closed and her lips compressed. Very near her sounded the hoof-beats. A
moment more and she expected to be trampled to death beneath those
hurrying feet; but she hoped--yea, and prayed--that her death might
somehow delay the Federals until her sons should escape.
"Halt! Halt!" The command was in thunder tones, and was echoed and
re-echoed along the charging line. The soldiers pulled with all their
might on the bits, and many a horse was thrown back on his haunches.
Opening her eyes Mrs. Magill saw that the Federal captain, bending over
her from his saddle, was her son Thomas.
"Oh, Thomas!--would you kill John and Harry!" she exclaimed, and then
fell fainting in his arms. Laying her tenderly on the veranda, he
directed a surgeon to attend her, and mounting his horse, rode rapidly
in the direction taken by his brothers. Soon he saw them a quarter of a
mile ahead. Taking a white handkerchief he held it aloft, and digging
the spurs deep into his horse's flanks, he rode with increased speed,
all the time hallooing at the top of his strong voice. John heard; but,
thinking it a summons to surrender, he urged his horse forward, hoping
to gain the sheltering wood. But the horse, in attempting to jump across
a washout, stumbled and fell; and John found himself rolling on the
ground with Harry in his arms. Rising, he placed Harry behind him, and
drew his sword, determined to sell their lives dearly. Imagine his
surprise when he beheld but one pursuer, and that one holding on high an
emblem of peace. In a moment more, he recognized his brother. Their
meeting was affectionate. Harry was beside himself with joy. He had
really been under fire, with "sure-enough bullets" singing about his
ears! This was something of which none of the boys who had scorned his
blue-gray uniform could boast!
"Our brother is a brave little fellow. He did not once flinch when your
bullets were singing around us," he heard John say to Thomas, and this
praise elated the boy very much.
"Let us return to mother. She is very anxious," said Thomas.
John gazed inquiringly at his brother in blue.
"You need have no fear," said Thomas. "I will be responsible for your
safety."
So the two soldier brothers, leading their horses, and each holding one
of Harry's hands, walked up to the house.
"I see you wear the gray, Harry; that's right," said John, with a
malicious glance at Thomas.
"He is true blue on this side," said Thomas, laughing heartily, as the
ludicrousness of Harry's uniform dawned upon him.
An affecting meeting was that between mother and sons; and something on
the cheeks of the brave men who were present "washed off the stains of
powder."
When parting time came, the sun rested, like a great ruby, above the
circling wood of crimson and gold; and when the brother in blue stood
hand in hand with the brother in gray, all nature seemed to smile in
anticipation of the time when a fraternal grasp should reunite the North
and South.
This day was the turning-point in Harry's life. Thenceforth all his
inclinations were to become a soldier. After the war, he was educated by
John and Thomas; and, passing his examination triumphantly over three of
the boys who had derided him, he was appointed to West Point. He is now
Lieutenant Henry Magill, U. S. A.
His brothers still treasure the little blue-gray uniform as the memento
of a "divided duty."
THE "WALKING-BEAM BOY."
BY L. E. STOFIEL
In 1836 the steam-whistle had not yet been introduced on the boats of
the western rivers. Upon approaching towns and cities in those days,
vessels resorted to all manner of schemes and contrivances to attract
attention. They were compelled to do so in order to secure their share
of freight and passengers, so spirited was the competition between
steamboats from 1836 to 1840. There were no railroads in the West
(indeed there were but one or two in the East), and all traffic was by
water. Consequently steamboat-men had all they could do to handle the
crowds of passengers and the tons of merchandise offered them.
Shippers and passengers had their favorite packets. The former had
their huge piles of freight stacked upon the wharves, and needed the
earliest possible intelligence of the approach of the packet so that
they might promptly summon clerks and carriers to the shore. The
passengers, loitering in neighboring hotels, demanded some system of
warning of a favorite steamer's coming, that they might avoid the
disagreeable alternative of pacing the muddy levees for hours at a time,
or running the risk of being left behind.
Without a whistle, how was a boat to let the people know it was coming,
especially if some of those sharp bends for which the Ohio River is
famous intervened to deaden the splashing stroke of its huge
paddle-wheels, or the regular puff, puff, puff, puff, of its steam
exhaust-pipes?
The necessity originated several crude signs, chief among which was the
noise created by a sudden escapement of steam either from the rarely
used boiler waste-pipes close to the surface of the river, or through
the safety-valve above. By letting the steam thus rush out at different
pressures, each boat acquired a sound peculiarly its own, which could be
heard a considerable distance, though it was as the tone of a
mouth-organ against a brass-band, when compared with the ear-splitting
roar of our modern steamboat-whistle. Townspeople of Cincinnati and
elsewhere became so proficient in distinguishing these sounds of steam
escapement that they could foretell the name of any craft on the river
at night or before it appeared in sight.
It was reserved for the steamboat _Champion_ to carry this idea a little
further. It purposed to catch the eye of the patron as well as his ear.
The _Champion_ was one of the best known vessels plying on the
Mississippi in 1836. It was propelled by a walking-beam engine. This
style of steam-engine is still common on tide-water boats of the East,
but has long since disappeared from the inland navigation of the West.
To successfully steam a vessel up those streams against the remarkably
swift currents, high-pressure engines had to be adopted generally. In
that year, however, there were still a number of boats on the
Mississippi and Ohio which, like the _Champion_, had low-pressure
engines and the grotesque walking-beams.
One day it was discovered that the _Champion's_ escapement-tubes were
broken, and no signal could be given to a landing-place not far ahead.
A rival steamboat was just a little in advance, and bade fair to capture
the large amount of freight known to be at the landing.
"I'll make them see us, sir!" cried a bright boy, who seemed to be about
fourteen years old. He stood on the deck close to where the captain was
bewailing his misfortune.
Without another word, the lad climbed up over the roof of the
forecastle, and, fearlessly catching hold of the end of the walking-beam
when it inclined toward him with the next oscillation of the engine,
swung himself lithely on top of the machinery. It was with some
difficulty that he maintained his balance, but he succeeded in sticking
there for fifteen minutes. He had taken off his coat, and he was
swinging it to and fro.
The plan succeeded. Although the other boat beat the _Champion_ into
port, the crowd there had seen the odd spectacle of a person mounted on
the walking-beam of the second vessel, and, wondering over the cause,
paid no attention to the landing of the first boat, but awaited the
arrival of the other.
The incident gave the master of the _Champion_ an idea. He took the boy
as a permanent member of the crew, and assigned him to the post of
"walking-beam boy," buying for him a large and beautiful flag. Ever
afterward, when within a mile of any town, the daring lad was to be seen
climbing up to his difficult perch, pausing on the roof of the
forecastle to get his flag from a box that had been built there for it.
By and by he made his lofty position easier and more picturesque by
straddling the walking-beam, well down toward the end, just as he would
have sat upon a horse.
This made a pretty spectacle for those upon shore who awaited the boat's
arrival. They saw a boy bounding up and down with the great seesawing
beam. For a second he would sink from view, but up he bobbed suddenly,
and, like a clear-cut silhouette, he waved the Stars and Stripes high in
the air with only the vast expanse of sky for a background. The vision
was only for an instant, for both flag and boy would disappear, and--up
again they came, before the spectator's eye could change to another
direction! This sight was novel--it was thrilling!
"I used to think if I could ever be in that young fellow's place, I
would be the biggest man on earth," remarked a veteran river-man. Like
thousands of others along the Mississippi and Ohio, he remembered that
when a child he could recognize the _Champion_ a mile distant by this
unique signal.
[Illustration: "HE WAVED THE STARS AND STRIPES HIGH IN THE AIR."]
After a while, though, other steamboats operating low-pressure engines
copied the idea, and there were several "walking-beam boys" employed on
the rivers, and their flags were remodeled to have some distinctive
feature each. It was a perilous situation to be employed in, but I am
unable to find the record of any "walking-beam boy" being killed or
injured in the machinery. On the other hand, the very hazard of their
duty, and the conspicuous position it gave them, made them popular with
passengers and shippers, and so they pocketed many fees from
Kentuckians, confections from Cincinnati folks, bonbons from New Orleans
Creoles, and tips from Pittsburgers.
But at length, in 1844, the steam-whistle was introduced, and the
"walking-beam boys" were left without occupation.
THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS
BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
"W'en you git a leetle bit older dan w'at you is, honey," said Uncle
Remus to the little boy, "you'll know lots mo' dan you does now."
The old man had a pile of white oak splits by his side and these he was
weaving into a chair-bottom. He was an expert in the art of "bottoming
chairs," and he earned many a silver quarter in this way. The little boy
seemed to be much interested in the process.
"Hit 's des like I tell you," the old man went on; "I done had de
speunce un it. I done got so now dat I don't b'lieve w'at I see, much
less w'at I year. It got ter be whar I kin put my han' on it en fumble
wid it. Folks kin fool deyse'f lots wuss dan yuther folks kin fool um,
en ef you don't b'lieve w'at I 'm a-tellin' un you, you kin des ax Brer
Wolf de nex' time you meet 'im in de big road."
"What about Brother Wolf, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked, as the
old man paused to refill his pipe.
"Well, honey, 't ain't no great long rigamarole; hit's des one er deze
yer tales w'at goes in a gallop twel it gits ter de jumpin'-off place.
"One time Brer Wolf wuz gwine 'long de big road feelin' mighty proud en
high-strung. He wuz a mighty high-up man in dem days, Brer Wolf wuz, en
'mos' all de yuther creeturs wuz feared un 'im. Well, he wuz gwine 'long
lickin' his chops en walkin' sorter stiff-kneed, w'en he happen ter look
down 'pon de groun' en dar he seed a track in de san'. Brer Wolf stop,
he did, en look at it, en den he 'low:
"'Heyo! w'at kind er creetur dish yer? Brer Dog ain't make dat track, en
needer is Brer Fox. Hit's one er deze yer kind er creeturs w'at ain't
got no claws. I'll des 'bout foller 'im up, en ef I ketch 'im he'll
sholy be my meat.'
"Dat de way Brer Wolf talk. He followed 'long atter de track, he did, en
he look at it close, but he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby de
track tuck 'n tu'n out de road en go up a dreen whar de rain done wash
out. De track wuz plain dar in de wet san', but Brer Wolf ain't see no
sign er no claws.
[Illustration: "BRER WOLF MAKE LIKE HE GWINE TER HIT DE CREETUR, EN
DEN----."]
"He foller en foller, Brer Wolf did, en de track git fresher en fresher,
but still he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby he come in sight er
de creetur, en Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at 'im. He stop
stock-still and look. De creetur wuz mighty quare-lookin,' en he wuz
cuttin' up some mighty quare capers. He had big head, sharp nose, en bob
tail; en he wuz walkin' roun' en roun' a big dog-wood tree, rubbin' his
sides ag'in it. Brer Wolf watch 'im a right smart while, he act so
quare, en den he 'low:
"'Shoo! dat creetur done bin in a fight en los' de bes' part er he tail;
en w'at make he scratch hisse'f dat away? I lay I'll let 'im know who
he foolin' 'long wid.'
"Atter 'while, Brer Wolf went up a leetle nigher de creetur, en holler
out:
"'Heyo, dar! w'at you doin' scratchin' yo' scaly hide on my tree, en
tryin' fer ter break hit down?'
"De creetur ain't make no answer. He des walk 'roun' en 'roun' de tree
scratchin' he sides en back. Brer Wolf holler out:
"'I lay I'll make you year me ef I hatter come dar whar you is!'
"De creetur des walk roun' en roun' de tree, en ain't make no answer.
Den Brer Wolf hail 'im ag'in, en talk like he mighty mad:
"'Ain't you gwine ter min' me, you imperdent scoundul? Ain't you gwine
ter mozey outer my woods en let my tree 'lone?'
"Wid dat, Brer Wolf march todes de creetur des like he gwine ter squ'sh
'im in de groun'. De creetur rub hisse'f ag'in de tree en look like he
feel mighty good. Brer Wolf keep on gwine todes 'im, en bimeby w'en he
git sorter close de creetur tuck 'n sot up on his behime legs des like
you see squir'ls do. Den Brer Wolf, he 'low, he did:
"'Ah-yi! you beggin', is you? But 't ain't gwine ter do you no good. I
mout er let you off ef you 'd a-minded me w'en I fus holler atter you,
but I ain't gwine ter let you off now. I'm a-gwine ter l'arn you a
lesson dat 'll stick by you.'
"Den de creetur sorter wrinkle up he face en mouf, en Brer Wolf 'low:
"'Oh, you nee'n'ter swell up en cry, you 'ceitful vilyun. I'm a-gwine
ter gi' you a frailin' dat I boun' you won't forgit.'
[Illustration: "WELL, SUH, DAT CREETUR DES FOTCH ONE SWIPE DIS AWAY, EN
'N'ER SWIPE DAT AWAY."]
"Brer Wolf make like he gwine ter hit de creetur, en den----"
Here Uncle Remus paused and looked all around the room and up at the
rafters. When he began again his voice was very solemn.
--"Well, suh, dat creetur des fotch one swipe dis away, en 'n'er swipe
dat away, en mos' 'fo' you can wink yo' eyeballs, Brer Wolf hide wuz
mighty nigh teetotally tor'd off 'n 'im. Atter dat de creetur sa'ntered
off in de woods, en 'gun ter rub hisse'f on 'n'er tree."
"What kind of a creature was it, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Well, honey," replied the old man in a confidential whisper, "hit want
nobody on de topside er de yeth but ole Brer Wildcat."
* * * * *
GEOGRAPHICAL STORIES RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE
IN SIX VOLUMES
A Series of Books of Adventure, Travel and Description, chiefly in the
Great Sections of the United States
WESTERN FRONTIER STORIES
Stories of the early West, full of adventure.
STORIES OF THE GREAT LAKES
Niagara and our great chain of Inland Seas.
ISLAND STORIES
Stories of our island dependencies and
of many other islands.
STORIES OF STRANGE SIGHTS
Descriptions of natural wonders, curious
places and unusual sights.
SEA STORIES
Tales of shipwreck and adventures at sea.
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Each about 200 pages. 50 illustrations. Full cloth, 12mo.
THE CENTURY CO.