"THE NEVER-GIVE-UPS."
"Now Christmas is come,
Let us beat up the drum,
And call our neighbors together;
And when they appear,
Let us make them good cheer,
As will keep out the wind and the weather."
This is what the old song says; but it is not the way the people of the
new colonies celebrated Christmas. Indeed, they thought it wrong to
observe it at all,--because their forefathers had come away from England
almost on purpose to get rid of the forms and ceremonies which hindered
their worship in the church over there.
The Parlins, however, saw no harm in celebrating the day of our
Saviour's birth, and Mrs. Parlin, who was an Episcopalian, always
instructed Love and the boys to trim the house with evergreens, and put
cedar crosses in the windows.
Willy was glad whenever his grandfather Cheever happened to be visiting
them at "Christmas-tide," for then he was sure of a present. Mr. Cheever
was an Englishman of the old school, and prayed for King George. He wore
what were called "small clothes,"--that is, short breeches, which came
only to the knee, and were fastened there with a buckle,--silk
stockings, and a fine ruffled shirt. His hair was braided into a long
queue behind, which served Willy for a pair of reins, when he went
riding on the dear old gentleman's back.
I am not sure that Mr. Parlin was always glad to see grandpa Cheever,
for they differed entirely in politics, and that was a worse thing then
than it is now, if you can believe it. Mr. Parlin loved George
Washington, and grandpa said he was "only an upstart." Grandpa loved
King George, and Mr. Parlin said he was "only a crazy man."
But Willy adored his grandfather, especially at holiday times; for
besides presents, they were sure to have games in the big dining-room,
such as blindfold, or "Wood-man blind," bob-apple, and snap-dragon.
Then they always had a log brought in with great ceremony, called the
Yule log, the largest one that could be found in the shed; and when Seth
and Stephen came staggering in with it, grandpa Cheever, and Mrs.
Parlin, and Love, and Willy all struck up,--
"Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing,
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts' desiring."
The "good dame," I suppose, was Mrs. Parlin; and she gave them to drink,
it is true, but nothing stronger than metheglin, or egg nog, or flip. It
seems to me I can almost see her standing by the table, pouring it out
with a gracious smile. She was a handsome, queenly-looking woman, they
say, though rather too large round the waist you might think.
Her father was a famous singer, as well as herself; and for my part I
should have enjoyed hearing some of their old songs, while the wind
went whistling round the house:--
"Without the door let Sorrow lie,
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury it in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry."
Or this one:--
"Rejoice, our Saviour, he was born
On Christmas day in the morning."
But these were family affairs, these Christmas meetings. No one else in
Perseverance had anything to do with them, not even Caleb or Lydia.
But the little boys in those days did not live without amusements, you
may be sure. Perhaps their choicest and most bewitching sport was
training. There had been one great war,--the war of the
Revolution,--and as people were looking for another,--which actually
came in 1812,--it was thought safe for men to be drilled in the practice
of marching and carrying fire-arms.
In Perseverance, and many other towns, companies were formed, such as
the Light Infantry, or "String Bean Company," the Artillery, and the
"Troop." These met pretty often, and marched about the streets to the
sound of martial music.
Of course the little boys could not see and hear of all this without a
swelling of the heart and a prancing of the feet; for they were rather
different from boys of these days! Hard indeed, thought they, if they
couldn't form a company too! As for music, what was to hinder them from
pounding it out of tin pans and pewter porringers? There is music in
everything, if you can only get it out. Chickens' wind-pipes, when well
dried, are very melodious, and so are whistles made of willow; and if
you are fond of variety, there are always bones to be had, and
dinner-horns, and jews-harps.
Full of zeal for their country, the little boys on both sides of the
river met together and formed quite a large company. They had two trials
to begin with; firstly, they could not think of a name fine enough for
themselves; and secondly, they could not get any sort of uniform to
wear. Their mothers could not see the necessity of their having new
suits just to play in; and it seemed for some time as if the little
patriots would have to march forever in their old every-day clothes.
"But they'll give us some new ones by and by, boys," said Willy. "My
mother laughed last night, when I asked again, and that's a certain sure
sign."
"O, I thought we'd given that up," said Fred Chase.
"Look here, boys," exclaimed Willy; "I've thought of a name; it's the
'Never-Give-Ups.' All in favor say 'Ay'!"
"Ay! ay!" piped all the lads; and it was a vote. Perhaps it was a year
before the Never-Give-Ups got their uniforms; but at last their mammas
saw the subject in a proper light, and stopped their work long enough to
dye some homespun suits dark blue, and trim them gorgeously with red.
Willy's regimentals were not home-made; they were cut down from his
father's old ones; and he might have been too well pleased with them,
only Fred Chase's were better yet, being new, with the first gloss on,
just as they had come from a store in the city of Boston.
Fred was captain of the company. The boys had felt obliged in the very
beginning to have it so, on account of a beautiful instrument, given him
by his father, called a flageolet. True, Fred could not play on it at
all, and had to give it up to Willy; but it belonged to him all the
same.
"Something's the matter with my lungs," said Fred, coughing; "and that's
why those little holes plague me so; it's too hard work to blow 'em."
The boys looked at one another with wise nods and smiles. They did not
like Fred very well; but he was always pushing himself forward: and when
a boy has a great deal of self-esteem, and a brave suit of clothes
right from Boston, how are you going to help yourselves, pray? So Fred
was captain, and Willy only a fifer.
There was one boy in the ranks who caused some trouble--Jock Winter. Not
that Jock quarrelled, or did anything you could find fault with; but he
was simple-minded and a hunchback, and some of the boys made fun of him.
When Fred became captain he fairly hooted him out of the company. "No
fair! no fair!" cried Willy, Joshua Potter, the Lyman twins, and two
thirds of the other boys; but the captain had his way in spite of the
underground muttering.
Saturday afternoon was the time for training. The Never-Give-Ups met at
the old red store kept by Daddy Wiggins, and paraded down the village
street, and across the bridge, as far sometimes as the Dug Way, a
beautiful spot three or four miles from home. They were a goodly sight
to see,--the bright, healthy boys, straight as the "Quaker guns" they
carried, and marching off with a firm and manly tread.
Mothers take a secret pride in their sons, and many loving eyes watched
this procession out of town; but the procession didn't know it, for the
mothers were very much afraid of flattering the boys. I think myself it
would have done the little soldiers no harm to be praised once in a
while. Indeed, I wish they might have heard the ladies of the village
talking about them, as they met to drink tea at Mrs. Parlin's. She never
went out herself, but often invited company to what they called little
"tea-junketings."
"Well," said Mrs. Potter, the doctor's wife, "isn't it enough to do your
eyes good to see such a noble set of boys?"
"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Griggs; "and I am not afraid for our country, if
they grow up as good men as they now bid fair to be."
Mrs. Chase could not respond to this, for her boy Fred was a great
trial; his father indulged him too much, and she had had strong fears
that he might take to bad habits. But he was as handsome as any of the
boys, and she spoke up quickly:--
"Yes, Mrs. Potter; as you say, they _are_ a noble-looking set of boys;
and don't they march well?"
"They waste a great deal of time; but then they might be doing worse,
and I like to see boys enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Lyman, the greatest
worker in town.
Her twins, George and Silas, ought to have heard that, for they thought
their mother did not care to see them do anything but delve.
"Ah, bless their little hearts, we are all as proud of them as we can
be," said ruddy, fleshy Mrs. Parlin, brushing back her purple
cap-strings as she poured the tea. "My Willy, now, is the very apple of
my eye, and the little rogue knows it too."
Yes, Willy did know it, for his mother was not afraid to tell him so.
The other boys had love doled out to them like wedding cake, as if it
were too rich and precious for common use; but Mrs. Parlin's love was
free and plenteous, and Willy lived on it like daily bread.
Kissing and petting were sure to spoil boys, so Elder Lovejoy's wife
thought; and she longed to say so to Mrs. Parlin; but somehow she
couldn't; for her little Isaac was not half as good as Willy, though he
hadn't been kissed much since he was big enough to go to school.
"Willy's grandpa Cheever has sent him a splendid present," said Mrs.
Parlin; "it is a drum. His birthday will come next Wednesday; but when I
saw him marching off with Freddy's flageolet under his arm, I really
longed to give him the drum to-day."
"I dare say you did," said Mrs. Lyman, warmly. "We mothers enjoy our
children's presents more than they enjoy them themselves."
Then she and Mrs. Parlin exchanged a pleasant smile, for they two
understood each other remarkably well.
Willy received his drum on the fifteenth of September, his tenth
birthday, and was prouder than General Washington at the surrender of
Lord Cornwallis. No more borrowed flageolets for him. He put so much
soul into the drumsticks that the noise was perfectly deafening. He
called the family to breakfast, dinner, and supper, to the tune of "Hail
Columbia," or "Fy! let us a' to the wedding!" and nearly distracted
Quaker Liddy by making her roll out her pie-crust to the exact time of
"Yankee Doodle."
"I don't see the sense of such a con-tin-oo-al thumping, you little
dear," said she.
"That's 'cause you're a Quaker," cried Willy. "But I tell you while my
name's Willy Parlin this drum _shall_ be heard."
Poor Liddy stopped her ears.
"What you smiling for, mother?" said Willy. "Are you pleased to think
you've got a little boy that can pound music so nice?"
"Not exactly that, my son. I was wondering whether there is room enough
out of doors for that drum."
"Why, mother!" exclaimed the little soldier much chagrined. "Why,
mother!"
Everybody else had complained of the din; but he thought she, with her
fine musical taste, must be delighted. After this pointed slight he did
not pound so much in the house, and the animals got more benefit of the
noise. Towler enjoyed it hugely; and the cows might have kept step to
the pasture every morning, and the hens every night to the roost, if
they had had the least ear for music. Siller Noonin, who believed in
witches, began to think the boy was "possessed." Love laughed, and said
she did not believe that; but she was afraid Willy spoke the truth every
day when he said so stoutly,--
"While my name is Willy Parlin, this drum _shall_ be heard."
She wondered if parchment would ever wear out.
He drummed with so much spirit that it had a strong effect on the little
training company. They had always liked him much better than Fred, and
were glad of an excuse now to make him their captain. A boy who could
fife so well, and drum so well, ought to be promoted, they
thought--"All in favor say Ay!"
Poor Fred was dismayed. He had always known he was unpopular; still he
had not expected this.
"But how can _I_ be captain?" replied Willy, ready to shout with
delight. "If I'm captain, who'll beat my drum?"
"Isaac Lovejoy," was the quick reply.
That settled it, and Willy said no more. He was now leader of the
company, and Fred Chase was obliged to walk behind him as first
lieutenant.
But the moment Willy was promoted, and before they began to march, he
"took the stump," and made a stirring speech in favor of Jock Winter.
"Now see here, boys," said he, leaning on his wooden gun, and looking
around him persuasively. "'All men are born free and equal.' I s'pose
you know that? It's put down so in the Declaration of Independence!"
"O, yes! Ay! Ay!"
"Well, Jock Winter was born as free and equal as any of us; he wasn't
born a hunchback. But see here: wouldn't you be a hunchback yourself,
s'posing your father had let you fall down stairs when you was a baby? I
put it to you--now wouldn't you?"
"Ay, ay," responded the boys.
"Well; and s'pose folks made fun of you just for that; how would you
like it?"
"Shouldn't like it at all."
"But then Jock's just about half witted," put in Fred, faintly. He knew
his power was gone, but he wanted to say something.
"Well, what if he is half-witted? He thinks more of his country than you
do; twice more, and risk it."
"That's so," cried Joshua Potter. "Fred says if there's another war,
_he_ won't go; he never'll stand up for a mark to be shot at, at eleven
dollars a month!"
"O, for shame!" exclaimed the captain.
"Now you hush up," said Fred, reddening. "I was only in fun--of course I
was! You needn't say anything, Will Parlin; a boy that has a _Tory
drum_!"
"It's a good Whig drum as ever lived!" returned Willy. "But come, now,
boys; will we have Jock Winter?"
It was a vote; and the Never-Give-Ups went over the river in a body to
invite him. He lived in a log-house with his grandfather, and a negro
servant known as Joe Whitehead. Old Mr. Winter was aroused from his
afternoon nap by the terrific beating of the drum, and thought the
British were coming down upon him.
"Joe! Joe!" cried he. "Get your scythe, Joe, and mow 'em down as fast as
they come!"
When the little boys heard of this, it amused them greatly. Mistaken for
the British army, indeed! Well, now, that was something worth while!
A happier soul than little, simple, round-shouldered Jock you never saw,
unless it was his poor old grandfather. He could keep step with the best
of them; but unfortunately he had no decent clothes. This was a great
drawback, but Mrs. Parlin and Mrs. Lyman took pity on the boy, and made
him a nice suit.