Chapter XV: Stave FIVE: The End of It (4)

The Indians of different tribes that were inimical had left the town and neighborhood. Captain Lamotte continued to hover about it in order, if possible, to make his way good into the fort. Parties attempted in vain to surprise him. A few of his party were taken, one of which was Maisonville, a famous Indian partisan. Two lads had captured him, tied him to a post in the street, and fought from behind him as a breastwork, supposing that the enemy would not fire at them for fear of killing him, as he would alarm them by his voice. The lads were ordered, by an officer who discovered them at their amusement, to untie their prisoner, and take him off to the guard, which they did, but were so inhuman as to take part of his scalp on the way. There happened to him no other damage.

As almost the whole of the persons who were most active in the department of Detroit were either in the fort or with Captain Lamotte, I got extremely uneasy for fear that he would not fall into our power, knowing that he would go off, if he could not get into the fort in the course of the night. Finding that, without some unforeseen accident, the fort must inevitably be ours, and that a reënforcement of twenty men, although considerable to them, would not be of great moment to us in the present situation of affairs, and knowing that we had weakened them by killing or wounding many of their gunners, after some deliberation, we concluded to risk the reënforcement in preference of his going again among the Indians. The garrison had at least a month's provisions; and, if they could hold out, in the course of that time he might do us much damage.

A little before day the troops were withdrawn from their positions about the fort, except a few parties of observation, and the firing totally ceased. Orders were given, in case of Lamotte's approach, not to alarm or fire on him without a certainty of killing or taking the whole. In less than a quarter of an hour, he passed within ten feet of an officer and a party that lay concealed. Ladders were flung over to them; and, as they mounted them, our party shouted. Many of them fell from the top of the walls,--some within, and others back; but, as they were not fired on, they all got over, much to the joy of their friends. But, on considering the matter, they must have been convinced that it was a scheme of ours to let them in, and that we were so strong as to care but little about them or the manner of their getting into the garrison.

The firing immediately commenced on both sides with double vigor; and I believe that more noise could not have been made by the same number of men. Their shouts could not be heard for the fire-arms; but a continual blaze was kept around the garrison, without much being done, until about daybreak, when our troops were drawn off to posts prepared for them, about sixty or seventy yards from the fort. A loophole then could scarcely be darkened but a rifle-ball would pass through it. To have stood to their cannon would have destroyed their men, without a probability of doing much service. Our situation was nearly similar. It would have been imprudent in either party to have wasted their men, without some decisive stroke required it.

Thus the attack continued until about nine o'clock on the morning of the 24th. Learning that the two prisoners they had brought in the day before had a considerable number of letters with them, I supposed it an express that we expected about this time, which I knew to be of the greatest moment to us, as we had not received one since our arrival in the country; and, not being fully acquainted with the character of our enemy, we were doubtful that those papers might be destroyed, to prevent which I sent a flag [with a letter] demanding the garrison.[446-5]

* * * * *

The firing then commenced warmly for a considerable time; and we were obliged to be careful in preventing our men from exposing themselves too much, as they were now much animated, having been refreshed during the flag. They frequently mentioned their wishes to storm the place, and put an end to the business at once. The firing was heavy through every crack that could be discovered in any part of the fort. Several of the garrison got wounded, and no possibility of standing near the embrasures. Toward the evening a flag appeared with the following proposals:--

"Lieutenant-governor Hamilton proposes to Colonel Clark a truce for
three days, during which time he promises there shall be no
defensive works carried on in the garrison, on condition that
Colonel Clark shall observe, on his part, a like cessation of any
defensive work,--that is, he wishes to confer with Colonel Clark as
soon as can be, and promises that whatever may pass between them
two and another person mutually agreed upon to be present shall
remain secret till matters be finished, as he wishes that, whatever
the result of the conference may be, it may tend to the honor and
credit of each party. If Colonel Clark makes a difficulty of coming
into the fort, Lieutenant-governor Hamilton will speak to him by
the gate.

"(Signed) HENRY HAMILTON.
"24th February, 1779."

I was at a great loss to conceive what reason Lieutenant-governor Hamilton could have for wishing a truce of three days on such terms as he proposed. Numbers said it was a scheme to get me into their possession. I had a different opinion and no idea of his possessing such sentiments, as an act of that kind would infallibly ruin him. Although we had the greatest reason to expect a reënforcement in less than three days, that would at once put an end to the siege, I yet did not think it prudent to agree to the proposals, and sent the following answer:--

"Colonel Clark's compliments to Lieutenant-governor Hamilton, and
begs leave to inform him that he will not agree to any terms other
than Mr. Hamilton's surrendering himself and garrison prisoners at
discretion. If Mr. Hamilton is desirous of a conference with
Colonel Clark, he will meet him at the church with Captain Helm.

"(Signed) G. R. C.
"February 24th, 1779."

We met at the church, about eighty yards from the fort, Lieutenant-governor Hamilton, Major Hay, superintendent of Indian affairs, Captain Helm, their prisoner, Major Bowman, and myself. The conference began. Hamilton produced terms of capitulation, signed, that contained various articles, one of which was that the garrison should be surrendered on their being permitted to go to Pensacola on parole. After deliberating on every article, I rejected the whole.

He then wished that I would make some proposition. I told him that I had no other to make than what I had already made,--that of his surrendering as prisoners at discretion. I said that his troops had behaved with spirit; that they could not suppose that they would be worse treated in consequence of it; that, if he chose to comply with the demand, though hard, perhaps the sooner the better; that it was in vain to make any proposition to me; that he, by this time, must be sensible that the garrison would fall; that both of us must [view?] all blood spilt for the future by the garrison as murder; that my troops were already impatient, and called aloud for permission to tear down and storm the fort. If such a step was taken, many, of course, would be cut down; and the result of an enraged body of woodsmen breaking in must be obvious to him. It would be out of the power of an American officer to save a single man.

Various altercation took place for a considerable time. Captain Helm attempted to moderate our fixed determination. I told him he was a British prisoner; and it was doubtful whether or not he could, with propriety, speak on the subject. Hamilton then said that Captain Helm was from that moment liberated, and might use his pleasure. I informed the Captain that I would not receive him on such terms; that he must return to the garrison, and await his fate. I then told Lieutenant-governor Hamilton that hostilities should not commence until five minutes after the drums gave the alarm.

We took our leave, and parted but a few steps, when Hamilton stopped, and politely asked me if I would be so kind as to give him my reasons for refusing the garrison any other terms than those I had offered. I told him I had no objections in giving him my real reasons, which were simply these: that I knew the greater part of the principal Indian partisans of Detroit were with him; that I wanted an excuse to put them to death or otherwise treat them as I thought proper; that the cries of the widows and the fatherless on the frontiers, which they had occasioned, now required their blood from my hand; and that I did not choose to be so timorous as to disobey the absolute commands of their authority, which I looked upon to be next to divine; that I would rather lose fifty men than not to empower myself to execute this piece of business with propriety; that, if he chose to risk the massacre of his garrison for their sakes, it was his own pleasure; and that I might, perhaps, take it into my head to send for some of those widows to see it executed.

Major Hay paying great attention, I had observed a kind of distrust in his countenance, which in a great measure influenced my conversation during this time. On my concluding, "Pray, sir," said he, "who is it that you call Indian partisans?" "Sir," I replied, "I take Major Hay to be one of the principal." I never saw a man in the moment of execution so struck as he appeared to be,--pale and trembling, scarcely able to stand. Hamilton blushed, and, I observed, was much affected at his behavior. Major Bowman's countenance sufficiently explained his disdain for the one and his sorrow for the other.

Some moments elapsed without a word passing on either side. From that moment my resolutions changed respecting Hamilton's situation. I told him that we would return to our respective posts; that I would reconsider the matter, and let him know the result. No offensive measures should be taken in the meantime. Agreed to; and we parted. What had passed being made known to our officers, it was agreed that we should moderate our resolutions.

That afternoon the following articles were signed and the garrison surrendered:

I. Lieutenant-governor Hamilton engages to deliver up to Colonel Clark, Fort Sackville, as it is at present, with all the stores, etc.

II. The garrison are to deliver themselves as prisoners of war, and march out with their arms and accoutrements, etc.

III. The garrison to be delivered up at ten o'clock tomorrow.

IV. Three days time to be allowed the garrison to settle their accounts with the inhabitants and traders of this place.

V. The officers of the garrison to be allowed their necessary baggage, etc.

Signed at Post St. Vincent (Vincennes), 24th of February, 1779.

Agreed for the following reasons: the remoteness from succor; the state and quantity of provisions, etc.; unanimity of officers and men in its expediency; the honorable terms allowed; and, lastly, the confidence in a generous enemy.

(Signed) HENRY HAMILTON,
_Lieut.-Gov. and Superintendent._

* * * * *

The business being now nearly at an end, troops were posted in several strong houses around the garrison and patrolled during the night to prevent any deception that might be attempted. The remainder on duty lay on their arms, and for the first time for many days past got some rest.

During the siege, I got only one man wounded. Not being able to lose many, I made them secure themselves well. Seven were badly wounded in the fort through ports.

Almost every man had conceived a favorable opinion of Lieutenant-governor Hamilton,--I believe what affected myself made some impression on the whole; and I was happy to find that he never deviated, while he stayed with us, from that dignity of conduct that became an officer in his situation. The morning of the 25th approaching, arrangements were made for receiving the garrison [which consisted of seventy-nine men], and about ten o'clock it was delivered in form; and everything was immediately arranged to the best advantage.[452-7]

FOOTNOTES:

[428-1] The first permanent settlement in Indiana was made on the Wabash River 117 miles southwest of the present city of Indianapolis. On what was originally the location of a prominent Indian village, the French established a fort in 1702, and it was generally known as _The Post_. In 1736 the name of Vinsenne, an early commandant of the post, was applied to the little settlement, and this name later came to be written _Vincennes_, in its present form.

The English took the place in 1763; in 1778 the weak English garrison was driven out by the forerunners of George Rogers Clark, who from Kaskaskia sent Captain Helm to take charge. The same winter Captain Helm and the one soldier who constituted his garrison were compelled to surrender to the British General, Hamilton, who had come from Detroit to recapture the fort. It was in the following February that Clark made the final capture as told in these memoirs. Thereafter Vincennes belonged to Virginia, who ceded it to the United States in 1783. Vincennes was the capital of Indiana territory from 1801 to 1816.

[428-2] The selection is taken from General Clark's Memoirs.

[431-3] These were men from Vincennes whom Clark had taken from canoes and from whom he obtained much information, although it was not given with perfect willingness.

[437-4] It was said with some show of justice that General Hamilton had paid the Indians a bounty on the scalps of American settlers. His course in many ways had aroused the bitterest hatred among the colonists, and especially among the "Big Knives."

[446-5] The letter addressed to Lieutenant-governor Hamilton read as follows:

"SIR:--In order to save yourself from the impending storm that now threatens you, I order you immediately to surrender yourself, with all your garrison, stores, etc. For, if I am obliged to storm, you may depend on such treatment as is justly due to a murderer. Beware of destroying stores of any kind or any papers or letters that are in your possession, or hurting one house in town: for, by heavens! if you do, there shall be no mercy shown you.

(Signed) G. R. CLARK."

In reply the British officer sent the following:

"Lieutenant-governor Hamilton begs leave to acquaint Colonel Clark that he and his garrison are not disposed to be awed into any action unworthy British subjects."

[452-7] Clark was a man of action, not a scholar; and the errors of which his writings are full may well be overlooked, so full of interest is what he says. The selections above have been slightly changed, principally, however, in spelling and the use of capital letters.

Hamilton was sent in irons to Virginia and was kept in close confinement, at Williamsburg, till nearly the end of the Revolution. Washington wrote, as a reason for not exchanging the British prisoner, that he "had issued proclamations and approved of practices, which were marked with cruelty towards the people that fell into his hands, such as inciting the Indians to bring in scalps, putting prisoners in irons, and giving men up to be the victims of savage barbarity."

THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK

_Adapted from_ EDGAR A. POE

NOTE.--The ingeniousness of the idea in this story marks it as
Poe's, though it lacks some of the characteristics which we expect
to find in everything that came from the brain of that most unusual
writer. Many of his poems and many of his most famous stories, such
as _Ligeia_, _The Fall of the House of Usher_, _Eleanora_ and _The
Masque of the Red Death_, have a fantastic horror about them which
is scarcely to be found in the writings of any other man. _The Gold
Bug_, which is included in Volume IX of this series is a
characteristic example of another type of Poe's stories; it shows
at its best his marvelous inventive power.

_Three Sundays in a Week_, as given here, has been abridged
somewhat, though nothing that is essential to the story has been
omitted.

"You hard-hearted, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, shaking my fist at him in imagination. Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial difference did exist, just then, between what I said and what I had not the courage to say--between what I did and what I had half a mind to do.

The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting with his feet upon the mantelpiece, making strenuous efforts to accomplish a ditty.

"My _dear_ uncle," said I, closing the door gently and approaching him with the blandest of smiles, "you are always so very kind and considerate, and have evinced your benevolence in so many--so very many ways--that--that I feel I have only to suggest this little point to you once more to make sure of your full acquiescence."

"Hem!" said he, "good boy! go on!"

"I am sure, my dearest uncle (you confounded old rascal!) that you have no design really and seriously to oppose my union with Kate. This is merely a joke of yours, I know--ha! ha! ha!--how very pleasant you are at times."

"Ha! ha! ha!" said he, "curse you! yes!"

"To be sure--of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all that Kate and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us--as regards the _time_--you know, uncle--in short, when will it be most convenient for yourself that the wedding shall--shall come off, you know?"

"Come off, you scoundrel! what do you mean by that?--Better wait till it goes on."

"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--oh, that's good--oh, that's capital--such a wit! But all we want, just now, you know, uncle, is that you should indicate the time precisely."

"Ah!--precisely?"

"Yes, uncle--that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself."

"Wouldn't it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random--sometime within a year or so, for example?--_must_ I say precisely?"

"_If_ you please, uncle--precisely."

"Well, then, Bobby, my boy--you're a fine fellow, aren't you?--since you _will_ have the exact time, I'll--why, I'll oblige you for once."

"Dear uncle!"

"Hush, sir!" (drowning my voice)--"I'll oblige you for once. You shall have my consent--and the _plum_, we mustn't forget the plum--let me see! When shall it be? To-day's Sunday--isn't it! Well, then, you shall be married precisely--_precisely_, now mind!--_when three Sundays come together in a week_! Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and her plum when three Sundays come together in a week--but not _till_ then--you young scapegrace--not _till_ then, if I die for it. You know me--_I'm a man of my word_--_now be off_!" Here he grinned at me viciously, and I rushed from the room in despair.

A very "fine old English gentleman" was my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, but, unlike him of the song, he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy, pompous, passionate, semi-circular somebody, with a red nose, a thick skull, a long purse, and a strong sense of his own consequence. With the best heart in the world, he contrived, through a predominate whim of contradiction, to earn for himself, among those who only knew him superficially, the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellent people, he seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might easily, at a casual glance, be mistaken for malevolence. To every request, a positive "No!" was his immediate answer; but in the end--in the long, long end--there were exceedingly few requests which he refused. Against all attacks upon his purse he made the most sturdy defence; but the amount extorted from him at last, was generally in direct ratio with the length of the siege and the stubbornness of the resistance. In charity, no one gave more liberally, or with a worse grace.

For the fine arts, especially for the belles-lettres, he entertained a profound contempt. Thus my own inkling for the Muses had excited his entire displeasure. He assured me one day, when I asked him for a new copy of Horace, that the translation of "_Poeta nascitur, non fit_"[456-1] was "a nasty poet for nothing fit"--a remark which I took in high dudgeon. His repugnance to the "humanities" had, also, much increased of late, by an accidental bias in favor of what he supposed to be natural science. Somebody had accosted him in the street, mistaking him for a no less personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the lecturer upon quack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at the epoch of this story, my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, was accessible and pacific only upon the points which happened to chime in with the hobby he was riding.

I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents in dying had bequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the old villain loved me as his own child--nearly if not quite as well as he loved Kate--but it was a dog's existence that he led me after all. From my first year until my fifth, he obliged me with very regular floggings. From five to fifteen, he threatened me, hourly, with the House of Correction. From fifteen to twenty not a day passed in which he did not promise to cut me off with a shilling. I was a sad dog it is true, but then it was a part of my nature--a point of my faith.

In Kate, however, I had a firm friend, and I knew it. She was a good girl, and told me very sweetly that I might have her (plum and all) whenever I could badger my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, into the necessary consent. Poor girl! she was barely fifteen, and without this consent her little amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five immeasurable summers had "dragged their slow length along." What then to do? In vain we besieged the old gentleman with importunities. It would have stirred the indignation of Job himself to see how much like an old mouser he behaved to us two little mice. In his heart he wished for nothing more ardently than our union. He had made up his mind to this all along. In fact he would have given ten thousand pounds from his own pocket (Kate's plum was _her own_) if he could have invented anything like an excuse for complying with our very natural wishes. But then we had been so imprudent as to broach the matter ourselves. Not to oppose it under the circumstances, I sincerely believe, was not in his power.

My granduncle was, after his own fashion, a man of his word, no doubt. The spirit of his vows he made no scruple of setting at naught, but the letter was a bond inviolable. Now it was this peculiarity in his disposition of which Kate's ingenuity enabled us one fine day, not long after our interview in the drawing-room, to take a very unexpected advantage.

It happened then--so the Fates ordered it--that among the naval acquaintances of my betrothed were two gentlemen who had just set foot upon the shores of England, after a year's absence, each, in foreign travel. In company with these gentlemen, Kate and I, preconcertedly, paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit on the afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth--just three weeks after the memorable decision which had so cruelly defeated our hopes. For about half an hour the conversation ran upon ordinary topics; but at last we contrived, quite naturally, to give it the following turn:

_Capt. Pratt._ "Well, I have been absent just one year. Just one year to-day, as I live--let me see! yes!--this is October the tenth. You remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called this day year, to bid you good-bye. And by the way, it does seem something like a coincidence, does it not--that our friend, Captain Smitherton, has been absent exactly a year also, a year to-day?"

_Smitherton._ "Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, that I called with Captain Pratt on this very day last year, to pay my parting respects."

_Uncle._ "Yes, yes, yes--I remember it very well--very queer indeed! Both of you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence indeed! Just what Doctor Dubble L. Dee would denominate an extraordinary concurrence of events. Doctor Dub--"

_Kate_ (_interrupting_). "To be sure papa, it _is_ something strange; but then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn't go altogether the same route, and that makes a difference you know."

_Uncle._ "I don't know any such thing, you hussy! How should I? I think it only makes the matter more remarkable. Doctor Dubble L. Dee--"

_Kate._ "Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and Captain Smitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope."

_Uncle._ "Precisely! the one went east and the other went west, you jade, and they have both gone quite round the world. By the bye, Doctor Dub--"

_Myself_ (_hurriedly_). "Captain Pratt, you must come and spend the evening with us to-morrow--you and Smitherton--you can tell us all about your voyage, and we'll have a game of whist, and--"

_Pratt._ "Whist, my dear fellow--you forget. To-morrow will be Sunday. Some other evening--"

_Kate._ "Oh, no, fie!--Robert's not _quite_ so bad as that. _To-day's_ Sunday."

_Uncle._ "To be sure--to be sure."

_Pratt._ "I beg both your pardons--but I can't be so much mistaken. I know to-morrow's Sunday, because--"

_Smitherton_ (_much surprised_). "What _are_ you all thinking about? Wasn't _yesterday_ Sunday, I should like to know?"

_All._ "Yesterday, indeed! you _are_ out!"

_Uncle._ "To-day's Sunday, I say--don't I know?"

_Pratt._ "Oh, no!--to-morrow's Sunday."

_Smitherton._ "You are _all_ mad--every one of you. I am as positive that yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair."

_Kate_ (_jumping up eagerly_). "I see it--I see it all. Papa, this is a judgment upon you, about--about you know what. Let me alone, and I'll explain it all in a minute. It's a very simple thing, indeed. Captain Smitherton says that yesterday was Sunday: so it was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and papa and I, say that to-day is Sunday: so it is, we are right. Captain Pratt maintains that to-morrow will be Sunday: so it will, he is right, too. The fact is, we are all right, and thus _three Sundays have come together in a week_."

_Smitherton_ (_after a pause_). "By the bye, Pratt, Kate has us completely. What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands thus: the earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles in circumference. Now this globe turns upon its own axis--revolves--spins around--these twenty-four thousand miles of extent, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four hours. Do you understand, Mr. Rumgudgeon?"

_Uncle._ "To be sure--to be sure. Doctor Dub--"

_Smitherton_ (_drowning his voice_). "Well sir, that is at the rate of one thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from this position a thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the rising of the sun here at London by just one hour. I see the sun rise one hour before you do. Proceeding, in the same direction, yet another thousand miles, I anticipate the rising by two hours--another thousand, and I anticipate it by three hours, and so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and back to this spot, when having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I anticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four hours; that is to say, I am a day _in advance_ of your time. Understand, eh?"

_Uncle._ "But Dubble L. Dee--"

_Smitherton_ (_speaking very loud_). "Captain Pratt, on the contrary, when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour, and when he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles west was twenty-four hours, or one day, _behind_ the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday--thus with you, to-day is Sunday--and thus with Pratt, to-morrow will be Sunday. And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively clear that that we are _all right_; for there can be no philosophical reason assigned why the idea of one of us should have preference over that of the other."

_Uncle._ "My eyes!--well, Kate--well Bobby!--this _is_ a judgment upon me as you say. But I am a man of my word--_mark that_! You shall have her, my boy (plum and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove! Three Sundays in a row! I'll go and take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon _that_."

FOOTNOTES:

[456-1] A poet is born, not made.

THE MODERN BELLE

_By_ STARK

She sits in a fashionable parlor,
And rocks in her easy chair;
She is clad in silks and satins,
And jewels are in her hair;
She winks and giggles and simpers,
And simpers and giggles and winks;
And though she talks but little,
'Tis a good deal more than she thinks.

She lies abed in the morning
Till nearly the hour of noon,
Then comes down snapping and snarling
Because she was called so soon;
Her hair is still in papers,
Her cheeks still fresh with paint,--
Remains of her last night's blushes,
Before she intended to faint.

She dotes upon men unshaven,
And men with "flowing hair;"
She's eloquent over mustaches,
They give such a foreign air.
She talks of Italian music,
And falls in love with the moon;
And, if a mouse were to meet her,
She would sink away in a swoon.

Her feet are so very little,
Her hands are so very white,
Her jewels so very heavy,
And her head so very light;
Her color is made of cosmetics
(Though this she will never own),
Her body is made mostly of cotton,
Her heart is made wholly of stone.

She falls in love with a fellow
Who swells with a foreign air;
He marries her for her money,
She marries him for his hair!
One of the very best matches,--
Both are well mated in life;
_She's got a fool for a husband,
He's got a fool for a wife_!

WIDOW MACHREE

_By_ SAMUEL LOVER

Widow machree, it's no wonder you frown,--
Och hone! widow machree;
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,--
Och hone! widow machree.
How altered your air,
With that close cap you wear,--
'Tis destroying your hair,
Which should be flowing free;
Be no longer a churl
Of its black silken curl,--
Och hone! widow machree!

Widow machree, now the summer is come,--
Och hone! widow machree,
When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum?
Och hone! widow machree!
See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares;
Why, even the bears
Now in couples agree;
And the mute little fish,
Though they can't spake, they wish,--
Och hone! widow machree.

Widow machree, and when winter comes in,--
Och hone! widow machree,--
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone! widow machree.
Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
And the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee;
While alone with your cup
Like a hermit you sup,
Och hone! widow machree.

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,--
Och hone! widow machree,--
But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld,
Och hone! widow machree!
With such sins on your head,
Sure your peace would be fled;
Could you sleep in your bed
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite,
That would wake you each night,
Crying "Och hone! widow machree!"

Then take my advice, darling widow machree,--
Och hone! widow machree,--
And with my advice, Faith, I wish you'd take me,
Och hone! widow machree!
You'd have me to desire
Then to stir up the fire;
And sure hope is no liar
In whispering to me,
That the ghosts would depart
When you'd me near your heart,--
Och hone! widow machree!

LIMESTONE BROTH

_By_ GERALD GRIFFIN

"My father went once upon a time about the country, in the idle season, seeing if he could make a penny at all by cutting hair or setting rashurs or pen-knives, or any other job that would fall in his way.

Weel an' good--he was one day walking alone in the mountains of Kerry, without a ha'p'ny in his pocket (for though he traveled afoot, it cost him more than he earned), an' knowing there was but little love for a County Limerick man in the place where he was, an' being half perished with the hunger, an' evening drawing nigh, he didn't know well what to do with himself till morning.

Very good--he went along the wild road; an' if he did, he soon sees a farmhouse at a little distance o' one side--a snug-looking place, with the smoke curling up out of the chimney, an' all tokens of good living inside. Well, some people would live where a fox would starve.

What do you think did my father do? He wouldn't beg (a thing one of our people never done yet, thank heaven!) an' he hadn't the money to buy a thing, so what does he do? He takes up a couple o' the big limestones that were lying in the road, in his two hands, an' away with him to the house.

'Lord save all here!' says he, walking in the door.

'And you kindly,' says they.

'I'm come to you,' says he, this way, looking at the two limestones, 'to know would ye let me make a little limestone broth over your fire, until I'll make my dinner?'

'Limestone broth!' says they to him again: 'what's that, _aroo_?'

'Broth made of limestone,' says he; 'what else?'

'We never heard of such a thing,' says they.

'Why, then, you may hear it now,' says he, 'an' see it also, if you'll gi' me a pot an' a couple o' quarts o' soft water.'

'You can have it an' welcome,' says they.

So they put down the pot an' the water, an' my father went over an' tuk a chair hard by the pleasant fire for himself, an' put down his two limestones to boil, an' kept stirrin' them round like stir-about.

Very good--well, by-an'-by, when the wather began to boil--''Tis thickening finely,' says my father; 'now if it had a grain o' salt at all, 'twould be a great improvement to it.'

'Raich down the salt-box, Nell,' says the man o' the house to his wife. So she did.

'Oh, that's the very thing, just,' says my father, shaking some of it into the pot. So he stirred it again a while, looking as sober as a minister. By-an'-by he takes the spoon he had stirring it an' tastes it.

'It is very good now,' says he, 'altho' it wants something yet.'

'What is it?' says they.

'Oyeh, wisha nothin',' says he; 'maybe 't is only fancy o' me.'

'If it's anything we can give you,' says they, 'you're welcome to it.'

''Tis very good as it is,' says he; 'but when I'm at home, I find it gives it a fine flavor just to boil a little knuckle o' bacon, or mutton trotters, or anything that way along with it.'

'Raich hether that bone o' sheep's head we had at dinner yesterday, Nell,' says the man o' the house.

'Oyeh, don't mind it,' says my father; 'let it be as it is.'

'Sure if it improves it, you may as well,' says they.

'Baithershin!' says my father, putting it down.

So after boiling it a good piece longer, ''Tis fine limestone broth,' says he, 'as ever was tasted, and if a man had a few piatez,' says he, looking at a pot o' them that was smoking in the chimney corner, 'he couldn't desire a better dinner.'

They gave him the piatez, and he made a good dinner of themselves and the broth, not forgetting the bone, which he polished equal to chaney before he let it go. The people themselves tasted it, an' tho't it as good as any mutton broth in the world."

THE KNOCKOUT

_Adapted From The Autobiography of_ DAVY CROCKETT

One day as I was walking through the woods, I came to a clearing on a hillside, and as I climbed the slope I was startled by loud, profane and boisterous voices which seemed to proceed from a thick cover of undergrowth about two hundred yards in advance of me.

"You kin, kin you?"

"Yes I kin and I'm able to do it! Boo-oo-oo!--O wake snakes, brimstone and fire! Don't hold me, Nick Stoval; the fight's made up and I'll jump down your throat before you kin say 'quit.'"

"Now Nick, don't hold him! Just let the wildcat come, and I'll tame him. Ned'll see me a fair fight, won't you Ned?"

"O yes, I'll see you a fair fight; blast my old shoes if I don't."

"That's sufficient, as Tom Haines said when he saw the elephant; now let him come."

Thus they went on with countless oaths and with much that I could not distinctly hear. In mercy's name, I thought, what a band of ruffians is at work here. I quickened my gait and had come nearly opposite the thick grove, whence the noises proceeded, when my eye caught, indistinctly through the foliage of the scrub oaks and hickories that intervened, glimpses of a man or men who seemed to be in a violent struggle. Occasionally, too, I could catch those deep-drawn, emphatic oaths which men utter when they deal heavy blows in conflict. As I was hurrying to the spot, I saw the combatants fall to the ground, and after a short struggle I saw the uppermost one (for I could not see the others) make a heavy plunge with both his thumbs. At the same instant I heard a cry in the accent of keenest torture--"Enough, my eye is out."

For a moment I stood completely horror-struck. The accomplices in this brutal deed had apparently all fled at my approach, for not a one was to be seen.

"Now blast your corn-shucking soul," said the victor, a lad of about eighteen, as he arose from the ground, "come cuttin' your shines 'bout me agin next time I come to the court-house will you? Get your owl-eye in agin if you kin."

At this moment he saw me for the first time. He looked frightened and was about to run away when I called out--"Come back, you brute, and help me relieve the poor critter you have ruined forever."

Upon this rough salutation he stopped, and with a taunting curl of the nose, replied. "You needn't kick before you're spurred. There an't nobody here nor han't been, nuther. I was just seeing how I could have fout." So saying, he pointed to his plow, which stood in the corner of the fence about fifty yards from the battle ground. Would any man in his senses believe that a rational being could make such a fool of himself? All that I had heard and seen was nothing more nor less than a rehearsal of a knock-down and drag-out fight in which the young man had played all the parts for his own amusement. I went to the ground from which he had risen, and there were the prints of his two thumbs plunged up to the balls in the mellow earth, and the ground around was broken up as if two stags had been fighting on it.

As I resumed my journey, I laughed outright at this adventure, for it reminded me of Andrew Jackson's attack on the United States bank. He had magnified it into a monster and then began to swear and gouge until he thought he had the monster on his back, and when the fight was over and he got up to look for his enemy, he could find none anywhere.

THE COUNTRY SQUIRE

_Translated From The Spanish of_ THOMAS YRIARTE

A country squire of greater wealth than wit
(For fools are often blessed with fortune's smile),
Had built a splendid house and furnished it
In splendid style.

"One thing is wanting," said a friend; "for though
The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse,
You lack a library, dear sir, for show,
If not for use."

"'Tis true, but zounds!" replied the squire with glee,
"The lumber-room in yonder northern wing
(I wonder I ne'er thought of it) will be
The very thing.

"I'll have it fitted up without delay
With shelves and presses of the newest mode,
And rarest wood, befitting every way
A squire's abode.

"And when the whole is ready, I'll dispatch
My coachman--a most knowing fellow--down
To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch
Of books in town."

But ere the library was half supplied
With all its pomps of cabinet and shelf,
The booby squire repented him, and cried
Unto himself:

"This room is much more roomy than I thought;
Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice
To fill it, and would cost, however bought,
A plaguey price.

"Now, as I only want them for their looks,
It might, on second thoughts, be just as good,
And cost me next to nothing, if the books
Were made of wood.

"It shall be so, I'll give the shaven deal
A coat of paint--a colorable dress,
To look like calf or vellum and conceal
Its nakedness.

"And, gilt and lettered with the author's name,
Whatever is most excellent and rare
Shall be, or seem to be ('tis all the same),
Assembled there."

The work was done, the simulated hoards
Of wit and wisdom round the chamber stood,
In binding some; and some, of course, in _boards_
Where all were wood.

From bulky folios down to slender twelves
The choicest tomes, in many an even row
Displayed their lettered backs upon the shelves,
A goodly show.

With such a stock as seemingly surpassed
The best collections ever formed in Spain,
What wonder if the owner grew at last
Supremely vain?

What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf
And conned their titles, that the squire began,
Despite his ignorance, to think himself
A learned man?

Let every amateur, who merely looks
To backs and binding, take the hint, and sell
His costly library--_for painted books
Would serve as well_.

Poetry means more to us and we get more enjoyment from reading it
when we understand some of the difficulties that the poet has in
writing it and can recognize those things which make it poetry in
form.

For instance, you will notice in the poem which we have just read
that every stanza has four lines; that, in printing, the first and
third lines begin close to the margin, while the second and fourth
lines begin a little farther in on the page--that is, they are
_indented_. Now if you will look at the ends of the lines you will
see that the words with which the first and third lines terminate
are in rhyme, and that the words with which the second and fourth
lines terminate are in rhyme. In other words, the indentation at
beginning of lines in poetry calls attention to the rhymes.

It is true throughout _The Country Squire_ that every pair of lines
taken alternately ends in rhymes which are perfect or nearly so.
Now a perfect rhyme is one in which the two rhyming syllables are
both accented, the vowel sound and the consonants which follow the
vowels are identical, and the sounds preceding the vowel are
different. For instance, the words _smile_ and _style_ rhyme. Both
of these are monosyllables and hence accented. The vowel sound is
the long sound of _i_; the consonant sound of _l_ follows. The
sounds preceding the _i_ are similar but not identical, represented
by _sm_ in the first case and _st_ in the second. In the fifth
stanza the first line ends with the word _dispatch_, the third with
the word _batch_. This rhyme is perfect, because the accent on the
word _dispatch_ is naturally on the second syllable. In the ninth
stanza the word _dress_ is made to rhyme with _nakedness_. This is
not strictly perfect, for the natural accent of _nakedness_ is on
the first syllable.

It may be interesting for beginners to work out the rhyme scheme of
a poem and write it down. This is very easily done. Take the first
stanza in _The Country Squire_. Represent the rhyming syllable of
the first line by _a_, the rhyming syllable of the second line by
_b_. It follows then that the rhyming syllable of the third line
must be represented by _a_, and the rhyming syllable of the fourth
line by _b_. Writing these letters in succession we have the
nonsense word _abab_, which will always stand for stanzas of this
kind. If you are interested in this turn to the studies at the end
of the next poem, _To My Infant Son_.

TO MY INFANT SON

_By_ Thomas Hood

Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,)
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear,)
Thou merry, laughing sprite,
With spirits, feather light,
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin;
(My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!)

Thou little tricksy Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
Light as the singing bird that rings the air,--
(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!)
Thou darling of thy sire!
(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)
Thou imp of mirth and joy!
In love's dear chain so bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents;--(Drat the boy!
There goes my ink.)

Thou cherub, but of earth;
Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,
(That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!)
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,--
(Another tumble! That's his precious nose!)

Thy father's pride and hope!
(He'll break that mirror with that skipping rope!)
With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint,
(Where did he learn that squint?)
Thou young domestic dove!
(He'll have that ring off with another shove,)

Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest!
(Are these torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man!
(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan,)
Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life,
(He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being!
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,
Play on, play on,
My elfin John!
Toss the light ball, bestride the stick,--
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)
With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down,
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,
With many a lamb-like frisk!
(He's got the scissors snipping at your gown!)
Thou pretty opening rose!
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)
Balmy and breathing music like the south
(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
Bold as a hawk, yet gentle as the dove;
(I'll tell you what, my love,
I cannot write unless he's sent above.)

The stanzas of this poem vary considerably in length, but it will
be interesting to examine them according to the plans suggested at
the end of the preceding poem, _The Country Squire_. The first
stanza here has eight lines, the first four of them rhyming
alternately in pairs, the next four in couplets. If now we apply
the plan that is suggested for writing out the rhyme scheme, the
word for the first stanza is _ababccdd_.

The second stanza has ten lines. Its rhyme scheme is evidently
quite different, for here the first six lines rhyme in couplets and
the last four alternately in pairs. The word to represent such a
scheme is _aabbccdede_.

Can you write out the words which will represent the rhyme scheme
in the other stanzas in this poem?

Find the other poems in this book and write out the rhyme scheme
for them. Notice that in most poems the stanzas have the same
number of lines, and that the rhyme scheme of one stanza is just
like that of another. Take the other books in this series and turn
to the poems, find what an endless variety of rhymes there is and
how the scheme differs in different poems.

PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES

NOTE.--The pronunciation of difficult words is indicated by respelling them phonetically. _N_ is used to indicate the French nasal sound; _K_ the sound of _ch_ in German; _ü_ the sound of the German _ü_, and French _u_; _ö_ the sound of _ö_ in foreign languages.

ALGIDUS, _al´ ji dus_

ANJOU, _oN´´ zhoo´_

ATHELSTANE, _ath´ el stane_

BANGWEOLO, _bang´´ we o´ lo_

BECHUANALAND, _beck´´ oo ah´ na land_

BOIS-GUILBERT, BRIAN DE, _bwah geel bayr´_, _bre oN´ deh_

CEDRIC, _ked´ rick_, or _sed´ rick_

CHALDEA, _kal de´ ah_

CHARGÉ D'AFFAIRES, _shahr´´ zhay´ daf fayr´_

CHIAJA, _kyah´ ya_

FALERII, _fah le´ ry i_

FRONT-DE-BOEUF, _froN deh beuf´_

GIBAULT, _zhee bo´_

KHIVA, _ke´ vah_

LIGEIA, _li je´ yah_

MAISONVILLE, _may´´ zoN veel´_

MALVOISIN, _mal vwah saN´_

MARESCHAL, _mahr´ shal_

MASSOUEY, _mas su´ y_

NAOMI, _nay o´ mi_

NGAMI, _ngah´ me_

NICARAGUA, _nee´´ kar ah´ gwah_

ONEIDA, _o ni´ dah_

PSALMS, _sahms_

RAKSH, _rahksh_

ROWENA, _ro e´ na_

RUSTUM, _roos´ tum_

SAGA, _say´ gah_

SEIUS, _se´ yus_

SEISTAN, _says´ tahn_

SENNACHERIB, _sen nak´ e rib_

SOHRAB, _so´ rahb_

TARPEIAN, _tahr pe´ yan_

TONGRES, _toN´ gr´_

VELASQUEZ, _vay lahs´ kayth_

VENEZUELA, _ven e zwe´ lah_

VINCENNES, _vin senz´_

YRIARTE, _e re ahr´ tay_

ZOUCHE, _zooch_

ix Babocck changed to Babcock
Plate facing p. 30 Abbottsford changed to Abbotsford
37 glady changed to gladly
45 Saxon, Rowena. changed to Saxon, Rowena."
60 avow-himself changed to avow himself
76 occupy. "Ladies," changed to occupy. Ladies,"
86 puting changed to putting
106 burden?" changed to burden?
108 landingplace changed to landing-place
161 carelessnesss changed to carelessness
172 "It is yours changed to 'It is yours
174 Aber-baijan changed to Ader-baijan
182 Gudruz changed to Gudurz
196, fn. 23 indentification changed to identification
221 Engand changed to England
264 its breast!" changed to its breast!
308 with Chrismas holly changed to with Christmas holly
345 hear me! changed to "hear me!
352 footsool changed to footstool
356 Chrismas Eve the mass changed to Christmas Eve the mass
363, fn. 13 line means. changed to line means,
363, fn. 15 ascent to to changed to ascent to
363, fn. 15 Now. gentlemen changed to Now, gentlemen
368 woful-wan changed to woeful-wan
432 well acount for changed to well account for
451 and patroled during changed to and patrolled during
452 bady changed to badly
460 Why, papa changed to "Why, papa

Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling

blindman's-buff / blind-man's buff
candle-light / candlelight
eye-brows / eyebrows
farm-house / farmhouse
fellow-men / fellowmen
fore-feet / forefeet
home-made / homemade
house-tops / housetops
look-out / lookout
on-looking / onlooking
plow-man / plowman
sea-weed / seaweed
snuff-box / snuffbox
to-morrow / tomorrow
wild-cat / wildcat