Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 36. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, July 6, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MOHAWK BOWMEN IN THE WOODS.--[SEE NEXT PAGE.]]
THE MOHAWK BOWMEN.
BY J. O. DAVIDSON.
"Hello, Foster, what's that you're doing?--shooting with a bow and
arrows?"
"Yes, Stuart made 'em for me. Come in and try 'em."
Harry came into the yard, where Foster was shooting at a collar box
placed on a grassy bank, and made a few unsuccessful shots at twenty
yards, when Foster took the bow, and hit the box frequently, to Harry's
wonder and envy.
"Stuart made 'em for me, and taught me how to handle 'em. He has a bow
taller than himself, over six feet long; and up in the mountains he
killed a deer a week ago--killed a deer with an arrow."
"Do arrows go hard enough to _kill_? Say, Foster, will Stuart make a bow
for me? Won't you ask him?"
"We've got a better thing than that. Stuart wants us to get up an
archery club, and he will show us how to make our own bows and arrows,
just as the Indians do. Henry, Fred, Will, and Ned will join, I know,
and then we will have six--just enough to go off hunting on Saturdays,
and have a jolly time. And we'll have a name for the club, and make a
regular camp somewhere near the Glen, and have our dinners there, and
our meetings, just as Robin Hood and his men did in England. How's that,
Harry?"
"Best thing out, Foster. But how are we to make our bows, and what shall
we make them of?"
"Oh, Stuart has told me all about it. You must pick out the straightest,
cleanest sassafras pole in the hen-house, and get Preston to saw it up
into sticks one inch square and five and a quarter feet long. Then bring
them over here, and Stuart will show you how to make a bow. Stuart will
have a lot of pine and spruce sawed up for arrows, and you must get all
the goose and turkey feathers you can, and bring them over too, and he
will tell us about arrow-making. Now go and tell the rest of the boys,
and get your sassafras to Preston's as soon as you can. Perhaps we can
get ready to go out Saturday."
After school the next day six eager boys stood around Stuart as he took
a sassafras stick, and showed them how to make a hunting bow, talking as
he worked.
"Now look close, youngsters. First plane one side of the stick straight
and smooth. This is to be the 'back' of the bow, and mustn't be touched
again. Next mark the middle of the stick, and lay off four and a half
inches to one side for a handle. Then turn the stick on its back, and
plane away the 'belly' of the bow, tapering it truly from handle to
'tip.' Do the same to the sides, leaving each tip about three-eighths of
an inch square. Now take a file or a spokeshave, and round off the
'sides' and 'belly' carefully, taking care not to touch the 'back' of
the bow. There, the bow is in good shape, but it may not bend truly; so
file a notch with a small round file in each tip half an inch from each
extremity, running the groove straight across the 'back,' and slanting
it across the sides away from the tips toward the middle or handle of
the bow. Make a strong string of slack-twisted shoe-maker's thread, with
a loop in each end, so that when the string is put on the bow by
slipping the loops into the nocks, it will bend the bow so much that
the middle of the string is five inches from the handle. If the bow when
thus bent is too stiff in any spot, file it a little there till it bends
right; and when it finally bends truly from tip to tip, put on a piece
of plush for a handle, and smooth and polish your bow ready for
exhibition. There, Harry, that is your bow. Now one of you may go to
work at another stick, while I go and feather some arrows."
At it Henry went, eager and enthusiastic; but it was a bothersome job
for young and inexperienced hands. The stick would slip, and the plane
would stick, in spite of him, and his face grew very red and his eyes
very bright. With Stuart's aid, however, he finally completed a very
fair bow before dark, and when he had actually shot an arrow from it,
his worry all vanished, and he felt very proud of his new weapon.
The following afternoon they all came together, and more bows were made.
Under Stuart's direction arrow shafts were rounded and smoothed, the
vanes were cut from the quills, and several fair arrows completed before
separating for their homes, where all, even the staid old grandpas and
grandmas, were infected by the enthusiasm of the boy archers, and Indian
stories were told by the kitchen fire.
By Friday night all the six were armed with sassafras bows, and nicely
feathered spruce arrows, with pewter heads, blunt, that they might not
stick into and be lost in the trees. Their quivers were of pasteboard
rolled in glue, upon a tapering form, and their arm-guards of hard thick
leather, securely fastened to their left fore-arms by small straps and
buckles. And when, early Saturday morning, they came together at
Foster's house, never was a more gallant squad of young archers seen.
Stumps, trees, late apples, and one or two wandering mice served as
marks for their ready arrows while waiting for the start.
"Here, you boys! shoot them arrers t'other way. They'll spile more'n
they're wuth," called out the good-natured hired man; and Foster raised
grandma's ire by driving a shaft up to the feathers in a golden pumpkin
she had selected for seed, and placed on the well curb to "sun."
By the time their haversacks were filled with potatoes, bread,
doughnuts, meat, etc., and they had started for the Glen across lots,
shooting as they went, all the family were relieved for the moment, only
to worry the rest of the day lest some unlucky arrow, glancing, should
hurt one of them; and mother's anxiety wasn't relieved when Stuart
wickedly told her how Walter Tyrrel killed King William Rufus with a
glancing arrow from his bow while hunting.
The birds and the squirrels that our boys met that day were treated to
many a close hissing arrow, though not many of them suffered, because of
the boys' lack of skill with the long-bow.
"Sh-h-h! boys," suddenly whispered Foster, as the little band paused for
a moment in a clump of spruces; and springing noiselessly up, his bow
was braced, his arrow fitted, and a stricken bird was fluttering at
their feet in a few seconds. The flutterings of the fallen bird were
more than equalled by those of Foster's heart, as he held the still
quivering crow-blackbird which his arrow had brought from the highest
twig of a tall spruce. Proud and exultant, yet tears glistened in his
eyes as he silently gazed upon the soiled plumage of the bird's
beautiful neck and breast, and felt its last faint gaspings as its
reproachful eyes became glassy in death.
"The beautiful bird! Oh, I _won't_ shoot another bird," he declared,
with quivering lips. "How pretty it is, and how warm! I'll ask Stuart to
stuff it, so that I can keep it forever."
By this time Will's hunger was too much for his archery enthusiasm, and
he began to grumble.
"Say, boys, isn't it about time to get to the Glen, and make our camp?
I'm getting hungry. It's hard work drawing this bow of mine, and my arms
are tired."
"Yes, let's go to the Glen," said their captain, Foster; and half an
hour's silent tramping in the underbrush and up the rising ground--for
they were now pretty tired--brought them to the spot known as the Glen.
The Glen was a lovely place. A sparkling spring, rising at the base of a
giant hemlock at the head of a long deep gully, had in the course of
ages filled in the hollow, till a broad level floor was made, surrounded
by close-growing hemlocks, pines, and spruces, and carpeted with fine
turf and pine needles. The water from the spring, flowing in a shallow
brook through the middle of this floor, lost itself in the dark
recesses of the gully further down. At the very top of the great hemlock
by the spring was a rude eyrie, built by the boys, called the Crow's
Nest, and from its swaying, breezy height they had a magnificent view of
the country for miles around. Here, rocking gently and safely,
seventy-five feet above the spring, they picked out their homes, the
pretty white villages nestling among the forest masses of green, and the
slender streams glistening among the cultivated fields and neat mowings.
Near the spring was a rude hut that Stuart and his mates had built a few
years before. Taking possession of this, they took off their haversacks,
hung their bows and quivers about on projecting limbs, gathered dry
leaves and sticks, and soon had a fire started in a rude stone
fireplace.
"Well, my merry bowmen, how do the twanging bow-string and the hissing
arrow suit the greenwood?" asked Stuart, who came up as they lay
picturesquely about, waiting for a bed of coals.
"Oh, it is splendid. Isn't it, boys?" answered Will, the oldest of the
young archers. "Just see how pretty the bows and quivers look, hanging
among the green branches. How nice this all is! But what name shall we
give our club?"
"Woodland Archers," suggested Ned.
"Mohawk Foresters," added Henry. "We want our river in the name, and the
Mohawks were great warriors."
"Let's call it the Mohawk Bowmen," continued Ned. "That's just the
thing." And all agreed to it, and so Mohawk Bowmen was decided upon as
the club name.
"Who'll be captain?" asked Stuart.
"Oh, Foster, of course," answered all at once. "He's the best shot, and
ought to be."
By this time the coals were ready, so the potatoes and corn and meat
were roasted, amid much fun and gay talk, and were eaten by the hungry
archers. Then, after a rest, the Mohawk Bowmen ranged the woods and
fields till sunset found them at home again, tired, indeed, but
enthusiastic over archery and their day's sport. They agreed it was the
happiest day they had ever seen, and arranged for a grand woodchuck hunt
on the following Saturday.
MORNING SIGHTS AND SOUNDS FROM A WINDOW IN JERUSALEM.
BY LYDIA FINKELSTEIN.
The first sound I heard at daybreak, through the window, was the
Moslem's call to prayer, from the minaret, "La Illaha illa
Allah"--"There is no other God but God"--breaking clear and solemn over
the stillness of the early dawn, and waking the echoes of the empty
streets. Presently I heard a footstep in the distance; as it approached
nearer, it made the arches resound. I looked out, and saw a pious
Mohammedan hastening to prayer. As he passed under the window I heard
him muttering in a low voice, and caught some sentences of his prayer:
"Ya Rahim, ya Allah" ("O God, the merciful!"). Scarcely had his
footsteps died out when I heard the soft silvery sound of a bell, whose
melodious music seemed to roll out like billows into space, and as the
reverberations were carried away to a more distant region, a chime of
bells rang out merrily; these were the matin bells calling the
Christians to prayers. The streets and arches again re-echoed hurrying
footsteps, which were those of the Catholic monks hastening to the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre. As they passed the window I could hear the
clicking of their rosaries, and distinguish the words "Dominus,
Dominus," muttered in a low voice.
Another sound broke the stillness: "Ya Karim, ya Allah" ("O bountiful
God!"). This was a cake vender, carrying on his head a large wooden tray
containing cakes and baked eggs. He uses this exclamation as an
acknowledgment that God is the giver of our daily bread.
"Karim" was still sounding, when I heard a different strain, "Chai chai
kirna cha-ee," which was sung in a sonorous nasal voice. This was a tea
man. In one hand he carried a bright brass tea-urn of boiling water; in
the other, several glasses, which he continually jingled against one
another. Fastened round his waist he wore a circular tin case,
containing glasses, a tea-pot, sugar, lemons, and tea-spoons. The tea
man continues his walk through the streets till the day is far advanced,
and he meets with a great many customers, for quite a number of Arabs
consider a cup of tea a good remedy for a headache in the morning.
The passers now increased, and they exchanged salutations such as "Nihar
said!" ("May your morning be enriched!")
There was a coffee shop opposite the window. This was the earliest
opened. The waiters came out of the store carrying low stools, which
they placed outside the shop along the sidewalk. Their dress was navy
blue baggy trousers, which reached a little below the knee; white
shirts, the sleeves of which were rolled over their elbows; crimson
girdles, and white skull-caps. A couple were barefoot, and the others
had red shoes on. They moved about lightly as they arranged the stools
for customers.
A tall young man came toward his store, which was a grocery, and next
the coffee shop; but before opening it he sat down on one of the low
stools, and was at once served by one of the waiters with an "argille,"
or hubble-bubble, and a cup of coffee. He wore a suit of dark green
cloth, a crimson satin vest, silk girdle of many colors, and a red
tarboosh. Another gentleman came up, dressed in a similar costume, only
of a bluish-gray. Before seating himself he saluted the other by a
graceful wave of the hand, saying, "Issalaam alek," or "Peace be on
you."
"Ou alek Issalaam" ("And unto you be peace"), responded the other.
These two are Christians, as can be seen by their dress. Two
Mohammedans, dressed very much like the others, but each wearing a long
loose "Jube" (which is a cloak) over his suit, and a white turban of
fine Swiss muslin wound round his tarboosh, came and took seats, after
having saluted the others with the same beautiful salutations. Many
others in various costumes seated themselves, and conversation became
general as they smoked their pipes and sipped their small cups of
coffee.
The sparrows were chirping merrily in the green caper bushes which grew
out of the walls of the old gray houses. From this window I had also an
excellent view of the Mount of Olives, over which I now observed the
rosy tint of the rising sun. I watched it, and gradually the rose
deepened into a glowing hue; then the sun rose like a ball of living
fire. The towering minarets and mountain-tops caught the golden rays.
The magnificent blue hue of the distant mountains of Moab reflected the
gorgeous gold. The rays were also reflected in the window-panes of the
old gray houses, making them look like molten gold, and the dewy domed
roofs like glistening silver; and as the sun rose higher, he brightened
up the fine old stone houses. A majestic palm-tree, whose green branches
were being waved by the soft morning breeze, glittered as the dew on
them was touched by the warm rays.
My notice was now attracted to view the passers. Emerging from under an
arch was a grave old turbaned Turk. He had a long white beard, and wore
a suit of dark blue cloth, red silk girdle, lemon-colored pointed
leather shoes, and a tarboosh wound round by a large green turban. This
green turban is a sign that he is a Haj, or one who has been on a
pilgrimage to Mohammed's grave at Mecca.
He moved along slowly and majestically, for in the Orient one never sees
an Effendi hurrying along the streets. However busy men may be, they
always walk calmly and leisurely, as if quite at their ease. Behind this
Effendi his slave carried his master's pipe.
Donkeys, mules, horses, and camels were passing, some of the donkeys
laden with wood, others with vegetables, and driven by peasants who were
dressed in white shirts reaching below the knee, their waists encircled
by broad red leather belts, while on their heads they wore large striped
silk turbans of bright colors. Their shoes were made of undressed
camel's leather, bound round the edge with yellow leather, and fastened
by a latchet made of the same. Probably this was the same kind of shoe
that was worn in the days of John, when he said of our Lord, "Whose
shoe's latchet I am not worthy to unloose."
The mules had small brass bells hung round their necks, which, as they
moved along, rung quite merrily. They were laden with tents and canteens
belonging to camp life. Probably some travellers had arrived from a trip
up the country. The camels roared and bellowed, as if they did not
approve coming into the city; they were laden with charcoal, which was
in long black sacks.
The gentlemen, after sipping their coffee and smoking their pipes,
proceeded to open their stores, and while doing so, they uttered this
prayer, "Bismillah ir ruhman ir raheem" ("In the name of God, the most
merciful").
Peasant women came up, carrying on their heads large brown circular
baskets, made of twigs, about eight inches deep, filled with tempting
fruits and salads. It was wonderful how well they balanced them, for
they were walking erect, and very briskly, without holding them.
Stopping under the window, they took the baskets off their heads, and
placed them on the ground, sat down with their backs against the wall,
and put them in front of them for sale. They looked picturesque in their
long dark blue gowns, red silk girdles, wide open sleeves displaying
their arms, adorned with bracelets and armlets.
Another young peasant woman came up, not only with a basket of fruit on
her head, but a baby dangling in a hammock down her back. This hammock
is an oblong piece of red and white striped coarse cloth, made out of
camel's hair. She placed her basket alongside of the others, and took
out her baby. Soon the baskets were surrounded by eager customers, who
had to stoop down in order to pick out what they wanted. The baby
meanwhile fell asleep, and the mother, finding it an incumbrance while
serving her customers, placed it again in its hammock, on which she had
been sitting, and hung it up on the door of one of the neighboring
stores.
People passed to and fro, jostling each other as the passers increased;
the street looked lively and gay with such a variety of costumes. Among
them were several figures walking slowly along; they were enveloped in
white sheets from head to foot, their faces covered with thick colored
veils, so that it is impossible to distinguish the person. They were
Oriental city women. An Oriental city woman never hurries through the
streets, as that would be considered an impropriety.
THE WONDERFUL NEST.
BY MARGARET EYTINGE.
Oh! the beautiful bright summer,
Ev'rywhere wild flowers springing;
Honeysuckles to the roses
All day long sweet kisses flinging.
Brooklets sparkling through the meadows,
Humming-birds their glad way winging
With gold-brown bees and butterflies
Where lily-bells are ringing,
Ringing, ringing--
Where lily-bells are ringing.
Sunbeams on the greensward dancing,
Gentle breezes perfume bringing;
In the cedar-tree five birdies
To their wee nest closely clinging;
Peeping over at the children,
(Five of them too) laughing, singing.
In nest most wonderful to see,
Between the branches swinging,
Swinging, swinging--
Between the branches swinging.
[Illustration]
[Begun in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 31, June 1.]
THE MORAL PIRATES.
BY W. L. ALDEN.
CHAPTER VI.
The wave receded as suddenly as it came. The boys sprang up in a
terrible fright, and indeed there are few men who in their place would
not have been frightened. The shock of the cold water was enough to
startle the strongest nerves, and as the boys rushed to the door of the
tent, in a blind race for life, they fully believed that their last hour
had come. Before they could get out of the tent, a second wave swept up
and rose above their knees. With wild cries of terror, the two younger
boys caught hold of Tom, and losing their footing, dragged him down.
Harry caught at Tom impulsively, with a vague idea of saving him from
drowning, but the only result of his effort was that he went down with
the rest. Fortunately the wave receded before the boys had time to
drown, and left them struggling in a heap on the wet sand. There was no
return of the water, and in a few moments the boys were outside of the
tent, and on the top of the bluff above the river.
"It must have been a tidal wave," said Jim. "Oh, I'd give anything if I
was home! The water will come up again, and we'll all be drowned!"
"It was the swell of a steamboat," said Tom. "There's the boat now, just
going around that point."
"You're right," said Harry. "It was nothing but the swell of the night
boat. What precious fools we were not to think of it before! To-morrow
night we'll pitch the tent about a thousand feet above the water."
"Then there'll be a water-spout or something," said Jim. "We're bound to
get wet whatever we do. We only started yesterday, and here we've been
wet through three times."
"And Harry has been wet four times, counting the time he jumped into the
Harlem for me," added Joe.
"It won't do to stand here and talk about it," said Tom. "We've got to
have a fire, or we'll freeze. Look at the way Joe's teeth are
chattering. The blankets and clothes are all wet, and the sooner we dry
them, the better."
[Illustration: TRYING TO KEEP WARM.]
There happened to be a dead tree near by, and it was soon converted into
fire-wood. The boys built a roaring fire on a large flat rock, and after
it had burned for a little while, they pushed it about six feet from the
place where they had started it, and after piling fresh fuel on it, lay
down on the hot rock with their feet to the flames. The fire had heated
the rock so that they could hardly bear to touch it; but the heat dried
their wet clothes rapidly, and kept them from taking severe colds.
Meanwhile their blankets had been spread out near the fire, and in half
an hour were very nearly dry, and pretty severely scorched. Two large
logs were then rolled on the fire, and when they were in a blaze the
boys wrapped themselves in their blankets, and lying as near to the fire
as they could without actually burning, resumed their interrupted sleep.
They found the rock rather a hard bed, and it offered no temptation to
laziness; so it happened that they were all broad awake at half past
four; and though somewhat stiff from lying on a rocky bed, were none the
worse for their night's adventure.
"There's one thing I'm going to do this very day," said Harry, as they
were dressing themselves after their morning swim. "I'm going to write
to the Department to send us a big rubber bag that we can put our spare
clothes in and keep them dry. There's no fun in being wet and having
nothing dry to put on."
"If we have the bag sent to Albany, it will get there by the time we
do," said Tom. "You write the letter while we are getting breakfast."
So Harry wrote to the Department as follows;
"DEAR UNCLE JOHN,--We've been wet through with a steamboat once,
and the tide wet us the first night, and we got rained on, and I
jumped in to get Joe out, and we've had a gorgeous time. Please
send us a big water-proof bag to put our spare clothes in, so that
we can have something dry. Please send it to Albany, and we will
stop there at the Post-office for it. Please send it right away.
You said the Department furnished everything. We've been dry twice
since we started, but it didn't last long. There never was such
fun. All the boys send their love to you. Please don't forget the
bag. From your affectionate nephew,
"HARRY."
"This was the morning that you were going to sleep till eight o'clock
without waking up, Harry," said Tom, as they were eating their
breakfast.
"There's nothing that will wake a fellow up so quick as the Hudson River
rolling in on him. I hadn't expected to wake up in that way," answered
Harry.
"So far we have done nothing but find out how stupid we are," said Tom.
"Seems to me we must have found it pretty near all out by this time.
There can't be many more stupid things that we haven't done."
"There won't any accident happen to-night," replied Harry; "for I'll
make sure that the tent is pitched so far from the water that we can't
be wet again. I wonder if every fellow learns to camp out by getting
into scrapes as we do. It is very certain that we won't forget what we
learn on this cruise."
"I'm beginning to get tired of ham," exclaimed Joe. "We've been eating
ham ever since we started. Let's get some eggs to-day."
"And some raspberries," suggested Jim. "It's the season for them."
"And let's catch some fish," said Tom.
"That's what we'll do," said Harry. "We'll sail till eleven o'clock, and
then we'll go fishing, and catch our dinner."
This suggestion pleased everybody; and when, at about six o'clock, they
set sail, with a nice breeze from the south, everybody kept a look-out
for a good fishing ground, and wondered why they had not thought of
fishing before.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE ROVERINGS' FOURTH.
BY MATTHEW WHITE, JUN.
It had been arranged for weeks beforehand, and the whole family were
delighted with the novelty of the proposition. Mrs. Rovering suggested
it on the evening of Decoration-day, as she and Mr. Rovering and Edward
and Edgar sat at the supper table, with patriotic appetites after their
long tramp to and from the soldiers' graves.
"I think," Mrs. Rovering began, as she buttered a biscuit for Edgar--"I
think we had better commemorate the Fourth in a manner that will not so
weary us as to-day has done."
The good lady always made use of those words which it seemed she must
have gone to the dictionary and picked out before she began to speak.
"Oh, pa, how many crackers will you give us this year?" burst out
Edward.
Mr. Rovering was in the fire-works business, which fact had always been
a source of the greatest satisfaction to his sons, and an awful trial to
his wife, who every night expected to see him brought home in a
scattered condition on a stretcher.
"What do you say to our not participating in the annual picnic, as it
always rains, and the silver-plated ware's mislaid, the ants get into
the sugar, and the boys into the pond?--what do you say to foregoing the
enjoyment of these sylvan delights, and spending the day in town? We
should thus have an opportunity of observing to how great an extent
explosives are used here, and you could then gauge your manufacture of
the articles accordingly. Aha! I have it!" added the inventive lady,
after a moment's reflection. "We'll take the line of cars running
entirely around the city, and so we'll be sure of viewing all sides of
the question."
"The very thing!" exclaimed her husband.
In due course the famous national holiday arrived, and at about nine
o'clock in the morning the family sallied forth on their memorable
expedition. The two Eds went first, hurling torpedoes as if they were
trade-marks, and now and then touching off a cracker, after having
assured themselves that there was no policeman near. Then came the
father and mother, arm in arm, under a great cotton umbrella, which Mrs.
Rovering always insisted should be carried during their excursions, for
fear rain might come on and spoil the silk one.
On reaching the corner where they were to take the car, a discussion
arose as to which direction they should go.
"It doesn't make a particle of difference, so long as we get off,"
affirmed Mr. Rovering.
"Well, then," rejoined the originator of the expedition, "let's take
whichever car comes first." And this decision would certainly have
finally disposed of the matter if at that instant Edward had not
shouted, "Oh, ma, here's a car coming up!" and Edgar, "Oh, pa, here's a
car coming down!" and if, moreover, these two cars had not arrived at
that identical corner at one and the same moment.
They both stopped, and Mr. Rovering cried, "Dear me, Dolly, which shall
we take?--which shall we take?" while Edward hopped up and down on the
step of one, and Edgar practiced jumping on and off the platform of the
other.
"Take the one that isn't a 'bobtail,'" returned Mrs. Rovering,
composedly.
"But they're both 'bobtails!'" exclaimed her poor husband, in an agony
of apprehension lest the cars should start off, and cause his sons to
fall on their pocketfuls of torpedoes.
Finally Mrs. Rovering said, quietly, "We shall ride in the empty one,"
and this proving to be the up-bound conveyance, they got in and were
off.
"Now, Robert," Mrs. Rovering began, as soon as they had recovered from
the shock of starting, which had sent them all down on the seat like a
row of bricks, "don't make a mistake in putting our fares in the box.
Let me see, five, five--yes, both the boys are over five. Have you got
it right?"
But sad to relate, Mr. Rovering had not got it right, for, owing to his
wife's constant repetition of the word five, he had become so confused
as to drop twenty-five cents into the box, thinking there were five in
the party.
"Make the driver extricate it for us," suggested Mrs. Rovering; but that
individual promptly replied that he couldn't do it, and coolly proceeded
to let the money down into the safe before their very eyes. But upon
this his passengers raised such an outcry of indignation that the knight
of the brake was forced to open the door again, and pacify them by
saying they might take the fare from the next passenger. This appeared
to be such a brilliant idea that Mrs. Rovering was almost inclined to
envy the driver's genius.
These cars, although "bobtails," were drawn by two horses, and therefore
went along at quite a respectable rate, but this did not prevent
evil-minded youth from hanging on behind in all the blissful enjoyment
of a free ride, and the efforts of the driver to dislodge these highway
_boys_ amused the two Eds not a little. One of his stratagems was to
suddenly brake up the car as though he were going to stop and personally
chastise the offenders, while another was to ring the bell and pretend
one of his passengers was about to alight.
But on this occasion there were two boys who persisted in sticking on in
spite of everything, and at last they so exasperated the poor driver
that he threw down his reins, and rushed around to the rear platform
with his whip raised.
Now it so happened that the two Eds had been long waiting for this
opportunity, and as the man cut the air with his lash--and the air only,
for the young rascals were already half a block away--Edward and Edgar
simultaneously threw down six torpedoes apiece on the front platform,
the effects of which were to send the horses off at a gallop, with the
lines about their feet, and the driver tearing after them in vain.
"Whoa!" shouted Mr. Rovering and the boys.
"Which--where--what shall we do?" groaned Mrs. Rovering, sinking back
on the seat, and covering her face with her hands.
"Stop 'em, somebody. And oh, boys, why did you start 'em?" and Mr.
Rovering remained standing motionless on the platform, casting longing
looks at the reins trailing in the street.
"Remember," exclaimed Mrs. Rovering, "we're on the continuous line, and
so we'll keep on going round and round, and never stop! Oh, why did you
ever force me to set out upon this unhappy expedition?"
At this Mr. Rovering grew almost beside himself with despair; and
determined on doing something, he seized the two Eds, and extracting
from their pockets every torpedo he could find, flung the latter, in the
heat of his passion, out of the window, which naturally resulted in a
report much louder than the first one, and thus materially quickened the
pace of the poor, bewildered animals.
And now a new danger arose. What if they should catch up to the car
ahead?
But, luckily for all concerned, the stables of the company were not far
off, and when the horses reached the car-house they slowed up, and the
Roverings were rescued.
"But why didn't you put on the brake?" asked the superintendent.
Sure enough, why hadn't they?
HOW TO BUILD A STEAM-YACHT.
Most of you boys know enough about boats to have built your sloop and
schooner yacht, and perhaps a canoe; now why not go a little farther,
and build a steam-yacht? Don't worry about your engine, boiler, and
propeller; these can be bought complete at a low figure--an engine that
will reverse, stop, and send your boat ahead at the rate of two miles an
hour.
After taking a good look at the plates, and having made up your mind
that you are equal to the task, go and see your friend the carpenter,
and tell him you want a piece of white pine, free of knots, grain
running lengthwise, well seasoned, thirty inches long, seven wide, and
six deep. I speak of white pine, for the reason that it is easy to get,
inexpensive, and cuts easily. Plane the four sides smooth; mark a centre
line, AB, on both top and bottom.
[Illustration: PLATE I.]
[Illustration: PLATE II.]
The centre of your block must now be marked at right angles to the line
AB on top and bottom; carry this line down the sides as well. This is
the line marked X in Plates I. and II. Now for the first cutting of the
block--the sheer line SH on Plate I. The dotted lines marked from 1 to
10 must be drawn, beginning at 1, just one inch from the left-hand end
of block, No. 2 three inches from this, and so on, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,
10; the last number will be just two inches from the right-hand end.
These are to be marked on top and on both sides. These lines are very
important, as the shape of your boat depends upon them. With a pair of
compasses take distances from the line AB, Plate I., at numbers 1 to 10
respectively, to the line marked SH, and join the points with a
straight-edge. This is your sheer. Work from the bow to about the centre
of the block, and then from the stern; if you attempt to cut from end to
end, you will certainly split off too much. Finish this sheer line with
a spokeshave. The lines having been cut off the top of the block, draw
them again on your new surface, as well as the line X and the centre
line AB.
[Illustration: PLATE III.]
[Illustration: PLATE IV.]
Now for Plate II. This gives the shape on deck. Using your compasses
again, take the distances from the line AB on the subdivisions from stem
to stern, and join with a curved rule, making the line HL. Before
cutting away the sides of the block, look at Plate IV.; this gives the
shape of the boat amidships. At the line X on deck it is but six inches
wide, but it gradually widens to seven inches. Cut away with a
draw-knife from 6 on the line MN to L, Plate II., and from 5 on MN to H,
striking the line HL at 8 in the former, and at 3 in the latter case.
The other side must be cut in the same way. The block had better be put
in a bench vise to do this. You have now your boat in the rough. With a
spokeshave round up the sides of the hull to HL. Turn your boat over,
and cut with a saw three and three-quarter inches from the left-hand
end, to a depth of three inches, and split off with a chisel.
Plate IV. gives the lines of the hull from the centre, to bow and stern.
Make careful and separate tracings of the curves marked from 1 to 10 and
X, paste on thin pieces of wood, cut them out with a knife or jig-saw,
and number them. Cut away the sides of the hull, testing with your
patterns at the respective subdivisions, and finish with a spokeshave.
Be careful near the stern-post of the swell where the shaft comes
through. In cutting the bow take the pattern of the curve BK, Plate I.,
and shape accordingly. Now you may begin to dig out the hull. Fit your
boat firmly to a table, or put it in a bench vise; but be careful not to
mar the sides. Allow half an inch inside of the deck line for the
thickness of the sides. Don't go too deep, but between the numbers 7 and
4 get the right depth or bed for your engine and boiler; place a
straight-edge across the boat at these points, and get just the depth;
the width necessary you will see in Plate V.
[Illustration: PLATE V.]
Plate II. For the deck use white pine one-eighth of an inch thick,
straight-grained, and free from knots. Follow the line DL in cutting the
deck. Allow the deck to project one-eighth of an inch all around; this
will serve as a beading around the hull. Section of vessel Plate V.
shows this at BD.
Plate III. shows deck finished, planking, top of cabin, bitts, etc. Mark
the planking with an awl and straight-edge--not too deep, however, or
you will split your deck. The double lines in the opening of the deck,
Plate II., represent a coping to fit the cabin on, and at the same time
to strengthen it. Make it of pine one-sixteenth of an inch thick, and
fasten with good-sized pins having points clipped off diagonally by
nippers or scissors: a better nail you will not want; use these wherever
it is necessary.
The motive power consists of a single oscillating cylinder, half-inch
bore, one-inch stroke; copper boiler, with lamp, shaft, and propeller;
which will cost you ten dollars. A double oscillating engine costs
fifteen dollars. The engine is controlled from the top of the cabin. The
lever, if pressed to the right, will start the engine ahead; if left
vertical, will stop, and to the left, will reverse it. What more can you
want than that? The lamp holds just so much alcohol, and when that is
burned out, the water in the boiler is used too. Never refill the lamp
without doing the same to the boiler. The boiler is to be filled through
the safety-valve, and provided with three steam-taps; these will show
the height of water in the boiler. The coupling or connection between
the shaft and engine is made so that you may take engine and boiler out,
and use them for anything else.
There are three things we've forgotten, the stem, stern-post, and keel.
Use the pattern you made for your bow, and cut out one-eighth inch stuff
for your cut-water, or stem; the dotted lines at BK, Plate I., will show
the shape; fasten on with cut pins. The stern-post, with the exception
of the swell for the shaft, should be about the same thickness, and
fitted in as shown in Plate I. The keel should be of lead, tapering from
half an inch in the centre to one-eighth at the bow and stern: cut a
small hole at Z, and let the rudder-post rest in it. Now fasten in your
engine; two screws through the bed-plate will do it. Try the boat in
water; if she is down by the stern, tack a piece of sheet lead in the
bow inside. Nail your deck in with cut pins. Use one-eighth inch strips
one-half inch high for the gunwale as far as the rounding of the stern;
this must be cut out of a solid piece. Finish the gunwale with a top
piece of Spanish cedar lapping over on either side of it.
Your cabin may be made of Spanish cedar one and a half inches high,
one-eighth thick; make this wide enough to fit outside of the coping;
your sheer pattern will give the necessary curve to fit it to the deck.
The pilot-house is made separate, two inches high. Before putting the
cabin together, cut all openings, windows, etc., and mark with an awl
the panellings and plank lines. The doors are simply marked in, not cut
out.
Leave the front windows in the pilot-house unglazed, so as to serve as
ventilators for the lamp. The top of the cabin overlaps the sides
one-eighth of an inch all around. Cut a hatch in the cabin roof abaft
the steam-drum; this is intended to oil the engine through, and try the
steam-taps, without taking off the whole of the cabin. The cabin is kept
in place by the funnel, which slips off just above the roof. The slit in
the cabin top just back of the hatch is where your engine lever comes
through. The bitts, B, fore and aft, are made of Spanish cedar, running
through the deck to the hull. Your tiller may be made of steel wire
running through the head of the rudder-post, which is made of iron wire;
the man who makes your engine will do this for you.
[Illustration: MODEL OF A STEAM-YACHT.]
OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.
BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
No. II.
CHAMPLAIN AND THE IROQUOIS.
It was a long while ago, in 1535, that Jacques Cartier, of France,
discovered the St. Lawrence River. He sailed up the mighty stream to the
Indian village of Hochelaga--a cluster of wigwams at the foot of a hill
which he named Mount Royal, but which time has changed to Montreal.
Seventy-four years rolled away before any other white man visited the
spot. In 1609, Samuel Champlain, an officer in the French navy, sailed
up the great river. He was a brave adventurer, who was ever taking long
looks ahead, and dreaming of what might be in the future--how the
unexplored wilderness of America might become a New France. He had built
houses at Quebec, and was on his way to discover what might be beyond.
He treated the Indians kindly, gave them presents, and made them his
friends. There were many tribes, but all the Indians east of the
Mississippi, and between Lake Superior and the Ohio, were divided into
two great families, the Algonquins and the Iroquois. The Indians along
the St. Lawrence, the Ottawa, and Lake Huron were Algonquins. The
Iroquois lived in New York. They were the Mohawks, Onondagas, Oneidas,
Senecas, and Cayugas. They called themselves the Five Nations. They had
corn fields, and lived in towns. Their language was different from that
of the Algonquins, with whom they were ever at war.
The wild flowers were in bloom in June, 1609, when Samuel Champlain
sailed up the St. Lawrence to join a war party against the Iroquois. He
had resolved to make the Algonquins his allies, and through them, and
with the aid of the Jesuit priests, he would lay the foundations of the
empire of New France.
The war party sailed up the Richelieu, or the St. John, carried their
canoes past the rapids, launched them once more, and came out into the
lake which bears the name of the intrepid explorer. Two Frenchmen
accompanied Champlain, and there were twenty-four canoes, carrying sixty
warriors, who had put on their feathers, and filled their quivers with
arrows.
The woods were full of game, and the lake was swarming with fish, so
that there was no lack of provisions. At daybreak they hauled their
canoes up on the beach, and secreted themselves, so that no Iroquois
might discern them; but when the sun went down they launched their
canoes, and stole on in silence over the peaceful waters.
It was ten o'clock in the evening. They were near Crown Point, when they
heard the dip of other paddles, and beheld a fleet of Iroquois canoes
moving northward. A whoop wilder than the howling of a pack of wolves
rent the air, and the Iroquois pulled for the shore to prepare for
battle. They hacked down trees with their stone hatchets, and built a
barricade.
Both parties danced, sang, howled, and yelled through the night,
boasting of what they would do.
"We will fight you at daybreak," came from one side.
"You are cowards, and don't dare to fight," was the answer.
The morning sunlight streamed up the eastern sky, revealing the outline
of the Green Mountains, and driving the darkness from the wilderness.
The air was calm and peaceful as the Algonquins and Iroquois ranged
themselves for battle. Many times had they met, and the great world had
been no better--nor perhaps any worse--for their fighting; but this was
to be a momentous conflict, affecting the welfare of the people of
America through all succeeding ages.
Champlain put on a steel breastplate, and an iron casque to protect his
head, with a plume waving from the burnished metal, buckled on his
sword, loaded his arquebuse, or gun with a bell-shaped muzzle, putting
in four balls. The other two Frenchmen put on their breastplates and
loaded their guns, but all three kept themselves concealed from the
Iroquois.
The Iroquois had shields of hide stretched on hoop for defensive armor.
Like the Algonquins, they had bows, arrows, and tomahawks.
The Algonquins were only sixty-four, while the Iroquois were more than
two hundred. In splendid order, which was the admiration of Champlain,
the Iroquois advanced to wipe out the Algonquins at a blow.
The Algonquins opened their ranks, and the Iroquois beheld Champlain--a
being in human form, with the sunlight gleaming from his breast. They
were transfixed with astonishment at the apparition. They see him
pointing something at them. There is a lightning flash--a cloud--a roar.
A chief falls dead, and one of the warriors is wounded.
The Iroquois are astounded. For a moment the air is filled with their
arrows. Another lightning flash, a third, and they flee in terror,
running swifter than the deer, to escape from beings which fight with
lightning flashes and hurl invisible thunder-bolts! They were shots
which are still echoing down the ages.
[Illustration: A BATTLE THAT LASTED BUT A MINUTE.]
The battle has lasted a minute, but the Iroquois never will forget it.
More intense their hate of the Algonquins; and it is the beginning of
their implacable enmity to the French: an enmity which is to increase as
time goes on, and which will make them the allies of the English through
the great struggle which is to take place between France and
England--between two races, two languages, two religions, and two
civilizations--for supremacy upon this continent.
Seven years passed. Champlain had been back to France, and had returned.
He was still thinking of the great empire France would one day control
in the Western World. He made his way with a dozen Frenchmen up the
Ottawa, past Lake Nippising, to Lake Huron, then turned south to Lake
Ontario, sailed along the eastern shore with a great war party of
Hurons, to attack their old enemies--the Senecas, tribe of the Iroquois.
It was October. The woods were bright with crimson and magenta hues. The
Iroquois had planted corn and pumpkins, and were gathering the harvest
when the Hurons burst upon them. They fled to their fortified town on
the shore of Lake Canandaigua. It was inclosed by trunks of trees thirty
feet high set in the ground. There was a gallery on which they could
stand and fire or throw stones upon their assailants.
The Iroquois were the terror of every tribe east of the Mississippi. If
Champlain could but conquer them, he would make the power of France felt
to the Gulf of Mexico.
All night long the Hurons worked, building a tower of timber upon which
the Frenchmen could stand, and pick off with their guns those inside the
walls.
Two hundred warriors, with shouts and yells, amid a volley of arrows,
drag the tower into position. The Iroquois swarm upon the walls, and the
fight begins--the Frenchmen firing from the top of the tower, the
Iroquois sending back arrows.
The Hurons light torches, and run up to the palisade with armfuls of dry
sticks, and set them on fire; but the Iroquois run with calabashes of
water, mount the gallery, and extinguish the flames. Each warrior yells
at the top of his voice. They are crazed with excitement. For every
whoop of the Hurons, the Iroquois give an angry yell of defiance. Arrows
and stones fly. The Iroquois drop one by one before the unseen
thunder-bolts from the men in the tower, but seventeen warriors go down
before the arrows of the Iroquois. An arrow wounds Champlain in one
knee, another pierces his leg. For three hours the fight goes on, when
the Hurons, crest-fallen and disheartened, retreat to their camp. They
linger five days, and then retire to their canoes, carrying Champlain on
a litter all the way to Lake Ontario. The Iroquois steal upon them in
their retreat, letting fly volleys of arrows, and yelling like hyenas
over the defeat of the Hurons. They have discovered that the white men
with their guns, after all, are not invincible.
HUMPTY DUMPTY AND THE MAGIC FIRE-CRACKERS.
BY AGNES CARR.
Humpty Dumpty looked very sober one July morning, as he sat on his
mother's door-step, his usually good-natured face screwed into a dozen
wrinkles, and his button-hole of a mouth drawn down at the corners in
the most dismal manner imaginable.
What could be the matter with the merry lad? For he was known far and
wide for his fun and jollity.
So thought Mother Goose as she came up the village street.
"Why, Humpty Dumpty, what has happened to you? have you had another
fall?" asked Mother Goose.
"No, Mother Goose, it is not a fall this time, but something worse, for
I haven't a penny in the world, nor likely to have, and to-morrow is the
Fourth of July, when all the boys and girls will have pistols,
gunpowder, and fire-works, while I shall not even be able to get one
fire-cracker."
"That is a misfortune for a boy, truly," said Mother Goose, "and I wish
I could help you, with all my heart, though I don't see how. But stay! I
had forgotten;" and diving to the bottom of a capacious pocket, she drew
forth a small box, and from it produced three diminutive fire-crackers.
"They are not much," she said, "but such as they are, you are welcome to
them, and at least you will not be crackerless. They were given to me,
years ago, by the Man in the Moon, when he came down on that trip to
Norridge (of which you have learned in your history), and staid
overnight at my house, and were part of a pack presented to him by the
Man in the South, who dislikes anything that suggests fire. He said they
were magic, and you must always make a wish before setting them off."