[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 37. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, July 13, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SETTING THE CRAB NET.--DRAWN BY C. S. REINHART.]
A CRABBING ADVENTURE.
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.
There were George and Bert, Sarah and the baby.
"And you and I have pretty good appetites, Bert," George would say,
whenever the Fieldens' finances were discussed, which, since the
father's death, had been pretty often.
"If we could only have staid on in the house in Fayetville! The garden
was getting along so nicely, and now to think all the fruit and
vegetables will be picked and sold or eaten by somebody else!" and Sarah
sighed, as she thought of the spring budding and blossoming in which she
had taken such an interest.
"But why can't we live off the river in place of the garden?" asked
George. "The boys down at the dock say they can make lots of money
selling soft crabs. They get from sixty to seventy-five cents a dozen,
and, oh, mother, if Bert and me could only have a net and a boat and a
crab car, and roll up our pants like Nat Springer, we'd just bring you
so much money that you needn't hardly sew at all!" and in his enthusiasm
George's eyes sparkled, and he ruthlessly trampled upon every rule of
grammar he had ever learned.
At first Mrs. Fielden was inclined to discourage the young would-be
fishermen, she having a perfect terror of their both being swallowed up
by the river, as if it were some beast of prey. But she was finally
prevailed upon to give her consent. A second-hand boat was purchased at
a trifling price from Captain Sam, an old sailor, who had taken a great
fancy to the boys, and he gave them a net, which he showed them how to
use.
Thus fitted out, the boys would anchor near the shore a short distance
below the village, roll up their trousers above their knees, and then
stepping overboard, each take hold of an end of the net, and, keeping
quiet as mice, wait until a crab came sailing up or down with the tide,
when they would scoop him up, and shout "Hurrah!" if it proved to be a
soft shell, and "Oh, pshaw!" if it was hard. However, in the latter
case, it was not thrown away, but shaken off into the boat's locker, to
be transferred to the car and left to "shed."
They did not at once make their fortune, for although they might have
good "catches," that did not always insure a ready market; but as the
warmer weather came on, and the village began to fill up with people
from the city, the boys procured two or three regular customers, who did
not grudge the fair prices paid for the "little-boy lobsters," as Bert
called them.
Captain Sam stood firm friend and adviser to them from the first, and
when some of the other crabbers were inclined to find fault with what
they termed the injury done their business, he did his best to make
peace, saying the river was big enough for all.
But one very hot afternoon, George and Bert came down to the shore
looking rather blue, for the day previous some of the other village boys
had repaired in a body to where the two were anchored, and made such a
splashing about as to frighten all the crabs away.
"I think it's an awful shame," muttered George, as he pushed off. "This
is a free country, and I don't see why we haven't as good a right to
make money out of the river as Teddy Lee or Nat Springer. They--"
"Hold on a minute, George!" cried Bert, as his brother, with one knee on
the bow, was about to send the _Sarah_ into deep water with the other
foot. "Here comes Captain Sam. Let's tell him about it; maybe he'll know
what we ought to do;" and so they waited till the good-natured old man
came up.
But there was no need to tell him anything, for he had already heard of
the new outbreak on the part of the village boys, and now appeared with
a suggestion, by acting on which hostilities might in the future be
avoided.
"I'm real sorry, boys," he began, as he took his seat on the side of his
own boat, which was drawn up close beside the _Sarah_. "I'm real sorry
as how these Yorking youngsters don't treat you no better. They only
hurt theirselves by it, they do," and Sam spoke with unusual emphasis,
at the same time polishing up the glass of his "jack-light" with an
energy that threatened to break the panes. "But now I'll tell you what
tack I think you'd better take, an' thet right off, fer the tide's 'most
out a'ready. Jist you row across nigh to the other side o' the river,
drop yer anchor on the flat right opposite thet little sort o' bay
yonder, and then put down yer net to good business. D'ye understand whar
I mean, lads?" and the Captain pointed with his long, water-shrivelled
forefinger, adding, "It seems purty far to go, but it'll pay when you
git thar--it'll pay;" and leaning forward, Sam gave the _Sarah_ a shove
that sent her clear of the shore, out into the centre of the cove which
served as the harbor for all the fishing-boats in Yorking.
With their hearts considerably lightened by their friend's sympathy and
advice, the two Fielden boys lost no time in following his instructions,
and each taking an oar, they were soon spinning straight across the
river at a speed that in ten minutes or so brought them to the flat.
Here the anchor was dropped over the side, and the boys got out in the
shallow water.
The net was quickly put in place, and Captain Sam's predictions amply
verified, for the outgoing tide brought down quantities of soft shells
and "shedders," to say nothing of hard crabs. It was fortunate Bert had
the car with him, for he was always seeing "such splendid fellows" just
a little further up, that the _Sarah_ was soon left quite a distance
behind, the lads being not only much interested in their success, but
also in the exploration of the flat, which appeared to be long and
narrow, with deep channels on every side.
Absorbed in the water at their feet, the boys failed to notice the
change that was taking place in the sky overhead, and the first
intimation they had of the storm that had been brewing all the afternoon
was a terrific squall, which struck them with a suddenness that almost
took away their breath.
"Make for the boat, Bert," shouted George, the next instant; and the two
splashed their way through the now wave-capped waters with all possible
speed.
But what was their horror, when they had almost reached the _Sarah_, to
see the latter break away from her anchorage, and drift swiftly down
stream with the gale!
The rope had parted, and they were left helpless on the flats.
"Oh, George, what shall we do?" almost sobbed Bert, for he was only ten,
and the wind, and rain, and seething floods around him raged most
furiously.
George was frightened too, but remembering his twelve years, he tried to
look confident and hopeful, as he pointed out the fact that some one
would surely come after them.
"But--but won't the tide come in before then?" queried Bert, his voice
trembling still, and his cheeks all wet with rain. "I think I feel it a
little higher now."
"It's only the waves makes that," returned George, soothingly, although
the same horrible possibility had just presented itself to him.
The storm, however, did not last long; but with the going down of the
wind, the tide began to come in faster, and Bert stood on his toes, and
then sank the crab car, and stood on that. It was a good mile across the
river to Yorking--too far to permit of any signals being seen there--and
the nearer shore was quite wild, the woods extending down almost to the
water's edge.
And still the tide came rushing in; and then the sun went down, and Bert
began to cry in earnest, for he was both cold and hungry, besides
feeling it a decidedly unpleasant sensation to have the water creep up
little by little toward his neck.
"Why don't Captain Sam come after us?" he sobbed, hiding his face on
George's coat sleeve.
"Perhaps he will; but, you see, he don't know we've lost our boat; so
we'll just have to wait long enough for them to get worried about us at
home."
George spoke bravely, but his heart beat very hard and fast, for now the
water had reached above where his trousers were rolled, while Bert, who
was almost a head shorter, was wet to the waist.
And so the minutes passed by as if they were hours, with the tide
creeping up around the lads higher, higher, till just as Bert's
shoulders were about to disappear into its cold embrace, George
exclaimed:
"A light! a light! Look, Bert, it's coming this way!"
And now both boys strained their eyes to see if they might hope, and
then cried out with all their might.
Nearer and nearer came the welcome beacon, casting a shining pathway
before it over the waters, and soon answering shouts were echoed back,
and a girl's voice rang out, "George! Bertie!" and the next moment
Captain Sam's boat shot into view, with the "jack-light" on the bow, and
Sarah sitting pale and anxious in the stern.
Tenderly Sam's strong arms lifted the two shivering lads on board, and
their sister fell to weeping and laughing over them in the most
confusing fashion.
On the way back George told the story of their captivity on the flats,
and the Captain explained that soon after they had left him in the
afternoon he had gone to Fayetville to see his daughter, not getting
back till after supper, when he found Sarah rushing up and down the
shore in a most distracted state of mind.
"But we've got lots of crabs," put in Bert, from his seat on the car,
which he had guarded safely through it all. "And George was real brave,
too. He didn't cry once."
"We've lost our boat, though, I'm afraid," returned his brother, anxious
to change the conversation.
"Oh, I guess we'll find her somewheres 'long shore to-morrow," replied
Sam; and they did, and afterward took good care not to practice false
economy by having an old worn-out rope to their anchor.
The next day the lads' adventure was known all over Yorking, and in
future the other crabbers treated them in quite a respectful manner,
evidently thinking that now the Fielden boys had really earned the right
to follow the business.
EDDIE'S LANTERNS.
BY ALBERT H. HARDY.
Eddie loves to watch the fire-flies
As the summer evenings pass,
Flashing like a shower of diamonds
In and out the meadow-grass.
"What are all the lights?" I ask him.
"Gracious! papa, don't you know?
God has sent these little lanterns,
So the plants can see to grow."
EASY BOTANY.
JULY.
June, with its rounded freshness unsullied by a faded leaf, its wood
paths gay with flowers, its glorious sunsets and sunrises, its
_perfection_ of beauty and sweetness--June has passed along to make room
for the fervid July. This midsummer month has its charms, and can show a
fair array of bright blossoms, the yellows becoming more prevalent, and
all the colors deepening as the heat grows more intense. The delicate
spring flowers are succeeded by a stouter and somewhat coarser display.
The species of veratrum, or false hellebore, which is now to be seen in
New England swamps and pastures, is a very striking plant; it has long
leaves, strongly veined and most beautifully plaited, with numerous
racemes of green flowers, forming a large terminal pyramid. The Indiana
veratrum, found in deep woods at the West and South, is a tall plant,
five or six feet high, with very large leaves, and has a kind of unholy
look, the flowers almost black, with red stamens.
This is the month for hosts of wild peas and vetches: the purple vetch
in New England thickets; the everlasting-pea on Vermont hill-sides; the
pink beach-pea and marsh-pea on New Jersey coasts and Western lake
shores: the pale purple myrtle-pea climbing over banks by New England
road-sides; the blue butterfly-pea, two inches broad, very showy, and
found in woods and fields of New York and Pennsylvania. These are all
graceful and pretty.
On Western prairies blossoms the deep pink prairie rose, the only native
climbing rose of the States, and on rocky banks in Pennsylvania woods
may be found the beautiful wild hydrangea flowers, silvery white or
rose-color. Let the young flower-seeker not fail to look for the
interesting parnassia, or grass of Parnassus, so named by the learned
Dioscodorus more than eighteen hundred years ago, who found it growing
on Mount Parnassus. One species of this little plant is abundant in damp
fields in Eastern Connecticut and in the Middle and Southern States. The
leaves are round and firm, the flower star-shaped, white, and streaked
with fine green lines.
By ponds and in damp thickets in Connecticut and New Jersey may be found
the showy rhexia, or meadow-beauty, the petals bright reddish-purple,
with crooked stamens brilliant yellow, and captivating seed-vessels
shaped like little antique vases. Several species of the singular orchis
tribe are in bloom during this month. As a general thing, these
remarkable plants delight in cold, damp, boggy, muddy pastures, and old
dark woods and thickets.
The flowers are beautiful, and several are fragrant; the colors white,
yellow, and shades of purple, and one, the fragrant purple-fringed
orchis, is as perfect and beautiful as can be imagined, and well repays
the tramp through damp woods. So also does the superb white
lady's-slipper, found in the same localities, and contrasting finely
with the dark, shaded places it loves, the large white blossoms, with
purple or red lines, two or three on a stalk. In shallow pools and wet
places the white arrow-head is plentiful; and the whiter wild calla,
really handsomer than its majestic relative the cultivated calla, and
the brilliant cardinal-flower gleam out beside the water-courses.
WILD FLOWERS OF JULY.
COMMON NAME. COLOR. LOCALITY, ETC.
Aconite, wolf's-bane Purple, poison Dry rocky places; Pennsylvania.
Agrimony Soft yellow Open woods; New Jersey.
Archangelica White Dry open woods; Middle States.
Beach-pea Purple, large Sea-coast; New Jersey.
Black snakeroot White racemes Deep woods; Maine, West.
Butterfly-pea Violet, large Sandy woods; Maryland,
Virginia.
Button-ball White Wet places. Common.
Callirhoe Red-purple Dry fields, prairies; Illinois.
Cardinal-flower Intense red Wet places. Common.
Coral-berry Pink Dry fields and banks. Middle
States.
Deptford pink Rose-color,
white spots Dry soil; Mass. to Virginia.
Evening primrose Pale yellow Sandy soil. Common.
Everlasting-pea Yellowish-white Hill-sides; Vermont, Mass.
Fringed orchis Purple Dark woods; New England.
Fumitory Rose-color,
nodding Sandy fields; New Jersey.
Ginseng White Cool, rich woods. Rare.
Glade mallow White Limestone valleys;
Pennsylvania.
Grass of Parnassus Wh., green
lines Damp meadows; Connecticut.
Hardhack Rose-color Damp meadows; New England.
Hedysarum Purple Vermont, Maine.
Hercules's club Greenish-white River-banks; Middle States.
Indiana dragon-root Black and red,
poison Damp woods; West.
Indian physic White, pink Rich woods; Pa., New York.
Lady's-slipper White, red
lines Deep, boggy woods; New England.
Lead-plant Violet Crevices of rocks; Michigan.
Marsh-pea Blue, purple Moist places; New England.
Meadow-beauty Bright purple Borders of ponds; Conn., N. J.
Meadow-sweet White, pink Wet, low grounds; New England.
Moss-campion Purple, white White Mountains.
Myrtle-pea Pale purple Climbing; New England thickets.
New Jersey tea White clusters Dry woodlands; Middle States.
Nondo, lovage Wh., aromatic Rich woods; Virginia.
Passion-flower Green'h-yellow Damp thickets; Pa., Illinois.
Pencil-flower Yellow New Jersey; pine-barrens.
Poison-hemlock White, poison Waste, wet places. Common.
Prairie rose Deep pink Climbing; prairies West.
Prickly poppy Showy yellow Open woods; South and West.
Rattle-box Yellow Sandy soil; New Jersey.
Royal catchfly Deep scarlet Western prairies.
Sea-rocket Purplish New England coast and West.
Slender sundew White Shores of Western lakes.
Snow-berry White Rocky banks; Vermont to Pa.
Spikenard White Rich woodlands; New England.
St. Andrew's cross Yellow, stamens
crossing New Jersey; Illinois.
St. John's wort Yellow, large River-banks; New England.
Stone-crop Yellow Rocky road-sides. Common.
St. Peter's wort Light yellow Pine-barrens of New Jersey.
Touch-me-not Pale yellow Moist banks. Common.
Veratrum (false
hellebore) Purple, poison Swamps; New England.
Vetch Blue, purple Thickets; New England.
Western wall-flower Orange-yellow Limestone cliffs; West.
Wild calla White Wet places. Common.
Wild hydrangea Purple, white Rocky banks; Pennsylvania.
Wild larkspur Purple, blue Rich woods; Pa., New York.
Wild licorice Dull purple Damp woods. Common.
Wild senna Yellow Damp soil; Middle States.
Wolf-berry White, pink West and South.
THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.
BY BENSON J. LOSSING.
CHAPTER I.
"You have no right to tax us without our consent," said the
English-American colonists to the British Parliament more than a hundred
years ago. "The Great Charter of England forbids it."
"We have the right to control you in all cases whatsoever," answered the
Parliament.
"Taxation without representation is tyranny, and we will not submit to
it," the colonists declared. A mighty quarrel then began, which lasted
ten years, and ended in blows. The colonists thought with Cromwell that
"rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God."
The Parliament levied a stamp tax, but could not enforce it. A tax on
tea was laid, when the patriotic women of America ceased drinking tea,
while the men resolved that not a pound of the plant should be landed on
our shores until the tax should be taken off. Nevertheless, tea ships
came to Boston, when the citizens cast their cargoes into the waters of
the harbor.
That tea party made the British government very angry. The King called
his American subjects "rebels," and proceeded to punish the people of
Boston. All the colonists stood by them. British troops were sent to
make the Americans obedient vassals instead of loving subjects. The
representatives of the colonists all over the land met in a General
Congress at Philadelphia. That was in 1774. In that Congress Patrick
Henry, of Virginia, said, "We must fight." At the same time Joseph
Hawley, of Massachusetts, said in the Provincial Congress, "We must
fight." The patriotic people everywhere, with compressed lips and
valorous hearts, said, "We must fight."
Faint-hearted men and women shook their heads, and said: "Be prudent.
You know Great Britain has scores of ships of war, and we have not one;
how can we hope to win in such a contest?"
Stout-hearted men and women replied, "We will buy or build ships, make
warriors of them, man them with hardy New England fishermen, and with
the faith of little David meet the Goliath of England, trusting in the
Lord, who will defend the right."
And the people said, "Amen."
The Congress appointed a "Marine Committee"--a sort of distributed
Secretary of the Navy. They ordered more than a dozen war vessels to be
built. Officers were appointed, crews were gathered, and Esek Hopkins, a
seaman of Rhode Island, then almost sixty years of age, was made
Commodore and Commander-in-chief of the Continental Navy. This was the
germ of the United States Navy.
Early in 1776 Hopkins sailed from the Delaware to the Bahama Islands,
with four ships and three sloops. At New Providence he captured the
forts, nearly one hundred cannon, and a large quantity of ammunition and
stores. On his return he fought several British vessels, captured two,
and took his little squadron safely into the harbor of New London,
Connecticut. Not doing so well as the Congress desired, he was soon
afterward relieved of command, and no successor was appointed.
John Paul Jones, a little Scotchman less than thirty years of age, was
one of the most active officers of this Continental Navy, and became the
most conspicuous marine hero of the old war for independence. He was the
first who raised an American flag over an American vessel of war, in
December, 1775; and in various ships he gained such great renown that
after the war he received special honors from the French monarch, became
Vice-Admiral in the Russian navy, and when he died, the government of
France decreed him a public funeral.
There were other Americans at that time who became naval heroes only a
little less famous than Jones. There was John Manly, the veteran sailor
of Marblehead, whom Washington appointed Captain when he fitted out some
privateers at Boston before a navy was created. While the Congress were
talking about a navy, Manly was cruising off the coast of Massachusetts
in the armed schooner _Lee_, keenly watching for British vessels laden
with military supplies for the army in Boston. He captured three of them
laden with arms and munitions of war, then much needed by the patriots
who were besieging the New England capital.
There was young Nicholas Biddle, who had served with Nelson in the Royal
Navy, and who accompanied Hopkins to the Bahamas. He did gallant service
as commander of the _Randolph_, until she was blown up in battle, when
Biddle and all his men perished.
[Illustration: FRANKLIN ON HIS WAY TO FRANCE.--DRAWN BY HOWARD PYLE.]
There was Captain Wilkes, with the little _Reprisal_, of sixteen guns,
who frightened all England by his daring exploits. After fighting
British armed vessels, and taking several prizes in the West Indies, he
took Dr. Franklin, the representative of the Congress, to France. Then
he cruised in the Bay of Biscay, captured a number of English
merchantmen, and with the _Reprisal_ and two or three other small
vessels, sailed entirely around Ireland, sweeping the Channel its whole
length, destroying a number of merchant vessels, and creating great
alarm in all the British ports. Poor Wilkes perished soon afterward with
all his crew when his ship was wrecked on the rocks of Newfoundland.
New England privateers were very busy and successful, capturing no less
than thirty vessels laden with supplies for the British army in Boston.
Among the most active of these was a little Connecticut cruiser of
fourteen guns, named the _Defense_. She took prize after prize; and on a
starry night in June, 1776, she, with some other small vessels, fought
and conquered two British transports near Boston, laden with two hundred
soldiers and a large quantity of stores. By midsummer (1776), American
cruisers had captured more than five hundred British soldiers.
Captain Whipple, a bold Rhode-Islander, who, when a British naval
commander threatened by letter to hang him "to the yard-arm" for an
offense against the majesty of Great Britain, replied, "Catch a man
before you hang him," was in command of the Continental vessel _Doria_.
He was so successful off the coasts of New England, that when, he
returned to the Delaware his prizes were so numerous, that, after
manning them, he had only five of his original crew left on board the
_Doria_.
The gallant Jones meanwhile had swept the seas along the coasts of Nova
Scotia, and sailed into Newport Harbor with fifteen prizes. After
resting on his laurels awhile, he was again on the Acadian coast late in
1776, where he captured a large British transport laden with supplies
for Burgoyne's army in Canada. By this time cruisers sent out by
Congress and privateers were harrying British shipping in all
directions.
Dr. Franklin carried with him to France a number of blank commissions
for army and navy officers, signed by the President and Secretary of
Congress. These Franklin and the other Commissioners filled and signed,
and under this authority cruisers sailed from French ports to attack
British vessels. It must be remembered that France at that time, in
order to injure her old enemy, England, was giving secret aid to the
Americans in revolt.
How active and how harmful to the British marine were some of the
cruisers commissioned by Franklin and his associates, and sent out from
French ports, we shall observe presently.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31, June 1.]
THE MORAL PIRATES.
BY W. L. ALDEN.
CHAPTER VII.
The sun was getting to be rather too hot for boating, when the boys saw
the half-sunken wreck of a canal-boat close to the west shore, where
there was a nice shady grove. They immediately crossed the river, and,
landing near the wreck, began to get their fishing-tackle in order.
As there were only two poles, one of which belonged to Harry and the
other to Tom, the two Sharpe boys were obliged either to cut poles for
themselves, or to watch the others while they fished. Jim cut a pole for
himself, but Joe preferred to lie on the bank. "I don't care to fish,
anyhow," he said. "I'll agree to eat twice as much fish as anybody else,
if I can be excused from fishing."
"If you don't want to fish, you'd better hunt bait for us," said Tom.
"I never thought about bait," exclaimed Harry. "How are we going to dig
for worms without a spade?"
"Who wants any worms?" replied Tom. "Grasshoppers are the thing; and the
field just back of here is full of them. Come, Joe, catch us some
grasshoppers, won't you?"
"How many do you want?" asked Joe. "I don't want to waste good
grasshoppers on fellows who won't use them. Let's see: suppose I get you
ten grasshoppers apiece. Will that do?"
"Are you getting lazy, Joe?" said Tom, "or are you sick? A fellow who
don't want to fish must have something wrong in his insides. Harry,
you'd better give him some medicine."
"Oh, I'm all right," replied Joe. "I'm a little sleepy to-day, but I'll
get your grasshoppers."
Joe took an empty tin can and went in search of grasshoppers, while the
rest were getting their hooks and lines ready. In a short time he
returned, and handed the can to Tom.
"There's just thirty-one grasshoppers in that can," said he. "I threw in
one for good measure. Now go ahead and fish, and I'll have a nap." So
saying, he stretched himself on the ground, and the other boys began to
fish.
[Illustration: AN UNEXPECTED CATCH.--DRAWN BY A. B. FROST.]
There were quantities of perch near the old canal-boat, and they bit
ravenously at the grasshoppers. It took only about a quarter of an hour
to catch nearly three dozen fish. These were more than the boys could
possibly eat; and Tom was just going to remark that they had better stop
fishing, when they were startled by a loud cry from Joe. Harry, in
swinging his line over his head so as to cast out a long way into the
river, had succeeded in hooking Joe in the right ear.
Of course Harry was extremely sorry, and he said so several times; but,
as Joe pointed out, "talk won't pull a hook out of a fellow's ear." The
barb made it impracticable to draw the hook out, and it was quite
impossible that Joe should enjoy the cruise with a fish-hook in his ear.
Jim said that the hook must be cut out; but Joe objected to having his
ear cut to pieces with a dull jack-knife.
In this emergency, Tom proposed to break off the shank of the hook, and
then to push the remainder of it through the ear. It was no easy matter,
however, to break the steel. Every time the hook was touched Joe winced
with pain; but finally Tom managed to break the shank with the aid of
the pair of pliers that formed part of the stores. The hook was then
gently and firmly pressed through the ear, and carefully drawn out.
"I knew," said Tom, "that something must be wrong when Joe said he
didn't want to fish. This ought to be a warning to him."
"It's a warning to me," said Harry, "not to throw my line all over the
State of New York."
"Oh, it's all right now," said Joe. "Only the next time I go cruising
with Harry, I'm going to take a pair of cutting pincers to cut off the
shanks of fish-hooks after he gets through fishing. We'd better get a
pair at Hudson, anyhow, or else we'll all be stuck full of hooks, if
Harry does any more fishing."
Harry was so humbled by the result of his carelessness that he offered,
by way of penance, to clean and cook the fish. When this was done, and
the fish were served up smoking hot, they were so good that Joe forgot
his damaged ear, and Harry recovered his spirits. After a course of fish
and bread, a can of peaches was opened for dessert, and then followed a
good long rest. By three o'clock the heat began to lessen, and the
_Whitewing_ started on her way with a better breeze than she had yet
been favored with.
The boat travelled swiftly, and the breeze gradually freshened. The
whitecaps were beginning to make their appearance on the river before it
occurred to the boys that they must cross over to the east shore, in
order to camp where they could find shade while getting breakfast the
next morning. It had been one of Uncle John's most earnest bits of
advice that they should always have shade in the morning. "Nothing
spoils the temper," he had said, "like cooking under a bright sun; so
make sure that you keep in the shade until after breakfast." Harry felt
a little nervous about crossing the river in so fresh a breeze, since,
as the breeze blew from the south, the boat could not sail directly
across the river without bringing the sea on her beam. He did not
mention that he was nervous, however, and he showed excellent judgment
in crossing the river diagonally, so as to avoid exposing the broadside
of the boat to the waves, that by this time were unpleasantly high. The
east bank was thus reached without taking a drop of water into the boat,
and she was then kept on her course up the river, within a few rods of
the shore.
This was a wise precaution in one respect; for if the boat had capsized,
the boys could easily have swum ashore; but still it is always risky to
keep close to the shore, unless you know that there are no rocks or
snags in the way. Harry never thought of the danger of being shipwrecked
with the shore so close at hand, and was enjoying the cooling breeze and
the speed of the boat, when suddenly the _Whitewing_ brought up with a
crash that pitched everybody into the bottom of the boat. She had struck
a sunken rock, and the speed at which she was going was so great that
one of her planks was stove in. Before the boys could pick themselves
up, the water had rushed in, and was rising rapidly.
"Jump overboard everybody!" cried Harry. "She won't float with us in
her."
There was no time in which to pull off shirts and trousers, and the boys
plunged overboard without even taking their hats off. They then took
hold of the boat, two on each side of her, and swam toward the shore.
With so much water in her, the boat was tremendously heavy; but the boys
persevered, and finally reached shallow water, where they could wade and
drag her out on the sand.
"Here we are wet again!" exclaimed Jim. "The blankets are wet too this
time."
"Never mind," replied Tom; "it's not more than five o'clock, and we can
get them dry before night."
"We'll have to work pretty fast, then," said Harry. "Jim and Joe had
better build a big fire, and dry the things, while you and I empty the
boat; or I'll empty the boat, and you can pitch the tent. We'll have to
put off supper till we can make sure of a dry bed."
Harry took the things out of the boat one by one. Everything was wet
except the contents of the tin boxes, into which the water luckily had
not penetrated. As soon as the fire was built, Jim and Joe gave their
whole attention to drying the blankets and the spare clothing; and when
the boat was emptied, it was found that a hole nearly six inches long
and four inches wide had been made through one of the bottom planks.
Harry and Tom set to work to mend it. They took a piece of canvas--which
had luckily been kept in one of the tin boxes, and was quite dry--and
tacked it neatly over the outside of the hole.
They next covered the canvas with a thin coating of white lead, except
at the edges, where the white lead was laid on very thickly. Over the
canvas the piece of zinc that had been brought for just such a purpose
was carefully tacked, and then thin strips of wood were placed over the
edges of the tin, and screwed down tightly with screws that went through
the zinc, but not through the canvas. Finally, white lead was put all
around the outer edge of the zinc, and the boat was then left
bottom-side up on the sand, so that the white lead could harden by
exposure to the air.
Nobody cared to go for milk in wet clothes; and so, when the boat was
mended, the boys all sat around the fire to dry themselves, and made a
supper of crackers. What with the heat and the wind, it was not very
long before their clothes and blankets were thoroughly dried, and they
could look forward to a comfortable night. The tent was pitched where no
steamboat swell could possibly touch it, and the boat was apparently out
of reach of the tide. It was very early when the boys "turned in," and
for the first time in the cruise they slept peacefully all night.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE MANGOSTEEN.
FROM ADVANCE SHEETS OF "THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE FAR EAST." PART
SECOND. BY THOMAS W. KNOX.
During their stay upon the island of Java, Dr. Bronson and his young
travelling companions took a trip on a railway from Batavia to
Buitenzorg, in order that they might learn something of the interior of
the island. While on this trip the boys observed, among other things,
that the trees in some instances grew quite close to the track. Doctor
Bronson explained to them that in the tropics it was no small matter to
keep a railway line clear of trees and vines, and sometimes the vines
would grow over the track in a single night. It was necessary to keep
men at work along the track to cut away the vegetation where it
threatened to interfere with the trains, and in the rainy season the
force of men was sometimes doubled. "There is one good effect," said he,
"of this luxuriant growth. The roots of the vines and trees become
interlaced in the embankment on which the road is built, and prevent its
being washed away by heavy rains. So you see there is, after all, a
saving in keeping the railway in repair."
At several of the stations the natives offered fruit of different kinds,
and nearly all new to our young friends. They had been told that they
would probably find the mangosteen for sale along the road; they had
inquired for it in Singapore, but it was not in season there, and now
their thoughts were bent upon discovering it between Batavia and
Buitenzorg. Two or three times they were disappointed when they asked
for it; but finally, at one of the stations, when Fred pronounced the
word "mangosteen," a native held up a bunch of fruit, and nodded. The
Doctor looked at the bunch, and nodded likewise, and Fred speedily paid
for the prize.
Perhaps we had best let Fred tell the story of the mangosteen, which he
did in his first letter from Buitenzorg:
"We have found the prince of fruits, and its name is mangosteen. It is
about the size of a pippin apple, and of a purple color--a very dark
purple, too. The husk, or rind, is about half an inch thick, and
contains a bitter juice, which is used in the preparation of dye; it
stains the fingers like aniline ink, and is not easy to wash off. Nature
has wisely provided this protection for the fruit; if it had no more
covering than the ordinary skin of an apple, the birds would eat it all
up as soon as it was ripe. If I were a bird, and had a bill that would
open the mangosteen, I would eat nothing else as long as I could get at
it.
"You cut this husk with a sharp knife right across the centre, and then
you open it in two parts. Out comes a lump of pulp as white as snow, and
about the size of a small peach. It is divided into sections, like the
interior of an orange, and there is a sort of star on the outside that
tells you, before you cut the husk, exactly how many of these sections
there are. Having got at the pulp, you proceed to take the lump into
your mouth, and eat it; and you will be too busy for the next quarter of
a minute to say anything.
"Hip! hip! hurrah! It melts away in your mouth like an overripe peach or
strawberry; it has a taste that is slightly acid--very slightly,
too--but you can no more describe all the flavor of it than you can
describe how a canary sings, or a violet smells. There is no other fruit
I ever tasted that begins to compare with it, though I hesitate to admit
that there is anything to surpass our American strawberry in its
perfection, or the American peach. If you could get all the flavors of
our best fruits in one, and then give that one the 'meltingness' of the
mangosteen, perhaps you might equal it; but till you can do so, there is
no use denying that the tropics have the prince of fruits.
"Everybody tells us we can eat all the mangosteens we wish to, without
the slightest fear of ill results. Perhaps one might get weary of them
in time, but at present we are unable to find enough of them. If
anything would reconcile me to a permanent residence in the tropics, it
would be the hope of always having plenty of mangosteens at my command.
"You may think," Fred added, "that I have taken a good deal of space for
describing this fruit, but I assure you I have not occupied half what it
deserves. And if you were here, you would agree with me, and be willing
to give it all the space at your command--in and beyond your mouth. But
be careful and have it fully ripe: green mangosteens are apt to produce
colic, as Frank can tell you of his own knowledge."
ROBINSON CRUSOE'S ISLAND.
The island of Juan Fernandez has always been said to be the island on
which Robinson Crusoe was cast away. Nothing can be further from the
truth. Crusoe never saw Juan Fernandez, and, so far as we know, never
once so much as thought of casting himself away there.
No man has ever charged Robinson Crusoe with not telling the truth. He
may have had his faults--and he certainly did show very little judgment
when he built his first boat so far from the shore that he could not
possibly launch it--but he always told the truth. We ought therefore to
believe what he says about the situation of his island. He informs me
that, having sailed from Brazil on a voyage to the coast of Guinea, he
was driven northward by stormy weather, and was finally wrecked
somewhere between the mouth of the river Orinoco and the Caribbean or
West India islands. Now the island of Juan Fernandez is in the Pacific
Ocean, about three hundred and sixty miles southwest of Valparaiso. To
suppose that Crusoe was wrecked on Juan Fernandez, while on his way from
Brazil to Guinea, is like saying that a ship on her way from New York to
Liverpool was wrecked on one of the Sandwich Islands. Such a story would
be perfectly absurd. However, when we have Crusoe's word that he was
cast away near the mouth of the Orinoco, there is an end of the matter.
He probably could not have told a lie if he had tried to.
In the year 1704 an English vessel called the _Cinque Ports_ came to
Juan Fernandez. One of her officers, Alexander Selkirk by name, had
quarrelled with the Captain, and he said he would much rather stay on
this island than sail any longer on board the _Cinque Ports_. The
Captain was glad to get rid of him, and therefore sailed away, and left
him behind. What Selkirk and the Captain had quarrelled about has never
been certainly known, but when we reflect that Selkirk was a Scotchman,
we can understand that very likely he was unwilling to practice piracy
on Sunday, while the captain insisted that any day was a fit day on
which to rob a Spanish ship. This would have led to a quarrel, and very
possibly was the precise cause of the quarrel which resulted in Selkirk
leaving the ship at Juan Fernandez. It is true that the _Cinque Ports_
was called a buccaneer, instead of a pirate, but no man can see the
difference between buccaneering and piracy without the help of a
large-sized compound microscope.
Selkirk remained all alone on the island for four years and four months,
when another English vessel took him off. When he reached home, he wrote
an account of his adventures, and very stupid people have since claimed
that Daniel Defoe, the author of the story of Crusoe's adventures, had
read Selkirk's book, and that it suggested to him the idea of inventing
Robinson Crusoe. To suppose that so great a man as Defoe could not write
a book without stealing his ideas from Alexander Selkirk is ridiculous.
Selkirk and Crusoe were as unlike as two men could well be. The only
resemblance between them was that both had lived alone on unfrequented
islands, as many other unfortunate men have done before and since.
We thus see how it came to pass that people have mixed up Selkirk's
island with Crusoe's island, and have finally convinced themselves that
Crusoe was wrecked on Juan Fernandez. Selkirk's island is firmly
believed by nearly everybody to have been Crusoe's island, though we
might just as well call it Smith's or Jones's island.
It must be admitted that Juan Fernandez is a beautiful island, with
every convenience that Crusoe could have wished for, except cannibals.
Selkirk, however, could do nothing with it. He did contrive to catch
goats by running after them until they were tired out, but he never
thought of taming them--fattening them on tomato cans--as Crusoe did. Of
course he never had a Man Friday, and he never built himself a canoe, or
periagua. In fact, he did very little that was creditable to him, and
there is only too much reason to believe that if he had seen a foot-step
on the sand, he would not have known that it was his duty to be terribly
frightened.
[Illustration]
Juan Fernandez is about sixteen miles long and five and a half miles
wide. The shore, especially on the northern side, is steep and rocky.
The interior is very picturesque, and contains several beautiful valleys
separated by high ridges. On the north side of the island is a very
steep mountain of lava, which is eight thousand feet high, the top of
which is said to be inaccessible. Part way up this mountain is the place
where Selkirk used to watch for passing vessels. In one of the valleys
there is a cave where Selkirk lived. It is thirty feet in length and
about twenty feet in breadth, with a ceiling of nearly twenty feet in
height. While it is a fair substantial cave, it can not be compared for
a moment with the cave which Crusoe had on his own island, and which he
enlarged with so much perseverance.
[Illustration]
The island belongs to Chili, and more than a hundred years ago the
Chilian government sent convicts to Juan Fernandez as a punishment. A
fort was built, which has now crumbled away, and cells were dug in the
solid rock on the side of a hill, and the convicts were locked up in
them every night. The convicts, not liking their treatment, rebelled,
killed their guards, and seizing on a vessel that had visited the
island, escaped to Peru. Since then Juan Fernandez, or Mas-a-tierra, as
the Chilians call it, has been inhabited by a few Chilian farmers, who
raise, with very little labor, food enough to live on. They also catch
fish, which they send to the mainland, and at certain seasons of the
year they kill large quantities of seals, which frequent a little rocky
island half a mile from Juan Fernandez. At the present time the island
is governed by a Mr. Rhode, who rents it from the Chilian government,
and proposes to raise quantities of cattle.
In 1868 the British man-of-war _Topaz_ touched at Juan Fernandez, and
her officers erected an iron tablet in honor of Selkirk. It bears the
following inscription:
In memory of Alexander Selkirk,
Mariner,
a native of Largo, in the County of Fife, Scotland,
who lived on this island in complete solitude for four years and four
months.
He was landed from the _Cinque Ports_ galley, 96 tons, 16 guns, A.D.
1704, and was taken off in the _Duke_ privateer, 12th February, 1709.
He died Lieutenant of H. M. S. _Weymouth_, A.D. 1722, aged 47 years.
This tablet is erected near Selkirk's Look-out by Commodore
Powell and the officers of H. M. S. _Topaz_, A.D. 1868.
As there is excellent water at Juan Fernandez, vessels occasionally
touch there to fill their casks, but it has no regular communication
with the rest of the world.
Of course Juan Fernandez will always continue to be called Robinson
Crusoe's island, though it is certain that Crusoe was never within
three or four thousand miles of it. As for the unbelieving people who
pretend that Robinson Crusoe never lived, nobody should listen to them
for a moment. There never was anybody more thoroughly real than Robinson
Crusoe. Selkirk was not half so real; and in comparison with the
shipwrecked mariner of Hull, Julius Cæsar was grossly improbable.
Crusoe's island undoubtedly exists somewhere "near the mouth of the
great river Orinoco."
PHILEMON'S CIRCUS.
BY MARY DENSEL.
"--together with fifes and drums. The gigantic procession, headed by the
stupendous gilded chariot, will move through the town at seven o'clock
A.M. precisely,'" ended Tom Tadgers, quoting from the handbills.
"Through _this_ town?" asked Philemon, much excited.
Tom Tadgers gave him a withering glance.
"Do you suppose that N. Ticeum and B. Phoolum's 'Great Moral Show,' with
'six tigers, five elephants, a giraffe, hippopot_a_mus, kangaroo,
in-nu-mer-a-ble monkeys, wild men of Borneo, living skeleton, educated
bull, and a ship of the desert,' would come to a mean little village
like this? Skowhegan's the town it's going to move through, and it will
pass Tucker's Corner at five o'clock to-morrow morning. So Silas Elder
says to me, 'You get into the back of my milk cart, Tadgers'" (Tommy
felt deeply the dignity of being "Tadgers"), "'and I'll give you a lift
as far as the Corner, Tadgers. Then you can follow the procession, and
go to the show at Skowhegan, Tadgers,' says he. Now, Philemon, how would
you like to come along too?"
"And Romeo Augustus with me?" questioned Philemon, eagerly.
Tadgers shook his head.
"Come by yourself, or not at all," said he, firmly. "What's more, you
must be on hand by four o'clock to-morrow morning."
How could Philemon wake at that early hour? It was his wont not only to
"sleep like a top all night," but also to "sleep at morn."
Tom, however, agreed to manage that. So when Philemon went to bed at
night, it was with one end of a piece of stout twine tied to his ankle,
while the other end hung out at the open window.
Neither Elias, John, nor Romeo Augustus, who shared his chamber, spied
the cord. Philemon waited till they were sound asleep before he arranged
it.
The sun had not begun to show his face above the horizon when there came
a brisk twitch on the twine. Philemon was broad awake in a twinkling,
and rolled out of bed to dance a one-footed ballet, by reason of a
series of jerks given to the cord by the sprightly Thomas below. It was
only after Philemon had knocked over two chairs and a cricket that he
managed to hop wildly to the window, and to call out in a hoarse
whisper, "You'll wake the whole house if you don't quit," that Tom
condescended to desist; and a few minutes later the two comrades were
climbing into the back of Silas Elder's cart, all ready to start for
"The Great Moral Show."
The cart was not spacious, and its springs were few and far between, as
Philemon's bones bore witness. He began, all at once, to wonder if it
might not have been _polite_ to have mentioned to his parents that he
intended to be absent the greater part of the day.
He recollected, with a pang, that it was his mother's custom to be
anxious when one of her six precious boys was long out of her sight.
Suddenly, "Look there! there! there!" shouted Tom Tadgers.
Sure enough; there--there--there, in the distance, was a caravan moving
slowly toward Tucker's Corner. It must be--it is N. Ticeum and B.
Phoolum's show.
Nearer and nearer it came. Tom and Philemon jumped out of the cart, that
they might be ready to join the "gigantic procession."
And now they were in its midst. To be sure, the glories of "the
stupendous gilded chariot" were shrouded by brown canvas; the monkeys,
tigers, and the hippopotamus were shut up in their cages; neither were
the giraffe and kangaroo visible as yet. But here were the elephants
marching majestically along; here was the educated bull, with a ring
through his nose; and so near that Philemon could have touched him was
the living skeleton in all his enchanting leanness.
Philemon actually danced up and down in ecstasy. The man who seemed to
have charge of affairs caught sight of his beaming face, and broke into
a good-natured laugh.
"Hallo, my little chap, would ye like a ride to-day?" said he, and
before Philemon knew what was going to happen, he found himself astride
of the back of a huge gray elephant.