[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 95. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, August 23, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: WATCHING THE RISE OF THE WATER.]
THE MISTAKE ABOUT HAMP SEE.
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.
"Hamp See a dunce! Well, maybe so; but arter what I've seed, it 'ud take
a smarter school-master than you to make me think so."
It was old Riley Vaughn who spoke, and although old Riley had no
education, his hard sense and sound judgment were respected by all the
men who sat there in the village post-office waiting for the mail. He
had grown prosperous by dint of hard work and good judgment, and his
neighbors were accustomed to ask for and to respect his opinions.
"I did not say precisely that, Mr. Vaughn," replied Mr. Penruddock, the
school-master. "I only said that my best efforts to educate the boy were
rendered futile and nugatory by reason of his inexplicable inability to
grasp and retain so simple a thing as the accidence of the Latin verb."
"That means, in plain English, that he ain't got no grip on what you
teach him, don't it?" asked Riley.
"Yes, that is what I mean," replied the school-master, with something
like a shudder at old Riley's English. "But I will make an honorable
exception in the matter of mathematics. He seems instinctively to grasp
arithmetical principles."
"Yes," drawled old Riley; "one o' your boys tole me Hamp could figger
out how long it 'ud take fer a cistern to git full ef they was three
pipes o' different sizes a-runnin' into it, an' two others o' still
different sizes a-runnin' out."
"Yes, he is expert in the practical applications of arithmetic; and yet
even in arithmetic his standing is not good, because he seems incapable
of mastering the exact terms of the formulæ and rules."
"Well, now, look here," said old Riley, rising and striking the counter
with his big fist; "it jest comes to this here: the boy ain't got no
grip on your words an' things; but he's got a good grip on idees an'
principles, an' it's my belief that's the inside o' sense. I don't want
to be unnecessarily offensive, but you an' all school-masters like you
ought to teach parrots. They don't want no idees; they jest want the
words, an' that's your notion o' learnin'. That's the trouble o' this
here country down here: men learn words, an' kin make speeches, but they
can't do nothin'. Now I've seed that boy Hamp See do what nary a man in
this county could do. I bought the fust reapin'-machine as was ever seed
in these parts, an' when it come it was all to pieces, an' packed in
boxes. I sent one arter another fer all the blacksmiths an' wheelwrights
an' carpenters hereabouts to set the thing up, an' I'm blest ef one on
'em could make out which end o' the thing was foremost. Not one on 'em
could put any two pieces together. That 'ere boy hung around all the
time, with his forred creased up like, an' finally he says to me, says
he, 'Mr. Vaughn, let me try.' 'Well, try,' says I; 'an' ef you git her
together, I've got a five-dollar bill fer you.' Maybe you won't believe
it, but afore noon that very day that there reaper was a-reapin' wheat
like a dozen hands. The boy jest seed right into the thing. Now I say ef
he's a dunce, the sooner most people in these here parts loses their
senses an' gits to be dunces, the better 'twill be for all concerned."
And with that old Riley stalked indignantly out of the post-office.
Notwithstanding all that old Riley could say, however, public opinion
was against Hamp See. It was certain that he was dull in his lessons. He
could not keep up with Mr. Penruddock's classes, and instead of studying
his Latin verbs, he was perpetually interrupting the school by asking
Mr. Penruddock to explain things like thunder and lightning, and the
presence of shells in the rocks on the mountain, and the curious ways
that plants have of taking care of themselves--things which had no
relation to the work of the school. It was agreed that Riley Vaughn
could not know anything about education, because he was not himself
educated. It was even said--and this came to Riley's ears--that he was
prejudiced against education.
Even Hamp's mother was discouraged. Hamp was always "pottering," she
said, instead of attending to his books.
"Why," she said, "he's been fooling with a spring up on the hill back of
the house the whole season through. He's laid pipes to bring the water
down here, and now he's turned the whole house into a mill." Then she
would show her visitor what Hamp had done. He had constructed an
ingenious water-wheel with which to make the most of the power afforded
by the spring, and had set it at a variety of tasks. A stretch of line
shafting passed under the floor of the house, and bands were passed
through the floor to the churn and the sewing-machine, and even the
sausage-chopper could be attached at will. "I don't deny that it's
handy, and saves work," said his mother. "And now he's made a sort of
fan in the dining-room, and has set that going too, so that it keeps the
flies off the table. If we had a baby in the house, I believe he'd make
the water rock the cradle. But it's discouraging about his studies. Mr.
Penruddock is in despair, and says he don't know what is to be made of
the boy."
The summer proved to be a very dry one, and the gardens especially
suffered for water. When the people began to complain, Hamp had an idea.
He always had an idea when an emergency arose. He went into his mother's
garden and worked all day, digging a trench down the middle, and making
little trenches at right angles to the main one, so that each bed was
surrounded by them, and the larger beds crossed as well. He was very
careful to keep all these trenches on one level. When he had finished,
he laid a drain from his water-wheel to the main trench, so that the
waste water, after turning the wheel, was carried into the garden and
emptied into the trench. Little by little the main trench filled; then
the water trickled into the smaller trenches, and as the spring from
which it came was a never-failing one, the garden was supplied with
water throughout the dry, hot summer, and such a garden nobody in that
region had seen that season.
People said that Hamp See certainly was a handy sort of boy; but they
were sure to add, "It's a pity he is so dull."
One day old Riley Vaughn was offering extravagant prices for horse,
mule, or ox teams to haul stone. He had taken a contract to supply from
his quarry the stone for the railroad bridge over Bushy Run, and now the
time for delivery was near at hand, and no teams could be had. All the
horses were at work on the crops, and it began to appear that old Riley
must either lose money on the contract by hiring horses and mules and
teamsters at ruinous prices, or forfeit the contract itself. He tried in
every direction to get mules and wagons, offering twice the usual wages,
but still he could get very few. He was in real trouble, with a loss of
several thousands of dollars threatening him.
One day Hamp, who knew what trouble Riley was in, went down to the
creek, and, cutting several twigs, began setting them up at a distance
from each other, and sighting from one to the other. The few teamsters
who were at work watched him curiously, but could not make out what he
was doing. He went up the creek with his sticks, moving one of them at a
time, and always carefully sighting from one to another, or rather from
one over another to a third. In this way he worked up to the quarry,
which was immediately on the creek, nearly a mile above the point where
the bridge was to be built.
When he had done, he walked back, examining the banks as he went; then
he presented himself before Riley Vaughn.
"Mr. Vaughn," he said, "I've an idea that will help you out of your
difficulty."
"Will it hire teams to haul stone?" asked Riley.
"No; but it will enable you to haul stone without teams."
"If it will-- Well, let me hear what it is," said Riley, changing his
purpose while speaking.
"Raft the stones down," said Hamp.
"Now look a-here, Hamp See," said old Riley, "I've stood up fer you, an'
said you wa'n't no dunce when everybody else said you was; but this here
looks as ef they was right an' I was wrong. How in natur' kin I raft
stone down a creek that ain't got more'n six inches o' water in it,
a-bubblin' around among the stones of the bottom?"
"Well, you see," said Hamp, "I've levelled up from here to the quarry,
and there's only two feet fall, or a little less, and the banks are
nowhere less than five feet high; and so, as there's a good deal more
water running down in a day than anybody would think, it's my notion to
build a temporary dam just below the bridge--you've enough timber and
plank here to do it with two hours' work of your men--building it, say,
six feet high, there where the banks are closest together. Before noon
to-morrow the water will rise to the top of the dam, and run over. When
it does, you'll have six feet of water here, and four feet at the
quarry, and your men can push rafts down as fast as they can load them."
"How do you know there's only two foot fall?" asked old Riley, eagerly.
"I've levelled it," said Hamp.
"That is, you figgered it out with them sticks?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure you've got the right answer?" asked the old man, wild with
eagerness.
"Perfectly sure. You see, it's simple. I plant my sticks--"
"Never mind about how you do it; I can't understand that ef you explain
it; but look me in the eyes, boy. This thing means thousands o' dollars
to Riley Vaughn ef you've got your answer right. I kin understand that
much; an' ef you've worked out this big sum right for me, I'll choke the
next man that says you're a dunce jest 'kase you don't take kindly to
old Penruddock's chatterin' sort o' learnin'. I'll do it, or my name
ain't Riley Vaughn, an' that's what I've been called for nigh onto
fifty-five year now."
Old Riley was visibly excited. He called all his men to the place
selected, and set them at work building the dam, while Hamp looked on,
and occasionally made a suggestion for simplifying the work. The dam was
finished at three o'clock in the afternoon, and at six o'clock the water
had risen two feet six inches, while the back water had passed the
quarry.
"There!" said Hamp; "that proves my work. The water is level, of course,
as far up as back water shows itself, and we have six inches of back
water at the quarry to two feet six inches at the dam: so the fall is
two feet."
"It looks so," said Riley, who was also eagerly watching the rise of the
water. The workmen had gone home, all of them convinced that this
attempt to back the water a mile up the creek was the wildest
foolishness; but old Riley and Hamp waited and watched.
"It doesn't rise so fast now," said Riley.
"That's because it has a larger surface; but it still rises, and the
surface won't increase much more now, as there's a steep place just
above the quarry, and it can't back any further up."
The two waited and watched. Midnight came, and the measurement showed
three feet six inches depth at the dam. Still they waited and watched.
At six o'clock in the morning the depth was four feet two inches. Then
Riley sent a negro boy to his house with orders to bring back "a big
breakfast for two." At seven o'clock the breakfast arrived, and the
measurement showed four feet three inches and a half.
"It's a-risin' faster agin," said Riley.
"Yes; the level is climbing straight up the bluff banks now, and not
spreading out as it rises," said Hamp.
At nine o'clock the depth was four feet eight and a half inches, and the
men at the quarry had a raft ready, and were beginning to load it. Ten
o'clock brought four feet eleven inches of water, and at noon there were
five feet and four inches.
"I've missed it a little," said Hamp. "I said the water would run over
the dam by noon, and it has still eight inches to rise before doing
that."
"Well, that sort o' a miss don't count," said Riley. "You've worked the
sum out right anyhow, an' the water's deep enough for raftin', an' still
a-risin'. It'll go over the dam in two or three hours more, an' I'll do
what I said: I'll choke any man 'at says John Hampden See's a dunce or
anything like it. An' that ain't all," said the old man, rising and
striking his fist in the palm of his hand. "They've been a-sayin' that
ole Riley Vaughn didn't vally edication; now I'll show 'em. I'm a-goin'
to make this dam a permanent institution. I'm a-goin' to build Vaughn &
See's foundry an' agricultooral implement factory right down the creek
there, an' put a big lot o' improved machinery in it; an' I'm a-goin' to
send my pardner, John Hampden See, off next week to get the rest o' his
edication where they sell the sort o' edication as is good fer him--not
a lot o' words, but principles an' facts. You tell your mother you're
a-goin' to New York right away, boy, an' 'at ole Riley Vaughn's a-goin'
to foot all the bills outen your interest in the comin' factory. You'll
study all sorts o' figgerin' work an' machine principles in the big
school in New York what's called the School o' Mines, an' then you'll go
to all the big factories an' things."
This scheme was carried out. Hamp spent three years in study, and
returned an accomplished mechanical engineer. He went into the factory
as old Riley's partner, and his work has been to improve machinery and
processes. The firm own many patents now on things of his invention, and
the factory is the centre of a prosperous region, in which Mr. Hampden
See is an especially respected citizen.
KNOTS.
BY LIEUTENANT WORTH G. ROSS.
There are many knots used by sailors that would prove of good service to
people on shore if they only knew how to make and apply them. Boys on a
farm can put to excellent advantage these simple contrivances when they
have to rely upon their own resources in the use of ropes and small
lines. On shipboard there is a great variety of knots, hitches, bends,
splices, etc., but the larger portion of these can only be adapted to
the particular requirements of a vessel, many of them having a special
duty to perform. The chief virtue of a knot is to hold well and be
easily cast off.
There are three parts to a rope besides the ends: the _standing part_,
which is the part leading from the end made fast; the _running part_,
which is the part used or hauled; and the _bight_, which is the curve of
the rope.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
[Illustration: FIG. 3.]
_A square or reef knot._--First make a plain overhand knot as in Fig. 1.
Take the uppermost end _b_, place it over and under the part _a_, and
draw the ends tightly. Then it will appear as in Fig. 2. If you pass the
ends in a contrary direction, you will make what sailors call a _granny_
knot, which is a term of ridicule to the green hands, who often tie them
through mistake. A story is told that a sea-captain, who had on board of
his packet a number of passengers, and was continually missing from his
well-stocked larder some of his choicest bits, concluded to set a trap,
and catch the thief. He was uncertain whether the latter was among the
sailors or passengers, so he secured his pantry door with a piece of
rope, and made a _granny_. The next day he found a square knot in its
place, and so traced the culprit to his crew, knowing that a passenger
would naturally have tied the former over again. The square knot is used
mostly in tying reef points, and can be easily undone. Now if you want a
knot that will not slip in doing up bundles with twine, take another
turn as in Fig. 3.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.]
[Illustration: FIG. 5.]
[Illustration: FIG. 6.]
A _bowline_ is one of the best knots in use, and can be applied in many
different ways. Lay the parts together as in Fig. 4. Then curl the part
_a_ over _b_, bringing the end up through the loop as in Fig. 5. This
little twist must be acquired by practice. Now carry _b_ around and
under _a_, passing it down through the loop as in Fig. 6. Here you have
a knot that is perfectly secure, and will not slip. A man can sit in the
bight (_c_), and be hoisted to any height with safety; and if you want
to lead an ox, a calf, or a horse, you can pass the bowline around his
neck for a temporary halter, without any danger of choking in case of a
sudden prance. This is the most important knot, and can be used in more
situations than any other, and is always readily undone. It is very
handy in making fast a boat's painter, and in tying fish-lines to
sinkers.
[Illustration: FIG. 7.]
[Illustration: FIG. 8.]
[Illustration: FIG. 9.]
[Illustration: FIG. 10.]
By means of two _half-hitches_ (Fig. 7) one can secure with the end of a
rope almost anything. When the same hitch is made around a spar it is
called a _clove-hitch_ (Fig. 8). A fisherman once had a daughter for
whose hand there were two suitors--a sailor and a landsman. The father
of the maiden was in a quandary which of the young men to choose for her
future husband, as they both seemed to be equally attractive; so one day
he summoned them to his side, and gave each a long cord, saying that the
one who made the greatest number of overhand knots (Fig. 1) in the least
time should be accepted. They started to work in good earnest, the
landsman drawing his long ends carefully through the loops, while the
sailor rapidly slipped small half-hitches over his thumb as in Fig. 9,
and when he had used up his cord in this way, passed the end through all
the hitches, and quickly drew it out with the effect seen in Fig. 10, to
the astonishment of his rival, who gave up the contest in despair.
[Illustration: FIG. 11.]
[Illustration: FIG. 12.]
If you have a very long rope and wish to shorten it, the best way to do
is to make a _sheep-shank_, which will never slip, no matter how taut
the strain may be. Lay the parts as in Fig. 11, and then take
half-hitches over the bights as in Fig. 12.
[Illustration: FIG. 13.]
[Illustration: FIG. 14.]
[Illustration: FIG. 15.]
A _true-lovers' knot_ is only useful between sailors and their
sweethearts. It has the peculiar charm of foretelling the feelings of
the one you love. Place your cord or ribbon as in Fig. 13. Then put your
fingers down through the loop _a_, and catch hold of the bight at _b_ as
in Fig. 14. Now withdraw your hand, carrying the bight along, and you
will have the two knots as they appear in Fig. 15. After this, conceal
them with your hand, and ask your fair friend to select one cord from
each side and pull. If the knots separate, your hopes have been drawn
asunder, but if they remain together, your future prospects are assured.
Thus _a_ and _b_ would draw them apart.
[Illustration: FIG. 16.]
[Illustration: FIG. 17.]
There is a favorite little trick called a _Tom-fool's knot_. It amounts
only to a sleight-of-hand, and must be made very deftly to be effective.
First hold the cord by the parts _a_ and _b_ as in Fig. 16. Then pass,
with the forefinger and thumb of the right hand, the part _c_ under _d_
and up through the loop. With the left hand pass _d_ over _c_ down
through the loop, after which you will have the knot represented in Fig.
17, which can be at once drawn apart by the ends _e_ and _f_.
[Illustration: FIG. 18.]
[Illustration: FIG. 19.]
A _breastknot_ is only an ornament. It can be tied with ribbon, and
makes a very pretty bow, or can be used by the ladies as a frog for a
sacque. It consists, first, of three half-hitches overlapping each other
as in Fig. 18. Interweave the part _a_ under _b_ and over _c_; _b_ over
_a_ and under _d_. Then draw out the bight _a_ over _e_, and the bight
_b_ over _f_, when we will have the knot as in Fig. 19.
[Illustration: FIG. 20.]
If you wish to fasten together the ends of two ropes on which there is
to be considerable strain, form them in the shape of a _becket-hitch_ as
in Fig. 20.
[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2.]
TIM AND TIP;
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.
BY JAMES OTIS,
AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," ETC.
CHAPTER IV.
TIM'S START IN LIFE.
During the first day of Tim's stay at the Simpson farm he was careful to
help in every kind of work, and many were the praises he won from Mrs.
Simpson, who held him up as an example to Sam, until that young man
almost felt sorry he had brought him there.
At night Tim went with Sam for the cow, and here it was that Tip made a
most miserable failure, so far as showing that he was a valuable dog was
concerned.
Sam, remembering how easily the dog had found the cow the night before,
wanted to wait by the bars, and let Tip go in and bring her out, and Tim
was obliged to tell him that his pet had not been trained to do that.
Then Sam put on an injured air, as if his mistake had come from
something Tim had said, rather than being an idea from his own rather
thick head.
That night the boys and the dog went again to Mr. Coburn's store; not
because Tim proposed to spend any of his two dollars, but because there
was a great fascination about the place for Sam. He delighted to lounge
around there at a time when he ought to have been in bed, listening to
the conversation of older loafers, believing he was gaining wisdom and
an insight into the ways of the world at the same time.
On that particular night there were not as many loafers present as
usual, and the conversation was so dull that Mr. Coburn found plenty of
time to question Tim as to every little particular about himself.
Tim saw no reason why he should gratify the store-keeper's curiosity,
and perhaps let some one know his story who would think it his duty to
send information to Captain Babbige, so he contented himself by simply
saying that he had come there in the hope of getting some work to do.
"Want to work, do yer?" asked a stout man with a very red face and gruff
voice, who had been listening to the conversation.
"Yes, sir," replied Tim, a trifle awed by the gruffness of the voice.
"What can you do?" and the red-faced man now turned to have a better
view.
"'Most anything, sir."
"Where are yer folks?"
"My father an' mother are dead," said Tim, sadly, as he stooped to pat
Tip's head in a loving way.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN PRATT MAKES TIM AN OFFER.]
"Well, now, see here," and the man took Tim by the arm, as if he was
about to examine his muscle. "I'm the captain of a steamboat that runs
out of the city, and I want just such a boy as you are to work 'round at
anything. I'll give you three dollars a month, and find you. What do you
say to it? Will you come?"
Tim was not exactly certain what the gruff-voiced man meant when he said
he would pay him so much money and "find him," and he hesitated about
answering until he could understand it.
Mr. Coburn thought it was the wages that prevented a speedy acceptance
of the brilliant offer, and he hastened to show his friendliness to the
captain by saying:
"Such offers as them don't grow on every bush, sonny, an' you had better
take it. I've known Captain Pratt a good many years, an' I know he will
treat you just as if he was your father. Three dollars is a good deal of
money for a little shaver like you."
Tim looked at Sam for a moment doubtfully, and then he thought of what
Mr. Simpson had said about his remaining at the farm.
"Can I take Tip with me?"
"Oh, that's your dog, is it? He hain't a very handsome one, but I
suppose you can find a chance for him somewhere on the boat. Yes, you
can take him."
"Then I'll go with you."
"All right. I shall start from this store to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock. Will you be here?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tim, and then he beckoned Sam to go out. He had made
up his mind suddenly, and now that it was too late to draw back, he
wanted to talk the matter over, and hear what Sam had to say about it.
There was no need for him to have feared that Sam did not look with
favor upon the plan, for before they were out of sight of the loungers
in the store that young man burst out in an envious tone:
"Well, you are the awfulest luckiest feller I ever heard of! Here you've
gone an' got a chance to run a steamboat, where you won't have anything
to do but jest sail 'round wherever you want to. I wish it was me that
was going."
If Tim had been in doubt before as to the wisdom of the step he was
about to take, he was perfectly satisfied now that Sam was so delighted
with it, and he began to think that perhaps he had been fortunate.
Mr. Simpson did not seem to think the opening in life which had been so
suddenly discovered for Tim was so very brilliant, and Mrs. Simpson
actually looked as if she felt sorry. But as neither of them made any
objection to it, or offered the boy a home with them, there was nothing
to prevent him from carrying out the agreement he had made.
At a very early hour on the following morning Tim was up and dressed.
Sam's glowing pictures of the happy life he was about to lead had so
excited him that he was anxious to begin it at once, and his sleep had
been troubled by dreams of life on a steamboat under all kinds of
possible and impossible circumstances.
Mr. Simpson gave him twenty-five cents as a nest-egg, to the fortune he
was about to make, and when Mrs. Simpson packed a generous lunch for
him, he choked up so badly that it was only with the greatest difficulty
he could thank her for her kindness.
"Be a good boy, and never do anything to be ashamed of," was the good
lady's parting charge, and he answered:
"I'll try hard, so's you sha'n't be sorry you was so good to me."
Sam walked toward the store with him, while as lonely and envious a
feeling as he ever knew came over him as he thought of all the things
Tim would see, simply because he had neither home nor parents, while he,
who had both, was obliged to remain where he could see nothing.
"I wish it was me that was goin'," he said, with a sigh of envy.
"If I had as good a home as you've got I wouldn't want to go away,"
replied Tim, gravely; and yet Sam had talked so much about the charms of
the life he was so soon to lead, that he had already begun to look upon
himself as a very fortunate boy, and was impatient to begin his work at
once.
The walk to Mr. Coburn's store was not a long one; and although they
were there fully half an hour before the time agreed upon, they found
Captain Pratt ready and waiting for them. In fact, it seemed almost as
if he feared his new boy, however unimportant the position he was to
occupy, would not keep the agreement he had made.
"I'm glad to see you on hand early, for it's a good sign," and the
captain's face was wreathed in what he intended should be a pleasing
smile, but which really was an ugly grimace.
Tim hardly knew what reply to make, for that smile caused him to feel
very uncomfortable; but he managed to say that he would always try to be
on time, and the captain, in the excess of his good nature, gave him
such a forcibly friendly slap on the shoulder that his teeth chattered.
In order to reach the city from the four corners where Mr. Pratt lived
it was necessary to ride four miles in a carriage, and then take the
steam-cars.
An open wagon was the mode of conveyance, and as the driver was quite
large, while Captain Pratt was no small party, there was no other way
for Tim to ride save curled up in the end, where he could keep a
look-out for Tip, who was, of course, to follow on behind as fast as his
short legs would permit.
When everything was ready for the start, and Captain Pratt was making
some final business arrangements with Mr. Coburn, Sam bade Tim good-by.
"You're awful lucky," he said, as he clambered up on the wagon, where he
could whisper in his friend's ear, "an' if you see any place for me on
the steamer, send word right up--you can tie a note on Tip's collar an'
send him up with it--an' I'll come right down."
Sam would have said more, but the horse started; he nearly tumbled from
his perch, and Tim's journey to the city had begun.
It seemed to Tim that Captain Pratt changed as soon as they started.
Instead of keeping up the idea of fatherly benevolence, which he had
seemed to be full to running over with, he spoke sharply, and did not
try to avoid hurting the boy's feelings.
If, when the wagon jolted over the rough road, the boy's head came in
contact with his arm, which was thrown across the back of the seat, he
would tell him to keep down where he belonged; and if he heard Tim's
heels knocking against the axle, he would scold him for not holding them
up.
Between this sudden change in the kind captain's ways and his fear that
Tip would not be able to keep up with the wagon, Tim was feeling rather
sad when the dépôt was reached.
During the ride on the cars Captain Pratt took very little notice of
Tim, and when they arrived at the dépôt he simply said:
"Here, boy, go down to Pier 43, and tell the steward of the _Pride of
the Wave_ that I have hired you; he'll set you to work."
Tim had no more idea of where Pier 43 was than he had of the location of
the Cannibal Islands, but he started out with a great show of pluck and
a heavy heart.
With Tip following close at his heels, Tim walked some distance without
seeing either wharves or water, and then he inquired the way.
The first gentleman to whom he spoke was a stranger in the city, and
knew no more about it than he did; the second directed him in such a
confusing way that he went almost opposite to where he should have gone;
but the third one gave him the directions so clearly that he had no
further trouble in reaching the desired place.
The _Pride of the Wave_ was not a large boat, and to any one accustomed
to steamers would have seemed very shabby; but to Tim she appeared like
a veritable floating palace, and it was some time before he dared to
venture on board of her.
Finally he saw one of the deck hands, who, despite his dirty clothes,
did not appear to be awed by the magnificence of the boat, and Tim asked
him where he should find the steward.
The man told him to go below, and, with Tip still close at his heels, he
went down the brass-covered stairs to the cabin, which was lined with
berths on either side, wondering at all he saw, until he almost forgot
why he was there.
He was soon startled out of this state of wonderment, however, by
hearing a gruff voice shout, "Now, then, youngster, what do _you_ want?"
"I want to see the steward," replied Tim, in a voice which could hardly
be heard.
"I'm the steward. Now what else do you want?" replied the party who had
spoken first, and who was a little, old, rather pleasant-faced man, with
a voice about six sizes too large for his body.
Tim repeated the captain's words as nearly as he could remember them,
and the steward looked him over carefully with just the faintest show of
pity on his face.
"You don't look as if you'd stand it very long to work for the captain
of this boat; but that's none of my business. Whose dog is that?"
"That's Tip: he's mine."
"You'd better take him ashore. The captain ain't over and above fond of
dogs, and he won't be likely to fall in love with one as ugly as that."
"But he told me I could find a place for him somewhere on the boat,"
said Tim, quickly, alarmed even at the suggestion that he part with Tip.
"Did he tell you so before or after he hired you?"
"Before I agreed to come he said I could keep Tip with me," replied Tim,
wondering at the question.
"Then he'll forget he ever said so; and if you think anything of the
dog, you'd better leave him on shore."
"But I can't," cried Tim, piteously, his eyes filling with tears. "Tip's
the only relation I've got, and there's no place where he could go."
Tim's distress touched the man's heart evidently, for he said, after a
moment's thought: "Then you must find some place on board where the
captain won't be likely to see him, for he would throw him overboard in
a minute if he took the notion. Come with me."
The steward led the way to the bows of the boat, where the freight was
stored, and after looking about some time, pointed out a little space
formed by some water barrels.
"You'd better tie him in there for a while, and then if you are going to
stay very long on the boat, give him away."
"But the captain said I might keep him with me," cried Tim, fearing to
leave Tip in so desolate a place.
"Well"--and now the steward began to grow impatient--"you can try
keeping him with you if you want to run the risk, but I promise you the
captain will make quick work of him if he sees him."
Tim hesitated a moment, and then stooping down, he kissed Tip on the
nose, whispering to him, "I wouldn't leave you here if I could help it,
Tip; but be a good dog, and we'll have it fixed somehow pretty soon."
Tip licked his master's face in reply, but did not appear to understand
the command to be a good dog; for when the rope was put around his neck
he began to howl dolefully, and his cries went straight to Tim's heart,
inflicting as much pain as a blow on his flesh.
With the tears dropping very fast from his eyes, Tim tied Tip in the
narrow place which was to serve him as home, at least until Captain
Pratt's intentions concerning him could be known, and then returned to
the cabin as the steward had told him.
But as he started to go, Tip looked up at him so piteously, uttering a
whine that sounded in Tim's ears so sad, that he ran back, knelt down by
his dumb friend, and kissed him over and over again, saying, as he did
so: "Do be good, Tip. You don't know how bad it makes me feel to have to
leave you here, an' I'd do anything in the world to have you go with me
every step I take; but you've got to stay here, Tip, an' I've got to
leave you."
Then as the dog whined again, he cried, passionately, "Oh, what lonesome
things we are, Tip! an' we ain't got anybody but each other in all this
wide world"; and with both arms around Tip's neck, he gave way to a
perfect flood of tears. "Now _do_ be good, Tip, an' don't make me feel
so bad," he said, as he wiped his eyes on the dog's head, and prepared
once more to leave him.
It seemed almost as if the dog understood what his master had said, for
he stopped whining, and made no sound, but kept wagging his little stump
of a tail until Tim did not dare to look at him any longer.
He turned resolutely away, and, with eyes still blinded with tears,
walked down into the cabin, where he was soon busily engaged in the not
very pleasant occupation of cleaning knives.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
THE FLAMINGO.
The flamingo is a beautiful inhabitant of all marshy regions in the
tropics. It is found in great numbers in South America and the West
Indies, and in Africa, Southern Asia, and China. It is a bird of
wondrous beauty. It has a slender, gracefully formed body, long thin
legs, and a very long, flexible neck. When it stands erect, its neck
stretched in the air, its head is fully six feet from the ground.
The feathers on the body of the flamingo are white, delicately tinted
with rose-color. Its wings, which are very large, are of the most
brilliant scarlet, and the long quills are black. It is a very sociable
bird, and is always seen in flocks of several hundred. The appearance of
a flock of flamingoes, as described by travellers, is one of startling
magnificence. Seen from afar, wading or swimming in the inlets of
salt-marshes--for the flamingo loves best to keep near the
sea-coast--one would think that an immense army of red-coated soldiers
was encamped there, instead of a flock of harmless, defenseless birds.
In South America the flamingo is called "the soldier-bird" by the
natives, and Humboldt, the great German traveller and naturalist,
relates a very amusing story, which he gives as an actual occurrence,
illustrating the fitness of this name. A new township of Angostura had
been formed; but the inhabitants were scarcely settled in their new
homes when, one morning, a wild cry of alarm spread through the little
village that an immense body of men in red garments, probably hostile
Indians, was advancing. Such weapons as were at hand were hastily
seized, and all the men rushed out to defend their homes. Suddenly the
supposed hostile army rose in the air, and forming a long line of
flashing scarlet against the clear blue sky, took its course in the
direction of the great salt-marshes around the mouth of the Orinoco.
Naturalists have encountered great difficulty in their attempts to study
the habits of the flamingo in its native haunts, for it is a very shy
and cautious bird, and no flock is ever found without a sentinel posted
to give notice of the approach of danger. This is usually the largest,
and probably the oldest and wisest, bird of the flock. At the least
sound it lifts its large head as high in the air as the long neck will
allow, and looks about on every side. If any boat or hunter is seen, the
whole flock, with loud screechings, instantly vanishes among the tall
water-grasses.
When the flamingo sleeps it draws one leg up among its breast feathers,
and bending its neck backward, rests its head on the middle of its back,
with the beak erect in the air or buried in its wing. It is a graceful,
rapid swimmer, and flies easily, stretching its long neck before and its
legs behind, like the crane and stork. Its nest is described by those
naturalists who have been fortunate enough to see it as an immense heap
of mud and water-grasses in the depths of some solitary swamp, where the
mother bird broods patiently for thirty days on her two glistening white
eggs. When the little ones are hatched they take to the water
immediately, and swim about as lively as young ducks; but they are not
strong enough to fly for some months, and not until they are three years
old do they attain the full magnificence of their scarlet plumage.
[Illustration: A FLAMINGO AND HIS ENEMY THE OCELOT.]
The harmless and peaceful flamingo has many enemies besides man. Beasts
of prey are prowling abroad at night, and pounce upon these birds while
they are sleeping in their marshy homes. In the great South American
swamps the ocelot is one of its most formidable foes. The ocelot is a
very small member of the panther family, and is found in Mexico and all
through the American tropics. It is a tawny-colored creature, covered
with glistening black markings. It has the same habits as other members
of its family, spending the day asleep in some secluded thicket, and
roaming the forests at night and early dawn in search of birds and small
animals.
[Illustration]
BIG BOY AND LITTLE MAMMA.
Mamma, my dear, if a robber should come,
A terrible robber, one might, you see,
I'd frighten him off with my sword and drum,
And you would be perfectly safe with me.
And if you and I in a gloomy wood
Should meet a bear as we walked some day,
With my bow and arrows, like Robin Hood,
I would drive the fierce old bear away.
But now I am tired, and sleepy too,
And I wish my mamma would lift me down.
There's a laughing look in her eyes of blue,
As they answer her boy's so big and brown.
She feels on her lips his coaxing touch,
She clasps him fast in her loving hold,
And she murmurs, I'll never fear robber much,
Unless he should steal this heart of gold.
KINGS AND QUEENS OF ENGLAND.
BY CLARA SAVILLE.
1066.--William the First, "The Conqueror," came over the sea from
Normandy;
Matilda of Flanders, his Queen, worked the far-famed Bayeux
Tapestry.
1087.--William Rufus built Westminster Hall, London Bridge, and added
to the Tower;
But had no gracious Queen to share his throne and power.
1100.--Henry I., "Beauclerc," his Saxon subjects' favor strove to gain;
Matilda of Scotland, his first wife, then Adelicia of Louvain.
1135.--Stephen, his crown to gain, cost England many precious lives;
Matilda of Boulogne--her abbey at Feversham no longer survives.
1154.--Henry II., Fitz Empress, first of the Plantagenet line of Kings;
Eleanor of Aquitaine, of whose beauty "the troubadour" sings.
1189.--Richard I., the first King who fought in Palestine;
Berengaria with him went, Princess of Navarre's royal line.
1199.--John signed the Magna Charta--o'er his crown the great sea rages;
Isabella of Angoulême his Queen, "the Helen of the Middle Ages."
1216.--Henry III. had civil wars, where many of his people fell;
Eleanor of Provence his Queen, surnamed "La Belle."
1272.--Edward I., the last King to hold the Crusader's lance;
Eleanora of Castile first wife; then Marguerite of France.
1307.--Edward II., murdered monarch of a kingly race;
Isabella, "the Fair," from France, most beauteous of face.
1327.--Edward III., to claim his rights in France, lost many brave men
slain;
Philippa of Hainault, his loving wife, from Belgium's fertile
plain.
1377.--Richard II., feeble King, to Bolingbroke his crown he did resign;
Anne of Bohemia, then Isabella of France, Queen at the age of
nine.
1399.--Henry IV. obtained a usurper's crown through many cruel deeds;
Joanna of Navarre, a lovely lady, long imprisoned in the Castle
of Leeds.
1413.--Henry V. carried war again to the sunny land of France;
Katherine of Valois, not long a Queen, whose beauty did entrance.
1422.--Henry VI.'s reign was troubled by the wars of York and Lancaster;
Margaret of Anjou's varied life was one of sorrow and disaster.
1461.--Edward IV.'s stormy reign first learned the art of printing;
Elizabeth Wydville, an English widow, won the heart of this King.
1483.--Edward V., whose reign was the shortest in English history;
The death of this King and his brother was for some time a
mystery.
1483.--Richard III., last of the Plantagenets, cruel King and dreaded
hater;
Anne Neville, hopeless Queen, daughter of Warwick the King-maker.
1485.--Henry VII.'s coronation united the red and white roses,
With Elizabeth of York wedded, the flowers were blended in
posies.
1509.--Henry VIII., six Queens had he: Katherine of Aragon and Anne
Boleyn,
Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Katherine Howard, Katherine Parr,
who outlived him.
1547.--Edward VI., gentle, scholarly Prince, who wept to sign an
execution;
His short reign gave future fears to those of the rising
Reformation.
1553.--Mary I. lost many faithful subjects by her fires and her bigotry;
Philip II. of Spain exceeded her in deep designs and cruelty.
1558.--Elizabeth, wise, despotic Queen, last of the line of Tudor;
To crush her sovereign power, Spain sent her great "Armada."
1603.--James I., a Scottish King, of the old Stuart race;
Anne of Denmark, who in dramatic shows displayed much art and
grace.
1625.--Charles I. trouble had with Church and State that led to civil
warfare;
Henrietta Maria of France, whose queenly life was one of toil
and care.
1649.--An interregnum followed, and Oliver Cromwell ruled with power
and strength
O'er England, the "Lord Protector of the Commonwealth."
1660.--Charles II., restored to his forefathers' throne of wealth and
glory;
Catherine of Braganza, with Goa, in Hindostan, in addition to
her dowry.
1685.--James II., whose bigotry and cruelties exiled him from his
native land;
Mary Beatrice of Modena, a beauteous lady, born to command.
1689.--William III., the Prince of Orange, wise statesman and great
general;
Mary II., of the house of Stuart, foundress of Greenwich
Hospital.
1702.--Anne, last of the house of Stuart, celebrated for her victories;
Prince George of Denmark her husband, and admiral of her navies.
1714.--George I., a German Prince, first monarch of the house of Hanover
is seen;
Sophia of Zell his wife, but never crowned in England Queen.
1727.--George II. had fought on German soil, and troubles had with the
"Pretender";
Caroline of Anspach, a Queen of superior talents, grace, and
character.
1760.--George III. lost the American colonies during the longest reign
in English annals;
Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, a lady of the strictest code
of morals.
1820.--George IV., in his reign were numerous inventions;
Caroline of Brunswick, whose woes caused great dissensions.
1830.--William IV., "the Sailor King," had served in England's navy;
Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen, a benevolent, kind, and gentle lady.
1837.--Victoria now reigns, and her people love her dearly;
Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, for whom she mourns sincerely.
UNCLE HARRY'S FIRST PANTHER.
BY ALLAN FORMAN.
"Say, Uncle Harry, you've shot 'most everything; did you ever shoot a
panther?" inquired Charlie, as he looked up from the book he was
reading.
"Of course he has," interrupted Tom. "Don't you remember the skin he has
in his room?"
"That panther was nothing to my first," said Uncle Harry, with a laugh.
"Tell us about it," pleaded Charlie, as he drew his chair closer to his
uncle's.
Uncle Harry laughed again good-naturedly, and commenced as follows:
It was the summer your father got married that I took my first trip into
the Adirondacks. I went up to Martin's, hired a guide, and we started
off for Little Tupper Lake, where we were to camp. We selected a
camping-place at the head of the lake, where there was a good spring of
water, and soon had our tent up, and the camp fixed. Certain bear and
panther tracks around the spring did not add to our sense of security;
but the guide assured me that they would not come into camp in the
daytime, and that at night the dog would give warning. For the first
three or four days all went well; we shot a deer, caught plenty of
trout, and had a good time generally. But one afternoon, about four
o'clock, Hank Sweeny, my guide, came to me with the announcement that
the dog was gone.
"Chawed up his rope, and skedaddled," as Hank expressed it. "I reckon he
must 'a smelled that thar panther that was to the spring last night.
He's death on panthers."
"What are you going to do?" I inquired, anxiously.
"Well, I reckon I'll fetch some more wood into camp, so as you can keep
up a fire, then I'll take and row around the lake and up the creek, and
yell for him; he won't go fur," answered Hank.
"Then why not let him come home himself?" I suggested, for I had no
fancy for being left in camp alone; for we had been in camp all the
morning, and Hank had filled my head so full of panther stories that I
trembled at every sound.
"Why, you see, he'd start out for home over on Long Lake ef he got
lost," explained Hank. "And then ef he should tree a panther, he'd set
at the foot of the tree till 1976 ef I didn't call him off. You ain't
afraid to keep camp for an hour or two?" he added.
"O-h-h n-o-o!" I murmured.
For the next few minutes Hank busied himself in collecting a large pile
of pine boughs and dry sticks for the fire. Then he shouldered my light
rifle, and handing me his heavy one, he remarked: "I guess I'll start.
Keep up a good fire, and don't go fur away from it, as the panthers come
close to camp sometimes along the edge of the evening, and climb into a
tree; then when a feller goes under, they drop on him. I'll leave my
heavy rifle for you, for it would give you a better chance if anything
should turn up."
"Hadn't I better go with you?" I ventured.
"And leave the camp alone?" answered Hank, in fine scorn. "Why, that
deer would draw all the cats in the neighborhood. Keep the fire a-going,
and you're all right."
I thought to myself that I would much prefer to be out of the way when
all the cats in the neighborhood came to investigate the deer; but Hank
was in the boat, and I could hear the splash of the oars as he pulled up
the lake. I sat by the fire, with Hank's rifle on my knees, listening as
the sound of his voice calling the dog died away in the distance. I
examined the rifle, and saw that it was loaded; it was one of the old
pattern repeating rifles, and kicked like a mule. I tried to whistle,
but it was a failure. I endeavored to turn my thoughts to something
else, but it was no use. The story of the man who fell asleep beside the
camp fire and was eaten up by a panther, of the other man who had a
panther jump on him from a tree and who lost both eyes in the struggle,
and of various other men who had been killed or wounded by the fierce
animals, were uppermost in my mind. I sat and watched the sunlight fade,
the gold and crimson melt off the fleecy clouds, and the shadows as they
gathered thicker and deeper in the valleys. Except for the occasional
weird and demon-like laugh of the loon far down the lake, everything was
perfectly still, and every sound seemed magnified; the cracking of a
twig seemed the tread of a bear, the buzz of a night beetle, the growl
of a panther. I sat, I don't know how long, till suddenly my heart
almost stopped beating as I heard the steady but stealthy sound of
footsteps on my left. I did not dare to move. At last, with a desperate
exertion, I turned, and there in the crotch of a low tree, about twenty
feet from me, sat an immense panther just ready to spring. It was so
dark that I could just distinguish the outlines of his form, and his two
eyes gleaming like coals of fire. I raised the rifle carefully to my
shoulder. I took aim right between the eyes, fired, and missed, I
supposed, for the beast was in the same position, and I could see his
eyes wink and glare at me vindictively. I shot again, but as before with
no effect. I grew desperate, and fired the whole five shots as rapidly
as I could, and was just reaching for my revolver, when Hank came
rushing up the bank followed by his dog.