Chapter II: Part 2

Another thing that interested the boys was a balsa or raft, made by the Mojaves of the cane-grass which grew in the river-bottoms to the height of fifteen feet. A large bundle bound at the ends with withes would sustain two men. The boys borrowed one of an Indian girl, who was sitting in the shade of a cottonwood prinking herself artistically with an original and intricate pigmentary pattern. Stepping on board, they paddled about the quiet lagoon for some time.

Tiring at last of the sport, they separated, Frank saying that he was going to look over his shot-gun, and, perhaps, go for some quail; and Henry, that he meant to find Clary, and set some lines for catfish.

The younger sergeant failing to find the soldier, selected a line, and procuring some bait, returned alone to the lagoon. On his way he met the Indian girl walking along the sidewalk, an object of admiration and envy to the men and women of her people. Her bronze flesh was ornamented with a lacelike tracery in many tints.

"How exceedingly pretty!" said Henry, in Spanish, a language fairly well understood by the aborigines of the Southwest.

"I, or my paint?" asked the girl.

"The paint is well put on; but I think you look prettiest just after a swim."

"Thank you, señor."

"May I take the balsa again, Indita?"

"Si, señor; and you may keep it; but return the paddle."

"Thank you. I will leave the paddle on the shore."

With this exchange of civilities Henry walked down to the pool. Selecting a lid of a packing-box, he shaped a rude paddle with his pocket-knife. An idea had occurred to him. He wondered if he could not float down the river to the racing-ground, and get a peep at Chiquita and Sancho as they came in victors; for he felt sure no ponies in Arizona could beat them. But the Lieutenant had told the escort not to go to the race. True. But what harm could there be if he kept out of sight; and there must be some bushes or hummocks on the river-bank where he could conceal himself. He determined to try it. If there was no shelter, he could float past, land below, abandon the balsa, and return to town by a circuitous route.

Placing an empty box on the raft for a seat, he took Vic on board, and began paddling out of the lagoon. Speed could not be got out of such a craft. It was simply a convenience for crossing or journeying down the river. The Mojaves, whose village was five miles above La Paz, came down on freshly made balsas every day, but walked home, carrying their paddles.

Snatched by the rippling and undulating current of the murky river, the boy and dog were swept along at a swift rate. By using his paddle vigorously he kept near the shore, until, sweeping around a bend, he saw the steamer _Cocopah_ tied up to the bank, and realized that if he did not quickly work out a piece his sheaf of cane-grass would be carried under her bow. It proved a desperate struggle, and he cleared the steamboat with no space to spare.

He floated swiftly on, and saw half a mile down the shore a crowd of men, mounted and on foot, intently watching something inland. He was approaching the race-course. He made a landing on a sand spit that struck off from an outward curve of the bank, and dragged the balsa out of the water.

The shore rose abruptly from the bar to a height two feet above his head. He lifted and boosted Vic up, and seizing the long tufts of overhanging grass, and thrusting his feet into the loops of willow roots, drew himself to the higher level, and crept into a screen of low bushes.

Peering through the branches Henry saw a straightaway course, parallel to the river, bordered for three hundred yards with the motley crowd of a mining and Indian country. At the northern end of the track was a group of ten ponies.

Eager to obtain an unobstructed view of the race, the boy dashed for a gnarled cottonwood on his left, ordered Vic to lie down at its foot, and swung himself into its branches. Climbing into the top, he found no difficulty in picking out two ponies, a black and a cream-color, and recognizing the property of his brother and himself. In his opinion they were the handsomest animals in the group.

At the fourth signal--a pistol-shot--the ten ponies got away. Down the three-hundred-yard track they sped, and over the last fourth the black and cream-color led by a length, crossing the goal with Sancho half a neck in advance. Of course the little sergeant knew they would beat, and in spite of his sorrow at the loss of the ponies--intensified by this stolen sight of them--he could not refrain from swinging his cap, and uttering a subdued, "Bravo, Sancho! bravita, Chiquita!"

The cheer was promptly answered by a succession of barks at the foot of the tree, and Vic, interpreting the boy's words to mean that she was set free, dashed off at the top of her speed for the race-course, and down its length to where the victors were now held by their dismounted riders. She bounded wildly about them for a few moments, and then, standing still, Henry saw each horse in turn place its nose to the dog's nose. One of the men struck the dog sharply with the loop of his bridle-rein, and as she fled back in the direction of the boy's outlook, he saw them separate from the crowd, and, after a brief consultation, follow her.

Henry, perceiving he was discovered, let himself down from the tree. Texas Dick and Jumping Jack approached.

"Ven acá, muchacho," said the Mexican.

Henry did not stir, and Dick said, in Spanish:

"He does not understand your lingo. I'll try him in English. Come here, boy."

Henry had not disregarded Juan's summons, for any reason, but the remark of Dick gave him an idea. By pretending to be ignorant of Spanish he might learn something that would prove of advantage to him. Accordingly he came promptly forward when Dick spoke.

"From Fort Whipple, ain't yer, youngster?"

"I am."

"D'ye know these critters?"

"The black is my brother's; the light is mine."

"Yer lookin' on 'em up, I s'pect?"

"We shall take them, if we can."

"You see, I was right," continued Dick in Spanish to his companion. "They are here to take these horses."

"Then we'd better collect the prize and our stakes, and leave," replied Juan.

"Where shall we go?" asked Dick. "Arizona is getting uncomfortable for me, and your people across the Mexican line don't love you."

"Valgame Dios, no! Let's cross the river and go to San Diego or Los Angeles."

"Estar bueno. Come with us, youngster," he added, in English; "and, mind ye, keep a still tongue in yer head, or it'll go hard with yer."

Henry followed the men to the head of the race-course, where they received their prizes and the winnings, and withdrew to the river-bank. There they divided the money and held a conference.

"We'd better cross the river to-night and camp at El Rincon until morning, and then strike for Dos Palmas and the coast," said Dick.

"Shall we leave our monte and other stuff in town?" asked Juan.

"No; you stay here and watch the boy, and I'll go back and sell out. Anastacio Barella will buy. Look sharp that the young soldier does not send a message by his dog. I have heard strange stories of her. I will bring down something for our supper."

Dick galloped away, leaving the Mexican and Henry to await his return. As the darkness deepened in the river-bottom the boy's thoughts grew more and more despondent. When he heard the men forming their plans of escape he had thought of sending a message to the Lieutenant by Vic, and his hopes had risen with the prospect of causing the arrest of Dick in town, and the pursuit and capture of Juan at the race-course. But Dick's last caution to his comrade had shattered all. He realized that by his disobedience of what he knew to be the Lieutenant's wishes he had brought disgrace upon himself, and ruined every chance of recovering the ponies.

It was night when Dick returned and reported to his fellow thief that he had made an advantageous sale of their gambling property.

"Now, kid, yer kin slope," said he, addressing the disheartened lad. "Tell th' Liftinint that he can look for us at Hermosilla, on th' other side ther bound'ry. Good-by."

Henry hurried away toward La Paz, with Vic close at his heels. There was no occasion for haste, for he felt that nothing in the town could overtake the lost Sancho and Chiquita. Still he hurried and stumbled along in the darkness.

"Oh, Vicky," said the boy, in his misery, stooping to pat her head, "I ought to be reduced to the ranks, and dishonorably discharged from the service for this. I have done very wrong. I've lost the ponies for good."

The dog licked his hand sympathetically, and then suddenly bounded away, barking, and Henry heard Frank's voice say,

"Why, Tom, here's Vic!"

"Thin Sargint Hinery must be near," said the soldier.

"Yes, I'm here, Frank--and oh, Frank, I'm in such trouble!" And in a curiously jumbled and half-incoherent manner Henry related his afternoon's adventures.

At the conclusion of the recital the three held a consultation as to what was best to be done. Time was precious, and the town was two miles distant.

"Sargints," said Private Tom, "I belave we can do bist by oursilves. You say the grass-boat is close by, Hinery?

"Not far from here, Tom."

"And the thaves are going to camp and cook their supper on the other side?"

"So they said."

"Thin lit's interfere with their arringemints. I think the Liftinint will overlook an 'absince without lave' if we bring in the raskils and the ponies."

The soldier and boys turned, and, bidding Vic keep close to them, hurried to the bar where Henry had left the gift of the Mojave belle. As they were lifting the elastic raft into the water they heard the voices of men on the river, and knew that the horse-thieves were fording the stream.

The Colorado was shoal, having an average summer depth of four feet at La Paz. Clary secured two poles from the river débris lodged on the bar, one for Frank and one for himself. Henry sat on the box in the middle, holding his companions' guns across his lap with one hand, and grasping Vic's collar with the other. The well-filled game-bags were between his feet.

The balsa moved slowly towards the opposite shore and rapidly down stream, the stalwart Irish soldier's feet settling into the loosely bound stems as he poled. Becoming alarmed when he found the water standing above his ankles, he called, in a subdued undertone:

"Sargint Frank, I belave I shall go through this l'aky gondola before we get acrass."

"Take Henry's paddle, Tom. It lies on the right side of the box. Lay it across the reeds and stand on it."

"Ah, sure, that's betther! Kape yer ind a little more up-strame, sargint. We'll steer by the avening-star."

The distance to the western side slowly lessened. A landing could not be selected where all was dark; that must be left to chance. But chance proved kindly, and the balsa lodged against the shore in the still water of a little cove. The three climbed the bank, and soon began to move upstream. They knew that the ponies, having waded most of the way, had not been carried down much by the current, and must have landed far above them. Vic was cautioned to "watch out," for the pursuers depended upon her scent to show them where the ponies left the water.

They had made their way for nearly an hour over a rough and miry river-bottom when the setter paused. She began sniffing the ground to the right and left for a few moments, and then settled to a course, going west for half a mile, and then north, parallel to the river.

"She must be on the trail, Tom," said Frank; "but I do not see why the men went upstream."

"There's an excillint rayson for that, sargint," said Clary. "One of the routes to the coast is from La Paz, and the ford and landing is nearly opposite the town. The thaves have gone to El Rincon, as the landing is called."

The boys and soldier continued to struggle through tangling grass, intertwining bushes, and over uneven ground, until they reached an open space, and saw a light ahead. Bidding Vic drop behind and remain silent, they moved cautiously in its direction, until they came out upon a hard, level, and grassless plat, the river end of the California trail.

Across the level, near a clump of cottonwoods, was a fire where Texas Dick and Jumping Jack were plainly visible cooking their supper. On the side of their fire opposite the river were two saddles, upon which rested their rifles and revolvers. Still farther west the two ponies were picketed and grazing.

Frank told Henry to go to the ponies and remain there with Vic, while he and Clary moved towards the fire. Screening themselves behind tufts and swells, and lastly behind the saddles, they worked across the level, the sound of their movements being covered by the booming and rushing of the great river. When within twenty yards of the fire, and five from the saddles, Private Tom Clary sprang to his feet, aimed his double-barrelled shot-gun at the thieves, and shouted:

"Throw up your arrums!"

At the same moment Frank made a flying leap for the saddles, and seized the rifles and revolvers. Henry was told to come forward and assist his brother in keeping Dick and Juan under the muzzles of their own rifles, while Clary securely bound them. This accomplished, the boys went back for a moment to renew their acquaintance with their little horses. Yes, the chase was over, and their favorites were again in their possession, and it cannot appear strange that the young soldiers went into boyish ecstasies of delight at their good-fortune, embracing, patting, and talking to the ponies, as if they understood all that was said to them.

At last they rejoined Clary at the fire, and the three fell into a discussion of how they were to return to La Paz. Each one felt that it would be impossible to ford the river and yet retain possession of the prisoners. Either of the boys must go on one of the horses or Vic be sent. It was decided to send the setter. A message was written, and after much persuasion Vic was made to understand that she was to swim the Colorado, and struck across for the other shore.

* * * * *

While the boy sergeants were going through these adventures I had remained in La Paz. At retreat roll-call Corporal Duffey had reported "Private Clary absent and unaccounted for," and at Mr. Gray's table the boys were absent from supper.

At first I did not give myself any uneasiness over the absentees, thinking they had miscalculated a distance in their rambles and would soon appear. The Captain and Director of the steamer _Cocopah_ were present, closing the transportation business. When finished, the Captain left to prepare his boat for an early start.

Becoming alarmed at the boys' continued absence, at midnight I began a search for them, and soon learned that Frank and Clary had gone quail-shooting, and that Henry had been seen to paddle out of the lagoon on a Mojave balsa, accompanied by Vic. I did not feel especially anxious concerning the older boy; he and Clary were probably astray, and would turn up safe.

I led the men in a long search beside the river without finding a clew, and returning to Mr. Gray's, sat a long time on the veranda alone, sadly reflecting upon the probable fate of Henry and the absence of Vic. I thought if the boy was simply in trouble, he would have sent our never-failing messenger to me. The fact that he had not done so made me fear the worst. Perhaps the faithful Vic was now watching his stranded body on the shores of the great river.

In the midst of these reflections there scrambled up the steps a wet and bedraggled dog, who dropped at my feet a chip. Carrying her in my arms to my room, I examined her collar, and found a few leaves of a memorandum-book covered with Frank's handwriting.

The news of Vic's arrival with a message spread quickly, and the whole household was gathered in my room when the wet leaves were unfolded and the boys' exploit learned.

"Good! good!" exclaimed the Director. "Come with me to the _Cocopah_. We'll steam across, and get the whole party--boys, soldier, ponies, and scamps. Such boys must have the best transportation on the river."

* * * * *

On the west side of the Colorado Private Tom Clary and the boy sergeants sat by the fire broiling quail, which they seasoned from the supplies of Texas Dick and Juan Brincos, and accompanied by slices of toasted bread from the same source. In the midst of their enjoyment of "quail on toast" a loud "whoof! whoof! whoof!" came across the river.

"Hullo," said Henry, "the old _Cocopah_ is starting for the Gulf mighty early. I should think the pilot would find it difficult to keep off the shores when it is so dark."

The boys could see by the boat's changing lights that her bow was swinging out into the stream, and expected shortly to see her starboard lights as she headed downward. But she seemed to pause with her furnace fires and pilot-lanterns pointing towards them. "Whoof! whoof! whoof!--patter, patter, patter,"--the noise of the steamboat grew louder and louder, until the boys rose from their seats and stared in surprise at the rapidly growing lights.

"I really believe she is coming here," said Frank.

"She is, or she nades a dale of space to turn in," observed Tom Clary.

Presently two tall smoke-stacks separated themselves from the surrounding darkness and appeared high above the campers' heads.

"Ahoy there, boys!" shouted the Captain's voice from the pilot-house.

"Ay, ay, sir!" answered Frank.

"Get ready to come on board! Below, there--ready with the gang-plank! Lower away!"

Down came the plank, and a joyous group of friends walked down to the shore to greet the boys and the soldier.

A little time afterwards the boy sergeants led their ponies on board, and Private Tom Clary escorted the prisoners. The Cocopah cleared away and paddled back to the La Paz side, where Texas Dick and Juan Brincos were turned over to the civil authorities, and Sancho and Chiquita to the escort in Mr. Gray's corral.

Three days later the boys and I took leave of Mr. Baldwin, who was now in charge of the government store-house, and accompanied by Mr. Gray, started for Fort Whipple. Hanging under the hind axle of the ambulance was a ten-gallon keg, and inside was another. We left La Paz at six in the evening and reached Tyson's Wells at ten. Remaining there until four o'clock the next afternoon, we filled the kegs with water, and drove all night, arriving at Hole-in-the-Plain at sunrise. Remaining all day, the animals grazing without water, we made a second night's drive to Black Tanks; and then a third to Date Creek, where we resumed travelling by daylight. It is an old army custom to make night drives in warm weather over long distances between water. The nights of the far West being invariably cool, the strain is less on man and beast.

Two days after our arrival at Whipple the mail brought an order from the Department Commander relieving me from duty in Arizona that I might comply with an order from the War Department detailing me as Military Professor at Oldenu Military Academy. The same mail brought a letter from Colonel Burton, directing that his sons accompany me to San Francisco.

As rapidly as possible preparations were made for our departure. It chanced that Tom Clary's term of enlistment terminated a week before we were to start, and we were glad enough to give so worthy and useful a man free transportation in our ambulance to the coast, and by steamer to San Francisco.

In those days there were no overland railroads. After a two weeks' holiday at the Presidio, the boys, Clary, Vic, and I took the steamer for Panama and New York, Colonel Burton paying Tom's passage in the steerage. More than that; through my influence Clary was appointed to a vacant janitorship in the academy, and when Manuel Perea and Sapoya and the four ponies arrived the following spring he had the care of the animals.

THE END.

THE WAR IN CUBA.

BY T. R. DAWLEY, JUN.

We all know how Columbus thought the world was round, and that by sailing west he could reach Cipango or India, from whence the Europeans formerly received their spices, silks, and other luxuries.

Fired by dreams of stately cities, gold-roofed temples, and spice-laden groves, with kings and princes surrounded by Oriental splendor, Columbus sailed across the Atlantic Ocean. After many days he came to land, which was one of the Bahama Islands, and then he sailed south, and came to another island, so beautiful with birds and flowers and trees and rivers that he said one could live there forever, as "it is the most beautiful island eyes ever beheld." In the fragrance of the woods and sweet-smelling flowers he thought he had reached the spice-perfumed groves of the East India islands, but its strangely painted people of cinnamon hue puzzled him greatly.

This beautiful land was the island of Cuba. After its discovery by Columbus the Spaniards came and took possession of it. They found the people of a simple nature, with strange notions about God and the creation of the universe. As they knew nothing about Christ, they were not Christians, and consequently the Spaniards soon began to look upon them as little better than wild animals. Then we must remember that the Spaniards who came flocking to the islands discovered by Columbus were not only adventurers seeking their fortunes, but were often the criminals from overcrowded jails, and others who could not make an honest living at home. As these people had no idea of working themselves, they made the simple inhabitants work for them. And as there were many of these inhabitants, the Spaniards counted their lives of no value, and not only overworked them, treating them with great cruelty, but killed them out of pure wantonness, just as some boys delight in stoning dogs and killing birds.

There was one good Spaniard, however, who became convinced that it was wrong to make slaves of these poor people and to treat them so cruelly. Becoming a priest, he began by giving his own slaves their freedom, and then he went into the pulpit and preached against the wrong-doings of his countrymen. This man was the good Father Las Casas, who has been called the protector of the Indians. But the good work of this one good man could go but a little way against so many wicked ones. The native inhabitants rapidly disappeared under the cruel treatment of their harsh task-masters, and then negro slaves, a hardier race than the red men, were brought from Africa to take the place of the Indian, in spite of Father Las Casas and his sermons.

So it happens that in the island of Cuba to-day there are none of the Indians left. They have long since disappeared. In their place remain the negroes, who are the descendants of the slaves from Africa, and the white Cubans, who are descended from the Spanish settlers. But owing to the climate, the fertility of the soil and other conditions which surround them, they have grown up to be different men from their Spanish grandfathers.

Now Spain is a land ruled over by a King, and its lands are in the hands of a few fortunate men called counts and marquises, so that the poor people have no land of their own which they may cultivate, and thus earn their living as our country farmers do. Then Spain requires all of her boys to become soldiers, and serve the King, who is now only a boy himself. As the Spanish boys grow up without much education, and never learn of the liberty enjoyed by the people of other countries, they think this is all right. But then the King finds that he has more of these boy soldiers than he can feed, so his ministers say, "Well, there's that rich island across the sea; if our boys want to go there and till the soil, they need not serve as soldiers." So many of the Spanish boys go to Cuba, and often they forget Spain, take a Cuban girl for a wife, and never go home again. And then their children are Cubans with Cuban mothers. Cuba is so near to the United States, these Cuban children often come here, where they learn something about our system of government, and the education and freedom enjoyed by our people. Then they go back and tell their brothers and sisters all about it. This has gone on for a great many years, till these Cubans have become filled with ideas of liberty and self-government. They do not see why they should be ruled by a King who lives so far away, and then they do not see why they should have a King at all. Besides, they say they are taxed a great deal to support this King and his ministers in Spain, and every year more Spaniards come to Cuba, and as these are poor and anxious to work, they occupy all the places which would otherwise be held by the Cubans. Thus there is a jealousy between the Cubans and the new arrivals, who soon begin to regard their cousins born in the island very much as their ancestors regarded the native Indians.

About twenty-eight years ago many of the Cubans got together in the eastern part of the island, and thinking they could throw off the Spanish rule, they armed themselves and went into the mountains, where they fought against the Spanish rule for ten years. At that time the negroes of Cuba were still slaves, their masters buying and selling them as though they were cattle instead of human beings. As these black men were all strong and hardy fellows, the Cubans told them that if they would help them fight they would give them their liberty. Of course they were anxious to become free men, and great many of them joined the white Cubans and fought with them very well. Spain tried hard to put down this insurrection, but found it very expensive to send her soldiers to fight a people among the mountains in their own country. At last, after she had spent a great deal of money and lost a great many of her boy soldiers, she sent her greatest General, Martinez Campos, with full power to treat with the rebellious Cubans. He succeeded in communicating with the revolutionists, and promised them certain reforms in the administration of their affairs. The Cubans wanted self-government, and, among other things, they stipulated that the negroes who had fought with them should be recognized as free men. This did not seem reasonable, because the negroes who had remained faithful to Spain were still slaves, while those who had rebelled were to be rewarded. General Campos agreed, however, and the Cubans laid down their arms. Thus the first successful blow for freedom was struck, and Spain soon passed laws which eventually gave the rest of the negroes their liberty.

There followed some sixteen years of comparative peace, although the Cubans claim that Spain never fulfilled the promises made to them by Martinez Campos. There were several attempts to make war again, but the Cubans appear to have been afraid. They are not a fighting people, like our ancestors, who fought against a tax of threepence on a pound of tea because they considered it unjust. The Cubans wanted to be let alone, and often paid their taxes without complaint. But as Spain still sent her boys as colonists to Cuba, the Cubans found it very hard to compete with these boys, pay their taxes, and make a living. A great many of them left the island and came to this country, where they have made their homes, but always looking across the water, hoping that some day their island would be free from Spanish rule. Some of the Cubans, instead of leaving the island took to the woods and became bandits. Thus things went from bad to worse, until some of the old leaders of the last war thought the time had arrived to strike another blow for the freedom of Cuba.

About one year and a half ago, Maximo Gomez, a soldier who had fought in the ranks and had risen to be a general in the ten years' war, landed on the east end of Cuba. He was shortly followed by Antonio Maceo, a mulatto, who had also a command in the last war. They proclaimed a rebellion against Spain, and called upon all Cubans to join them. It was not long before they had an army. Spain was slow to understand the seriousness of the situation, and declared that it was only a negro uprising which she could easily put down. Of course there were a great many negroes who flocked to the standard raised by Gomez and Maceo, for they knew that it was through the Cubans they had gained their liberty. But the uprising became general throughout the island. Gomez marched his army from the eastern end of the island to the centre, and then invaded Matauzas and Havana provinces. On the way he met the Spaniards several times, but they were unable to check his movements. The old general, Martinez Campos, who had treated with him seventeen years before, tried to stop him in his westward march, and finally failed at Coliseo, in Matauzas province. Then the Spaniards became dissatisfied with their greatest General, for Martinez Campos spoke the truth, and told Spain many things which she did not like to hear, and he refused to kill his prisoners, for he said the Cubans did not kill his soldiers when they caught them. But the Spaniards thought the Cubans should be killed for fighting against Spain, so they sent General Weyler with full power to do as he liked in the island of Cuba. Under the rule of this General matters have grown very much worse for Spain, and to one who has studied the situation carefully in the island it looks very much as though the Cubans were going to gain their independence. The Spaniards hold the towns, while the Cubans remain in the country. There are no great battles fought, and while the Spaniards claim that they cannot find the rebels, the Cubans destroy and lay waste the country, believing that the Spaniards will eventually get tired and give up trying to rule them, for Cuba's wealth, they say, is the cause of the yoke she bears, and all must be destroyed rather than submit again to Spanish rule.

General Weyler.

Navarro Fernandez, Commander of the Navy, and his Adjutant.

Señor Pintas, General Weyler's Secretary.

GENERAL WEYLER AS HE LANDED IN CUBA.]

THE PIPER.

BY M. L. VAN VORST.

There's a strange gaunt piper in doublet brown
Comes over the heather and over the sea;
His dwelling is neither in city nor town,
And he pipes for the wee little folk and me.

His hat is high and pointed and green,
With a sprig in the hand from the holly-tree,
And his smile is the merriest ever seen
In the eyes of the wee little folk and me.

He comes at the close of the winter days,
As we sit in the firelight after tea;
He steals from the corner, and smiles and plays
For the tired wee little folk and me.

And what are the tunes that the piper sings
As the strange pipe trembles with melody?--
I'd like to tell you the beautiful things
He tells to the wee little folk and me.

But they fade as soon as the piper goes
To take his journey o'er heather and sea.
Will he come again to us? Nobody knows.
Will you wait with the wee little folk and me?

WHAT THE BEE TOLD ME.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.

The other night, after my children had been tucked away safely in bed, I was seated in my library reading. The house was very warm, and I opened the huge window on the south side of the room to let in a little air, and as I did so a little bee came buzzing in through the slats of the shutters. I paid no attention to him at first, but after I had taken my arm-chair again, and had settled back in comfort to resume my story, the little creature began to buzz about my ears in a fashion which did not altogether please me.

"Shoo!" I cried, waving my hand gently at him. "Why don't you shoo?"

Now you may believe me or not, as you please, but the little bee giggled, and said:

"What shall I shoe? Bees can do lots of things, but they can't shoe. They are not blacksmiths."

The reply amused and interested me, and I put down my book and gazed at him without saying a word, waiting for his next remark.

"In fact," the bee continued, "I could tell you a story about that very point, if you'd listen."

"Go ahead," said I. "I'll be delighted."

And the little bee told me the following story.

Once upon a time, a great many years ago, the Queen of the bees
sent to the Lord High Treasurer of her kingdom for his annual
report, and when it came she was very much surprised to find that
the treasury contained about half as much treasure as she had
supposed.

"Where is the rest of the money?" she demanded in severe tones.

"We haven't had it, your Majesty," said the Lord High Treasurer.

"Haven't we earned it?" she asked.

"Yes," replied the Lord High Treasurer. "But we haven't been able
to sell all the honey we've made. We've been too industrious."

"It is impossible to be too industrious," said the Queen. "Send
the Trade Secretary here."

The Trade Secretary came at once, and bore out all that the Lord
High Treasurer had said. The bees had made more honey than they
could sell.

"Then we must have a mass-meeting and tell all the beeple," she
observed.

"The what?" I asked, interrupting the bee's story.

"The beeple. You folks are people. We bees are beeple," explained my little visitor.

I laughed, and he continued:

"Tell the beeple," said the Queen, "and at once, because when they
read your report and see how little profit we have gained for our
labors this year they may become suspicious. If we tell them at
once, as soon as we have discovered it ourselves, they cannot
complain."

And so the mass-meeting was called, and ten thousand bees gathered
before the royal hives.

The Queen undertook to tell the beeple herself.

"Most beloved subjects," said she, as she emerged from the royal
hive amid the enthusiastic buzzing of the beepulace, "I have been
going over the report of my Trade Secretary during the past week,
and I regret to say that the showing is not satisfactory."

A murmur of disappointment greeted the announcement.

"We have not been idle, your Majesty!" cried one of the workers.
"I myself have flown from flower to flower for five hours a day
every day during the season, and I can testify that all my friends
and neighbors have kept themselves equally busy."

"I have nothing to complain about on that score," returned her
Majesty, graciously. "Indeed, you have all been most industrious.
Even the drones have droned to my satisfaction."

"Have we then worked too hard?" queried another.

"It would seem so," returned her Majesty. "Either that or after a
fashion which might be termed unprofitable. We have manufactured
seventeen million pounds of honey in the last year, and after all
the demands of the honey-eaters have been fulfilled we find
ourselves with ten million pounds on hand."

"It proves how useful we do-nothing bees are," said one of the
drones. "Had we worked, the supply would have been twice as great,
and instead of having ten million pounds of honey more than we
need, we should have twenty-seven million pounds of it upon our
antennæ."

"We've got no business with antennæ, anyhow," growled another
drone. "Why can't we have beetennæ, and be done with it?"

"All of this!" cried the Queen, impatiently, "is apart from the
question. Whether we have antennæ, beetennæ, or flytennæ, we have
made too much honey."

"Then let us rest for a year," sighed one of the drones. "It's
mathematics that if one does enough work in one year to last for
two years, he's done two years' work in one, wherefore let him
take a year off and travel for his health."

"Not so!" cried the Queen. "The Lord High Commissioner of the
Police will arrest the drone who has spoken so unreasonably, and
suggested such an unbeely practice as idleness. Put him in the
darkest dungeon of the Bee-stile, and feed him upon iced water and
cold biscuit crumbs for twenty-four hours."

"Mercy!" cried the drone. "Mercy, your Majesty! I was only
thoughtless."

"You do well," quoth the Queen, "to appeal to my mercy, and I will
be merciful. I will remit half of the sentence. Lock him up for
twenty-four hours, but do not feed him at all."

The thoughtless drone was arrested and taken away, and the Queen
resumed.

"It's not that we work too hard," she said. "It is that we make
too much of one kind of thing. If the honey consumers only want
ten million pounds of honey, it is foolish for us to make twenty
million pounds of it, and I think we should turn our attention to
other fields."

"I did," said one. "I brought a country doctor five dollars by
stinging a small boy."

"How often have I told you not to sting small boys?" frowned the
Queen.

"I couldn't help it, your Majesty," returned the bee, humbly. "I
was flying along a garden path, and the small boy came running up;
he ran so fast he collided with me, and ere I knew it my stinger
had penetrated his flesh."

"You had no business to have your stinger out," said the Queen.

"Oh yes, your Majesty," explained the bee, "I had to have it out,
for I had come to that garden to sharpen it upon the grindstone of
the boy's father. Had the boy been looking where he was going, it
would not have happened."

"Ah!" said the Queen, smiling with pleasure; "that is different.
If you taught the small boy a lesson you worked to some purpose,
and you are forgiven. I don't see, however, how you still live if
you really stung the child. Pray explain."

"He was a tender little chap--that is all," said the bee. "And I
had no trouble in pulling my sting out of his soft little cheek.
It was like a peach."

Again the Queen smiled. "I am pleased with you," she said, and
then turning again to the assembled multitude, she resumed her
speech.

"Now that we know what our trouble is, shall we not act
accordingly? Shall we continue year in and year out wasting our
valuable time in the making of honey that nobody wants, or shall
we look about for something new to do which, after we have made
all the honey that is needed, shall still keep us busy, so that
people seeing us shall be able to call us 'the busy bees' as of
yore? What is the will of my subjects?"

"Let us branch out! Let us do other things," buzzed the beepulace.

"I knew my confidence in your judgment was not misplaced," cried
the Queen, joyously. "It now remains for us to decide what, and I
here to-day in the presence of you all as witnesses proclaim my
intention to give the hand of my eldest daughter to that one of
you who shall suggest the scheme that shall seem best for our new
line of action."

"Suppose it's won by a lady bee?" cried a woman's-rights bee in
the throng. "She won't want your daughter's hand."

"She shall have the hand of my eldest son," replied the Queen bee,
with a smile.

The reply seemed to satisfy the woman's-right's bee, and the Queen
having retired to her royal cell, the crowd broke up, and the
various members of it betook their way to their respective hives
to cogitate upon the problem presented by the Queen.

On the day following the royal proclamation was found posted all
over Beeland, in which it was announced that a committee,
consisting of the Queen, the Trade Secretary, and the Lord High
Treasurer of the country would receive the various plans
presented, go over them carefully, and on Christmas day following
make known whatever decision they might have reached. This method
was satisfactory to all hands, and the bees busied themselves for
ten and fifteen hours a day thinking up schemes. It was a long
time to think, but bees have very small heads, and they had to
think quite as much as that daily to reach any conclusion at all.
Some of them got very sick with brain-fever from trying to think
too much, and one little worker went crazy because he was so
foolish as to cogitate for forty-nine hours without rest. Many of
the lighter-headed bees soon gave it up, but the wiser ones,
thinking moderately and not too deeply all at once, soon had their
schemes mapped out and placed in the committee's hands, or
antennæ.

The autumn went rapidly. Christmas came, and the committee
examined the plans that were presented.

"I must say," the Queen said, with a sigh, after reading a large
number of foolish schemes, "it doesn't seem to me that my subjects
are as bright as they might be. The idea of this fellow suggesting
that we go into the 'horse-bothering business'!"

The Trade Secretary laughed. "What on earth is the
'horse-bothering business'?" he asked.

"He wants individual bees to hire themselves out to farmers with
slow horses," said the Queen. "Their duty is to bother the horses
until they get skittish and try to run."

"Hoh!" laughed the Lord High Treasurer; "what a donkey that bee
must be!"

"Here's another," observed the Trade Secretary, opening a sealed
envelope. "He wants us to go into the carrier-pigeon business. He
says there is nothing can strike a bee-line so accurately as a
bee, and adds that he thinks a whole swarm ought to be able to
earn from fifteen to twenty dollars a month at it."

"How very foolish," said the Queen, impatiently. "It would take a
whole swarm a month to carry a single message a mile. I do hope
that isn't going to turn out to be the best suggestion of all, for
I should be most unhappy if I had to give the hand of my eldest
daughter to a bee like that."

"You may relieve your mind on that score," said the Trade
Secretary. "I have just found another which is much better. This
bee suggests that when we are not gathering honey and making
honey-combs, it wouldn't be a bad thing to fly about barber-shops
and gather hair and make hair-combs."

"I think that is very foolish," said the Queen. "Why do you think
it is better than the horse-bothering and the carrier-pigeon
plans?"

"It's no more foolish, and twice as funny," explained the Trade
Secretary.

"That is very true," said the Queen.

"Here's another that's funnier yet," said the Lord High Treasurer.
"This one says that we might gather curry and make curry-combs."

The Queen laughed outright. "I think they'd better start a comic
paper," she said.

"That's the best idea yet," cried the Trade Secretary,
enthusiastically, for he was a great flatterer. "Let us decide on
that, and then your Majesty can keep your eldest daughter's hand
as a reward for some future competition."

"No," said the Queen, shaking her head; "that would never do. I
shall not enter into this competition at all. The others would
say, and very properly too, that I was partial to my own plan, and
couldn't be a good judge of its merit. No; you must leave my plans
out altogether."

And so they went on examining the plans, none of which seemed any
better or funnier than the ones I have mentioned, until they came
to what appeared to be a grand scheme.

"I suggest," wrote one little bee, "that we keep on making honey
just the same, only instead of putting it together in one great
lot, all tasting alike, let us keep different kinds in different
combs. For instance, let one swarm gather from roses and make rose
honey; another can sip the nectar from the violet and make violet
honey; another can get the essence of the mint and mix it with
pepper and make peppermint honey, and so on. Let us have honey of
all flavors--vanilla, sarsaparilla, and so on--and then we shall
never make too much. There never was too much soda-water in the
world, because if you get tired of one kind you can drink another
kind. I heard a little girl who was a soda-water expert say so,
and it was from her remark that I got the idea. If I've won,
please let me know, and I'll come up to the palace and get the
hand of the Queen's eldest daughter; and if you'll send me word
early enough in the day, with the size of her hand, I'll bring a
nice little glove to put on it. P. S.--Do we get only one hand, or
does the whole daughter go with it?"

"Magnificent!" cried the Queen, in ecstasy, clapping her antennæ
together. "We must award the prize to him."

"I think so myself," said the Trade Secretary, "he is certainly
the most original."

"And a good business bee, too," said the Lord High Treasurer.
"What he asks about the whole daughter proves that."

"And a good husband he'll make," said the Queen, with a pleased
expression. "His thinking about her gloves proves that. Are there
any others?"

"Only one," said the Trade Secretary. "From a bee who signs
himself 'A Poet.'"

"Oh, he can't win!" said the Queen, impatiently, for she had the
idea which many wiser people have that poets are lazy.

"Not likely," said the Lord High Treasurer. "I still think, your
Majesty, that we ought to read what he suggests."

"Very well; no doubt you are right. What is it he says?" said the
Queen, with a look of resignation on her face.

So they read the suggestion of the little poet bee, and this is
the way it went:

"We have made too much plain honey
For the people's ready money;
And the only way to keep our daily toil from being waste
Is to give them something neater,
Something purer, something sweeter,
Something quite the like of which they never yet have had a taste.

"Shall we then spend all our hours
Sipping up the sweets of flowers,
Sipping sweets of which they tell us that they don't want any more?
Or shall we set our forces
Seeking out some other sources
Which will yield a store of honey of a kind not known before?

"Oh, I know where there is nectar
Fit for Jupiter or Hector;
'Tis a sweet no bee has ever tried to put into his comb.
'Tis a sweet I say of which, sir,
In the mansions of the rich, sir,
Or the poorest is the sweetest of the sweets of any home.

"Tis the nectar of the kisses
Of the babies--learn what bliss is!--
Gather that and put it into all the honey that you can,
And you'll find e'en the Immortals
Thronging daily at your portals
With rich jewels for the product that will follow from my plan."

There was a long silence when the Trade Secretary had finished
reading the poet's suggestion. The Queen wiped her eyes. She was
manifestly touched by the sentiment of the poet's little verse.
Finally the Lord High Treasurer spoke.

"I'm not much of a judge of poetry," he said, "so I won't say much
about the verse, except that I don't think he ought to have lugged
Hector in just for the sake of a rhyme; but I do think it is a
beautiful idea. I kissed a baby once in a country garden, and it
was so fearfully sweet that all the flowers tasted like lemons for
months afterwards."

"I have had the same experience," said the Queen, softly.

"Me too!" said the Trade Secretary. "The plan is a fine one."

"But is it finer than the other one?" asked the Queen. "I, as a
mother, think it is."

"I, as a business bee, think not," said the Lord High Treasurer.

"Well, I, as a business bee and a father, can't make up my mind,"
sighed the Trade Secretary. "It's very unfortunate. One ought to
be better than the other, but I can't decide which is the one."

"They can't both have my eldest daughter's hand," sighed the
Queen.

"No," said the Lord High Treasurer, with a dubious shake of his
head.

"True," ejaculated the Trade Secretary; and then he gave a loud
buzz of triumph. "Why didn't we think of it before?" he cried.

"Of what?" asked the Queen, eagerly.

"Your eldest daughter is twins," cried the Trade Secretary. "One
can have one twin and the other the other."

"So they are!" said the Queen, joyously. "I had forgotten that.
Their hands shall be awarded as you suggest."

And so it was decided; and on Christmas morning the announcement
was made. To one bee one daughter was affianced, and to the other
the other, and all were satisfied; and on New-Year's day, a week
later, they were all four married, and lived happily ever after.

The little bee stopped here and looked at me.

"That's a very nice little tale," said I, smiling upon my friend the bee.

"Thank you," said he. "If you like it you can have it all for your own."

"It is very good of you," I replied. "But can't you use it?"

"No," he said. "None of the magazines would print a story sent in by a bee; but even if they would you could have it, because we owe you some return."

"What for, pray?" I cried.

"Your baby's kisses," he said, simply. "We've made eight dollars out of him this year."

I looked at him for a moment, and then, as he buzzed back to the window, I called out,

"Don't be in a hurry."

"I must," he said. "It's getting late."

"Well, come again," I said, "and tell me some more."

"Oh, you can count on that," he answered, as he flew out of the window with a joyous buzz. "I'll be back before you know it."

And with that he was gone; and when next morning I told his story to my children, they all liked it so much that I have put it down to tell you, for possibly the bees made eight or ten dollars out of you when you were a baby, and you are as much entitled to the return as I am.

The next important interscholastic event of the year will be the tennis tournament at Newport, August 13th. It is not possible at the date of writing to state exactly what players will participate, the entries not having all been received as yet; but if the winners of the various interscholastic tournaments of this spring all gather at Newport this week, the 1896 tournament should prove the most interesting and important of any held heretofore.

The most promising of the interscholastic players seems to be Reginald Fincke, of the Hotchkiss School, who won the Yale interscholastic tournament. Fincke out-classed all the other players in this tournament, and made the very creditable record of winning first place without dropping a set. He has been keeping in good practice all summer, and did some good work at the recent Wentworth tournament. He is a cool-headed player, and has excellent control of his racket. He is particularly strong on cross-drives and in placing.

His strongest opponent at Newport will probably be C. W. Beggs, Jun., the winner of the Princeton interscholastic tournament, and a student at the Lawrenceville School. Beggs won the Chicago interscholastic tournament last year, and developed his game considerably this spring. He won handily over all the other men in his local contest, and is undoubtedly the best tennis-player Lawrenceville ever had.