contain himself, and unwilling to disturb the court, rushed out of the
court-house and threw himself on the grass in the most violent paroxysm
of laughter, where he was rolling when Hook, with very different
feelings, came out into the yard for relief also. "Jemmy Steptoe,"
he said to the clerk, "what ails ye, mon?" Mr. Steptoe was only able
to say that he could not help it. "Never mind ye," said Hook; "wait
till Billy Cowan gets up; he'll show him the la'!" But Mr. Cowan could
scarcely utter a word. The jury instantly returned a verdict against
Hook. The people were highly excited, and Hook was obliged to leave the
county to avoid a coat of tar and feathers.
_XXXVII.--THE FIRST STEAMBOAT IN THE WEST._
1. Many things combined to make the year 1811 the wonderful year of
the West. During the earlier months, the waters of many of the great
rivers overflowed their banks, so that the whole country was covered
from bluff to bluff. Widespread sickness followed, such as had never
before been known. A spirit of change and uneasiness seemed to seize
the very inhabitants of the forest. A countless multitude of squirrels,
obeying some great and universal impulse, left their joyous, gamboling
life and their ancient retreats in the North, and were seen pressing
forward by tens of thousands in a deep and sober phalanx to the South.
No obstacles seemed to check this extraordinary and united movement.
The word had been given them to go forth, and they obeyed it, though
multitudes perished in the broad Ohio, which lay in their path.
[Illustration]
2. The splendid comet of that year long continued to shed its twilight
over the forests. As the autumn drew to a close, the whole Mississippi
Valley, from the Missouri to the Gulf, was shaken to its center
by continued earthquakes. It was at this very time, when so many
extraordinary events of Nature combined to spread wonder and awe, that
the first steamboat was seen descending the great rivers, and the
awe-struck Indian on the banks beheld the Pinelore, or "fire-canoe,"
flying through the turbid waters.
3. The banks of the Ohio and its tributaries were covered with
innumerable farms; and rafts, flat-boats, and barges of every
description, laden with the produce, floated upon its wide surface,
toward the general market of the West, New Orleans. Besides the barges
and vessels of heavy burden, which made their long annual voyage to and
from the city, the river was covered, particularly in time of flood, by
thousands of queer machines, for boats they can hardly be called, most
of which soon disappeared. From seventy to eighty days were consumed
in thus effecting the long and monotonous voyage from Pittsburg to New
Orleans.
4. The experiments in steam navigation made on the Hudson River and
adjoining waters, previous to the year 1809, were attended with
complete success. Attention was now paid to the Western rivers, and Mr.
Roosevelt, of New York, accompanied by Mr. Fulton, visited these rivers
to see whether they would admit of steam navigation. At this time two
boats, the North River and the Clermont, were running on the Hudson.
Mr. Roosevelt surveyed the rivers from Pittsburg to New Orleans, and
made a favorable report, and it was decided to build a boat at the
former town.
5. Accordingly, during the year 1811 the first boat was launched on the
waters of the Ohio. It was called the Orleans, and was intended to ply
between Natchez, in the State of Mississippi, and the city whose name
it bore. In October it left Pittsburg for a trial voyage. No freight or
passengers were taken. Mr. Roosevelt with his family; Mr. Baker, the
engineer; Andrew Jack, the pilot; and six hands, with a few domestics,
formed her whole burden. There were no wood-yards at that time, and
constant delays were unavoidable.
6. Late at night on the fourth day after quitting Pittsburg, they
arrived safely at Louisville, having been but seventy hours descending
upward of seven hundred miles. The novel appearance of the vessel, and
the fearful rapidity with which it made its passage over the broad
reaches of the river, excited both terror and surprise among many of
the settlers along the banks, whom the rumor of such an invention had
never reached.
7. The unexpected arrival of the boat at Louisville, in the course of a
fine, still, moonlight night, created a great stir. The extraordinary
sound which filled the air as the pent-up steam was suffered to escape
on rounding to, produced a general alarm, and multitudes in the town
rose from their beds to see what was the matter. It was related that an
impression widely prevailed that the comet had fallen into the Ohio.
8. The low stage of water caused a detention at Louisville until the
last week in November, when the voyage was resumed. When the boat
arrived at a point five miles above the Yellow Banks, she was moored to
take in wood. While thus engaged, our voyagers were accosted in great
alarm by the squatters of the neighborhood, who inquired if they had
heard strange noises on the river and in the woods on the preceding
day, or had seen the shores shake.
9. Hitherto nothing extraordinary had been perceived. The following
day they pursued their monotonous voyage in those vast solitudes.
The air was misty, still, and dull. Though the sun was visible, like
a glowing ball of copper, his rays hardly shed more than a mournful
twilight on the surface of the water. Evening drew nigh, and with it
some indications of what was passing around them became evident. And as
they sat on deck, they ever and anon heard a rushing sound and violent
splash, and saw large portions of the shore tearing away from the land
and falling into the river.
10. It was, as my informant said, "an awful day, so still that you
could have heard a pin drop on the deck." They spoke little, for every
one on board appeared thunderstruck. The comet had disappeared about
this time, which circumstance was noticed with awe by the crew. The
trees were seen waving and nodding on the bank without a wind. Toward
evening of the second day they found themselves at a loss for a place
of shelter. The pilot said that he was lost; that the channel was
everywhere altered. A large island in mid-channel familiar to the pilot
was sought in vain, having entirely disappeared.
11. Thus in doubt and terror, they proceeded hour after hour till dark,
when they found a small island and rounded-to. Here they lay, keeping
watch on deck during the long autumnal night, and listening to the
sound of the roaring waters. Several times in the course of the night
earthquake-shocks were felt. It was a long night, but morning dawned
and showed them that they were near the mouth of the Ohio.
12. About noon that day they reached the small town of New Madrid, on
the right bank of the Mississippi. Here they found the inhabitants in
the greatest distress and consternation. Part of the population had
fled in terror to the higher grounds; others prayed to be taken on
board, as the earth was opening in fissures on every side, and their
houses hourly falling around them.
13. At that time you floated for three or four hundred miles on the
rivers without seeing a human habitation. Proceeding from New Madrid,
after many days of great danger, they reached their destination at
Natchez in January, 1812, to the great astonishment of all, the escape
of the boat having been considered an impossibility.
_XXXVIII.--THE POWER OF KINDNESS._
1. William Savery was a Quaker, living near Philadelphia, during the
Revolutionary War. He was a kindly-disposed man, and many were his
charitable deeds that the public knew nothing about. He was a tanner by
trade, and one night a number of hides were stolen from his yard. While
he suspected a neighbor of his, a worthless sort of fellow, he had no
proof against him. He said nothing about his loss, but the next day
the following advertisement appeared in the papers:
2. "Whoever stole a lot of hides on the 5th of the present month, is
hereby informed that the owner has a sincere wish to be his friend. If
poverty tempted him to this false step, the owner will keep the whole
matter secret, and will gladly put him in the way of obtaining a living
by means more likely to bring him peace of mind."
3. This odd notice attracted a good deal of attention; but the thief
alone knew from whom the kind offer came. When he read it, his heart
was filled with sorrow for what he had done. A few nights afterward, as
the tanner's family were about going to bed, they heard a timid knock;
and, when the door opened, there stood Smith, with the hides on his
shoulder. Without looking up, he said: "I have brought these back, Mr.
Savery. Where shall I put them?"
4. "Wait till I can light a lantern, and I will go to the barn with
thee," replied Mr. Savery. "Then, perhaps, thou wilt come in and tell
me how this thing happened, and we will see what can be done for thee."
5. As soon as they were gone out, his wife prepared some hot coffee,
and placed pies and meat on the table. When they returned from the
barn, she said, "Neighbor Smith, I thought some hot supper would do
thee good." Smith turned his back toward her, and did not speak. After
a moment, he said in a choked voice: "It is the first time I ever
stole anything, and I feel very bad about it. I don't know how it is.
I am sure I didn't think once that I should ever come to be what I am.
But I took to drinking, and then to quarreling. And since I began to
go down-hill, everybody gives me a kick. You are the first man, Mr.
Savery, that has ever offered me a helping hand. God bless you! I stole
the hides from you, meaning to sell them. But I tell you the truth,
when I say it is the first time I was ever a thief."
6. "Let it be the last time, my friend," replied William Savery. "The
secret shall be between me and thee. Thou art still young. Promise me
that thou will not drink any more liquor for a year, and I will employ
thee to-morrow at good wages. Perhaps we may find some work for thy
family also. The little boy can at least pick up stones. But eat a bit
now, and drink some hot coffee, to keep thee from craving anything
stronger. Keep up a brave heart for the sake of thy wife and children.
When thou hast need of coffee, tell Mary, and she will always give it
to thee."
7. The poor fellow tried hard to eat and drink, but the food seemed to
choke him. He could not smother his feelings, and he bowed his head on
the table and wept like a child. By-and-by he ate and drank with good
heart; and his host parted with him for the night with this kindly
word, "Try to do well, John, and thou wilt always find a friend in me."
8. Smith began to work for him the next day, and remained with him many
years, a sober, honest, and faithful man. The secret of the theft was
kept between them; but, after John's death, William Savery told the
story, to show that evil may be overcome with good.
_XXXIX.--OLD IRONSIDES._
1. When war was declared between the United States and Great Britain in
1812, the British power was dominant upon the ocean. Since the times of
Sir Francis Drake and the Spanish Armada, the British navy had retained
the supremacy then gained. In three hundred years no British fleet had
ever surrendered to an enemy. Such continued success made the British
arrogant, and they looked down with contempt upon the naval power of
any other people. At the beginning of the war, the American navy was
small and weak. It consisted of about twenty vessels, the largest of
which were frigates.
2. But the few vessels of the American navy were strongly built, and
were manned by officers who had gained their fighting experience in
the war with the Barbary states. Neither the officers nor men were in
any fear of the great power of Britain, and they particularly hated
the British for their habit of impressing American seamen. Thus it
happened that all the American commanders had made up their minds to
fight whenever the force against them was any where nearly equal, and
to fight for victory.
3. Among the vessels of our little navy was the frigate Constitution,
better known, from the strength of her build, as "Old Ironsides." At
the breaking out of the war she was commanded by Captain Isaac Hull,
one of our most experienced naval officers. In August, 1812, Hull
sailed on a cruise, looking for an enemy, and in a short time he fell
in with the British frigate Guerriere, a vessel about equal in size to
the Constitution. Both parties advanced eagerly to the conflict, but
in thirty minutes the Guerriere was reduced to a mere wreck, and the
British flag was hauled down.
[Illustration]
4. Captain Hull sailed into Boston Harbor, where the Old Ironsides was
repaired and made ready for sea. Captain Hull generously resigned, so
as to permit others to have a share of glory, and Captain Bainbridge
was appointed to the command of the Constitution.
5. On December 29th, Captain Bainbridge, while cruising off the
coast of Brazil, encountered the British frigate Java, one of the
best-appointed ships in the British navy. A running battle ensued,
which lasted four hours, and so well did Captain Bainbridge manage
his ship that he reduced the Java to a wreck, while the damage to the
Constitution was so slight that it was ready for another fight the next
day.
6. Peace between the two countries was arranged at Ghent, between
commissioners appointed by both powers, in December, 1814, but the news
was not received in this country for several weeks. The Constitution,
under the command of Captain Stewart, sailed from Boston on a cruise
in December, and, on the 20th of February, 1815, she encountered two
British vessels--the Cyane and Levant--the combined force of which was
equal to that of the Constitution, if not greater. The action commenced
at six in the evening, and continued for four hours in the moonlight
night. At ten o'clock, both British vessels were prizes to the
Constitution, while she was so little damaged that complete repairs
were made without making a port.
7. After the war great improvements were made in ship-building, and
soon the old frigate became too old-fashioned for active service at
sea, and for a time she was employed as a receiving-ship. At last it
was proposed to withdraw her entirely from service, and break her up.
This proposition roused the indignation of the poet Holmes, then a boy,
and his hot wrath broke up the project and saved the ship. She is now
used as a school-ship for the training of seamen. Here follows the poem:
8. Ay! tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high;
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky.
Beneath it rang the battle-shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean-air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
9. Her deck, once red with hero's blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea.
10. Oh! better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her home was on the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave.
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!
_XL.--CHICAGO._
1. It is the evening of October 9, 1871. The great city of the West
is settling down into the quiet of the night. The Sabbath has ended.
The churches have closed, and citizens of all ranks and kinds are
peacefully resting in their homes. The guardians of the night are all
out, faithful to watch, quick to detect, and prompt to act. Three
hundred thousand people throw off the cares of the day, and seek their
needed repose. No cause of alarm, save the wind, which since noon
has risen from a gentle breeze to a fierce gale at sunset. Even now
it increases, and in the morning papers we may expect a catalogue of
chimneys blown down, and of houses unroofed. Beyond this there is
nothing to fear, and all is well.
[Illustration: View of Chicago from Madison Street Bridge, before the
Fire.]
2. A little way out from what is now the heart of the town was a
section covered with piles of lumber and rows of wooden tenements ready
for the torch. The lights are flickering through the dark alleys as
a poor woman takes a lamp and goes into a hovel to milk the cow. The
blustering wind bids her be careful. An uneasy movement of the cow, and
the lamp is overturned into the straw and litter of the stable. A flame
shoots up, and the milker has scarcely time to reach the door when
the whole building is on fire. She, with her children, rush into the
street, as the flame comes in through roof, window, and doorway of her
dwelling. Then the roar of the wind-swept flame and the appalling cry
of fire!
3. But the city is prepared for these accidents. The fire-bells
ring out their alarm. Trained horses take their places by the steam
fire-engines, and the heart has scarcely time to beat before they are
on a mad gallop down the streets. In a moment a thousand jets of water
will subdue the fire, and the city will again sink to quiet rest.
4. But, swift as the firemen speed to the scene, the flame is swifter
still. Borne on the wings of the wind, it leaps from street to street.
It is no longer a wind but a tempest, and a tempest of flame. The
track of the devouring element broadens and dives toward the heart of
the city. Men, women, and children rush frantically to get out of the
path of destruction. Down go miles of stately houses and blocks of
business. The reservoirs of grain, the vast hotels, and the spires of
churches appear for a moment through the glare, then melt away into
ashes. The whole world is in flames!
5. While hope remains, men are active; but now they stand in sullen
despair. They look on helpless and hopeless through the long hours of
the night. The first rays of the morning reveal a scene of widespread
and total desolation. The heart of the city has been consumed. Twenty
thousand of its inhabitants are homeless.
6. One consoling thought is left. The fire-fiend is at last curbed,
hemmed in on the east by the lake, on the north by the river which
stretches between it and the homes in which seventy-five thousand
people are peacefully asleep, all unaware of the devastation that has
been raging so near them. Surely the fiery foe will not reach those
homes. The river is their protection. The comforting thought is but
momentary. Already a livid cloud is sweeping across the narrow stream.
Burning brands and glowing embers are borne on the wings of a fierce
tornado straight toward those peaceful homes.
7. The scene that ensues has no parallel in the history of the world.
Who shall arouse those sleepers and warn them of their peril? Who,
now, when the flames are already at the doors, shall bear away the
sick ones, the aged, the little children, the babes, to safety? Alas!
whither shall they be borne? The lake on one side; on the other, a
narrow pathway leading toward the country to the north, along which the
flames are rushing with mad rapidity. Every other way of escape is cut
off.
8. Many plunge breast-deep into the lake, and there during long hours
stand many hundreds of people, feeble women, some with babes in their
arms, many sick and aged, till the fire subsides and rescue comes.
Nearly one hundred thousand souls are fleeing before the merciless
flames. During that fearful Monday this great throng continue their
flight without food, without water, scorched by the hot blast, their
clothes and often their hair on fire; the stronger bearing the weaker
in their arms and on their shoulders, they rush on, every moment
pursued by the flames. Many sink to the ground to rise no more, how
many never will be known.
9. Finally they are in the open country. It is a strange, weird place
to pass a night in, a graveyard, but it is a place of safety from
the foe that all day had pursued them. And there, about ten o'clock
at night, as they see the last house on the other side of the city
limits crumble to ashes, they sink down to their dismal bivouac, many
pillowing their heads upon the graves among which they lay.
10. Many were the "heroic deeds" that had been wrought on that fearful
day, heroic deeds of husbands and wives in rescuing each other and
their children, of children in rescuing parents and brothers and
sisters, of many in helping the helpless when sore pressed themselves,
and of all in maintaining the brave, heroic fight against such fearful
odds.
11. And now opens another chapter of the "story of heroic deeds" in
the history of the Chicago fire. It is the story of the heroism of
sympathy, of charity, of generosity, of dauntless energy. How shall
these thousands of homeless ones, with winter impending, be sheltered?
How food gotten to the famished crowd in the graveyard, who have not
tasted food since Sunday night?
12. The city stricken is still quick to act. During Monday, while the
conflagration is still raging, relief committees are organizing; the
houses of those who are left with houses are being opened to those who
have none; the sound of axe and hammer is heard on every side, erecting
barracks and temporary cabins; men and women are gathering stores of
food and clothing; and loaded wagons are making their way around the
burning city to reach the encampment in the cemetery and on the open
prairie. The telegraph has also been set to telling to other cities the
story of the great calamity. Before and during the night trains of cars
come from the whole country for many miles around, loaded with food,
clothing, blankets, and even delicacies for the sick. And so on to
Tuesday morning the half-famished, homeless multitude once more welcome
their morning meal, and before night the whole vast multitude on the
streets have obtained some kind of shelter.
13. And now the return click is heard at the telegraph-offices. Cities
too distant to send food send words of cheer and money. As the day
wears on, the wires can scarcely carry all the messages of sympathy
which come pouring in. London, Paris, Berlin, all the great cities of
Europe, vie with each other in liberality, and send their substantial
offerings through the cable under the sea, and, before the sun sets,
messages of organized aid come from distant Calcutta and Melbourne. The
thrill of human sympathy had encircled the earth. Nor did the supplies
fail until the people of the grateful city cried, "Enough!"
14. In the old Arabian story, the palace of Aladdin is built in a
single night by the aid of magic. But now the wonder wrought by the
genii is surpassed. From the ashes of that terrible night a new city
grows up, marvelous in its freshness, its strength, and its beauty.
No need of magic here, or rather the only magic needed is that of
self-reliance and the sympathy of the world so bountifully expressed.
15. With a full heart the poet Whittier describes the scene, and the
lesson to be derived from it:
Men said at vespers, "All is well!"
In one wild night the city fell;
Fell shrines of prayer and marts of gain,
Before the fiery hurricane.
16. On threescore spires had sunset shone,
Where ghastly sunrise looked on none.
Men clasped each other's hands, and said,
"The City of the West is dead!"
17. Brave hearts who fought in slow retreat,
The fiends of fire from street to street,
Turned powerless to the blinding glare,
The dumb defiance of despair.
18. A sudden impulse thrilled each wire
That signaled round that sea of fire;
Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came,
In tears of pity died the flame.
19. From East, from West, from South, from North,
The messages of hope shot forth,
And underneath the severing wave,
The world, full-handed, reached to save.
20. Fair seemed the old; but fairer still
The new, the dreary void shall fill
With dearer homes than those o'erthrown
For love shall lay each corner-stone.
21. Rise, stricken city! from thee throw
The ashen sackcloth of thy woe,
And build, as to Amphion's strain,
To songs of cheer thy walls again!
22. How shriveled in thy hot distress
The primal sin of selfishness!
How instant rose, to take thy part,
The angel in the human heart!
23. Ah! not in vain the flames that tossed
Above thy dreadful holocaust;
The Christ again has preached through thee
The Gospel of Humanity!
24. Then lift once more thy towers on high,
And fret with spires the western sky,
To tell that God is yet with us,
And love is still miraculous!
THE END.
* * * * *