When the blackbird twitters blithely on the school-room window-sill,
And I hear the cattle lowing from the pasture on the hill,
When the hollyhocks are peeping through the widely open door,
And the sunshine flickers through the leaves across the school-room floor,
My truant mind don't seem inclined to work this endless sum:
I'm a-wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days had come.
I long to roam about the fields, to ride on loads of hay.
To pluck the yellow buttercups that grow beside the way,
To hunt for eggs, go berrying, and vault the meadow fence;
But oh! the joy to fill your heart with pleasure most intense:
To bait your hook beside the brook, where little trout appear!
How I'm wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days were here!
When the holidays have come at last, like happy golden dreams,
I'll speed away, all blithe and gay, and seek the meadow streams.
Oh, then my mind will be at peace; my hours will be sublime—
Though now I'm groaning over books, but thinkin' all the time
Of little trout that dart about beneath the waters clear,
And a-wishin' I were fishin', and vacation days were here!
[HELD CAPTIVE BY SAVAGES.]
BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON.
Few boys are ever called upon to go through such an experience as fell to the lot of John Jewett, and it is safe to claim that no boy of his age would have shown a braver spirit than he exhibited during his three years' captivity among the savages.
The ship Boston, belonging to the port of that name, commanded by Captain John Salter, sailed a good many years ago for a trading voyage to the then little-visited northwest coast of America. The hero of this story had been apprenticed to his father, a shipsmith of Boston, but developing a longing to see the world, obtained his parents' consent to ship as an armorer on board of Captain Salter's vessel. After the usual boisterous Cape Horn passage, the Boston ran into the fine weather of the Pacific, and made a speedy voyage to Nootka Sound, coming to anchor in a sheltered cove close to the principal village on the coast.
As soon as the ship was moored, the King of the country went on board and welcomed Captain Salter warmly, promising that he would bring off for trade many furs, seal-skins, and other articles. The ruler of this section of Nootka Sound was known as King Maquina. He was over six feet in height, powerfully built, and possessed good features; but his face and body were made hideous by being smeared with stripes of white, black, and red paint. His long black hair fairly reeked with oil, and through a hole cut below the under lip a ring of ivory dangled. The dress of this chieftain was composed of a splendid otter-skin cloak reaching to the knees, and a head-dress of various colored feathers. On each arm above the elbow were several circles of copper, and around the ankles were strapped a number of small bells which jingled as he walked. Having been frequently visited by trading captains, he had picked up enough English to make himself understood in that language. Vessels bringing firearms, knives, hatchets, and fancy articles in the way of beads, bells, etc., were sure of carrying away, in exchange, valuable furs and skins. For several days after bartering had commenced the natives continued to bring on board otter and other furs. Large quantities of salmon, duck, and geese were also exchanged for trinkets, which were highly prized by the natives.
About a fortnight after the arrival of the ship it became evident that the Indians had traded their available stock, so preparations were made to leave this part of the coast. It is probable that Captain Salter and the King would have parted in a friendly way had not the former's greed led him to speak disrespectfully to the proud savage. The cause of the trouble was a fowling-piece which Maquina wished to obtain, but for which he was unwilling to pay the price demanded, being nothing less than the elegant cloak that covered his person. Thinking to bring the King to terms, the master told him that he would not deal with him ever again, and ordered him to leave the cabin and quit the ship with all his people. Maquina made no reply to the Captain, but his countenance expressed the rage he felt. Going to the side of the vessel to regain his canoe, he met the boy John, who was at work at his forge near the gangway. The King had taken a great fancy to the young armorer on account of the latter having mended a number of broken implements belonging to the royal collection, as well as having made in his presence a finely shaped tomahawk, with which the admiring chief had been presented. Seeing the fierce looks of the King, John asked him the cause. Maquina explained the trouble, and during the recital frequently clutched his neck and smoothed his breast, explaining that this performance was necessary to keep down his angry heart, which was rising in his throat and choking him.
The following morning, while the mate and a number of the men were on shore filling the water-casks, the King came off to the ship with a present of a fine salmon for the Captain, and appeared to be very cheerful and friendly. Shortly after this a number of canoes paddled alongside, their occupants holding up various things which they offered to trade. One by one, on various pretexts, they climbed over the rail, until there were about fifty of them on the deck. Maquina spoke to John, asking him to fix the lock of his gun, which he said he had broken. Entering the carpenter's work-room to get a screw-driver, John found the door quietly closed upon him, and secured from the outside so that exit was impossible. Almost immediately a frightful warwhoop and the sound of a scuffle on the deck proved that the savages had turned against the crew. At the end of two or three minutes Maquina opened the door and said:
"You, John, no hurt—heap good boy—make plenty spear—come."