[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1896. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 849. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
JONATHAN'S ESCAPE.
BY ROBERT H. FULLER.
Though the Indians of New England were for many years vastly superior in
numbers to the white men, they were never wholly united, and their
cowardice and lack of discipline were weaknesses for which their
treachery and deceit could not compensate. The long conflict between the
races culminated in 1675 in King Philip's war, when the wily Wampanoag
sachem succeeded in forming a confederation, embracing nearly all the
New England tribes, for a final desperate struggle.
It seemed for a time as though the combination might succeed. At the end
of the summer the scattered settlements, and especially those along the
Connecticut River, which formed the outposts of the colonies, were
panic-stricken. Everywhere the savage allies had been victorious. A
dozen towns had been attacked and burned, bands of soldiers had been cut
off, and isolated murders without number had been committed. Prowling
bands of Indians lurked about the stockaded towns, driving off cattle
and rendering impossible the cultivation of the fields, so that the
settlers were called upon to face starvation as well as the
scalping-knife and tomahawk.
There was no meeting the Indians face to face, except by surprise. They
fought from ambush, or by sudden assault on unprotected points, and
would be gone before troops could be brought to the scene. The white men
were unable to follow them without Indian allies, and they were slow to
adapt themselves to the Indian mode of fighting. Flushed by their
success, the confederates became overconfident, and grew to despise
their clumsy opponents. In the spring of 1676 more than five thousand of
them were encamped on the Connecticut River, twenty miles north of
Hadley. Here they planted their corn and squashes, and amused themselves
with councils, ceremonies, and feasts, boasting of what they had done
and what they would do. They judged the white men by themselves, and did
not suspect the iron courage and stubborn determination that were urging
the people in the towns below them "to be out against the enemy." On
the night of May 18th they indulged in a great feast, and after it was
over, slept soundly in their bark lodges, all but the wary Philip, who,
scenting danger, had withdrawn across the river.
On that same evening about two hundred and fifty men and boys gathered
in Hadley street. Of this number fifty-six were soldiers from the
garrisons of Hadley, Northampton, Springfield, Hatfield, and Westfield.
The rest were volunteers, among whom was Jonathan Wells, of Hadley,
sixteen years old, whose adventures and miraculous escape have been
preserved.
The party was under the command of Captain William Turner, and the
expedition which it was about to undertake was inspired by a daring
amounting to rashness. The plan was to attack the Indian camp, which
contained four times their number of well-armed braves. Defeat meant
death, or captivity and torture worse than death. The march began after
nightfall, so as not to attract the attention of the Indian scouts, and
the little band made its way safely through swamps and forests, past the
Indian outpost, and at daybreak arrived in the neighborhood of the camp.
Here the horses were left under a small guard among the trees, while the
men crept forward to the lodges of the enemy.
The surprise was complete. The panic-stricken savages, crying that the
dreaded Mohawks were upon them, were shot down by scores, or, plunging
into the river, were swept over the falls which now bear Captain
Turner's name. The backbone of Philip's conspiracy was broken, and he
himself was driven to begin soon afterward the hunted wanderings which
were to end in the fatal morass.
But the attacking party, though victorious, was not yet out of danger.
It was still heavily outnumbered by the surviving Indians. While the
soldiers were destroying arms, ammunition, and food, or scattered in
pursuit of the fleeing enemy, the warriors rallied, and opened fire upon
them from under cover of the trees. Captain Turner became alarmed and
ordered a retreat. The main body hastily mounted and plunged into the
forest, seeking to shake off the cloud of savages who hung upon their
flanks like a swarm of angry bees.
Young Jonathan was with a detachment of about twenty who were some
distance up the river when the retreat began. They ran back to the
horses and found their comrades gone. The Indians pressed upon them in
numbers they could not hope to withstand. It was every man for himself.
In the confusion the boy kept his wits about him, and managed to find
his horse. As he plunged forward under the branches three Indians
levelled their pieces and fired. One shot passed through his hair,
another struck his horse, and the third entered his thigh, splintering
the bone where it had been broken by a cart-wheel and never properly
healed. He reeled, and would have fallen had he not clutched the mane of
his horse. The Indians, seeing that he was wounded, pursued him; but he
pointed his gun at them, and held them at bay until he was out of their
reach. As he galloped on he heard a cry for help, and reining in his
horse, regardless of the danger which encompassed him, found Stephen
Belding, a boy of his own age, lying sorely wounded on the ground. He
managed to pull him up behind, and they rode double until they overtook
the party in advance. This brave act saved Belding's life.
The retreat had become a rout. All was panic and dismay. But Jonathan
was unwilling to desert the comrades left behind. He sought out Captain
Turner, and begged him to halt and turn back to their relief. "It is
better to save some than to lose all," was the Captain's answer. The
confusion increased, and to add to it the guides became bewildered and
lost their way. "If you love your lives, follow me," cried one. "If you
would see your homes again, follow me," shouted another, and the party
was soon split up into small bands. The one with which Jonathan found
himself became entangled in a swamp, where it was once more attacked by
the Indians. He escaped again, with ten others, who, finding that his
horse was going lame from his wound, and that he himself was weak from
loss of blood, left him with another wounded man, and rode away. His
companion, thinking the boy's hurt worse than his own, concluded that he
would stand a better chance of getting clear alone, and riding off on
pretense of seeking the path, failed to return. Jonathan was now wholly
deserted. Wounded, ignorant even of the direction of his home,
surrounded by bloodthirsty Indians, and weak with hunger, he pushed
desperately on. He was near fainting once, when he heard some Indians
running about and whooping near by; but they did not discover him, and a
nutmeg which he had in his pocket revived him for a time.
After straying some distance further he swooned in good earnest, and
fell from his horse. When he came to he found that he had retained his
hold on the reins, and that the animal stood quietly beside him. He tied
him to a tree, and lay down again; but he soon grew so weak that he
abandoned all hope of escape, and out of pity loosed the horse and let
him go. He succeeded in kindling a fire by flashing powder in the pan of
his gun. It spread in the dry leaves and burned his hands and face
severely. Feeling sure that the Indians would be attracted by the smoke
and come and kill him, he threw away his powder-horn and bullets,
keeping only ammunition for a single last shot. Then he stopped his
wound with tow, bound it up with his neckcloth, and went to sleep.
In the morning he found that the bleeding had stopped, and that he was
much stronger. He managed to find a path which led him to a river which
he remembered to have crossed on the way to the camp. With great pain,
and difficulty, leaning on his gun, the lock of which he was careful to
keep dry, he waded through it, and fell exhausted on the further bank.
While he lay there an Indian in a canoe appeared, and the boy, who could
neither fight nor run, gave himself up for lost. But he remembered the
three Indians in the woods, and putting a bold face on the matter, aimed
his gun, though its barrel was choked with sand. The savage, thinking he
was about to shoot, leaped overboard, leaving his own gun in the canoe,
and ran to tell his friends that the white men were coming again.
Jonathan knew that pursuit was certain, and as it was broad daylight,
and he could only hobble at best, he assured himself that there was no
hope for him. Nevertheless he looked about for a hiding-place, and
presently, a little distance away, noticed two trees which, undermined
by the current, had fallen forward into the stream close together. A
mass of driftwood had lodged on their trunks. Jonathan got back into the
water so as to leave no tracks, and creeping between the trunks under
the driftwood, found a space large enough to permit him to breathe. In a
few minutes the Indians arrived in search of him, as he had expected.
They ransacked the whole neighborhood, even running out upon the mat of
driftwood over his head, and causing the trees to sink with their weight
so as to thrust his head under water; but they could find no trace of
him, and at last retired, completely outwitted.
The boy limped on, tortured by hunger and thirst, and so giddy with
weakness that he could proceed but a short distance without stopping to
rest. Happily he saw no more of the Indians, and at last, on the third
day of his painful journey, he arrived at Hadley, where he was welcomed
as one risen from the dead.
The story of his escape was told for years after around the wide
fireplaces throughout the country-side, and was thought so remarkable
that one who heard it, unwilling that the record of so much coolness and
courage should be lost, wrote it down for future generations of boys to
read.
SOME LITTLE REPUBLICS.
Some years ago an ambitious but poorly equipped applicant for the
position of teacher in one of the vacant schools in Lehigh County,
Pennsylvania, was asked to prepare a composition on the subject of
"History." This was the result of his labor:
"History is an useful study. The world was created in sex days. Adam &
Eve was the first mans by the creation. An single republick is better as
towsand kingsdoms."
When I hear of the birth of a new republic in the family of nations,
memory is certain to recall the Pennsylvania school-teacher's
composition. There is no doubt, I say to myself, that the secret
underlying the formation of so many little representative governments is
to be found in the closing sentence, at once so eloquent and so
musical--"An single republick is better as towsand kingsdoms." There are
many republics that are not mentioned in the school-books, and in this
article I have brought together some of the queerest facts concerning
only a few of them.
About fifteen miles northeast of Sardinia is the smallest of the little
republics--that is, the smallest in point of population. Tavolara is an
island five miles long and about half a mile wide. It contains a
population of 55 men, women, and children; and every six years the grown
people of the republic, men and women together, go to the polls and
elect a President and a Congress of six members. The island of Tavolara
was a part of the kingdom of Sardinia until 1836, when the King
presented it to the Bartoleoni family. From 1836 to 1882 the little
monarchy was governed by King Paul I., but in the latter year he died,
and in 1886 it became a republic. Its independence was recognized by
Italy in 1887, and no doubt other great countries would have paid it a
similar honor had they known of its existence. It is a very modest
little republic, without army or navy, and its inhabitants, instead of
troubling their neighbors, live the quiet lives of fishermen.
The republic smallest in area is Goust, which is less than one-third the
size of Tavolara, although it has a population of 130 souls. It has been
a republic since 1648, and enjoys the distinction of being recognized by
France and Spain. Goust, with its territory of a mile in extent, covers
the flat top of a mountain in the lower Pyrenees, and is governed by a
President, who is elected every five years. He is also judge,
tax-collector, and assessor. Goust has no church or clergyman, but
worships in another country more than a mile away. All baptisms and
marriages are performed there too, and all citizens of Goust who die are
slid down to the cemetery in the Oasau valley and buried there.
East of Australia and north of New Caledonia is the republic of
Franceville, an island with an area of about eighty-five miles. Its
inhabitants number 550, of whom 40 are whites and 510 natives. It was
once a colony of France, but in 1879 it was declared independent, and
its people at once adopted a republican constitution. It is governed by
a President and a council of eight elected by the people--black and
white, men and women. Only white males hold office. The President
elected recently is R. D. Polk, a native of Tennessee, and a relative of
James K. Polk, one of the Presidents of our own republic.
In the western part of North Carolina is a perfectly organized republic
independent of both State and national governments. It is known as the
Qualla Reserve, and is the home of about 1000 of the Cherokee Indians
belonging to the Eastern branch. The Reserve has an area of 50,000
acres, or 82 square miles, of the richest valley land of the State,
lying along the Ocona, Lufta, and Soco creeks. The President of the
little republic is elected every four years. He receives a salary of
$500 a year, but when at Washington on business for the republic he gets
$4 a day extra. He is called Chief, and none but a Cherokee of more than
thirty-five years is eligible to the chieftainship. When he is absent
his duties are performed by an Assistant Chief, whose salary is $250 a
year. The Chief has a cabinet of three secretaries, and the Congress
comprises two delegates from every 100 members of the tribe. All
Cherokee males of sixteen and all white men who have Indian wives have
the right to vote. The constitution provides for the maintenance of a
public school, in which both English and Cherokee are taught. The
inhabitants of the Reserve are intelligent, fairly well educated,
law-abiding, and industrious.
The queer little Italian republic of San Marino, with its 33 square
miles of territory and its population of 6000, lies up in the eastern
spurs of the Apennine Mountains. It is governed by a Grand Council of
60, who are elected for life, and two Presidents, one of whom is
appointed by the Council, the other elected by the people. The little
republic has an army of 950 men, who are employed only as policemen. San
Marino is the only country in the world that prohibits the introduction
of the printing-press. The city of San Marino, with a population of
1700, is one of the queerest old towns in the world. It has undergone no
change in 500 years. The republic of San Marino began in 1631.
A little bit larger than San Marino in population, but six times as
large in area, is the republic of Andorra. It lies in a valley of the
eastern Pyrenees between France and Spain. It became a free state in
819. It is governed by a Sovereign Council of 24 members, elected by the
people, and a Syndic, or president, chosen for life by the Council. It
has an army of 1100 men, and one big gun planted in the centre of the
republic. This gun carries a ball twenty miles, and Europe trembles at
the thought of its being fired. In Andorra, the capital, is the
palace--a stone building several hundred years old. Here the Councilmen
meet. The ground-door is the stable where their horses are kept and fed
by their masters themselves. The floor above contains the dining-room,
the Senate-chamber and the public school, and the dormitory is on the
third floor. Here are kept the archives of the republic, which no one
but a native can read. They are kept in a vault to which there are seven
great keys, which are held by seven deputies. The schoolmaster of
Andorra is the barber, and also the secretary of the Senate; the Mayor
is a farmer; the barber shaves customers only on Sunday; and every
citizen is a soldier of the republic at his own expense.
Another little republic, of which little can be said because so little
is known of it, is Mansuet. It covers four square miles, and is tucked
away between Aix-la-Chapelle and Vermus. There are 3000 people in
Mansuet, but they are proud; they inhabit a lovely country, and they
have enjoyed the rights of republican citizens since the year 1688.
Mansuet is free and independent under the protection of Germany, and has
an army of three soldiers. A President and a Council of five govern it.
The latest addition to the galaxy of little republics is Hawaii. It is
very young yet, as it was born on our birthday--the Fourth of July.
We'll hear more about it later on.
NURSERY BALLADS.
A BALLAD OF THE ARK.
The elephant is painted blue, the lambs are painted red,
The zebra has rich carmine stripes upon his back and head.
The rooster's larger than the cow, the pigs are works of art,
And as for goats and lions, why, you can't tell them apart.
Shem, Ham, and Japhet look just like a row of wooden pegs,
With great long ulsters hanging down to cover up their legs.
In which they all resemble both their father and his wife,
And which is which I couldn't say--no, not to save my life.
The horses are both green and brown, and made, 'tis really true,
From just the same queer pattern as the bear and kangaroo;
And every dove and stork and chick in that strange wooden ark
Is modelled like the ostrich that they've got in Central Park.
And if you broke the horns and legs from off the yellow moose
You'd take him for a baby seal, or possibly a goose;
But spite of all I love that ark as well as any toy
That ever brought a bit of fun to any girl or boy.
But one queer thing that puzzles me, the ark, built for a boat,
When deluged in the bath-tub can't be got to stay afloat;
While all the beasts 'twas built to save instead of getting drowned,
Go floating gayly just as safe as when they're on the ground.
CARLYLE SMITH.
AMERICAN-NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.
MARTHA WASHINGTON'S VALENTINE.
BY EMMA J. GRAY.
A group of merry girls and boys were talking with Mrs. General
Washington one February evening, when one of the number suddenly
inquired: "Did you ever get a valentine from the President?"
To which came the ready reply, "Of course I did!" as a conscious smile
rippled over the still beautiful though now elderly face.
"And did you ever go to a valentine party when you were a girl?"
"Why, of course I did," and Mrs. Washington straightened herself more
particularly in her high-back chair.
"Oh, do tell us all about it!"
And as she responded with a most indulgent smile, they gathered close to
hear.
* * * * *
It was night in old Virginia when, for the entertainment of our visiting
friends, grandmother laid aside her knitting, and glided slowly,
stately, gracefully around the room. She was dancing the minuet.
Unexpectedly my maid entered, bearing a tray on which was a white
envelope sealed with rose-colored wax imprinted with a laughing cupid. I
was much embarrassed at receiving this before so many curious eyes, and
warningly looked at the girl, but it was too late; indeed, her ready
words made me only the more conspicuous.
"I 'member to watch, kase uver sence dey here"--with a nod of her head
in the visitors' direction--"young misses mons'us quiet!"
Fearing she might become yet more garrulous, I hurriedly asked, "Nancy,
did the carriage return from the King's Mill Plantation?" and the girl
left the room to inquire.
It was St. Valentine's eve. And who had sent this beautiful
valentine--for beautiful I knew it was--notwithstanding that as yet the
seal remained unfastened! Would I open it before all these guests, or
would I make excuse and go in hiding?
Grandmother settled the question by inquiring, "Valentine, dearie?
Many's the one I got when I was a girl."
"I suppose you did, grandma, for you've told me you were much like your
old friend Madam Ball--and she was a great belle;" and then continuing,
foolish child that I was, with a quick rush of the red blood all over my
face, even to the roots of my hair, "I've heard, too, that her daughter,
when at my age, was just the comeliest maiden possible--so modest, so
sensible and loving, with hair resembling flax, and cheeks like
May-blossoms."
These words caused grandmother to come closer, and, scrutinizing my
face, she asked, "Why, what's put Mary Ball into your head, child?" and,
not waiting for reply, added, "You cannot deceive your old grandmother;
you might as well give up now as at any other time;" and pointing to the
still unopened valentine, while looking at the group of visitors, she
tantalizingly said, "Open it, dearie, and see what George has sent you."
This was too much, and I fled from the room.
Grandmother was right, and I knew it, for I was learning to know George
Washington's handwriting, and I was already planning how I would tease
him when we met at the party to be given the following evening at the
Oaklands, to which home we were both invited.
There had lately been a wedding at our house; a cousin of my mother's
was the bride, and such a gay time as this excitement had brought!
George Washington was among the guests, and I was much pleased because
he danced with me several times.
Referring to an old Virginia wedding, there is nothing comparable to it,
as the preparations go regularly on for successive nights and days--such
preparations as ruffle-crimping, jelly-straining, cocoanut-grating,
egg-frothing, silver-cleaning, to be ready for guests who arrive a few
days before, and, as in our case, remain for a week or more afterwards.
Nor do the guests arrive alone; they come in their private carriages,
with horses and an army of negro servants to be entertained. Just think
of the numberless rice-waffles, beat-biscuit, light bread, muffins, and
laplands to be brought hot on the breakfast table! and the ham, dried
venison, turkey, fried chicken, cinnamon cakes, quince marmalade on the
tea table! Oh, a wedding meant an out-and-out stir in those days! But
our house was a large old place in the midst of scenery both lovely and
picturesque, and we owned many negroes, who had been taught all sorts of
work, and therefore it was easy for us to prepare. Indeed, our head
cook, Aunt Tamer, was a character, black and portly, but cleanly
turbaned and white-aproned. I seem to hear her now praising her own
concoctions, and she was especially proud of "bakin' de bes'
beat-biscuit an' loaf bread."
But I was talking about my valentine and the party. Probably because the
_fĂȘte_ of St. Valentine belongs to nearly every country, and since the
fifteenth century it was exceedingly popular in England and France, the
girls were asked to wear fifteenth-century costume; my dress was of the
finest white mull, as fine as a spider's web, and embroidered with
lilies-of-the-valley. The boys' clothes were in exact copy of old
English gentlemen, and they wore long queues tied with black ribbons,
wide ruffled shirt fronts, short breeches, and knee-buckles. The
decorations were elaborate--pink roses and rosebuds in solid banks of
lavishness. Indeed, the large square rooms seemed transformed into
flower-gardens. One exquisite effect was produced with magnolia leaves
and wax candles. These leaves formed a cornice to the drawing-room
ceiling, and the candles were so deftly placed that only the lighted
tapers were seen. They shone like stars on a summer's night, for the
dark green gloss on the large leaves acted as reflectors, while
suspended from the ceiling's centre were several rows of pink satin sash
ribbon, each piece hanging so gracefully that when the ends were
fastened, about four feet below the cornice, the ceiling was as
effective and beautiful as the most critical fresco-painter could
desire. Where each end was fastened there was a large bunch of magnolia
leaves and candles assimilating a side-chandelier, and in the centre of
the ceiling there were magnolia leaves in profusion.
No sooner was I in the drawing-room, than my friend George Washington
gallantly advanced, and begged me to do him the honor of being his
partner in the cotillion. After that there followed many other dances,
all of which he would ask me to dance; but I did not forget he had sent
me a valentine the night before, and therefore I decided to tease him by
dancing with some of the other boys, especially with my particularly
kind friend, young Custis.
[Illustration: OUR HOSTESS APPEARED AS THE GODDESS OF LOVE.]
We had reels, cotillions, and schottisches almost without number; but
the dance just before supper was arranged for the occasion, and called
St. Valentine. Our hostess suddenly appeared in soft fleecy white stuff,
with spangled wings, as Venus, the goddess of love, her mother
explained. First dancing one of the plantation dances that her old mammy
had taught her, she sang a song about valentines; then taking a gilded
basket, and coquetting through the drawing-room in the most graceful of
reel steps, she gave a valentine to each guest. Then again dancing
another of the plantation dances, she as gracefully withdrew.
A few moments later a musician's voice called, "Choose your partners by
matching valentines"; and thus again George Washington advanced, and
finding that his valentine really was the exact counterpart of mine, we
walked to our places in the now rapidly forming minuet, and afterwards
we marched together up and down the rooms and through the wide halls to
supper.
After supper we played several games, one of which represented prominent
characters, and some not so prominent--for example, making believe we
were our own mothers or fathers. In this way, Colonel Ball of Lancaster,
who was George Washington's grandfather, was taken, and Augustine
Washington, his father. George Washington himself took the character of
George III., while I took the character of Betty Washington, his sister.
But some of the other boys and girls preferred representing Sir Walter
Raleigh, Lord Fairfax, Governor Dimwiddie, Miss Burney, Hannah Ball, who
married Raleigh Travers, of the same blood as Sir Walter Raleigh, and
other titled gentlemen and women. Those who were to be guessed decided
for themselves who they would be. Then all the guests asked questions,
to which correct answer was given. If the name was not guessed within
five minutes, it had to be told, for longer than five minutes made the
game too tedious.
[Illustration: GOSSIP.]
This game was followed by two of the girls taking seats in the middle of
the room. They had previously withdrawn and put over their pretty
dresses queer-looking old shawls, and covered their chestnut-brown curls
with odd-looking bonnets tied under the chin. Then a cup of tea was
given to each, and looking intently at one another, slowly stirring
their tea meantime, one exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. "You don't
say so!" whereupon our hostess inquired, "Who can tell what these girls
represent?" and a number of voices replied, "Gossip." At this answer the
girls rose, and laughingly threw aside their shawls and hats.
Then the youngest boy took one of the chairs made vacant by the girls.
After seating himself, it was noticed that he put a big coat over his
lap, and making a great show of threading his needle, he diligently
sewed on a button. And the hostess asked, "What does Charley represent?"
The children could hardly reply for laughing, for the boy looked so
demure and industrious; but after a moment's hesitation there came the
vigorous answer, "A bachelor."
Then Aunt Charlotte, an old negro woman, entered; she pretended to be a
fortune-teller. And I afterwards learned her coming had been all
arranged by the hostess, to whom I had been foolish enough to tell of
the advent of my valentine.
She approached me first, and prostrated herself, face downwards, on the
floor. "Why, Aunt Charlotte!" I exclaimed, "do get up."
"Lor', honey, I never specs to see de greates' ladie in de lan'."
"Well, stand up," was my agitated reply, "and explain what you mean."
"Bless de chile! I love to think I'm some 'count."
"Hurry!" was my impatient exclamation, "I can't wait." And all my young
friends were grouped close around, zealously listening for what the old
creature was about to say.
"I mean you'll make de grandes' marriage 'bout here."
"Whom will I marry?" were my now eager though venturesome words.
"Why, de young mars' who sent you de valentine."
I was so provoked with myself that I could have bitten my tongue off,
though, after all, it was a most natural answer to give on St.
Valentine's night; and thus having decided my future, Aunt Charlotte
hurriedly turned to another, and yet another, as both girls and boys
pressed forward for their turn. When she reached George Washington I
listened closely. She told him he would ride in a coach and six, and
that "we've nuver seen sich wondrous time as 'Mars George'll hav'."
When the fortune-telling was concluded, I learned that it was already
considerably beyond the time to start home, and therefore speedily made
my adieux; a few moments later found me in our high-stepped carriage
rapidly rolling out of the Oakland grounds.
"And thus ended the episode which I promised to tell you," said Martha
Washington, the wife of the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental army
and President of the United States, to the French officer De Grasse at
the Peace Ball given in Fredericksburg.
"Pardon, madame; not ended, but rather begun," was the courtly response.
* * * * *
"Oh, what a lovely party!" was the exclamation from many of the
attentive listeners. "And why couldn't we repeat it now?" was the
immediate question.
"Indeed I shall," said one of the girls, with a decided shake of her
long curls. "My very next party will be an old Virginia
evening--dresses, dances, games, and all."
JOHNNY'S ICE-BOAT.
When Johnny was quite tired of making himself big pigs out of snowballs,
and hammock-chairs for drawing the girls over the snow out of crotched
sticks and old shawls, and Scandinavian skates out of barrel staves, he
decided he would make an ice-boat, and all the more firmly because the
whole family, except his pretty aunt Mamy, told him it was nonsense, and
he never could, and an ice-boat was a dangerous thing if he could, and
it was of no use anyway.
There were a lot of old skates in the garret, some big nails and some
pieces of wood in the shed; his aunt Mamy could help him rig some sort
of a sail. It was a pity if he couldn't make an ice-boat, and the river
stretching away a glare of ice for twenty miles and more.
He ran down to the shed and chose for himself a board some five feet
long, and a cross-board that he nailed on it a foot from the end. About
a foot from the other end of the first board he nailed a bit of wood for
a seat, the sides of it slanting out so that it was a little wider
before than behind. That done, he nailed a couple of braces, slanting
from just behind the seat nearly out to the ends of the cross-piece, and
from the latter places two others, shorter ones, meeting on the extreme
end of the long first board, beyond the cross-piece, so that the whole
looked like the frame of a huge kite. He could have done without the
braces, which were only stout three-inch-square sticks, but it seemed a
little stronger and safer to have them, he said.
It seemed as if every one in the house had an errand for him to do that
afternoon, and he almost gave up the idea of finishing his ice-boat at
all. "When a fellow has such a piece of work as this in hand people
might let him alone," he grumbled. And I don't know how he would have
come out if he hadn't divined that his aunt Mamy was making mince
patties for some use connected with himself.
But Johnny was up before the sun the next morning, and where the
cross-piece of his frame rested on the longer board, in the very centre,
he bored a hole for his mast--bored a lot of little holes close
together, and worked them out with his jack-knife till he had one big
hole. On either side of that he nailed a small block, and on the top of
those he nailed a bit of board that just fitted the space, and then in
the middle of that bit of board he made another hole just over the hole
already bored, and there was a step for his mast, and his mast itself
was ready in the shape of a good stout bean-pole that he had.
Very well pleased with himself so far, Mr. Johnny hurried through
breakfast, and got out of the way before his grandmother could ask him
to find her glasses, or his mother could suggest a few pages of history.
His conscience was not easy, but then he would look for the glasses all
a fore-noon another day, and learn a great many pages of history in the
afternoon; and they really should consider, he thought, that one learns
something in building an ice-boat; and if his heart smote him about the
dear baby who cried for Johnny to play with him, the baby would cry at
the other side of his mouth when he made a voyage in Johnny's ice-boat.
So he took two of the old skates now, screwed the heel-screw of each
into a bit of wood a foot long and three inches wide, and, working holes
for the leathers, strapped the skates firmly, each to its own piece of
wood, and then nailed the pieces securely under each end of the
cross-piece, the skates there pointing forwards.
For the rudder then he took the third skate, screwed and strapped to a
bit of wood as before, and nailed and screwed that bit of wood to the
club end of a long round stick which he brought up through a hole
already bored in the stern end of the main beam, or first long board;
and he fitted this round stick to a handle by running it through a hole
in something he had whittled out like the clothes-paddle or boiler-stick
of washing-day.
"I've done well by the day, and the day's done well by me," said Johnny.
"But now come needle and thread. I don't believe," said he, "that Aunt
Mame is as hard-hearted as the rest." And by dint of hanging over the
back of her chair with a good many judicious hugs and kisses--the little
rogue really loved his aunt Mamy when there was nothing to gain by
it--he induced her to coax a coarse and stout kitchen-table cloth from
his mother's linen stores, to bind it with some strong tape, and then to
cross the tape from corner to corner in order to strengthen it still
more. When he had lashed his sail to his bean-pole with a stout twine,
and made a gasket to hold his gaff, which was part of his bamboo
fishing-rod, Johnny stopped to execute a brief war-dance, to hug his
aunt again, to put on his reefer, and to stow away some mince patties.
Then, securing the rope at the other corner of his sail, he dragged his
tiny ice-boat free of the big blocks of ice along the shore, established
himself upon the seat with his heels against the cross-piece, and waited
for the wind.
It came along, with a little dust of snow upon its wings. It took
Johnny's sail as if it were a puff of thistle-down; the rope slipped out
through Johnny's fingers quick enough to burn them. His heart gave a
great plunge, but he held fast, and the next moment a creak, a twist, a
hiss, and he was moving. Moving? No--flying! Flying through the air even
while he knew he was cutting with a sharp hiss into the ice--the
razor-edge of the wind cutting with a sharp hiss, too, upon his cheek,
and taking his breath away at first. And there he was speeding up the
river so fast that his mother screamed and ran into the house, and his
grandmother, looking from the window, began to blame every one else for
letting him start out on such a hair-breadth undertaking, and his aunt
Mamy declared it was like a great white bubble blowing up the sky, a
great white spirit flashing up the river, and if he never came back she
was glad to see the last of him that way--but he would be back all
right. And so he was.
They said that little ice-boat went at the rate of forty miles an hour.
Johnny always insists that it is eighty. But all I know about it is that
the March maple-camp was twenty miles up river, and Johnny brought home
a great parcel of the sweetest and richest morsels that the sunshine
ever coaxed out of the earth through a maple-stem, that very sunset as
he ran his ice-boat, "The Scarer," up the shore, and promised his mother
he would never go half as fast as he could go in her, unless he had a
mask to save his face from blistering, and his father was aboard.
THE MIDDLE DAUGHTER.[1]
[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 845.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
CHAPTER V.
CEMENTS AND RIVETS.
"How did we ever consent to let our middle daughter stay away all these
years, mother?" said Dr. Wainwright, addressing his wife.
"I cannot tell how it happened, father," she said, musingly. "I think we
drifted into the arrangement, and you know each year brother was
expected to bring her back Harriet would plan a jaunt or a journey
which kept her away, and then, Jack, we've generally been rather out at
the elbows, and I have been so helpless, that, with our large family, it
was for Grace's good to let her remain where she was so well provided
for."
"She's clear grit, isn't she?" said the doctor, admiringly, stalking to
and fro in his wife's chamber. "I didn't half like the notion of her
giving readings; but Charley Raeburn says the world moves and we must
move with it, and now that her object is not purely a selfish one, I
withdraw my opposition. I confess, though, darling, I don't enjoy the
thought that my girls must earn money. I feel differently about the
boys."
"Jack dear," said his wife, tenderly, always careful not to wound the
feelings of this unsuccessful man who was still so loving and so full of
chivalry, "you needn't mind that in the very least. The girl who doesn't
want to earn money for herself in these days is in the minority. Girls
feel it in the air. They all fret and worry, or most of them do, until
they are allowed to measure their strength and test the commercial worth
of what they have acquired. You are a dear old fossil, Jack. Just look
at it in this way: Suppose Mrs. Vanderhoven, brought up in the purple,
taught to play a little, to embroider a little, to speak a little
French--to do a little of many things and nothing well--had been given
the sort of education that in her day was the right of every gentleman's
son, though denied the gentleman's daughter, would her life be so hard
and narrow and distressful now? Would she be reduced to taking in fine
washing and hemstitching and canning fruit?"
"Canning fruit, mother dear," said Miriam, who had just come in to
procure fresh towels for the bedrooms, "is a fine occupation. Several
women in the United States are making their fortunes at that. Eva and I,
who haven't Grace's talents, are thinking of taking it up in earnest. I
can make preserves, I rejoice to say."
"When you are ready to begin, you shall have my blessing," said her
father. "I yield to the new order of things." Then as the pretty elder
daughter disappeared, a sheaf of white lavender-perfumed towels over her
arm, he said: "Now, dear, I perceive your point. Archie Vanderhoven's
accident has, however, occurred in the very best possible time for
Grace. The King's Daughters--you know what a breezy Ten they are, with
our Eva and the Raeburns' Amy among them--are going to give a lift to
Archie, not to his mother, who might take offence. All the local talent
of our young people is already enlisted. Our big dining-room is to be
the hall of ceremonies, and I believe they are to have tableaux, music,
readings, and refreshments. This will come off on the first moonlight
night, and the proceeds will all go to Archie, to be kept, probably, as
a nest-egg for his college expenses. That mother of his means him to go
through college, you know, if she has to pay the fees by hard work,
washing, ironing, scrubbing, what not."
"I hope the boy's worth it," said Mrs. Wainwright, doubtfully. "Few boys
are."
"The right boy is," said the doctor, firmly. "In our medical association
there's one fellow who is on the way to be a famous surgeon. He's fine,
Jane, the most plucky, persistent man, with the eye, and the nerve, and
the hand, and the delicacy and steadiness of the surgeon born in him,
and confirmed by training. Some of his operations are perfectly
beautiful, beautiful! He'll be famous over the whole world yet. His
mother was an Irish charwoman, and she and he had a terrible tug to
carry him through his studies."
"Is he good to her? Is he grateful?" asked Mrs. Wainwright, much
impressed.
"Good! grateful! I should say so," said the doctor. "She lives like
Queen Victoria, rides in her carriage, dresses in black silk, has four
maids to wait on her. She lives like the first lady in the land, in her
son's house, and he treats her like a lover. He's a man. He was worth
all she did. They say," added the doctor, presently, "that sometimes the
old lady tires of her splendor, sends the maids away to visit their
cousins, and turns in and works for a day or two like all possessed.
She's been seen hanging out blankets on a windy day in the back yard,
with a face as happy as that of a child playing truant."
"Poor dear old thing!" said Mrs. Wainwright. "Well, to go back to our
girlie, she's to be allowed to take her own way, isn't she, and to be as
energetic and work as steadily as she likes?"
"Yes, dearest, she shall, for all I'll do or say to the contrary. And
when my ship comes in I'll pay her back with interest for the loans
she's made me lately."
The doctor went off to visit his patients. His step had grown light, his
face had lost its look of alert yet furtive dread. He looked twenty
years younger. And no wonder. He no longer had to dodge Potter at every
turn, and a big package of receipted bills, endorsed and dated, lay
snugly in his desk, the fear of duns exorcised thereby. A man whose path
has been impeded by the thick underbrush of debts he cannot settle, and
who finds his obligations cancelled, may well walk gayly along the
cleared and brightened roadway, hearing birds sing and seeing blue sky
beaming above his head.
The Ten took hold of the first reading with enthusiasm. Flags were
borrowed, and blazing boughs of maple and oak, with festoons of crimson
blackberry vine and armfuls of golden-rod transformed the long room into
a bower. Seats were begged and borrowed, and all the cooks in town made
cake with fury and pride for the great affair. The tickets were sold
without much trouble, and the girls had no end of fun in rehearsing the
tableaux which were decided on as preferable in an entertainment given
by the King's Daughters, because in tableaux everybody has something to
do. Grace was to read from _Young Lucretia_ and a poem by Hetta Lord
Hayes Ward, a lovely poem about a certain St. Bridget who trudges up to
heaven's gate after her toiling years, and finds St. Peter waiting to
set it wide open. The poor modest thing was an example of Keble's lovely
stanza:
"Meek souls there are who little dream
Their daily life an angel's theme,
Nor that the rod they bear so calm
In heaven may prove a martyr's palm."
Very much astonished at her reception, she is escorted up to the serene
heights by tall seraphs, who treat her with the greatest reverence.
By-and-by along comes a grand lady, one of Bridget's former employers.
She just squeezes through the gate, and then,
"Down heaven's hill a radiant saint
Comes flying with a palm,
'Are you here, Bridget O'Flaherty?'
St. Bridget cries, 'Yes, ma'am.'
"'Oh, teach me Bridget, the manners, please,
Of the royal court above,'
'Sure, honey dear, you'll aisy learn
Humility and love.'"
I haven't time to tell you all about the entertainment, and there is no
need. You, of course, belong to Tens or to needlework guilds or to
orders of some kind, and if you are a member of the Order of the ROUND
TABLE, why of course you are doing good in some way or other, and good
which enables one to combine social enjoyment and a grand frolic; and
the making of a purseful of gold and silver for a crippled boy, or an
aged widow, or a Sunday-school in Dakota, or a Good-will Farm in Maine,
is a splendid kind of good.
This chapter is about cements and rivets. It is also about the two
little schoolmarms.
"Let us take Mrs. Vanderhoven's pitcher to town when we go to call on
the judge with father," said Amy. "Perhaps it can be mended."
"It may be mended, but I do not think it will hold water again."
"There is a place," said Amy, "where a patient old German man, with the
tiniest little bits of rivets that you can hardly see, and the stickiest
cement you ever did see, repairs broken china. Archie was going to sell
the pitcher. His mother had said he might. A lady at the hotel had
promised him five dollars for it as a specimen of some old pottery or
other. Then he leaped that hedge, caught his foot, fell, and that was
the end of that five dollars, which was to have gone for a new lexicon
and I don't know what else."
"It was a fortunate break for Archie. His leg will be as strong as ever,
and we'll make fifty dollars by our show. I call such a disaster an
angel in disguise."
"Mrs. Vanderhoven cried over the pitcher, though. She said it had almost
broken her heart to let Archie take it out of the house, and she felt it
was a judgment on her for being willing to part with it."
"Every one has some superstition, I think," said Amy.
[Illustration: NEW PUPILS AND NEW TEACHERS.]
Judge Hastings, a tall, soldierly gentleman with the bearing of a
courtier, was delighted with the girls, and brought his three little
women in their black frocks to see their new teachers.
"I warn you, young ladies," he said, "these are spoiled babies. But they
will do anything for those they love, and they will surely love you. I
want them thoroughly taught, especially music and dancing. Can you teach
them to dance?"
He fixed his keen blue eyes on Grace, who colored under the glance, but
answered bravely,
"Yes, Judge, I can teach them to dance and to play, not to count or to
spell."
"I'll take charge of that part," said Amy, fearlessly.
Grace's salary was fixed at one thousand dollars, Amy's at four hundred,
a year, and Grace was to come to her pupils three hours a day for five
days every week, Amy one hour a day for five days.
"We'll travel together," said Amy, "for I'll be at the League while you
are pegging away at the teaching of these tots after my hour is over."
If any girl fancies that Grace and Amy had made an easy bargain, I
recommend her to try the same tasks day in and day out for the weeks of
a winter. She will discover that she had earned her salary. Lucy, Helen,
and Madge taxed their young teachers' utmost powers, but they did them
credit, and each month, as Grace was able to add comforts to her home,
to lighten her father's burdens, to remove anxiety from her mother, she
felt that she would willingly have worked harder.
The little pitcher was repaired so that you never would have known it
had been broken. Mrs. Vanderhoven set it in the place of honor on top of
her mantel shelf, and Archie, now able to hobble about, declared that he
would treasure it for his children's children.
One morning a letter came for Grace. It was from the principal of a
girls' school in a lovely village up the Hudson, a school attended by
the daughters of statesmen and millionaires, but one, too, which had
scholarships for bright girls who desired culture, but whose parents had
but very little money. To attend Miss L----'s school some girls would
have given more than they could put into words; it was a certificate of
good standing in society to have been graduated there, while mothers
prized and girls envied those who could go there, for the splendid times
they were sure to have.
"Your dear mother," Miss L---- wrote, "will easily recall her old
schoolmate and friend. I have heard of you, Grace, through my friend,
Madame Necker, who was your instructress in Paris, and I have two
objects in writing. One is to secure you as a teacher in reading for an
advanced class of mine. The class would meet but once a week; your
office would be to read to them, interpreting the best authors, and to
influence them in the choice of books adapted for young girls."
Grace held her breath. "Mother!" she exclaimed, "is Miss L---- in her
right mind?"
"A very level-headed person, Grace, Read on."