Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JULY 28, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 874. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A THRESHER THRASHED.
BY DAWSON STEARNS.
"Talk about catching fish," remarked Walter Clay, in a phlegmatic and
yet rather sarcastic style, "it seems to me that Katie has caught one
now, if she never did before."
The youth addressed showed that he was more hot-tempered than his
companion, as his cheeks flushed and his eyes danced angrily for an
instant when the comprehension of his friend's double meaning flashed
upon him.
"Oh, stop punning, and look out for that line, quick!" was the sharp
reply.
"Better mind your helm, or you'll have your boom gybe, if this lovely
fish doesn't gybe it for you, my boy," retorted Walter, as his attention
was more closely called to the line he was paying out, as he stood near
the weather-bow and watched carefully ahead.
The boys were in a cat-boat of comfortable build, heading toward the
mouth of Long Island Sound, close-hauled on the port tack, Brentons Reef
Light-ship a mile or more off on the weather-quarter, and a breeze so
true and sternly that they felt no uneasiness about getting back to
Newport before sundown if they devoted most of the afternoon to sport.
The boat was named the _Katie_, and was owned by the young man at the
helm, Harry Main, who had chosen the name and had it painted in neat
letters on her stern with the consent of one who did not hesitate to
acknowledge the flattery of the compliment. Hence his companion's
good-natured play upon it, as well as intimation of the important aspect
of the present occasion.
The _Katie_ was a very weatherly craft, as well as a good sailer, and
was highly prized by her young owner; in fact, she was a prize. The boat
had been built to his special order by one of the most experienced of
cat-boat constructors, after many long consultations with his _fidus
Achates_ and constant chum Walter, as well as the benefit of
professional advice, and the sanction of his father, who footed the
bills in redemption of a promise made if Harry attained a certain record
at his college examinations. The record had been made through faithful
work, the prize had been earned, and the boys were now right heartily
enjoying the fruit of their labors in the summer vacation. Little wonder
that their good fortune was envied by many, and that their popularity
was in no small degree enhanced by the nautical tone acquired through
their amateur sailorizing, while their manliness was increased, lung
power developed, brains brightened, complexions enriched, and muscles
toughened by the glow of such healthful exercise and invigorating
pastime.
That morning the boys had started out for bluefish, their boat equipped
with outriggers to facilitate the handling of the lines, as is
customary; and with reefed sail, to prevent the gaining of too much
headway, they were making a fair catch, when a tremendous splashing in
the water ahead and rapidly nearing them attracted their attention. It
was soon seen that the commotion, whatever it might be due to, was
frightening away the fish, and indignation took the place of
satisfaction on the part of the fishermen. Watching the disturbance in
the water as it drew nearer, the boys could soon make out that it was
caused by some monster of the deep, and presently resounding slaps on
the surface of the Sound could be plainly distinguished with the
creature's tail, making a noise and splashing as though a massive plank
were dropped flat side into the water fairly from a height. This was
done not only once, but many times, the reports sometimes resembling
gun-shots, and indicating that more monsters than one were causing the
racket.
"Whales fighting!" suggested Harry.
"No; not big enough; they're closer than you think," said Walter, as he
stood with his hand shading his eyes, intently watching them.
"Not sharks, eh? Horse-mackerel, I guess, or sturgeon," rapidly
conjectured Harry.
"Great Scott! No, old man--threshers, as you're a sinner!" concluded
Walter, decisively. "And there's a whole school of 'em. Look out for
your lines!"
But even as the truth flashed upon him his caution was too late, for one
of the threshers dashed alongside, sweeping it clear of lines and
leaving them afar off, as the school proceeded to gambol in a new
direction.
"This is interesting, but I don't think it will pay as well as
bluefish," remarked Walter; and even as he spoke another line on the
opposite side went with a snap, as the fish scurried off with a
vindictive splash of his mighty caudal appendage.
"Let's make it pay!" ejaculated Harry, quick to resolve.
"Capital idea, my boy! Will you kindly elucidate your proposition?"
inquired Walter, as he ruefully gathered in some wreckage of bluefishing
gear.
"Why," said Harry, "let's make over to Brentons Reef Light-ship, and see
if we can't get some shark hooks and bait from the crew, and capture one
of the beggars."
"We might try it," said Walter, contemplatively. "Those piratical
splashers certainly have assumed too much audacity to suit my
equanimity, and they deserve to be punished. Well, get her around, and
we'll run over to the light-ship and see."
It was always the quick brain of Harry that planned such expeditions,
and as the _Katie_ made good time on her course he eagerly pictured the
heroic effect of capturing a thresher and towing it to port. Walter
Clay, always willing for any sort of adventure that was not too reckless
for a fair chance of safety, and warranted not to get "rattled," but
preserve his good-nature and presence of mind under all circumstances,
carefully arranged the details of the proposed venture. The men on the
light-ship happened to have just such gear as was required for the
purpose, and willingly lent it, including a cable's-length (120 fathoms)
of stanch half-inch hemp line coiled in a tub, and a big shark-hook with
several feet of chain, as well as some chunks of salt pork for bait.
They likewise informed the boys that the threshers were probably the
same school that had been reported the day before as greatly interfering
with the fishermen off on Montauk Shoal.
Specimens of the genuine thresher-shark indeed these creatures
were--those _Alopias vulpes_, or sea-foxes, the dorsal lobes of whose
tails are nearly as long as the rest of their bodies, and are used in
splashing the surface of the water to aid in securing their prey of
small fish. Exceedingly grotesque in appearance they seemed sometimes,
the upper lobe of the long tail curving upwards and resembling in form
the blade of a scythe. One of the men on the light-ship said he had
always heard them called "swingle-tails," and also volunteered the
information that the biggest he had ever seen was one caught at Marion,
Massachusetts, in November, 1864, which measured thirteen feet long and
weighed about 400 pounds. Some people believed that they attacked
whales, but he had seen them all up and down the North Atlantic coast,
as well as in the Mediterranean and off California, and "in all his
going to sea he had never found a whale yet that wouldn't laugh at a
thresher." The most damage they did was to fishermen's nets and lines.
The threshing and splashing of the fish had attracted the attention of a
great flock of gulls as the boys headed the _Katie_ once more toward the
scene of activity; and in the bright sunlight, with the glinting
slippery bodies of some of the threshers almost constantly visible, the
spray flying, and the bead-eyed sea-birds fluttering and watching
overhead, the picture was rather a thrilling one. They were both
determined enough in their intentions, yet when they actually arrived
upon the scene and a thresher of apparently abnormal size rushed to meet
them with a resounding slap of his tail upon the surface of the water
that sent the foam flying skyward and seemed like a laughing defy to
their plans, even the cool-blooded Walter began to feel a little
excitement.
This selfsame thresher lost no time in making good his challenge, but
swallowed the bait, and ran off with it away to windward so rapidly that
it seemed as if he were going to tow the boat, which was again got full
and by on the port tack. Walter was now paying out the line as slowly as
he could, with a turn under a belaying-pin, as he made the first remark
recorded in this sketch. But it soon became evident that something would
have to be done if they did not wish to be towed to sea, so Harry ported
his helm to let the boat fall off and endeavor to check the creature in
its mad career. As the wind came more abeam, however, so did the shark,
and instead of making leeway, the attraction to windward was so powerful
that the situation looked almost dangerous, and as if the only way to
counteract the shark's tow-line was to let it over the stem with a free
sheet. It was just a question, however, whether even then the boat might
not be drawn astern, and Walter was actively considering the
advisability of cutting the line, when all at once the fish took a turn
and once more made toward them.
"Head her up again, quick!" shouted Walter. "Down your helm. He's
coming!"
The boat had fortunately way enough to bring her quickly up into the
wind as Harry shoved his tiller hard over to starboard and hauled in his
sheet, then jumped to help his friend get in the slack of the line as
the infuriated monster dashed toward them. He was not a moment too soon.
Had the boat not changed direction and forged ahead a little the wildly
rushing thresher would have struck it a terrific blow on the
port-quarter. As it was, he passed the boys with a leap clear out of
water that sent a tremendous splash of spray in their faces, and just
missed the boom as he dived astern. It was a thrilling moment; but,
indeed, the whole affair, from the time the shark first swallowed the
bait, seemed to have happened in less time than one could tell it.
"By jingo!" cried Walter. "What's he going to do next?"
They had not long to wait for a reply. Circling around to seaward, the
thresher repeated exactly the same manoeuvre, this time a streak of
bloody foam following in his wake. The boys had all they could do to
handle the boat in consonance with the shark's movements. As he madly
rushed ahead, the line began to smoke from its friction with the rail at
the velocity it paid out, and Harry again had to leave his helm to bail
water and pour it upon the hempen coils, so quickly snaking out, with
the threat of possible disaster when the tub should be emptied. Walter's
hands were burned and blistered and raw in spots from contact with the
flying line, in a vain endeavor this time to grasp it and get a turn
around a pin. The fish went too fast. The boys looked at each other, too
excited to speak, as they glanced at the rapidly emptying tub and the
flying streak of blue foam ahead. Another instant and the line was all
paid out. The last coil of it swirled over the side as they both grasped
the tub with all their might to see if they could hold it. The end of
the line was made fast to the tub. It might have been a dangerous thing
to do, for if the line had parted under the strain, and hit one of them
a blow with its rebounding end, it would have been a severe one. But
fortunately this shark felt the check, and with a mighty splash he
turned again and made back towards them.
"Haul in and coil down for all you're worth!" commanded Walter, as he
heaved a sigh of relief, and applied his bleeding hands vigorously to
getting the slack of the line inboard again.
The shark did not come toward them so directly as before, and the boat
had not so much way on, so that they were able to finally get the line
taut and a turn taken beneath a pin again. The strain was maintained
anxiously for a few minutes, when the thresher took another sudden rush
for their port-quarter. With all the vigor acquired by his momentary
rest he leaped again clear out of water, and as the boys rapidly hauled
in the line a strange thing happened. The strain came suddenly upon the
leaping thresher, and brought such a snapping jaw upon his jaws that he
actually turned a complete somersault in the air before he sank again
beneath the surface astern, and as the line paid out once more the sweat
streamed from the faces and bodies of the daring fisher-lads.
"We can't keep this up," said Walter, as he hugged his sore hands.
"What can we do?" questioned Harry.
The question was answered by the tooting of a naphtha-launch's whistle.
The crew of the light-ship had been watching the _Katie_ through
glasses, and divining their predicament, had hailed a passing yacht,
which promptly sent the launch to see the fun and assist if necessary.
The assistance was gladly welcomed, and after a spirited pull and a vast
amount of powerful splashing in his dying agonies, the thresher was
finally got alongside and the death-blow given with a boat-hook. The
boys sailed back to Newport with jubilant hearts, and their prize in
tow. He was a monster of his species, measuring nearly fourteen feet
from tip to tip. And the sea-gulls followed them home with cheering
screams!
THE SUMMER ANGEL.
Everybody knows what the funny man in the daily newspapers means by the
"summer girl."
She is supposed to be a giddy and frivolous creature who wears mannish
or boyish clothes. She is not a fine young woman. If she has noble and
womanly traits, she is supposed to pack them away carefully in tar-paper
and camphor with her furs for winter use at home.
Sometimes she is amusing. Often she is pretty and bright. She is always
stylish.
It was such a description that happened to fall into the hands of a real
summer girl who sat leaning against a rock basking in the sun at a
mountain resort, and it set her to thinking.
She had been coming to this same place ever since she could remember,
and the people of the little village on the mountain-side had seen her
growing, like a tall rare flower of the conservatory, taller and
handsomer each year. They had watched her pass their doors, but they had
not known her.
It happened that she had been reading a description of the summer girl
as wearing just such a hat and gown as hers--"nobby," and "fetching,"
and "chic." She had the same piquant face, and was said to pass like an
annual vision of beauty before the delighted eyes of the poor mountain
folk whom she had seen all her life and did not know.
This was all, but it startled her. It was as if the writer had known
her--from the outside. Of course he didn't know her true heart and her
refined inward nature, else he wouldn't have made her talk slang and
paint her face. No, it was only an accidental likeness. But it set her
to thinking, and while she thought her eyes happened to fall upon the
door of a log cabin upon the mountain-side beneath her. The cabin was
unpainted, poor, and shabby.
An old woman sat at the door sewing. A lame boy was coming up the walk
from the village of the summer cottagers. He carried two empty pails in
his hands, and he limped. He had been carrying milk to the summer
people--probably to her own home.
She suddenly realized that she had always seen this boy here, and that
he seemed never to have grown. He looked now as he had looked certainly
for seven years. For the first time in her life this pathetic little
crippled figure stood out before her as a real living, human person; not
only a part of the summer landscape, like a gnarled and stunted tree,
but a living, breathing, suffering, human creature, who was patiently
living his poor life, carrying buckets of milk down the mountain, and
trudging slowly back, day after day, year after year.
What was his name, his story? How came the ugly hump upon his narrow
back? Were the people in the log cabin his own kindred? Were they good
to him?
Why had she never wondered before, and found out? So in the breast of a
real, sweet womanly summer girl awoke a new interest in the humble
people of the mountain.
When she finally rose and started homeward she took the long foot-path
leading past the mountaineer's door. She paid the old woman, who still
sat patching, a real visit, and when she left she was asked to call
again. So began the first of a number of humble friendships.
The "boy" with the hump she discovered to be forty years old, but he was
still a child, for the illness that had deformed his body had laid a
blight upon his mind too. Ho could carry the milk-buckets and bring the
cows, and he could sing. He could even remember from summer to summer,
and after a while he knew who it was who sent him pictures of beautiful
things and a warm coat, and had been teaching him slowly to learn to
read. Indeed, it was he who first called her the "summer angel," but he
only half knew what he was saying. She looked like his ideal of an
angel, and she came every summer. And the name, once given, clung to
her.
So, in one instance, began to develop one of the sweetest types of the
summer girl. She is not the one the funny man likes to describe, but
there are many of her, and her number is growing.
In many poor little country villages the coming of the sweet, healthy,
and helpful summer girl means the coming of new life and new interests
to the village folk, who know the great world only through its summer
representatives. There are more girls than boys who go to summer towns,
because many boys have duties in the city.
If every summer-girl would resolve that to some one, at least, she would
come as a summer angel, brightening and helping, what joy would the
season bring? Her helpfulness may be of any kind whatever. It may be
lending books or papers to such people as scarcely ever have them, or
reading to some old person in a busy household.
A dozen wide-awake clever girls who are banded together can accomplish
wonders. They can get up tableaux in the hotel parlor or farm-house
sitting-room, charging from ten to twenty-five cents admittance to raise
money to buy a horse for the old coachman, whose horse has just died.
They might even help to cure a lame horse or dog on his own account, if
they are real summer angels. They can send magazines all the year round
to special "shut-in" people whom they discover.
They can have a very good time among themselves too. They can compare
and exchange specimens of pressed wild flowers or sea-weeds or shells.
They can write to the ROUND TABLE, and tell what they are doing, and
perhaps their letters, if they are fairly well written, and show a
serious purpose, will be printed. Then others may join the "summer
sisterhood," and form small circles in out-of-the-way places.
RUTH MCENERY STUART.
THE CARE OF A DOG.
BY JAMES STEELE.
There are dogs and dogs, of course, and while some members of the canine
family are gifted with the capacity of looking after themselves, because
they cannot help it, and to all appearances thrive well when combating
hardships, a good dog is worth all the care and trouble that his master
may choose to expend upon him. This article is not intended to tell how
to rear delicate dogs, but simply to give an idea how to make your
canine friend and companion more happy and contented, and to give him a
start in life.
In looking to his comfort, the first thing to take up is the dog's home.
Every one is familiar with the little house to which is attached a poor,
unhappy specimen of the dog tribe, with a heavy collar about his neck
and a jangling chain that admits of a few feet of freedom and is
suggestive of confinement. Now, bear this in mind, no dog is happy when
chained up; thus we take up the kennel first.
Dogs are liable to many ailments that afflict human beings. Rheumatism
is a common disease with them, and they suffer from cold and heat and
lack of shade and warmth quite as much as they suffer from lack of
proper food and drink. Thus a dog owner is responsible for his dog's
health, and this means a great deal, for if a human being's good spirits
depend upon the way they feel, surely a dog's do also.
A kennel's first essential should be dryness; next, warmth and
ventilation. To secure all this, the floor of a dog-house should always
be raised off the ground. Especially is this true where the dog is young
or in the state of puppyhood. Dampness is his foe. A good idea is to
have the dog-house elevated at least six inches, and have the opening
front upon the exercising yard, where the dog can have plenty of room to
play and jump about without being hampered by a fraying, dangling chain.
[Illustration: END VIEW OF HOUSE.]
Although we learn from the old adage that "dogs delight to bark and
bite," this is not true. The dog is naturally gregarious, and loves
companionship of his own kind. Therefore, two dogs are happier than one.
If they are allowed to be together continually, each appears to adapt
himself to the other's disposition, and it is only those who seldom meet
their kind that love to fight.
We will suppose that a kennel is to be built for one dog, for instance.
He should have a yard of at least fifteen feet square to run about in,
and opening on this should be a dog-house with two entrances, that could
be shut in case of cold weather.
[Illustration: DOG-HOUSE AND YARD, WITH WIRE FOR HITCHING.]
Fleas are the great enemies of a dog's comfort. The poor beast, whose
thoughts and actions are interrupted constantly by a desire to scratch
or nibble fruitlessly at the irritating little enemy to peace, is to be
pitied. A great deal can be done, in constructing a dog-house, to do
away with the pest. If possible, the floor and sides of the house itself
should be made of good red cedar. For some reason, dogs domiciled in
houses made or lined with this wood are almost entirely free from fleas,
and this is a good thing to keep in mind.
It does not pay to give a dog hay or straw to sleep on, and old carpets
or blankets should not appear in any well-regulated kennel. Appended are
diagrams and drawings of a house and yard for one dog. It can be
enlarged or diminished, as may be necessary.
There is not space in this article to go into the subject of dogs'
diseases and ailments. If a dog is ill, he needs a physician as much as
you or I. In his puppyhood he is liable to distemper and mange--the
childish diseases that carry off so many of his kind. But once safely
through them, if he is well looked after, he can count upon a happy
existence of from ten to twelve years if his master is kind and
considerate.
Now let us suppose that the dog or dogs, whose proper care and bringing
up we are to treat of, are of that intelligent and useful class known as
sporting or hunting dogs, setters or pointers, and there are no finer
kinds to have about even if their owner does not possess a gun or lives
far from a game country. It is these dogs' first and natural instinct to
have their attention arrested by the peculiar scent that attaches itself
to game birds and animals. Most sporting dogs have to be taught to
discriminate and to learn that chickens and sparrows are things to be
left alone, however.
Now, to bring up a dog successfully his master should study the animal's
character and individuality, and adapt himself to him the way a teacher
should try to adapt himself to a pupil's natural gifts. There are
ambitious dogs, bright dogs, lazy dogs, and dunces, and to make anything
of the last requires both time and patience. It is a good dog's natural
instinct to endeavor to please his master; he is conscious of the
encouragement of praise, and knows well when he has not done his duty.
It is firmly believed by many that dogs have a conscience, and proof is
not wanting to substantiate this theory.
Truly, a dog has many attributes that we must admire--affection,
constant and lasting; a sense of duty and responsibility; a devotion
that triumphs over fear and pain; and a loyalty that never swerves. He
may admit of friends and acquaintances, but if he is a proper dog he
knows but one lord and master, and but one person does the well-brought
up dog serve with all his heart.
Let us take a puppy and bring him up in the way he should go. He comes
to you a little, good-natured, roly-poly thing, with a wide grin and an
uncertain gait, and absolute unconsciousness that he may be of any use
or value, the same as a child. You can do almost anything with him if he
is a bright puppy. He can be taught to fetch and carry in a dozen
lessons. It is his instinct to chase a ball and to tear everything to
pieces with his sharp little teeth. His one idea is to have a good time
and eat more than is good for him. But now we must take care of his
health first, and then show that if he chases a ball it is not to chew
it up, but to bring it back to you; that he must not tear things to
pieces, for fear of a punishment, and that if he eats things he should
not, he is filled with a consciousness that he is doing wrong. No puppy
should ever feel hungry. With an old dog it is different; he has stopped
growing. It is better to have a dog that has attained his full growth
underfed than to give him all that he can eat. Milk and bread, or a
little corn meal and a little finely chopped meat, should be given to a
puppy, and plenty of it; but if you would have a healthy, wide-awake,
grown-up dog, feed him sparingly. One meal a day is all-sufficient; more
than that is unnecessary to his health. Prepared dog's food, made in the
way of biscuit, is easy to procure. One of these a day, broken up into
small bits, will keep a dog in excellent condition. Once a week he may
be given a small amount of cooked meat or a mess of porridge and
potatoes. Occasionally a bone for him to gnaw on should be given him as
a tidbit, but no mess of scraps or chicken bones or fat-inducing things
should be allowed him under any circumstances, unless he has been
working hard in the field and is in for a day's work on the morrow. A
dog should have all the water that he wishes to drink, and it is a good
thing to have in the bottom of the pan a small bit of sulphur as large
as the end of one's thumb.
By every means his acquaintance should be cultivated, and it should be
impressed upon his mind that to his owner he owes everything. If
possible, feed him yourself. Give him to understand that you are the one
who lets him have his liberty, and whose whistle he must obey.
Never be too familiar with a young dog. He must have a certain respect,
not necessarily a fear of you; but he must learn to obey. Any
intelligent puppy will learn his name in a few lessons. Once you have
given it to him, never change it. Mind you this--when he has once
recognized _you_ as being his master, his one idea is to please you and
to deserve a pat on the head and a word of praise. Never tussle with him
with a stick, and never deceive him under any pretence. More dogs have
been spoiled by their masters not playing fair with them than one could
reckon. Be honest with your dog, and he will be honest with you.
If you possess a gun, and your dog is of that kind which has inherited
the scent for game, the first thing to teach him is to fetch and
carry--that is, to retrieve--and this without chewing or mutilating the
object which he brings. A way to break a dog of this is to take an old
glove, put a few tacks with the points extending outward, and fill it
full of cotton. He will find that by picking it up gently he can carry
it without discomfort, while if he attempts to worry it the consequences
are not agreeable. This lesson is much better for him than any amount of
whipping, and he will remember it much longer.
[Illustration: LEARNING TO LOCATE A BIRD WITHOUT FLUSHING IT.]
If you wish to shoot over your dog, the next thing is to make him find
the bird. To do this, the best way is to procure a live quail, which can
easily be had from any bird-fancier; put it in a small cage and show it
to the pup, warning him not to touch it. Then conceal the cage in a
copse of fern or grass, and bring him carefully in that direction. Never
let him nearer than within four or five feet of it; then speak to him
encouragingly. Under the influence of your words, he will become all
attention, and a dog thus properly broken will never "flush a covey,"
unless he runs into, them by accident or when he is carried away by
excitement, under which circumstances he will show contrition.
[Illustration: PLAN OF KENNEL.]
A VIRGINIA CAVALIER.[1]
[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 868.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
CHAPTER VII.
Inside, Greenway Court was not devoid of comfort, and even of luxury.
The main hall was open to the roof, and, like all the rooms in the
house, the rafters were left bare, and the walls roughcast in a sort of
brown plaster not unpleasant to the eye. In every room there was a huge
fireplace with great iron fire-dogs. In some of the guest-chambers were
the vast curtained beds of the period, but in Lord Fairfax's own room
was a small iron bedstead that he had used in his campaigns when a young
man. His library communicated with his bedroom, and was by far the most
luxurious room in the whole quaint building. It was lined with books
from the floor to the low ceiling--George had never seen so many books
in all his life before. There were also a few portraits and one or two
busts. Over the mantel two swords were crossed--one a cavalry sword, and
the other a delicate rapier, such as officers in the foot-regiments used
at that day. George's eyes fell upon them as soon as he and the Earl
entered the room.
"The sword was the one I had the honor to use in my campaigns under
Marlborough, and the rapier"--here Lord Fairfax smiled a little--"I had
concealed about me when I entered Boucham in disguise."
After supper was over, Lance showed George into a room with one of the
gigantic four-posters in it. The floor was covered with bear-skins, and
Billy was instructed to roll himself up in them for a bed, which he did
with much satisfaction, with Rattler on top of him, as soon as George
was in bed, which was not long in being accomplished.
Next morning George was up and around early, looking about the place. He
had never seen the mountains before, and was deeply impressed by their
grandeur.
The scenery was even more striking in the blaze of the morning light
than he had supposed. On every side, beyond the valley, giant peaks rose
into the blue air, covered with vegetation to the very top. He
understood then the profusion of bear-skins in the house, and thought
what fine sport might be had in tracking big game through the deep
gorges and dark forests of the region. Lance came up to him as he stood
on the broad stone steps drinking in the wild beauty of the scene, and
inhaling the keen sharp air, so unlike the softness of the lowland
atmosphere.
"There is great sport hereabouts, Lance," cried George.
"Yes, sir; bears and Injuns, mostly--and rattlesnakes in season. Did you
ever eat bear-meat, Mr. Washington?"
"No," answered George; "but I have been told it is fine. And how about
the Indians?" he asked, smiling.
"Injuns and rattlesnakes have their seasons together," answered Lance,
with a grim smile, in reply. "They and their French friends generally
keep pretty close this time of year. I don't know which I would rather
receive--the French and Injuns coming as friends or enemies. Sometimes
half a dozen of 'em turn up, usually in the summer, the French always
pretending to be traders, or something of that sort, and they bring two
or three Injun bucks with them--to carry their luggage, they say: but
who ever saw an Injun carrying anything but a firelock--if he can get
one? They always profess to belong to a peaceable tribe; but that's all
in my eye, sir. They hang about for a day or two, asking for fresh meat
or vegetables, and making out that they don't know how to get across the
mountains, and all the time the French are drawing maps in their
note-books, and the Injuns making maps in their heads; for, Mr.
Washington, your Injun is full of horse-sense about some things. He
can't look ahead, or plan, or wait--all the Injuns in North America
couldn't have taken Bouchain--but for killing people quick and sure, I
don't know of any soldiers quite so good as Injuns. The French, sir,
have a regular plan in all their expeditions here. The last party that
turned up got me talking about the way we had repulsed the redskins--for
we have stood a siege or two, sir. For answer I took the Frenchmen
inside the house. I showed them that we had water, the source of which
was hidden; I showed them a regular magazine, all bricked up in the
cellar, and an arsenal next my lord's room, and another cellar-room full
of dried provisions; and then I showed them two swivels, with a plenty
of suitable shot, and I said to them, very plain spoken:
"'If you come to Greenway Court, you'll have to bring artillery with
you; you can't starve us out, and to take it will cost you more than it
comes to.'
"So I think the Frenchies know better than to trouble us. But I am not
so sure of the Injuns. They have not good heads on their shoulders about
campaigns, and they don't see that it is not worth their while to
trouble us; and I would not be surprised any night to find a lot of
skulking savages around here, trying to burn us out."
George was deeply interested in this account, but at that moment
breakfast was announced, and he went in-doors.
The large low hall was used as a dining-room, the table being drawn
close to the fire. Lord Fairfax was already there, and breakfast was
soon despatched.
"I hope, George," said the Earl, as they rose from the table, "that you
have the excellent habit of learning something every day. As a
beginning, you may have Lance's services every morning for two hours to
teach you fencing--not only with the rapier, but the sword exercise on
horseback and afoot. It is not only well for you, as you intend entering
a military life, to know this, but it is the finest exercise possible
for the muscles and the eye, and also in the art of keeping one's
temper. I shall expect you to become proficient in this noble art."
"I'll try, sir," was George's modest answer.
Lord Fairfax then led the way to the room which Lance had called the
arsenal. Here were all manner of arms; quaint old arquebuses and
matchlocks, every sort of pistol then in use, fowling-pieces, and on a
rack in a corner two dozen serviceable modern muskets, shining and
polished, and evidently ready for use; then there were rapiers and
small-swords and broadswords and claymores and strange curved Turkish
scimitars. George's eyes glittered with delight as he examined all these
curious and interesting things. Presently Lance entered, and Lord
Fairfax left the room. George soon found that this room and its contents
were the old soldier's pride. He had some interesting story to tell
about every weapon in the collection, but George cut him short with a
request to begin his fencing-lesson. Lance took down the foils and
masks, and, while examining them, said, "Mr. Washington, what do you
think is the first and greatest thing a man must have to learn to be a
good fencer?"
"Courage," replied George.
"Courage is necessary; but no man ever learned fencing by being
courageous."
"Swiftness, dexterity, keeping your eyes wide open--"
"All of them are necessary too, sir; but the great thing is good temper.
If you lose your temper and fly into a passion, your adversary has you
at his mercy. I never saw a man with an ungovernable temper that I
couldn't knock the blade out of his hand in five minutes."
George's face fell at this.
"I am afraid, Lance," he said, "that I have a very quick temper, and a
very high temper."
"Do you let it run away with you, sir?" asked Lance, passing his foil
through his fingers.
"Sometimes," answered George, dejectedly; "though I have never fallen
into a passion before my mother, or any woman, since I was a little boy,
because it is certainly not gentlemanlike to be violent where ladies
are--'tis a gross insult to them, of which I would not be guilty."
"Well, sir," continued Lance, still critically examining his foil, "if
you can do so much out of respect for ladies, I should think you could
do a little more out of respect for yourself, and keep your temper
always."
The red blood poured into George's face at this, and his angry eyes
seemed to emit blue sparks. Lance, who was really nothing but a servant,
daring to speak to him like that! He straightened himself up, and, in a
manner that showed he had not belied himself, fixed on the old soldier a
look of concentrated rage. Lance returned the look steadily. Though
nominally a servant, he was a tried and trained soldier, and not to be
awed by the wrath of this splendid stripling. As Lance continued to
gaze at him the expression in George's face slowly changed; the color
died away, leaving him paler than usual, and his eyes softened. He said
nothing, but after a pause, which meant a struggle and a victory over
himself, he held out his hand for the foil. Lance, with a respectful
bow, handed it to him, and began the lesson.
The old soldier found his pupil just what might have been
expected--powerful, alert, with a wonderful quickness of the eye, and of
great natural grace and agility, but impetuous and passionate, and quite
unable to stand on the defensive. His temper rose, too, at the first
lunge he made, and although he controlled it perfectly as regarded his
words, never showing the slightest chagrin in his language, yet Lance
could see that his pupil was angry from the beginning. It placed him at
an immediate disadvantage. His foil flew out of his hand when he
determined to grip it the hardest, and for the first time in his life he
attempted a manly exercise and failed in it. This did not sweeten his
temper, and when the lesson--a long one--closed, he was mortified and
vexed to the last degree. Nevertheless, he thanked Lance, and, seizing
his jacket and hat, rushed out of doors, feeling that he must be alone
with his wrath and chagrin. Lance put up the foils and musks with a
queer look in his eyes.
"He will learn something besides the use of the sword in fencing," he
said to himself.
Outside, George pursued his way along a path up the mountain-side, his
rage cooling, and growing more and more ashamed of himself. He thought
highly of Lance, and was troubled at showing before him so much anger
over a trifle; for trifle it was he realized. An hour's brisk walking
brought his pulses down, and he presently retraced his steps down the
mountain. He was not in the mood to observe much, though he walked back
rather slowly. He reached the house at one o'clock, just as Lord Fairfax
came out of his study to dinner. The table was laid as usual in the
hall. Behind the Earl's place stood Lance, while Billy's head just
peered above George's chair.
"And how did you get on with your fencing-lesson?" was Lord Fairfax's
first question.
"Very poorly, sir, I am afraid," answered George, blushing a little. "I
lost my temper, and felt as if I were fighting instead of exercising,
and so I did not succeed very well."
Lord Fairfax laughed one of his peculiar, silent laughs.
"You are not the first young man who has done that. When I was a youth I
was a very ungovernable one, and I remember chasing a fencing-master,
who was giving me a lesson, through the streets of London until I came
to myself, and was glad to call a hackney-coach and hide. A skilful
adversary will very often test your temper in the beginning, and make
some exasperating remark, which, in effect, renders your sword-arm
powerless; for an angry man may be a fierce swordsman, but he can never
be a skilful one."
George's eyes opened very wide indeed. He glanced at Lance, but the old
soldier wore a perfectly impenetrable front. So that was why Lance made
so free in his remarks! George reflected some moments, and came to the
private conclusion that one could learn a great deal more in fencing
than the art of attack and defence.
In the afternoon saddle-horses were brought, and Lord Fairfax and George
started for a long ride over the mountains. Although the Earl was not,
and never had been, so familiar with the woods and fields, and the
beasts and birds, and every living thing which inhabited them, as his
young companion, he displayed stores of information which astonished and
delighted the boy. He explained to him that the French and the English
were engaged in a fierce contest for a great empire, of which the
country around them was the battle-field; that the lines of demarcation,
north and south, were very well defined; but that neither nation would
commit itself to any boundaries on the east and west, and consequently
the best part of the continent was in dispute. He gave George the
geography of the country as it was then understood, and showed him what
vast interests were involved in the planting of a single outpost of the
French. For himself, the King had granted him all the land between the
Potomac and the Rappahannock, and as far west as his Majesty's dominions
went, which, as Lord Fairfax said, with a smile, were claimed to extend
to the Pacific Ocean. Only a small part of these lands had been
surveyed. He felt anxious to have the tract across the Alleghany
Mountains surveyed, as it was of importance to guard against the advance
of the French in that direction. He asked George if he had ever studied
surveying, and on George's saying that he had given considerable time to
it, and was fond of it, the Earl told him that there were fine
opportunities for a surveyor in this new country, and it would be a good
profession for George, provided he did not succeed in his ambition to
join the army or the navy.
"I will join either one, if I can, sir, in preference to any other
profession," was George's reply.
They reached home at dark, and found the cheerful welcome of a roaring
fire in the great hall awaiting them. At supper Lance, with a great
flourish, handed a dish to Lord Fairfax which George thought the most
uninviting he had ever seen--huge lumps of something burned black; but
the aroma was delicious. Seeing Lord Fairfax take one of the black
lumps, George courageously followed his example, and, attacking it,
found it perfectly delicious.
"Bears' paws generally taste better than they look," remarked Lord
Fairfax; and George remembered that Lance had told him there would be
bear meat for supper.
The evening was spent in the library, the Earl reading and writing. He
pointed out a smaller table than his own, in a corner, saying, "That is
for you to read and write at, and to keep your books and papers on."
George found writing materials on it, and, seating himself, wrote a long
letter to little Betty, and then wrote in his journal for his mother,
describing Billy's expedition, and that the boy was safe with him. He
then took a volume of the _Spectator_, and soon became absorbed in it.
Presently Lord Fairfax, who was watching him with pleased eyes, asked,
"What paper interests you so much, George?"
"I will read it to you, sir, if you care to hear it," George replied.
Lord Fairfax liked to be read to, and listened very gravely to the
reading. George laid down the book when the paper was finished, saying:
"There is no name at the end of it, sir. Most of them have Mr. Addison's
or Captain Steele's or Mr. Arbuthnot's or Mr. Pickell's or some other
name at the bottom, but this has none."
"I wrote that paper," remarked the Earl. "I had the honor of
contributing several papers to the _Spectator_; but while appreciating
the honor, I did not seek the notoriety of an author, and so, except to
a few persons, my writings are unknown."
George nearly dropped the book in his surprise, but he regarded Lord
Fairfax's attainments with greater respect than ever.
[Illustration: THE DAILY LESSON IN ARMS AT GREENWAY COURT.]
The next day and the next and the next were passed in much the same way,
only that George no more lost his temper in fencing or in any other way.
The instant he became cool and self-controlled he learned the science of
the sword with great rapidity. Every morning for two hours he and Lance
practised--sometimes in the arsenal, sometimes out-of-doors, when they
would go through the sword exercise on horseback.
Every day George grew fonder of the old soldier. He was a man of great
natural intelligence, and could talk most sensibly upon every subject
connected with the profession of arms. One thing he said remained fixed
in George's mind, and was recalled many years afterwards at a very
critical time. They were one morning at the stables, which were directly
at the back of the house, and were resting after a bout on horseback
with swords.
"Whenever there is a regular war against the Injuns, Mr. Washington, the
British troops will have to learn a new sort of fighting. Before this
they have never had to fight an enemy they could not see; but when it
comes to fighting Injuns in a country like this, where there is a man
with a gun behind every tree and rock, and where a thousand men can
march so that when you look at the path you would think less than a
hundred had passed over it, and when you are fighting an enemy that has
no ammunition-wagons or baggage-wagons or anything that travels on
wheels--I say, Mr. Washington, there will be a good many British
soldiers that will bite the dust before they find out how to fight these
red warriors--for warriors they are, sir. And though it is not for me,
that never was anything but a private soldier, to talk about officers,
yet I know that the English officers have got more to learn about
fighting in this country than the men have."
The hour came when all this returned to George with terrible force.
Within a few days after his arrival he had an opportunity to send his
letter to Betty and his journal to his mother. He was very anxious to
know how his mother would act on hearing of Billy's having taken French
leave. But it must be admitted that Billy was of small value to anybody
except George; and although Madam Washington, when she wrote, denounced
Billy's disobedience, laziness, and general naughtiness in strong terms,
she promised amnesty when he returned. George read this part of the
letter to Billy, whose only comment was very philosophic.
"Missis ain' gwi' trouble me, but I spect mammy and daddy will gimme a
whuppin'."
The prospect of the "whuppin'" did not affect Billy's happiness, who,
having much to eat and little to do, and the presence of Rattler and his
loved "Marse George," had all that was essential to his happiness.
The life was so altogether new to George, and the companionship of Lord
Fairfax so unlike any he had ever known before, that the boy's mind grew
and developed more in the weeks he spent at Greenway than in all his
previous life. For the first time he was treated as a man by a man, and
all at once it made a man of him. He began to think and act like a man
instead of a boy.
Lord Fairfax did not join him in his sports and hunting expeditions, but
he delighted to hear of them when George would return after a hard day's
tramp over the mountains in search of game. Proud was he the day he
returned after having shot his first bear--a splendid black specimen,
measuring over five feet from snout to tail. Old Lance, who had become a
skilful trapper, took the skin off, and cured it so cleverly that not an
inch of it was lost. This trophy George intended for his mother.
Every evening he spent in the library with Lord Fairfax, reading.
Sometimes it was a book of his own choice, and sometimes he read aloud
to the Earl, whose eyes were beginning to fail. Many of the books thus
read were classical authors and scientific treatises, neither of which
George had any natural fancy for. But he had the capacity to learn
something from everything, and the most valuable lesson he got from his
varied reading was the vast number of things of which he was ignorant
compared with the small number of things he knew. This made him
perfectly modest at all times.
As for Lord Fairfax, he felt himself daily growing more passionately
fond, in his quiet and restrained way, of the boy. He began to look
forward with apprehension to the time when he must again be alone--a
feeling he had never had before. He would gladly have kept George with
him always, and provided for his future; but he knew well enough that
Madam Washington would never give up this noble son of hers to anybody
in the world. And so the two lived together, drawing closer and closer
to each other, each of a silent, strong nature--the man of the world
wearied of courts and camps, and the boy in his white-souled youth
knowing nothing but the joy of living and the desire of living rightly,
and both were happy in their daily and hourly companionship.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
CROSSING THE XUACAXÉLLA.
BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U. S. A.
III.