Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 32. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, June 8, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE TIDE WAS AGAINST THEM."]
[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31, June 1.]
THE MORAL PIRATES.
BY WM. L. ALDEN.
CHAPTER II.
When Uncle John announced that the Department was satisfied with the
ability of the captain and crew to manage the _Whitewing_, the day for
sailing was fixed, and the boys laid in their stores. Each one had a
fishing-line and hooks, and Harry and Tom each took a fishing-pole--two
poles being as many as were needed, since most of the fishing would
probably be done with drop-lines. Uncle John lent Harry his
double-barrelled gun, and a supply of ammunition. Each boy took a tin
plate, a tin cup, knife, fork, and spoon. For cooking purposes, the boat
carried a coffee-pot, two tin cake-pans, which could be used as
frying-pans as well as for other purposes, and two small tin pails.
Harry's mother lent him several large round tin boxes, in which were
stored four pounds of coffee, two pounds of sugar, a pound of Indian
meal, a large quantity of crackers, some salt, and a little pepper. The
rest of the provisions consisted of two cans of soup, two cans of corned
beef, a can of roast beef, two small cans of devilled chicken, four cans
of fresh peaches, a little package of condensed beef for making beef
tea, and a cold boiled ham. The boat was furnished with an A tent, four
rubber blankets and four woollen blankets, a hatchet, a quantity of
spare cordage, a little bull's-eye lantern, which burnt olive-oil, and
a few copper nails, a pair of pliers, a small piece of zinc, a little
white lead, for mending a leak. Of course there was a bottle of oil for
the lantern; and Mrs. Schuyler added a box of pills and a bottle of
"Hamlin's Mixture" as medical stores. The boys wore blue flannel
trousers and shirts, and each one carried an extra pair of trousers, and
an extra shirt instead of a coat. These, with a few pairs of stockings
and two or three handkerchiefs, were all the clothing that they needed,
so Uncle John said; though the boys had imagined that they must take at
least two complete suits. He showed them that two flannel shirts worn at
the same time, one over the other, would be as warm as one shirt and a
coat, and that if their clothing became wet, it could be easily dried.
"Flannel and the compass are the two things that are indispensable to
navigation," said Uncle John. "If flannel shirts had not been invented,
Columbus would never have crossed the Atlantic." Perhaps there was a
little exaggeration in this; but when we remember that flannel is the
only material that is warm in cold weather and cool in hot weather, and
that dries almost as soon as it is wrung out and hung in the wind, it is
difficult to see how sailors could do without it.
The boys agreed very readily to take with them only what Uncle John
advised. Tom Schuyler, however, was very anxious to take a heavy iron
vise, which, he said, could be screwed on the gunwale of the boat, and
might prove to be very useful, although he could not say precisely what
he expected to use it for. Joe Sharpe also wanted to take a base-ball
and bat, but neither the vise nor the ball and bat were taken.
The _Whitewing_ started from the foot of East
One-hundred-and-twenty-seventh Street on a Monday morning in the middle
of July, at about nine o'clock. Quite a small crowd of friends were
present to see the boys off, and the neat appearance of the boat and her
crew attracted the attention of all the idlers along the shore. When all
the cargo was stowed, and everything was ready, Uncle John called the
boys aside, and said, "Now, boys, you must sign the articles."
"What are articles?" asked all the boys at once.
"They are certain regulations which every respectable pirate, or any
other sailor, for that matter, must agree to keep when he joins a ship.
I'll read the articles, and if any of you don't like any one of them,
say so frankly, for you must not begin a cruise in a dissatisfied state
of mind. Here are the articles:
"'I. _We, the captain and crew of the_ Whitewing, _promise to decide all
disputed questions by the vote of the majority, except questions
concerning the management of the boat. The orders of the captain, in all
matters connected with the management of the boat, shall be promptly
obeyed by the crew_.'
"Now if anybody thinks that the captain should not have the full control
of the boat, let him say so at once. Very likely the captain will make
mistakes; but the boat will be safer, even if the crew obeys a wrong
order, than it would be if every order should be debated by the crew.
You can't hold town-meetings when you are afloat. Harry, I think,
understands pretty well how to sail the boat. Will you agree to obey his
orders?"
All the boys said they would; and Joe Sharpe added that he thought the
captain ought to have the right to put mutineers in irons.
"That, let us hope, will not be necessary," said Uncle John. "Now listen
to the second article:
"'II. _We promise not to take corn, apples, or other property without
permission of the owner._'
"You will very likely camp near some field where corn, or potatoes, or
something eatable, is growing. Many people think there is no harm in
taking a few ears of corn or half a dozen apples. I want you to remember
that to take anything that is not your own, unless you have permission
to do so, is stealing. It's an ugly word, but it can't be smoothed over
in any way. Do you object to this article?"
Nobody objected to it. "We're moral pirates, Uncle John," said Tom
Schuyler, "and we won't disgrace the Department by stealing."
"I knew you would not except through thoughtlessness. Now these are all
the articles. I did think of asking you not to quarrel, or to use bad
language; but I don't believe it is necessary to ask you to make such a
promise, and if it were, you probably would not keep it. So sign the
articles, give them to the captain, and take your stations."
The articles were signed. The captain seated himself in the
stern-sheets, and took the yoke lines. The rest took their proper
places, and Joe Sharpe held the boat to the dock by the boat-hook. "Are
you all ready?" cried Uncle John.
"All ready, sir!" answered Harry.
"Then give way with your oars! Good-by, boys, and don't forget to send
reports to the Department."
The boat glided away from the shore with Tom and Jim each pulling a
single oar. The group on the wharf gave the boys a farewell cheer, and
in a few moments they were hid from sight by the Third Avenue Bridge.
The tide was against them, but the day was a cool one for the season,
and the boys rowed steadily on in the very best of spirits. There was a
light south wind, but as there were several bridges to pass, Harry
thought it best not to set the sail before reaching the Hudson River. It
required careful steering to avoid the steamboats, bridge piles, and
small boats; but the _Whitewing_ was guided safely, and her signal--a
red flag with a white cross--floated gayly at the bow.
Uncle John had made one serious mistake: he had forgotten all about the
tide, and never thought of the difficulty the boys would find in passing
Farmers-bridge with the tide against them. They had passed High Bridge,
and had entered a part of the river with which the boys were not
familiar, when Joe Sharpe suddenly called out, "There's a low bridge
right ahead that we can't pass." A few more strokes of the oars enabled
Harry to see a long low bridge, which completely blocked up the river
except at one place, that seemed not much wider than the boat. Through
this narrow channel the tide was rushing fiercely, the water heaping
itself up in waves that looked unpleasantly high and rough. The boat was
rowed as close as possible to the opening under the bridge; but the
current was so strong that the boys could not row against it, and even
if they had been able to stem it, the channel was too narrow to permit
them to use the oars.
Harry ordered the boat to be rowed up to the bridge at a place where
there was a quiet eddy, and all the crew went ashore to contrive some
way of overcoming the difficulty. Presently Harry thought of a plan. "If
we could get the painter under the bridge, we could pull the boat
through easy enough if there was nobody in her."
"That's all very well," said Joe, "but how are you going to get the
painter through?"
"I know," cried Jim. "Let's take a long piece of rope and drop it in the
water the other side of the bridge. The current will float it through,
and we can catch it and tie it to the painter."
The plan seemed a good one; and so the boys took a piece of spare rope
from the boat, tied a bit of board to one end of it for a float, dropped
the float into the water, and held on to the other end of the rope. When
the float came in sight below the bridge they caught it with the
boat-hook, and throwing away the piece of board, tied the rope to the
painter. "Now let Joe Sharpe get in the bow of the boat, to keep her
from running against anything, and we'll haul her right through,"
exclaimed Harry.
Joe took his place in the bow, and pushing the boat off, let her float
into the current. Then the three other boys pulled on the rope, and
were delighted to see the boat glide under the bridge. Suddenly Joe gave
a wild yell. "She's sinking, boys!" he cried: "let go the rope, or I'll
be drowned!" The boys, terribly frightened, dropped the rope, and in
another minute the boat floated back on the current, half full of water,
and without Joe. Almost as soon as it came in sight, Harry had thrown
off his shoes and jumped into the river.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
MR. MARTIN'S GAME.
BY JIMMY BROWN.
What if he is a great deal older than I am! that doesn't giv him any
right to rumple my hair, does it? I'm willing to respect old age, of
course, but I want my hair respected too.
But rumpling hair isn't enough for Mr. Martin; he must call me "Bub,"
and "Sonny." I might stand "Sonny," but I won't stand being called "Bub"
by any living man--not if I can help it. I've told him three or four
times, "My name isn't 'Bub,' Mr. Martin. My name's Jim, or Jimmy," but
he would just grin in an exhausperating kind of way, and keep on calling
me "Bub."
My sister Sue doesn't like him any better than I do. He comes to see her
about twice a week, and I've heard her say, "Goodness me, there's that
tiresome old bachelor again." But she treats him just as polite as she
does anybody; and when he brings her candy, she says, "Oh, Mr. Martin,
you are _too_ good." There's a great deal of make-believe about girls, I
think.
Now that I've mentioned candy, I will say that he might pass it around,
but he never thinks of such a thing. Mr. Travers, who is the best of all
Sue's beaux, always brings candy with him, and gives me a lot. Then he
generally gives me a quarter to go to the post-office for him, because
he forgot to go, and expects something very important. It takes an hour
to go to the post-office and back, but I'd do anything for such a nice
man.
One night--it was Mr. Travers's regular night--Mr. Martin came, and
wasn't Sue mad! She knew Mr. Travers would come in about half an hour,
and she always made it a rule to keep her young men separate.
She sent down word that she was busy, and would be down stairs after a
while. Would Mr. Martin please sit down and wait. So he sat down on the
front piazza and waited.
I was sitting on the grass, practicing mumble-te-peg a little, and
by-and-by Mr. Martin says, "Well, Bub, what are you doing?"
"Playing a game," says I. "Want to learn it?"
"Well, I don't care if I do," says he. So he came out, and sat in the
grass, and I showed him how to play.
Just then Mr. Travers arrived, and Sue came down, and was awfully glad
to see both her friends. "But what in the world are you doing," she says
to Mr. Martin. When she heard that he was learning the game, she said,
"How interesting, do play one game."
Mr. Martin finally said he would. So we played a game, and I let him
beat me very easy. He laughed fit to kill himself when I drew the peg,
and said it was the best game he ever played.
"Is there any game you play any better than this, Sonny?" said he, in
his most irragravating style.
"Let's have another game," said I. "Only you must promise to draw the
peg fair, if I beat you."
"All right," said he. "I'll draw the peg if you beat me, Bub."
Oh, he felt so sure he was a first-class player! I don't like a
conceited man, no matter if he is only a boy.
You can just imagine how quick I beat him. Why, I went right through to
"both ears" without stopping, and the first time I threw the knife over
my head it stuck in the ground.
I cut a beautiful peg out of hard wood--one of those sharp, slender pegs
that will go through anything but a stone. I drove it in clear out of
sight, and Mr. Martin, says he, "Why, Sonny, nobody couldn't possibly
draw that peg."
"I've drawn worse pegs than that," said I. "You've got to clear away the
earth with your chin and front teeth, and then you can draw it."
"That is nonsense," says Mr. Martin, growing red in the face.
"This is a fair and square game," says I, "and you gave your word to
draw the peg if I beat you."
"I do hope Mr. Martin will play fair," said Sue. "It would be too bad to
cheat a little boy."
So Mr. Martin laid down and tried it, but he didn't like it one bit.
"See here, Jimmy," said he, "I'll give you half a dollar, and we'll
consider the peg drawn."
"That is bribery and corruption," said I. "Mr. Martin, I can't be
bribed, and didn't think you'd try to hire me to let you break your
promise."
When he saw I wouldn't let up on him, he laid down again and went to
work.
It was the best fun I ever knew. I just rolled on the ground and laughed
till I cried. Sue and Mr. Travers didn't roll, but they laughed till Sue
got up and ran into the house, where I could hear her screaming on the
front-parlor sofa, and mother crying out, "My darling child, where does
it hurt you, won't you have the doctor, Jane do bring the camphor."
Mr. Martin gnawed away at the earth, and used swear-words to himself,
and was perfectly raging. After a while he got the peg, and then he got
up with his face about the color of a flower-pot, and put on his hat,
and went out of the front gate rubbing his face with his handkerchief,
and never so much as saying good-night. He didn't come near the house
again for two weeks.
Mr. Travers gave me a half-dollar to go to the post-office to make up
for the one I had refused, and told me that I had displayed roaming
virtue, though I don't know exactly what he meant.
He looked over this story, and corrected the spelling for me, and told
me to send it to the YOUNG PEOPLE. Only it is to be a secret that he
helped me. I'd do almost anything for him, and I'm going to ask Sue to
marry him just to please me.
A CHAT ABOUT PHILATELY.
BY J. J. CASEY.
Philately? What is that?
Many years ago, beyond the longest recollection of the oldest of the
young people, a school-teacher in Paris (so one story goes) advised her
pupils to get specimens of different postage stamps, in order the better
to study their geography. There was a general searching among old
letters to secure these little bits of bright-colored papers. Parents
and friends were asked to save the stamps from their letters; strangers
at the post-office were pounced upon, the moment they received their
letters, for the stamps; and from this little beginning sprang
stamp-collecting.
At first it was limited to boys and girls; but the older people, seeing
the interest excited over these little pictures, and led on by their
endeavors to please their young acquaintances, began themselves taking
an interest in the things. From a pleasure it gradually became a study,
and a most fascinating one; and soon there were no more enthusiastic
collectors than the people advanced in years, wealth, position, and
social, literary, and scientific attainments. And to-day many great
people turn with pleasure from the cares of their life to the pages of
their stamp albums, to look over the numerous evidences of the growth
of the postal system, or to help some young friend in the filling up of
a modest little blank-book.
In spite of the ridicule which has been heaped upon the collector of
stamps, the interest in stamp-collecting is as great to-day as it was a
dozen years ago, and from Prince Edward Island to Australia will be
found stamp "merchants," as they delight to call themselves, stamp
papers, and stamp agencies, to supply the continually increasing demands
of young and old collectors. Societies exist in several countries, at
the meetings of which most learned papers are read to show the why and
the wherefore of this or that stamp, and even the government at
Montevideo has authorized a stamp society, lately established there, to
use a private postal card.
This pursuit of stamp collecting is called Philately, from two Greek
words, which have been translated "the love of stamps," and those who
engage in the pleasure or the pursuit are pleased to call themselves
Philatelists.
This little "chat" shall be closed by a reference to the illustrations
of some curious or interesting stamps, and a notice of stamps that have
been issued during the past few months.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
Fig. 1 is one of the series of United States stamps for postage on large
packages of newspapers and periodicals, and represents a value of
forty-eight dollars. There is a higher value of sixty dollars. These
stamps are perfect gems, and are among the most beautiful in the world.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
Fig. 2 represents one of the stamps in use to-day in Japan. It is only
necessary to compare a specimen of this issue with the first stamps used
in Japan to see how rapidly the Japanese acquire every modern
improvement.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.]
Fig. 3 is one of the current Guatemala stamps, printed in Paris, which
found their way to collectors before they were delivered to the
government. The thick black line on either side is a bird's tail--the
quezal, or national bird, one of the most beautiful on this continent.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.]
[Illustration: FIG. 5.]
Figs. 4 and 5 represent stamps used in two of the native states of
India. The native stamps of India, ugly as many of them are, are among
the most interesting found in the collector's album, and quite difficult
to obtain.
[Illustration: FIG. 6.]
Fig. 6 is one from the South African Republic, or the Transvaal, lately
seized by England.
Some of the newest issues are:
ANTIGUA.--A new value, 4_d_., blue; and a postal card, 1-1/2_d_.,
red-brown on buff.
CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.--The 4_d_., blue, surcharged in red above,
"Three Pence."
DOMINICA.--New values of 1/2_d_., yellow; 2-1/2_d_., brown; 4_d_.,
blue; and a postal card of 1-1/2_d_., red-brown.
DANISH WEST INDIES.--A new value, 50_c_., same type as current
series, in mauve.
GOLD COAST.--Stamps of 1/2_d_., golden yellow, and 2_d_., green;
and card of 1-1/2_d_., red-brown.
GREAT BRITAIN.--The 2-1/2_d_. stamp is printed in blue, and the
2_s_. changes from blue to red-brown.
MONTSERRAT.--New stamps of 2-1/2_d_., red-brown, and 4_d_., blue;
and postal card of 1-1/2_d_., red-brown.
NEVIS.--New stamps of 2-1/2_d_., red-brown, and 4_d_., blue; and
postal card of 1-1/2_d_., red-brown.
PERU.--A new series of stamps is in preparation, but for the
present the authorities surcharge the current stamp with the
words, "Union Postale Universelle" and "Plata," in an oval. The
1_c_. changes its color to green, the 2_c_. to carmine, and the
20_c_. is suppressed.
ROUMELIA.--This province of Turkey begins its stamp history with a
postal card of the value of 10 paras, as expressed on the face,
but in reality of 15 paras, at which it is sold.
BUTTERFLIES AND BEES.
Butterflies are merry things,
Gayly painted are their wings,
And they never carry stings.
Bees are grave and busy things,
Gold their jackets, brown their wings,
And _they always_ carry stings.
Yet--isn't it extremely funny?--
Bees, not butterflies, make honey.
[Illustration: GATHERING THE WATER-CRESSES.]
AN APRONFUL OF WATER-CRESSES.
BY MARGARET EYTINGE.
Cissy Mount came down to the gurgling, sparkling little brook at the
foot of the hill, where Frank Hillborn and his brother Dave were
gathering water-cresses.
"I'm going to Fairview, Frank," she said, "and came to ask you if you
would look in on mother by-and-by, and see if she needs anything."
"Of course I will," said Frank. "But you're not going to walk to
Fairview, Cissy? That's a long tramp for a girl."
"Yes, I am," she replied. "There's no other way I can go. Nobody that I
know ever drives down there. Mother wants me to try and get her some
sewing to do. You know there are five or six big stores there, and
mother can sew and knit beautifully. I wish I had time to pick some wild
flowers to take with me. Town-people like wild flowers."
"A good many of them like something fresh and green to eat better than
they do wild flowers," said Frank; "so you just take along some of these
water-cresses. Aren't they beauties? They're the first we've gathered
this spring, and I hope they'll bring you luck."
"But I have no basket," said Cissy.
"Carry them in your apron. They won't hurt;" and as she held it up, he
heaped it full of moist green bunches.
"That's just like you, Frank Hillborn," said Dave, when the girl had
gone. "What's the good of our owning the only water-cress brook for
miles if you're going to give 'em away to everybody that comes along?"
"Everybody that comes along?" repeated Frank, with a cheery laugh. "I've
only given a basketful to Ezra Lee--he lent us his fishing-line when we
lost ours--and an apronful to Cissy Mount. Poor Cissy! Guess there's
hard times at her house since her father was killed on the railroad and
her mother got lame. And you know she's going to ask for work, and it
most always puts folks in good-humor if you carry 'em something nice."
"All right," said Dave; "but don't you give away any more, for we want
to make five dollars out of 'em this season, anyhow."
Cissy Mount walked bravely on mile after mile, until half of her
journey had been accomplished. Then she stopped and looked around for a
place where she might rest awhile. A pleasant little lane, on either
side of which stood a row of tall cedar-trees, branched off from the
main road. Into this lane she turned, and sat down on the grass near the
side gate of a fine garden. And as she sat there peeping through a hole
in the hedge at some lovely beds of hyacinths and tulips, radiant in the
sunshine, a queer-looking little old gentleman, with no hat on, but
having a wonderful quantity of brown hair, came scolding down the garden
path, followed by a man carrying a camp-chair. The old gentleman as he
talked grew more and more excited, and at last, to Cissy's great
astonishment, grasped the abundant brown locks, lifted them completely
off his head, waved them in the air an instant, and then gravely
replaced them. As he came near, the child could hear what he was saying:
"I sent word from Europe when this place was bought that if there were
no water-cress stream upon it, one was to be made at once. That's a year
ago."
"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, humbly, "but I did my best, sir. It
isn't my fault, sir. Sometimes you can't _make_ water-cresses grow, all
you can do, sir."
"And what's to be done with the puddle--for it's nothing but a puddle,
though a big one--that you've disfigured my grounds with?" asked the old
gentleman.
"Miss Grace says it will be a capital place for raising water-lilies,
sir," said the man.
"Oh, indeed! Very fine. But I can't eat water-lilies. There's no pepper
about them, and it's the pepper I want."
"Perhaps I can find some cresses for sale somewhere near, sir. Shall I
go and look, sir?"
"No," snarled the master. "By the time you came back with them, if you
got them, ten chances to one I shouldn't want them. When I want things,
I want them at once. Yes, I'd give five dollars for some fresh
water-cresses this very minute;" and he again seized his wig and
flourished it in the air.
With trembling fingers Cissy opened the gate, and walked in. The
servant-man placed the camp-chair on the ground. The old gentleman sat
down in it, first hanging his hair on the back, leaving his head as
smooth and shining as an ivory ball, looked at the intruder with keen
black eyes, and asked, sharply, "Well, what do _you_ want?"
"To give you these water-cresses," she said, with a smile, holding up
her apron. "They were gathered only a short time ago, and my apron's
quite clean, sir."
"Bless me!" exclaimed the old gentleman, "what a wonderful coincidence!
and"--taking a bunch and beginning to eat them--"what fine
water-cresses! And I suppose you expect that five dollars, for of course
you heard what I said."
"No, sir," said Cissy, shyly, "I never thought of the money. I know you
only said that as people often say things. I'm glad to give them to you,
sir, because you wanted them so much."
The old gentleman burst into a loud laugh, put on his wig, and asked her
name. And then by degrees he got the whole story from her--the death of
the father, the accident that lamed the mother, the gift of the cresses
from Frank Hillborn, and the five miles yet to go in search of work.
"And what was your mother's name before she was married?" was his last
question.
"Prudence Kelly, sir."
"Prudence Kelly! I knew it!" he shouted, springing from his chair. And
then, in a still louder voice, he called, "Grace! Grace!" and a pretty
young lady came running toward him. "I've found your old nurse, my dear,
your faithful old nurse that we have lost sight of for years. This is
her daughter. And she is in want. Take the carriage and go to her at
once. What a blessing that I got up in a scolding humor this morning,
and wanted water-cresses! Go with Grace, Cecilia my child, and when you
get home, give this five-dollar bill to your friend Frank, and tell him
it isn't the first time a little act of kindness has brought luck."
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 24, April 13.]
THE STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.
BY EDWARD CARY.