[to be continued.]
GOOD-BY.
BY MARY D. BRINE.
Good-by, vacation, you jolly old time—
Good-by to your idle hours;
Good-by to dear fields and mountains and glens,
And the beautiful sweet wild flowers;
Good-by to the hours of frolic and fun,
And to freedom's all-glorious reign;
For vacation is ended, it's season is o'er,
And now for our school life again.
No longer the fences we'll merrily scale,
Nor climb to the tree-tops each day;
But the ladder of learning before us is raised,
And upward we'll wend our way.
Ah, deep in our hearts will the memory lie
Of the happy old days so dear,
And over our books we will wearily sigh,
"Oh, would our vacation were here!"
The bright days yet linger, the grass still is green,
Not yet have the mountains turned gray;
But what are the charms of sweet nature, alas!
Since vacation has vanished away?
But there is one comfort—the seasons roll round,
And all in good time we shall hear
Dame Nature's glad joy-bell ring gayly once more,
"School is out, and vacation is here."
THE 'LONGSHORE YACHT CLUB.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"Yes, boys, de tide's a-comin' in now. Dat yot ob mine'll float afore long."
"General," said Bob Fogg, "may we have your skiff for our yacht club a little while to-day?"
"No, sah," replied George Washington, positively, with a wide grin on his wrinkled, old, very black face. "De club can't hab no skiff ob mine. Ef dey wants to borry my yot, dey can, dough."
"Bob," said Tommy Conners, "don't you know a sailin' vessel from a skiff?"
"Look at the mast," said Gus Martin.
"And the sail," said Stuyvesant Rankin, with some dignity.
"Now, Sty," said General George Washington, as he limped a few feet further from the spot where his rugged-looking old boat lay stuck in the mud, "wot do you know 'bout sails? Youah mudder nebber went to sea. She's a dressmaker."
"We can have the yacht, then, General, mast and sail and all?"
The little old black man evidently liked the members of that club, but he shook his grizzled head doubtfully. "You mought tip ober, and git yerselves drownded."
"No, we won't," exclaimed Put Varick; "every one of us can swim across the Harlem and back again."
"'Cept wen de tide's runnin' too strong. Well, it's wuff w'ile dat you kin swim. I 'mos' upsot her myself dis berry mornin' comin' home. Wouldn't I lost a heap ob crabs! More'n a bushel. Real blue-leg channel crabs, bestest kind."
There was more to be said, but the yacht club carried the day, and the General limped off, turning now and then to chuckle, as he saw his young friends crowding into the wonderful craft on the mud.
"Ef dey hasn't h'isted de sail! Yah! yah! Gwine to sail dat yot ob mine right across de sand-bank!"
There was hardly wind enough for that; but it would be some time before the tide would rise high enough to float the boat, and the club were not in a state of mind to wait.
"Tell you what, boys, we'll have a cruise," said Bob Fogg. "She's a beauty. Let's have a 'lection of officers before we start."
They were all agreed on that, but Joe McGinnis insisted that the grown-up yacht clubs never had any elections.
"They just draw cuts, boys, and they give the longest straw to the man that owns the club, to begin with."
"That's the best way," said Tommy Conners; "but the General's gone home."
"I'll take his cut for him," shouted Bob Fogg. "I'll choose to be Bo's'n, 'cause I know how to steer."
Nobody objected, although every member of the club said he knew how to steer, and Sty Rankin had a lot of straws ready in half a minute.
Tommy Conners drew the longest straw, and said he would be Captain; but when Gus Martin came next, and decided to be a Commodore, Tommy muttered, ruefully, "I'd forgot about that."
Stuyvesant Rankin's memory was still better, for he had hardly compared his straw with the others before he shouted, "I'll be Admiral of this club."
Put Varick was so stunned by that that he only said, "I'm Cook; there won't be any work for me this trip."
"What am I, then?" asked Joe McGinnis, with the shortest straw in his hand.
"You?" said Bob Fogg; "why, you're the Crew. Take hold of that larboard oar, and pull it out of the mud. There's those three landlubbers up on the bank. They'd pelt us if they dared."
The three landlubbers were there, and they were making loud remarks about the club, but the yacht was almost ready to float now, and no attention could be paid to them.
Just beyond the little creek where General George Washington kept his boat spread the busy waters of the Harlem River, with the great city of New York on both sides, but not very close to the edge of it. It was a very busy sheet of water indeed. There were small steamboats carrying passengers here and there; little tug-boats tugged and puffed and coughed at the sides of big schooners loaded with lumber from Maine; long race-boats, with gayly dressed oarsmen, darted swiftly over the water, like great wooden pickerel, they were so long and sharp and narrow. There were fishing-boats, pleasure-boats, steam-launches, even canoes that were driven by one man and a paddle. But among them all there was no other craft like General George Washington's "yot."
"Boys," exclaimed Captain Conners, "we've forgotten."
"What?" said Admiral Rankin.
"To name the boat."
"Oh, that's all right!" said Commodore Martin. "The General named her himself. She's the Hail Columbia."
"Admiral," shouted Boatswain Bob Fogg, "she's beginning to float. You get away forward there, beyond the mast. Captain, you and the Commodore get in the middle. Now, Cook, you and the Crew pull hard a minute, and we'll be out of the mud."
The Admiral obeyed, although there was hardly room to squeeze into, and the mast crowded his back a little. The Cook and the Crew also obeyed, and the Hail Columbia suddenly shot away from the bank, and around the head of the rotten old wooden pier.
"If there ain't those three landlubbers," exclaimed Boatswain Fogg, "out on the pier head. And they've got a lot of half-bricks to spatter us with."
THE YACHT CLUB STARTS ON ITS ANNUAL CRUISE.
There they were; but at that moment the wind came up with a sudden puff, and filled the sail which the genius of the General had added to the motive power of that "yot." It was just at the wrong moment, for Captain Tommy Conners and Commodore Gus Martin were having an argument over an extra oar they had found in the bottom of the boat, and they were rocking it badly. The Cook was rowing his best, but the tip of the boat sent his oar deep under water, and the Crew suddenly found his oar lifted out into the air.
"Joe McGinnis, you've caught a crab," exclaimed Boatswain Fogg. But before he could say anything to the Captain and the Commodore, the three landlubbers were at work.
Splash, splash, splatter! how those bricks and sticks did fall around the Hail Columbia!
"Oh dear!" said Admiral Stuyvesant Rankin to himself, in the bows. "If the yacht upsets, I'm the only member of the club that's got a new coat on."
The breeze came fresher and fresher, and in a minute more the Hail Columbia was out of reach of the "battery" on the pier head. Her sable owner, however, was watching her from the door of his cabin with genuine pride.
"Don't she go! Don't she jest slip fru de watah! She does moah sailin' to de squar' foot dan any odder yot on de ribber."
So she did, if he meant that it took her longer to travel that foot, or any other.
It was no joke to be "Bo's'n" of the Hail Columbia, as Bob Fogg soon found out.
"Tell you what, boys," he said, "it's 'cause she hasn't any keel on her. I have to keep steering all the while. There's no saying where she won't go to."
"Keep along shore," shouted the Admiral from the bows. "You're heading out into the river."
"Now, Sty, if you think you can steer this yacht better than I can, just you come aft and try."
"Hey, there, you young pirates! Where are you heading for?"
It was the shout of a big-armed young fellow in a shell race-boat, who found himself suddenly compelled to pull to the right desperately to avoid being run down by the Hail Columbia.
"Lookout! Oh—"
Thump. "I declare!"
The first exclamation was from the tall, slim gentleman in the "out-riggered" wherry, who had been racing with the big-armed young man, and had not been looking out well enough.
He tried to turn to the left, but it was very late to try, and the suddenness of it helped him "catch a crab" with his starboard oar. When he said "Oh," he was just going over into the water.
The "thump" and the other exclamation did no harm to the Hail Columbia, but the fat old gentleman in the tub of a pleasure-boat that had bumped against the yacht remarked:
"The river swarms with boys to-day. I'm not sorry that other one got a ducking. I've had to get out of his way twice."
The officers and crew of the Hail Columbia were inclined to keep a little quiet, all but their brave Boatswain.
"Don't you know how to steer, you fellows? Don't you know that sailing vessels have the right of way? You ought to have blown your whistle sooner."
"I declare!" again exclaimed the old gentleman. "The child is perfectly right."
"Bo's'n," asked the Commodore, "can't we tack and keep along shore again?"
"We can't tack with the sail up—not in this yacht; but we can let it down and turn her round with the oars." They did that very thing, and in five minutes more the Hail Columbia was pointing her Admiral toward the north shore of the Harlem again.
The slim man managed to get back into his "shell," but he had lost his race with the big-armed man.
"Bo's'n," remarked the Commodore, as they sailed along, "you needn't run us into the mud."
"I guess not," said Bob Fogg; "but if I can steer her close enough to land, I'm going up as far as the bridge."
It was a grand cruise, and it lasted a long time; but when the Hail Columbia once more ran into the little cove, there was General George Washington ready to say,
"Look a-heah, boys, I didn't say you mought cross de 'Lantic Ocean. I wants dat yot to go for some bass."
OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES.
BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
No. V.
HOW THE SETTLERS OF WALPOLE DEFENDED THEMSELVES.
Beautiful the green meadows, the surrounding hills, and the distant mountains forming the landscape in Walpole, New Hampshire, which Colonel Benjamin Bellows and John Kilburn gazed upon on the banks of the Connecticut River in 1749. They had built their log-houses with loop-holes in the walls through which they could fire upon the Indians in case they were attacked. Though peace had been agreed upon between France and England, the people who lived along the frontier felt no security, for the French in Canada were continually urging the Indians to commit depredations on the English. It was a short and easy journey from Crown Point, on Lake Champlain, to the valley of the Connecticut, and the Indians who sold their furs to the French were frequent visitors to the settlements along the Connecticut.
One of the Indians who visited John Kilburn was called Captain Philip. He had been baptized and christened by the Jesuit priests at the Indian village of St. Francis, on the banks of the St. Lawrence, half way from Montreal to Quebec. The St. Francis tribe were called Christian Indians. There were rumors that war would break out again between England and France. Before war was declared hostilities began.
It was in the spring of 1755 that Captain Philip made a visit to John Kilburn's house with some beaver-skins for sale. He wanted powder, bullets, and flints for pay. While he was trading, Captain Philip was running his eyes over the house, looking at the thick timbers, the loop-holes in the walls. When he had finished his trade he visited the other houses in the settlement. He was kindly treated. The settlers never mistrusted that he was taking observations for future use.
August came. The settlers heard that war had begun, and knew that the French and Indians might be upon them at any moment. They strengthened their block-houses. No one went into the field to work alone. They always carried their guns with them. They had some faithful watch-dogs which always growled when Indians were about. There were nearly forty men in the settlement. They were stout-hearted, and were determined not to be driven out by the French and Indians. They appointed Colonel Bellows to be their leader. He had a suspicion that Indians were about.
"We must have a supply of meal, so that in case we are attacked we shall have something to eat," he said.
The settlers filled each a bag with corn, shouldered them, and then, in single file, each man carrying his gun, they marched to the grist-mill which they had erected, ground the corn into meal, shouldered the sacks once more, and started homeward, their faithful watch-dogs trotting in advance, paying no attention to squirrels or partridges, or game of that sort.
Suddenly the dogs came back, growling, the hair on their backs in a ruff.
"There are Indians about. Throw down your sacks," said Colonel Bellows.
The men threw their sacks on the ground, dropped into the ferns, and looked to the priming of their guns. The ferns were tall, and completely concealed them. Colonel Bellows suspected that the Indians had laid an ambuscade at a narrow place in the path which they must pass. He crept slowly forward to see what he could discover, careful not to break a twig or make any noise. He crept to the top of a little hill, peeped through the ferns, and discovered a great number of Indians, nearly two hundred, crouching behind trees, or lying on the ground, waiting for the white men to enter the trap. He made his way back to his men, issued his orders in a whisper, and all crawled through the ferns toward the Indians till they were only a few rods from them.
All were ready. Every man sprang to his feet, and yelled as loud as he could, "Hi-ya! hi-ya!" It was a terrific howl.
The next moment not a settler was to be seen; all had dropped upon the ground, and were concealed by the ferns.
In an instant every Indian was on his feet, firing his gun, but hitting nobody.
There was an answering flash from the ferns, each settler taking aim, and the Indians sprang into the air, or fell headlong before the bullets.
The red men outnumbered the settlers five to one, but were so astounded by the surprise that, picking up the wounded, they made a hasty retreat into a swamp, and the settlers made all haste to their block-house, anticipating an attack. Not one of them had been injured.
This body of Indians was a part of a band of more than three hundred, led by Captain Philip, who had come from Canada with the expectation of wiping out the settlements along the Connecticut, and of returning to Canada with many prisoners and no end of scalps. It was at the pleasantest season of the year. The woods were full of game, and with the provisions they would get in the settlements which they intended to destroy they would have an abundance of food.
Captain Philip, with the rest of the Indians, was creeping stealthily through the woods toward John Kilburn's house. Mr. Kilburn and his son John, Mr. Pike and his son, were out in the field reaping wheat, their guns close at hand. Mr. Kilburn had trained his dog to scour the woods, and the faithful animal ever had his eyes and ears open, and was sniffing the wind if a wolf or bear was about. On this afternoon in August the dog came running in with his hair in a ruff, and growling.
"Indians," said Mr. Kilburn. The men and boys seized their guns, ran for the house, and had just time to get inside and bar the door when Captain Philip and nearly two hundred Indians made their appearance.
The Indians staid at a safe distance, and so did Captain Philip, though he came near enough to talk.
"Come out, old John! come out, young John! I give you good quarter," he shouted.
THE DEFENSE OF THE CABIN—Drawn by A. B. Shults.
There were only the two men, the two boys, Mrs. Kilburn and her daughter and four children, in the house, with three hundred Indians attacking them, but John Kilburn was not in the least frightened—not he. Neither was Mrs. Kilburn, nor her son or daughter. They had several extra guns; Mrs. Kilburn and her daughter knew how to load them. They would rather die than be taken prisoners. The Indians had no cannon, and their bullets would not go through the stout timbers. Only by burning the house would they be able to get in.
"Get you gone, you rascal, or I'll quarter you!" was the defiant answer that John Kilburn shouted through one of the loop-holes to Captain Philip, as the latter went back to the dark crowd of savages, who set up the war-whoop.
"They yell like so many devils," said John Kilburn; but he was not in the least disturbed by the howling.
Then the bullets began to come through the shingles on the roof, and strike against the timbers.
The Indians surrounded the house, but there were loop-holes on each side. Mr. Kilburn and Mr. Pike took two of the sides, and the two boys the others. Bang! bang! went the guns of Mr. Kilburn and Mr. Pike. Bang! bang! went the boys' guns. They could fire at a rest, and take deliberate aim. The Indians could not see the muzzles of the guns, and the moment one of the red men peeped from behind a tree his skull was in danger.
One by one they fell, which enraged them all the more, and they crept nearer, firing rapidly, riddling the shingles, hoping, quite likely, that a bullet might glance down from the roof, and hit those inside.
"The roof looks like a sieve," said John Kilburn, as he looked up and saw the holes.
Mrs. Kilburn and her daughter were loading the extra guns the while, and handing them to the men and boys, who kept up such a rapid fire that the Indians came to the conclusion that there were a large number of men in the house.
"We shall soon be out of bullets," said Mrs. Kilburn.
A thought came: why not catch the bullets that were coming through the roof? The balls had nearly spent their force when they came through, and they hung up a blanket, with thick folds, which stopped them entirely; and the girl, gathering them as they fell harmlessly upon the floor, put them into a ladle, melted them, and ran new bullets, which soon were whizzing through the air, and doing damage to the enemy.
All through the afternoon the fight goes on, the Indians aiming at the loop-holes. Their bullets pepper the logs around them. One comes in, and inflicts a ghastly wound in Mr. Pike's thigh, but the Indians do not know it, and the brave defense is kept up till the Indians, foiled in all their efforts, defeated, with several of their number dead and many wounded from the volley fired by Colonel Bellows and his men, and by those in the house, set Mr. Kilburn's wheat on fire, kill his cattle, bury their dead, and slink away, not having taken a scalp or a prisoner. They have only wounded one man.
When everything goes well with the Indian he can be very brave, but when the tide is against him he quickly loses courage and becomes disheartened, and so Captain Philip made his way back to Canada, very much crest-fallen at the repulse received at the hands of two men, a woman, two boys, and a brave-hearted girl.