Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 17, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 855. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A BOY OF 1775.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Can you not see the boy of 1775 now--his sturdy legs encased in stout
black stockings, german-silver buckles to his knee-breeches, his hair
plaited and tied with a smart black ribbon, and all this magnificence
topped by three real silver buttons with which his hat is rakishly
cocked? But the boy himself is better worth looking at than all his
finery--so thought Captain Moore, of his Majesty's ship _Margaretta_,
lying at anchor in the harbor of Machias. Jack Leverett was the boy's
name--a handsome stripling of sixteen, with a quiet manner but a
fearless eye.
The two were sitting opposite each other at the cabin table, and through
the open port they could see the village and the harbor, bathed in the
bright white light of a day in May. The Captain was conscious that this
young guest was decidedly in a hurry to leave. A whole hour had they sat
at the dinner table, Captain Moore, with the utmost art, trying to find
out Jack's errand to Machias--for those were the stirring days when
every American had to take his stand for or against King George--and
Captain Moore particularly desired to know how Squire Leverett, Jack's
father, stood toward the King. But Jack, with native mother-wit, had
managed to baffle the Captain. He had readily admitted that he was the
bearer of a letter from his father to Jerry O'Brien, master of Squire
Leverett's sloop _Priscilla_, in regard to heaving down the sloop. But
the Captain, with a seaman's eye, had noted that the _Priscilla_ was in
perfect order and did not need to be hove down, and he more than
suspected that Jack was the bearer of other and more important news.
Through the cabin windows they could see the sloop, a beautiful craft,
being warped into her dock, while across the blue water was wafted
sweetly the voices of the men, led by the shanty man,[1] singing the old
shanty song:
"Haul the bowline, our jolly ship's a-rolling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline _haul_!
Haul the bowline, our jolly mate's a-growling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline _haul_!"
[1] "Shanty man"--from "Chantez"--a man who could lead the singing while
the men worked. A good shanty man was considered to be a valuable
acquisition to a vessel.
As soon as Jack decently could, he started to rise from the table.
Captain Moore had observed that the glass of wine at Jack's plate
remained untasted, and it suggested a means of finding out whether the
Leveretts meant to go with the King or not.
"Do not go," he said, "until you have joined me in drinking the health
of his Majesty King George."
Jack had no notion whatever of drinking the King's health, but he was at
his wits' end how to avoid it. Just then, though, the Captain turned to
speak to his orderly, and Jack took the opportunity of gulping down his
wine with more haste than elegance. Captain Moore, seeing it, was
surprised and disgusted at the boy's apparent greediness for wine, but
raising his glass, said, "To the King."
"Excuse me, sir," answered Jack, coolly, "but my father never allows me
to drink but one glass of wine, and that I have already had."
"Then I will drink the toast alone," said Captain Moore, with a stern
look at the boy. "Here is to his Majesty King George. Health and long
life to him! God save the King!"
As Captain Moore uttered this sentiment Jack rose and promptly put on
his hat. The Captain was quite sure that the boy's action, like his
gulping down the wine, meant a distaste for the King, and not a want of
breeding. But he thought it best not to notice the incident, and said,
civilly, to his young guest:
"Present my compliments to your honored father, and tell him that his
Majesty's officers have the kindest feelings toward these misguided
people; and while if attacked we will certainly defend ourselves, we
have strict orders to avoid a conflict if possible, and not to fire
until fired upon."
"I will remember your message, sir," was Jack's answer; and the Captain,
having no further excuse for detaining his young guest, allowed him to
depart.
He was soon alongside of the _Priscilla_, and there, standing at the
gangway, was the sloop's master, Jerry O'Brien. Jerry, by an accident of
fate, had inherited an Irish name, but he was as arrant a Yankee as ever
stepped. He was a handsome fellow withal, and in his natty blue suit
much more resembled the Captain of an armed cruiser than the master of a
smart merchant vessel. The _Priscilla_, too, was a wonderful contrast to
the slovenly merchantmen around her. She was as clean as hands could
make her, and her beautiful lines were brought out by the shining coat
of black paint upon her hull. Her men were smart and seamanlike. Jerry
O'Brien was the most exacting ship-master on that coast, but he never
had any trouble in shipping men, for, while making them do their work
with the quickness and steadiness of man-o'-war's men, he used neither
blows nor curses. A natural leader of men, he made himself respected
first, and after that it is always easy to command obedience.
As soon as Jack Leverett came over the side Jerry took him to the cabin.
Jack produced a letter, and by the heat from a ship's lantern some
writing in lemon juice was deciphered. It contained a full account of
the affairs at Lexington and Concord, of which only vague rumors had
reached Machias. At every sentence descriptive of American valor Jerry
would give a half-suppressed whoop, and at the end he could not forbear
letting out a huzza that made the little cabin ring.
"Suppose," said Jack, who had hard work to keep from hurrahing wildly,
"instead of making a noise, we should invent a scheme to capture the
_Margaretta_. If the farmers around Boston could, with hay-forks and
blunderbusses, beat off the British regulars, the sailors and fishermen
about here ought to be able to get alongside the _Margaretta_ and take
her."
Jerry's mouth was large, and it came open like a rat-trap at this bold
proposition. After a pause he spoke. "Boy," said he, "the enterprise
shall be tried; and if we succeed, you shall be prize-master of the
_Margaretta_."
Jack's heart leaped at these words. He was an admirable sailor, like
most of the hardy youngsters on the coast, and had more than once taken
the _Priscilla_ on short trips. But his mother and the Squire meant him
to be something else than a merchant Captain, and kept him under a tutor
when he would much rather have been sailing blue water. For hours Jack
and Jerry sat in the cabin talking over their scheme. Jerry knew that
the people of Machias were heart and soul with the cause of freedom, and
could be depended upon in any desperate adventure. The _Margaretta_
carried four brass guns and a number of swivels; but, as Jerry shrewdly
said, if once the _Priscilla_ could grapple with her, it would be a
battle of men and musketry, not of guns. At nightfall Jack and Jerry
went ashore. A great vivid moon hung in the sky, and they could see the
_Margaretta_ almost as well as in daylight. She was a handsome vessel,
schooner rigged, and in a state of preparation that showed Captain Moore
did not mean to be caught napping. All her boats were hoisted in, her
anchors had springs on them, and her sails were merely clewed up,
instead of being furled.
"There you are, my beauty," said Jerry. "It's a shame, so it is, that
King George's ensign should fly from your peak. You deserve an American
flag, and we'll try and give it you."
All that night they spent going from house to house of the men who had
the patriotism to enlist with them, and by daylight they had the promise
of twenty-five resolute men who, at a signal of three cheers given from
the _Priscilla_, would at once board her and put themselves under Jerry
O'Brien's command.
All this commotion on shore had not escaped Captain Moore's lookouts
during the night, and although the Captain would much have preferred
staying and fighting it out, his orders compelled him to cut and run if
signs of an outbreak were visible. The British government then earnestly
wished to conciliate the colonists, and by no means to come to blows.
The next morning was Sunday, and as beautifully clear and bright as the
day before. In order to avoid the appearance of fear, Captain Moore
determined, with his officers, to go to church as usual. As the
Captain's gig landed the officers, Jerry O'Brien and Jack Leverett, with
the six men who composed the _Priscilla_'s crew, were all on deck,
keeping a sharp eye on the _Margaretta_ and her boat.
"What say you, men," suddenly asked Jerry, "to bagging those officers in
church?"
"We say yes," answered every man at once. In a few minutes, with Jerry
and Jack in the lead, and all well armed, they took the road toward the
church. As they neared it they heard the faint sweet echo of a hymn that
floated out on the spring air--the only sound that broke the heavenly
stillness.
Jerry silently posted his men at the entrance, and then opening the door
softly, raised his horse-pistol and levelled it straight at Captain
Moore, who sat in the last pew.
The British Captain happened to turn his head at that instant. The
congregation was too absorbed in the singing to notice what was going
on. Jerry nodded at the Captain, as much as to say, "You are my
prisoner." The Captain coolly shook his head, as if to answer, "Not
quite, my fine fellow," and the next moment he made a sudden dash for
the open window, followed by all of his officers, and before Jerry could
realize that the birds had flown, they had run half-way to the shore. In
vain Jerry and Jack and their followers pursued. The officers had too
long a lead, and by the time the Americans reached the shore the
Captain's gig was being pulled rapidly to the ship. As soon as the boat
reached it the anchors were picked up, every sail that would draw was
shaken out, and the cruiser made for the offing. As soon as she was well
under way she sent a shot of defiance screaming over the town, and was
answered by three thundering American cheers from the _Priscilla_. As if
by magic the sloop's deck was alive with armed men, and with a quickness
equal to the cruiser's, her mainsail was up, and she was winging her way
in pursuit of her enemy.
Well had the _Priscilla_ been called the fastest sloop in all that
region. The wind was dead ahead, and both vessels had to get out of the
river on "a long leg and a short one." The _Margaretta_ was handled in a
seamanlike manner, but on every tack the _Priscilla_ gained, and showed
that she was a better sailer both on and off the wind. In an hour they
were within hailing distance, and the men on the _Margaretta_ were
called to quarters by the tap of the drum. Her guns were run out, their
tompions withdrawn, and the cruiser showed herself to be an ugly
customer to tackle. But this did not intimidate the Americans, who were
closing on her fast.
A hail came from the _Margaretta_, "What are you following us for?"
"To learn how to tack ship!" responded Jerry O'Brien, who had taken the
wheel himself. This reply caused a roar of laughter from the Americans,
as the _Priscilla_ could come about in half the time of the
_Margaretta_.
"Keep off or I'll fire!" was the next hail.
"Fire away, gentlemen," bawled Jerry, "and light your matches with your
orders not to fire first!"
At this the gallant British tars groaned loudly, and Captain Moore,
drawing his sword and shaking it at the rapidly advancing sloop,
shouted:
"Orders or no orders, I will fire one round if I lose my commission for
it. Blow your matches, boys!"
The guns were already manned, and at the word there was a flash of
light, a puff of smoke, and a round shot came hissing and shrieking
across the water and struck the _Priscilla_'s mainmast fairly in the
middle, splintering it. The sloop staggered under the blow, and in a
minute or two the mast went by the board with a crash.
A great cheer broke from the _Margaretta_'s men at that.
"Never mind," cried Jerry. "This is not the first mast that was ever
carried away, and we have spare spars and carpenters too. Wait for us in
Holmes Bay, and we will fight it out yard-arm to yard-arm before
sundown."
The _Margaretta_, with her men cheering and jeering, sailed away toward
the open sea. The _Priscilla_ being the best-found sloop in New England,
in a little while the stump of the mast was cleared away, a lighter
spar, but still good enough, was fitted, and she made sail on it.
As she neared the ocean the wind freshened every moment, and although
the sun shone brilliantly, a heavy sea was kicked up. Soon they sighted
the _Margaretta_, with her topsail backed, and gallantly waiting for her
enemy.
In all this time Jack Leverett showed a steadiness and coolness beyond
his years. Once Jerry O'Brien said to him,
"Youngster, if you flinch, depend upon it, your father shall know it."
"All right," answered Jack; "and if I don't flinch I want my mother to
know it."
The two vessels now neared each other on opposite tacks. Captain Moore
manoeuvred to get into a raking position before delivering his fire,
but the _Priscilla_, by skilful yawing and by the roughness of the sea,
proved to be as difficult to hit as if she had been a cork bobbing up
and down. In vain they played their two starboard guns and all their
swivels on her; their shot rarely struck, and when it struck, did small
damage.
Not so with the Americans. Without a single cannon, they poured forth a
musketry fire at close quarters that did fearful work and made hot the
_Margaretta_'s decks. The brave British sailors stood manfully to their
guns, but the Americans were gradually edging up, and their fire grew
more deadly every moment. The _Margaretta_ tried to sheer off, but the
_Priscilla_, closing up, got her jibboom entangled in her adversary's
main rigging, and a dozen Americans sprang forward to make the two ships
fast.
As the vessels came grinding together Jerry O'Brien, leaping on the
taffrail, shouted, "I will be the first man to board--and follow me!"
But Jerry was mistaken. He was suddenly seized by the coat tails, jerked
backwards, and fell sprawling upon the deck, and the next instant Jack
Leverett sprang over him, and was first upon the _Margaretta_'s deck.
"Drat the boy!" was Jerry's involuntary exclamation as he scrambled to
his feet.
The Americans poured over the side, and met with a warm reception.
Captain Moore, surrounded by his officers, retreated to the fo'c's'le,
fighting every step of the way. At last Jerry O'Brien came face to face
with him. The Captain defended himself with his sword, but it was
knocked out of his hand by Jerry with a pistol butt. They clinched and
fell to the deck fighting. The struggle was sharp but short, and in
fifteen minutes from the time the Americans had lashed the ships
together the Captain was overpowered, nearly every officer had been cut
down, and the cruiser was in the hands of the Americans. There had been
much cheering on the _Priscilla_ that day, but when the British ensign
was hauled down, and Jerry, in default of a national flag, hoisted his
own jacket at the mast-head, there were three cheers given that could
almost be heard at Machias.
The prisoners were quickly transferred to the _Priscilla_, and as Jerry
O'Brien required all of his best men on board, he could only spare a few
landsmen for a prize crew on the _Margaretta_.
"But I will give her a prize master who, although not very old, can sail
a schooner or any other craft--John Leverett, there," said Jerry. "And
he will take her in, you may be sure."
Oh, how Jack's heart beat with delight at these words!
Soon they were heading up the river, and when, under a fair wind, they
made a quick run to Machias, the May moon made the heavens glorious.
Jack Leverett thought the happiest moment of his life had come when they
cast anchor amid the thunder of cheers from the people assembled along
the shores.
But there was a happier moment yet in store for him. A week afterward
Jack and Jerry O'Brien entered Squire Leverett's study, where sat the
Squire and Madam Leverett. The mother uttered a cry of joy and clasped
her boy in her arms. Then Jerry O'Brien, taking him by the hand, led him
to the Squire.
"Sir," he said, "here is your brave boy. You have reason to be proud of
him. I have been promised two things when the navy of the Colonies is
formed. One is a Captain's commission for myself, and the other is a
midshipman's commission for this lad. He is born for the sea, and to
make a landsman of him would be like putting a mackerel in a barnyard to
scratch for his living."
The Squire, too moved to speak, silently took one of Jack's hands in
both of his, and Madam Leverett, falling on her boy's neck, cried, "How
happy am I to have such a boy to give to my country!"
* * * * *
GRANT'S TROUBLESOME SOLDIER.
General Grant used to tell a story of a soldier in a certain regiment
during the war who was continually bothering him by asking favors. Grant
one day said to him, "Look here; I believe you are the most troublesome
man in the Union army."
The man quickly replied, "Why, that's funny, sir!"
"Funny; how do you make it out funny?"
"Because it is just what the enemy says about you."
[Illustration: From Chum to Chum.]
BY GASTON V. DRAKE.
VII.--FROM BOB TO JACK.
LONDON.
[Illustration]
DEAR JACK,--When I left off my letter to you last night it was nearly
ten o'clock, but almost broad daylight. What do you think of that? It's
the queerest thing you ever saw. The clock and the sun don't seem to gee
over here at all. You can read after nine o'clock without any gas-light
at all. Pop says it's a special British arrangement, because London is
such an interesting place and so many people can only stay a few days
that they like to keep it lit up as long as they can. I'd heard before
that the sun never sat on the British Empire but I never knew it was so
long about setting in England. The hall-porter on our floor says it
makes up for it in winter though by rising about midday and setting ten
minutes later. If that's so how it must whiz across the sky. I'd rather
like to see it then. He says too that last winter they had a fog so
thick that people had to dig their way through it with spades, and he
told another boy that it was a regular business in winter for boys and
men who couldn't get other work to do to go about the city and shovel
the fog off the front door steps and walks just as snow-shovellers do in
New York. It must be fun living here then.
[Illustration]
We didn't get into London until about seven o'clock Wednesday night, but
it was fine travelling coming up from Southampton. You'd have thought
the cars had rubber bicycle tyres on their wheels--see that word
tyres?--that's English for tires--I saw it on a sign. They rode along
just as smoothly as a bicycle would on a tar pavement, and go--Jerusalem
how they did go! That little toy engine I told you about once she got
started just leaped over the ground. You'd almost think you were
travelling on a streak of lightning and _in a packing box_. That's all
the cars are, just little packing boxes petitioned off into stalls
running from side to side. You get into one of these stalls and the
guard--they call brakemen guards over here--the guard locks you in and
off you go. It isn't a bit like travelling in America, and I don't know
as I like it quite as much as the American cars with Isles down the
middle of 'em because the broken mixed candy and banana boys can't walk
through and sell you things! haven't seen a broken mixed candy and
banana boy over here and it's all because their cars haven't any Isles.
There aren't any comic paper boys either but I guess that's a good
thing. Pop bought a copy of one of the English comic papers and he
nearly ruined his eyes trying to see the jokes, their points were so
awful fine.
[Illustration]
It took us about four hours to get here and two to find our baggage
after we got here because the porters had put some of it with the B
baggage and Aunt Sarah's trunk had wandered off among the C's. The
station was crowded with hacks and omnibuses and people and almost every
hack was engaged. Finally Pop managed to get a cab they called a
four-wheeler. It looked scarcely big enough for two but as we got into
it it sort of stretched and by the time the driver had us packed in we
had seven people in it, Pop, Mamma, Aunt Sarah, the two children, the
nurse and me. How we ever managed it I don't know, but we did, and then
instead of sending the baggage to the hotel by an express-wagon the
cabman put it all on top of the cab, two Saratoga trunks, three steamer
trunks, a bath-tub, four bundles of rugs, two hat-boxes, three
dress-suit cases and the hamper--and all for one horse! I didn't believe
the horse could move us, but the minute the driver chirruped to him off
he started like a regular race-horse and I tell you it was exciting.
There we seven people were, cooped up inside with all those trunks piled
up on the little bit of a roof right over our heads being galloped
around corners as if we were playing snap-the-whip, darting in and out
between policemen, lamp-posts and omnibuses. Mamma and Aunt Sarah were
scared to death. They weren't afraid we'd tip over but they had half a
notion that the roof might cave in and let all that baggage down on us;
and I think Pop felt uneasy too because he tried several times to tell
the driver to go slow, but he couldn't because he was wedged in so
tight.
[Illustration]
It wasn't possible to see much, we went so fast, but we did catch a
glimpse of a fearfully dirty river as we crossed it and Pop said he
guessed it was the Thames and it turned out to be so later on, and the
bridge we were on led right up to the houses of Pollyment, I think
they're called and I tell you they're beautiful. They look good enough
to put on a mantel piece. Two minutes later we got here and Pop managed
to pull us out of the carriage and get the baggage taken into a hotel by
a man who was dressed up as gorgissly as a drum major, and all that cab
cost was three dollars! Pop says he couldn't have got off for less than
ten in New York and the driver cheated him into the bargain!
When he paid the cabby Pop told him he'd driven too fast and the man
said he hadn't at all. "Aren't you afraid you'll run into somebody?"
asked Pop. "No," said the man, "I'm afraid somebody'll run into me."
Which is why he tore so to keep out of the way of the cabs behind him.
I can't say I think much of the hotels here. They're very handsome to
look at, but its hard work getting anything at 'em. The people here
behaved so that Pop thought we'd been landed at Buckingham Palace by
mistake, and asked if he might see the Queen and apologize for
intruding, but the man never laughed a bit; just turned away tired. We
got our rooms finally though and there isn't a bed in one of 'em without
a canopy over it and all the wash-stands have bottles of patent
tooth-powders on 'em with signs saying if you open this bottle it'll
cost you a shilling. I opened two of 'em before I saw the sign and Pop
says I'm out fifty cents for my curiosity, but I don't mind. It'll go on
the bill and he'll pay it.
We're off now to see the Tower of London. The next time I write I'll
tell you all about it. I wish Sandboys was here. It would do these
English hall-boys good to see how Sandboys does his work. It would take
one of them English boys a year to carry up as much ice-water as
Sandboys does in a night, but then they've got as much work as they can
do looking after their buttons. I should think it would be a day's work
buttoning up a hall-boy's coat over here. Ours has sixty between his
chin and his waist.
Yours ever
BOB.
THE VOYAGE OF HIRAM AND DAVE.
BY A. J. ENSIGN.
George Whittingham was staring at a Billingsgate fish-woman. She was
glaring at George, and treating him to some of that wonderfully abusive
language known to all Englishmen as "Billingsgate." George was just
about to repeat the expedient of a noted English wit, and call her a
"miserable isosceles triangle, a beastly rectangular parallelopipedon,"
when some one pulled his coat sleeve and said,
"Mr. George, let 'er alone; she can beat you at that every time."
George whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice, and exclaimed:
"Hiram Wardell! Well, what on earth are you doing in London?"
"Tryin' to find out how to get home, Mr. George. Me and Dave Hulick here
ain't in London on a tour, I can tell you, and we don't want to stay
here either."
"Then it's lucky for you that my father is in the consular service here.
I guess he can help you two boys. But, say, this is a funny case, isn't
it? Only a year ago you fellows were taking me out fishing off Joppa,
and now--How did you get here, anyhow?"
"Well, Mr. George, this ain't a very good place for story-telling. Can't
we go where it's quiet?"
"You two boys come to my father's office with me," said George, "and
then you can tell him and me the story at the same time. I think that
will be the best way to manage it."
So the well-dressed young gentleman, accompanied by the two rude-looking
New Jersey "beach-combers," set off through the jostling, bustling
London crowds toward Mr. Whittingham's office in Cheapside. George's
father was at his desk, and expressed his readiness to listen to the
story of the two boys, whom he was surprised to see in London. Hiram
Wardell, when bidden to go on with his narrative, hung his head and
twisted his cap nervously in his long red fingers.
"Go on, Hi," said his companion; "ye got to tell it, an' ye might as
well start an' git through."
Hiram straightened himself up with a jerk, ran the red fingers through
his shock of dust-brown hair, and began: "Well, sir, I s'pose we two
boys is a pair o' fools, an' that's the truth. But we'll know better
nex' time. You see, it ain't very much of a country down there on the
Jersey coast, except in the summer, when the city people is there, an'
then what is it? Only drivin' a hack, or takin' a gentleman out fishin',
or somethin' o' that sort. So Dave an' I this spring got mighty tired o'
the whole business, an' we made up our minds that we'd got to git out.
So one day we was a-settin' on the beach talkin' about it, an' Dave he
says to me to look at a schooner wot was goin' down to the south'ard.
An' he says to me, wot was the matter with goin' to New York an'
shippin' on one o' them schooners an' goin' to the West Injies, or
Savannah, or Halifax, or some sich place? Right off it seemed to me that
was about the finest scheme I'd ever heard of. But we didn't have much
money betwixt--only sixty-four cents--an' the question were how to git
to New York. First off, Dave thought it would be the best way for him to
take the money an' go to York, an' when he'd earned enough to send for
me. But I was mistrustful o' bein' left behind an' seein' Dave wave his
hat at me some day from the deck o' one o' them schooners goin' South."
Mr. Whittingham lay back in his chair and shook with laughter, while
Dave Hulick looked at Hiram with a countenance full of solemn reproach.
"Well, you know you'd 'a' done it, Dave," said Hiram, as he continued
with his story. "After talkin' the thing over for a good while, I
proposed that we pervision Dave's father's smallest fishin' skiff with
them sixty-four cents an' sail for York. Dave he said it weren't fair
for him to furnish twenty-eight cents an' the boat, an' me only
thirty-six cents. But I told him the boat didn't cost him nothin', an'
he had to allow that I was tellin' the truth; so he agreed to my plan. I
ain't a-goin' to stop to tell you all the botheration we had a-gettin'
them pervisions an' gettin' 'em stored ready for shippin'. Land sakes!
Folks was so mighty curious that I 'most lost my wits inventin' answers
for all their questions."
"All about sixty-four cents' worth of provisions?" inquired Mr.
Whittingham, who could not conceal his amusement.
"Jest that, sir, an' nothin' else," replied Hiram, gravely. "Well, at
last everything was all ready, an' bright an' 'arly one fine mornin' we
slipped out an' down to the beach. Of course it wasn't no great shakes
of a matter for us two boys to launch the boat an' get out through the
surf. Mr. George he knows that, 'cause he's often gone out with us.
Well, when we got out there wasn't enough wind to sail, the ocean bein'
as smooth as one o' the plate-glass winders in Bill Smock's drug-store.
So we had to get to work an' row. There was other boats goin' out, an'
my sakes alive! what a lot of questions we had to answer! Seems to me
there wasn't any reason for 'em, either, 'cause we boys often went out
fishin'. But anyhow we pulled along till we got well to the north'ard o'
Joppa an' out o' reach o' questions, an' then Dave he struck work.
'Blowed if I'm goin' to row all the way to York,' says he. Didn't you,
Dave?"
"That's wot I said," was Dave's laconic answer.
"We set the mast an' sail, an' let her drift. It was a putty middlin'
hot day, an' along in the early afternoon, when we hadn't got more'n
five or six miles to the north'ard, I reckon both of us fell asleep. I
don't know how long we was asleep, but I know what woke us up. The
blamed boat turned turtle."
"What--upset?" exclaimed Mr. Whittingham.
[Illustration: "THEN I GOT OUT MY BIG RED HANDKERCHER AND WAVED IT."]
"Yes, sir, upset. You see, there was a kind of a squall, an' we, bein'
asleep, didn't get no notice of't till we was in the water. Well, I
climbed up on to the bottom o' the boat, an' Dave he hung on to me an'
grumbled. 'Nice sort o' doin's,' says Dave; 'there's that sixty-four
cents' worth o' good grub gone to feed the fish.' An' then I says to
Dave to shut up his all-fired nonsense, and be glad that we wasn't gone
along with the grub. Then I got out my big red handkercher an' waved it.
There was a small coastin' schooner ratchin' along not more'n a mile
away. The squall had died down to a good breeze, an' she was a hustlin'.
She didn't see us, though. Well, sir, we hung on to the bottom o' that
there boat till putty nigh sundown, an' all the time we was a-driftin'
further an' further out to sea. About then this here Dave he woke up an'
says, 'Here comes a big wessel right at us.' Sure enough, there was a
full-rigged ship what had just cast off her tug an' was a-makin' sail.
She was a-headin' so's to come within a hundred yards of us. So I got
the handkercher out again an' waved it, and when she got putty near we
both yelled. The ship hove to an' lowered a boat, an' in a few minutes
we was aboard o' her. We told the skipper our story an' he laffed. He
wasn't putty when he laffed, either, because his teeth was all out in
front an' his nose was broke. 'So you was bound to New York, was you?'
says he. 'Well, now you're bound to London.' I didn't want to go to
London, but this here Dave--he don't know much, sir--he said he'd jest
as leave go to London on a ship as the West Injies on a schooner. So to
make the story short, sir, we two lunatics--'cause that's ezackly what
we was--shipped on to that there wessel as green hands."
Hiram paused a moment, overcome by the flood of his melancholy
recollections.
"I hope, sir," he continued, gravely, "that you was never a green hand
on a ship. A green hand don't know how to do nothin', an' one o' the
mates tells him to do it, an' then yells, 'I'll l'arn ye, ye slob!' An'
he allus teaches him with his fist or his foot or a belayin'-pin. I bin
punched, kicked, an' knocked down all the way from off Long Beach to the
North Foreland. I was taught to furl a royal off Davis South Shoal with
a kick in the ribs. I had a long splice, a short splice, an eye splice,
an' a black eye punched into me off George's Bank. I got the science o'
heavin' to in a gale o' wind kicked clean through me off Cape Race. I
learned how to heave the log off Sable Island by bein' hove down the
forehatch head fust,'cause I didn't know how to do 't. I got a
fust-class chart o' the North Atlantic Ocean hammered on to my body in
black an' blue, an' ef ever I git lost out there again, it'll be because
the Jersey coast has lost its anchor an' gone adrift. An' now, sir,
here's Dave an' me; we don't want to go South on to a schooner no more.
All we wants to do is to git back to Joppa, let our fathers lick us, an'
then settle down to cod-fishin' an' peace an' quiet for the rest of our
lives."
Mr. Whittingham laughed heartily over this account of the two boys, but
said their final decision was a very wise one, and that he thought they
had paid in full all they owed for having run away from home. He sent
them home in the steerage of a swift ocean liner that landed them in
Joppa a week later.
* * * * *
THE SCIENTIST AND THE FARMER.
A distinguished scientific writer was once on a shooting excursion in an
English shire. Coming across a bluff, hale farmer, he entered into
conversation with him. As they walked along, they reached a heap of
stones. Pointing to them, the scientific man asked the farmer if he knew
how they were made. The farmer grinned and replied, "Why, they bean't
made, sir; they grows."
"Grow? Why, nonsense, man! What do you mean by grow?"
"Why, same as 'taters grows."
"Dear me! Why, those stones can never grow!" said the scientific man.
"They have been that way for years and years, and if you were to look at
them years hence, they would be just the same size."
At this the farmer actually laughed, and looked at the man of science as
though he pitied his ignorance as he exclaimed, "Why, in course they'd
be, 'cause they've been taken out o' the earth, and they stops growin'
then same as 'taters would."
FOR KING OR COUNTRY.
BY JAMES BARNES.
A Story of the Revolution.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A LOYAL TRAITOR.
"How many men have you?" inquired William, as he accompanied the
black-bearded man down the road.
"About one hundred," he said; "but there are about twice as many good
lads gathering to the southward who will be up in time to assist us. The
English have taken possession of a brick house with a stone wall, and
are afraid to leave it. They are waiting for re-enforcements."
To his astonishment, William saw that the company was composed, with the
exception of the men who had met him in the road, of few whom he would
consider fit to fight in the ranks--boys of fourteen and old gray-headed
men that had been left at home, for the flower of New Jersey manhood was
in the army.
Ralston had called a score or so about him. "Friends," he said, "this is
an old comrade, now a Lieutenant in the army. Let us hold counsel. It is
right that he should take command. We are quite well drilled but not
equipped, sir," he said, turning to William.
The latter looked about. Some of the farmers were armed only with
pitch-forks or rough pikes made from scythes. The Quaker with the pig
had been greeted with the cry of "Fresh pork! Fresh pork!" and a rail
fence was soon converted into fuel.
"I am on special duty," William said, after a thought. "I should not
tarry long."
If he refused to accede to their wishes he would place himself in a
dangerous position, and not only that, but would probably hurt most
seriously the brother whom he was supposed to be. What would he not give
for some news about George's condition? He had only gathered, from what
Cato had told him, that his younger brother was not seriously wounded.
"Let's adjourn to the barn," suggested the sergeant, "and talk matters
over."
All followed him, and seated themselves on the edge of a large bin. With
ears of corn Ralston marked out the position that the English and
Hessians held in the valley below. To save himself, William could not
help but be interested.
"Keep them talking," he thought. "That's it; but propose great caution.
It may give the others time to get away."
A freckle-faced red-eyed boy with a narrow-stocked rifle much taller
than himself looked into the door.
"What is it, Tommy?" said one of the men, as the boy pulled off his
coon-skin cap.
"Are we going to fight, sir?" asked the youth.
"Ay, you'll get your chance," was the answer.
The boy shouldered his musket and walked away.
"Did you mark the lad, Mr. Frothingham?" said Ralston, glancing up from
his plan. "The Hessians two days ago killed his old grandfather and
burnt his sick mother's house down about her head."
This recital started another of the group, and William listened in
horror and amazement. In common with many other officers in the English
service, he had deprecated the use of the German hirelings. His anger at
their outrages overcame every other feeling in his breast.
"You say the Hessians are here," he said, pointing with his finger at a
bunch of corn-cobs, "and that the hill is off here to the right?"
"Yes," answered Ralston, "and the swamp guards their retreat to the
eastward."
Before he knew it, William found himself offering a plan of attack. The
others listened with great attention.
"A true military eye," observed one old man, leaning over his neighbor's
shoulder. "It is a young David come to lead us against the Philistines."
Suddenly William caught his breath. What was he doing? This was nice
work for an officer in the service of the King. "How far off is this
brick house you speak of?" he asked, hoping that even now he might
escape the consequences of his impetuosity.
"Maybe a mile or so," was the response from the old man.
"Had we better not divide our forces, as you suggest, and prepare for an
attack?" said Ralston.
"Yes, I have a thirsty sword." The man tapped an old Scotch claymore
that hung by his side.
"Well said, McPherson," put in another, and William followed them as
they went out through the barn door.
"Draw up in line, comrades, the older men to the top of the hill, and
the younger take position at the edge of the swamp," Ralston spoke
again.
It seemed impossible that such a mob could do anything against an
organized resistance, but a surge of mingled admiration and pride swept
over William. A great lump came into his throat. He glanced at the eager
boys and the bent forms of the old men. Ye gods! These were his
countrymen! Some one, he did not know who, shouted, "Forward!" and he
found himself at the head of a shuffling, swaying company that straggled
out across the road. He was leading as they silently went through the
meadow and came to the crest of a hill where the stubble of the
corn-stalks just showed above the snow. Below him he saw a large brick
house, and about it a strong stone wall. Even from this distance he
could make out the green uniforms of the Hessians and a few red coats
dotted amongst them. William halted an instant.
The weak point of the defence he observed at once. From behind the rocks
on the hill-side the interior of the yard could be commanded. There were
few windows in the house facing the westward, and a large hay-cock
stretched up almost to the second story. He could not help it! The tales
he had heard made him hate the mercenary green coats that had brought
disgrace upon warfare, if such could be. He was in command. He could not
back out, but hesitated to give the word. Another mind, however, had
seen the same opportunity that had struck William so forcibly. As the
men stopped on the hill-side there was a rattling volley below them. A
body of ragged men in homespun much like those grouped about him
appeared on the edge of the alders in the swamp. Others swarmed out from
the woods. The party from the southward had decided to wait no longer
for assistance from the forces under Ralston. Captain Littel, of New
Jersey, was in command of this attack. So well feared and hated had he
been that there was a reward upon his head. William was surprised at the
intrepid charge that these farmer soldiers made upon the wall. A handful
ran out across the meadow, and despite the fact that three fell before
they had gone one hundred yards, they reached the side of the house. One
of the men was carrying a flaming torch. In an instant the hay-cock
roared up in flames, and now the men about him could stand it no longer,
but with a shout they dashed down the hill-side with no more order than
a herd of charging cattle. Spurts of smoke sprang from the windows of
the farm-house. The Waldeckers and the British were driven from behind
the wall, but the house had now caught fire from the burning hay. The
Americans swarmed about it. A man with an axe burst the door. There were
some more shots, but soon the white flag was extended from one of the
windows. This recalled William to his senses, and then he noticed that
he was not alone. Ralston stood beside him.
"Hasten!" he said. "They have surrendered; but so great is their rage
that I am afraid if we do not interfere our people will take no
prisoners. Their blood is hot, they seek revenge!"
Holding his lame arm closely to his side, William ran down the hill, and
was soon at the house. Captain Littel, who had led the first attack, had
been wounded.
"Is any one in command here?" shouted a voice from the window.
Looking up, a British officer was seen standing there. One of the
countrymen levelled a rifle at him, taking aim.
William knocked the piece aside. "Teach them a lesson. Behave like men.
You are not murdering Indians!"
"But those green-coated devils are," said the man, "which is just as
bad." Again he rested his rifle.
William drew back his hand as if to fell the man.
"Hold! You are right," said the latter; "but if you had seen what I
have--" He stopped.
In a minute William found himself haranguing the angry crowd about him.
The fearless ring of his voice and his soldierly bearing had its effect.
The men grew calmer. The fire had now eaten its way into the interior of
the house, and the roof was blazing.
"We surrender," said the officer at the window. "Is there any one here
to whom I can give my sword? For God's sake, don't burn us all to death!"
Ralston, standing at William's side, shouted back, "Come down, then, all
of you."
He pushed the men hither and thither with his strong arms, and formed a
lane for them to pass through. Again he needed strong efforts to
restrain the feelings of the victors as the frightened Hessians and a
few English hurried out of the burning house. The officer was carrying
his sword by the blade. He approached and extended it toward Ralston,
but the latter waved him to where William was standing, pale and torn
with conflicting emotions. As the man in the red coat approached he
started, and almost dropped his sword. It was Captain Markham, who only
a few days ago William had left in the coffee-room at the tavern in New
York.
"Do I give my sword to you?" he said.
"Keep it," said William.
"I will not," said the officer, and he dashed it to the ground at the
latter's feet. "So you are in your true colors at last," he said; "but
let me tell you, sir, it was lucky that you left just when you did. You
were seen talking in a doorway with a man who is now known to be a spy,
and, worse luck, he escaped us also. You know whom I mean?"
"I do not," was William's reply.
"That old man Norton."
William said nothing. He remembered the incident now in the snow-storm.
"Your name is stricken from your regiment, and you are posted for what
you are, you rebel!"
William had no reply to this long speech, and his attention was now
called to a different direction. One of the attacking party had
recognized a low-visaged German who had been prominent in the outrages
at the village. They were for hanging him at once. The band of English
were outnumbered now three to one. They had piled their arms in a heap
as they left the doorway of the house, and were huddled together in an
angle of the wall. Once more William's calm words and appearance had
their effect, and there was a lull. Quickly he told off the most
prominent leaders of the guerilla forces and divided the prisoners into
squads. Once started on the march, it would be easier to keep order.
When this was accomplished he spoke to Captain Markham.
"I cannot reply at length to what you say. All I can do is to save your
lives. Maybe fortune has granted me that power. I am not a traitor by
intent."
The company moved out across the fields, taking up their wounded, and
leaving the dead Hessians where they were.
Captain Markham marched silently along, paying no attention to the looks
that were thrown at him by the angry victors. He admired William's
bearing, despite the standpoint from which he looked upon him. "I
understand now," he said, "why it was you never took the oath of
allegiance to the King."
It was William's turn to start. It was a fact. The ceremony, owing to
the haste in the purchasing of his command and of the departure of
Colonel Forsyth from England, had been omitted.
"What are you going to do with us?" asked the Captain. "How did you come
to be in command?"
"Through fate, perhaps," responded William; "it has decided many things.
I am going to take you to Morristown, if I can; and as for myself, I
shall turn myself in as a prisoner of war with the rest of you. I cannot
explain. Some day you will understand."
It was necessary to hasten the march now, for a messenger had arrived,
stating that re-enforcements of the British were approaching from
Elizabethtown. They marched ahead at a faster pace.
It was a strange tale that William Frothingham related when he brought
his command to the American lines. The idea of an English officer
leading an American attack, and after victory convoying his prisoners to
his enemy's lines, and there insisting upon giving himself up also as a
prisoner of war--this was something new in the annals of history. He
found himself in the most remarkable position that probably a man had
ever been placed in before.
After hearing his tale and recovering from the astonishment of finding
that it was not the Lieutenant Frothingham they knew, the Americans
would not accept him as a prisoner. The Commander-in-Chief expressed the
sentiment of the meeting in these words:
"You are free to return, sir, without exchange; but it is my advice that
you do not do so. What you can explain to us you could never explain to
the gentlemen who are temporarily in New York city."
Colonel Roberts, of Washington's staff, here whispered a suggestion. It
was taken up at once, and the sentence of the court to which William had
presented his remarkable petition was as follows:
"Lieutenant William Frothingham, late of his Majesty King George's
service, is hereby ordered to free confinement at the Manor House of
Stanham Mills, to be paroled there on honor not to escape or desert a
country that has profited by his free service."
* * * * *
It was at Stanham Mills.
"Yes, I knowed it all de time," said old Cato to the group in the
kitchen. The old man was breathless from reiterating this statement.
In the big hall a strange meeting was taking place. So many explanations
had to be made; so many questions asked and answered; so many stops and
pauses for Aunt Clarissa to overcome her tears and bursts of
self-deprecation, that it was a long time before quiet and calm could be
restored; but when this had happened, the impossible seemed to have been
accomplished, for there sat the twins as they had years and years
before, hand in hand, and grouped around them were Aunt Clarissa,
Colonel Hewes, Grace, and Carter, for the young Captain had
considerately been given charge of the remarkable prisoner, and many a
long chat and silent hand-grasp had they indulged in between Morristown
and Stanham. William's depression was rolling off him. Somehow it seemed
very natural to be here with his own people again, so much happier than
being with the roistering, swaggering officers that he had so long been
thrown in with.
At last good-nights were said, and Aunt Clarissa, with a final burst of
weeping, had gone up stairs on the arm of her tall young niece. George
and William stepped to the door as they watched Carter and his father
mount their horses, for the latter was now living in a small house with
the troops at the foundry.
A figure was standing leaning against one of the pillars. It advanced as
the twins came out upon the piazza.
"How!" was the greeting in a deep chest tone.
"How, Adam!" William responded, taking the old Indian's extended hand.
Again the latter repeated this exclamation, and turning, shuffled off.
In his belt shone a great horse-pistol. It had once belonged to Cloud,
the Renegade.
"Brother mine," said George, placing his arm across William's shoulder,
"it has been the finger of the Lord."
William rested his head on his arm. "But they say I am a traitor," he
replied.
[Illustration: "BROTHER MINE," SAID GEORGE.... "IT IS FOR KING OR
COUNTRY."]
George laughed. "You are a patriot, then," he said. "You could not help
what grew up in your heart. It is for King or country."
"For country, then," said William, firmly.
"God prosper us," said George, "we will help deliver it together."
[THE END.]
RICK DALE.
BY KIRK MUNROE.