Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVI.--NO. 814. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
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[Illustration]
HEROES OF AMERICA.
THE FLAG-BEARER.
BY THE HONORABLE THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
[Illustration: Decorative I]
n no war since the close of the great Napoleonic struggles has the
fighting been so obstinate and bloody as in the civil war. Much has
been said in song and story of the obstinate courage of the Guards at
Inkerman, of the charge of the Light Brigade, and of the terrible
fighting and loss of the German at Mars la Tour and Gravelotte. The
praise bestowed upon the British and Germans for their valor, and for
the loss that proved their valor, was well deserved. But there were
over one hundred and twenty regiments, Union and Confederate, each of
which in some one battle of the civil war suffered a greater loss than
any English regiment at Inkerman or at any other battle in the Crimea;
greater loss than was suffered by any German regiment at Gravelotte, or
at any other battle of the Franco-Prussian war. No European regiment in
any recent struggle has suffered such losses as at Gettysburg befell the
1st Minnesota, when 82 per cent. of the officers and men were killed and
wounded; or the 141st Pennsylvania, which lost 76 per cent., or the 26th
North Carolina, which lost 72 per cent.; such as at the second battle of
Manassas befell the 101st New York, which lost 74 per cent.; and the
21st Georgia, which lost 76 per cent. At Cold Harbor the 25th
Massachusetts lost 70 per cent., and the 10th Tennessee at Chickamauga
68 per cent.; while at Shiloh the 9th Illinois lost 63 per cent., and
the 6th Mississippi 70 per cent.; and at Antietam the 1st Texas lost 82
per cent. The loss of the Light Brigade in killed and wounded in its
famous charge at Balaklava was but 37 per cent.
These figures show the terrible punishment endured by these
regiments--chosen at random from the head of the list--which shows the
slaughter roll of the civil war. Yet the shattered remnant of each
regiment preserved its organization, and many of the severest losses
were suffered by regiments in the hour of triumph, and not of disaster.
Thus, the 1st Minnesota at Gettysburg suffered its appalling loss while
charging a greatly superior force, which it drove before it; and
the little huddle of wounded and unwounded men who survived their
victorious charge actually kept both the flag they had captured and the
ground from which they had driven their foes.
A number of the Continental regiments under Washington, Greene, and
Wayne did valiant fighting, and suffered severe loss. Several of the
regiments raised on the Northern frontier in 1814 showed, under Brown
and Scott, that they were able to meet the best troops of England on
equal terms in the open, and even to overmatch them in fair fight with
the bayonet. The regiments which in the Mexican war, under the lead of
Taylor, captured Monterey, and beat back Santa Anna at Buena Vista, or
which, with Scott as commander, stormed Molino Del Rey and Chapultepec,
proved their ability to bear terrible loss, to wrest victory from
overwhelming numbers, and to carry by open assault positions of
formidable strength held by a veteran army. But in none of these three
wars was the fighting so resolute and bloody as in the civil war.
Countless deeds of heroism were performed by Northerner and by
Southerner, by officer and by private, in every year of the great
snuggle. The immense majority of these deeds went unrecorded, and were
known to few beyond the immediate participants. Of those that were
noticed it would be impossible even to make a dry catalogue in ten such
volumes as this. All that can be done is to choose out two or three acts
of heroism not as exceptions, but as examples of hundreds of others. The
times of war are iron times, and bring out all that is best as well as
all that is basest, in the human heart. In a full recital of the civil
war, as of every other great conflict, there would stand out in naked
relief feats of wonderful daring and self-devotion, and, mixed among
them, deeds of cowardice, of treachery, of barbarous brutality. Sadder
still, such a recital would show strange contrasts in the careers of
individual men--men who at one time act well and nobly, and at another
time ill and basely. But though the ugly truths must not be blinked, and
though the lessons they teach should be set forth by every historian,
and learned by every statesman and soldier, yet these are not the truths
on which it is best worth while to dwell. For our good-fortune the
lessons best worth learning in the nation's past are lessons of heroism.
From time immemorial the armies of every warlike people have set the
highest value upon the standards they bore to battle. To guard one's own
flag against capture is the pride, to capture the flag of one's enemy
the ambition, of every valiant soldier. In consequence, in every war
between peoples of good military record, feats of daring performed by
color-bearers are honorably common. The civil war was full of such
incidents. Out of very many, two or three stand as especially
noteworthy.
One occurred at Fredericksburg on the day when half the brigades of
Meagher and Caldwell lay on the bloody slope leading up to the
Confederate entrenchments. Among the assaulting regiments was the 5th
New Hampshire, and it lost 186 out of 300 men who made the charge. The
survivors fell back sullenly behind a fence, within easy range of the
Confederate rifle pits. Just before reaching it the last of the
color-guard was shot, and the flag fell in the open. A Captain, Perry,
instantly ran out to rescue it, and, as he reached it, was shot through
the heart; another Captain, Murray, made the same attempt, and was also
killed; and so was a third, Moore. Several private soldiers met a like
fate. They were all killed close to the flag, and their dead bodies fell
across one another. Taking advantage of this breastwork Lieutenant
Nettleton crawled from behind the fence to the colors, and bore back the
blood-won trophy.
Another took place at Gaines Mill, where Gregg's 1st South Carolina
formed part of the attacking force. The resistance was desperate, and
the fury of the assault unsurpassed. At one point it fell to the lot of
this regiment to bear the brunt of carrying a certain strong position.
Moving forward at a run, the South-Carolinians were swept by a fierce
and searching fire. Young James Taylor, a lad of sixteen, was carrying
the flag, and was killed after being shot down three times, twice rising
and struggling onward with the colors. The third time he fell the flag
was seized by George Cotchet, and when he in turn fell, by Shubrick
Hayne. Hayne was also struck down almost immediately, and the fourth
lad, for none of them were over twenty years old, grasped the colors,
and fell mortally wounded across the body of his friend. The fifth,
Gadsden Holmes, was pierced with no less than seven balls. The sixth
man, Dominick Spellman, more fortunate, but not less brave, bore the
flag throughout the rest of the battle.
Yet another occurred at Antietam. The 7th Maine, then under the command
of Major T. W. Hyde, was one of the hundreds of regiments that on many
hard-fought fields established a reputation for dash and unyielding
endurance. Toward the early part of the day at Antietam it merely took
its share in the charging and long-range firing with the New York and
Vermont regiments, which were its immediate neighbors in the line. The
fighting was very heavy. In one of the charges the Maine men passed over
what had been a Confederate regiment. The gray clad soldiers were lying,
both ranks, soldiers and officers, as they fell, for so many had been
killed or disabled that it seemed as if the whole regiment was prone in
death.
Much of the time the Maine men lay on the battle-field hugging the
ground under a heavy artillery fire, but beyond the reach of ordinary
musketry. One of the privates, named Knox, was a wonderful shot, and had
received permission to use his own special rifle, a weapon accurately
sighted for very long range. While the regiment thus lay under the storm
of shot and shell he asked leave to go to the front, and for an hour
afterwards his companions heard his rifle crack every few minutes. Major
Hyde finally, from curiosity, crept forward to see what he was doing,
and found that he had driven every man away from one section of a
Confederate battery, tumbling over gunner after gunner as they came
forward to fire. One of his victims was a general officer, whose horse
he killed. At the end of an hour or so a piece of shell took off the
breech of his pet rifle, and he returned disconsolate: but after a few
minutes he gathered three rifles left by wounded men, and went back
again to his work.
At five o'clock in the afternoon the regiment was suddenly called upon
to undertake a hopeless charge, owing to the blunder of a brigade
commander, who was a gallant veteran of the Mexican war, but who was
also given to drink. Opposite the Union lines at this point were some
hay-stacks near a group of farm buildings. They were right in the centre
of the Confederate position, and sharpshooters stationed among them were
picking off the Union gunners. The brigadier, thinking that they were
held by but a few skirmishers, rode up to where the 7th Maine was lying
on the ground, and said, "Major Hyde, take your regiment and drive the
enemy from those trees and buildings." Hyde saluted, and said that he
had seen a large force of rebels go in among the buildings, probably two
brigades in all. The brigadier answered, "Are you afraid to go, sir?"
and repeated the order emphatically. "Give the order so the regiment can
hear it, and we are ready, sir," said Hyde. This was done, and
"Attention!" brought every man to his feet. With the regiment were two
young boys, who carried the marking guidons, and Hyde ordered these to
the rear. They pretended to go, but as soon as the regiment charged came
along with it. One of them lost his arm, and the other was killed on the
field. The colors were carried by the color corporal, Harry Campbell.
Hyde gave the orders to left face and forward, and the Maine men marched
out in front of a Vermont regiment which lay beside them. Then, facing
to the front, they crossed a sunken road, which was so filled with dead
and wounded Confederates that Hyde's horse had to step on them to get
over. Once across, they stopped for a moment in the trampled corn to
straighten the line, and then charged toward the right of the barns. On
they went, at the double-quick, fifteen skirmishers ahead, under
Lieutenant Butler, Major Hyde on the light, on his Virginia
thoroughbred, and Adjutant Haskell to the left, on a big white horse.
The latter was shot down at once, as was his horse, and Hyde rode round
in front of the regiment just in time to see a long line of men in gray
rise from behind the stone wall of the Hagerstown pike, which was to
their right, and pour in a volley: but it mostly went over their heads.
He then ordered his men to left oblique. Just as they were abreast a
hill to the right of the barns, Hyde, being some twenty feet ahead,
looked over its top and saw several regiments of Confederates, jammed
close together, and waiting at the ready; so he gave the order left
flank, and, still at the double-quick, took his column past the barns
and buildings towards an orchard on the hither side, hoping that he
could get his men back before they were cut off, for they were faced by
ten times their number. By going through the orchard he expected to be
able to take advantage of a hollow, and partially escape the destructive
flank fire on his return.
To hope to keep the barns from which they had driven the sharpshooters
was vain, for the single Maine regiment found itself opposed to portions
of no less than four Confederate brigades, at least a dozen regiments
all told. When the men got to the orchard fence, Sergeant Benson
wrenched apart the tall pickets to let through Hyde's horse. While he
was doing this a shot struck his haversack, and the men all laughed at
the sight of the flying hardtack. Going into the orchard there was a
rise of ground, and the Confederates fired several volleys at the Maine
men, and then charged them. Hyde's horse was twice wounded, but was
still able to go on. No sooner were the men in blue beyond the fence
than they got into line, and met the Confederates, as they came crowding
behind, with a slaughtering fire, and then charged, driving them back.
The color corporal was still carrying the colors, though one of his arms
had been broken; but when half-way through the orchard Hyde heard him
call out as he fell, and turned back to save the colors, if possible.
The apple-trees were short and thick, and he could not see much, and the
Confederates speedily got between him and his men. Immediately, with the
cry of "Rally, boys, to save the Major," back surged the regiment, and a
volley, at arm's-length, destroyed all the foremost of their pursuers:
so they rescued both their commander and the flag, which was carried off
by Corporal Ring. Hyde then formed the regiment on the colors,
sixty-eight men all told out of two hundred and forty who had begun the
charge, and they slowly marched back toward their place in the Union
line, while the New-Yorkers and Vermonters rose from the ground cheering
and waving their hats. Next day, when the Confederates had retired a
little from the field, the color corporal, Campbell, was found in the
orchard dead, propped up against a tree, with his pipe beside him.
A CHINESE CREW.
Over the mantel in Grandfather Sterling's dining-room hung the picture
of a great Newfoundland dog, painted so true to life that it seemed
possible to run one's hand through the masses of rough curly hair as the
big honest brown eyes looked down wistfully at the table just below the
heavy oak frame.
One winter day when Ralph Pell and his grandfather met at
breakfast-time, a northeast wind was whistling around the corner of the
old mansion, and hurling the snow with a musical tapping against the
window-panes.
The white-haired sailor looked up at the picture of the noble animal,
saying, with a touch of affection in his voice: "Well, Nero, good old
fellow, this is one of the kind of days you used to love. How you
enjoyed plunging and rolling into a big snow drift, and making the white
flakes fly!"
"Grandpop," said Ralph, "you have never told me about Nero. Did he ever
go to sea with you?"
"Go to sea with me, boy? Why, Nero was first mate with me once, and a
good one, too, when I had a Chinese crew on my vessel."
"Oh, do tell me the story, please, grandpop," exclaimed Ralph, "for it
must be a funny one."
"Um! Not so funny as you think, perhaps; but I'll spin you the yarn, and
let you judge. Well, when I was a strapping young fellow, 'way back in
the forties, I sailed out of the port of Boston as mate of the bark
_Eagle_, bound to Hong-Kong, which place, as your geography tells you,
is in China. We had a quick passage out, but found nothing in the way of
a good freight just then offering for home, so we remained for several
weeks with our mud-hook--as sailors call the anchor--dropped in the same
place. It was the unhealthy season, and, one by one, our crew sickened,
and were sent on shore to the hospital. Next the Captain was taken down,
and I found myself, with the second mate, the only man left on board the
vessel.
"Just at this time the Captain was offered a good paying charter to
carry a cargo up the coast, so he ordered me to ship a new crew for the
trip, and to take his place as Captain, saying that he would be himself
again when I returned. There was not a white sailor to be engaged in the
port, so I shipped a crew of coolies, as the lower class of natives are
called, stowed my cargo, and set sail; but as this class of Chinamen are
very dirty in the way of their clothes and habits, I took care to lock
the door of the forecastle-house, in which the sailors sleep, and to
make the natives take up sleeping quarters on a lot of mats thrown on
top of the cargo in the hold.
"As ill luck would have it, the poor second mate, who had made several
voyages to the pig-tail country, and could talk pigeon-English so as to
be understood by the moon-eyed sailors, went out of his head with the
fever, and jumped overboard in his delirium the second night after
leaving port. This left me to deal with a crowd of men who could not
comprehend a single order I gave them. However, as the place to which we
were bound was only about two days' sail away, and as the wind was
favorable, I kept the ship on her course.
"Of all the exasperating times I have ever had, that was the worst. When
I wanted the crew to man a certain rope, I was obliged to cast it off
the pin, put it in their hands, and make signs to them what they were to
do with it; but half the time they would slack away when I wanted them
to haul, so that between my anxiety and ill-humor and their surliness we
speedily got on very bad terms, and I soon noticed an ugly disposition
on their part toward me. I believe that the men would have turned on me
if it had not been for the Captain's big dog Nero, who followed me
wherever I moved, and who growled wickedly at the evil-looking crew
whenever he saw them look threateningly at me.
"In addition to the navigating of the ship, I was obliged to constantly
superintend the setting and taking in of the sails, the steering of the
ship, and many other matters, so that I dared not go below even for my
meals. The afternoon of the day before I expected to reach port I was
completely worn out with my labors, and almost sick from lack of sleep.
At last I could stand guard no longer, so I went through a regular
pantomime with the man at the wheel, signifying that he was to keep the
ship going just as she was. Then I threw myself down on top of the
cabin-house, and immediately fell asleep.
"It was quite dark when I was awaked by Nero shaking me roughly and
uttering loud and angry yelps. In one jump I made the wheel, jammed it
hard over, brought the vessel to her course again, then called Nero, who
stood on top of the cabin whining in an ugly way at the Chinamen who
were grouped about the door of the carpenter's shop alongside the
galley.
"I saw through the trick at once. The wheelsman had calculated that by
deserting his post, the ship would fly up into the wind and be wrecked
in the strong breeze then blowing. In this way the vengeful spirit of
the men was to be satisfied. When they saw that their plan had failed
they sullenly entered the hold through the booby-hatch, and that was the
last I ever saw of my Chinese crew.
"I waited a little while, then lashed the wheel, pulled off my shoes,
and sneaking forward noiselessly closed the door of the hatch and
slipped the bolt into its socket. That accomplished, I went back to the
wheel much easier in mind, for I knew that the crew could not gain the
deck in any other way.
"During the night the wind died completely away, leaving the vessel
becalmed, and the sea subsided into long, easy swells. I dozed at
intervals, trusting to Nero to warn me of any new danger, and so
obtained some little rest. Just before daybreak, upon awakening from one
of these cat-naps, I became sensible that the ship was lifting in a very
sluggish way to the seas, and that her motion was new and strange.
Casting my eyes over the side, I was almost petrified to see that the
vessel had settled in the water almost to her deck-line, and was rapidly
sinking under my feet. At the same instant there came a violent pounding
forward from the inside of the booby-hatch and a chorus of wild and
agonizing yells.
"In a flash the heathenish trick was revealed to me. The Chinamen had
determined not to be cheated out of their revenge, so had bored holes in
the ship with an auger taken from the carpenter's chest. They had
expected to rush out on deck in time and escape in one of the boats,
probably leaving me to go down in my vessel, but found their way blocked
by the locked door of the hatch.
"However devilish their action had been, I could not let them drown like
rats in a trap, so I started forward to their release, and had just laid
my hand on the bolt when the deck blew up, owing to the confined air,
with a report like that of a cannon, and I was hurled into the sea.
"I quickly gained the surface, but was immediately drawn down again in
the suction of the sinking vessel, and when at last I once more found
myself on top of the water I was so far spent, strong swimmer though I
was, that I would have sunk helplessly, but Nero caught my collar and
held my head up until I recovered my breath and strength.
"Shortly after this some floating object bumped up against us, which to
my joy I discovered to be the large wooden chicken-coop that had rested
on the deck. I climbed on top of it, and pulled Nero up beside me, and
we drifted about on it until late that afternoon, when we were picked up
by a Chinese junk, and carried into port.
"And now, my boy," said Grandfather Sterling, in conclusion, "you have
the story of the time that I went to sea with a Chinese crew, and had
Nero for my first mate."
THORNTON'S USELESS STUDY.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
"I wish to gracious goodness that Thornton J. Seabury would make better
use of his time!"
That was the earnest exclamation of Mrs. Seabury, mother of Thornton;
and it was her earnest conviction that her son was going to turn out to
be an idle, unpractical, shiftless young man.
"It's not that he's lazy," said Mrs. Seabury, when, in the distress of
her heart, she went to consult the minister about her boy. "No, he's not
exactly what you might call lazy; but he works on useless things. He
spends hours and hours in studying things that may be very interesting
and very fine to know; but what good will they ever do him? He's got to
make his way in the world, and I'd like to know who's going to pay him
for learning the names of the stars, and orbits, and diurnal motions,
and such things as he talks about! He ought to be giving his attention
to something that will help him to earn an honest living."
"But, my dear Mrs. Seabury," said the Rev. Thomas Tatter, who was a man
of education, "there is hardly any study that cannot be turned to
account in earning a living; though I must admit that I can't help
admiring your son for loving a study for its own sake."
"Well, I'd admire him too," said Mrs. Seabury, "if he loved some such
study as civil engineering or architecture."
"Yes, I dare say that these would promise a more brilliant future for
him: but we must admit the fact that his gifts are for astronomy, and
you know it is almost impossible to overcome the impulses of a boy's
natural gifts. Even as an astronomer a man may earn a living."
"Well, I suppose there's no help for it," sighed Mrs. Seabury.
All this time, Thornton, grieved at his mother's opposition to his
favorite pursuit, was nevertheless more passionately attached to it than
ever. From early childhood he had always regarded the heavens with
delight and devouring wonder. What were those beautiful golden stars
that filled the splendid dome of night with their gentle radiance! Why
had God put them there, and what were they doing? Little by little he
began to absorb the elementary facts of astronomy, and after a time he
found that he could make no further progress without becoming a thorough
mathematician. So he set himself resolutely to work, and soon knew all
that his school-teacher, a college graduate, could teach him. Thornton
really was a complete master of geometry, trigonometry, higher algebra,
and even the more advanced branches of mathematics. His advance in
astronomy was now rapid. He even put in a summer at uncongenial labor in
order to earn money enough to buy three or four second-hand instruments.
He never dreamed that he might turn his knowledge to practical use; but
he studied simply because he loved the subject. And in the course of
time astronomy repaid him for his devotion in ways that had never
entered his mind.
At the time when this story begins Mr. Seabury had left home, on the
Maine coast, and had gone to New York to see about a good situation
which had been offered him in that city. Times had been hard up in
Maine, and Mr. Seabury had been out of work and could not get in again.
One day he returned home and told his wife that he had secured an
excellent situation in New York, but hardly knew how to stand the great
expense of moving his family and his household goods such a distance.
Fortunately, however, an old friend, Captain Josiah Whitby, of the
schooner _Three Elms_, came to visit them that evening. As soon as he
heard of the difficulty he slapped his stout knee and said:
"Why, lookee, my lad, it's lucky I came. I'm goin' to sail for New York
on Saturday with the _Three Elms_ in ballast to get a cargo there for
Bermuda. Now it ain't agoin' to hurt me to carry all your fixin's for
nothin', an' you an' your fam'ly for the price o' what you'll eat."
Mrs. Seabury had some feelings of timidity about the sea-voyage, but of
course such a kind offer was not to be refused, and, moreover, Mr.
Seabury and Thornton were both delighted at the prospect of the voyage.
So during the next two days there was a great bustle in the Seabury
household. All their furniture, carpets, and other belongings were
carefully packed up and stowed in the capacious after-hold of the _Three
Elms_, for Mr. Seabury's intention was to live in a little house at
Williamsbridge. Early Saturday morning Mr. Seabury and Thornton
superintended the storage of the last load of goods, including the
trunks containing their clothing and Thornton's precious books and
instruments. Then the little family sat down to breakfast with Captain
Whitby in the schooner's cabin, and Mr. Seabury added to his unfailing
prayer before eating a petition for their safety during the voyage which
they were about to undertake.
"I can't get away from the wharf before three o'clock this afternoon,"
said the Captain, "because the _Three Elms_ can't get over the bar here
except at high water."
"It's spring tide to-day," remarked Thornton.
"Hello, boy!" exclaimed the Captain; "are you a sailor?"
"Oh no, sir," said Thornton. "I don't know one sail from another, but I
know the age of the moon, and I know it's time for the spring tides
here."
"Well, even that's worth knowin'," said the Captain, "and if you keep
your eyes open while you're aboard here, you'll learn a lot of other
useful things."
"It will be funny to see Thornton learning _useful_ things," exclaimed
Mrs. Seabury.
"Let the boy alone, mother," said Mr. Seabury, "he'll come out all
right."
In the afternoon the schooner got under way, with a fine westerly
breeze abeam, and stood out to sea. As she passed the lighthouse at the
entrance to the little harbor, the Captain took certain bearings of it
with his compass, while Thornton stood by and watched him with interest.
"I suppose you are fixing the schooner's position by bow-and-beam
bearings," said the boy.
"That's what I'm doin'," said the Captain; "but how'd you know anything
about them?"
"Oh, I've heard of them," said Thornton, modestly.
"Well, come and see me set the patent log," said Captain Whitby.
Thornton seemed to know something about that too, and the Captain
decided that although the boy might have a good deal of useless
knowledge in his head, he had hold of some facts worth knowing. He said
as much to Mrs. Seabury, but she replied:
"What's the good of his knowing those things? He isn't a sailor."
"That's true enough," answered the Captain, remembering that the boy did
not know one sail from another.
By six o'clock the schooner was well out to sea, and as it grew dark the
Captain came on deck with his sextant. Thornton became intensely
interested.
"Going to take Jupiter for latitude, Captain?" he asked.
"That's what," was the reply; "but what do you know about it?"
"Oh, I'm not so ignorant that I can't tell what latitude and longitude
are," said Thornton; "and I know that Jupiter will be on the meridian at
8.32 to-night."
"Well, then, you know some more things that are worth knowin' to a
sailor-man, anyhow," declared Captain Whitby.
For twenty-four hours the schooner glided along slowly and quickly, the
wind constantly drawing ahead and forcing her off her course. Then it
fell dead calm, and a heavy swell began to roll in from the southeast.
"Mother," said Thornton, "don't be frightened, but we're going to have a
storm."
"Mercy sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Seabury; "how do you know? The Captain
hasn't said so."
"The barometer has fallen rapidly for the last six hours, and the wind
has been backing from west to southwest and so on around to southeast,"
said Thornton, "and there's going to be a gale. The Captain hasn't said
anything, because he does not wish to frighten you."
Two hours later it began to blow in short uneasy puffs from the
southeast, and Captain Whitby ordered the top-sails and foretopmast
stay-sail taken in. He laid the vessel by the wind on the starboard
tack, intending to push out as far as possible from dangerous proximity
to the coast. At six o'clock in the evening it was blowing freshly, and
the long swells were cut up into foaming ridges.
"Get the fore-sail off her!" cried Captain Whitby to his little crew,
and presently the big sheet of canvas was furled snugly on its boom.
"In jib, and lay aft to reef the mains'l!"
It was wild weather now, and no mistake. The big roaring green billows
came raging down out of the dusk in the southeast, and as the schooner
would lean far over to meet them it looked as if they were going to bury
her. But as each sea approached, the schooner's bowsprit would swing
upward with a great heave, the sea under-ran her, and down she came with
a crash and a cloud of spray into the screeching hollow.
"I'll have to ask you all to go below," said the Captain; "it isn't safe
for you to be on deck. You might get washed overboard."
Shut in the badly lighted little cabin, with the one lamp swinging
madly, the agonized groaning of timbers all around them, and the thunder
of tons of water falling on the deck above them, the Seaburys began to
wish that they had never left their little home to go out on the
treacherous ocean. They did not go to bed, but sat on the lockers,
holding fast with both hands, and momentarily expecting that some
terrible catastrophe would happen. About three o'clock in the morning
they heard a loud shout and a heavy thump on the deck, followed by a
rapid shuffling of feet.
"What can have happened?" exclaimed Mr. Seabury.
"Oh, they're coming to tell us that we must take to the life-boat!"
cried Mrs. Seabury.
The cabin door was pushed open, and three sailors stumbled in, bearing
the inanimate form of the Captain.
"One o' the main throat-halyard blocks fell from aloft," said a sailor,
"an' hit him. I reckon he's hurt bad."
The Captain was laid in his bunk, and Mrs. Seabury forgot her fears in
her anxiety to do something for him. And being one of those "handy" New
England women, she could do a good deal, too. She could not find any
broken bones, so she decided that the poor man had been struck on the
body and injured internally. With the help of her husband, she prepared
and administered a soothing drink which put the sufferer to sleep. Poor
Thornton stood about idly, and keenly feeling his helplessness. But at
eight o'clock he eased his mind a little by winding the chronometer.
In the mean time the storm had broken; it was only a summer gale, and at
nine o'clock the wind shifted to northwest, and the sun came out.
Thornton and his father went on deck, leaving Mrs. Seabury to attend to
the Captain, who was awake and in much pain. The mate came up to Mr.
Seabury, and said:
"This are a ser'ous business, sir."
"Yes," answered Mr. Seabury; "I suppose you're in command now."
"Waal, I am: but I wish I wasn't."
"Why, how's that?"
"Why, ye see," said the mate, scratching his head, "I kin sail the
schooner all right: but I can't navigate her. I'm blowed ef I know w'ich
way to steer now."
"Why not sail west till you sight land?"
"'Cause I might hit a shoal or rocks, not knowin' they was there."
"Please may I speak?" said Thornton.
"Well, what is it?" asked his father.
"I can navigate the schooner, though I can't sail her," said the boy,
earnestly.
"You! Why, you never were at sea before!"
"That makes no difference," said Thornton; "sailors navigate by the sun,
moon, and stars, and I know all about them. Father, I _know_ that I can
navigate this schooner into New York Bay. The chronometer is running; I
know where the captain's sextant is, and I wish you'd let me try."
"We must speak to the Captain about this," said Mr. Seabury.
They went below and laid the matter before the Captain. In spite of his
sufferings he became deeply attentive. He asked Thornton this question:
"How are you goin' to find the position o' the schooner now? I've lost
her reckonin'."
"I'll take a chronometer sight right away, and another two hours from
now, and work out the position by astronomical cross-bearings--Sumner's
method, I think you sailors call it."
"Can you work Sumner's method?"
"Certainly, with sun, moon, or stars."
"Then you know more navigation than I do," said the Captain.
"It's nothing but applied astronomy, you know," said Thornton, "and I've
always been studying astronomy."
"You go ahead and see what you can do, my boy," said the Captain. "Let
Bowers, the mate, handle the schooner, and you tell him which way to
steer."
Thornton went at once to the chronometer and set his watch by it. Then
he went on deck with the Captain's sextant in his hand, and the crew
stopped work to stare at him. He had a short talk with Bowers, who
explained the situation to the men.
"If the Captain says it's all right," said one of the men. "I s'pose it
is."
But, nevertheless, they could not understand how any person not a sailor
could be a competent navigator, though the simple fact is that
navigation has not necessarily anything to do with seamanship. The
schooner was hove to for two hours, because Thornton explained to the
mate that he desired to keep her in one place until he ascertained her
position. At 11.15 the boy took his second sight and went below to work
out his problem. His father stood over him in wonder while he filled a
sheet of paper with sines, cosines, secants, and such things. At last
the computation of the position was completed, and Thornton had to
ascertain the course to be steered. He got the Captain's chart, and,
marking the ship's place on it, went into the sufferer's cabin and
showed it to him.
"I guess you must be about right, boy," said the Captain. "In settin'
the course, you want to get well out here."
And the Captain indicated with his finger certain dangers that must be
given a wide berth. Thornton set a safe course, and, going on deck, told
the mate to get the schooner under way S. 1/2 W. The men sprang to their
work willingly, and in a very few minutes the _Three Elms_ was cleaving
her way over a comparatively quiet sea. For three days Thornton
continued his labors as navigator, and on the morning of the fourth he
announced that the Highlands of Navesink ought to be sighted from the
masthead at eleven o'clock. A sailor was sent up to look out for them.
The hour of eleven came, and he was silent. The mate and the crew looked
gravely at the anxious boy. Could he have been in error? Five minutes
passed, and the men began to talk angrily. Then the man aloft cried:
"Land, ho! It's the bloomin' old Highlands! I know that lump!"
[Illustration: A CHEER WENT UP, AND THE MATE SHOOK HANDS WITH THORNTON.]
Then a cheer went up, and the mate shook hands with Thornton. Before
supper the schooner was in tow of a tug, going up the Swash Channel.
"Well, mother," said Thornton, "do you think astronomy is such a useless
thing now?"
And she was obliged to admit that she had never thought of it as the
foundation of navigation. Thornton is at present the assistant to the
government astronomer of a European country, and is receiving a
comfortable salary.
HELEN'S CHOICE.
BY ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL.
Helen set the baby down on the floor, and the pan of clothes-pins beside
her. "There, now, we'll see," she said, gayly. She got down, too, and
arranged the pins in an orderly little circle astride the pan's edge.
They went way round, and then Helen, with a sweep of fingers, sent them
all clattering into the pan again. The baby crowed in wide-mouthed,
toothless glee.
"_You_ do it now, baby--see, just as I do," Helen said.
She sprang lightly to her feet and went back to her dishes. The water
was cold, and the teakettle almost empty, and mutton-chops did make such
greasy plates. But Helen splashed in cheerfully. She was thinking of
Uncle 'Gene's letter on the mantel-piece, and the final decision about
it that very morning over the mutton-chops. It made her sing in sudden
ecstatic anticipation. What did she care about cold dish-water and
uncanny dishes, when she was going to-- She filled out the thought with
pantomimic action, running scales up and down the edge of the sink with
dripping fingers, and executing intricate tuneless measures amid dying
soapsuds.
"Helen, Helen!" called a sweet plaintive voice from the bedroom.
"Yes'm." The musical "selection" came to a quick stop. Helen hurried in,
wiping her hands on her apron and rescuing the baby from an ignominious
descent upon her nose on the way. "What is it, motherdie? is your head
worse?" she asked, anxiously. "I'm afraid it's those noisy
clothes-pins."
"No, dear, but there's a draught somewhere. I can feel it on my neck.
And I wish you'd rub my shoulder again. It's unusually achy this
morning."
Helen found the liniment bottle, and went to work with practised, gentle
touch. It was one of the dear invalid's bad days, and she had not tried
to get up. Her pale face looked up into Helen's with wistful
appreciation of the loving care. She was thinking of Uncle 'Gene's
letter too.
The clock out in the kitchen struck eleven ponderously as Helen set the
bottle away and put the screen before the window. In half an hour the
primary children would be home, and close on their heels the older ones.
And what hungry, hurrying-scurrying little mortals they would be!
"Dear little mother, poor little mother, I'll shut the door and keep the
Arabs as still as I ever can."
Helen always called them the Arabs when she spoke of them collectively.
It was a family pet name for them. The baby had toppled into the big
pan, and was fast asleep when Helen went out. She picked her up and laid
her tenderly beside the mother. Then with wonderful ease she flew about,
finishing the dishes, setting the table for lunch, and doing three
things at once with nimble dexterity. She met the Arabs at the door with
hushing forefinger. They trooped in on tiptoe, sniffing anxiously for
dinner smells.
"I'm awful hungry!" Archie whispered, shrilly.
"So be I--_awful_!" Harry echoed. "_Are_ there sweet-potatoes, Helen?"
"I smell 'em! I smell 'em!" Molly cried, under her breath, dancing
across the floor.
"'Sh! 'sh! Yes, there are sweet-potatoes, but not for Arabs with dirty
faces. Come here this minute, and let me polish you up. Oh, Harry, where
ever did you tear your trousers so? A great big hog tear!"
"Folks oughter not have fences with splinters to 'em, then," Harry
spluttered, with his mouth full of soapy water. "I was crawlin' under to
see if Pat Curran's cow chews gum. Bill Miller says so."
"Does she?" Molly asked, eagerly.
"Well, I'm not certain sure, but I think so. She wouldn't open her month
more'n a crack for me to look."
"I bet she does," little Archie chimed in, "'cause I've seen her my own
self. She makes her jaws go just this way--look!"
Helen smiled in her sleeve, and laid the little discussion away in her
memory for "Motherdie's" delectation. The older boys arrived, and dinner
was presently in animated progress, though everybody tried to keep
still--and didn't. As by magic the sweet-potatoes vanished under the
eager forks and spoons, and the creamy rice followed rapid suit. The
Arabs were a hearty little tribe. Nothing pleased Helen more than to
have them appreciate her cooking. She sighed a little now over the
thought that perhaps Mahala would scorch the rice after she was gone.
"Well, I dread her!" suddenly exclaimed Roy, as if in answer to Helen's
sigh.
"Who?" asked Archie, between mouthfuls.
"Mahala. She'll scold us like sixty-nine when we make tracks over her
floors, and Helen never does."
"She'll wear hoops," said Molly, holding her little silver fork in
reflective suspension.
"And make-b'lieve bangs."
"And cloth slippers, with 'lastics criss-cross over her ankles."
"And _white stockings_!"
Helen contracted her eyebrows sternly. "Stop, children!" she chided.
"Mahala's a good woman from the top of her head--"
"Make-b'lieve bangs," murmured irrepressible Archie.
"--to the soles of her feet."
"Cloth slippers, you mean."
Helen's eyes tried not to twinkle. "She's as much better than I am
as--as--you can think," she ended, lamely.
The Arabs laughed in derisive chorus.
"But, honest, Helen, it's goin' to be so lonesome an' poky!" Molly
wailed over her empty saucer. "We sha'n't have a speck of fun till you
come home again."
"A whole year!"
"Twelve months. Four times twelve's forty-eight. Forty-eight times
seven's--"
"Three hundred 'n' sixty-five!" concluded Roy, scornfully. Roy was in
the grammar grade, and was regarded as an oracle in arithmetic.
The baby woke up and lifted her voice hungrily, and Helen ran away to
her. The busy afternoon followed the busy morning on swift wings, and it
was almost supper-time before she could sit down and think a minute.
Then she held Uncle 'Gene's letter in her lap and thought about that.
"Let her come soon," it said, "and stay anyway a year. She has real
musical talent, and Bab's Professor Grafmann will develop it if anybody
can. He's a genius. Besides, we all want her, and the child must need a
breathing-spell after trying so long to tame those wild Arabs. Yon can
surely find somebody else to tutor them."
Yes, oh yes, there was Mahala! She was all engaged to come and do it.
She was good-hearted and strong. She would be sure to treat them all
well and take splendid care of Motherdie. Helen rocked back and forth
contentedly. They wanted her to go--father and mother, and the Arabs
would soon get used to doing without her. Dear little Arabs! She looked
down at the smallest one of them, still trying to stand the clothes-pins
round the edge of the big bright pan. She was improving steadily.
Let's see--to-morrow--day after--day after that. Then she was going. It
would be a new world opening suddenly to her, and she shut her eyes to
dream the wonderful dreams more uninterruptedly. Ever since she had
drummed baby tunes on the tin cake-box, by the hour at a time, she had
been growing hungrier to learn to materialize the untamed melodies that
ran riot in her mind, and made her fingers tingle with impotent longing.
And now it was coming--her chance! Three days away! But as the three
days came and went Helen's visions grew more clouded and overcast with
secret misgivings. She found herself worrying for fear Mahala would not
remember some of the little trivial comforts she herself had taken such
delight in remembering for Motherdie. And there were the baby's soft
little shoes that needed patching, and Harry's trousers, and the
dish-towels were in dire need of replenishment. If she only had a dozen
hands these last days, and a dozen times a dozen hours to use them! Her
heart misgave her uncomfortably. But they _wanted_ her to go--of course
it was just right. Nevertheless, her face grew sober and thoughtful, and
something tugged distressingly at her heart-strings.
The day after, and the day after that came. Helen kissed her mother over
and over, and hugged the little Arabs fiercely, and went away. The
houses and people on the way to the depot danced about dizzily in a
mist, and she felt dizzy and topsy-turvy in acute sympathy with them.
Her father walked beside her, talking briskly and constantly. Roy walked
on ahead with her valise and umbrella, and never once looked around.
Helen watched him through the same confusing mist, and his straight,
slim little figure was oddly contorted. He had never looked bow-legged
before, Helen thought in dismay!
The train puffed in and puffed out again, with a little maid, stricken
with sudden, overwhelming forlornness, in the corner of one of its
seats. A plump, benign-looking old lady sat just behind her, and watched
her with curious sympathy. The baby two seats ahead leaned over toward
her insinuatingly, and made her think of _the_ baby and the
clothes-pins. Mahala would never remember the clothes-pins--_never_! And
she had forgotten Harry's patch, that she meant to see to last night
surely. Mahala'd forget _that_, too. Helen started involuntarily to her
feet.
[Illustration: "WHAT IS IT, DEARIE? YOU FORGOT SOMETHIN'?"]
"What is it, dearie? You forgot somethin'?" The plump old lady leaned
ahead and touched her arm in friendly solicitude.
"Yes, oh yes! I forgot the patches on Harry's pants." Helen lamented,
"and the baby's clothes-pins."
"Oh lor, dearie, never mind--never mind! Patches ain't nothin' much, nor
clo'es-pins, neither. I'm comin' over an' set with you. I guess you're
sorter humsick, ain't you? I've got some pep'mints in my bag. I'm goin'
to see if I can't chirk you up."
Helen moved her umbrella and hand satchel, and made room for her new
neighbor. The arrangement had its immediate good effects. Somehow the
little old lady reminded her of Mahala, though Mahala was angular and
tall and wore steel-bowed spectacles; but she always associated Mahala
and peppermints together--perhaps that was the reason. Anyway, if Mahala
was as kind and thoughtful as this plump old lady, why need she be
anxious and troubled? Helen was young, and travelling was a delightful
novelty. She grew cheerful and chatty, and parted with her new friend at
the Junction with real sorrow. There was nearly an hour to wait at the
Junction. Her train met the down train home there, she remembered, and
she might send a postal back. But when she began to write, all the old
misgivings and conscience-twitchings surged upon her. She felt selfish
and cruel and wicked. What business had she running away from home,
where she belonged, taking care of Motherdie and the baby and the Arabs?
They all needed her--they all needed her. The words said themselves over
with dreary repetition in her heart. Back and forth, up and down the
platform, she paced restlessly. Conflicting emotions fought in
hand-to-hand struggles. She ought to go home again. She wanted to
go the other way. The old tingling in her fingers grew almost
irresistible--the longing to touch piano-keys and draw from them the
music she knew was in her soul. No, of course she couldn't give it up
now. And why need she?
Two whistles sounded in opposite directions. Helen walked faster than
ever. Oh, dear, dear, dear, why must the two trains meet right before
her eyes? There they were now. She watched the home train come jerkily
to a standstill, and _her_ train approach it on another track. She stood
suddenly still, and began to talk aloud. "That train goes home," she
said, "and _that_ one doesn't. Which one are you going on, Helen Scott?
Quick! Are you going home like a decent girl, or are you going to Uncle
'Gene's to practise scales like a heathen and a sinner?" The passengers
were almost all aboard. "Well, you can do as you please, Helen Scott.
_I'm_ going home to patch Harry's trousers and rub my blessed mother
with liniment!"
She darted ahead, and in another minute was on the train. She never knew
how she got on, but there she was. She settled back in her seat with a
deep sigh of relief. The other train started first, and she shut her
eyes so she wouldn't see it. "Good-by," she murmured, wistfully;
"good-by."
She felt weak and tired. It wasn't easy work having hand-to-hand
conflicts in her heart. But she was glad she was going home. How the
Arabs would shout! In her excitement she had not thought of getting a
return ticket, and it didn't occur to her now. She put the ticket her
father had bought for her in her button-hole, and leaning back in the
seat, went sound asleep.