and includes the savages of Mindanao as well as the half-castes and
creoles who live in Luzon. The latter island is the scene of the
hostilities which are reported nearly every day. In a word, the trouble
is that there are in the colony, according to Spanish statistics, 3000
Spanish priests and 5000 civil servants, and the people assert that they
have been bled for the church, for the state, and for private
peculators, until they can stand it no longer. In Luzon the inception
and the progress of the rebellion have been marked by wonderful skill.
Plans for the uprising, including the collection of arms and ammunition,
were so quietly carried out that Marshal Blanco did not know what was
going on until the very eve of the outbreak. In less than a week he was
confronted by thousands of well-armed men, who dared to attack even the
outskirts of Manila. At first they met the Spanish regulars in the open,
but the insurgents had few if any cannon, and were at a disadvantage. A
fortnight later they changed their tactics.
It is now their general policy to fortify strong positions and await the
attacks of the enemy. When, however, they can bring against a Spanish
force a much superior number of fighters, they attack with the greatest
vigor. This plan of action seems wise, for the insurgents must bear in
mind that they have only a fixed number of fighters, while the Spanish
may fill up the gaps in their ranks with recruits from home. The
insurgents have occupied many towns in several provinces, and while they
show no mercy to Spanish priests and officials, they respect the lives
and property of other foreigners. Spain has sent about 15,000 soldiers
to the island, and the end is not yet in sight.
A leading event this year is expected to be the reconquest of the
Egyptian Sudan by the British and Egyptian forces, which was really
begun in 1896. The step has been decided upon, and it is believed the
undertaking will not be extremely difficult; and yet if there is any
fighting the British will meet the very men who in 1885 showed that
half-civilized peoples can do all that any men can do on a battle-field.
Fiercer fighting was never seen than that the Mahdi's Arabs gave General
Wolseley's forces on those desert battle-fields; and no men could fight
as those Arabs did, with nothing but spears in their hands against
trained soldiers with the best of modern fire-arms, if they had not been
consumed with fanatical zeal.
Their leaders had no guns to give them, and so the orders were; "You are
not to fight the enemies of God with ammunition, but with spears and
swords." The Mahdi sent them word that Mohammed had proclaimed to him
that on the day of battle thousands of angels would be with them to help
them vanquish the unbelievers. Wild with religious zeal these hordes
would rush across the sands, poising their spears, and fall upon the
square in which the British army was formed. They were not checked for
an instant by the withering fire or the wall of bayonets, and the very
force and fury of their onslaught at Abu-Klea, the greatest of these
battles, carried them through the line; and soldiers on the opposite
side, firing at the Arabs in the square, killed their own comrades on
the broken line. There are few things finer in the history of warfare
than the story of the old sheikh on horseback at Abu-Klea, his banner
aloft in one hand, his book of prayers in the other, advancing with his
men and chanting his prayers till he had planted his banner in the
centre of the British square, where he fell pierced with bullets.
The Mahdi is gone. The Sudan has been half depopulated and ruined by his
successor. The people hate the Khalifa Abdullah, who has ground them to
earth. Fanaticism is dead. But if the flame the Mahdi kindled, which
consumed Hicks's large army, killed Gordon, and turned Wolseley's forces
back down the Nile, were burning yet, the British would think long and
seriously before undertaking the reconquest of the Sudan.
BRONISLAU HUBERMANN AND LEONORA JACKSON.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
Bronislau Hubermann is a boy who plays the violin very much like a grown
man. Now that means something more than merely sounding the tones
correctly and smoothly. It means to show an understanding of the music
and an artistic taste in its performance--two things which many adult
players fail to do. Young Hubermann is therefore a remarkable boy, and
it is not surprising that thousands of persons go to his concerts and
sit as if spellbound while the youngster plays, for amazement joins with
admiration to deepen the emotions caused by his fine performances. Just
how old Hubermann is it is difficult to tell. He looks like a lad of
sixteen; but his parents say that he was born in 1883 in Warsaw. They
ought to know; but sometimes people like to make a gifted child appear
younger than he really is, so as to increase the public wonder at his
achievements. It really is not necessary in the case of Hubermann,
because his playing would be sufficiently astonishing in a boy of
sixteen.
He showed his musical ear when a mere child by singing the melodies
which he heard. When he was six years of age he began the serious study
of the violin, and in three months he had made such marvellous progress
that he was able to play Rode's Seventh Concerto, a very difficult
composition. This story sounds incredible, but we must remember that
Mozart actually played the second violin part in a quartet when he had
never had any instruction at all. He told his father it was not
necessary to study in order to play the violin. After his childish
appearances in public little Hubermann devoted a few years to further
study, and then left his native land to seek glory in the most musical
of all countries--Germany. He was enthusiastically praised there by the
critics, while the public applauded him wildly. He made his first
appearance in America at a concert in Carnegie Hall, New York, early in
November, and achieved an immediate success.
He is a tall and rather awkward boy, but all his awkwardness disappears
as soon as he begins to play. He produces from his instrument a very
beautiful tone, and he always plays in tune, which shows that his ear is
correct, and that his left hand has been trained carefully. But what is
of more importance is that he plays with a great deal of feeling, and
with an insight into the emotional meaning of the music which is
altogether uncommon in so young a person. It is an interesting fact that
Hubermann comes from Poland, which has produced so many admirable
musicians. Among those who are familiar to living music-lovers are
Paderewski, the great pianist, Jean and Edouard de Reszké, the famous
singers, and young Josef Hofmann, who created so great a sensation when
he gave his piano concerts at the age of ten.
Perhaps, however, we would do well to remember that all the musical
genius of the world does not belong to those who are born on the other
side of the Atlantic. To be sure, we are likely to incline to the
opinion that it does, when we read about Mozart and Hofmann and other
"wonderful children," as the Germans call them. But American boys and
girls are just as full of artistic possibilities as those born abroad.
And sometimes intelligence and hard work accomplish wonders even in
music. Pasta, the famous soprano, had a very poor voice to begin with,
and in our own time Lillian Norton, a Maine farmer's daughter, has made
herself one of the foremost singers of the world just by study, and she
is now famous everywhere as Madame Nordica. Now comes the story of
Leonora Jackson, a California girl, who has carried off one of the great
musical prizes of Germany.
She is the daughter of a merchant and banker, Charles P. Jackson, who
lives in a very modest town with the unpoetic name of Mud Springs. When
the Californians dislike that name they call it El Dorado; but Mud
Springs is its real name. Miss Jackson's parents settled in this town in
1852, and she was born there in 1878, so that she is now eighteen years
old. Mrs. Jackson was an amateur musician of real ability, and early in
life Leonora showed that she had inherited her mother's inclinations.
After her birth her parents moved to Chicago, where Mrs. Jackson became
a successful music-teacher. The little girl began to study
violin-playing, and she soon showed such gifts that her parents decided
to place her under the most famous of teachers. At the age of fourteen
she was sent to Berlin, where she became a pupil in the great
Conservatorium.
The world-renowned violinist Dr. Joseph Joachim, who is regarded as the
finest living player in the classic style, became her teacher, and took
the deepest interest in her progress. She was afforded opportunities to
appear in public, in order that she might acquire confidence in herself,
and everything was done to enable her to make progress in her art. About
two months ago she entered the competition for the Mendelssohn prize
medal, for which she had as rivals players from various parts of Europe.
It was a tremendous undertaking for a girl of eighteen, but Leonora won.
Dr. Joachim embraced her with tears in his eyes, and the Berlin
newspapers described her as a "girl wonder." It will be gratifying to
all patriotic boys and girls to know that this girl's greatest pride in
her triumph was that America had conquered. "I have held up the stars
and stripes," she wrote home, "and I am satisfied."
After a time Leonora will undoubtedly set out as a concert performer,
and of course that means that she will come to America to play. Then
her countrymen will have an opportunity to enjoy the exhibition of her
gifts and accomplishments, and to applaud her not only for her
violin-playing, but for her courage, her perseverance, and her
patriotism. She will hardly be a great violinist at eighteen, but she is
young and talented, and the future is full of promise for her, while her
example ought to be an inspiration to all her young compatriots.
THE "WARSPITE'S" CAPTAIN.
In the old days captains of the English ships of the line were not
over-kind to their crews, but it is a well-established fact that shortly
before a battle their geniality uncovered, and poor Jack was in the
seventh heaven of delight. But, alas! if defeated, or through some order
the ship would not be in the engagement, poor Jack felt the woes of his
position more severely than ever. An example of this can be found in the
following historical story:
The British seventy-four _Warspite_, in 1827, was sent from England to
re-enforce the fleet under Sir Edward Codrington, then acting in concert
with Russia and France to restrain the Turks in their brutalities
against the Greeks, who were fighting for independence. The _Warspite_
was in command of a Captain who had seen service under Nelson. The
discipline under her previous Captain had been almost savage. The new
Captain, by his mildness, soon won the hearts of his men; they almost
worshipped him. One night in November, while carrying a press of sail,
she crossed the stern of the American clipper-bark _Rosiland_, bound
from Smyrna for Boston. "I suppose," hailed the Captain of the American,
"you have not heard the glorious news. Codrington has blown the Turks
and Egyptians sky-high!" The _Warspite_'s studding-sails vanished like a
dream, and she was rounded to, while her Captain hailed the _Rosiland_
that he wished to board her. She at once hauled her mainsail up and
backed her main-topsail. The Captain of the _Warspite_ came on board
from his barge, and remained nearly an hour. The details of the great
battle of Navarino had reached Smyrna, and Captain Alden Gifford, who
commanded the _Rosiland_, showed that it had been fought October 20,
1827, and that the entire Turkish and Egyptian fleets had been destroyed
in a four hours' fight by the allied fleets, and that the independence
of Greece was sure to follow. The Captain of the _Warspite_ was
satisfied with the truth of the report, and thanked Captain Gifford for
heaving to and giving him the news. At parting he gave a deep sigh, and
said, gravely, "Captain, I have but one eye, and I would rather have
lost that than been out of it!" The next day, on board of the
_Warspite_, a lot of offenders were brought before her Captain, who
roared out in wrath, "Rig the gratings, call the boatswain and his
mates, and all hands witness punishment!" Some eight men received two
dozen lashes each, and from that day until the ship was paid off no
guilty man escaped the cat. The tyrant knew the power of kindness to
make men do their duty in battle, but when there was no prospect of
fighting, his savage nature asserted itself. There was a report current
in Portsmouth that when he commanded a frigate, his barge's crew dragged
him out of a carriage, from alongside of his wife and daughter, and
flogged him until he fainted from loss of blood.
STREET SOUNDS.
What curious sounds come from the street,
How many kinds of noise!
There's the tramp, tramp, tramp of busy feet,
And the shouts of girls and boys;
The rambling of the wagon wheels,
The strolling peddler's cries,
And very often music steals
From the pavement toward the skies.
ALBERT LEE.
THE REMARKABLE ADVENTURES OF SANDBOYS.
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.
THE LOST RING.
The boys had been discussing with Sandboys on the subject of fish and
their habits, and, as usual, the bell-boy was full of information in
that connection which he was willing to impart to his happy listeners.
They found it hard to believe that sometimes, at the breaking up of
winter, Sandboys had with his own eyes seen trout flop out of the lake
and climb the bank after a worm that had come out of winter-quarters to
rest for a little in the sun, but they did believe it, because he said
it was so.
"I don't say that it's a reg'lar fixed habit of theirs, mind you," he
added, as if he had no wish to deceive the boys into thinking that trout
always behaved this way. "It's only occasionally you'll find a trout
that'll do it, and then it's because he's so fearful hungry that he
takes a risk. If it was a reg'lar fixed habit, catchin' trout'd be easy
work. With a few decoy worms set around the banks o' the lake you could
just sit down and wait till they came floppin' out after 'em, and then
club 'em over the head with a tennis-racket or a cane. But it ain't, and
you might wait a thousand years and never have the luck to see it."
"I'm rather surprised to hear that even one of them has ever done it,"
said Jack. "I always had an idea trout were shy, timid creatures."
[Illustration]
"That's all Tommy-moonshine," said Sandboys, scornfully. That's the sort
of stuff poets tell you about trout. Poetry trout are always shy and
timid. They are allers lurkin' in the cool blue depths of purkling
nooks. They spring past ye like a flash o' sunlight, an' are gone--the
poetry trout do; but real trout's different. The trouble ain't the
shyness of the trout, but the fact that the general run o' poets don't
know how to fish for 'em. Why, there was a poet up here last summer--a
feller with three names to his autygraph--and he got me to take him out
fishin' one mornin', and I said all right, bait or fly? 'I'll fish with
a fly, of course,' says he. 'I hate impalin' worms on hooks. Besides,'
says he, 'fly-fishin's more sportsmanlike.' So I got him a dandy pole,
lines, and some of the finest yeller sallies ye ever see. Down we went
to the lake, and the first thing he did was to ask for an anchor.
'Thought you was goin' to fish with flies?' says I. 'I be,' says he.
'Hurry up and get the anchor aboard and we'll start in.' I thought he
was crazy, but it ain't my place to tell guests they're crazy, so I got
him the anchor, and out we went. 'Where's a good place?' says he. I
showed him, and plump he let the anchor flop into the water with noise
enough to scare a whale, not to mention a trout. Well, thinks I, this is
goin' to be the fliest fly-fishin' I ever see. I never let on, though.
It was his picnic, not mine. I just watched to see what he was agoin' to
do next. He picked up the pole, an' let out about fifteen feet o' line,
an' then he looked at the fly. 'Where's the sinkers?' says he, lookin'
up, after a minute. 'The what?' says I. 'The sinkers,' says he,
impatient like. 'Seems to me you're a very careless boy to forget the
sinkers.' 'What do you want sinkers for?' says I. He looked at me for a
second, an' then he asked: 'What kind of a boy are you, anyhow? What do
I want with sinkers? Why, to sink the fly down to where the fish be, of
course.'
"That," sniffed Sandboys, contemptuously, "is the kind of feller that
says trout is shy. I guess they be shy when a feller tries fly-fishin'
with sinkers."
"Then," said Bob, "trout aren't shy?"
"Not so shy as they try to make 'em out," said Sandboys. "Of course they
don't come walkin' up around the corridors of the hotel; an' you don't
often find 'em makin' themselves conspicuous in the ballroom; nor they
ain't bold like college boys, runnin' all around chuckin' their college
yells at the echo--in comparison with some folks we know they be shy;
but, judgin' 'em from the stand-point of plain fish, they're as
ordacious as any. They'd swim up to a shark if they met one, and sass
him right to his face if they wanted to, without any fear of
consequences or any idee of bashfulness. _Shy!_ Poh! It's all nonsense.
Why, the only bit of highway robbery that's ever been known outside of
the reg'lar business channels here was done by a trout--right down on
Mirror Lake, too. Takes nerve to steal a ring right off a young lady's
finger, I guess."
"Stole a ring off a young lady's finger!" cried Bob. "A trout?"
"Hyops!" assented Sandboys. "A trout, and right down there in the shadow
of the Old Man too. It came near breakin' the young lady's heart. The
ring didn't amount to much as a ring, but it had a lot o' sentimentals
connected with it because it had been given to her by the young man she
was engaged to, and she'd swore she'd never take it off. It was a little
gold band with blue 'namel letters in it. The letters spelt MIZPAH. I
don't know what Mizpah means, but I think it's Greek for George, because
that was the young man's name.
"She'd only been here a week, and he was comin' up to spend Sunday. It
was a Saturday afternoon it happened, and he was expected to arrive on
the train that evening, and she was happy as could be over it. That
afternoon she went out rowin' on the lake with another young man she'd
met up here, and while they was out George arrived. He'd come up on an
earlier train, just to surprise her, and I tell you what he didn't like
it much when her ma said: 'Why, how do you do, George? This is
delightful. Emily will be so pleased. We didn't expect you until
to-night.' 'Well, I'm here,' said George. 'I thought I'd come some o'
the way by boat, and get here three or four hours earlier. Started last
night. Where is Emily?' 'She's down on the lake with Mr. Begum,' said
the young lady's ma. 'Oh, is she?' said George. 'I'm glad she's havin'
such a good time.' But he wasn't. You'd ought to seen his face fall when
he heard she was out rowin', and not pinin' away because he wasn't
there.
[Illustration]
"Meanwhile the young lady and Mr. Begum was rowin' quietly over the
lake, talkin' about literatoor and art and things like that. He was
doin' the rowin' and she was trailin' her hand in the water--the hand
with the Mizpah ring on it--when all of a sudden a trout gave a dart out
o' the shadder of the rocks, opened his mouth, caught holt of the ring,
pulled it right off, an' retired; an', worst of all, two minutes later
George appeared on the bank o' the lake and called out to her that he
was there. She was awfully cut up. The surprise at seein' him, an' the
grief at losin' his ring she'd said would never be took off her finger,
was a fearful combination, 'specially as George noticed, the minute she
came ashore, that the ring was gone.
"'Where's the ring?' said he. An' she told him how the trout had
behaved, and it seemed to make him awful gloomy. Ye see, he didn't
believe it. He thought it was a fish story, and he said so. He had an'
idee she'd given the ring to Mr. Begum, and he was pretty mad about it."
"It did sound like a fish story," put in Jack. "Seems to me I'd find it
hard to believe myself, if you hadn't told it to me."
Sandboys smiled his appreciation of this compliment to his veracity, and
continued:
"They didn't, either of 'em, say much after that, and all day Sunday
George sat around and read novels in the office, and the young lady
staid with her mother. They'd quarrelled, that was evident, and on
Monday George went back home again, and the young lady said they'd never
been engaged. The fact was they'd broke it off!
[Illustration]
"And now comes the funny part of it. All that summer, and the next, and
three more, went by, and nothin' more was ever heard of the ring. The
young lady kept a comin' back every year, but she didn't seem to care
anything about nobody. She just staid with her ma all the time, and
looked pale and unhappy. She'd never made it up with George, and he
never could be got to believe the story of how that dishonest little
trout had golluped down the ring he'd gave her. The fifth summer after,
he came through the mountains with a bicycle party, and they decided to
rest a couple of days here. She wasn't here that summer, so he could
stay without bein' embarrassed. The mornin' after he got here he asked
me to take him fishin', and we went down to the lake. He was a dandy
castin' a fly, an' I rowed him up and down, and up and down, for a
couple of hours, and he kept a-whippin' and a-whippin' without any luck.
Finally he says to me, 'Sandboys, I'll just try it once more, and if I
don't get nothin' we'll go back to the hotel and order our fish off the
bill of fare, instead of foolin' around here where _I don't believe
there ain't 'never been no trout.'_ I see in a minute what he was
thinkin' about, but I never said a word. 'All right, sir,' says I, and
he flicked the fly once more on the water, and, by hookey, up came a
beauty! It was a reg'lar out-and-out three-pounder. And, I tell you, he
had to work to get him into the boat; but as he wasn't no poet, an' knew
how it was done, he did land him finally.
"'We'll have him for dinner to-night,' says he, with a proud look--and
he did. The fish was fried and served at supper; but when the head
waiter brought him in to the table, he hands George an envellup, with
the remark that it contained somethin' that had been found inside the
trout. George got white as a sheet, opened the envellup, and, by hookey,
there was the Mizpah ring!"
"Goodness!" gasped Jack. "Wasn't that great!"
"What did he do?" queried Bob. "Faint?"
"Not he," said Sandboys. "He wasn't the faintin' kind. He jumped up from
the table, and rushed off to the telegraph office, and sent a telegram
to Miss Emily Harkaway at Narrowgansett Pier, sayin': 'Will arrive
to-morrow. George.' And he went.
"The next summer he came back again, and he brought her with him. She'd
become Mrs. George, and, by hookey, she had the ring with her; but this
time she wore it on her neck, with a row o' diamonds set all about it
that would have made that trout blind just to look at it, it dazzled so.
"So you just remember what I tell ye. When people give you that story
about trout bein' shy, you can contradict 'em, whether it's perlite for
small boys to contradict or not; an' if they take ye up, tell 'em about
the speckled highway robber of Mirror Lake. That'll take the starch
right out of their theories!"
[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]
The skating races of the New York Interscholastic League, held a week
ago at the St. Nicholas Rink, proved exceedingly interesting, and all
the events were unexpectedly hotly contested. Morgan of De La Salle had
by no means so easy a time of it as his supporters had believed he
would, and Paulding of Berkeley, who last winter represented Black Hall
School in the pole vault at the Knickerbocker games, proved himself an
important factor in the competition. Last year De La Salle carried off
all the honors, but on this occasion Berkeley and De La Salle finished
with an equal number of points to their credit.
[Illustration: THE DE LA SALLE INSTITUTE SKATING TEAM.]