CONCLUSION.
It took them the best part of the next day to run to their destination,
and the whole of the following one to find and buoy the channel, which
changed more or less with every storm that swept the coast. Marcy
thought it a foolhardy piece of business to depend upon that treacherous
inlet for a way of escape in case the schooner was discovered and
pursued by a ship of war, and told Captain Beardsley so; but the latter
simply smiled, referred Marcy to the work he had done that day, and
reminded him that there were eight feet of water in the deepest part of
the channel, and that the privateer, fully loaded, drew but little more
than six.
"There aint a sea-going vessel in the Yankee navy that can run on six
foot of water, and I know it," chuckled Beardsley. "If one of 'em gets
after us we'll skim through easy as falling off a log, but she'll stick,
'specially if she runs 'cording to them buoys you set out." This was the
"work" to which the captain referred. At that time the rule was for all
ship-masters to leave black buoys to starboard and the red ones to port;
or, to put it in English, they were to pass to the left of the black
buoys, and to the right of red ones, or run the risk of getting aground
and losing their insurance, in case their ships went to pieces. But
Marcy, acting under the orders of Captain Beardsley (who, now that he
was fairly afloat, began to show that he was much more of a sailor than
the folks around home thought he was), had changed this order of things
by anchoring the red buoys on the right of the channel going out, and
the black ones on the left. Of course it was necessary for the pilot to
bear this in mind if he were called upon to take the privateer through
there in a hurry, or on a dark night when the wind was blowing strongly.
To a landsman this may seem like a very small thing, but it was enough
to insure the destruction of any vessel whose commander was so daring as
to try to follow in Captain Beardsley's lead. More than that, Crooked
Inlet was not marked upon any government chart. The Atlantic Ocean had
opened it since the last survey was made.
All things being in readiness for the cruise, the _Osprey_ ran through
the inlet on the morning of the third day out from Newbern, and spread
her wings to swoop down upon the first unsuspecting merchantman which
happened to be holding along the coast inside of Diamond Shoals. Now the
crosstrees were manned for the first time, a small pull taken at the
sheets fore and aft, and with a fine breeze over her quarter the
schooner ran off to the southeast toward the fair-weather highway
leading from the West Indies to Northern ports. Then the young pilot,
who had given up his place at the wheel, had leisure to look about him
and make a mental estimate of the crew. If there was a native American
among them he could not find him. He guessed right when he told himself
that they must have belonged to foreign vessels in port when President
Lincoln's proclamation was issued, and that Beardsley's agent had
induced them to join the Confederacy by offering higher wages than they
were receiving, and making extravagant promises of a wild, free, easy
life aboard the privateer, and unlimited dollars to spend in the way of
prize money. But as far as Marcy could see they were good sailors, and
Captain Beardsley and his mates enforced discipline from the first.
The young pilot was surprised at the ease with which the master of the
schooner threw off his 'longshore manners and assumed the habit and
language of a seafaring man. He had been a trader in a small way ever
since Marcy could remember, and he said himself that the longest voyage
he ever made was from some port in Cuba to New York. He had a way of
going and coming at very irregular intervals. Sometimes his schooner
would lie idle for months, and Beardsley would work among his negroes
with so much industry and perseverance, that the planters around him
would come to think he had given up the sea for good; but all on a
sudden he would disappear as if by magic, and it would be a long time
before any one could find out where he was or what he had been doing;
and they were obliged to take his word for that. Marcy Gray was not the
only one who thought that the term "smuggler" would come nearer to
describing his vocation than the word "trader." But in spite of his
erratic movements and long intervals of rest on shore, Captain Beardsley
was a fair navigator and knew how to handle his schooner. He knew also,
and quickly assumed, the dignity befitting his station, kept his
quarter-deck sacred to himself, and, except when they were on duty,
never permitted his crew to come aft the foremast This made a gulf
between him and Marcy, but the latter did not mind that. He was content
to be considered one of the crew.
Seventy hours passed, and the only thing the lookouts saw during that
time to indicate that they were not alone on the ocean, was a thin cloud
of smoke in the horizon, which might come from the chimneys of a
peaceful passenger vessel, or from those of a cruiser on the watch for
just such crafts as the _Osprey_ was; and so Captain Beardsley prudently
came about and sailed leisurely back toward the point from whence he
started. This move was just what brought her first prize into the
clutches of the _Osprey_.
Land had been out of sight for almost two days. In her eagerness to
catch something the schooner had gone far beyond the highway toward
which she had first shaped her course, but this retrograde movement
brought her back to it. On the morning of the third day the thrilling
cry "Sail ho!" came from aloft, and in an instant the deck was in
commotion, the man at the wheel so far forgetting himself as to allow
the privateer to swing into the wind with all her canvas flapping.
"Keep her steady, there," shouted the captain angrily. "Where away?" he
continued, hailing the crosstrees.
"Broad on the weather beam. Topsail schooner, and standing straight
across our course."
The captain seized a glass and hastened aloft to take a look at the
stranger, while those on deck crowded to the rail and strained their
eyes for a glimpse of the sail, which had not yet showed her top-hamper
above the horizon. No change was made in the course of the privateer,
and neither was anything done toward casting loose the guns. There would
be time enough for that when the captain had made up his mind what he
was going to do. He sat on the crosstrees beside the lookout for an hour
without saying a word. By that time the sail was visible from the deck.
To quote from one of the crew she was coming up at a hand gallop. Then
Captain Beardsley was satisfied to come down and take charge of the
deck.
"She's ours," Marcy heard him say to the two mates. "I would not sell my
chances of making a rich haul for any reasonable sum of money. If I know
anything about vessels, she is a Cuban trader bound to New York. Ease
the _Osprey_ up a bit. Don't crowd her so heavy, and the chase will pass
by within half a mile of us. But we mustn't let her get by, for she is a
trotter, and every inch of her muslin is drawing beautifully."
While the second mate set about obeying the last order, the captain
addressed some others to the first officer, and in a remarkably brief
time, considering their short experience on board the privateer, her
crew had cast loose the bow gun and trained it over the port side, the
magazine and shell-rooms had been opened and lighted, and Tierney, who
acted in the double capacity of captain of the bow gun and drill-master
to the crews of both, had driven home a five-second shrapnel.
"All ready forward, sir," said he.
"Throw that piece of canvas back over the gun to hide it," commanded
Captain Beardsley. "Send all the men below that are not needed on deck.
Gray, go aft and stand by to run up the Yankee flag when I tell you."
The topsail schooner could be plainly seen now, and Marcy was sailor
enough to note that if her captain did not suspect there was something
wrong, he acted like it. This could hardly be wondered at, for taking
into consideration the "natty" appearance of the privateer, the lubberly
way in which she was sailed, standing so far off wind when she ought to
have been close to it if she were sailing her course, was enough to
excite anybody's suspicions. Two of her officers were in the rigging,
and Captain Beardsley, who was mentally calculating her chances for
running by his own vessel in case she made the attempt, took his glass
from his eye long enough to remark:
"They don't quite like our looks, do they? That proves that they are
from some near port, and heard something about privateers before they
sailed. I heard that parties in New Orleans had steamers afloat a week
ago. Marcy, show them the Yankee flag and see if that won't quiet their
feelings."
"If that isn't stealing the livery of Heaven to serve the Evil One in I
don't want a cent," said Marcy, to himself, as with an "Aye, aye, sir,"
he obeyed the order that was intended to lure the stranger to her
destruction. At the same moment her own colors, the Stars and Stripes,
were run up to the peak.
But the sight of the friendly flag did not seem to allay the suspicions
of those on board the topsail schooner. To the great surprise of those
who were watching her, her bow began to swing slowly around, her sails
trembled in the air for a minute or two and then moved over to the other
side, her yard was braced forward, the sheets hauled taut, and she was
off on the other tack with a big bone in her teeth. By this move she
hoped to pass so far astern of the suspicious-looking craft in front of
her, as to be beyond range of the light guns her captain had reason to
believe were concealed under those piles of canvas which looked so
innocent at a distance. It was beautifully and quickly done; but who
ever saw a Yankee skipper who did not know how to handle his ship, or
who would give her up to an enemy if he saw the slightest chance to
escape with her? The Confederate Admiral Semmes had more than one chase
after a plucky Yankee captain, who was resolved that he would not come
to if he could help it, and he often goes out of his way to pay deserved
tribute to the skill and courage of Northern sailors.
"That's his best sailing-point, and he's got a breeze that don't reach
us," Captain Beardsley almost howled, stamping about the deck and
shaking his fist at the flying schooner. "Where are you, Tierney? Fire
that gun at him. Pitch the ball into him the first time without stopping
to send it across his bows. Do something, or he'll get away from us."
Tierney and his crew, who had scattered themselves over the deck in
obedience to an order from the mate, were on hand almost before the
angry skipper had ceased talking. The captain of the gun knew that the
schooner was far beyond the reach of the short-time projectile he had in
his piece, but that did not prevent him from obeying orders. The canvas
covering was torn off and cast aside, the gun trained, and the
lock-string pulled. The privateer trembled all over with the force of
the concussion; the howitzer bounded from its place and recoiled as far
as its breeching would permit it to go, and the shrapnel went shrieking
on its way. But it did not go more than a quarter of the distance that
intervened between the two vessels before it exploded. However, it
showed the crew of the fleeing schooner that her enemy was fully armed,
and it enabled Tierney to load his gun with a shell provided with a
longer fuse.
"Send home another one that will go farther before it busts," shouted
Captain Beardsley. "And while you're doing it, we'll see if we can't
come around on the other tack about as quick as she did."
Remember that the two vessels, pursuer and pursued, had not yet passed.
They were sailing diagonally toward each other at the first, and that
was the relative position they held when the privateer came about and
stood off on the other tack. If Captain Beardsley had understood his
business he might have had the after-gun cast loose and loaded with a
fifteen-second shell, and fired it at the chase as the stern of the
_Osprey_ swung around. Marcy thought this could have been done, but of
course he said nothing. His sympathies were entirely with the captain
who had determined to make a race of it.
"I do hope he'll get away," thought the boy, looking first at the canvas
of his own vessel to see how it was drawing, and then at the topsail
schooner which was making such gallant efforts to escape. "Suppose the
captain owns that craft, and that it is everything he has in the world
to depend on for a living for his family? It will be just awful to take
it away from him. Why don't Uncle Sam send some cruisers down here?"
While Marcy stood on the quarter-deck meditating, Tierney was working on
the forecastle, and now he called out:
"All ready for'ard, sir."
"Let her have it!" cried the captain; and then, seeing that Marcy Gray
was still holding fast to the halliards that kept the starry flag at the
peak, he shouted: "Why don't you haul that thing down and run aloft the
Stars and Bars? Are you asleep?"
"No, sir," replied the boy. "Waiting for orders, sir."
"Down with it then, and put our own flag up there," commanded the
captain. "Fire, Tierney!"
The howitzer once more belched forth a cloud of flame and smoke, and
Marcy stood on tiptoe and held his breath in suspense while he waited
for the result. He felt the cold chills creep along his spine when,
after an interval that seemed very short for the distance the shot had
to travel, he saw it strike the water in line with the schooner and
explode a second later almost at her side. There was no mistake about it
this time. A fifteen-second fuse was long enough, and the next shot,
with a single half-degree more of elevation, would surely strike her.
Her skipper saw it, and rather than allow his vessel to be shot to
pieces and his men killed before his eyes, he spilled his sails and gave
up the contest.
"Come on deck, you lubbers below, and cheer our first prize," shouted
the mate, who was almost beside himself with joy and excitement. "There
she is, laying to and waiting for you to go and take possession," he
went on, as the crew tumbled up the ladder. "Count your prize-money up
on your fingers and then give a cheer."
This was an insulting way to treat men who had done all that brave men
could do to elude their enemy, and surrendered at last because they had
no means of defending themselves, and Marcy was glad to notice that
Tierney saw it, and did not join in the cheers that followed. Perhaps
the man had a better heart than Marcy had given him credit for.
"Where's that boat's crew?" inquired the captain, meaning the men who
had been drilled in lowering the yawl and pulling off to imaginary
prizes. "Here's the keys to the cabin, Marcy. Unlock the door and give
every man who comes to you a saber, revolver, and a box of cartridges.
And you," he added, turning to the first mate as Marcy took the keys and
hastened below, "tumble ten men besides the boat's crew into the yawl,
go off to the prize, and send the master and his papers on board of us.
Put all the schooner's company, except the mates, in double irons, and
stow them away somewhere under guard. Then keep your weather eye on me
and follow in my wake when I fill away for Newbern. That's the way we'll
manage things as often as we take a prize."
While these orders were being obeyed the _Osprey_ was sailing steadily
toward her prize; and by the time the men had been selected and the
small arms distributed, she had come as close to her as Captain
Beardsley thought it safe to venture. Having performed his duty, Marcy
returned to the deck just in time to see the prize crew climbing upon
her deck. A quarter of an hour later the boat came back, bringing a
strange man who certainly took matters very coolly, seeing that he had
lost his vessel and a valuable cargo.
"Captain," said he, as he clambered over the _Osprey's_ rail, "I don't
understand the situation at all, for all your mate would say to me was
that my ship was a prize to the Confederate privateer _Osprey._"
"What else did you want him to say?" asked Captain Beardsley, with a
smile that must have made the merchant skipper angry. "That's the whole
thing in a nutshell. Where are your papers? See that flag up there?
That's the one I sail under. You must have heard that there were such
fellows as me afloat, or you wouldn't have shied off as you did."
"Your appearance was all right, but I didn't like the way you acted,"
replied the skipper. "Yes, I have heard that there are some gentlemen of
your sort roaming around the Gulf."
"Your schooner is the _Mary Hollins_, bound from Havana to Boston with
an assorted cargo," said Captain Beardsley. "There is no attempt made to
'cover' either?"
"No, sir; it is an American vessel and her cargo is consigned to an
American house," answered the skipper, who knew it would be useless to
deny it with the plain facts staring Captain Beardsley in the face.
"But, captain, I protest against your putting my men in irons. They are
not felons, to be treated that way."
"Can't help it," said Beardsley shortly. "Can't you see for yourself
that I have a small crew, and that I must take measures to prevent your
men from recapturing the prize? I'll let 'em out as soon as we get
through Hatteras."
The master of the privateer exchanged a few words with his second mate,
and in a minute or two more the _Osprey_ came about and pointed her nose
toward Newbern, the _Mary Hollins_ following in her wake. The crew
stepped around with unwonted alacrity, and tugged at the sheets as
energetically as though the prize dollars the agent had promised them
were fastened to the other end. Everybody was happy except Marcy Gray
and the unfortunate skipper of the _Mary Hollins_. He took his capture
very philosophically, but Marcy was sure he did some deep and earnest
thinking while he stood on the privateer's quarterdeck, pulling his
whiskers, and looking back at the vessel he had lost. Marcy almost
wished that he could change places with him so that he could enter the
navy as soon as he was released, and assist in sweeping the sea of such
crafts as the _Osprey._ He dared not speak to him, for that would excite
suspicion, and the prisoner, who looked at Marcy now and then, probably
thought the boy as good a rebel as there was on board.
The low sand dunes about Hatteras Inlet, as well as the unfinished walls
of the forts that were to defend it, came up out of the sea shortly
after daylight the next morning, and at one o'clock the _Osprey_ and her
prize sailed through, loudly cheered by the working parties ashore. The
prisoner now reminded Captain Beardsley of the promise he had made
regarding the crew of the _Mary Hollins_, but Beardsley got out of it
by saying that he had no way of signaling to the prize, and could not
think of waiting for her to come alongside so that he could hail her.
The truth was Captain Beardsley believed that the Yankees would fight if
they were given half a chance. The sound upon which the vessels were now
sailing was a pretty large body of water, Newborn was still many miles
away, and if the _Hollins's_ men were freed from their irons, they might
recapture their vessel and elude the _Osprey_ during the night that was
coming. Beardsley kept them in durance until he reached port, and then
released them to be jeered and hooted by the crowd that followed them
from the wharf to the jail in which they were confined.
The reception that was extended to himself and his men was of different
character. They were cheered to the echo, and as many as could get upon
the decks of the _Osprey_ and her prize, insisted on shaking them by the
hand and telling them what brave fellows they were, and how much they
had done for the glorious cause of Southern independence. Beardsley's
agent was on hand, of course, and when he had seen the _Mary Hollins_
turned over to the collector of the port, he insisted that the _Osprey_
should run out again at once and make another haul, before the seizure
of the _Hollins_ became known at the North; but, to Marcy Gray's intense
delight, Beardsley refused to budge.
"Not much I won't go outside again and leave you land-sharks to handle
my prize and the money she'll sell for," he declared, with so much
emphasis that the agent did not think it best to urge him further. "Me
and my men have got the biggest interest in the _Mary Hollins_, and
right here we stay till the legality of the capture has been settled,
the vessel and cargo sold, and the dollars that belong to us are planked
down in our two hands."
"Then I may go home?" said Marcy, as soon as he saw a good chance to ask
the question.
"Course. Go by first train if you want to."
That was enough for the boy, who was disgusted with life on board a
privateer. He hastened below, and in less than twenty minutes presented
himself in Beardsley's cabin with his "grip" in one hand and a paper in
the other.
"That's a leave of absence," said Marcy, placing the paper before the
captain. "I don't suppose it is drawn up in proper form, but it will
serve to show the people at home that I am there with your permission.
I'd be glad if you would sign it."
The captain did so without a word of objection, gave Marcy a few
messages to be delivered to his friends in and around Nashville, and
promised to look out for his share of the prize money.
"You can keep it, if you can bring yourself to touch it," thought the
boy, as he walked ashore, after shouting good-by to the crew, and bent
his steps toward the nearest telegraph office. "It would burn my
hands."
He sent a dispatch to his mother requesting that Morris might be sent to
meet him at the depot at a certain time, and to allay any fears that
might be awakened in her mind by his sudden return to Newbern, he
announced that the privateer had just brought a valuable prize into
port. Those few words sent the dispatch through without a cent's worth
of expense to himself.
"So you are one of those gallant fellows, are you?" said the operator.
"Well, I'll send it off and call it square. You deserve a world of
credit."
"I can't for the life of me see where an armed vessel wins credit in
capturing one that is entirely without means of defense," replied Marcy,
who had heard so much of this sort of talk since he reached Newbern that
he was tired of it.
"But that isn't the point," said the operator. "See what a blow you have
struck at the enemy's commerce. Keep it up long enough and you will
drive his hated old rag from the sea."
Marcy had another ride with Morris, who was at the depot waiting for him
when his train came in, and reached home at last to receive a tearful
welcome from his mother.
"You don't gush over me at all," said he, as she threw her arms about
his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. "Don't you know that I have
roamed the high sea, smelled powder, and helped capture a Yankee vessel?
It's the most despicable business in the world," he added, as he led his
mother into the house out of earshot of all the servants. And then he
told her how the capture had been effected, and explained why Beardsley
would not immediately put to sea to try his luck again. He said, with a
long-drawn sigh, that he was glad to get home, and hoped from the bottom
of his heart that the _Osprey_ might sink at her wharf before he was
ordered to report aboard of her again. As for the prize-money, he
supposed he would have to take it or set Beardsley's tongue in motion;
but he would put it carefully away, and send it to the master of the
_Hollins_ if he ever had the chance.
"You don't feel at all as your Cousin Rodney does," said his mother,
when he ceased speaking. "A long letter from him addressed to you came
during your absence, and I took the liberty to read it. Yes, he enlisted
almost as soon as he reached home, and is going with his company to
Missouri, where he hopes to join Dick Graham, who belongs to the state
troops under General Price."
"They have both lived up to their principles, but how have I lived up to
mine?" said Marcy, taking the letter from his mother's hand. "I told
them I should be true to my colors, no matter what happened, and how
have I held to my resolution? I can't tell them just how I am situated,
for suppose the letter should miscarry and fall into the hands of some
fellow like Captain Beardsley? This is a nice way to live."
Rodney wrote as if he were full of enthusiasm, and gave a complete
history of his movements since the day on which he bade his cousin
good-by in Barrington. There was one short paragraph in his letter which
will serve as a very good introduction to the second volume of this
series of books, and we produce it entire. It ran as follows:
"It wouldn't be safe for you to come to this country, old fellow, and
talk as you did while we were at school. You would be mobbed in spite of
all I could do to prevent it. I hope you haven't got into any trouble by
trying to be true to your colors since you have been in North Carolina.
I can talk as I please here, and you know I please to denounce
everything except secession and independence. I belong to an independent
company of cavalry. The colonel commanding the regiment we wanted to
join didn't think he had any authority to accept us unless we would give
up our independent organization, and as we were resolved we wouldn't do
that, we began to think we would be obliged to fight on our own hook;
but just in the nick of time we learned that the troops serving in
Missouri, under Price and McCulloch, were mostly partisans, and that
either of those commanders would be glad to accept us. So there is where
we are going as soon as we can get transportation, and who knows but I
may see our old friend Dick Graham? Shall I tell him 'Hello!' for you?
We furnish our own horses, the government allowing us sixty cents a day
for the use of them. If they die or are killed in action, we are to get
another mount from the enemy. Come and join us, Marcy. Throw your Union
sentiments to the winds--you'll have to sooner or later--take sides with
the friends of your state, swear allegiance to the flag of the
Confederacy and battle for the right. Come and join my company and we'll
have some high old times running the Yankees out of Missouri."
But the sequel proved that the despised Yankees could not be so easily
driven; on the contrary they drove the rebels. Marcy's cousin manfully
bore a soldier's part in some of the hardest battles that were fought in
Missouri; and just what he did, and whether or not he enjoyed the "high
old times" that came rather sooner than he expected, shall be told in
the succeeding volume of this series which will be entitled, "RODNEY,
THE PARTISAN."
THE END.
THE
FAMOUS
CASTLEMON
BOOKS.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON.
[Illustration: Specimen Cover of the Gunboat Series.]
No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys
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his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one
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more."
**Any volume sold separately.
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BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
[Illustration: Specimen Cover of the Ragged Dick Series.]
Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular
writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his
best books.
**Any volume sold separately.
RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50
Ragged Dick; or, Street Life in New York 1 25
Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter 1 25
Mark, the Match Boy; or, Richard Hunter's Ward 1 25
Rough and Ready; or, Life among the New York Newsboys 1 25
Ben, the Luggage Boy; or, Among the Wharves 1 25
Rufus and Rose; or, the Fortunes of Rough and Ready 1 25
TATTERED TOM SERIES. (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols.,
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box, 5 00
Tattered Tom; or, The Story of a Street Arab 1 25
Paul, the Peddler; or, The Adventures of a Young Street Merchant 1 25
Phil, the Fiddler; or, The Young Street Musician 1 25
Slow and Sure; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop 1 25
TATTERED TOM SERIES. (SECOND SERIES.) 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00
Julius; or the Street Boy Out West 1 25
The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the World 1 25
Sam's Chance and How He Improved it 1 25
The Telegraph Boy 1 25
LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols.,
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00
Luck and Pluck; or John Oakley's Inheritance 1 25
Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve 1 25
Strong and Steady; or, Paddle Your Own Canoe 1 25
Strive and Succeed; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad 1 25
LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (SECOND SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols.,
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00
Try and Trust; or, The Story of a Bound Boy 1 25
Bound to Rise; or Harry Walton's Motto 1 25
Risen from the Ranks; or, Harry Walton's Success 1 25
Herbert Carter's Legacy; or, The Inventor's Son 1 25
CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 7, vols., 12mo. Fully
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
Frank's Campaign; or, The Farm and the Camp 1 25
Paul Prescott's Charge 1 25
Charlie Codman's Cruise 1 25
BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box 5 00
Brave and Bold; or, The Story of a Factory Boy 1 25
Jack's Ward; or, The Boy Guardian 1 25
Shifting for Himself; or, Gilbert Greyson's Fortunes 1 25
Wait and Hope; or, Ben Bradford's Motto 1 25
PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00
The Young Adventurer; or, Tom's Trip Across the Plains 1 25
The Young Miner; or, Tom Nelson in California 1 25
The Young Explorer; or, Among the Sierras 1 25
Ben's Nugget; or, A Boy's Search for Fortune. A Story of the Pacific
Coast 1 25
ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box 5 00
The Young Circus Rider; or, The Mystery of Robert Rudd 1 25
Do and Dare; or, A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune 1 25
Hector's Inheritance; or, Boys of Smith Institute 1 25
Helping Himself; or, Grant Thornton's Ambition l 25
WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr 4 vols., 12mo. Fully
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $5 00
Bob Burton 1 25
The Store Boy 1 25
Luke Walton 1 25
Struggling Upward 1 25
NEW BOOK BY ALGER.
DIGGING FOR GOLD. By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated 12mo. Cloth, black,
red and gold 1 25
A
New Series of Books.
Indian Life
and
Character
Founded on
Historical
Facts.
[Illustration: Specimen Cover of the Wyoming Series.]
By Edward S. Ellis.
** Any volume sold separately.
BOY PIONEER SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
Ned in the Block House; or, Life on the Frontier 1 25
Ned in the Woods. A Tale of the Early Days in the West 1 25
Ned on the River 1 25
DEERFOOT SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. In box containing the following. 3
vols., 12mo. Illustrated $3 75
Hunters of the Ozark 1 25
Camp in the Mountains 1 25
The Last War Trail 1 25
LOG CABIN SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
Lost Trail 1 25
Camp-Fire and Wigwam 1 25
Footprints in the Forest 1 25
WYOMING SERIES. By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $3 75
Wyoming 1 25
Storm Mountain 1 25
Cabin in the Clearing 1 25
NEW BOOKS BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.
Through Forest and Fire. 12mo. Cloth 1 25
On the Trail of the Moose. 12mo. Cloth 1 25
By C. A. Stephens.
Rare books for boys bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive; full of
adventure and incident, and information upon natural history. They blend
instruction with amusement contain much useful and valuable information
upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity.
CAMPING OUT SERIES. By C. A. Stephens. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated.
Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50
Camping Out. As recorded by "Kit" 1 25
Left on Labrador; or The Cruise of the Schooner Yacht "Curfew." As
recorded by "Wash" 1 25
Off to the Geysers; or, The Young Yachters in Iceland. As recorded by
"Wade" 1 25
Lynx Hunting. From Notes by the author of "Camping Out" 1 25
Fox Hunting. As recorded by "Raed" 1 25
On the Amazon; or, The Cruise of the "Rambler." As recorded by
"Wash" 1 25
By J. T. Trowbridge.
These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge's books for the
young--and he has written some of the best of our juvenile literature.
JACK HAZARD SERIES. By J. T. Trowbridge. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully
Illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box $7 50
Jack Hazard and His Fortunes 1 25
A Chance for Himself; or, Jack Hazard and his Treasure 1 25
Doing His Best 1 25
Fast Friends 1 25
The Young Surveyor; or, Jack on the Prairies 1 25
Lawrence's Adventures Among the Ice Cutters, Glass Makers, Coal Miners,
Iron Men and Ship Builders 1 25
--GOOD BOOKS--
Suitable for Girls between the Ages of 12 and 15.
Ways and Means. A Story for girls. By Margaret Vandegrift. With four
illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25
The Queen's Body-Guard. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Vandegrift. With
four illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25
Rose Raymond's Wards. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Vandegrift.
Illustrated with four engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25
Doris and Theodora. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Vandegrift.
Illustrated with four engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25
Dr. Gilbert's Daughters. A Story for Girls. By Margaret Harriet Mathews.
Illustrated with four engravings on wood. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25
Esther's Fortune. A Romance for Girls. By Lucy C. Lillie. Illustrated.
12mo. Cloth, extra, brown and gold 1 25
Helen Glenn; or, My Mother's Enemy. A Story for Girls. By Lucy C.
Lillie. Illustrated with eight illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra 1 25
The Squire's Daughter. By Lucy C. Lillie. 12mo. Illustrated. Cloth,
extra 1 25
For Honor's Sake. By Lucy C. Lillie. 12mo. Illustrated. Cloth,
extra 1 25
Marion Berkley. A Story for Girls. By Lizzie B. Comins (Laura Caxton).
12mo. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, brown and gold 1 25
Hartwell Farm. A Story for Girls. By Lizzie B. Comins (Laura Caxton).
12mo. Illustrated. Cloth, extra, brown and gold 1 25
THE HANDSOMEST AND CHEAPEST GIFT BOOKS
The "Bells" Series.
The "BELLS" Series has been undertaken by the publishers with a view to
issue original illustrated poems of a high character, at a price within
the reach of all classes.
Small 4to . . . . . . . . . . $1 50
Ivory surface . . . . . . . . 1 50
Embossed calf, gilt edges . . 1 50
GEMS FROM TENNYSON.
By ALFRED TENNYSON. Elegantly illustrated by Hammatt Billings.
BEAUTIES OF TENNYSON.
By ALFRED TENNYSON. Elegantly illustrated with twenty engravings, from
original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the
finest plate paper.
FROM GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.
By BISHOP HEBER. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from
original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the
finest plate paper.
LADY CLARE.
By ALFRED TENNYSON. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings,
from original drawings by Alfred Fredericks, F. S. Church, Harry Fenn,
F. B. Schell, E. P. Garret and Granville Perkins. Beautifully printed on
the finest plate paper.
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS.
By CLEMENT C. MOORE. Never before has this popular poem--a favorite with
both the old and the young--been presented in such a beautiful dress. It
is elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original
drawings by F. B. Schell, W. T. Smedley, A. Fredericks and H. R. Poore.
BINGEN ON THE RHINE.
By CAROLINE E. NORTON. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings,
from original drawings by W. T. Smedley, F. B. Schell, A. Fredericks,
Granville Perkins and E. P. Garrett.
THE BELLS.
By EDGAR ALLAN POE. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings,
from original drawings by F. O. C. Darley, A. Fredericks, Granville
Perkins and others.
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
By OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Elegantly illustrated with thirty-five engravings,
from drawings by Hammatt Billings.
THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.
By ROBERT BURNS. Elegantly illustrated with fifty engravings, from drawings
by Chapman.