You have all heard of the Seven Wonders of the World; did you know that
two of these wonders were veritable Light-houses?
About 300 B. C., Cheres, the disciple of Lysippus, cast the famous brazen
Colossus of Rhodes, a statue of the Sun God Apollo, and erected it at the
entrance of the harbor where it was used as a Light-house, the flames
which crowned the head of the Sun God by night serving to guide wandering
barks into his Rhodian waters.
[Illustration: FOURTH ORDER LIGHT-HOUSE, AT PENFIELD REEF, L. I. SOUND.]
For eighty years its hundred brazen feet towered superbly above port and
town, and then it was partly destroyed by an earthquake. For nearly a
thousand years the sacred image remained unmolested where it had fallen,
by Greek and Roman, Pagan and Christian; but at last the Saracen owners
of Rhodes, caring as little for its religious association as for its
classic antiquity, sold the brass of it for the great sum of £36.000, to
the Jewish merchants of Edessa.
Just about the time that the Colossus was set astride the Rhodian harbor,
King Ptolemy Philadelphus caused a noble tower of superb white stone,
four hundred feet high, to be erected by an architect named Sostrasius,
son of Dixiphanes, at the entrance to the port of Alexandria, which was a
bran-new busy city in those days, a mere mushroom growth in that old, old
Egypt, where the upstart Ptolomies were reigning on the throne of the
Pharaohs.
It is said that this Sostrasius didn't want his own name to be forgotten,
so he carved it deep in the stone of the tower and covered it over with
plaster whereon he inscribed by royal command:
"King Ptolemy to the Gods, the Saviours, for the benefit of sailors."
Josephus tells us that the light, kept burning on the top of this Pharos,
as it was called, probably from a word that signifies _fire_, was visible
for forty miles at sea. For a thousand years it shone constantly until
the Alexandrian Wonder likewise fell a prey to time and the Saracens.
The words Pharos-Phâre, Faro, etc., have been adopted into more than one
European language to express Light-house or sea-light.
Some persons suppose that great mirrors must have been used to direct the
light on the Pharos and keep it from being lost, but it is most probable
that no more effective means of illumination than a common fire was
employed.
The only other Light-houses of antiquity of which any record has been
preserved are the Tower of Conira in Spain, which Humboldt mentions as
the _Iron Tower_, and a magnificent stone Light-house at Capio, near the
mouth of the Guadalquiver, that Strabo tells us about, on a rock nearly
surrounded by sea.
Then tradition points out Cesar's Altar at Dover, the _Tour d' Ordre_ at
Boulogne, a Roman Pharos at Norfolk, and, in early British history, St.
Edmund's Chapel at the same place, as having been originally intended for
sea-lights.
Though we are far ahead of our forefathers in our scientific apparatus
for illuminating Light-houses, we have never equalled them in
magnificence of architecture; for, in point of grandeur, the _Tour de
Corduan_ at the mouth of the River Garonne, in France, is probably the
noblest edifice of the kind in the world, and it is nearly three hundred
years since it was completed under Henry IV., having been twenty-six
years in building.
[Illustration: A MODERN LIGHT-HOUSE]
All these centuries it has stood strong on its great reef, and has served
to guide the shipping of Bordeau and the Languedoc Canal, and all that
part of the Bay of Biscay; and it promises, in all human probability, to
show its steadfast light for centuries to come.
Corduan is stoutly built in four stories, each of a different order of
architecture, highly ornamented and adorned with the busts of the Kings
of France, and of the heathen divinities. The first story contains the
store-rooms, the second, the so-called King's apartments, the third a
chapel, and the fourth the dome or lower lantern. The tower completed is
197 feet high.
When this splendid structure was completed no better method for
illuminating was known than by burning billets of oak wood in a chauffer
in the upper lantern; and it was considered a great matter when a rude
reflector in the form of an inverted cone was suspended above the flame
to prevent the light from escaping upward. It is not known, in fact, that
any more effective mode of lighting was employed until 1760, not much
more than one hundred years ago; and then the radiance was not especially
brilliant as it would seem to us. At that time Smeaton the engineer began
to use wax candles at the Eddystone Light-house, which soon degenerated
to tallow dips, probably on account of the expense, and they must have
given the keeper abundance of occupation in the way of snuffing and
replenishing.
In 1789 a French scientist, M. Lenoir, made an epoch in the history of
Light-houses, and in the progress of civilization as well, when he
introduced an improvement in the way of lighting up the _Tour de
Corduan_; for, of course, the comparative safety in coast navigation
attained to by means of our modern Light-house system is of the first
consequence in commerce and international communication, which means the
spread of science, enlightenment and religion throughout the world. M.
Lenoir placed Argand lamps with parabolic mirrors or reflectors in the
lantern, which is, as it appears, a glass room on the summit of the tower
entered by a trap-door at the head of a spiral staircase. Such a great
change having been brought about, men of science have not rested content,
but have gone on making one advance after another. In 1820 the famous
diaptric instruments of Mr. Fresnel were placed in Corduan on trial, and
proved such a grand success that, gradually, they have been universally
adopted. The wonderful lens which you saw at the Centennial belongs to a
diaptric refracting light of the first order, and oil lamps constructed
on the Fresnel principle, and, placed with lenses of different orders,
according to the Light-house they are used for, serve an admirable
purpose. Lard is found to be the best illuminator, as a general thing,
for the light it casts through lenses of the first order reaches as far
out to sea as it is possible for any light to be seen on account of the
convexity of the earth. Experiment has proved it safer than mineral oil,
and it is cheaper than gas, which however is occasionally used near a
city whence it can easily be obtained. Only in some few special instances
electric light, the most intense procurable, is employed.
[Illustration: LIGHT-HOUSE ON MT. DESERT, COAST OF MAINE.]
The Centennial birth-day gift of the citizens of France to the American
Republic is a colossal brazen statue of Liberty, which is to be a Pharos
to light the shipping of the world into New York harbor. It will stand on
Bedloe's Island, and from the torch in its uplifted hand will flash a
calcium light. Only the hand and arm were finished in time to be sent to
the Exposition; but these were on so gigantic a scale that a man standing
in the little gallery which ringed the thumb holding the torch seemed
like an ant or a fly creeping along at that height.
Sir Walter Scott--dear Sir Walter, whose "Tales of a Grandfather" and
Scottish stories and poems were so delightfully familiar to the boys and
girls of the last generation, left a charming little diary of a voyage he
made in the summer of 1814, on board a Light-house yacht, in company with
the Commissioners of Northern Lights,--who have charge of the
Light-houses in Scotland, as the Elder Brethren of Trinity House have of
those in England,--their Surveyor-Viceroy, the engineer Stevenson, and a
few other gentlemen.
The first Light-house they visited was an old tower, like a "border
keep," still illuminated by a grate fire on top. The commissioners think
of substituting an oil revolving-light; but Sir Walter wonders if the
_grate_ couldn't be made to revolve!
Next they came to Bell Rock, which, in olden times, was the terror of
sailors feeling their way in and out of the islands and rocks and shoals
of the beautiful, perilous coast of Scotland. Inch-cape Rock, as it was
then called, had shipwrecked many a helpless crew before the Abbot of
Aberbrathock, fifteen miles off, out of pity caused a float to be fixed
on the rock, with a bell attached which, swinging by the motion of the
waves, warned seamen of the danger.
Many years later, when Abbot and Monastery bells had all become things of
the past, a humane naval officer set up two beacons on Bell Rock by
subscription; but they were soon destroyed by the fury of the elements.
At last in 1802, people began to realize the danger of this terrible reef
in the highway of navigation, and the Commissioners appointed Mr. Robert
Stevenson to erect a Light-house on this point.
It was a perilous undertaking, and once the engineer and his workmen made
a very narrow escape from drowning; but it was successfully accomplished
by the brave and skilful Stevenson. Sir Walter thus describes this famous
beacon.
"Its dimensions are well known; but no description can give the idea of
this slight, solitary, round tower, trembling amid the billows, and
fifteen miles from Arbraeth (Aberbrathock), the nearest shore. The
fitting up within is not only handsome, but elegant. All work of wood
(almost) is wainscot; all hammer-work brass; in short, exquisitely fitted
up. You enter by a ladder of rope, with wooden steps, about thirty feet
from the bottom where the mason-work ceases to be solid, and admits of
round apartments. The lowest is a storehouse for the people's provisions,
water, etc.; above that, a storehouse for the lights, oil, etc.; then the
kitchen of the people, three in number; then their sleeping chamber; then
the saloon or parlor, a neat little room; above all the Light-house; all
communicating by oaken ladders with brass rails, most handsomely and
conveniently executed."
In the course of the voyage Mr. Stevenson determined that his
"constituents" should visit a reef of rocks called _Skerry Vhor_
(Skerrymore), where he thought it would be essential to have a
Light-house. Sir Walter's description of this visit is quite amusing and
perhaps you would like to read it. The wind had blown squally all night,
and in consequence everything and everybody were pitched and tossed about
at a great rate, on board the little vessel. Nobody relished the attempt
to land under these circumstances on this wild ridge.
"Quiet perseverance on the part of Mr. Stevenson, and great kicking,
bouncing, and squabbling upon that of the Yacht, which seems to like the
idea of Skerry Vhor as little as the Commissioners. At length, by dint of
exertion, comes in sight this long ridge of rocks (chiefly under water)
on which the tide breaks in a most tremendous style. There appear a few
low, broad rocks at one end of the reef, which is about a mile in length.
These are never entirely under water though the surf dashes over them.
Pull through a very heavy swell with great difficulty, and approach a
tremendous surf dashing over black pointed rocks--contrive to land well
wetted. We took possession of the rock in the name of the Commissioners,
and generously bestowed our own great names on its crags and creeks. The
rock was carefully measured by Mr. S. It will be a most desolate position
for a Light-house--the Bell Rock and Eddystone a joke to it, for the
nearest land is the wild island of Tyree, at fourteen miles distance. So
much for the Skerry Vhor."
[Illustration: LIGHT-HOUSE AT "THE THIMBLE SHOAL," HAMPTON ROADS, VA.]
As might have been expected, the Commissioners were discouraged at the
aspect of affairs and delayed the work from year to year, but at last, in
1834, the Board placed this serious undertaking in the hands of Mr. Alan
Stevenson.
Mr. Stevenson has left us a thrilling account of his noble work on
Skerrymore Rocks, than which no worthier monument was ever left behind to
the memory of a gifted and conscientious man.
In the first place he had to build barracks for his workmen on the Isles
of Tyree and Mull, and then to begin the foundation of the tower on the
only one of the gneiss rocks of the reef which was broad enough for the
purpose, and this is but barely so, for at high water little remains
around the tower's base but a narrow band of a few feet of rugged rocks,
washed into gullies by the sea, which plays through them almost
incessantly.
Everything had to be thought of and provided for beforehand; even so
small a matter as the want of a little clay for tamping holes might have
stopped the work for a time.
Piers were built at Mull where the granite was quarried, and all sorts of
conveniences and contrivances for the vessels and tug in use.
The poor workmen suffered dreadfully from seasickness when compelled to
live on their vessel, so they erected a temporary wooden barrack on the
rock, but it was completely swept away in a November gale, destroying the
work of a season in a single night. The dauntless men went to work again,
however, and built another shelter which stood so successfully that it
was finally taken down several years after the Light-house was completed.
Alan Stevenson tells us of their life in this wave-washed eyrie, where he
was perched forty feet above the sea-beaten rock with a goodly company of
thirty men, where often for many a weary night and day they were kept
prisoners by the weather, anxiously looking for supplies from the shore.
At such times they were generally obliged to stay in bed, where alone
they found an effectual shelter from the wind and spray which searched
every cranny in their walls. More than once the fearfulness of the storm
drove the more timid from their frail abode, which the sea threatened to
overwhelm, out on the bare rock where the roofless wall of the
Light-house offered a safer defence against the perils of the wind and
waves.
Innumerable were the delays and disappointments which tried the courage
and faith of Stevenson and his brave band. It was a good lesson in the
school of patience, and they learned to trust in something stronger than
an arm of flesh. More than once their cranes and materials were swept
away by the waves, and the workmen left, desponding and idle. They
incurred daily risks in landing and in blasting the splintery gneiss, and
in the falling of heavy bodies in the narrow space to which they were
confined. For all, they met with no loss of life or limb, and maintained
good health in spite of being obliged to live on salt provisions for six
summers.
But the hardships and responsibilities by no means end with the building
of the Light-house; the keeper who has it in charge holds a most
important position, for upon the skill of his hands in the management of
the delicate costly lenses and machinery, the clearness of his head, and
the courage of his heart, as well as his honesty and fidelity, depends,
even more than upon the captain of a vessel, the safety of many precious
lives and millions of property; so it is of the first importance that he
be intelligent, efficient and trustworthy.
A Light which has been visible for years cannot be suffered to be extinct
for one hour without endangering a vessel's safety. The failure to
illuminate at the proper time might prove fatal to the confiding mariner.
In England it is a situation for life unless the holder prove unworthy,
with a pension if superannuated; but in our own country the appointments
are in a measure political, and consequently liable to be temporary. This
circumstance is deplored by the Board which sometimes in this way loses
valuable servants after they have gained a skill and experience which
only comes with time; and raw, untried hands have to be placed in
positions of trust. It is hoped that some change will soon be brought
about in this matter.
[Illustration: FIRST CLASS LIGHT-SHIP, WITH STEAM FOG WHISTLE.]
A year or more ago a gentleman, who holds an important position in the
office of the Light-house Board and is specially interested in the
comfort and welfare of the keepers, came in the course of a tour he was
making on one of the Supply Ships, which carry half-yearly stores to the
different posts, to a very isolated Light-house off the Florida coast,
twenty miles from any human habitation and sixteen from _terra firma_.
Just before the arrival of the vessel a little child of the keeper had
died, and was about to be buried in the sea without so much as a word of
prayer being said over it. Mr. ---- was shocked to find that these poor
people in their isolation seemed to have no idea of religion, and that
there was not a book of any kind at the station. The parents made no
objection to his reading the burial service over the poor baby, out of a
little prayer-book which he happened to have in his pocket, and he went
away determined to do his part towards making good the deficiency he had
discovered; for on investigation it was found that very many Light-houses
were quite as much cut off from books as the one he had visited, and one
instance had occurred of a poor fellow who had actually gone crazy, from
sheer mental starvation, in his loneliness.
Many persons have interested themselves in Mr. ----'s scheme. An
appropriation has been asked from Congress for supplying reading matter
to the six hundred and more Light-houses along our coast; and in the mean
time private individuals have sent in contributions in the way of old
books and magazines. The lady and gentlemen clerks at the Light-house
Board have been most kind and helpful in the matter; for they always feel
an interest in the condition of the keepers and their families, and when
cases of suffering come to their knowledge, as lately, when a keeper at
the South was burnt out and lost all his possessions, are prompt with
their assistance. In this instance they helped to sort and arrange the
motley piles of donated literature, which was then bound up nicely, in
uniform volumes, at the Government Printing Office, and a neat little
library-case of strong oak wood was made, fitted up with shelves and
having heavy metal clasps and handles; and just so many volumes, always
including a Bible, were placed in each case.
The Store-ships will now go out with a goodly lading of these supplies;
one will be left at each station, and the next time the ship comes round
the old case will be taken away and a fresh one substituted. In this way
a circulating library system is established, and every Keeper well
supplied with abundance of wholesome and entertaining reading matter.
You children, with your wealth of books and delightful magazines coming
every month, can perhaps hardly appreciate the boon this kind thought, so
well carried out, will prove; for you have never known what it is to be
shut up in a lonely tower, day after day, month after month, with no
outside interest or amusement. You can do your part towards brightening
the lives of these men with their wives and children, and I am sure you
will be glad of the opportunity. Many of you, no doubt, have piles of old
magazines or story papers, or even of books, for which you have no
further use. Would you not like to put up a nice package of these, and
send them by Express to the "Care of the Chief Clerk of the Light-house
Board, Washington, D. C."?
New supplies are constantly needed, and in this way you could not fail to
give pleasure to those who have little enough in a life of monotonous
duty.
"BUY A BROOM! BUY A BROOM!"
Last summer while on our vacation trip along the sea-coast we made our
plans so as to stop over a train at Barnstable that we might have time to
take a look at that ancient burgh, but found to our dismay when it was
too late, that of _time_ we had altogether too much, for when we stepped
out of the car it was seven o'clock in the morning, and our train would
not leave till four in the afternoon! And to make matters worse it began
to rain. We managed, however, at intervals when the rain held up, to get
a pretty good idea of the place, but were driven back to the station by
the persistent drizzle long before noon; and there we seemed destined to
spend five tedious hours, with not much of anything to do, except to get
the way-bills of the Old Colony Railroad by heart, and commit to memory
whatever might be available in the other advertisements posted on the
walls.
[Illustration: THE BLIND BROOM-MAKER OF BARNSTABLE.]
We were beginning to be desperate, when my companion, strolling about,
discovered a small placard saying that fruit was for sale in the freight
depot. I set out to explore, having visions of apples and pears, but
especially peaches and grapes before me.
Passing the wide freightage doors, I came to a narrow one which was wide
open; so I first looked, and then walked in. It was an unfinished place
where a slim young woman was busy about her housework, while a
sick-looking man was "standing round." There was a cooking-stove, and she
was taking pies out of the oven, which she set in a row on a cumbrous
wooden bench that filled all the opposite end of the room, and under it
were stored bunches of something unknown to me which I found afterwards
was broom-corn. She was pretty and girlish, and had blue eyes, and fair
hair.
She asked me to sit down, and told me they had been living there off and
on for three years. "We used to live in 'Commons,' but we did not like,
and so came up here. My husband is not well, and I go out washing, and
take in washing."
It was a very queer place to live in, but neat and comfortable, yet it
seemed just as if they might have been moving, and had merely stopped
here over night and set up their stove in order to cook something to eat.
Upon inquiring for the fruit, about which it began to seem as if there
must be either a mistake or a mystery for nothing of the kind was to be
seen except the dish of apples left over from the pies, she directed me
up-stairs; and up the steep narrow stairs I went, nearly stumbling over a
great black dog (which she assured me would not bite) that lay stretched
at the threshold of a dreary kind of room which had one occupant--a man
with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows at work near one of the
windows at the farther end. And now I remembered that we had seen him at
his bench there as we sat in the depot, and wondered what he was doing.
[Illustration: A GAY CAVALCADE.]
No indications of fruit; but there were four machines and a stack of
brooms, and the litter of shreds and waste, and I was about to retreat
with an apology after making known my errand. He said I had made no
mistake, but he was out of everything except confectionery; peanuts,
dates and figs. So as there were no apples, no pears, no peaches, no
grapes, after all my perseverance, _dates_ I would have, and he went to a
closet where he said he kept them, holding his hands out before him in
such a way that I knew he could not see even before he said, "I am
blind."
After he had weighed them and received his pay, there were a few words
about his business, which he seemed delighted to talk about, and because
I put a question or two, he asked if I was a reporter, and said "that
used to be my business. I was on the reportorial staff of the
Pennsylvania legislature, when from overtasking my eyes, and other
causes, I became blind. I went to the Institution at South Boston, and
learned to make brooms so that I could earn my living."
He was full of interest in the work he had been compelled to fall back
upon, and invited me to come in with my companion and see how it was
done.
"Now I wish," said he, "that I had some stuff ready. I have to soak it
before I use it. But your train does not go till four o'clock. I will put
some to soak immediately, and if you will come in about three I will
begin at the beginning and make a broom, so that you can then see the
whole process."
To be sure we were glad to go, and he did as he said he would, and
explained every particular, even to the cost.
"The broom-corn comes from the West," he said, "though a good deal grows
in the Mohawk valley, and the largest broom establishment in the United
States is at Schenectady.
"It often grows, if thriving stalks, ten or twelve feet tall; it can be
cultivated here, but not so profitably. It comes in large bales, weighing
anywhere from one hundred and fifty to five hundred pounds. Where I buy
mine in Boston it costs me six cents a pound, though the price varies.
"I sort it out on a 'sorting bench,' first, for if I took it as it is,
the brooms would be of queer qualities. Sorting is a regular trade to
learn.
"The next thing, I tie it in bundles, and then it is ready for use. I put
as many of these to soak the night before, as I want to make up in the
day. I leave it in the water half an hour, then let it drain, and it
keeps damp enough for working; if it was dry it would break when I sew
it. Here you see this lot, from which I shall make the broom. I call now
we have wire, and it is galvanized to prevent it from rusting. It costs
me twelve cents a pound; it used to cost seventeen."
[Illustration: THE COMEDY OF BROOMS--MAMMA'S LITTLE HOUSEMAID.]
Having made the handle fast, he took a bunch of the corn, smoothed it
carefully through his hands to even it, laid it against the handle, put
his foot on the treadle or whatever the hour-glass shaped piece of
mechanism might be named, and with one or two revolutions wired it tight.
This lot had the butts left on, but from the next layer he sliced them
down wedge-fashion with a very sharp knife, having secured them to those
already on by a strap which could be fastened at such length as he chose
by means of a leather button; another and another tier, each time of
choicer quality, succeeded, and so on till the stock for that broom was
used up.
"This," he explained, "is a number eight broom. If there had been time I
would have made a _hurl_ broom, which is the best. (The 'hurl' is the
finest part of the corn, the heart.) I make five sizes: number six is the
smallest, and it is the smallest manufactured in this country. I can make
twenty of those in a day. Of the number ten, the hurl, I have made
twelve, and they sell for forty cents apiece. Sometimes when I have got a
lot of brooms on hand I hire a horse and cart, take a boy with me, and go
round the country to sell them; and people will object to paying my
prices, and I can't always make them believe that it pays to buy a good
article, even if it is a broom. They sometimes say that they can get
enough of them at fourteen cents, but I tell them when they pay fourteen
cents for a broom, they only get a fourteen-cent broom."
[Illustration: UP IN THE ATTIC.]
He had now a rough broom, which he released from the vise and took over
to the press which had three pairs of cruel-looking irons that he said
were "the jaws," of sizes to shut round brooms of three different
thicknesses and hold firmly, while he did the next thing, which he made
known in this wise:
"Now I shall sew it. The number six have only two sewings--all they need,
they are so thin. The others have three. They are all sewed with waxed
linen twine: the higher sizes have pink, because it looks better; the
others have tow-colored. You see my needle? It is some like a
sail-maker's, but not exactly. I have two, though one will last a
lifetime. I keep them in this oiled rag to prevent them from rusting.
They cost fifty cents apiece, and were made of the very best of steel.
See what nice metal it is!" He held out one, shaped more like a paddle
than anything else, polished to the last degree, and as lustrous as
silver; then he threw it on the floor to show us how it would ring.
"Broom tools of all kinds are made at Schenectady, but my needles, knives
and combs come from Hadley. I will show you the combs pretty soon; the
knives you have already seen. Let me see--where did I lay that other
needle? No, you need not look for it; I must find it myself. I have to be
careful where I leave my things, so that I can put my hand on them the
moment I want them. Oh, here it is," picking it up with his long supple
fingers, and rolling it securely up in the oiled cloth.
"Now you notice I put on this _palm_," and he held up what looked like a
mitt just large enough to cover the palm of the hand and the wrist,
having a hole to slip the thumb through and leaving that and the fingers
free. It was made of cowhide, and sewed together on the back, while in
the inside was set a thimble against which the needle was to be pressed
in doing the hard sewing, while the leather protected the skin from being
fretted by the broom.
"It is not just like a sail-maker's palm," he added. "I have one of those
which a man gave me, and I will show it to you." So going again to his
dark closet, he groped for it among his multifarious things, and came
back with one similar, except that it was of raw-hide, and the thimble
was a little projection looking like a pig's toe.
[Illustration: "PLANT THE BROOM!"]
He sewed the broom through and through, producing the three pink rows.
Then he said he would comb it to clear away the loose and broken stems;
and so he passed through it a sort of hetchel made of thirty small
knife-blades set in a frame, "which cost me," said he, "more than you
would think--that comb was five dollars; and now I comb it out with this
one to remove the small stuff and the seeds." And releasing it from the
clamp, he took down a fine comb from a nail, and repeated the process.
"And now it is ready to be trimmed. I lay it on this hay-cutter, which
some friends bought cheap for me at a fair, and answered my purpose after
a few alterations, and I trim it off, nice and even at one end--and now
it is done. You have seen a broom made."
That was true. Our only regret was that we could not have that same broom
to take away; but on our zig-zag journey, when we were likely enough to
stop over or turn off anywhere, that was an absurdity not to be thought
of. We did, however, "buy a broom" that we _could_ take--and an excellent
one it proved--and we accepted a small package of broom-corn seed which
the blind workman was anxious we should have, "to plant in some spare
spot just to see how it looks when growing."
When we went down-stairs, the woman was out on the platform, her yellow
hair tossing about in the wind, and she seemed as happy with her meagre
accommodations in the freight house as if she were owner of a mansion.
She begged us to go in and get some of her apples, we were welcome, and
"they did not cost me anything," she added. She told us more about her
fellow-tenant, and said he paid half the rent, "and he used to board with
us, but now he boards up in town, and he goes back and forth alone, his
self."
* * * * *
This curious and pleasant little episode made us so ready to be
interested in everything pertaining to brooms that it seemed a kind of
sarcasm of circumstances when, at a junction not very far along our
route, we saw, perched upon his cart, a pedler doing his best to sell his
brooms to the crowd on their way home from one of the Cape camp-meetings.
His words were just audible as the train went on:
"Buy a broom! Buy a broom! Here's the place to buy a cheap broom, for
_fourteen_ cents! _only_ fourteen cents! A broom for fourteen cents! So
CHEAP!"
And it happened not many days later that somebody read in our hearing
that the broom-corn is a native of India, and that Dr. Franklin was the
means of introducing it into this country; from seeing a whisk of it in
the hands of a lady he began to examine it--being of an inquiring mind,
as everybody knows--and found a seed, which he planted.
The street-sweeper's broom is the genuine _besom_, made of birch stems,
cut out in the country, and brought into town tied up in bundles like
fagots; suitable enough for those stalwart men who drag them along so
leisurely, but burdensome for the hands of the wretched little waifs,
who, tattered and unkempt, make a pretence of keeping the crossings
clean; who first sweep, and then hold out a small palm for the penny,
dodging the horses' hoofs, and just escaping by a hair's breadth the
wheels of truck or omnibus in their attempts to secure the coin, if some
pitiful passer-by stops at the piping call:
"Please ma'am, a penny!"
That is the almost tragic prose of brooms.
[Illustration: THE TRAGEDY OF BROOMS--THE CROSSING SWEEPER.]
But there is a bit of poetic history that ought not to be forgotten, for
it was a sprig of the lovely broom bush--call it by the daintier name of
heath if you will--such as in some of its varieties grows wild in nearly
every country in Europe, a tough little flowering evergreen, symbol of
humility, which was once embroidered on the robes, worn in the helmet,
and sculptured on the effigies of a royal house of England. Which of the
stories of its origin is true, perhaps no one at this distant day can
determine; but whether a penitent pilgrim of the family was scourged by
twigs of it--the _plantagenesta_--or a gallant hunter plucked a spray of
it and put in his helmet, it is certain that the humble plant gave the
stately name of "Plantagenet" to twelve sovereigns of that kingdom; and
their battle-cry--which meant to them conquest and dominion, but has a
very practical sound to us, and a specially prosaic meaning to one like
the blind broom-maker of this simple story--was this:
"_Plant the broom! Plant the broom!_"