Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 26. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, April 27, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SPANISH SAILORS IN A STORM.]
[Begun in No. 19 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, March 9.]
ACROSS THE OCEAN; OR, A BOY'S FIRST VOYAGE.
A True Story.
BY J. O. DAVIDSON.
CHAPTER VIII.
A "WHITE SQUALL."
Hurrah for the Mediterranean! Hurrah for the tideless sea! with its
sunny skies and sparkling waters, blue and bright as ever, while English
moors and German forests are being buried in snow by a bitter January
storm! Well might one think that these handsome, olive-cheeked,
barefooted fellows in red caps and blue shirts, who cruise about this
"summer sea" in their trim little lateen-rigged fruit boats, must be the
happiest men alive. Yet there was once an English sailor who, plunging
into a raw Channel fog on his return from a twelvemonth's cruise in the
Mediterranean, rubbed his hands, and cried, gleefully, "Ah, this is what
_I_ calls weather! None o' yer lubberly blue skies _here_!"
Frank, having seen for himself that the Straits of Gibraltar are
thirteen miles wide, instead of being (as he had always thought) no
broader than the East River, was prepared for surprises; but he could
not help staring a little when Herrick told him that this bright,
beautiful, glassy sea is at times one of the stormiest in the world, and
that many a good ship has gone down there like a bullet, "as you'll see
afore long, mayhap," added the old sailor, warningly.
The sunset that evening, however, seemed to contradict him point-blank.
It was so magnificent that even the careless sailors, used as most of
them were to the glories of the Southern sky, stood still to admire it,
and pronounced it "the finest show they'd ever seen, by a long way." Not
a cloud above, not a ripple below; the steamer's track lay across the
glassy water like a broad belt of light. All was so calm, so clear, so
bright, that it was hard to tell where the sea ended and the sky began.
The ship seemed to be floating in the centre of a vast bubble.
Suddenly the sun plunged below the horizon like a red-hot ball, and a
deep voice muttered in Frank's ear,
"We're a-goin' to catch it!"
At that moment, as if to bear out this gloomy prophecy, the boatswain's
hoarse call was heard:
"Stand by topsail sheets and halyards! Man the down-hauls! Clear away,
and make all snug!"
Instantly all was bustle and activity. While some stripped the yards and
clewed up the sails, others battened down the hatches, looked to the
lashings of the boats, and made everything fast. Still, though he
strained his eyes to the utmost, not the least sign of a storm could
Frank see, and at last he whispered to Herrick,
"How _can_ they tell that it's going to be rough?"
"The glass is falling, lad, and that's always enough for a sailor; but
there'll be more'n _that_ afore long. Ay, sure enough--see yonder!"
A streak of pale phosphorescent mist had just appeared on the port bow,
which spread and spread till it blotted out sea and sky, and all was one
dim, impenetrable pall. From the far distance came a strange, ghostly
whisper, while the sea-birds, which had hitherto kept close to the
vessel, flew away with dismal shrieks.
"Below there!" roared the boatswain. "Tumble up there, smart!"
Up flew the men, each darting at once to his own post--and not an
instant too soon. A huge white cloud seemed to leap upward through the
inky sky like smoke from a cannon, a long line of foam glanced like a
lightning flash across the dark sea, and then came a rush and a roar,
and over went the ship on her beam ends, and every man on board was
blinded, deafened, and strangled, all in one moment, while crash
followed crash, as doors, sky-lights, and port-shutters were torn away
or dashed to atoms.
Frank, who was just stepping out of one of the deck-houses when the
storm burst, was spun across the forecastle like a top, and would have
gone overboard had not a sailor clutched his arm, and pressed him down
on the deck by main force till the ship righted.
"Lie snug, young 'un," said his rescuer, "for them 'white squalls' ain't
to be sneezed at, that's a fact. Look at my shirt."
This was easier said than done, for honest Bill had no shirt left to
look at, except the collar and wristbands, all the rest having been torn
clean away.
But as Austin glanced round him he saw other proofs of the wind's force
even more convincing than this. Two of the boats had been literally
smashed to pieces, the strong-iron davits that held them being twisted
like pin-wire. Down in the engine-room the flying open of the furnace
doors had flooded the whole room with blazing coal, and four of the
tubes had burst at once, scalding several firemen so severely that they
had to be carried to the surgeon forthwith.
Suddenly a cry for help was heard from the wheel-house. Three or four
brave fellows rushed across the reeling deck at the risk of their lives,
and tearing open the door, found one quartermaster lying senseless and
bleeding in a corner, while the other, with a broken arm, was actually
keeping the wheel steady with _the remaining hand and his knee_, which
he had thrust between the spokes!
But the stout-hearted crew, not a whit daunted, coolly set about
repairing damages. The injured men were carried below, the decks cleared
of the fragments of wreck, and the coals drawn from the furnaces, into
which the firemen, swathed in wet blankets, crept by turns along a plank
(relieving one another as the stifling heat overpowered them) to close
the flues again by hammering strong wooden plugs into the leaks.
By twelve o'clock the gale was at its height. Even with four men at the
wheel, the _Arizona_ could barely hold her own against the tremendous
seas that came thundering upon her like falling rocks, and old Herrick
himself began to look grave.
"Get out a drag!" shouted the officer of the watch.
The boatswain repeated the order, to the no small amazement of our hero,
who, having always associated a drag with the wheel of a coach, was
puzzled to imagine how it could be applied to a ship.
But he was not long in finding out. Pieces of timber from the broken
boats, worn out sails, old iron, and various odds and ends were hastily
gathered into a heap, lashed together with chains, and launched
overboard, with two strong hawsers attached. The chains and pieces of
iron made the buoyant mass sink just deep enough, to steady the vessel,
and keep her head up to the wind, which toward night-fall began to show
signs of abating.
Just before darkness set in, a Spanish bark crossed their bows. The
storm had left its mark on her upper spars, which were terribly
shattered; but the crew, instead of clearing away the wreck, were
groaning and praying around a little doll-like image of the Virgin,
while their officers vainly urged them to return to their duty.
"Skulkin' lubbers!" growled old Herrick; "they should git what that
feller in the song got. D'ye mind it, Frank, my boy?
"'The boatswain he rope's-ended him, and "Now," says he, "just work!
I read my Bible often, but it don't tell men to _shirk_;
The pumps they are not choked as yet, so let us not despair:
When all is up, or when we're saved, we'll join with you in prayer."'"
The next morning they sighted the craggy islet of Zembra, which Jack
Dewey, the wit of the forecastle, said should be called "Zebra," for its
cliffs were curiously veined with stripes of blue, red, and black, as
regular as if painted with a brush. A few hours later appeared the
larger island of Partellaria, standing boldly up from the sea in one
great mass of cloud-capped mountain, with the trim white houses of the
little toy town scattered along its base like a game of dominoes.
By sunset that evening the gale seemed to have fairly blown itself out.
But now came another enemy almost as dangerous. A little after midnight
the ship was hemmed in by a perfect wall of fog, through which neither
moon nor star was to be seen; and all that could be done was to set the
bells and fog-horns to work, making an uproar worthy of a Chinese
concert.
About three in the morning came a faint answering chime of church bells;
and the _Arizona_, "porting" her helm, kept circling about the same spot
for two hours more ("playin' circus," as Jack Dewey said), till the
morning breeze suddenly parted the fog, displaying to Frank's eager eyes
the rocky shores of Malta, and the entrance of Valetta Harbor.
"There's _one_ thing here as you're bound to see, lad," said Herrick,
"and that's a sort o' under-ground tunnel, like ever so many streets
buried alive, and pitch-dark every one of 'em. They calls it the
Cat-and-Combs [Catacombs]. I never could tell why, for it ain't got
nothin' to do with combs, nor yet with cats neither. But you've got to
take guides and lights with yer, and stick mighty close to 'em, or ye're
a gone 'coon. Guess _I_ ought to know that!"
"Why, did _you_ ever get lost there?"
"That's jist what I did, sonny, though I can't think how; but, anyway,
there I was, all to once, right away from the rest, and all alone in the
dark. I tried to holler, but my throat was so dry with the dust and what
not that I made no more noise nor a frog with a sore throat. 'Twarn't
pleasant neither, I can tell ye, to feel my feet kickin' agin skulls and
bones in the dark, and to think how _my_ bones 'ud be added to the
collection 'fore long, when the rats had picked 'em clean. At last I
concluded that I'd jist make matters worse by steerin' at hap-hazard,
and that my best way was to anchor, and wait for the rest o' the convoy.
"Jist then I spied _two eyes_ a-shinin' in the darkness, and 'fore I
could say 'Knife,' slap came somethin' right in my face, givin' me sich
a start that I jumped five ways at once. But by the soft, furry feel, I
guessed what 'twas; so I sang out, 'Puss! puss!' and the thing came
rubbin' agin my feet, and what should it be but a stray cat! Thinks I,
'Here's somethin' to keep off the rats, anyhow!' and I sat down in a
corner, and took the cat in my lap, and, if you'll b'lieve me, off I
went sound asleep! Fust thing I knew after that, all my mates was around
me agin, laughin' like anythin' to find me nussin' a cat that way. But I
wouldn't go that job over agin, not to be made a Cap'n!"
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
SOMETHING ABOUT FANS.
Kan Si was the first lady who carried a fan. She lived in ages which are
past, and for the most part forgotten, and she was the daughter of a
Chinese Mandarin. Who ever saw a Mandarin, even on a tea-chest, without
his fan? In China and Japan to this day every one has a fan; and there
are fans of all sorts for everybody. The Japanese waves his fan at you
when he meets you, by way of greeting, and the beggar who solicits for
alms has the exceedingly small coin "made on purpose" for charity
presented to him on the tip of the fan.
In ancient times, amongst the Greeks and Romans, fans seem to have been
enormous; they were generally made of feathers, and carried by slaves
over the heads of their masters and mistresses, to protect them from the
sun, or waved about before them to stir the air.
Catherine de Medicis carried the first folding fan ever seen in France;
and in the time of Louis the Fourteenth the fan was a gorgeous thing,
often covered with jewels, and worth a small fortune. In England they
were the fashion in the time of Henry the Eighth. All his many wives
carried them, and doubtless wept behind them. A fan set in diamonds was
once given to Queen Elizabeth upon New-Year's Day.
The Mexican feather fans which Cortez had from Montezuma were marvels of
beauty; and in Spain a large black fan is the favorite. It is said that
the use of the fan is as carefully taught in that country as any other
branch of education, and that by a well-known code of signals a Spanish
lady can carry on a long conversation with any one, especially an
admirer.
The Japanese criminal of rank is politely executed by means of a fan. On
being sentenced to death he is presented with a fan, which he must
receive with a low bow, and as he bows, _presto_! the executioner draws
his sword, and cuts his head off. In fact, there is a fan for every
occasion in Japan.
THE BOYS' SCHOOLS OF ENGLAND.
BY AMELIA E. BARR.
I suppose there are few boys who have not heard of Westminster Abbey,
and who do not know that within its ancient and splendid walls the Kings
of England are crowned, and the great, the wise, and the brave of every
age are buried. But few, perhaps, are aware that the Abbey also contains
the oldest and one of the most famous boys' schools in the world. It is
true that the statutes of the school, as they now exist, are of a less
remote date than those of Eton and Winchester schools--being framed by
Henry the Eighth and Elizabeth--but they no more represent the origin of
Westminster School than the Reformation represents the origin of the
English Church.
Westminster Abbey was built by Edward the Confessor, and the Master of
the Novices sitting with his disciples in the western cloister was the
beginning of Westminster School. It was, without doubt, this school that
Ingulphus--the writer of a famous chronicle (A.D. 1043-1051)--attended;
for he tells us that Queen Edith often met him coming from school, and
questioned him about his grammar and logic, and always gave him three or
four pieces of money, and then sent him to the royal larder to refresh
himself--two forms of kindness that a school-boy never forgets.
Ingulphus afterward became the secretary of William the Conqueror. In
his day there was no glazing to this cloister, and the rain, wind, and
snow must have swept pitilessly over the novices turning and spelling
out their manuscripts. They had, indeed, a carpet of hay or rushes, and
mats were laid on the stone benches, but it must have been a bitterly
cold school-room in winter.
At the Reformation, Henry the Eighth drew up new plans for Westminster
School, and Elizabeth perfected the statutes by which the school is
still governed. It was to consist of forty boys, who were to be chosen
for their "good disposition, knowledge, and poverty, and without favor
or partiality"; and even at the present day there is no admission as a
"Queen's Scholar" at Westminster except by long and arduous competition
between the candidates for the honor.
No one who has witnessed the mode of election will ever forget it. The
candidates are arranged according to their places in the school, and the
_lowest two boys_ first enter the arena. The lower of these two is the
challenger. He calls upon his adversary to translate an epigram, to
parse it, or to answer any grammatical question connected with the
subject. Demand after demand is made, until there is an error. The
Master is appealed to, and answers, "It was a mistake." Then the
challenger and the challenged change places, and the latter, with fierce
eagerness, renews the contest. Whichever of the two is the conqueror,
flushed with victory, then turns to the boy above him, and if he be a
really clever lad, he will sometimes advance ten, fifteen, or twenty
steps before he is stopped by a greater spirit. This struggle--which is
peculiar to Westminster, and highly prized by its scholars--frequently
extends over six or eight weeks, and the ten who are highest at its
close are elected "Queen's Scholars," in place of those advanced that
year from Westminster to Oxford or Cambridge.
This mental tournament is a very ancient custom, for Stow says that the
Westminster scholars annually stood under a great tree in St.
Bartholomew's Church yard, and entering the lists of grammar,
chivalrously asserted the intellectual superiority of Westminster
against all comers; and Stow, as you very likely know, died about A.D.
1600. There is, therefore, as you may see, a very great honor in being a
"Queen's Scholar"; besides which, the prizes to be divided among them
are very valuable. These consist of three junior studentships of Christ
Church, Oxford, tenable for seven years, and worth about L120 a year;
Dr. Carey's Benefaction, which divides L600 a year among the most needy
and industrious of the scholars in sums of not less than L50, and not
more than L100; and three exhibitions at Trinity College, Cambridge, of
yearly value about L87, tenable until the holder has taken his Bachelor
of Arts degree. The Queen's Scholars are partially maintained by the
school; but all other boys, of which the average number is about one
hundred and fifty, pay very handsomely for their education.
[Illustration: A VIEW OF WESTMINSTER.]
The government of this school is an absolute monarchy in the hands of
the Head-Master, though the Dean and Chapter of Westminster can exercise
a certain control of the Queen's Scholars, and the reigning sovereign of
England is by the statutes Visitor of the School. In 1846 the father of
one of the Queen's Scholars complained to her Majesty that his boy had
been cruelly treated by three of the other scholars, and she ordered an
immediate trial, and punishment of the guilty parties.
Westminster, from its earliest records, has been famous for its Masters.
Before the great Camden--the Pausanias of England--were Alexander
Nowell, Nicholas Udall, and Thomas Browne. Nowell was Master in Queen
Mary's reign, and Bonner intending to burn him, he fled for his life. On
Elizabeth's accession he again became Master, and was also one of
Elizabeth's preachers, and reproved her so plainly that on one occasion
she bade him "return to his text." You know, boys, it is so easy and so
natural for school-masters to tell people when they are wrong, and the
Masters of Westminster have been noted for the habit.
Dr. Busby's name is forever associated with Westminster, and he ruled
the school with his terrible birch rod for upward of fifty-seven years.
"My rod is my sieve," he said, "and who can not pass through it is no
boy for me." So many able boys, however, passed through it, that he
could point to the Bench of Bishops, and boast that sixteen of the
spiritual lords sitting there at one time had been educated by him. The
height to which he carried discipline is exemplified by his accompanying
King Charles through the school-room _with his hat on_, because "he
would not have his boys think there was any man in England greater than
himself." Dryden was one of Busby's scholars, and received from the
great Master many a severe flogging, yet Dryden always spoke of Dr.
Busby with the greatest reverence. Flogging is now only administered on
very grave occasions, by the Head-Master, and in the presence of a third
party, who must be one of the boys.
In Dr. Busby's time the upper and lower schools were divided by a
curtain, about which there is a remarkable story. A boy, having torn
this curtain, was saved from one of Busby's terrible floggings by his
school-mate assuming the fault, and bearing the rod in his place. This
brave lad in the civil war took the King's side, became implicated in a
futile rising, and was condemned to death at Exeter. But his judge
happened to be the very boy whose place he had taken under Busby's rod,
and he was not unmindful of the favor, for he hastened to London, and
begged from Cromwell his friend's life. If you will get No. 313 of the
_Spectator_, you can read the whole story, and it is a very beautiful as
well as truthful one.
[Illustration: THE SCHOOL-ROOM.]
The school-room at Westminster is one of the most interesting rooms in
the world. It was the dormitory of the old monks; and when I saw it,
thirty years ago, its walls were quite covered with the names of boys
who had studied there, and who had cut with their penknives these rude
autographs. Many of the names have since become famous all over the
world, and will never be forgotten. At that time "John Dryden" was deep
and plain in the solid bench where he cut it, for not one of all the
thousands of Westminster boys who have sat in his place since have been
mean or thoughtless enough to deface it.
The dormitory of the Queen's Scholars stands where the granary of the
monks stood, and is a chamber one hundred and sixty-one feet long by
twenty-five broad. It is interesting because it is the theatre where for
centuries the "Westminster Play" has been acted. This "play" was
expressly ordered by Queen Elizabeth for "her boys," and those of
Terence were chosen by her. In 1847 there was a movement to abolish the
"Westminster Play," but a memorial, signed by more than six hundred old
Westminsters, pleaded for its continuance, and it is still one of the
great features of a London Christmas.
Westminster is pre-eminently a classical school, but no school has a
longer or more splendid list of great scholars. Of Church dignitaries it
counts nine Archbishops and more than sixty Bishops: among the latter
Trelawney, Francis Atterbury (the friend of Pope, Swift, and Gay), Isaac
Barrow, and the witty, loyal Dr. South, who, when but an Upper Boy at
Westminster, dared to read the prayer for Charles the First an hour
before he was beheaded. Still more famous was Prideaux, the great
Oriental and Hebrew scholar, and the wise Dr. Goodenough, whose sermons
before the House of Lords elicited the lively epigram from some
Westminster boy,
"'Twas well enough that Goodenough before the Lords should preach,
For sure enough that bad enough were those he had to teach."
Among famous lawyers, Westminster educated Lane, the eloquent defender
of Strafford; Glynne, the great Commonwealth lawyer; the Earl of
Mansfield, the pride of Westminster School, and the glory of Westminster
Hall, Lord Chief Justice of England for more than thirty years; and the
late Sir David Dundas. Among statesmen, Westminster counts the younger
Vane, whom Milton so nobly eulogizes, as
"young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Than whom no better senator e'er held
The Roman helm";
Halifax, the accomplished "Trimmer" of the Revolution, about whom you
must consult Macaulay; Warren Hastings; Sir Francis Burdett; Sir James
Graham; and John, Earl Russell.
Among warriors, five of the seven officers not of royal blood who rose
to the rank of Field-Marshal between 1810 and 1856 were Westminster
boys, and one of these five was Lord Raglan.
Her list of literary sons is so long that I can only name a few of the
best-known names--Rare Ben Jonson, Cowley, George Herbert, John Dryden,
Christopher Wren, John Locke, the two Colmans, Richard Cumberland,
Cowper, Gibbon, and the all-accomplished Robert Southey.
The chief amusement of Westminster boys is boating; for which the
proximity of the Thames affords great advantages; also cricket, racket,
quoits, sparring, foot-races, leaping, and single-stick. The school has
always been noted, also, for the strong bond of fraternity uniting the
boys: to the end of life Westminster boys acknowledge this tie, and in
many a national crisis it has been, "All Westminsters together!"
THE LOST CHECK.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.
"I have hunted high and low for that check, Sam, and I can not find it."
"I thought it was careless, when I saw you parading it about here."
"Well, you see, I felt rich. Father never sent me such a lot of money
before."
"It was your birthday, wasn't it?"
"Yes, and the governor came down handsomely. He knows I am saving up for
a trip to the Adirondacks. Well, if it is gone, it is gone."
"It could not go without hands; but I hope it will turn up yet. In
future you had better put such documents in a safe place."
Will Benson heard this conversation between two fellow-clerks in the
warehouse where he also was employed, and it troubled him much. He was a
young fellow about fifteen or thereabouts, but so steady and reliable a
youth that already many matters of importance were intrusted to him. He
had seen Charlie Graham nourishing a check about, and had heard him
talking very largely of his plans, etc. He had also seen the valuable
bit of paper lying about, and had asked Charlie to pocket it; but he had
also seen some one else do that in a very quiet way, and it had so
peculiarly affected him that when Charlie asked him about it, he had
colored up violently, and was so confused, that had Charlie been of a
suspicious nature, he would have had good reason to suppose that Will
knew more about the affair than he cared to tell--which was the truth.
But Charlie was neither suspicious nor careful, and, in addition to
leaving the paper about, he had also indorsed it.
[Illustration: WILL CONSIDERS THE SITUATION.]
Will listened to the inquiries and the comments in silence, not knowing
what to say. Had he been very impulsive, he would have come out
instantly with his suspicions; but he had a habit of reflection, and was
inclined to consider before acting or speaking. At this moment, however,
his thoughts were confused, and finding that his writing was suffering
in consequence, he thrust his pen behind his ear, and sat down on a box
at the office door to see if he could not think himself out of his
difficulty.
He was quite sure that a theft had been committed, and that he had
witnessed it. What should he do?--tell Charlie Graham, have the man
arrested and sent to prison, as he deserved, or keep the matter quiet,
wait, and see how the thing would turn out?
As he sat there in the soft spring morning a little bird perched itself
on a budding bough, and began to chirp. As it turned its head from side
to side, and peeped coyly at him, it reminded him, by one of those
unconscious flights of association, of another bird, which hung in a
gilded cage very near the couch of his invalid mother. He could see the
little warbler doing his best to entertain the weary moments of one who
seldom heard the wild birds, or set her foot in the woods. He could also
see the soft draperies about the window, the climbing ivy and growing
ferns, and the much-used books and work-table, and from all these homely
but precious belongings came uppermost the sweet smile of affection, the
placid face which, in spite of age and sorrow and suffering, had always
so tender a beauty for him. Quickly he turned back to his desk, and
wrote a long letter to his mother. She would set him aright, she would
solve his difficulty. Happy the boy who has such a mother!
Of course he had to wait some time for the answer, and the waiting was
tedious. Charlie gave up the check as lost, and said no more about it,
and Will took so great an aversion to the porter, who he was sure was
the thief, that he hated to come in contact with him. But the mother's
letter was worth waiting for, and Will acted on its advice.
Late one afternoon he wended his way to the narrow street where lived
Grimes, the porter. It was a noisome locality. Will could not help
thinking what a contrast it was to the quiet, clean town where he was
born, and where his mother still lived! These dirty, narrow, crowded
city slums, what wonder that all sorts of crime are born in them!
He found the house, and through the dark wretched stairway at last came
to a door, at which he knocked.
"Come in," was the response.
He entered, stumbling over heaps of unwashed clothing. Two or three
forlorn-looking children were eating at a wretchedly uninviting table in
the midst of these surroundings. A feeble-looking woman was on a bed.
"Is Grimes at home?" asked Will.
"No, sir, he's not; and I beg pardon for letting you come in. My washing
was half done when I was took down with a turn, and Grimes is looking
now for some one to do what I am unable to do."
"Will he soon be in, do you think?"
"Yes, sir; have a chair; he'll be in presently."
"I will wait outside," said Will, glad of the excuse to get out. He
waited in the dim light of a dirty window outside, and wished he had
about a gallon of Cologne water at hand. Soon Grimes came, looking tired
and cross. When he saw Will he grew pale, but asked him, in a smothered
voice, what he wanted.
"I have come to speak about that check of Charlie Graham's," said Will.
Grimes grew red and angry, swore roundly that he knew nothing of it, and
threatened to pitch Will down stairs.
Will very firmly replied that he had seen Grimes take it, and that
unless he was willing to make reparation, his employers would have to be
told of it.
At this the man wavered a little, but still stoutly denied the theft. At
this moment the door, which was ajar, was pushed wider open, and the
woman's head came peering out; then the children followed, but they were
speedily sent down into the street.
Grimes retreated into the room; Will followed, not without some tremors,
but that letter of his mother's was in his pocket.
"Sure and are ye found out?" said the woman, impetuously. "Didn't I tell
you so? didn't I say no good could come of stalin', Grimes, my man?"
Grimes tried to hush her, but she would not listen to him. She had drawn
a shawl about her, and was the picture of woe, with her pale face, her
unkempt hair, and her glittering eyes. She took Will by the hand. "As
you are a gintleman, and the son of a lady, have mercy on Grimes. If
it's the bit of paper ye want, I have it; here it is;" and she drew it
from the folds of her dress. "I knew no good could come of it, and I
would not let him use it, miserable as we are. But spare him, and God
will bless you."
"I have no wish to injure him," said Will, "and my mother thinks if this
is a first offense, and he is at all sorry, I had better not make his
dishonesty known."
Grimes was hanging his head in sullen silence, but at this he raised it
eagerly. "Never in my life before have I taken anything--but you see our
misery. I thought she would be the better for something this money could
buy."
"Hush!" said the woman. "I might better die than live by stalin'. You
will forgive him, misther; I know you will; I see it in your kind eyes."
Will promised silence, except to Charlie Graham, to whom he should be
obliged to reveal the theft, as well as to make restitution; and gladly
turned away from this scene of misery.
Charlie and he had a long talk that night. They concluded to abide by
Mrs. Benson's advice.
"It was very wrong as well as silly for me to leave that check where it
could tempt a poor fellow; and if it wasn't for the Adirondacks I'd send
the whole amount to Mrs. Grimes," said Charlie, generously.
"No, that would not be wise," said Will; "but I tell you what, let's
club together and send her some decent food and clothing."
Their kindness was not thrown away. Grimes never repeated the
wrong-doing. With better times came better health and strength for his
wife, and when Will went home for a holiday he took to his mother a bit
of Irish lace, which Mrs. Grimes had begged him to carry to her.
A CHEAP CANOE.
BY W. P. S.
The labor and ingenuity expended in one season by a boy who has any
taste for the water in building rafts, and converting tubs and
packing-boxes into sea-going vessels, would, if well directed, build a
good-sized ship; but, from lack of knowledge and system, the results of
such attempts are generally failures.
After some experience with rafts that _would_ sink, scows that _would_
leak, and other craft that showed a strong preference for floating with
keels in the air, we found in the canvas canoe a boat at once handsome,
speedy, and safe, and capable of a great variety of uses, while the
small cost and easy construction place it within reach of all young
ship-builders.
To produce a good canvas boat care and patience are more necessary than
great skill with tools, though it is supposed that the young mechanic
can use his rule correctly, saw to a line, and plane an edge reasonably
straight.
The first proceeding in any building operation, after the plans are
decided on, is to make out a "bill of materials" and an "estimate," and
ours will read as follows:
Keel, oak, 1 in. square, by 15 ft. }
long. } Sawed from an oak
10 rib-bands, oak, 1 x 1/4 in., by } board 15 ft. X 6
15 ft. long } in. = 7-1/2 ft. @ 5c.
2 gunwales, oak, 1 x 3/4 in., by }
15 ft. long } $0.38
Keelson, 3 x 1 in., 10 ft. long. } 10 in. pine board
Bow, stern, coaming, and ridge pieces. } .35
Moulds. } 2 pine boards 12 x 1/2 in., 13 ft.
Floor boards, } long = 26 ft.,@ 3c. .78
Paddle, 1-1/4 in. spruce plank, 6-1/2 in. X 13 ft. .25
Canvas, 5 yds., 40 in., @ 45c. 2.25
Canvas deck, 5 yds., 28 in., @ 25c. 1.25
1 package 1 in. No. 7 iron screws. .30
Tacks, nails, and screws. .50
Rubber cloth for apron. .50
Sawing moulds and paddle. .50
Paint. 1.00
-----
$8.06
Having all our material ready, it will be best to mark out the different
pieces, and have them all sawed at once by a steam-saw.
Beginning with the bow and stern, we will lay off on one corner of the
ten-inch board a line two feet long, representing the dotted line
_c_ _d_ in Fig. 1.
A line is drawn half an inch from the edge from the point 11 to 12,
making a notch for the end of the keelson; and the two feet are divided
into four parts, and perpendiculars drawn at each point.
Now measure off on the line _a_ _d_ nine and a half inches, giving the
point _a_; on the others three and a quarter inches, an inch, and a
quarter of an inch; then draw a line from _a_ to _c_ through all these
points.
The shape of the inner line is not important, so it may be drawn by eye,
making it thick enough for strength.
As the bow and stern are alike, two of these pieces are needed.
The keelson must be cut from the same board, being three inches wide at
the centre, tapering to one inch at the ends.
To obtain the shapes of the moulds or sections we must enlarge Fig. 4
four times to its full size.
The horizontal lines in the drawing are one-fourth of an inch apart, so
in our large drawing they will be one inch; then taking the line marked
2 (Nos. 1 and 13 require no moulds), we find the distance of the point
_g_ to be one and seven-sixteenths inches from the centre line, so we
make it four times as much, or five and three-fourths inches, and
continue with the other points until we have enough to determine the
line pretty closely, after which we join them with the line _g_ _h_,
giving the shape of one-half of our first mould.
The lines on the right represent the half sections in the fore end of
the boat, and those on the left the after end.
When all are drawn, they should be transferred to the half-inch board,
each mould, however, being a whole and not a half section.
The outline of the paddle being drawn also, all may be taken to a
saw-mill and sawn out, or else they may be sawn by hand with a
compass-saw.
Having all cut out, we will first screw the bow and stern to the
keelson, and secure the three pieces on a plank set upright, the upper
edge being curved to fit the keelson, which is a little rockered.
Moulds Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 11, and 12 are next notched to fit the
varying widths of the keelson, the first and last also fitting over the
bow and stern; then they are put in place, and the gunwales notched into
them, and also into the bow and stern.
The moulds for Nos. 6, 7, and 8 are sawn from three-quarter-inch oak or
ash, each being in two pieces. The inner edge of No. 6 is shown by the
dotted line K C, Fig. 4, and of Nos. 7 and 8 by _m_ _b_. They are put in
place the same as the others.
Now the rib-bands are planed off and tacked in place, being spaced
amidships as shown in Fig. 4; then the points where they cross the bow
and stern and all the moulds are marked, and notches one inch by
one-fourth of an inch cut to receive them, the edges of the bow and
stern being tapered off at the same time to half an inch; then all the
parts are placed in position again, and fastened with one-inch screws,
except where the keelson joins the bow, stern, and moulds, where one
inch and a half screws are used. Each screw is dipped in white lead
before inserting, and the head afterward puttied over.
The highest point of the deck is at No. 6, where a deck beam is placed,
the shape of it and of the deck at No. 9 being shown in Fig. 4.
The other moulds may be easily shaped by using these as guides; then
pieces two inches wide and three-fourths of an inch thick are notched
into each mould, down the centre of the deck, from No. 6 to the bow, and
from No. 9 to the stern, making a ridge over which the canvas is
stretched.
A piece of one-inch pine is next set in between Nos. 9 and 6, and
screwed to each, as well as to Nos. 7 and 8 and the gunwales, and
forming the sides of the well.
The frame is now carefully smoothed off, and painted with two coats;
then a floor of half-inch pine is screwed to moulds Nos. 6, 7, and 8.
The canvas, forty inches wide, is first oiled, and then laid on the
frame-work, and tacked along the centre of the keelson from No. 2 to No.
12; then it is tacked lightly to the gunwales; then cut to fit the
curved bow and stern, and tacked, the edges overlapping half an inch,
after which it is stretched tightly over the gunwales, and tacked on the
_inside_.
The deck is of drilling, twenty-eight inches wide, tacked around the
gunwale (a half-round head being screwed over the joint), and turned up
and tacked around the coaming, which is of three-eighth inch pine,
rising an inch and a half above the deck, and screwed to the side
pieces, mould No. 9, and the deck beam at No. 6.
The keel is of straight-grained oak, one inch deep from No. 3 to No. 11,
tapering to one-half by three-eighths of an inch at the ends, and may be
soaked in hot water before bending. When cold, it is screwed to the
keelson and the bow and stern, the canvas under it being painted.
The stretcher for the feet rests against a strip nailed to the floors,
and a small block on each gunwale.
A half-inch hole is bored in bow and stern for the painter.
The paddle is seven feet long, six and a half inches wide, and
three-sixteenths of an inch thick at the edges; the handle being an inch
and a quarter in diameter at the middle, tapering to seven-eighths where
it joins the blades. A rubber ring is slipped over each end to prevent
the water running down. In using, it is grasped about seven inches on
each side of the centre, keeping the hands about the width of the body
apart. The stroke should be as long and steady as possible.
It will be found at first that the boat will rock from side to side in
paddling, and the paddle will throw some spray; but both these faults
disappear with practice, and the boat should be perfectly steady at any
speed. A slight twist as the paddle leaves the water, hard to describe,
but easily found on trial, shakes off all drip.
For an apron, a strip of pine one-quarter by one and a half inches is
fastened to each side of the well by brass straps hooking over the
coaming, shown in Fig. 6.
A piece of rubber cloth is gored to fit around the body, and is tacked
to each side piece, a rubber cord fastened to each strip, and running
around the front of the well, serving to keep it down, and the after
ends being tucked in between the backboard and the body, all falling off
in an upset.
The backboard, Fig. 5, is seventeen inches long, the strips being two
and one-fourth inches wide, and the same distance apart; it swings on
the coaming at the back of the well.
Two coats of paint should be put on, and the paddle varnished.
A deck of half-inch pine, laid from No. 9 to No. 10, under the canvas,
allows the canoeist to sit on deck sometimes in paddling.
In entering the boat, step in the centre (facing the bow), and, with a
hand on each gunwale, drop into the seat.
When not in use the canoe should be sponged out and stored on shore.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: WORKING PLANS FOR A CANVAS CANOE.--[SEE PAGES 350 AND
351.]]
MAHMOUD THE SYCE.
BY SARA KEABLES HUNT.
[Illustration: THE SYCE ON DUTY.]
One of the most novel and interesting sights which attracts the
traveller's attention when he first arrives in Egypt is the syce running
before the horses as they go through the narrow, closely packed streets.
How the crowd scatters, and the donkey-boys hustle their meek property
out of the way as one of those runners comes bounding along, shouting,
in the strange Arabic tongue, "Clear the way!" The sun shines upon his
velvet vest, glittering with its spangled trimmings, the breeze fills
the large floating sleeves till they wave backward like white wings.
Then on dash the spirited horses, dogs bark, children squeal, beggars
dodge, men swear, and women, holding their face-veil closer, ejaculate
fiercely.
On springs the syce; what cares he for man or beast? while proudly
following rolls the rich equipage, or prances the Arab steed with its
turbaned rider and Oriental robes.
Mahmoud, the subject of this little sketch, was the syce of a rich Pasha
in Cairo; he was a favorite with his master, and everybody loved
him--even the horses would neigh joyfully at his approach, and eat from
his hand as gently as a dog. His life was an easy one, for, being a
favorite, no arduous duties were placed upon him, and his strength was
encouraged and sustained by the master for the swift running which
commands so much admiration. So agile did he become, that no name among
the syce of Egypt was more renowned than that of Mahmoud. Often at the
latticed windows bright eyes of hidden beauties followed him through the
narrow streets, and watched for his coming as he led the way for his
master each morning in his rides. Sometimes they threaded their way
through the crowded bazars amid scenes of the _Arabian Nights_,
breathing wonderful Eastern perfumes, gazing on rare gems and exquisite
embroideries; and again, down the road to the Pyramids, with the soft
air blowing in his face, trees waving overhead, and birds singing
merrily; or, in the blood-red sunset, passing down the Choubra Road, the
fashionable drive of Cairo, with its shade of gnarled old sycamores, and
crowded with conveyances of every description. Sometimes he led the way
for the harem carriage, very proud of the honor.
One morning the Pasha sat in his garden under the blossoming
orange-tree, smoking his chibouque, and talking with his friend the Bey
from Alexandria, whose horse stood in the path champing impatiently at
his bit, and held by his syce, Abdullah, in his gay costume. They talked
of politics, the condition of the country, its financial troubles; they
spoke of their religion and their mosque, of the Suez Canal, the
improvements of the city, the Khedive's new palace, their own
dwelling-places. By-and-by the conversation ran upon their horses and
their favorite syce.
"Abdullah can outrun them all," said the Bey.
"Not so," replied the Pasha; "my Mahmoud is the finest runner in
Cairo--ay, in all Egpyt."
"Sayest thou so?" cried the Bey. "Come and let us test their skill."
"Most surely," answered the Pasha, "and I will give a prize to the boy
who wins."
The news soon spread over Cairo that Mahmoud and Abdullah were to run a
race, the winner to receive a costly girdle of rich embroidery, finished
with a clasp set with gems. Great was the interest, and on the day
appointed crowds assembled to see the race, gathering long before the
competitors appeared.
What a motley group there was! Camels with their riders, stylish
carriages with pretty French children, rosy-cheeked English girls,
Italian singers, American officers and tourists, English lords, wild
desert Arabs, swarthy-faced fellaheen, pistachio and pea-nut dealers,
donkey-boys, beggars, and peddlers. A Turkish band played a quick
reveille. Here they come! The crowd cheers--the signal is given--they
are off! The general sympathy is with Mahmoud, but Abdullah is a strong
fellow, of tremendous muscle, more experience, and mighty will, so that
little Mahmoud has a rival of no mean powers.
Every eye is fixed upon those two figures, side by side, leaping onward
in graceful bounds. Forward they fly, past the cotton field, around the
curved path; but look!-- Abdullah is ahead; Mahmoud seems far behind.
The band plays quicker. Abdullah is flying; he will win; he-- But no;
Mahmoud is gaining; he nears his rival. Abdullah sees and strains every
nerve, but in vain. Mahmoud swings his light wand over his head, and
shoots by like an arrow. It is over; the goal is reached. Mahmoud has
won, and amid the loud cheers of the crowd the Pasha descends from his
carriage, and places the glittering sash around the victor's waist.
Abdullah approaches, gives his successful rival a hearty salam, which
awakens fresh applause. Somebody scatters a shower of gold coins over
them, and the crowd disperses.
[_By special arrangement with the author, the cards contributed to this
useful series, by W. J. ROLFE, A.M., formerly Head-Master of the
Cambridge High School, will, for the present, first appear in HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE._]
CAMBRIDGE SERIES
OF
INFORMATION CARDS FOR SCHOOLS.
The English Language.
BY
W. J. ROLFE, A.M.
The inscription on the Soldiers' Monument in Boston, written by the
President of Harvard College, has been much admired. It reads thus:
TO THE MEN OF BOSTON
WHO DIED FOR THEIR COUNTRY
ON LAND AND SEA IN THE WAR
WHICH KEPT THE UNION WHOLE
DESTROYED SLAVERY
AND MAINTAINED THE CONSTITUTION
THE GRATEFUL CITY
HAS BUILT THIS MONUMENT
THAT THEIR EXAMPLE MAY SPEAK
TO COMING GENERATIONS
What is to be said is here said in the simplest way. There is no waste
of words, no attempt at display. It is a model of good English, brief,
clear, and strong. If a school-boy had written it, he would have thought
it a fine chance for using big words. He would have said, "The citizens
of Boston who sacrificed their lives," not "the men who died"; and
"preserved the integrity of the Union," not "kept the Union whole"; and
"erected," not "built." And some men who have written much in newspapers
and books would have made the same mistake of choosing long words where
short ones give the sense as well or better.
A great preacher once said that he made it a rule never to use a word of
three or two syllables when a word of two syllables or one syllable
would convey the thought as well; and the rule is a good one. In reading
we want to get at the sense through the words; and the less power the
mind has to spend on the words, the more it has left for the thought
that lies behind them. Here the simple words that we have known and used
from childhood are the ones that hinder us least. We see through them at
once, and the thought is ours with the least possible labor.
Those who urge the use of simple English often lay stress on choosing
"Saxon" rather than "Classical" words, and it is well to know what this
means.
The English is a mixed language, made up from various sources. Its
history is the history of the English race, and the main facts are
these:
Britain was first peopled, so far as we know, by men of the Celtic (or
Keltic) race, of which the native Irish are types. The names of the
rivers, mountains, and other natural features of the land are mostly
Celtic, just as in this country they are mostly Indian. About fifty
years before the Christian era the Romans conquered Britain, and held it
for about 500 years. They brought in the Latin language; but few traces
of it now remain except in the names of certain towns and cities. The
mass of the people kept their old Celtic tongue. Between the years 450
and 550 A.D. Britain was invaded and conquered by German tribes, chiefly
Angles and Saxons. It now became _Angleland_, or _England_; and the
language became what is called _Anglo-Saxon_, except in the mountains of
Wales and of Scotland, where Celtic is found to this day. In the ninth
and tenth centuries the Danes invaded England, and ruled it for a time,
but they caused no great change in the language. In the year 1066 the
Norman Conquest took place, and William the Conqueror became King of
England. Large numbers of the Norman French came with him, and French
became the language of the court and of the nobility. By degrees our
English language grew out of the blending of the Anglo-Saxon of the
common people and the Norman French of their new rulers, the former
furnishing most of the _grammar_, the latter supplying many of the
_words_. Now the French was of Latin origin, and the English thus got an
important Latin or "Classical" element, which has since been increased
by the adding of many Greek and Latin words, especially scientific and
technical terms.
The two great events in the history of the English language, as of the
English people, are the Saxon and the Norman conquests. To the former it
owes its grammatical frame-work, or skeleton; to the latter much of its
vocabulary, or the flesh that fills out the living body.