Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
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VOL. I.--NO. 28. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 11, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
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[Illustration: HUNTING IN ARCTIC REGIONS.--[SEE NEXT PAGE.]]
WHY?
"Why must I learn to sing?
Why learn to fly?"
Said a young bird to its mother--
"Why, oh, why?"
"All birdies learn to sing;
All learn to fly,"
To the young bird said its mother;
"And that's 'why.'"
HUNTING IN ARCTIC REGIONS.
Although in the remote and dreary ice regions of the extreme North a
variety of game, including bear, whale, walrus, seal, reindeer, foxes,
wolves, ptarmigan, ducks, and geese, is found and pursued by the hardy
Esquimau, or Innuit, it is upon the capture of the seal that he expends
the most time and labor. The seal is everything to him, and without it
life could hardly be sustained. In the words of Captain Hall: "To the
Innuit the seal is all that flocks and herds, grain fields, forests,
coal mines, and petroleum wells are to dwellers in more favored lands.
It furnishes him with food, fuel, and clothing."
"Nutchook" (the seal) is one of the most wary and suspicious of animals,
and to capture him when he is on his guard requires an almost incredible
amount of skill and perseverance. The Innuits say that "Ninoo" (the
bear) taught them to capture the seal, and that if they could talk to
Nutchook as cleverly as Ninoo does, they would capture him much oftener
than they do. When Ninoo sees, at a distance upon the ice, a black spot
that he knows to be Nutchook taking a nap beside his air-hole, he makes
up his mind that he will dine that day off seal.
Nutchook's nap is a series of "cat-naps," each lasting about ten
seconds, and after each he lifts his head and looks around. Ninoo
crouches low upon the ice, and creeps along when the seal is napping.
The moment his head is raised, the bear stops short and begins to talk
to Nutchook. The sound that he utters while thus talking is quite
different from his ordinary voice, and seems to charm the seal, who lays
his head down for another nap, during which Ninoo again advances. At
last the bear is within springing distance, and in a moment all is over
with poor Nutchook.
Although seals are caught at all seasons of the year, the great hunts
take place in the spring and early summer months. At this time the fur
is in the best possible condition, and as they play in the open water
lanes near the coast, or bask in great numbers on the ice, their capture
is comparatively easy. During the summer the glare of the sun so affects
the eyes of the seal that he becomes almost blind, and is easily
approached.
Hundreds of vessels, many of them steamers, are engaged in the seal
fishery, and on the first page of this number is a picture of the boats
belonging to one of these "sealers" drifting cautiously down upon a
number of seals that have been basking and frolicking on the ice,
heedless of the approach of danger. Hundreds of thousands of seals are
thus killed every year for the sake of their skins, which are shipped to
every part of the world, and from which are made the beautiful sacques,
muffs, tippets, and gloves with which most of our readers are so
familiar. Only last month a disaster occurred that vividly illustrates
the danger of sealing. A huge ice-field a hundred miles long, and
bringing with it thousands of seals, drifted down from the North, and
stranded on the coast of Newfoundland near St. Johns. For several days
the people living along the coast ventured far out on the ice, and
captured great numbers of the seals.
Suddenly, on the 4th of April, the northeast wind that had been blowing
steadily for two weeks, and keeping the ice packed, changed to a warm
southerly breeze. The ice-pack broke, became intersected in every
direction by lanes of water, and began to drift out to sea, carrying
with it more than two hundred of the hardy hunters. Many of these were
rescued by steamers, but others were borne away into the fog, beyond the
hope of rescue, far out to sea, where they have perished from
starvation, freezing, or drowning. For weeks past dead bodies have been
cast upon the rugged coast by the sea, but the fate of many of the lost
will never be known.
Mr. Ninoo, who hunts the seal so successfully, is hunted in turn for the
sake of his thick soft fur, and often falls a victim both to white men
and Esquimaux. The latter sometimes kill him by rolling a thick piece of
whalebone, about two feet long and four inches wide, into a small coil,
and wrapping it in a piece of seal blubber so that it forms a ball.
Placed outside the hut, it soon freezes hard. Provided with this frozen
bait, the natives search for Ninoo. When they find him, they run away,
and he chases them; but they drop the ball of blubber, and he, meeting
with it, greedily swallows it whole. In a few minutes the heat of his
body thaws the blubber and releases the whalebone. It uncoils with
terrible force, and so tears his stomach that the great bear falls down
in helpless agony, to which an end is quickly put by the hunter, who now
hurries to the spot.
[Begun in Harper's YOUNG PEOPLE No. 24, April 13.]
THE STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.
BY EDWARD CARY.
CHAPTER V.
So now the war was as good as finished. There was no more fighting. The
British government was nearly ready to give up to the United States, and
own that they "were, and of right ought to be, free and independent," as
the great Declaration had said more than five years before. But such
things take a long time to settle, and General Washington thought that
the Americans could make a great deal better terms of peace if they kept
ready for war. How tired he was of the war! How he longed to get back to
Mount Vernon, and to his peaceful farmer's life! His letters written
about this time are full of these desires. He was a great General; and
the whole country honored and loved him as a man whose courage and skill
had made his countrymen free, but he often said that he would give all
the glory he had won if he could go back to his crops and his trees, his
horses and his hounds, and his beloved family, and rest. Yet he stood by
his post to the very last. He begged his countrymen to keep up the army,
and not to lay down their arms till everything was sure. He begged his
officers and soldiers to be patient and stay with him, though they had
much reason to complain. They had been poorly paid, or not paid at all.
Many of them were actually ruined for their country, and, when they left
the army, did not know where or how they should get a living. At this
moment some of them thought they would be happier and better off under a
King, if that King were Washington. They said to themselves: "It is all
very well to be free, but here is a free nation which turns its old
soldiers out to starve, which does not pay its debts, which hardly
deserves freedom. We should have greater justice, and more peace and
safety, with this wise, strong man as King." One of Washington's
officers hinted as much to him. The General was filled with sorrow and
anger and shame at the very thought. What had he done, that men should
think he would consent to such treason? He wrote to the man who had
suggested the plan, "If you have any regard for your country, or respect
for me, banish these thoughts from your mind."
At last, in the spring of 1783, word came that a treaty of peace had
been signed, and that the independence of the United States was no
longer disputed. This joyful news was read to the American army on the
19th of April, just eight years after the first gallant fight at
Concord in 1775. Washington wrote a farewell address to the army which
he had led so long. It was like the wise and loving speech of a good
father. He thanked them warmly for the noble spirit with which they had
upheld him during the tedious and cruel years of war; he reminded them
of the end for which they had fought, that the United States might be a
free nation, with the right to govern itself as it thought best; and he
prayed them to do all that they could to make their country just and
wise in peace, as it had been brave and fortunate in war. It was winter
before Washington had the affairs of his command settled so that he
could leave the army and return to his home. On the 4th of December he
met the principal officers of the army at New York to bid them farewell.
They were gathered for that purpose at Fraunce's Tavern when he entered.
Filling a glass, he turned to them, and said: "With a heart full of love
and gratitude, I now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your
latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been
glorious and honorable." Then one by one, as the officers came to him,
he clasped hands with each, and embraced him in silence. These brave
men, who had faced death together, and had cheerfully borne untold
privation, were not ashamed to weep at parting with their beloved friend
and chief. When he had saluted them all, he passed through a corps of
soldiers outside the door, and walked to the river-side, followed by the
officers in solemn silence. He entered the barge, and raising his hat,
he waved them farewell; and they, with the same loving gesture, watched
the barge push off, and turned away. Washington took his journey to
Annapolis, in Maryland, gave up his commission to Congress, and returned
to Mount Vernon.
He reached his home on Christmas-eve, 1783. It was more than eight years
and a half since he had left it to join the Continental Congress at
Philadelphia, and he had seen it but twice in that long interval. When
he went away he was forty-three years old--in the very prime of manhood;
when he returned he was fifty-one, and felt that he was growing old.
Constant labor, constant care, exposure in the camp and on the march,
and the sad and fearful experience of battle, had told upon his
naturally strong frame, and he welcomed the prospect of rest as simply
and as gladly as a tired child. He wrote to his dear friend Lafayette,
who had returned to France: "At length I am become a private citizen on
the banks of the Potomac; and under the shadow of my own vine and
fig-tree, free from the bustle of a camp and the busy scenes of public
life, I am solacing myself with tranquil enjoyments.... I have not only
retired from all public employments, but I am retiring within myself,
and shall be able to view the solitary walk and tread the paths of
private life with heart-felt satisfaction."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE MAGIC SPINET.
BY MRS. J. E. McCONAUGHY.
The gay people of Paris were one day invited to attend a musical
entertainment, in which "a magic spinet" was to be the chief attraction.
Its wonders were set forth in glowing terms, and a large audience
gathered at the appointed time to witness its performance. The poor
musician, whose all was at stake, looked on the assembly with rejoicing
eyes, but perhaps with a little trembling lest his "magic" should not
work as perfectly as at rehearsals.
After some playing by himself and his two little children, all stepped
back, and, at the word of command, the instrument repeated the whole
symphony. This marvel was well received, when the musician pretended to
wind up his machine by a very hard-working winch, which made a terrible
racket.
Now the wise ones thought it all explained. "Only a foolish contrivance
of weights and springs, like a barrel-organ," they said. That was just
what the musician wished them to think, as it would make his triumph
more decided. He now proceeded to show them that the instrument had a
mind capable of hearing and obeying. Calling his children away, he waved
his wand, and in an authoritative voice commanded, "Spinet, play"--such
a tune.
The instrument obediently played the tune. Then the order was given,
"Spinet, be silent," and all was quiet.
"Spinet, give us a light flourish," and it instantly warbled forth the
gayest melody, which was received with rapturous applause. Then the
whole sentiment of the audience was changed, and all admitted that Jean
Baptiste Raisin, the musician, was also a great magician.
Evening after evening he repeated his performance, and the gold poured
in beyond his fondest dreams. His reputation spread far and wide, and at
last reached the King. He would have this novelty brought to court, and
let the Queen and the royal ladies enjoy such a wonderful entertainment.
Jean was not used to courts, but his passion for money was growing fast,
and he determined fairly to outdo himself in such a golden harvest
field. His instrument was "instructed" to a most unusual degree, and at
the appointed time was in good working order at the palace of
Versailles. Everything proceeded famously until the organist carried on
his old trick of "winding up." Royal ears were not used to such horrid
discords as followed the working of that winch. The delicate nerves of
all the ladies were dreadfully shocked, the Queen's in particular.
But I suppose a Queen's curiosity is much like other people's. She must
have a view of the evil spirit inside the instrument, which seemed to
play so unwillingly, judging from the shrieks it gave out on being wound
up. The poor organist protested he had "lost the key." But that was of
no avail.
"Can not some one break it open?" asked the King. Royalty has a very
persuasive way, so Jean was forced at last to open the box; and what do
you think they found within? A poor trembling little lad, not six years
old, who operated a set of keys inside, which his father had constructed
for him. The whole instrument was planned with this performance in view,
the lad's small size and wonderful musical talent making the deception
possible.
It was plain that the little one was half fainting with the stifled air
he had breathed so long; and ready hands reached out to help him, and
kind voices soothed and comforted him. When he was refreshed, all wished
to hear him play in fair sight, and the praising and petting and
confections and gold coins showered upon him would have turned a wiser
head. Defeat was turned into a grand victory.
His father now invented a comedy, in which little Louis acted an
important part.
A company appeared seated about a table, with a big black-pudding before
them. When the pudding was cut, a great outcry was heard within. Soon it
began to roll about the plates, and at last out hopped a little pig.
They chased it about awhile with skewers, and finally, just as it was
caught, it changed into an imp, with horns and hoofs, and a sabre by its
side. Of course the company were greatly frightened, and tumbled down on
the stage, pell-mell, all in a heap. But one sad day a performer thrust
too hard with his sharp skewer, and poor little Louis performed and
played no more. They laid him away in the pleasant cemetery, and very
soon a heartbroken little sister, who could not be comforted, was laid
beside him.
[Illustration: SHOOTING THE WATER-SPOUT. IN THE SUEZ CANAL.]
[Begun in No. 19 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, March 9.]
ACROSS THE OCEAN; OR, A BOY'S FIRST VOYAGE.
A True Story.
BY J. O. DAVIDSON.