once one of the boys puts his head under the rope, and, standing by the
queen, replies, "I will." Then raising a crown of wild flowers, he puts
it on her head. No sooner is she crowned than she blindfolds the boy,
and another girl enters, thus making two girls in the ring. The game is
to "tag" the right girl before the other players count nine. When the
boy "tags" the girl, he must at once say whether or not she is the
queen, and if he makes a mistake he must remain in the ring and try
again. The first girl withdraws, the second girl is crowned queen, and
the game is repeated. But should he make no mistake, the boy remains in
the ring, is crowned king, and the game goes on, only that two boys are
in the ring when a girl is blindfolded.
Another rope game was called the Guess.
Put a rope on the ground in the form of a circle; in the centre put a
stone about the size of a duck's egg. The players stand backwards around
the rope, with their heels touching it. Each one in turn throws a
grace-hoop over his right shoulder, with the hope it will encircle the
stone. As soon as the hoop is thrown all may turn and see the position.
If the hoop encircles the stone the player may try again and again,
until he fails, counting one for each time. Then the party to his right
tries, and so on all around the rope. Whoever has the largest count wins
the game.
This game is also played facing the stone; it is then no longer a game
of guess, but a game of skill.
After the rope games, one of the boys taught a German game called Urbar,
which he said was really a play on the word bear.
Every one excepting the boy who was instructor, and who was now known as
Bear, twisted and knitted their handkerchiefs. The Bear selected a tree
as starting-point, and stated his object would be to tag the others, and
that whoever was tagged would become a Bear, and would have to return to
the tree, pursued and beaten all the way back with the knotted
handkerchiefs. The two Bears then join hands, and starting out, try to
tag every one that is possible, and this action is repeated until all
the players are Bears. Whenever the chain of Bears is broken, as it
sometimes is by an attack from the rear, the Bears again return to the
tree.
This game was followed by the Jolly Dinner:
Each girl in succession led a boy to a position to dance a reel.
First girl then said to first boy, "This is my flower to decorate the
table," and she gave the boy a flower, which he put in his button-hole.
Second girl to second boy, "This is my flower to decorate the table,"
and giving him a different flower, he put it in his button-hole.
Third girl to third boy, "You tread clams for dinner," and the boy made
the motion of treading for clams.
Fourth girl to fourth boy, "You catch trout for dinner," and the boy
made believe he was a fly-fisherman.
Fifth girl to fifth boy, "You get lamb to roast," and the boy called.
"Bah! bah!"
Sixth girl to sixth boy, "You get the turkey to roast," and the boy gave
the call of a turkey-gobbler.
Seventh girl to seventh boy, "You shoot the duck for roasting," and the
boy called, "Quack! quack!"
Eighth girl to eighth boy, "You are my pigeon to bake in a pie," and the
boy flapped his arms, in imitation of wings.
Ninth girl to ninth boy, "You are the baker, and must make our cake,"
and the boy pretended to beat eggs.
Tenth girl to tenth boy, "You are the young man who grinds good coffee,"
and he acted as if turning the crank of a coffee-mill.
As soon as the tenth boy responded, those who received flowers whistled
"Yankee Doodle"; all the others danced a reel, repeating their calls and
motions while dancing.
This game caused so much hilarity that one of the boys proposed that
childish game and old favorite the Mulberry Bush, and joining hands
around a bush, they sang out loud and clear, "Here we go around the
mulberry bush so early in the morning." Then they pretended they were
sewing, and sang, "This is the way we sew our clothes, so early in the
morning." And so on, adding verse after verse.
"So it's no wonder I feel tired now," one of the girls explained, "for,
besides these games, we had tennis and archery matches. Indeed, we had
nothing but fun all day long."
A COUNTRY BOY'S SOLILOQUY.
BY CLARA LOUISE ANGEL.
When the blackbird twitters blithely on the school-room window-sill,
And I hear the cattle lowing from the pasture on the hill,
When the hollyhocks are peeping through the widely open door,
And the sunshine flickers through the leaves across the school-room
floor,
My truant mind don't seem inclined to work this endless sum:
I'm a-wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days had come.
I long to roam about the fields, to ride on loads of hay.
To pluck the yellow buttercups that grow beside the way,
To hunt for eggs, go berrying, and vault the meadow fence;
But oh! the joy to fill your heart with pleasure most intense:
_To bait your hook beside the brook, where little trout appear!_
How I'm wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days were here!
When the holidays have come at last, like happy golden dreams,
I'll speed away, all blithe and gay, and seek the meadow streams.
Oh, then my mind will be at peace; my hours will be sublime--
Though _now_ I'm groaning over books, but thinkin' all the time
Of little trout that dart about beneath the waters clear,
And a-wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days were here!
HELD CAPTIVE BY SAVAGES.
BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.
Few boys are ever called upon to go through such an experience as fell
to the lot of John Jewett, and it is safe to claim that no boy of his
age would have shown a braver spirit than he exhibited during his three
years' captivity among the savages.
The ship _Boston_, belonging to the port of that name, commanded by
Captain John Salter, sailed a good many years ago for a trading voyage
to the then little-visited northwest coast of America. The hero of this
story had been apprenticed to his father, a shipsmith of Boston, but
developing a longing to see the world, obtained his parents' consent to
ship as an armorer on board of Captain Salter's vessel. After the usual
boisterous Cape Horn passage, the _Boston_ ran into the fine weather of
the Pacific, and made a speedy voyage to Nootka Sound, coming to anchor
in a sheltered cove close to the principal village on the coast.
As soon as the ship was moored, the King of the country went on board
and welcomed Captain Salter warmly, promising that he would bring off
for trade many furs, seal-skins, and other articles. The ruler of this
section of Nootka Sound was known as King Maquina. He was over six feet
in height, powerfully built, and possessed good features; but his face
and body were made hideous by being smeared with stripes of white,
black, and red paint. His long black hair fairly reeked with oil, and
through a hole cut below the under lip a ring of ivory dangled. The
dress of this chieftain was composed of a splendid otter-skin cloak
reaching to the knees, and a head-dress of various colored feathers. On
each arm above the elbow were several circles of copper, and around the
ankles were strapped a number of small bells which jingled as he walked.
Having been frequently visited by trading captains, he had picked up
enough English to make himself understood in that language. Vessels
bringing firearms, knives, hatchets, and fancy articles in the way of
beads, bells, etc., were sure of carrying away, in exchange, valuable
furs and skins. For several days after bartering had commenced the
natives continued to bring on board otter and other furs. Large
quantities of salmon, duck, and geese were also exchanged for trinkets,
which were highly prized by the natives.
About a fortnight after the arrival of the ship it became evident that
the Indians had traded their available stock, so preparations were made
to leave this part of the coast. It is probable that Captain Salter and
the King would have parted in a friendly way had not the former's greed
led him to speak disrespectfully to the proud savage. The cause of the
trouble was a fowling-piece which Maquina wished to obtain, but for
which he was unwilling to pay the price demanded, being nothing less
than the elegant cloak that covered his person. Thinking to bring the
King to terms, the master told him that he would not deal with him ever
again, and ordered him to leave the cabin and quit the ship with all his
people. Maquina made no reply to the Captain, but his countenance
expressed the rage he felt. Going to the side of the vessel to regain
his canoe, he met the boy John, who was at work at his forge near the
gangway. The King had taken a great fancy to the young armorer on
account of the latter having mended a number of broken implements
belonging to the royal collection, as well as having made in his
presence a finely shaped tomahawk, with which the admiring chief had
been presented. Seeing the fierce looks of the King, John asked him the
cause. Maquina explained the trouble, and during the recital frequently
clutched his neck and smoothed his breast, explaining that this
performance was necessary to keep down his angry heart, which was rising
in his throat and choking him.
The following morning, while the mate and a number of the men were on
shore filling the water-casks, the King came off to the ship with a
present of a fine salmon for the Captain, and appeared to be very
cheerful and friendly. Shortly after this a number of canoes paddled
alongside, their occupants holding up various things which they offered
to trade. One by one, on various pretexts, they climbed over the rail,
until there were about fifty of them on the deck. Maquina spoke to John,
asking him to fix the lock of his gun, which he said he had broken.
Entering the carpenter's work-room to get a screw-driver, John found the
door quietly closed upon him, and secured from the outside so that exit
was impossible. Almost immediately a frightful warwhoop and the sound of
a scuffle on the deck proved that the savages had turned against the
crew. At the end of two or three minutes Maquina opened the door and
said:
"You, John, no hurt--heap good boy--make plenty spear--come."
As the young armorer held back, not knowing but what it was the
intention of the savages to murder him as soon as he should appear, the
King added, impatiently:
"What for no come? No hurt you--heap plenty all dead. King him save you
make plenty gun--you come."
When John, sick at heart, followed Maquina outside, he saw the natives
throwing overboard the mutilated bodies of the crew. Concerning John
they had evidently been posted by the chief, for when they caught sight
of the boy they patted him on the head and shoulders, and turned the
palms of their hands toward him as signs of friendship. John was now
directed to enter the King's canoe, which, followed by several others,
paddled to that part of the coast, about two miles distant, where a
stream of fresh water emptied into the bay, and to which the mate and
sailors had gone just after breakfast with the water-casks. It was only
when the boats neared the spot that John realized the mission of the
painted savages, whose restless eyes swept the length of the beach,
while their sinewy arms plied the paddles that drove their boats of bark
with surprising quickness over the smooth water. The ship's launch was
soon made out hauled up on the white sand, but the crew were nowhere in
sight, and it was evident that they were hidden by the bushes that
fringed the beach. Before the canoes had effected a landing the mate and
his men emerged from the undergrowth, rolling the water-casks in the
direction of the boat. Catching sight of the little fleet that now, at a
sign from the chief, advanced slowly toward them, the seamen halted
suspiciously; but Maquina waved a green branch before him as a token
that his errand was one of peace, and the sailors started down to the
beach to meet them.
Up to this time John had remained passive, crushed under the
recollection of the awful end that had overtaken the Captain and men who
had remained on board; but now, resolved to warn his shipmates even at
the risk of his life, he jumped to his feet, waved his arms to attract
their attention, and was about to cry to them, when a blow from the
King's war-club upon the back of his head tumbled him senseless into the
bottom of the canoe. When John opened his eyes some time after this, it
was to meet Maquina's triumphant gaze, and to hear that individual say:
"How John? Now can make heap noise--no hear--all dead. Maquina he plenty
big chief."
When the canoes returned to the village they were met by the entire
population, who welcomed them with shouts of joy and war-songs chanted
to an accompaniment played on their tomtoms, these instruments
consisting of the dry skin of a seal stretched over a hollow shape of
wood. Towards John the kindest treatment was shown, but the King
explained that he was a slave, and that he must obey his orders and not
try to escape, otherwise he would be given to the old women to be
tortured. The chief wound up his harangue in this way: "Much good boy
John. Maquina plenty big chief--heap friends. John make spear, make gun,
make heap plenty all Maquina. No never go way--stay old man--heap good.
Ugh!"
Finding that he was free to go about as he pleased, John threw his tired
and aching body down under a tree, and surrendered his mind to bitter
reflections. Only a few hours before yonder ship had been animated with
a happy crew, speculating, as they worked, about the queer presents they
proposed to purchase for friends and sweethearts when the ship arrived
in the pig-tailed kingdom, for it had been Captain Salter's intention to
proceed to China for a cargo of tea after trading with the Indians. Now
the only human beings on board the ill-fated _Boston_ were the savages
left by the King to guard the great treasure that made Maquina the
richest lord among all the chiefs on the northwest coast. Throughout the
long afternoon the boy was left alone to nurse his sorrow and despair.
He knew that few vessels visited this far-away, uncivilized land, and
that years might elapse without offering him a chance of escape from his
captors. Mother and father would long wait for his return. Brothers and
sisters were likely to grow to manhood and womanhood without seeing the
brother they remembered last as a sailor-boy, kissing them good-by
beneath the vine-encircled porch of their modest home on the morning
when the good ship _Boston_ opened her white wings and glided out of the
harbor to the hearty chorusing of the seamen as they pulled upon the
ropes.
When evening came, the King, who had been on board the vessel,
approached the boy, saying:
"John come--plenty eat--sleep Maquina's tepee. To-morrow make big
tomahawk chop off head--Maquina heap big chief."
Whereupon the King took John by the hand and led him to his hut, inside
of which the chief's wives had arranged the evening meal. To please the
King, poor John made a show of eating; then asked permission to lie down
on one of the skins scattered around on the floor, to which request
Maquina nodded an assent, and the boy stretched his tired limbs upon the
rug, and in spite of his aching head, soon fell asleep. He was awakened
by the King prodding him with the handle of his spear. For a few moments
the strangeness of his surroundings dazed him, then, with the larger
recovery of his faculties, the bitter truth was forced upon him. Choking
back a sob, he returned Maquina's salutation, and followed him out of
the hut to find that the morning had come and that the village was
astir. After breakfast the King told John that he was to accompany him
to the ship and bring the forge on shore, explaining his purpose in this
way:
"Get iron fire--plenty iron--make heap things--get heap sail--heap
things--burn ship so no can find--good--Maquina heap rich--plenty much
gun--fight--kill--big chief. Ugh!"
Here he smote his breast, and strutted about in a lordly way until he
caught sight of one of his wives taking a drink out of a decanter of rum
that had stood on the Captain's table, and which the King had brought on
shore as a precious find. Calling her a "peshak," which signifies a very
bad woman, Maquina threw his spear at her, with the effect of knocking
the bottle from her hand and breaking it on the ground. Forgetting
kingly demeanor in his rage, he next hurled his war-club after the
screaming woman, narrowly missing her head.
"Squaw bad--much whip," grunted the King, as he surveyed the broken
glass and the little pool of liquor fast being absorbed into the earth.
For a moment he eyed it wistfully, then got down on his knees and sucked
up a mouthful of the spirit, after which he received back his spear and
club from an obsequious attendant, rewarding his subject and relieving
his own outraged feelings by giving the poor savage a rap across the
back that sent him flying from the royal presence.
Upon going on board the _Boston_ the chief entered the cabin to ransack
the officers' rooms, and John descended into the hold in order to obtain
a number of bars of iron with which to make the spear-heads and the
like. While getting them slung for hoisting on deck he heard his name
pronounced in a Christian voice, and looking in the direction of the
sound, saw the dishevelled sail-maker of the ship. He had been in the
'tweendecks when the massacre occurred, where he had hastened half
dressed from his bunk at the time of the attack. In a few words he was
made acquainted with the story of the tragedy; then John told him that
as everything was to be at once removed from the vessel, his
hiding-place would soon be discovered, but that he had a plan by which
he hoped to save his life, and for him to conceal himself again while he
would go on deck and talk with the King. Entering the officers'
quarters, John found the chief had togged himself out in the Captain's
clothes and was in excellent humor as he proudly surveyed himself in the
looking-glass which encased the mizzenmast where it passed through the
cabin. Throwing himself on his knees before the King, John said that he
had found his father, the sail-maker, alive, and begged that his life
might be spared, claiming that his parent would make a great white
house out of the ship's sails, and that this would be so beautiful as to
cause all the other chiefs in the land to die of envy. Maquina appeared
greatly pleased, and promised that "John's father" should not be harmed.
Going on deck he addressed his men, telling them the story, and ordered
John to call the sail-maker on deck. The old man made his way up the
ladder and kneeled before the Chief, who lifted him up, saying:
"How John's Father? Maquina no kill--make plenty white tepee--make heap
canoe sail--heap good. Ugh!"
[Illustration: "THE SAIL-MAKER SMOKED THE PIPE OF PEACE WITH THE KING."]
Several days later, when everything of value to the savages had been
carried on shore, the vessel was set on fire. That night on shore in
Maquina's tent, dressed in the remnants of some hunter's costume, the
sail-maker smoked the pipe of peace with the King, and made his position
in the camp as secure as John's.
Maquina's riches soon became known to the tribes on the coast, and
several raids were made upon his village by the covetous savages, but in
every instance they were repulsed with considerable loss, owing to the
muskets with which the chief's followers were armed. John and John's
Father, as the sail-maker was known and called, were made much of by the
King, and granted many indulgences, but were not allowed to lead idle
lives, as the duty of the first was to keep all the guns and other arms
in repair, while the other, as sail-maker-in-chief of the King's navy,
was obliged to manufacture the sails with which the canoes were fitted.
Thus nearly three years passed away, and when they had almost given up
hope of escape, the trading brig _Lydia_, of Boston, commanded by
Captain Samuel Hill, came to anchor one afternoon in the cove where a
few blackened timber-heads sticking out of the sand marked the grave of
the stately vessel that had once been moored on its gentle surface.
After placing a guard over John and the sail-maker, and forbidding them
to move out of their hut, Maquina went off to the brig to trade. Owing
to a curiosity that probably cost them their heads before the next sun
rose, the two sentinels shortly made their way to the beach in order to
look upon the strange ship with whose people their neighbors were
carrying on a lively trade, while they were left in the deserted village
and deprived of the opportunity of exchanging the skins and furs that
they had been saving for so long.
As soon as their guard disappeared the two captives plunged into the
woods and made their way around the bend of the cove so as to approach
the brig on the opposite side to the village. Waiting under cover until
night had fallen, they took to the water and swam off to the ship, where
they told their story, and were warmly received by the Captain and crew.
A close watch was kept during the night to prevent a possible surprise
by the natives, and when morning came the vessel was hauled out of the
cove and anchored at some distance from the shore. Shortly after this
Maquina's canoe was seen coming out to the ship. When it drew near, the
King stood up and eagerly scanned the faces observing him from over the
rail. He failed at first to recognize his two former captives, so great
a change had been effected in their appearance by the aid of soap,
scissors, and civilized dress; but suddenly penetrating this disguise,
he burst into tears, stretched his arms out to them, and passionately
cried:
"How John? How John's Father? No go away--come back Maquina!"
John answered the chief, telling him that he would never see them again;
that he and his father thanked him for saving their lives and treating
them kindly, but that Captain Hill was so enraged with him for killing
the white men that if he came near the ship he would be shot. Whereupon
the King beat his breast, threw his cloak over his head as a sign of
grief, and was paddled back to shore.
Fearing to remain in this place lest Maquina might make a desperate
effort to recover his lost slaves, and having completed his cargo, the
Captain made sail during the day, and by nightfall was out of sight of
land, the good ship _Lydia_ sweeping over the long Pacific swells as
though realizing that she was on her journey home. Some months later the
anchor that had last rested on the white sand of Nootka Sound was
dropped off the long wharf in Boston Harbor, and an hour later our young
hero was folded in loving arms, while the father and mother offered up
their thanksgivings for their boy who had been lost but was found
again.
[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]
St. Paul's School, Concord, is one of the few preparatory institutions
in this country, if not the only one, that has a fully organized golf
club and regularly established links. When the links was laid out in
1894 it was considered one of the best in the country, but since that
time such an advance has been made, and so much interest has been taken
in the game all over the United States, that the St. Paul's course
cannot now boast such prominence. Nevertheless it is a fine course, and
as the game is very popular at St. Paul's, improvements are constantly
being made, and the grounds keep getting better and better.
The St. Paul's Golf Club was formed a little over two years ago, and it
was made the club president's duty to have the greens cut and rolled
when they need it by the men who regularly look after the other athletic
fields of the school. The membership fee is two dollars a year, and an
orphan asylum near by furnishes caddies. A ticket is given to each boy
for every round of one person, two tickets for two persons, and so on,
and these tickets are redeemed at five cents each about once a month.
The links is a good three miles in length. The start is from a slight
incline, and over a smooth field having a fence, a road, and tall bushes
to the right, with a free meadow to the left, and, at a distance of a
fair drive, a ditch bordered by tall willows.
[Illustration: ST. PAUL'S SCHOOL, CONCORD, GOLF LINKS.
Teeing-ground at the start, looking towards the course.]