a few paces. Then they darted forward so suddenly that Mr. Hemenway
nearly fell over his own heels, and when he recovered himself he stood
with his feet far apart. This was an opportunity not to be lost. One hog
ran between Mr. Hemenway's feet and upset him. He came down just in time
to take a short ride on the back of the other, and then rolled off into
the street. It seemed to him that a hundred hogs gathered around him in
a moment. With the energy of despair he sprang to his feet, ran hatless
up the steps of the harness-shop, and mounted the very lifelike wooden
horse which the harness-maker kept there as a sign.
Across the street a door was cautiously opened, and the head and
shoulders of Gran'sir Pease appeared.
[Illustration]
"Heman!" he cried, in a shrill, quavering voice, "go 'n' git the ol'
Fo'th o' July cahnern and shewt 'em. It used to be 'round thar under
Simon Hyle's shed." But this did not seem to Hemenway a feasible plan,
especially as he knew that the "cahnern" had been at the bottom of the
mill-pond for three years.
A horse came rattling down the hill and across the mill bridge near the
harness-shop. It was driven by Norris Wood, who had been out among the
farms buying cattle for his meat market. He drove up to the harness-shop
and hitched his horse. Three or four hogs stood in the way, but it
seemed a very easy thing for Norris to set his great boots against them
and send them sprawling along the ground. He looked so big and strong
that Mr. Hemenway dismounted from the wooden horse.
"Well, Heman, what have you got here?" said Norris, widening his bushy
whiskers with a beaming smile.
"Norris," said Mr. Hemenway, solemnly, "the village is overrun with hogs
from a wrecked train, and I rely on you to drive 'em out. I give you
full authority to do or take anything you want to."
"They've got pretty well started," said Norris, "but if I had a few good
helpers I guess we could master them. Hi!" he continued, "here come the
academy boys."
There were about twenty of them coming across the mill bridge. They were
Riverdale Academy boys just out of school. They were on the
double-quick, for they had seen the hogs, and felt sure there was fun
ahead.
"'Arma virumque cano!' Come here, every one of you!" cried Norris, who
was an old academy boy himself.
The boys immediately gathered around him, some of them, and Harry Burton
in particular, inventing a great terror of the sniffing hogs.
"Norris! Oh, Norris!" he cried, "protect us from these wild beasts of
the desert. Let me ride in safety upon your broad shoulders," and he
made as if he would suit the action to the word.
"Quit your fooling," said Norris, sternly. "I want volunteers to drive
these hogs out of the village. Every one who is willing to help, step
out."
With a hilarious cheer the whole company stepped forward.
"Now," said Norris, "you see that pile of wood by the hay-scales? Every
one of you go and get a stick."
In less than a minute every boy was armed with a stout cudgel and
waiting for further orders.
Norris quickly scanned the crowd. "Julian Ross," he said, "you take six
boys and stay here. Don't let a single hog get by you up the hill. Harry
Burton, you take seven with you down to the bridge. Don't you let a hog
pass over it into the lower village."
Julian and Harry selected their followers. "Friends, Romans,
countrymen," cried Harry, "follow me!
"'Still is the story told
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.'"
And they went down the street on the double-quick.
"All the rest of you come with me to Prospect Street," commanded Norris.
They arrived at the scene of destruction none too soon. As they ran down
the street they were greeted with tearful pleadings by the ladies to
save their gardens from utter ruin.
At length they outran the hogs and faced around to drive them back. The
boys formed a line across the road, and beat them unmercifully with
their cudgels. "Hit 'em on the snout every time," said Norris.
[Illustration]
And now began a high and piercing symphony which mingled and harmonized
with a blood-curdling melody from Main Street. Norris, like the great
Cæsar, was everywhere at one time. His methods were very interesting. He
had persuasive powers with his big boots which caused a hog to point to
the sky with four feet at a time. He was very dexterous in seizing a hog
by a hind-leg and casting it out of a flower-bed into the road. And just
as an enormous hog was about to root up Miss Placentia Hannum's
rose-bush, Norris calmly took the animal by the ear, and led it
squealing to the street.
At last the hogs were beaten back and driven across to Main Street.
There they mingled with the others slowly retreating before Julian Ross
and Harry Burton and their followers. The boys were nearly exhausted,
but Harry encouraged them by shouting, "Charge, Chester, charge! On,
Stanley on!" and like historic exhortations.
The hogs were now all brought together, filling the street in a solid
mass. And there they stuck in spite of every effort to induce them to
move on. Gran'sir Pease advised Norris to "slarter 'em" where they
stood. It was time for a stroke of Napoleonic genius or the day would be
lost.
Norris unhitched his horse and jumped into the wagon. "Boys!" he cried,
"hold 'em right where they are till you see me again. Go on, Bill." And
he galloped away up Depot Street, and disappeared under the small
railroad bridge.
[Illustration]
Ten long minutes the boys waited and shouted and fought the obstinate
hogs. Then Norris was seen coming far up Main Street. He drove down to
the hogs and turned his cart around. In the wagon was a box, and out of
it Norris shovelled some yellow stuff into the road. The hogs nearest to
him saw, smelled, hustled, and gobbled. In an instant others followed,
pushing and upsetting each other. Norris drove on and cast out more
meal, and in a minute the whole rushing, squirming, squealing herd
glided away like the mill-pond when the dam broke. They followed the
trail of corn meal up the street, and in a short time they were all
safely enclosed in Norris's cattle-yard.
Then the boys carried their sticks right shoulder shift, and came down
the street singing, "When Johnny comes marching home again."
BILL'S BEAR-FIGHT.
Broiled trout washed down with an ice-cold draught of spring water is
not the worst supper in the world, and when you are out in the woods
cozily perched on a log near a roaring camp-fire of crackling birch,
with a ravenous appetite, it tastes as good as a dinner served at the
Waldorf in New York. But your trout must be cooked by Bill to be
enjoyed, for Bill owns no superior in that line. Bill is a hunter, not
for market, but a sportsman for sport, and his delight is to guide some
gentleman through the forests of Maine, or, as he terms it, his
territory.
One fall he and I started up in the Moose-head Lake region, and slowly
worked down over the trails, until one evening we found ourselves near
the head of the Cupsuptic River, on the Rangeleys. We had fairly good
sport on our way, bagging more or less game, with many a long and weary
chase on a deer trail. When we struck the river it was too late to make
for a large camp that lay some eleven miles below on the lake, so we put
up a lean-to, and went into quarters for the night. Bill got out the
lines, and in a short while he had some fine trout broiling, so that
though all our provisions were exhausted, we had made a fine supper of
the trout.
After supper we lighted our pipes, and throwing an extra log or two on
the fire, we lounged around, recalling different adventures. It was but
a short time before Bill got off on to some of his own experiences, and
it was then that I relapsed into silence, and puffed my pipe with that
peaceful enjoyment that comes to a lover of nature and sport. I lay
admiring his magnificent physique, my admiration doubled by the
knowledge of the wonderful strength that lay in his powerful muscles.
"Well, boy," said Bill at last, with a yawn, "it's gettin' kind er cold;
seems to me it's er bit more than frosty. Had to crack ice down on the
stream to ketch them trout. Guess it'll freeze tight by to-morrow, and
with a little fall of snow we might sight a buck's tracks 'tween here
and the camp below. I rather think we'd better turn in now. Wrap
yourself good or you'll be stiff in the mornin'."
Raking the ashes into the fire, and banking it a little with some damp
logs, we rolled up in our blankets and went to sleep.
I do not know what time it was, but it seemed to me I had no more than
closed my eyes when I was suddenly awakened by the sounds of a fierce
struggle, with a great amount of low choking, growling, and subdued
muttering. I sprang up, forgetting my blanket, which tripped me, and
nearly pitched me headlong into the fire. When I finally reached my feet
and saw the cause of the row, I was more than amazed. There was Bill
hugging and being hugged for dear life by a good-sized bear. It was nip
and tuck, and seizing my rifle, I danced around trying to get a shot at
the bear. Bill caught sight of me, and cried out in jerks: "Boy--I'll
never--forgive you if you kill him. It's the first,--chance I've had to
strangle--a bear, and, by gum, I'm er-goin' to strangle--this one!"
I could appreciate that sort of a desire on Bill's part well enough, but
nevertheless it was dangerous work. The bear's claws had already played
havoc with his clothing, and his legs were bleeding in more than one
place. Back and forth they struggled, one of the bear's fore-paws around
Bill's neck and the other around his waist. Bill had the bear by the
throat with one hand, and with the other held his head away to stop him
from biting.
Suddenly they tripped on the edge of the slope that led in a gentle
descent to the stream below. I jumped forward this time, determined to
put an end to it, but before I could reach them, down they went, rolling
over and over the sloping ground, fighting away like mad, until, with a
crash, they struck the thin ice on the stream and plunged out of sight.
It was a bright moonlight night, and the hole they made in the ice
looked black and ugly. I jumped down the bank, and seeing the roots of
an old tree running out near the spot, I made for it. Bill came up by
this time, and I was hoping that they had separated, but they were
hugging and fighting as hard as ever. I crawled out on the roots and
yelled to Bill to let me settle it.
"If yer tetch him, boy, I'll never forgive yer. I'm not done yet by a
long shot, and I'll down the critter if it takes all night."
When Bill talked that way I know he was game to the finish and his blood
was up, so I ran up the bank and got my rifle, and sitting on a log near
the water, I watched the fun, altogether too serious for fun, I thought.
Their struggles were fearful, and I screamed, and would certainly have
fired at the bear had it not been for the fear of hitting Bill. By this
time they had worked over to the roots, and then I realized what Bill
was up to. He got one arm around them to brace himself, and with the
other clutching the bear's throat, he slowly and by main force pushed
those fearful red gaping jaws away from him. Slowly and with almost
superhuman strength he pushed the head further away until finally he
forced it under water. I could see the claws of the animal's fore-paw
dig into Bill's shoulder. I could see his violent struggles as he strove
to get his head above water, but Bill held him under. It was a frightful
but a grand sight. The moon lit up the scene, and through the steam
rising from the struggling pair Bill's grim-set jaws and determined face
showed the true hunter in the height of his glory.
The fight grew weaker and weaker, and then all was still except the
quick panting of Bill. At last with a deep sigh his chest relaxed, his
hand gave up his prey, and a few bubbles showed where the bear sank.
Slowly Bill made his way to where I was standing, and putting out his
hand, said,
"Thank ye, boy; you had nerve to obey me, and that makes a good hunter."
He was pretty nigh exhausted and badly clawed. While I helped him to
patch up his wounds temporarily I learned that the bear, evidently
attracted by the trout, had sneaked into camp during the night and
stumbled over Bill, who grabbed him. The next morning we fished him out
of the water, and found him a large specimen and a foe well worth
letting alone.
HUBERT EARL.
ORIGIN OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.
BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.
Every patriotic American is proud of our famous White Squadron,
illustrating as it does to all the navies of the world the perfection of
ship-building, motive power, ordnance and _personnel_. Although two or
three other navies have a much longer list of men-of-war in their
registers, there is not a foreign power that can show, class for class,
anything superior in battle-ships, cruisers, and coast-defense vessels
to those which float under "Old Glory," and it is not making a rash
claim when it is asserted that in a competitive exhibition the laurel
wreaths would in all probability be hung upon the mast-heads of the
ships that belong to Uncle Sam.
And yet how weak and lowly in comparison was the birth of our navy!--but
still a navy that even in its infancy humbled almost to degradation the
strength and vanity and hauteur of that of the British, that mistress of
the seas, against which for more than a century the most magnificently
equipped and powerful fleets in Europe had hurled themselves, only to be
beaten back from its "walls of oak," crushed and shattered.
On October 13, 1775, one hundred and twenty-one years ago, or nine
months before the Declaration of Independence was signed, the
representatives from the thirteen colonies authorized the building of
two vessels, one to be armed with 14 guns and the other with 10 guns.
When completed it was designed that these ships should escape through
the English fleets blockading the coast, and then prey upon the commerce
of the enemy. On October 30 Congress ordered the building of two
additional cruisers, one to carry 36 guns and the other 20 guns. These
measures so aroused the patriotic fire and zeal of hundreds of American
seamen whose vessels were locked up in idleness in our seaports, owing
to the embargo, that they petitioned Congress to provide ships and put
them on board, so that they might go out against the enemy's vessels
that tantalizingly kept watch before the approaches to our harbors.
Appreciating the spirit of the petitioners, and realizing that a
possible opportunity was offered them to deal a serious blow to the
supremacy of the English along our line of coast, Congress ordered, on
December 13 (or just two months, to the day, following the first
authorization, for ship construction), the building of thirteen vessels
of war, of which five were to carry 32 guns, five 28 guns, and three 24
guns.
Work was immediately commenced on this fleet; but as the builders
demanded six months' time to complete them, Congress passed a law to
purchase and arm suitable merchant-ships for immediate service. It
cannot fail to interest the reader to give the names of the first
vessels of the American navy. Among the many merchant-ships lying idle
in the Eastern and Southern ports the following fourteen were selected
by a committee, and, after being purchased, were armed with the number
of guns set opposite their respective names: Ships--_Alfred_, 24;
_Columbus_, 24. Brigs--_Lexington_, 16; _Cabot_, 16, _Reprisal_, 16;
_Andrea Doria_, 14; _Hampden_, 14; _Providence_, 12. Schooners--_Wasp_,
8; _Fly_, 8. Sloops--_Hornet_, 10; _Independence_, 10; _Sachem_, 10, and
_Mosquito_, 4.
Had the guns with which these vessels were armed been of uniform and
suitable calibre, the odds in favor of the English men-of-war would
still have been enormous; but when it is considered that the batteries
of the ships were made up of every description of ordnance, from the
antiquated Dutch cannon brought over by Peter Stuyvesant, to the
ridiculously small and obsolete saluting-guns that had been preserved as
relics on the public greens in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and other
cities, the wonder grows that with such implements, served by men green
to naval warfare, and mounted within lumbering merchant-ships, the
stateliest frigates of the enemy were again and again beaten and
captured, and the proud white ensign of old England lowered repeatedly
to the flag whose motto was "Don't tread on me!"
The difficulty encountered by Congress in equipping, officering, and
manning the little American fleet in the absence of arsenals and
dock-yards, and when men trained to the service were not obtainable,
finds only one parallel in history, when Alfred the Sailor King fitted
out and conducted a fleet against the Danes one thousand years and more
ago. But if system and order were at first lacking, patriotism
compensated, and the old guns were served by men whose love of liberty
breathed in the shot they hurled against their foes.
On December 22, 1775, Congress appointed Ezekiel Hopkins as commodore
and commander-in-chief of the navy, and the following officers, all
drawn from the merchant marine of the colonies, to serve as captains:
Dudley Saltonstall, Abraham Whipple, Nicholas Biddle, and J. B. Hopkins.
Leading the list of first lieutenants appointed on the same day, we find
the immortal name of John Paul Jones, and in succession those of Rhodes
Arnold, James Stanbury, Haysted Hacker, and Jonathan Pitcher. Next,
under the head of second lieutenants, the records preserved in the Navy
Department in Washington show the names of Benjamin Seabury, Joseph
Olney, Elisha Warner, Thomas Weaver, and James McDougal, while the three
third lieutenants appointed were John Fanning, Ezekiel Burroughs, and
Daniel Vaughn.
Immediately after assuming command, Commodore Hopkins sailed, with the
_Alfred_ as his flag-ship, for a descent upon the English possession
known as New Providence, and was accompanied to the West Indies by the
_Columbus_, _Cabot_, _Andrea Doria_, _Providence_, _Wasp_, _Fly_, and
_Hornet_. The expedition was successful, and the ships of the little
flying squadron were loaded with captured stores and one hundred cannon,
which latter were afterwards mounted on the American men-of-war under
construction at the time. The commodore returned north, carrying back
with him the English Governor of New Providence, and several other high
officials of that colony. When within view of the Long Island shore
three of the leading American vessels sighted and later on engaged the
English frigate _Glasgow_ and two brigs-of-war. After a spirited contest
the latter surrendered, but the former escaped by a great display of
seamanship.
The entire fleet with its prizes arrived safely at New London on
April-fool day, 1776. This was the first and last naval command that
Commodore Hopkins enjoyed; for, not acting with sufficient energy in
refitting his fleet, Congress dropped him from the naval service.
In June, 1776, a marine corps was established, and Samuel Nichols was
appointed to command it, with the rank of major. The junior officers
consisted of nine captains, ten first and seven second lieutenants.
At the time that the Declaration of Independence was signed the thirteen
vessels ordered to be constructed during the previous year were reported
finished, and Congress assigned officers to them, as well as to other
ships that had been captured from the enemy. The standing of the
American navy when the Liberty Bell in the City of Brotherly Love pealed
out the anthem of the free on July 4, 1776, is shown in the following,
and the numerals attached to the names signify the number of guns with
which they were armed: _Washington_, 32; _Virginia_, 28; _Boston_, 24;
_Warren_, 32; _Trumbull_, 28; _Randolph_, 32; _Raleigh_, 32; _Congress_,
28; _Effingham_, 28; _Delaware_, 24; _Reprisal_, 16; _Montgomery_, 24;
_Lexington_, 16; _Hampden_, 14; _Andrea Doria_, 14; _Providence_, 28;
_Providence_ (2d), 12; _Alfred_, 24; _Cabot_, 14; _Sachem_, 10;
_Independence_, 10, and _Fly_, 8.
To the command of some of these vessels were ordered men who proved
themselves heroes in many a notable encounter, and whose names will
endure as long as this great republic lasts; but the two most prominent
figures in the historical group are those of John Paul Jones, promoted
to the rank of captain for bravery in battle and for services rendered
to his country, and Nicholas Biddle, the brave old sea-lion, who
recognized no odds, but who would engage a vastly superior enemy with
the same readiness and confidence that he laid his vessel alongside of a
sure prize.
A few words concerning four of these vessels will be found not to be
devoid of unusual interest.
The _Reprisal_ audaciously sailed across the Atlantic, being the first
American vessel to visit Europe, and commenced a wild work of capture
and destruction among the British merchant-ships in the Channel, right
under the noses of their great fleets of war. Being joined a little
later on by the _Lexington_, these two vessels, assisted by several
prizes that they had armed, caused such havoc that rates of insurance on
all English vessels were advanced twenty-five per cent. In the year 1778
the _Reprisal_ foundered in a gale, and only the ship's cook was saved.
The _Andrea Doria_ received the first foreign salute ever paid to an
American man-of-war. Upon visiting St. Eustatins, the Dutch Governor
greeted the vessel with a grand salvo from the fort; and this courtesy
proved a very costly one for him, as his nation had not recognized the
United States, and he therefore paid the penalty of his politeness by
being dismissed from his high office.
The _Randolph_, on the night of March 7, 1778, engaged the British
line-of-battle-ship _Yarmouth_, and while the fight was being gallantly
conducted by Captain Biddle against a vastly superior foe, the
_Randolph_, blew up. Out of 310 souls on board only four seamen were
left alive, and these were picked up, four days later clinging to a
piece of the wreck of their old ship.
One other vessel was ordered to be built by Congress during the year
1776, and that was a line-of-battle-ship of 74 guns, the name of which
was to be _America_. This fine vessel was constructed at Portsmouth, New
Hampshire, but was not completed until the end of the Revolutionary
struggle. She was then fitted out and presented, in the name of the
United States, to Louis XVI. of France, as a mark of appreciation and
gratitude by this republic, in whose cause he had so nobly and
generously assisted.
It does not come within the scope of this story to tell of the gallant
actions that took place between our modest vessels and the towering
ships of England, but some measure of the great honors that we fought
for and gained may be appreciated when it is known that American
men-of-war made over 800 prizes at sea during the struggle for
independence.
[Illustration]
JIM LANGAN, HERO.
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.