Chapter II: Part 2

"Chris'mus, Marse George, Chris'mus! an' jes listen to dem niggers singin' under de winder!" Although a sound sleeper, George always waked quickly, and in an instant he recognized the Christmas melody that floated upward from the ground outside. A dozen or so of the field hands were marching around the house just as the first faint grayness of the Christmas day appeared, and singing, in their rich, sweet, untrained voices, a song with the merry refrain,

"White folks, black folks, Chris'mus am heah,
An' Chris'mus comes but oncet a year,
An' dis is Chris'mus mawnin'!"

Sounds showed that the house was stirring. Laurence Washington, as the master, had to dress and go down stairs to give the singers the treat they expected. Betty got up and dressed herself at the first sound, and, tapping at George's door, called softly, "Merry Christmas, George!" Nobody could sleep much after that, and soon after sunrise everybody was up, and "Merry Christmas" resounded through the whole house. The negroes were most vociferous, as this was their favorite holiday, and no work, except the feeding of the stock and the cutting of wood, was to be done for several days--that is, as long as the backlog on the Christmas fire remained unconsumed. The putting of this log on the fire was an annual ceremony, that George thought most amusing. The English officers thought so too, and watched it with the greatest interest. Before breakfast was served, when all the guests were assembled in the hall, Uncle Manuel, the butler, who was very tall and very black, and who wore, on great occasions, a pair of scarlet satin knee-breeches that had once belonged to Laurence Washington, appeared, and announced, with a condescending smile, that "de boys" had come with the backlog.

Amid much grinning and shoving and jostling and chuckling four stalwart negro men walked in the house carrying a huge log, which was placed at the back of the great fireplace, upon the tall iron fire-dogs. It was of unseasoned black gum, a wood hard to burn at all times, and this particular log had been well soaked in a neighboring swamp. It was the privilege of the negroes to select the backlog, and although the masters and mistresses knew perfectly well that everything was done to make it as noncombustible as possible, the plantation joke was to pretend that it was as dry as a bone and would burn like tinder.

"We fotch you a mighty fine backlorg dis time, mistis," grinned the head man. "Hit gwi' bu'n same like light-wood." At which Mrs. Washington looked grave, as she was expected to look, while a general guffaw went around among the negroes.

"I spect we ain' gwi' to have no holiday 'tall ef we has to go ter wuk as soon as dis heah lorg b'un up," chuckled another.

"'Tain' gwi' lars' mo'en fer Christmas day!" chorussed the others standing near by.

"I think I saw a black-gum log soaking in the swamp a few days ago," said Laurence, smiling at the grinning faces before him: but there was a chorus immediately:

"Naw, suh; dis lorg ain' never had a drap o' water on it, an' we-all's been dryin' it fer a whole mont'." The log was then steaming like a tea-kettle, and the negroes yah-yahed with delight at the ready acceptance of their _ruse_.

"Very well, then," cried Laurence Washington; "you can all have holiday until this log is burned out, and if I am not mistaken it will last the week through!"

Immediately after breakfast horses were brought out, and the great coach, and several gigs and chaises, to take a party to old Pohick Church. There was to be a service, however, on the _Bellona_, and the "church flag" was flying from her peak. Admiral Vernon invited George to go with him on board the ship. They went to the landing, where the captain's gig awaited them. On board the _Bellona_ everything was as clean as hands could make it, the ship was dressed, and the men, being excused from work that day, were in their Sunday clothes and prepared for their holiday.

The service, performed by the chaplain, was held upon the gun-deck. Four hundred sailors, in spotless clothing, and each with a sprig of mistletoe in his glazed hat, were assembled, seated on capstan-bars, which made improvised benches. In front of them their officers were assembled, the captain at their head, while in front of the officers were the Admiral and his guests. Never had George seen a more beautiful and reverent service. The sailors were reminded of their homes in green England, far away, and every heart was softened by the recollection. The officers needed no reminder of their families and friends at home, and all felt drawn together in sympathy at their common separation from those dearest to them.

After the service the Admiral took George over the ship, showing him all the beauty and strength of her. The boy gazed with wonder and delight at her trim yards, her immaculate decks, and at the rows of menacing guns in her batteries. Until then he had strongly inclined to the army, but in the first flush of his new enthusiasm he longed to be a naval officer. There were several midshipmen of his own age on board, to whom the Admiral introduced him, and George yearned, boy fashion, to wear a smart uniform like theirs, and to carry a midshipman's dirk. He said little; his enthusiasms were all of that silent kind which burn the more furiously because their blaze is concealed. But the moment he reached the house, after leaving the ship, he went straight to his brother Laurence's study, and marched in with this bold announcement,

"Brother Laurence, I want to serve in the King's navy."

Laurence looked up smiling at George's earnest face, in which a fixed purpose was plainly seen.

"I should have preferred the army for you," responded Laurence. "But if a youngster _will_ serve in the King's navy, in the King's navy he must serve."

"And will you get me my warrant?" eagerly asked George.

"The fact is," cautioned Laurence, "I have a midshipman's warrant offered me for you at this very time. Admiral Vernon has the privilege of nominating a midshipman on the _Bellona_, and some days ago, in speaking of your arrival, he asked me, as my old friend, if it would be agreeable to my family to appoint you in his Majesty's naval service. I told him I had not yet consulted with Madam Washington, but I had no doubt whatever that it would be highly agreeable to her, and the Admiral assured me that it would be at my service at any time."

George stood perfectly breathless with surprise. His first thought was that surely he was the most fortunate boy in the world. At that moment there was a knock at the door and Admiral Vernon entered.

"Ah, Admiral!" cried Laurence, "you see before you a very happy lad. He is overjoyed at the notion of entering the naval service."

"It would be a thousand pities to lose so fine a fellow from the King's navy," said the Admiral, smiling. George wished to thank him, but when he tried to speak he felt a choking sensation, albeit he was so happy. It was so exactly what he wanted at that very time; and how few there are who get what they want before the wish for it has departed!

All the rest of that day George felt as if he were walking on air. He made plans for his whole life ahead, and already saw himself an admiral. He thought it would not be right to speak of this beautiful plan for him to any one until his mother knew it, and so he would give no hint to Betty, or even tell it, as he longed to do, to Billy. But when in his room in the afternoon, before the Christmas dinner, Rattler jumped upon him and licked his hands, George could not forbear whispering to him, "Good dog, your master will soon be a midshipman!" He had gone to his room to carry out his intention of reading every day something out of a useful book; but his heart was too full to read, and his book lay unopened while he sat before the fire in a happy dream, slowly passing Rattler's silky ears through his hand. From his chair he could see through his window the handsome frigate lying motionless in the stream. Some of the men were dancing on the fok'sle to the sound of a fiddle and tambour played by two of the crew. In George's eyes, infatuated as he was with the navy, she was the stateliest beauty of a ship he had ever seen, and he thought every man on her must be altogether happy.

At five o'clock there was a grand Christmas dinner. The ladies wore their gayest gowns, the officers were in full uniform, and the other gentlemen present were in all the splendor of velvet coats and breeches and ruffled shirts. There was much laughter and many toasts, and at the end of the dinner Uncle Manuel, gorgeous in his scarlet silk breeches, entered, bearing aloft, on a huge platter, a plum-pudding blazing with blue flumes, and with sprigs of mistletoe stuck in it. Afterwards, in the hall, came off the ceremony of placing the branch of mistletoe on the lantern that hung from the ceiling. Then there was great jollity and a merry scramble, for, according to the hearty custom of the time, any lady caught under the mistletoe could be kissed by any gentleman who caught her. George and William Fairfax secretly longed to act the mannish part and join in the sport, but both felt quite overcome with bashfulness at the idea, and only watched the gay doings from afar. Not so Betty, who quite assumed the young lady, and who not only treated William Fairfax as if he had been an infant, but gave herself lofty airs towards George, whom she had heretofore regarded with the greatest respect. Then, soon after dark, the coaches of the neighboring gentry drove up with the guests. In the hall the negro fiddlers were in great force, and sawed the air from eight o'clock in the evening until daylight next morning. Besides the minuet and rigadoon there were jigs and reels, and at last everybody, young and old, danced Sir Roger de Coverley, while the candles sputtered in their sockets and the chickens crowed outside. George danced all night with the greatest enjoyment, not finding any difficulty in obtaining partners, all of the ladies being willing to dance with so handsome a stripling. Among the guests who came from a distance was a remarkably pretty young girl of about George's age, Miss Martha Dandridge. With her George danced Sir Roger de Coverley, going down the middle swinging partners, and making the grand march to the music of the crashing fiddles and dancing feet. When at last it was over, and in the gray dawn the coaches and chaises rattled off, and the ball was over, George thought it was the finest ball he had ever seen in his life.

For a week gayety and jollity prevailed at Mount Vernon. There were fox-hunts, when the huntsmen assembled by daybreak, and the winding of the horns, and the hounds with tongues tuned like bells, echoed across the river and among the hills; and after a day's hard riding there would be a jolly dinner and dancing afterwards. Then there was a great party aboard of the _Bellona_, where the decorations were all of flags and warlike emblems. George's enthusiasm for the navy did not decrease in the least, but rather gained by being in company with so many officers, and feeling obliged to keep his delightful secret of a promised commission to himself. He became friends with the midshipmen, and in his heart he enjoyed more his visits to the cockpit, with all its discomforts, than the luxury of the Admiral's cabin and the comfort of the ward-room. He was never weary of listening to the officers telling of their adventures; and his expressive young face, with the blood coming and going like a girl's, showed his overpowering interest in what he heard. No real doubt of his mother's consent entered his mind; and if the thought occasionally crossed him that her consent must be asked and might not be given, he dismissed it, as all young and ardent natures dismiss unpleasant possibilities.

Among the quieter pleasures which he had at this time was that of making friends with little Mildred, the two-year-old daughter to which his brother and sister were so devoted. They had lost three other children; and in a time of the utmost sadness after their deaths, when Laurence Washington realized his own delicate constitution, and the chances that none of his children might live, he had made his will, giving Mount Vernon and all he had, if he should leave no children, to George. But this little one bade fair to grow up into a healthy and happy child.

Betty, who was by nature a little mother, was never more at home than when she had charge of the child, and could take as good care of her as any grown person. George, on the contrary, although his heart went out to the little girl, regarded her as a piece of china that might be broken by touching her. But Mildred took a violent fancy to him, and was never so happy as when carried about in his strong young arms, or sitting on his knee while he made rabbits out of his handkerchief and pictures out of the shadows on the wall, and was ready to do anything and to give her anything that would amuse her. He had never been thrown with a child of that age before, and regarded every instance of her baby cleverness as the most extraordinary thing in the world, to the amusement of his brother and sister.

The year before George had found William Fairfax a delightful boyish companion, but this year, with his new experiences, and the company of the young officers on the _Bellona_, George unconsciously neglected him. But William, who had a sweet and forgiving nature, showed no ill-humor over it, and said to himself: "Never mind; when the ship goes away, and all the visitors, George will again find me good company."

And such was the case. On the morning that the _Bellona_ loosed her topsail, as a sign that she was about to trip her anchor, George felt utterly forlorn. He wondered how he should get through the time until he could go to Ferry Farm, and, securing his mother's consent, join the ship before she sailed from the Chesapeake. So eager was he that Laurence, in the goodness of his heart, had ordered, at his own expense, George's uniforms to be made in Alexandria, and he was given his side-arms from the stores on board the _Bellona_. George in fancy already saw himself Midshipman Washington. Admiral Vernon, on parting, had said some kind words to him which sank deep in his heart. "I shall look forward with pleasure to your joining, Mr. Washington," he said. "It is just such youngsters as you that we want in the navy."

On a bleak January day the _Bellona_ went out. George watched from the shore as long as he could see her, and sighed as he turned back to the house. On his way back he was joined by William Fairfax.

"George," said William, diffidently, "I am afraid we are not as good friends as we were last year."

"Why?" asked George, in surprise. He had almost forgotten William's existence in the last few busy and exciting days, and he had felt so immeasurably older than he that companionship seemed out of the question.

"Because you do not seem to care for me any longer."

George stopped, and his heart and his conscience smote him. William was his sister's cousin and his brother's guest, and he had been neglected by both George and Betty; for Betty had grown about ten years, in her own estimation, since dancing with officers and being allowed to come to the first table. George thought this rather ridiculous of Betty; but was it not equally ridiculous of him to lord it over William, as if there were twenty years between them?

"I see how it is, William," said George, after a pause. "I dare say I have often made a fool of myself in this last week, talking to men as if I were their equal, and to boys of my own age as if I were a man. But, although you may laugh at me, I do feel a great deal older in the last two months--I suppose because I have been with men like Lord Fairfax and Lance, and then Admiral Vernon and his officers. But if you will be friends again with me I will promise not to treat you as I have done, and I acknowledge it was not very gentlemanly of me."

The house seemed strangely quiet after all the company had left, and there were no more routs and balls and romping and hunting. Snow had fallen, and George and Betty were waiting for good weather before attempting the journey back to Ferry Farm. George spoke to Betty about William, acknowledging that he had been as much to blame as she; and Betty, being of a generous nature, felt ashamed of herself, with the result that William enjoyed the latter part of the time much more than the first. But he was destined to have one more clash with George before their friendship became so firmly cemented that it lasted during the whole of their lives.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

BOBBY'S TOOL-CHEST.

They gave him a chest full of wonderful tools when he got to be six
years old,
And he made up his mind to go forth in the world and become a carpenter
bold.
"I've gimlets and saws, and hammers and nails, I've jack-planes and
awls," said he;
"I've rulers and screws. How can I refuse a carpenter-man for to be?

"The first thing to learn is to hammer a nail." And he got out his
hammer and tacks,
And he hammered, and hammered, and hammered away till he'd used up a
half-dozen packs.
He nailed up the doors, and he nailed down the floors, and he nailed
'em again and again,
And he made no mistake till he hammered a tack through the nursery
window-pane.

Then he took up his saw, and he tried its teeth. "I must now learn to
saw," he said;
And he sawed in two some bureau drawers, and he sawed off the legs of
his bed.
And he sawed on the lock of the nursery door till the teeth of the tool
grew rough,
And then he sat down and remarked to himself, "Well, I guess I have
sawn enough.

"I will now try the awl and the gimlet too, and learn what different
kinds
Of holes they make--for they're not alike"--and he bored on the outside
blinds.
He bored six holes in the shutter slats, and then made a change again,
And tried his luck on the bureau top with the beautiful two-inch plane.

And then, poor boy! some one came in, and oh, what a fuss was raised!
They spanked that boy for trying to learn when he thought he'd be
surely praised;
And his father was mad and his mother was mad, and even his sister
cried,
Because he'd taken her desk apart to see what there was inside;

And the baby, too, was as wrathy as they, because for a little while
He'd used the ruler to find how wide was the dear little fellow's
smile.
And that's why Bob--the poor little chap!--has changed every future
plan,
And is going to be a policeman bold instead of a carpenter-man.

CARLYLE SMITH.

The C. and V. Railroad half encircles Riverdale on the south and west sides. For the most part it runs along a narrow shelf on the mountain-side many feet above the village, but toward the southwest is the valley of the little Jewell River, and this is crossed by a long, narrow embankment and a high bridge, where the track curves sharply northward.

A few years ago an important part of the traffic over this line consisted of long trains from the far West loaded entirely with hogs. "Earle's excursions," the boys called them, in allusion to the famous pork-packer to whom they were consigned. One afternoon--it was in midsummer--a train of thirty-eight cars and a caboose started from the summit, five miles above Riverdale. The grade is very steep, and the train soon attained a terrific speed as it thundered down the mountain.

No one can tell the cause of the accident, but just as the train struck the embankment at Riverdale it doubled up in the middle like a startled snake, and five cars were forced out of the train and went down the embankment, carrying rails, sleepers, and a foot or two of the road-bed. Fortunately none of the trainmen was on these cars, so no one was injured. But as the cars went crashing down they broke in pieces like kindling-wood. Many hogs were killed and injured, but it is certain that about four hundred large, able-bodied, hungry, half-crazy hogs were let loose upon the outskirts of the lovely village of Riverdale.

Without a moment's hesitation the invaders began their work of destruction. Near the foot of the embankment was the cozy parsonage, and the Rev. Mark Sanders was at work in his garden when the accident occurred. Startled by the crash, he stood staring at the splintering cars until one of them brought up almost against his garden fence, and a dozen screeching hogs were trying to squeeze through the gate together. Then he struck out valiantly with his sharp hoe, and thought he drove all back, and locked the gate. But when he turned about, three hungry hogs were feasting on his early potatoes, and they led him such a chase that he heartily wished that every hog in the world had been in that herd which in ancient times ran violently down a steep place into the sea and were choked.

Meanwhile the main body of the army moved toward the centre of the village, sending out foraging excursions to every garden and lawn, unmindful of shrill threats or fluttering aprons. On the bank of the Jewell River stood a little photograph saloon, and there Miss Sally Graham, for twenty years the village dressmaker, was having her picture taken. It was a critical moment. The photographer's head was underneath the green cloth behind the camera.

"Please turn your head just a trifle toward the left, and look a little more cheerful, Miss Graham," said the artist.

Miss Sally turned her head so that she looked toward the open door. She was just saying "besom" for the last time when two large hogs, one of them as black as Erebus, scrambled into the room and came directly toward her.

"Oh, horrors!" shrieked Miss Sally, jumping up and whirling wildly about in search of a way of escape. She rushed into the dark room and slammed the door, overturning a bottle of some malodorous compound. There she stood amid the horrible smells till, after much squealing, shouting, and crashing of glass, the artist bade her come forth again.

By this time the hogs began to arrive at the centre of the village. Those who saw them coming were first amused, and then amazed, and then alarmed. Several of them climbed up four steps to the piazza of Boynton's fruit-store, and began to eat a bunch of bananas and other fruit exposed for sale. Oscar Boynton's wrath was great, his arm was mighty, and his weapon was an iron poker; but all these produced no effect whatever until he hooked the end of the poker into the nostrils of the hogs, and so persuaded them to turn aside.

The situation was in truth growing serious. The hogs began to collect in large numbers on Main Street. They drove the people into the houses, especially where the men were not at home. They spread across Depot Street until they came to Prospect Street. This was known as "Ladies' Row," because so many spinsters and widows lived there. It was the street of flower gardens, and all summer long it was a glorious rivalry of violets, pansies, daisies, roses, asters, and every sweet and beautiful blossom. Into this paradise the hogs entered, and began to root up and destroy.

Toward the lower part of Main Street stood the grocery-store of Mr. Heman Hemenway, Chairman of the Board of Village Trustees. Trade being very dull, Mr. Hemenway sat dozing behind the counter dreaming of better times.

Suddenly quick footsteps tapped along the knotty floor. Mr. Hemenway sprang up and put on the expectant smile with which he greeted every customer.

It was Miss Placentia Hannum, of Ladies' Row, who stood before him. Her face was flushed, her dark eyes blazed with indignation, and her voice was pitched on a very high note as she exclaimed, "Mr. Hemenway! aren't you going to do _anything_?"

"Do--do--anything? What--?" stammered the chairman of the trustees.

"Don't you know?" cried Miss Placentia, with an eloquent gesture of disdain. "A whole train of hogs has run off the embankment, and they are just pouring into the village, thousands and thousands of them, and now they are on our street tearing up my beautiful flowers."

Mr. Hemenway was a man who intended to do his duty, and he went out to the street at once. He was met by a deputation of hogs of such numbers that he believed that Miss Hannum's statement was literally true. He also began to feel that here was a condition of things not provided for in his _Manual for Village Officers_. He saw the hogs swarming down the street. He saw the people retreating into their houses after disastrous conflict with the enemy. Yet he kept bravely on up the street as far as the hay-scales, and there he met his fate.

Two hogs saw Mr. Hemenway approaching, and they immediately gave him their entire attention. They were the humorists of the herd, and they played with Mr. Hemenway. When he went toward the right, they gently swayed in the same direction. He went toward the left, and they imitated him, smiling very widely. He stopped, and the hogs stood patiently before him.

"Whey!" cried Mr. Hemenway, waving his hand.

Apparently the hogs were startled by so harsh a word, and they fell back a few paces. Then they darted forward so suddenly that Mr. Hemenway nearly fell over his own heels, and when he recovered himself he stood with his feet far apart. This was an opportunity not to be lost. One hog ran between Mr. Hemenway's feet and upset him. He came down just in time to take a short ride on the back of the other, and then rolled off into the street. It seemed to him that a hundred hogs gathered around him in a moment. With the energy of despair he sprang to his feet, ran hatless up the steps of the harness-shop, and mounted the very lifelike wooden horse which the harness-maker kept there as a sign.

Across the street a door was cautiously opened, and the head and shoulders of Gran'sir Pease appeared.

"Heman!" he cried, in a shrill, quavering voice, "go 'n' git the ol' Fo'th o' July cahnern and shewt 'em. It used to be 'round thar under Simon Hyle's shed." But this did not seem to Hemenway a feasible plan, especially as he knew that the "cahnern" had been at the bottom of the mill-pond for three years.

A horse came rattling down the hill and across the mill bridge near the harness-shop. It was driven by Norris Wood, who had been out among the farms buying cattle for his meat market. He drove up to the harness-shop and hitched his horse. Three or four hogs stood in the way, but it seemed a very easy thing for Norris to set his great boots against them and send them sprawling along the ground. He looked so big and strong that Mr. Hemenway dismounted from the wooden horse.

"Well, Heman, what have you got here?" said Norris, widening his bushy whiskers with a beaming smile.

"Norris," said Mr. Hemenway, solemnly, "the village is overrun with hogs from a wrecked train, and I rely on you to drive 'em out. I give you full authority to do or take anything you want to."

"They've got pretty well started," said Norris, "but if I had a few good helpers I guess we could master them. Hi!" he continued, "here come the academy boys."

There were about twenty of them coming across the mill bridge. They were Riverdale Academy boys just out of school. They were on the double-quick, for they had seen the hogs, and felt sure there was fun ahead.

"'Arma virumque cano!' Come here, every one of you!" cried Norris, who was an old academy boy himself.

The boys immediately gathered around him, some of them, and Harry Burton in particular, inventing a great terror of the sniffing hogs.

"Norris! Oh, Norris!" he cried, "protect us from these wild beasts of the desert. Let me ride in safety upon your broad shoulders," and he made as if he would suit the action to the word.

"Quit your fooling," said Norris, sternly. "I want volunteers to drive these hogs out of the village. Every one who is willing to help, step out."

With a hilarious cheer the whole company stepped forward.

"Now," said Norris, "you see that pile of wood by the hay-scales? Every one of you go and get a stick."

In less than a minute every boy was armed with a stout cudgel and waiting for further orders.

Norris quickly scanned the crowd. "Julian Ross," he said, "you take six boys and stay here. Don't let a single hog get by you up the hill. Harry Burton, you take seven with you down to the bridge. Don't you let a hog pass over it into the lower village."

Julian and Harry selected their followers. "Friends, Romans, countrymen," cried Harry, "follow me!

"'Still is the story told
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.'"

And they went down the street on the double-quick.

"All the rest of you come with me to Prospect Street," commanded Norris.

They arrived at the scene of destruction none too soon. As they ran down the street they were greeted with tearful pleadings by the ladies to save their gardens from utter ruin.

At length they outran the hogs and faced around to drive them back. The boys formed a line across the road, and beat them unmercifully with their cudgels. "Hit 'em on the snout every time," said Norris.

And now began a high and piercing symphony which mingled and harmonized with a blood-curdling melody from Main Street. Norris, like the great Cæsar, was everywhere at one time. His methods were very interesting. He had persuasive powers with his big boots which caused a hog to point to the sky with four feet at a time. He was very dexterous in seizing a hog by a hind-leg and casting it out of a flower-bed into the road. And just as an enormous hog was about to root up Miss Placentia Hannum's rose-bush, Norris calmly took the animal by the ear, and led it squealing to the street.

At last the hogs were beaten back and driven across to Main Street. There they mingled with the others slowly retreating before Julian Ross and Harry Burton and their followers. The boys were nearly exhausted, but Harry encouraged them by shouting, "Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley on!" and like historic exhortations.

The hogs were now all brought together, filling the street in a solid mass. And there they stuck in spite of every effort to induce them to move on. Gran'sir Pease advised Norris to "slarter 'em" where they stood. It was time for a stroke of Napoleonic genius or the day would be lost.

Norris unhitched his horse and jumped into the wagon. "Boys!" he cried, "hold 'em right where they are till you see me again. Go on, Bill." And he galloped away up Depot Street, and disappeared under the small railroad bridge.

Ten long minutes the boys waited and shouted and fought the obstinate hogs. Then Norris was seen coming far up Main Street. He drove down to the hogs and turned his cart around. In the wagon was a box, and out of it Norris shovelled some yellow stuff into the road. The hogs nearest to him saw, smelled, hustled, and gobbled. In an instant others followed, pushing and upsetting each other. Norris drove on and cast out more meal, and in a minute the whole rushing, squirming, squealing herd glided away like the mill-pond when the dam broke. They followed the trail of corn meal up the street, and in a short time they were all safely enclosed in Norris's cattle-yard.

Then the boys carried their sticks right shoulder shift, and came down the street singing, "When Johnny comes marching home again."

BILL'S BEAR-FIGHT.

Broiled trout washed down with an ice-cold draught of spring water is not the worst supper in the world, and when you are out in the woods cozily perched on a log near a roaring camp-fire of crackling birch, with a ravenous appetite, it tastes as good as a dinner served at the Waldorf in New York. But your trout must be cooked by Bill to be enjoyed, for Bill owns no superior in that line. Bill is a hunter, not for market, but a sportsman for sport, and his delight is to guide some gentleman through the forests of Maine, or, as he terms it, his territory.

One fall he and I started up in the Moose-head Lake region, and slowly worked down over the trails, until one evening we found ourselves near the head of the Cupsuptic River, on the Rangeleys. We had fairly good sport on our way, bagging more or less game, with many a long and weary chase on a deer trail. When we struck the river it was too late to make for a large camp that lay some eleven miles below on the lake, so we put up a lean-to, and went into quarters for the night. Bill got out the lines, and in a short while he had some fine trout broiling, so that though all our provisions were exhausted, we had made a fine supper of the trout.

After supper we lighted our pipes, and throwing an extra log or two on the fire, we lounged around, recalling different adventures. It was but a short time before Bill got off on to some of his own experiences, and it was then that I relapsed into silence, and puffed my pipe with that peaceful enjoyment that comes to a lover of nature and sport. I lay admiring his magnificent physique, my admiration doubled by the knowledge of the wonderful strength that lay in his powerful muscles.

"Well, boy," said Bill at last, with a yawn, "it's gettin' kind er cold; seems to me it's er bit more than frosty. Had to crack ice down on the stream to ketch them trout. Guess it'll freeze tight by to-morrow, and with a little fall of snow we might sight a buck's tracks 'tween here and the camp below. I rather think we'd better turn in now. Wrap yourself good or you'll be stiff in the mornin'."

Raking the ashes into the fire, and banking it a little with some damp logs, we rolled up in our blankets and went to sleep.

I do not know what time it was, but it seemed to me I had no more than closed my eyes when I was suddenly awakened by the sounds of a fierce struggle, with a great amount of low choking, growling, and subdued muttering. I sprang up, forgetting my blanket, which tripped me, and nearly pitched me headlong into the fire. When I finally reached my feet and saw the cause of the row, I was more than amazed. There was Bill hugging and being hugged for dear life by a good-sized bear. It was nip and tuck, and seizing my rifle, I danced around trying to get a shot at the bear. Bill caught sight of me, and cried out in jerks: "Boy--I'll never--forgive you if you kill him. It's the first,--chance I've had to strangle--a bear, and, by gum, I'm er-goin' to strangle--this one!"

I could appreciate that sort of a desire on Bill's part well enough, but nevertheless it was dangerous work. The bear's claws had already played havoc with his clothing, and his legs were bleeding in more than one place. Back and forth they struggled, one of the bear's fore-paws around Bill's neck and the other around his waist. Bill had the bear by the throat with one hand, and with the other held his head away to stop him from biting.

Suddenly they tripped on the edge of the slope that led in a gentle descent to the stream below. I jumped forward this time, determined to put an end to it, but before I could reach them, down they went, rolling over and over the sloping ground, fighting away like mad, until, with a crash, they struck the thin ice on the stream and plunged out of sight. It was a bright moonlight night, and the hole they made in the ice looked black and ugly. I jumped down the bank, and seeing the roots of an old tree running out near the spot, I made for it. Bill came up by this time, and I was hoping that they had separated, but they were hugging and fighting as hard as ever. I crawled out on the roots and yelled to Bill to let me settle it.

"If yer tetch him, boy, I'll never forgive yer. I'm not done yet by a long shot, and I'll down the critter if it takes all night."

When Bill talked that way I know he was game to the finish and his blood was up, so I ran up the bank and got my rifle, and sitting on a log near the water, I watched the fun, altogether too serious for fun, I thought. Their struggles were fearful, and I screamed, and would certainly have fired at the bear had it not been for the fear of hitting Bill. By this time they had worked over to the roots, and then I realized what Bill was up to. He got one arm around them to brace himself, and with the other clutching the bear's throat, he slowly and by main force pushed those fearful red gaping jaws away from him. Slowly and with almost superhuman strength he pushed the head further away until finally he forced it under water. I could see the claws of the animal's fore-paw dig into Bill's shoulder. I could see his violent struggles as he strove to get his head above water, but Bill held him under. It was a frightful but a grand sight. The moon lit up the scene, and through the steam rising from the struggling pair Bill's grim-set jaws and determined face showed the true hunter in the height of his glory.

The fight grew weaker and weaker, and then all was still except the quick panting of Bill. At last with a deep sigh his chest relaxed, his hand gave up his prey, and a few bubbles showed where the bear sank. Slowly Bill made his way to where I was standing, and putting out his hand, said,

"Thank ye, boy; you had nerve to obey me, and that makes a good hunter."

He was pretty nigh exhausted and badly clawed. While I helped him to patch up his wounds temporarily I learned that the bear, evidently attracted by the trout, had sneaked into camp during the night and stumbled over Bill, who grabbed him. The next morning we fished him out of the water, and found him a large specimen and a foe well worth letting alone.

HUBERT EARL.

ORIGIN OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.

BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.

Every patriotic American is proud of our famous White Squadron, illustrating as it does to all the navies of the world the perfection of ship-building, motive power, ordnance and _personnel_. Although two or three other navies have a much longer list of men-of-war in their registers, there is not a foreign power that can show, class for class, anything superior in battle-ships, cruisers, and coast-defense vessels to those which float under "Old Glory," and it is not making a rash claim when it is asserted that in a competitive exhibition the laurel wreaths would in all probability be hung upon the mast-heads of the ships that belong to Uncle Sam.

And yet how weak and lowly in comparison was the birth of our navy!--but still a navy that even in its infancy humbled almost to degradation the strength and vanity and hauteur of that of the British, that mistress of the seas, against which for more than a century the most magnificently equipped and powerful fleets in Europe had hurled themselves, only to be beaten back from its "walls of oak," crushed and shattered.

On October 13, 1775, one hundred and twenty-one years ago, or nine months before the Declaration of Independence was signed, the representatives from the thirteen colonies authorized the building of two vessels, one to be armed with 14 guns and the other with 10 guns. When completed it was designed that these ships should escape through the English fleets blockading the coast, and then prey upon the commerce of the enemy. On October 30 Congress ordered the building of two additional cruisers, one to carry 36 guns and the other 20 guns. These measures so aroused the patriotic fire and zeal of hundreds of American seamen whose vessels were locked up in idleness in our seaports, owing to the embargo, that they petitioned Congress to provide ships and put them on board, so that they might go out against the enemy's vessels that tantalizingly kept watch before the approaches to our harbors. Appreciating the spirit of the petitioners, and realizing that a possible opportunity was offered them to deal a serious blow to the supremacy of the English along our line of coast, Congress ordered, on December 13 (or just two months, to the day, following the first authorization, for ship construction), the building of thirteen vessels of war, of which five were to carry 32 guns, five 28 guns, and three 24 guns.

Work was immediately commenced on this fleet; but as the builders demanded six months' time to complete them, Congress passed a law to purchase and arm suitable merchant-ships for immediate service. It cannot fail to interest the reader to give the names of the first vessels of the American navy. Among the many merchant-ships lying idle in the Eastern and Southern ports the following fourteen were selected by a committee, and, after being purchased, were armed with the number of guns set opposite their respective names: Ships--_Alfred_, 24; _Columbus_, 24. Brigs--_Lexington_, 16; _Cabot_, 16, _Reprisal_, 16; _Andrea Doria_, 14; _Hampden_, 14; _Providence_, 12. Schooners--_Wasp_, 8; _Fly_, 8. Sloops--_Hornet_, 10; _Independence_, 10; _Sachem_, 10, and _Mosquito_, 4.

Had the guns with which these vessels were armed been of uniform and suitable calibre, the odds in favor of the English men-of-war would still have been enormous; but when it is considered that the batteries of the ships were made up of every description of ordnance, from the antiquated Dutch cannon brought over by Peter Stuyvesant, to the ridiculously small and obsolete saluting-guns that had been preserved as relics on the public greens in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and other cities, the wonder grows that with such implements, served by men green to naval warfare, and mounted within lumbering merchant-ships, the stateliest frigates of the enemy were again and again beaten and captured, and the proud white ensign of old England lowered repeatedly to the flag whose motto was "Don't tread on me!"

The difficulty encountered by Congress in equipping, officering, and manning the little American fleet in the absence of arsenals and dock-yards, and when men trained to the service were not obtainable, finds only one parallel in history, when Alfred the Sailor King fitted out and conducted a fleet against the Danes one thousand years and more ago. But if system and order were at first lacking, patriotism compensated, and the old guns were served by men whose love of liberty breathed in the shot they hurled against their foes.

On December 22, 1775, Congress appointed Ezekiel Hopkins as commodore and commander-in-chief of the navy, and the following officers, all drawn from the merchant marine of the colonies, to serve as captains: Dudley Saltonstall, Abraham Whipple, Nicholas Biddle, and J. B. Hopkins. Leading the list of first lieutenants appointed on the same day, we find the immortal name of John Paul Jones, and in succession those of Rhodes Arnold, James Stanbury, Haysted Hacker, and Jonathan Pitcher. Next, under the head of second lieutenants, the records preserved in the Navy Department in Washington show the names of Benjamin Seabury, Joseph Olney, Elisha Warner, Thomas Weaver, and James McDougal, while the three third lieutenants appointed were John Fanning, Ezekiel Burroughs, and Daniel Vaughn.

Immediately after assuming command, Commodore Hopkins sailed, with the _Alfred_ as his flag-ship, for a descent upon the English possession known as New Providence, and was accompanied to the West Indies by the _Columbus_, _Cabot_, _Andrea Doria_, _Providence_, _Wasp_, _Fly_, and _Hornet_. The expedition was successful, and the ships of the little flying squadron were loaded with captured stores and one hundred cannon, which latter were afterwards mounted on the American men-of-war under construction at the time. The commodore returned north, carrying back with him the English Governor of New Providence, and several other high officials of that colony. When within view of the Long Island shore three of the leading American vessels sighted and later on engaged the English frigate _Glasgow_ and two brigs-of-war. After a spirited contest the latter surrendered, but the former escaped by a great display of seamanship.

The entire fleet with its prizes arrived safely at New London on April-fool day, 1776. This was the first and last naval command that Commodore Hopkins enjoyed; for, not acting with sufficient energy in refitting his fleet, Congress dropped him from the naval service.

In June, 1776, a marine corps was established, and Samuel Nichols was appointed to command it, with the rank of major. The junior officers consisted of nine captains, ten first and seven second lieutenants.

At the time that the Declaration of Independence was signed the thirteen vessels ordered to be constructed during the previous year were reported finished, and Congress assigned officers to them, as well as to other ships that had been captured from the enemy. The standing of the American navy when the Liberty Bell in the City of Brotherly Love pealed out the anthem of the free on July 4, 1776, is shown in the following, and the numerals attached to the names signify the number of guns with which they were armed: _Washington_, 32; _Virginia_, 28; _Boston_, 24; _Warren_, 32; _Trumbull_, 28; _Randolph_, 32; _Raleigh_, 32; _Congress_, 28; _Effingham_, 28; _Delaware_, 24; _Reprisal_, 16; _Montgomery_, 24; _Lexington_, 16; _Hampden_, 14; _Andrea Doria_, 14; _Providence_, 28; _Providence_ (2d), 12; _Alfred_, 24; _Cabot_, 14; _Sachem_, 10; _Independence_, 10, and _Fly_, 8.

To the command of some of these vessels were ordered men who proved themselves heroes in many a notable encounter, and whose names will endure as long as this great republic lasts; but the two most prominent figures in the historical group are those of John Paul Jones, promoted to the rank of captain for bravery in battle and for services rendered to his country, and Nicholas Biddle, the brave old sea-lion, who recognized no odds, but who would engage a vastly superior enemy with the same readiness and confidence that he laid his vessel alongside of a sure prize.

A few words concerning four of these vessels will be found not to be devoid of unusual interest.

The _Reprisal_ audaciously sailed across the Atlantic, being the first American vessel to visit Europe, and commenced a wild work of capture and destruction among the British merchant-ships in the Channel, right under the noses of their great fleets of war. Being joined a little later on by the _Lexington_, these two vessels, assisted by several prizes that they had armed, caused such havoc that rates of insurance on all English vessels were advanced twenty-five per cent. In the year 1778 the _Reprisal_ foundered in a gale, and only the ship's cook was saved.

The _Andrea Doria_ received the first foreign salute ever paid to an American man-of-war. Upon visiting St. Eustatins, the Dutch Governor greeted the vessel with a grand salvo from the fort; and this courtesy proved a very costly one for him, as his nation had not recognized the United States, and he therefore paid the penalty of his politeness by being dismissed from his high office.

The _Randolph_, on the night of March 7, 1778, engaged the British line-of-battle-ship _Yarmouth_, and while the fight was being gallantly conducted by Captain Biddle against a vastly superior foe, the _Randolph_, blew up. Out of 310 souls on board only four seamen were left alive, and these were picked up, four days later clinging to a piece of the wreck of their old ship.

One other vessel was ordered to be built by Congress during the year 1776, and that was a line-of-battle-ship of 74 guns, the name of which was to be _America_. This fine vessel was constructed at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but was not completed until the end of the Revolutionary struggle. She was then fitted out and presented, in the name of the United States, to Louis XVI. of France, as a mark of appreciation and gratitude by this republic, in whose cause he had so nobly and generously assisted.

It does not come within the scope of this story to tell of the gallant actions that took place between our modest vessels and the towering ships of England, but some measure of the great honors that we fought for and gained may be appreciated when it is known that American men-of-war made over 800 prizes at sea during the struggle for independence.

JIM LANGAN, HERO.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Do not dream it was only in olden romance
That the knight and the hero were given their chance.
Nor think for a moment that history's page
Will be blank when it tells of our own passing age.
The deed waits the doer, the hour the man,
And he is the hero who does what he can.
Jim Langan was up there at Pittston the week
When the mine walls gave way. Then with fast-blanching cheek
To that black-yawning grave's mouth rushed women and men.
Their dearest were buried there. Sheep in a pen
Not so helpless, if any yet breathing were kept
To face death in the dark, as on surely it crept.
Men stood there, wives sobbed there, naught was there to do,
Till Langan stepped boldly the huddling crowd through.
"If the boys are alive, we must reach them. I'll see!
If I find a path, you can then follow me."
Over rough rocks and ruins, o'er falling débris,
He crawled and he pushed, with the blood dripping free
From torn hands and knees. In the dark, in the dole,
Jim Langan fought on to the desperate goal.
Above him the dusky roof shuddered and shook,
A menace each inch of the black way he took;
The foul air was stifling, the night wrapped him round
As he wormed his slow progress deep under the ground.
The great pillars sagging, his thick gasping breath--
A strife of the heart against threatening death--
Jim Langan fought on--there were men pent up there
In that tomb of the mine shaft, a prey to despair--
Fought on, and fought back, for the help that must save
Those poor prisoned men from a horrible grave.
The red line of valor is still on the earth;
The true and the fearless we prize at their worth.
And, lads, never dream that the heroes are gone,
That they only loomed up in the world's early dawn,
For Homer to sing, lest the world should forget.
The valiant man leads us, is king of us yet,
Redeeming our time from its strife after pelf
With the sacrifice laid on God's altar--himself.

From instantaneous Photographs of Professor Gus Sundstrom, Champion All-round Swimmer of the United States.

Although it is preferable to have some one to teach you how to swim, it is not absolutely necessary, and any one who has failed to learn as a youngster may, by following out the instructions here given, learn how to swim and float and dive by practising in the water all by himself.