundle-bed down-stairs.
3. That first winter was a hard one, but nobody really suffered. Mr.
Moore was clearing up his land, so they had an abundance of fuel; the
boys trapped rabbits, and their father's musket kept them supplied
with other game, but Mrs. Moore had to measure the flour and meal very
carefully, and as for other things, they went without, only once, when
Obed found a squirrel's nest in a hollow tree, and came in with his
pockets full of nuts.
4. "Little did that rascal know who he was gathering these for," he
remarked, as they cracked them on the hearth that evening. "Yes, and
maybe it's little you know who you'll raise your pumpkins for. Injuns,
like as not," said Joe.
5. One morning Dolly declared that she had been wakened in the night by
mice in the chimney-cupboard. "It _can't_ be mice; we're too far from
neighbors," said Mrs. Moore, opening the cupboard. Joe climbed upon
a chair behind her, and there on the topmost shelf were some nibbled
scraps of cloth and paper.
6. "O Obed!" he exclaimed, in dismay, "your pumpkin-seeds are all
gone!" Just then there was a rustle, and he caught sight of two bright,
black eyes. They saw him, too, and another rustle gave him a vanishing
glimpse of a bushy tail. "It's squirrels!" he shouted; "Obed, they've
come to get their pay for the nuts you stole." "Oh, dear!" said Obed,
"I'd rather have my pumpkin-seeds than all the nuts that ever grew. We
never shall taste pumpkin-pies again, now."
7. Weeks afterward they were burning out some stumps in the clearing,
when out from a hollow one popped a squirrel. Obed ran to investigate,
and, poking around and pulling away the rotten wood, brought to light
some rags and bits of paper. "Hello!" he exclaimed, "the identical
chap that carried off my pumpkin-seeds!" And sure enough, there were
the empty shells, and among them--oh, for a vision of the smile that
lighted Obed's freckled face!--three whole, sound seeds.
8. All their crops did well that first year, and the way those
pumpkin-vines bore was a marvel; but no abundance could shake Obed's
resolve to reserve the first pumpkin-pies for Thanksgiving.
9. On the preceding Monday, Mr. Moore started for the nearest village
to purchase winter supplies. With many brave assurances and secret
misgivings, his family saw him set out, for the journey required two
days, and the Indians were growing threatening of late. But when the
first night had worn away in safety, they began to feel easier, and
gave themselves up to the Thanksgiving preparations.
10. "O Obed!" said Joe, as late in the afternoon he staggered into the
house under a huge yellow pumpkin, "let's make some jack-lanterns;
'twon't hurt the pumpkins for pies." Obed assented, and they had just
completed those grotesque horrors, and were going out to do the chores,
when a man galloped up, and everybody rushed to the door.
11. "Get ready for the redskins!" he shouted, springing from the
saddle, "and give me a fresh horse. They killed a family down the river
last night, and nobody knows where they'll turn up next! Husband away?
Whew! that's bad! Well, shut up as tight as you can. Cover up your
fire, and don't strike a light to-night." And, leaping upon the horse
the boys led around, he flew away to warn the next settler.
12. They made what hasty preparations they were able, and Mrs. Moore
reluctantly yielded to Obed's urgent plea that she would keep the
younger children quiet in the loft, while he and Joe watched below.
13. The two boys crouched beside the hearth listening to every sound.
At last Obed crept to the window. A snow-flurry had whitened the ground
early in the evening, and, as he peered out, the boy descried shadows
moving across the fields. "They're coming, Joe!" he whispered; "stand
by that window with the axe, while I get the rifle pointed at this one."
14. Joe noiselessly stationed himself, and Obed opened the
bullet-pouch. As his fingers came in contact with the leaden balls,
his heart chilled. They were too large for his rifle! They belonged
to the musket, and his father had taken the wrong pouch. With a last
despairing hope he was feeling in the cupboard for any chance balls
that might have been left behind, when he stumbled over something that
nearly threw him headlong. It was the forgotten jack-lantern. With a
sudden thought he pulled off his coat and flung it over the face of
the lantern, then searching in the ashes for a live coal, cautiously
lighted the candle within and closed the opening. With every sense
sharpened to its utmost, he lifted the pumpkin and went softly toward
the window. Ten or twelve dusky figures were stealthily nearing the
house, and at the same instant he detected a slight noise at the door.
15. "They'll sound the war-whoop in a minute, if I give them time," he
said to himself. "Now for it!" And he dropped the coat, leaving the
grinning monster exposed to view. Mrs. Moore, listening with bated
breath in the room above, just then heard an unearthly yell and fainted
dead away. "Quick, Joe! Light up the other one!" exclaimed Obed,
excitedly, as he saw the savages flying wildly back to the woods.
[Illustration]
16. Joe, with every hair on end, was still standing valiantly at his
post, his uplifted axe ready to fall on the first head that should risk
an entrance. He had paid no attention to Obed's movements, and was
momentarily expecting to hear the roar of the old rifle.
17. "The other jack-lantern! Don't you see that's what scar't 'em so?"
demanded Obed as, emboldened by his success, he bobbed the hideous
thing up and down before the window. Joe finally comprehended, and,
speedily lighting the second one, imitated Obed's lively evolutions
with such effect that, when Mrs. Moore came-to, the yells were dying
away in the distance, and she heard Obed climbing the ladder.
18. The anxious mother now gathered her family in the room below, and
watched patiently for daylight and her husband. They came together, and
the story had to be told all over again. "And so," added Joe, "Obed did
raise his pumpkins for the Injuns, after all."
STORIES OF THE REVOLUTION.
_XIV.--THE GASPÉ._
1. Just before the Revolution, the British ship-of-war Gaspé was
sent to Narragansett Bay to see that the trade was all right there.
Lieutenant Duddington was the commander, and he annoyed the traders as
much as possible. He would order a vessel to stop, go on board of her,
and, having seen that everything was right, would go off with words
of insult instead of apology. The Governor of Rhode Island ordered
Duddington to let the trading-vessels alone, but the pert little
officer only laughed at him. Next the Governor appealed to Admiral
Watson, and received an insulting reply.
2. By this time the people were aroused. The petty little tyrant had
issued an order that all vessels sailing up the bay should lower their
flag by way of salute--an order very much like that of Gessler when he
required the people to bow to a hat set upon a post. On the 9th of
June Captain Lindsay, coming up in his packet, refused to lower his
flag. The Gaspé gave chase, but Captain Lindsay dodged about among the
shoals in such a way that the Gaspé got aground on the sand. Here she
must stick until high tide, about three o'clock the next morning.
3. The news soon reached Providence. Mr. John Brown, one of the leading
merchants, saw that it was a good time to end the troubles. He fitted
out eight of the largest boats he could get, and placed them under the
command of Captain Whipple, one of his most trusted ship-masters. The
boats left Providence about ten o'clock in the evening, with sixty-four
men, armed with paving-stones. As they approached the Gaspé, the
sentinel hailed them, and Lieutenant Duddington fired a pistol at them.
The reply was a single musket-shot, which brought the officer down,
badly wounded. The ship's company were then ordered ashore, and the
ship set on fire. At dawn she blew up.
4. A large reward was offered by Admiral Watson for the discovery of
the parties engaged in this affair. Although the boats were publicly
fitted out, and their departure was seen by hundreds of people, not
one jot of information could he get. Commissioners sent over from
England met with no better success, and after a trial of six months
they gave it up as a bad job. A poem, written in regard to this affair,
concludes with this verse:
5. "Now, for to find these people out,
King George has offered very stout:
One thousand pounds to find out one
That wounded William Duddington;
One thousand more he says he'll spare
For those who say the sheriffs were;
One thousand more there doth remain
For to find out the leader's name;
Likewise five hundred pounds per man
For any one of all the clan.
But let him try his utmost skill,
I'm apt to think he never will
Find out any of those hearts of gold
Though he should offer fifty-fold."
_XV.--ETHAN ALLEN._