| vol. iii.—no. 140. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents. |
| Tuesday; July 4, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | $1.50 per Year, in Advance. |
"ORDER ARMS!"
[THROUGH THE TUNNEL.]
BY EDWARD I. STEVENSON.
"Halloa, the house! Jedediah! Jedediah Petry! Mrs. Jedediah! Cadmus! Are you all deaf this morning? Come, come!"
Dr. Flaxman stood up in his old chaise before the door of the last white cottage in Wicketiquok village, and shouted until he was purple in the face. The nine-o'clock June sun shone bright upon the closed green blinds. A broom and a watering-pot rested in the open doorway; but the broom and the pot seemed to be the only members of the Petry family ready to receive an early morning call. No marvel that Dr. Flaxman grew impatient, said several things to himself, and was just making ready to get out of the chaise and tie his new horse, when all at once a boy came running around the house corner, calling: "Good-morning, Doctor. Did you call?"
"Did I call?" echoed the Doctor, cuttingly. "Well, Cadmus Petry, I should rather say that I did. Are you the only member of the family up at this time o' day? Cadmus, I want your father."
"Can't have him, Doctor," replied the lad. "Pop's gone up to Lafayette by the early train."
"There, now!" exclaimed the Doctor, appearing much disturbed by this answer. "So I've missed him, after all my trouble! Well, where's your mother?"
"Gone with father. I'm keeping house for 'em. They won't come back before evening. They were going to take dinner at Grandfather Fish's in the town, and then go to Lawyer Gable's, on some important business, they said; something about buying some more land, I believe."
"That's just it, Cadmus," said Dr. Flaxman, looking still more vexed and perplexed. He ran his sharp eye all over the boy from head to foot, and then continued: "Look a-here, Cadmus. You're a pretty smart youngster, and I think you'll have to help me—eh?"
"Yes, sir," replied Cadmus, quietly.
"Your father is going to buy a part of a farm to-day up in Lafayette, and he's getting it a good deal on my advice. He asked me to go and look at it and make some inquiries, and I did. Now I've got a letter here, my boy, that just alters my whole judgment of the matter. I wouldn't have your father make that bargain without first seeing this letter for anything you can think of. It came this morning. Now couldn't you go right up to Lafayette, catch your father and mother before they go to the lawyer's office, and give him this letter—without fail? I can't go myself, because Judge Kenipe's so low since yesterday; but I'll send a telegram ahead of you to tell your father to wait until you come."
Cadmus's face was puckered as he stood thinking. "You see, there's no train from here now, Doctor, until afternoon, and that'll be too late. The express don't stop, going through our village. Hello! I'll walk down to the Junction, and get on her there. She has to stop there always. That'll do it. Give me the letter, Doctor."
Dr. Flaxman looked greatly relieved. He laughed, and held it out of the chaise, with a regular battery of directions. "Now recollect, I depend on you, Cadmus," he added, switching his black horse, and moving away. "I'll send the dispatch. You've more than an hour to get down to the Junction. Got money enough for your fare? All right. Good-by." And the chaise rattled off.
Cadmus darted into the house, and locked that up securely. A moment later he was striding manfully down the road, bound for Rippler's Junction, a couple of miles below the village. Presently the daisy-bordered road crept alongside the level railway. A freight train, steaming and rumbling along, seemed to offer Cadmus a noisy hint, so he soon transferred himself to the track (a thing he had been soundly lectured for doing before this morning), and tramped along on the uneven ties, whistling as he rounded curves, like a locomotive itself—only locomotives don't, as a general thing, whistle "Captain Jinks." Soon Rippler's Mountain rose up in the distance before him. The railroad passed directly through this by a tunnel. At the other end of it lay Rippler's Junction, whither Cadmus was bound to catch that 10.15 express. A wagon-road ran smoothly over the top of the mountain, and came down into the town, and that was at his service. But Cadmus, hastening along toward the great black hole in the hill-side, and fancying himself to be in a much greater hurry than occasion at all required, began to ask himself why, if the railroad went through the mountain instead of over it, he, Cadmus Petry, shouldn't save time by doing the same thing.
Had not those dozen lectures as to walking on the railroad been given him? Hadn't Cadmus heard that even an old and experienced "hand" dislikes nothing worse than walking through a tunnel—had rather even do a regular job of repairing in it? Did not everybody know that the Rippler's Junction Tunnel was uncommonly narrow, close, and continually shot by freight, coal, or passenger trains? To meet such in quarters so dark and dangerous requires, indeed, a very cool head and steady nerves. There comes to every man or boy a time in his life when he does a foolish or a rash thing. This was such a moment for Cadmus Petry. The great hole loomed up before him in the hill's rocky side. He looked up. Over his head, nailed to the side of the brick facing, was a black sign-board, on which, in white letters, Cadmus read the following encouraging words:
—DANGER!—
ALL PERSONS ARE POSITIVELY FORBIDDEN
TO WALK THROUGH THIS TUNNEL.
ALL PERSONS DISOBEYING THIS CAUTION
WILL RISK LIFE AND LIMB.
—DANGER!—
The lad hesitated, wavered, then gave his head a rather defiant toss, and exclaiming, half aloud, "Sorry; but I'm in a hurry, and I can save ten minutes by you," walked forward into the smoky gloom before him, leaving sunlight and safety behind his back.
Cadmus was at first rather surprised to find his novel journey less odd and disagreeable than he had anticipated. There was very little smoke in the tunnel at so short a distance from one of its mouths. Daylight straggled in behind the boy's back, lighting up the road-bed with a gray distinctness. It brought out deep black shadows along the jagged walls of rock, and turned the rails before him to polished silver ribbons. Cadmus walked inward as fast as he could; occasionally he ran. By-and-by he noticed a curious sight upon turning his head. Far behind him lay the entrance by which he had come in, now dwindled to a third of its size, and with the air and landscape outside of it become a bright orange—an effect sometimes noticeable if one is well within the interior of a tunnel and looks outward. But the light amounted to worse than none by this time. Cadmus could not see his footing after a few yards further. He began stumbling badly in another minute. Hark! What was that low dull rattle that echoed to the boy's ears? The sound increased to a roll, then to a booming roar. A train was on its way toward him from daylight. From which end was it approaching? Cadmus dared not stop to think; he leaped aside, put out his hand, and felt the rough rocky wall.
He pressed himself closely against this, his heart thumping until he could scarcely stand. Was there space enough for safety between himself and the train rushing down toward him? He dared not try to determine now, for his ears were stunned, his breath taken away, as, ringing, hissing, and thundering in the darkness, what must have been a heavy freight train roared past the boy. Half choked with smoke, shaking in every limb and nerve, the unlucky lad tottered from his terribly narrow station, and began running forward as well as he might. Never before had he imagined how terrible a thing was a train of cars at full speed. He shook with terror at the idea of meeting another. A quarter of a mile before him yet!
Another? Before he had thought the word again, his quick ear caught its shriek as it approached from the opening, which it seemed to Cadmus that he should never reach alive. He caught again the booming crash of its advent into the mountain's heart. Cadmus caught his breath, sick with nervousness and fear. This time the space between the rail and the rock seemed so dreadfully narrow—and it was, in truth, some inches less than a few yards back. Nevertheless, Cadmus staggered into it, stood as straight against the side wall as he could, his face toward it, and with his head thrown a little upward. His enemy sped toward him, and seemed to scorch and deafen and grind the boy with its whirling wheels as it shot behind his very shoulders. Cadmus's hat was blown off, and no more heard of, as no locomotive capped with a small brown chip astonished the natives on its way to Oswego. But a slight accident like the flying away of one's hat can be an important matter under such conditions. The sudden whizz of wind about him and the snap of his hat guard gave a start to the terrified boy. He lost his balance, and half crouched, half fell, not between those unseen wheels rolling so near, but sidelong.
The red flash of the lanterns on the platform of the last car fell on his bent figure as the train thundered away into the darkness beyond. Cadmus found his feet, doubtful if he were a hearing, breathing, and generally living boy or not. But the smoke rolled past. Gleams of light filtered through it. The worst was over, and Cadmus was safe—well scratched and bruised, and as close to being "frightened to death" as most persons ever have been.
A few moments later a hatless, grimy, almost unrecognizable boy emerged from the Junction end of the tunnel, and picked his way toward the dépôt, trembling, but quite bold enough to decline sharply to answer any questions that the interested switch-tenders and signal-men fired about his ears. There was a pump handy; so Cadmus contrived to make a very imperfect toilet before that 10.15 express came along, which spun him, bare-headed, back over the road he had come, toward Lafayette and his father.
Mr. and Mrs. Petry were sitting in the old dining-room at Grandfather Fish's, still in a state of mystification about the telegram they had received from the Doctor.
"What'll Lawyer Gable an' that man think of me?" exclaimed Mr. Petry. "Here 'tis half an hour after time, and Cadmus not here yet. How was he to come up with any letter, I'd like to know? He couldn't get aboard a train that didn't stop at Wicketiquok."
At which moment the door opened, and Cadmus strode manfully into the room. "Good-afternoon, grandpa," he exclaimed, quite composedly, holding out a very dirty white envelope toward the other members of the group. "Hello, father! here's that letter Dr. Flaxman telegraphed you about, and—and I walked through the tunnel to get the express. I suppose I'll have to be whipped."
Although it can not be said that Cadmus, in the course of the desired explanation which followed, succeeded in convincing Mr. and Mrs. Petry that his walking through the tunnel had been a very necessary part of his important errand, two things may be truthfully stated: first, that after reading Dr. Flaxman's letter, Mr. Petry at once decided not to buy "that farm"; and second, that Cadmus did not "have to be whipped," but went home with his parents on the afternoon train, quite subdued in spite of a brand-new straw hat. As they shot through the tunnel, his mother said, in a low voice, "What a mercy you weren't killed, Cadmus, you thoughtless fellow!"
That was about as true a thing as any one ever said about the affair.
[INDEPENDENCE-DAY.]
Through the dusty street
And the broiling heat,
To the sound of the stirring drum,
With a martial grace
And measured pace,
See the proud young patriots come!
Why march they so,
With martial show,
These sons of patriot sires?
What glorious thought,
From the dim past caught,
Their brave young hearts inspires?
Sure the souls of boys
Love din and noise,
And they love to march along
To the ringing cheers
That greet their ears
From the loud-applauding throng.
But a grander thought
In their breasts hath wrought
Than the love of vain applause,
For strong and deep
Is the mighty sweep
Of their love for Freedom's cause.
They have heard the tale
Of the hero Hale,
They have read of Washington,
And they know full well
How Warren fell
Ere the fight was scarce begun.
And the long grand scroll
Of the muster-roll
Of Freedom's patriot band,
With hearts aflame
At each noble name,
Their eager eyes have scanned.
And now, as they hear
Loud cheer on cheer
Roll out like a mighty wave,
They think of the bold
Brave men of old,
And the land they died to save.
March on, brave boys,
With your din and noise,
Through the hot and dusty way,
And strong and sweet
May your hearts e'er beat
For glad Independence-day!
[BURNING THE "TORO."]
BY HELEN S. CONANT.
At sunrise on the Fourth of July the national flag is hoisted on all public buildings in the city of Mexico. Its pretty green, white, and red stripes wave as gayly in the sunshine as the star-spangled banner waves in the breeze sweeping over our own dear country, and the eagle in the white central stripe fiercely clutches the snake in its beak and claws as if it rejoiced in putting to death even a symbol of treachery.
Now the Fourth of July is not a holiday in Mexico, and if you were there you would wonder why so many flags were flying. Stop the first boy you meet in the street, no matter if he is a poor little Indian, and he will tell you it is because it is the Independence-day of the great sister republic, the United States of North America.
How many readers of Young People know the date of the Independence-day of the United States of Mexico? They have such a day, which is kept with great rejoicings, ringing of bells, booming of cannons, and no end of popping fire-crackers.
Spanish rule had long been very heavy and oppressive for the inhabitants of Mexico, and on the Sixteenth of September, 1810, a small company of men, led by a priest named Hidalgo, issued a proclamation calling upon the Mexicans to rise against their tyrannical Spanish rulers. The people were not well organized; and although their desire for liberty was very strong, it took many years of hard fighting to drive the Spaniards out of the country. It was not until 1821 that Mexico gained her freedom. Hidalgo and other early leaders of the revolutionary movement had been killed by the Spaniards, and the people were not as yet wise enough to make good use of their liberty. They had been oppressed so many years that they did not know how to form a true republic. The first thing they did was to proclaim a man named Iturbide Emperor of Mexico. The people owed much to Iturbide, for it was by his skill and good generalship that they gained their freedom; but they should not have made him an Emperor. He oppressed the people so much that they soon had to rise again and drive him from the country.
It took the Mexicans many years to learn how to live under a republican government. They had many revolutions and much trouble, but they loved liberty, and went to work bravely to learn how to use it wisely. They abolished slavery more than fifty years ago, and the Constitution under which the people are now living peacefully and happily is very much like the Constitution of the United States. Every fourth year they elect a President. The name of the man now in office is Manuel Gonzalez.
The Sixteenth of September, the day on which the poor priest Hidalgo and his little band of patriots issued the proclamation against Spanish rule, is observed all over Mexico as a glorious Independence-day.
MEXICAN FIRE-WORKS—THE "TORO."
At sunrise the bells ring merrily, cannons are fired from all the forts, and thousands of little boys begin a lively sport with torpedoes and fire-crackers. Then during the day come public meetings with patriotic speeches, and splendid military parades with joyous martial music.
As evening draws near, the impatience, especially of the little Indian boys, grows so great for the fire-works to begin that long before sunset they send up fire-balloons of bright-colored paper, and when it is dark the air is full of these flying stars. The boys are very skillful in making these balloons, and a boy will often have a great number of them, which he has made himself, all ready to send up on that glorious Independence-night.
The fire-works are like those in this country. But there is one very curious piece, in which the Indians take special delight. They would not think it was Independence-night if they could not burn a "toro," the Spanish word for bull. The bull is made on a frame covered with thick leather, and pin-wheels and stars are fastened all over it. A light frame-work is built on the bull's back as a support for spiral fire-works and Roman candles. A young Indian takes this bull on his head, the projecting leather sides protecting him from any danger from falling sparks. A pin-wheel is ignited, which soon extends its fire over the bull's whole body. The young Indian scampers up and down the street, preceded by boys who make all the noise they can on little drums. The crowd of spectators runs after him, shouting with delight. The bull burns furiously, he shakes a fiery tail, his eyes are two glaring balls, and he darts green and red and yellow sparks from his nostrils. He is a very fierce creature, and the crowd of Indians laugh and scream as he rushes at them. His back is a tower of fire, sending forth small aerial bombs. At last his rage is over, the pin-wheels which covered his sides revolve slower and slower, and with a final sputter disappear. His eyes grow dim, and he is a very forlorn bull. The young Indian who has had the honor of carrying him in his glory and strength emerges from the blackened frame, and the crowd goes home to bed declaring that there never was such a fierce and magnificent bull.
On Fourth-of-July morning the readers of Young People must remember that the flags are flying in their honor in the city of Mexico, for in all honor done to our country every American boy and girl has a share.
And on the Sixteenth of September do not forget that it is Independence-day in Mexico, and that all the boys and girls in that country are having a "splendid time," and that at night the young Indians will be sure to burn a "toro."