CHASING THE FOX
All the boys in the river towns thirty years ago--and therefore the boys
in Greenbank, also--took a great interest in the steam-boats which plied
up and down the Ohio. Each had his favorite boat, and boasted of her
speed and excellence. Every one of them envied those happy fellows whose
lot it was to "run on the river" as cabin-boys. Boats were a common
topic of conversation--their build, their engines, their speed, their
officers, their mishaps, and all the incidents of their history.
So it was that from the love of steam-boats, which burned so brightly in
the bosom of the boy who lived on the banks of that great and lovely
river, there grew up the peculiar game of "boats' names." I think the
game was started at Louisville or New Albany, where the falls interrupt
navigation, and where many boats of the upper and lower rivers are
assembled.
One day, as the warm air of Indian summer in this mild climate made
itself felt, the boys assembled, on the evergreen "bluegrass," after the
snack at the noon recess, to play boats' names.
Through Jack's influence, Columbus, who did not like to play with the A
B C boys, was allowed to take the handkerchief and give out the first
name. All the rest stood up in a row like a spelling-class, while little
Columbus, standing in front of them, held a knotted handkerchief with
which to scourge them when the name should be guessed. The arm which
held the handkerchief was so puny that the boys laughed to see the
feeble lad stand there in a threatening attitude.
"I say, Lum, don't hit too hard, now; my back is tender," said Bob
Holliday.
"Give us an easy one to guess," said Riley, coaxingly.
Columbus, having come from the back country, did not know the names of
half a dozen boats, and what he knew about were those which touched
daily at the wharf of Greenbank.
"F----n," he said.
"Fashion," cried all the boys at once, breaking into unrestrained mirth
at the simplicity that gave them the name of Captain Glenn's little
Cincinnati and Port William packet, which landed daily at the village
wharf. Columbus now made a dash at the boys, who were obliged to run to
the school-house and back whenever a name was guessed, suffering a
beating all the way from the handkerchief of the one who had given out
the name, though, indeed, the punishment Lum was able to give was very
slight. It was doubtful who had guessed first, since the whole party had
cried "Fashion" almost together, but it was settled at last in favor of
Harry Weathervane, who was sure to give out hard names, since he had
been to Cincinnati recently, and had gone along the levee reading the
names of those boats that did business above that city, and so were
quite unknown, unless by report, to the boys of Greenbank.
"A---- A----s," were the three letters which Harry gave, and Ben Berry
guessed "Archibald Ananias," and Tom Holcroft said it was "Amanda Amos,"
and at last all gave it up; whereupon Harry told them it was "Alvin
Adams," and proceeded to give out another.
"C---- A---- P----x," he said next time.
"Caps," said Riley, mistaking the x for an s; and then Bob Holliday
suggested "Hats and Caps," and Jack wanted to have it "Boots and Shoes."
But Johnny Meline remembered that he had read of such a name for a ship
in his Sunday-school lesson of the previous Sunday, and he guessed that
a steam-boat might bear that same.
"I know," said Johnny, "it's Castor----"
"Oil," suggested Jack.
"No--Castor and P, x,--Pollux--Castor and Pollux--it's a Bible name."
"You're not giving us the name of Noah's ark, are you?" asked Bob.
"I say, boys, that isn't fair a bit," growled Pewee, in all earnestness.
"I don't hardly believe that Bible ship's a-going now." Things were
mixed in Pewee's mind, but he had a vague notion that Bible times were
as much as fifty years ago. While he stood doubting, Harry began to whip
him with the handkerchief, saying, "I saw her at Cincinnati, last week.
She runs to Maysville and Parkersburg, you goose."
After many names had been guessed, and each guesser had taken his turn,
Ben Berry had to give out. He had just heard the name of a "lower
country" boat, and was sure that it would not be guessed.
"C----p----r," he said.
"Oh, I know," said Jack, who had been studying the steam-boat column of
an old Louisville paper that very morning, "it's the--the--" and he put
his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and danced around, trying to
remember, while all the rest stood and laughed at his antics. "Now I've
got it,--the 'Cornplanter'!"
And Ben Berry whipped the boys across the road and back, after which
Jack took the handkerchief.
"Oh, say, boys, this is a poor game; let's play fox," Bob suggested.
"Jack's got the handkerchief, let him be the first fox."
So Jack took a hundred yards' start, and all the boys set out after him.
The fox led the hounds across the commons, over the bars, past the
"brick pond," as it was called, up the lane into Moro's pasture, along
the hill-side to the west across Dater's fence into Betts's pasture;
thence over into the large woods pasture of the Glade farm. In every
successive field some of the hounds had run off to the flank, and by
this means every attempt of Jack's to turn toward the river, and thus
fetch a circuit for home, had been foiled. They had cut him off from
turning through Moro's orchard or Betts's vineyard, and so there was
nothing for the fleet-footed fox but to keep steadily to the west and
give his pursuers no chance to make a cut-off on him. But every now and
then he made a feint of turning, which threw the others out of a
straight track. Once in the woods pasture, Jack found himself out of
breath, having run steadily for a rough mile and a half, part of it
up-hill. He was yet forty yards ahead of Bob Holliday and Riley, who led
the hounds. Dashing into a narrow path through the underbrush, Jack ran
into a little clump of bushes and hid behind a large black-walnut log.
Riley and Holliday came within six feet of him, some of the others
passed to the south of him and some to the north, but all failed to
discover his lurking-place. Soon Jack could hear them beating about the
bushes beyond him.
This was his time. Having recovered his wind, he crept out southward
until he came to the foot of the hill, and entered Glade's lane, heading
straight for the river across the wide plain. Pewee, who had perched
himself on a fence to rest, caught sight of Jack first, and soon the
whole pack were in full cry after him, down the long, narrow,
elder-bordered lane. Bob Holliday and Riley, the fleetest of foot,
climbed over the high stake-and-rider fence into Betts's corn-field, and
cut off a diagonal to prevent Jack's getting back toward the
school-house. Seeing this movement, Jack, who already had made an
extraordinary run, crossed the fence himself, and tried to make a
cut-off in spite of them; but Riley already had got in ahead of him, and
Jack, seeing the boys close behind and before him, turned north again
toward the hill, got back into the lane, which was now deserted, and
climbed into Glade's meadow on the west side of the lane. He now had a
chance to fetch a sweep around toward the river again, though the whole
troop of boys were between him and the school-house. Fairly headed off
on the east, he made a straight run south for the river shore, striking
into a deep gully, from which he came out panting upon the beach, where
he had just time to hide himself in a hollow sycamore, hoping that the
boys would get to the westward and give him a chance to run up the river
shore for the school-house.
But one cannot play the same trick twice. Some of the boys stationed
themselves so as to intercept Jack's retreat toward the school-house,
while the rest searched for him, beating up and down the gully, and up
and down the beach, until they neared the hollow sycamore. Jack made a
sharp dash to get through them, but was headed off and caught by Pewee.
Just as Jack was caught, and Pewee was about to start homeward as fox,
the boys caught sight of two steam-boats racing down the river. The
whole party was soon perched on a fallen sycamore, watching first the
"Swiftsure" and then the "Ben Franklin," while the black smoke poured
from their chimneys. So fascinated were they with this exciting contest
that they stayed half an hour waiting to see which should beat. At
length, as the boats passed out of sight, with the "Swiftsure" leading
her competitor, it suddenly occurred to Jack that it must be later than
the school-hour. The boys looked aghast at one another a moment on
hearing him mention this; then they glanced at the sun, already
declining in the sky, and set out for school, trotting swiftly in spite
of their fatigue.
What would the master say? Pewee said he didn't care,--it wasn't Old
Ball, and they wouldn't get a whipping, anyway. But Jack thought that it
was too bad to lose the confidence of Mr. Williams.