Chapter I: Front Matter

Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JANUARY 26, 1897. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 900. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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BOYS AT SEA.

BY W. CLARK RUSSELL.

Everybody will remember the exciting story of the ship _Aberfoyle_: how her Captain drank himself into delirium-tremens and then poisoned himself, how the crew mutinied, how the mate was washed overboard, and how this ship was eventually safely navigated to Melbourne by her second officer, who was little more than a boy. But perhaps the most memorable example of a boy's heroism is that of young Shotten. He was an apprentice on board a vessel called _Trafalgar_, which left Batavia fever-stricken, with the result that the superior officers perished, and young Shotten was left alone with the remains of a wicked ship's company to navigate the vessel. He carried her to Sydney in safety. His story is a true romance of the deep. This fine young fellow had not only to fight the ocean and its tremendous perils, he had also to handle a set of desperate, reckless men who refused to recognize his authority, and, charged with the dreadful spirit of mutiny and murder, scarcely suffered the boy commander to save their lives. Stories of this sort need the pen of a Defoe; they should be submitted to the world by the hand of genius, that, being in all senses things of beauty, they might be immortal as inspirations in such hours of conflict as young Shotten passed through. It is to be regretted that writers for boys do not uniformly invent with some perception of the good taste, sound judgment, and high aspirations and feelings of the young public they address. The typical boy hero of the boy's book is, for the most part, impossible; the lad as he reads grows disdainful, he may even detect blunders in seamanship or in the employment of nautical words, and his confidence is gravely shaken. No impression is left, no animating and lofty influence exerted, because the tale is trash; it is not true; the boy knows it never could have been true. I was once a boy myself, though I find this hard to believe, and I remember that the sea-stories which influenced me and which did me most good were tales founded on the facts of the ocean, plain and sincere narratives of the stern realities of the deep, such as this of Shotten. A young apprentice in Shotten's situation might, after reading his story, take courage from it, find an example in it, and achieve an end not less heroic than the model he imitated.

Can it be imagined that any one of M. Jules Verne's boy heroes could animate a lad by his impossible, albeit ingenious adventures, into the rendering of such splendid services as the whole English-speaking world was praising in young Shotten in 1895? It is a truth that boys at sea have done daring and glorious things, and their stories should be told by able hands for boys to read, because there is no calling that makes, in times of disaster, such demands upon the stout heart and all that is manly in the human qualities as the ocean life. One of the pluckiest boys that ever rose to rank in the British royal navy, and to the achievement of a great reputation for prudence, foresight, and gallantry scarcely inferior to Nelson's, was Admiral Hopson, who was born in the Isle of Wight, left an orphan when a child, and apprenticed by the parish to a tailor. The tailor's board, however, soon grew hateful to the little fellow; he yearned for quite another sort of board--I mean shipboard. And being one day alone in the shop, looking across the sea, he spied a squadron of men-of-war floating slowly around Dunnose.

Acting upon the impulse of the instant, he rushed from the shop, sprang into a boat, cast her painter loose, and contrived, by sculling with all his might, to reach the Admiral's ship. He was received and entered as a volunteer. Early next morning the British squadron fell in with a number of Frenchmen, and a hot action began. Little Hopson obeyed orders with wonderful alacrity and fearlessness; but when the fight had proceeded for two hours he grew impatient, and, turning to a seaman, asked why the ships were firing at one another. Jack answered that the action must continue till the white rag at the enemy's mast-head was struck. The ships were then engaged yard-arm to yard-arm. The air was thick with smoke of gunpowder. Hopson sprang into the shrouds, ran out to the main-yard-arm, gained the French Admiral's yard-arm, and running aloft, cut away the French flag, and brought it safely on board his own ship. The effect was amazing. The British yelled "Victory!" believing the French had struck; and the Frenchmen fled below, not doubting, now that their Admiral's flag had disappeared, that the battle was lost. For this surprising act of heroism young Hopson was promoted to the quarter-deck.

Every one must regret that more is not known of these gallant worthies of past times. Why is not the story of their services written for boys? Who amongst living authors who produce literature for the rising generation could invent a more thrilling, romantic, and exciting tale than this which I have only glanced at? Here is another example of the courage of a boy and what the spirit of a lad may achieve in an hour of grievous peril at sea: A famous frigate, _La Tribune_, was lost on the Halifax coast one November towards the close of the last century. Four men escaped in the jolly-boat, eight others clung to the main and fore tops; the remainder of the large ship's company perished. The inhabitants approached so close to the wreck as to be able to shout to and hear the shouts of the poor fellows upon the masts.

One of the first to attempt to succor them was a boy thirteen years old belonging to Herring Cove; he jumped in a little skiff at about eleven o'clock in the day, and with extraordinary labor and skill so manoeuvred his tiny ark as to back her under the frigate's foretop, and two of the shipwrecked men dropped into her. The boat was too small to carry more. The boy conveyed them in safety ashore, and the record of this inimitable piece of youthful heroism affirms that he "had them instantly conveyed to a comfortable habitation." The 'longshore men, spiritless and afraid, in spite of this glorious example, held back, and six men remained to be saved. The undaunted boy at once put off again; but the sea and the boat combined opposed too heavy a task to his strength exhausted by his previous labors, and he failed to reach the wreck. But his example was at last an animation; some boats were launched, and after much trouble and in the face of grave peril, they brought off in triumph the remaining survivors.

It is a story that should be written in letters of gold. But what will you think of the enthusiasm of the chroniclers of that lad's deed when I tell you that I am unable to give his name? I have searched for it--to no purpose. All we know is he was a Boy. But he was among the very noblest, and with something of emotion after all these long years I salute the darling little chap's memory.

At the battle of Copenhagen a lad so distinguished himself as to excite the admiration of the great Nelson. He was a Danish boy, about sixteen years of age, by some called Welmoes, but others have given him a different name. Be that as it may, this young fellow was in command of a praam, a sort of raft armed with small cannon and manned by a company of some twenty-four men. Nelson's flag was flying aboard the _Elephant_; the heroic young Dane resolved to attack the famous Admiral, whose name was a terror, and he forthwith shoved off in his raft from the shore, and gained the stern of the line-of-battle ship, then thundering in broadsides. The marines of the flag-ship promptly discharged their muskets at the gallant little band, and the praam was rapidly converted into a shambles. Twenty fine fellows lay dead and dying, but their boy commander, who stood up to his waist amongst the bodies, stuck to his post until the truce was proclaimed. Nelson had observed the splendid behavior of this lad. He held him in memory, and when he was banqueted at the palace, he begged the Prince to introduce young Welmoes to him. When the boy was presented, the most famous of all sea chieftains put his arm round his neck and kissed him, and, addressing the Prince, exclaimed that the young fellow deserved to be made an Admiral.

"If, my lord," was the answer, "I were to make all my brave officers admirals, I should have no captains or lieutenants in my service."

Twice were the wonderful battles in which Lord Nelson fought associated with the heroism of boys. One of the French ships at the battle of the Nile was _L'Orient_. She took fire, and hundreds of her people sprang overboard. Amongst those who perished in her was Commander Casabianca. All will remember Mrs. Hemans's moving verses beginning,

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled.

This boy was the Commodore's son; he was but ten years of age, yet behaved with amazing intrepidity whilst the battle raged. When the ship took fire his father bade him remain on deck, and he stuck to his post until the huge ship blew up. Memories of this sort should stir the blood of the young. They cannot be too often recited. They quicken the higher impulse, shape fancies into ardent resolution, and all will believe that they must be infinitely more valuable, even in an educational sense, than narratives of impossible adventure and of fictitious achievements which cannot serve as encouragements, because even the smallest boy will perceive that they are impracticable.

I have spoken of Lord Nelson, and of this great sailor many stories of his spirit when a boy are told. Some of these tales must be viewed with suspicion; one or two, perhaps, are worth recalling. The lad joined an expedition to the frozen sea under the command of Captain Phipps, afterwards Lord Musgrave. One night, when it was as bright as daylight, the ship lying hard and fast amid the ice, young Nelson took his gun and left the ship to shoot a bear which he had seen a long way off. Something went wrong with the lock of his musket, whereupon he grasped the weapon by the barrel, and gave chase to the beast, which went off on a trot. Having killed the bear, the boy returned to his ship, the Captain of which reprimanded him for going upon the ice without leave, and with a stern countenance asked what motive could have induced him to attack with a useless gun so formidable a beast as a polar-bear. The young hero's reply was to the point. "I wished, sir," he said, "to get the skin for my father."

All boys who are acquainted with the life of Lord Nelson--and every boy, be he American or English, who speaks the language in which this article is written, ought to read it and gather the meaning of that wonderful career--must have heard of Captain Trowbridge, one of the Admiral's favorite officers. He was the son of a baker, and rose by his splendid gallantry to be an Admiral and a baronet. One story of his fearlessness when a lad recalls Hopson's feat. He was midshipman aboard the _Seahorse_ when she chased and captured the French ship _Sartine_. Much of the glory of that day was owing to young Trowbridge, who, watching his chance and shouting for followers, boarded the enemy from the forecastle, and with his own hands hauled down the French colors. Perhaps not every commander of a victorious ship would have proved so frankly honorable as was Captain Farmer of the _Seahorse_, for afterwards, whilst dining with the commander-in-chief, Sir Edward Hughes, he checked the congratulations he was being overwhelmed with by saying that the victory was entirely owing to the heroism of a boy, a midshipman named Trowbridge. Sir Edward was so struck and delighted that he became the boy's fast friend, and was of signal help to him in the earlier stages of his splendid career. These and the like are stories which are true, and they should be made known to boys. My instances are British; but scores of inspiriting examples may be culled from the American records.

OWNEY, THE MAIL-DOG.

Had that extremely humorous cur Crab, the property of one Launce, in Shakespeare's _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, met with an accident terminating his career, his master could have found a successor in Owney, the railway mail-dog, a product of our own time, who would be fully qualified to fill the shoes, or rather the place of the other.

Owney is a terrier, now ten years old, and weighs about thirty-five pounds. By his own exertions he has achieved a fame of which to be proud, and as a traveller a distinction that few men can boast of. When a pup he decided upon his vocation, and in accordance with his views he entered the basement of the post-office at Albany and attached himself to the regular mail service. His devotion to the self-appointed duty of guarding mail-sacks interested the clerks, and as a reward he was permitted to accompany them on trips in the mail-cars.

Owney recognized this as an upward step in his career, and permitting his independence to assert itself, he would disappear for weeks at a time, returning at last to his adopted home at Albany. The numerous railway tags attached to his collar upon his return showed that he had been travelling with the mails. The route his dogship selected sometimes embraced the four extreme points of the United States, and it was, and is, no uncommon thing to find him wearing such tags as Seattle, Washington, Galveston, Texas, and Tampa, Florida, after one of these trips.

One day, thinking that some mail-pouches for Washington from Albany might contain state secrets to be zealously guarded, he assumed the duty, and thus received his introduction to John Wanamaker, then Postmaster-General. Mr. Wanamaker presented Owney with an elaborate harness, and, proud of his present, the dog made an extended tour. The weight of the tags gathered on this trip at last equalled his own, and, unable to stand the strain, he was compelled to return home and be relieved of his honors.

There are few post-offices and railway lines in the United States and Canada that have not entertained Owney. His Canadian experience was, however, a lamentable one, as a railway collision deprived him of an eye and part of one ear. The North German Lloyd steamers have carried him as passenger a number of times, and the P. and O. steamers took him to the far East during the Chino-Japanese war. During this trip he inspected the mail service of India.

Nothing will induce him to ride in any but the mail-cars, where, curled up on the pouches, he will permit none but the mail-clerks to touch them. These men are very fond of him, and he never lacks for attention. He treats them all impartially, and comes and goes as he wills. As another dog knows a bone, so Owney does a mail-sack, and he will leap aboard the trains with them in the most unexpected places, to be always received with delight. Duly recorded in the history of the United States Post-office, he has its great army of employees, from the highest to the lowest, for his firm friends.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.

"Isn't it blind-man's holiday?" was John's question, as, "betwixt the dark and the daylight," he put his head in his mother's lap, stretching the rest of his long body meanwhile on the tiger-skin rug which lay at her feet.

"Yes;" and immediately Mrs. Colfax laid aside her mending-basket, touching the top pair of socks as she did so, and then followed the words: "I've been busy with those for the last hour. Do you know you are more destructive on socks than your father and three brothers put together?"

"Am I, mother?" and the boy took one of her hands between his own, while she at once ran the fingers of her other hand through his short thick hair, remarking, "that she didn't know where it got its curly tendency from, as none of her family could lay any claim to curls, nor the Colfaxes either."

But John had not come to discuss his kinky locks, nor to talk about his school affairs; on the contrary, he had something peculiarly strange to tell to-night. In fact, nothing less than that his great chum, Hiram Scott, was to have an "out-and-out boss party to celebrate his sixteenth birthday."

"That means, my son would like a party on his sixteenth birthday."

"That's about the size of it, mother."

"All right. You may have one."

"Hurrah!" and John sat upright, while he eagerly explained, "But, mother, Hiram's going to have a regular gilt-edged affair. One of the kind you read about."

"And you wouldn't wish to be outdone by him; is that it?"

"Well--no, I wouldn't."

"Is his birthday before yours?"

"Yes; ten days."

"Has Hiram told you any particular plans about his party?"

"Why, all there are to tell, I suppose. They are to have the biggest orchestra--harp, horn, and all that sort of thing." Then, shaking his head impressively: "And the supper will cost one hundred dollars--maybe two hundred. And Hiram is to have a new pair of black silk socks and patent-leather pumps, and an elegant new dinner jacket, for the occasion; he's to be brand-new all over, indeed, for, with a real whipper-snapper air, he informed me he was to have awfully swell black trousers and waistcoat, and a new black satin tie. The whole thing is to be mighty fine, I can tell you."

"Well, it's quite impossible for you to give as costly a party as Hiram's, for your father is a poor man in comparison to his, my son."

"I know it," and John once more threw himself forward and laid his head on his mother's lap.

"So we must think of something fantastic and fanciful," Mrs. Colfax resumed, "and hope that the unusualness of your party will compensate for the expensive supper and orchestra of Hiram's."

"What would you give, mother? For you know right off I could never plan a new party any more than if I was a--"

"A what, my son?"

"A--barber's pole--or a wax figure, or any other know-nothing thing."

"You're interested in Indians, aren't you?"

"_Indians!_" and jumping to his feet John trod forcibly across the floor, as if he was on his way to encounter a whole tribe of them. Then he slowly stated: "I should remark that I am. But what have Indians to do with my party?"

"You'll see," and Mrs. Colfax, leaning back in her chair, inquired: "How would you like to play that you are Hiawatha just for a night? In fact, the invitations might read:

"Hiawatha

"Requests the pleasure of

"Miss B---- B----'s

"company on Monday evening,

"March nineteenth, at eight o'clock.

"Dancing, Games. Address."

"Oh, go on, mother," were John's impatient words, as Mrs. Colfax hesitated a second; "I can hardly wait," and giving a low whistle, he shouted: "Excellent, fine, clever! Hiram is welcome to his new toggery for aught I care; I'll appear in Indian array--eagle feathers, bead necklaces, bracelets, moccasins, and all. What a jolly scheme!" and John stood as erect as though his eagle plumes were already waving above his head.

"And perhaps, since Hiram is your most intimate friend, he would take the character of Chibiabos, for

"Very dear to Hiawatha
Was the gentle Chibiabos.

"And then another of your friends should be the very strong man Kwasind, and then, of course, there must be Laughing Water, Minnehaha, and the old arrow-maker, her father."

"Would it be a Hiawatha party or an Indian party?"

"Neither, John, because all of Longfellow's people should come. The only reason I have been talking about Hiawatha was because we might as well fix your character at once."

"Oh, that's the how of things. Are you sure there would be enough characters to go around?"

"Without a doubt, John;" and then, with an affectionate gesture on her big boy, Mrs. Colfax added, "I guess somebody that I know would better read Longfellow's poems over again."

"I _am_ sort o' rusty. I suppose, too, that would be the only way to advise a fellow as to his get-up."

"It would be the best way; for example, in the _Tales of the Wayside Inn_ we read

"But first the Landlord will I trace;
Grave in his aspect and attire;

"and

"A youth was there of quiet ways,
A student of old books and days;

"and a

"Theologian from the school
Of Cambridge on the Charles was there.

"And a Poet, and a Spanish Jew, a young Sicilian, and a Musician, all are minutely described."

"Will Minnehaha be the only girl, mother?"

"Why, what a nonsensical question! Perhaps somebody would personate Margaret, the Blind Girl of Castèl-Cuillè, only it would be pleasanter to personate her before

"The dread disease that none can stay,
The pestilence that walks by night,
Took the young bride's sight away.

"And surely some mischievous girl would delight to make believe she was

"A woman bent and gray with years,

"and be the village seer. And I've just had an idea, John, that your father can be the Master who builds the ship. You remember the way the poem commences,

"Build me straight, O worthy Master.

"And I'll dress like a young girl and be the promised bride

"Standing before
Her father's door."

"Oh, capital! What fun!" and John excitedly once more jumped to his feet, adding, "What a jolly mother I have!"

"And, of course," Mrs. Colfax continued, "there will be a Priscilla and an Evangeline. Indeed, you need not trouble about there not being enough characters to go around."

"Well, granted that they all come, mother, what then?"

"Then we will give a tableau vivant, called The Children's Hour. Our house is just the place for it."

"In what way? I don't understand."

"The library can be seen from any part of the parlors. And grandpa, who bears such a close resemblance to Longfellow, can act his character. The library must be dimly lighted, because

"The night is beginning to lower,

"and the parlors will have to be almost dark while the tableau is shown, otherwise we cannot see into the library. There grandpa will sit in his favorite high chair, in the attitude of listening to the patter of little feet above him. Some unseen person, perhaps I, will read the poem which describes the scene, and after a while three young girls,

"Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair,

"will be heard descending our long stairs, and they will make a rush from the stairway through the hall and climb over the arms and back of his chair. Trust me, John, the tableau will be very pretty. I know exactly how to arrange it, and if I did not, there is a fine illustration in the edition that your father gave me last Christmas. Besides, grandpa will enjoy it so much. Indeed, it was only the other day that he told me that his party days were over."

"I'm so glad you thought of putting grandpa in, mother. But after the tableau?"

"After the tableau it will be a Children's Hour in very truth--games, songs, dances, and supper. During the dance immediately preceding the supper, paper hats will be given as favors, which everybody will don, excepting when, like yourself, their eagle plumes would interfere. In that case they can suspend them from the arm. The girls will wear broad-brimmed hats, and the boys, turbans; and the boy must invite the girl who has the same colored hat as himself to go to supper."

"But where are all these hats to come from? I guess you're the one that's forgetting that papa isn't rich."

And Mrs. Colfax, throwing back her head, laughed merrily. When she recovered herself she exclaimed: "Why, John, I'll make the hats. It will only be a little bit of fun for me, and all the paper put together wouldn't cost a dollar."

"I know the fellows will just think you're a beaut--y." For it was very difficult for John not to use slang.

But Mrs. Colfax talked on regardless of her son's interruptions, and therefore it was that John learned that both the Longfellow and birthday schemes should unite in the supper-room.

"For example, The Children's Hour would appear in large letters over the mantel-piece. The letters could be cut out of card-board and covered with asparagus, which should be tacked on with green silk. Then candy could be twisted to represent a coil of rope, and a candy man to represent the Skipper. Another candy man would be called the Village Blacksmith, and a chocolate man the Black Knight, and so on. Tiny papers, similar in size to motto papers, should be glued at one end to these figures, thus introducing them. The large cakes should be iced around with flowers, for Longfellow wrote, 'Everywhere about us are they glowing,' and the ice-cream models should be as appropriate as the caterer could arrange. A ship would be a fine example; so would a bell, the Curfew Bell; an arrow, The Arrow and the Song; and a clock, The Old Clock on the Stairs.

"And the birthday feature, John, should be indicated by the flower for your month; you were born in March, therefore your birthday flower is violet. Violet-colored satin ribbon might be used to decorate the table, and potted palms, etc., could stand in violet crépon paper pots, but, nevertheless, real violets must show themselves as freely as we can afford them." And Mrs. Colfax smoothed back the hair from her son's forehead.

"I never knew that before."

"Never knew what?"

"That everybody had a birthday flower. What are the flowers for the other months?"

"April, daisies; May, hawthorn; June, roses; August, poppies; September, convolvulus; October, hops; November, chrysanthemums; December, holly; January, snow-drops; February, primroses."

"I like my flower best, don't you."

"Yes, I think I do. But I must talk more about the party. At the supper table each one in turn must tell his or her character."

"Cannot people guess before?"

"They can guess all they like, John, if they will whisper. Part of the amusement at such a party is to discover your friends."

"What about games, mother?"

"Try the Cent Hunt. Say that a cent is wrapped in violet tissue-paper, and is within sight. The discoverer quietly tells you, and if he is correct, present him with a boutonnière of violets. Afterwards give a cent, pencil, and paper to everybody, and state five minutes are allowed to write what each side of the cent will tell. This game is called A Penny for your Thoughts.

"Find on one side: A beverage--T. A messenger--one c(s)ent. A piece of armor--shield. A symbol of victory--wreath. A weapon--arrow. A mode of punishment--stripes. A gallant--bow. A sheet of water--C.

"Find on the other side: A portion of a hill--brow. A place of worship--temple. An animal--hare. Youth and old age--18-96. One way of expressing marriage--U. S. A cultivated flower--tulip. An emblem of royalty--crown. Fruit--date.

"And afterwards play Stage-Coach, but, John, you know that game."

"Here comes father; shall we tell him?"

"Wait until to-morrow."

THE MIDDLETON BOWL.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.