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Random documents with unrelated
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Harper's Round Table,
March 3, 1896
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other
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Title: Harper's Round Table, March 3, 1896

Author: Various

Release date: February 11, 2018 [eBook #56539]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Annie R. McGuire

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, MARCH 3,
1896 ***
 A BOY OF 1775.
FROM CHUM TO CHUM.
THE VOYAGE OF HIRAM AND DAVE.
FOR KING OR COUNTRY.
RICK DALE.
BUILDING A BOULEVARD.
MOLLY PITCHER.
THE WEATHER BUREAU.
INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT.
THE CAMERA CLUB.
BICYCLING.
THE PUDDING STICK.
MR. CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
STAMPS.

Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

published weekly. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 17, 1896. five cents a copy.
vol. xvii.—no. 855. two dollars a year.
 A BOY OF 1775.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Can you not see the boy of 1775 now—his sturdy legs encased in stout black stockings,
german-silver buckles to his knee-breeches, his hair plaited and tied with a smart black
ribbon, and all this magnificence topped by three real silver buttons with which his hat is
rakishly cocked? But the boy himself is better worth looking at than all his finery—so
thought Captain Moore, of his Majesty's ship Margaretta, lying at anchor in the harbor of
Machias. Jack Leverett was the boy's name—a handsome stripling of sixteen, with a quiet
manner but a fearless eye.
The two were sitting opposite each other at the cabin table, and through the open port
they could see the village and the harbor, bathed in the bright white light of a day in May.
The Captain was conscious that this young guest was decidedly in a hurry to leave. A
whole hour had they sat at the dinner table, Captain Moore, with the utmost art, trying to
find out Jack's errand to Machias—for those were the stirring days when every American
had to take his stand for or against King George—and Captain Moore particularly desired
to know how Squire Leverett, Jack's father, stood toward the King. But Jack, with native
mother-wit, had managed to baffle the Captain. He had readily admitted that he was the
bearer of a letter from his father to Jerry O'Brien, master of Squire Leverett's sloop
Priscilla, in regard to heaving down the sloop. But the Captain, with a seaman's eye, had
noted that the Priscilla was in perfect order and did not need to be hove down, and he
more than suspected that Jack was the bearer of other and more important news.
Through the cabin windows they could see the sloop, a beautiful craft, being warped into
her dock, while across the blue water was wafted sweetly the voices of the men, led by
the shanty man,[1] singing the old shanty song:
"Haul the bowline, our jolly ship's a-rolling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline haul!
Haul the bowline, our jolly mate's a-growling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline haul!"
As soon as Jack decently could, he started to rise from the table. Captain Moore had
observed that the glass of wine at Jack's plate remained untasted, and it suggested a
means of finding out whether the Leveretts meant to go with the King or not.
"Do not go," he said, "until you have joined me in drinking the health of his Majesty King
George."
Jack had no notion whatever of drinking the King's health, but he was at his wits' end
how to avoid it. Just then, though, the Captain turned to speak to his orderly, and Jack
took the opportunity of gulping down his wine with more haste than elegance. Captain
Moore, seeing it, was surprised and disgusted at the boy's apparent greediness for wine,
but raising his glass, said, "To the King."
"Excuse me, sir," answered Jack, coolly, "but my father never allows me to drink but one
glass of wine, and that I have already had."
"Then I will drink the toast alone," said Captain Moore, with a stern look at the boy.
"Here is to his Majesty King George. Health and long life to him! God save the King!"
As Captain Moore uttered this sentiment Jack rose and promptly put on his hat. The
Captain was quite sure that the boy's action, like his gulping down the wine, meant a
distaste for the King, and not a want of breeding. But he thought it best not to notice the
incident, and said, civilly, to his young guest:
"Present my compliments to your honored father, and tell him that his Majesty's officers
have the kindest feelings toward these misguided people; and while if attacked we will
certainly defend ourselves, we have strict orders to avoid a conflict if possible, and not to
fire until fired upon."
"I will remember your message, sir," was Jack's answer; and the Captain, having no
further excuse for detaining his young guest, allowed him to depart.
He was soon alongside of the Priscilla, and there, standing at the gangway, was the
sloop's master, Jerry O'Brien. Jerry, by an accident of fate, had inherited an Irish name,
but he was as arrant a Yankee as ever stepped. He was a handsome fellow withal, and in
his natty blue suit much more resembled the Captain of an armed cruiser than the master
of a smart merchant vessel. The Priscilla, too, was a wonderful contrast to the slovenly
merchantmen around her. She was as clean as hands could make her, and her beautiful
lines were brought out by the shining coat of black paint upon her hull. Her men were
smart and seamanlike. Jerry O'Brien was the most exacting ship-master on that coast,
but he never had any trouble in shipping men, for, while making them do their work with
the quickness and steadiness of man-o'-war's men, he used neither blows nor curses. A
natural leader of men, he made himself respected first, and after that it is always easy to
command obedience.
As soon as Jack Leverett came over the side Jerry took him to the cabin. Jack produced a
letter, and by the heat from a ship's lantern some writing in lemon juice was deciphered.
It contained a full account of the affairs at Lexington and Concord, of which only vague
rumors had reached Machias. At every sentence descriptive of American valor Jerry would
give a half-suppressed whoop, and at the end he could not forbear letting out a huzza
that made the little cabin ring.
"Suppose," said Jack, who had hard work to keep from hurrahing wildly, "instead of
making a noise, we should invent a scheme to capture the Margaretta. If the farmers
around Boston could, with hay-forks and blunderbusses, beat off the British regulars, the
sailors and fishermen about here ought to be able to get alongside the Margaretta and
take her."
Jerry's mouth was large, and it came open like a rat-trap at this bold proposition. After a
pause he spoke. "Boy," said he, "the enterprise shall be tried; and if we succeed, you
shall be prize-master of the Margaretta."
Jack's heart leaped at these words. He was an admirable sailor, like most of the hardy
youngsters on the coast, and had more than once taken the Priscilla on short trips. But
his mother and the Squire meant him to be something else than a merchant Captain, and
kept him under a tutor when he would much rather have been sailing blue water. For
hours Jack and Jerry sat in the cabin talking over their scheme. Jerry knew that the
people of Machias were heart and soul with the cause of freedom, and could be
depended upon in any desperate adventure. The Margaretta carried four brass guns and
a number of swivels; but, as Jerry shrewdly said, if once the Priscilla could grapple with
her, it would be a battle of men and musketry, not of guns. At nightfall Jack and Jerry
went ashore. A great vivid moon hung in the sky, and they could see the Margaretta
almost as well as in daylight. She was a handsome vessel, schooner rigged, and in a
state of preparation that showed Captain Moore did not mean to be caught napping. All
her boats were hoisted in, her anchors had springs on them, and her sails were merely
clewed up, instead of being furled.
"There you are, my beauty," said Jerry. "It's a shame, so it is, that King George's ensign
should fly from your peak. You deserve an American flag, and we'll try and give it you."
All that night they spent going from house to house of the men who had the patriotism to
enlist with them, and by daylight they had the promise of twenty-five resolute men who,
at a signal of three cheers given from the Priscilla, would at once board her and put
themselves under Jerry O'Brien's command.
All this commotion on shore had not escaped Captain Moore's lookouts during the night,
and although the Captain would much have preferred staying and fighting it out, his
orders compelled him to cut and run if signs of an outbreak were visible. The British
government then earnestly wished to conciliate the colonists, and by no means to come
to blows.
The next morning was Sunday, and as beautifully clear and bright as the day before. In
order to avoid the appearance of fear, Captain Moore determined, with his officers, to go
to church as usual. As the Captain's gig landed the officers, Jerry O'Brien and Jack
Leverett, with the six men who composed the Priscilla's crew, were all on deck, keeping a
sharp eye on the Margaretta and her boat.
"What say you, men," suddenly asked Jerry, "to bagging those officers in church?"
"We say yes," answered every man at once. In a few minutes, with Jerry and Jack in the
lead, and all well armed, they took the road toward the church. As they neared it they
heard the faint sweet echo of a hymn that floated out on the spring air—the only sound
that broke the heavenly stillness.
Jerry silently posted his men at the entrance, and then opening the door softly, raised his
horse-pistol and levelled it straight at Captain Moore, who sat in the last pew.
The British Captain happened to turn his head at that instant. The congregation was too
absorbed in the singing to notice what was going on. Jerry nodded at the Captain, as
much as to say, "You are my prisoner." The Captain coolly shook his head, as if to answer,
"Not quite, my fine fellow," and the next moment he made a sudden dash for the open
window, followed by all of his officers, and before Jerry could realize that the birds had
flown, they had run half-way to the shore. In vain Jerry and Jack and their followers
pursued. The officers had too long a lead, and by the time the Americans reached the
shore the Captain's gig was being pulled rapidly to the ship. As soon as the boat reached
it the anchors were picked up, every sail that would draw was shaken out, and the
cruiser made for the offing. As soon as she was well under way she sent a shot of
defiance screaming over the town, and was answered by three thundering American
cheers from the Priscilla. As if by magic the sloop's deck was alive with armed men, and
with a quickness equal to the cruiser's, her mainsail was up, and she was winging her
way in pursuit of her enemy.
Well had the Priscilla been called the fastest sloop in all that region. The wind was dead
ahead, and both vessels had to get out of the river on "a long leg and a short one." The
Margaretta was handled in a seamanlike manner, but on every tack the Priscilla gained,
and showed that she was a better sailer both on and off the wind. In an hour they were
within hailing distance, and the men on the Margaretta were called to quarters by the tap
of the drum. Her guns were run out, their tompions withdrawn, and the cruiser showed
herself to be an ugly customer to tackle. But this did not intimidate the Americans, who
were closing on her fast.
A hail came from the Margaretta, "What are you following us for?"
"To learn how to tack ship!" responded Jerry O'Brien, who had taken the wheel himself.
This reply caused a roar of laughter from the Americans, as the Priscilla could come
about in half the time of the Margaretta.
"Keep off or I'll fire!" was the next hail.
"Fire away, gentlemen," bawled Jerry, "and light your matches with your orders not to fire
first!"
At this the gallant British tars groaned loudly, and Captain Moore, drawing his sword and
shaking it at the rapidly advancing sloop, shouted:
"Orders or no orders, I will fire one round if I lose my commission for it. Blow your
matches, boys!"
The guns were already manned, and at the word there was a flash of light, a puff of
smoke, and a round shot came hissing and shrieking across the water and struck the
Priscilla's mainmast fairly in the middle, splintering it. The sloop staggered under the
blow, and in a minute or two the mast went by the board with a crash.
A great cheer broke from the Margaretta's men at that.
"Never mind," cried Jerry. "This is not the first mast that was ever carried away, and we
have spare spars and carpenters too. Wait for us in Holmes Bay, and we will fight it out
yard-arm to yard-arm before sundown."
The Margaretta, with her men cheering and jeering, sailed away toward the open sea.
The Priscilla being the best-found sloop in New England, in a little while the stump of the
mast was cleared away, a lighter spar, but still good enough, was fitted, and she made
sail on it.
As she neared the ocean the wind freshened every moment, and although the sun shone
brilliantly, a heavy sea was kicked up. Soon they sighted the Margaretta, with her topsail
backed, and gallantly waiting for her enemy.
In all this time Jack Leverett showed a steadiness and coolness beyond his years. Once
Jerry O'Brien said to him,
"Youngster, if you flinch, depend upon it, your father shall know it."
"All right," answered Jack; "and if I don't flinch I want my mother to know it."
The two vessels now neared each other on opposite tacks. Captain Moore manœuvred to
get into a raking position before delivering his fire, but the Priscilla, by skilful yawing and
by the roughness of the sea, proved to be as difficult to hit as if she had been a cork
bobbing up and down. In vain they played their two starboard guns and all their swivels
on her; their shot rarely struck, and when it struck, did small damage.
Not so with the Americans. Without a single cannon, they poured forth a musketry fire at
close quarters that did fearful work and made hot the Margaretta's decks. The brave
British sailors stood manfully to their guns, but the Americans were gradually edging up,
and their fire grew more deadly every moment. The Margaretta tried to sheer off, but the
Priscilla, closing up, got her jibboom entangled in her adversary's main rigging, and a
dozen Americans sprang forward to make the two ships fast.
As the vessels came grinding together Jerry O'Brien, leaping on the taffrail, shouted, "I
will be the first man to board—and follow me!"
But Jerry was mistaken. He was suddenly seized by the coat tails, jerked backwards, and
fell sprawling upon the deck, and the next instant Jack Leverett sprang over him, and
was first upon the Margaretta's deck.
"Drat the boy!" was Jerry's involuntary exclamation as he scrambled to his feet.
The Americans poured over the side, and met with a warm reception. Captain Moore,
surrounded by his officers, retreated to the fo'c's'le, fighting every step of the way. At last
Jerry O'Brien came face to face with him. The Captain defended himself with his sword,
but it was knocked out of his hand by Jerry with a pistol butt. They clinched and fell to
the deck fighting. The struggle was sharp but short, and in fifteen minutes from the time
the Americans had lashed the ships together the Captain was overpowered, nearly every
officer had been cut down, and the cruiser was in the hands of the Americans. There had
been much cheering on the Priscilla that day, but when the British ensign was hauled
down, and Jerry, in default of a national flag, hoisted his own jacket at the mast-head,
there were three cheers given that could almost be heard at Machias.
The prisoners were quickly transferred to the Priscilla, and as Jerry O'Brien required all of
his best men on board, he could only spare a few landsmen for a prize crew on the
Margaretta.
"But I will give her a prize master who, although not very old, can sail a schooner or any
other craft—John Leverett, there," said Jerry. "And he will take her in, you may be sure."
Oh, how Jack's heart beat with delight at these words!
Soon they were heading up the river, and when, under a fair wind, they made a quick run
to Machias, the May moon made the heavens glorious. Jack Leverett thought the
happiest moment of his life had come when they cast anchor amid the thunder of cheers
from the people assembled along the shores.
But there was a happier moment yet in store for him. A week afterward Jack and Jerry
O'Brien entered Squire Leverett's study, where sat the Squire and Madam Leverett. The
mother uttered a cry of joy and clasped her boy in her arms. Then Jerry O'Brien, taking
him by the hand, led him to the Squire.
"Sir," he said, "here is your brave boy. You have reason to be proud of him. I have been
promised two things when the navy of the Colonies is formed. One is a Captain's
commission for myself, and the other is a midshipman's commission for this lad. He is
born for the sea, and to make a landsman of him would be like putting a mackerel in a
barnyard to scratch for his living."
The Squire, too moved to speak, silently took one of Jack's hands in both of his, and
Madam Leverett, falling on her boy's neck, cried, "How happy am I to have such a boy to
give to my country!"

GRANT'S TROUBLESOME SOLDIER.

General Grant used to tell a story of a soldier in a certain regiment during the war who
was continually bothering him by asking favors. Grant one day said to him, "Look here; I
believe you are the most troublesome man in the Union army."
The man quickly replied, "Why, that's funny, sir!"
"Funny; how do you make it out funny?"
"Because it is just what the enemy says about you."

BY GASTON V. DRAKE.

VII.—FROM BOB TO JACK.

London.
DEAR JACK,—When I left off my letter to you last night it was nearly ten o'clock, but
almost broad daylight. What do you think of that? It's the queerest thing you ever saw.
The clock and the sun don't seem to gee over here at all. You can read
after nine o'clock without any gas-light at all. Pop says it's a special
British arrangement, because London is such an interesting place and so
many people can only stay a few days that they like to keep it lit up as
long as they can. I'd heard before that the sun never sat on the British
Empire but I never knew it was so long about setting in England. The
hall-porter on our floor says it makes up for it in winter though by rising
about midday and setting ten minutes later. If that's so how it must whiz
across the sky. I'd rather like to see it then. He says too that last winter
they had a fog so thick that people had to dig their way through it with
spades, and he told another boy that it was a regular business in winter
for boys and men who couldn't get other work to do to go about the city
and shovel the fog off the front door steps and walks just as snow-
shovellers do in New York. It must be fun living here then.
We didn't get into London until about seven
o'clock Wednesday night, but it was fine travelling
coming up from Southampton. You'd have thought
the cars had rubber bicycle tyres on their wheels—
see that word tyres?—that's English for tires—I
saw it on a sign. They rode along just as smoothly as a bicycle
would on a tar pavement, and go—Jerusalem how they did go!
That little toy engine I told you about once she got started just
leaped over the ground. You'd almost think you were travelling on
a streak of lightning and in a packing box. That's all the cars are,
just little packing boxes petitioned off into stalls running from side
to side. You get into one of these stalls and the guard—they call
brakemen guards over here—the guard locks you in and off you
go. It isn't a bit like travelling in America, and I don't know as I like
it quite as much as the American cars with Isles down the middle
of 'em because the broken mixed candy and banana boys can't walk through and sell you
things! haven't seen a broken mixed candy and banana boy over here and it's all because
their cars haven't any Isles. There aren't any comic paper boys either but I guess that's a
good thing. Pop bought a copy of one of the English comic papers and he nearly ruined
his eyes trying to see the jokes, their points were so awful fine.
It took us about four hours to get here and two to find our baggage after we got here
because the porters had put some of it with the B baggage and Aunt Sarah's trunk had
wandered off among the C's. The station was crowded with hacks and omnibuses and
people and almost every hack was engaged. Finally Pop managed to get a cab they
called a four-wheeler. It looked scarcely big enough for two but as we got into it it sort of
stretched and by the time the driver had us packed in we had seven people in it, Pop,
Mamma, Aunt Sarah, the two children, the nurse and me. How we ever managed it I
don't know, but we did, and then instead of sending the baggage to the hotel by an
express-wagon the cabman put it all on top of the cab, two Saratoga trunks, three
steamer trunks, a bath-tub, four bundles of rugs, two hat-boxes, three dress-suit cases
and the hamper—and all for one horse! I didn't believe the horse could move us, but the
minute the driver chirruped to him off he started
like a regular race-horse and I tell you it was
exciting. There we seven people were, cooped up
inside with all those trunks piled up on the little bit
of a roof right over our heads being galloped
around corners as if we were playing snap-the-
whip, darting in and out between policemen, lamp-
posts and omnibuses. Mamma and Aunt Sarah
were scared to death. They weren't afraid we'd tip
over but they had half a notion that the roof might
cave in and let all that baggage down on us; and I
think Pop felt uneasy too because he tried several
times to tell the driver to go slow, but he couldn't
because he was wedged in so tight.
It wasn't possible to see
much, we went so fast,
but we did catch a
glimpse of a fearfully
dirty river as we crossed
it and Pop said he guessed it was the Thames and it turned
out to be so later on, and the bridge we were on led right up
to the houses of Pollyment, I think they're called and I tell you
they're beautiful. They look good enough to put on a mantel
piece. Two minutes later we got here and Pop managed to pull
us out of the carriage and get the baggage taken into a hotel
by a man who was dressed up as gorgissly as a drum major,
and all that cab cost was three dollars! Pop says he couldn't
have got off for less than ten in New York and the driver
cheated him into the bargain!
When he paid the cabby Pop told him he'd driven too fast and
the man said he hadn't at all. "Aren't you afraid you'll run into
somebody?" asked Pop. "No," said the man, "I'm afraid
somebody'll run into me." Which is why he tore so to keep out
of the way of the cabs behind him.
I can't say I think much of the hotels here. They're very handsome to look at, but its hard
work getting anything at 'em. The people here behaved so that Pop thought we'd been
landed at Buckingham Palace by mistake, and asked if he might see the Queen and
apologize for intruding, but the man never laughed a bit; just turned away tired. We got
our rooms finally though and there isn't a bed in one of 'em without a canopy over it and
all the wash-stands have bottles of patent tooth-powders on 'em with signs saying if you
open this bottle it'll cost you a shilling. I opened two of 'em before I saw the sign and
Pop says I'm out fifty cents for my curiosity, but I don't mind. It'll go on the bill and he'll
pay it.
We're off now to see the Tower of London. The next time I write I'll tell you all about it. I
wish Sandboys was here. It would do these English hall-boys good to see how Sandboys
does his work. It would take one of them English boys a year to carry up as much ice-
water as Sandboys does in a night, but then they've got as much work as they can do
looking after their buttons. I should think it would be a day's work buttoning up a hall-
boy's coat over here. Ours has sixty between his chin and his waist.
Yours ever
Bob.
 THE VOYAGE OF HIRAM AND DAVE.
BY A. J. ENSIGN.
George Whittingham was staring at a Billingsgate fish-woman. She was glaring at
George, and treating him to some of that wonderfully abusive language known to all
Englishmen as "Billingsgate." George was just about to repeat the expedient of a noted
English wit, and call her a "miserable isosceles triangle, a beastly rectangular
parallelopipedon," when some one pulled his coat sleeve and said,
"Mr. George, let 'er alone; she can beat you at that every time."
George whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice, and exclaimed: "Hiram Wardell!
Well, what on earth are you doing in London?"
"Tryin' to find out how to get home, Mr. George. Me and Dave Hulick here ain't in London
on a tour, I can tell you, and we don't want to stay here either."
"Then it's lucky for you that my father is in the consular service here. I guess he can help
you two boys. But, say, this is a funny case, isn't it? Only a year ago you fellows were
taking me out fishing off Joppa, and now—How did you get here, anyhow?"
"Well, Mr. George, this ain't a very good place for story-telling. Can't we go where it's
quiet?"
"You two boys come to my father's office with me," said George, "and then you can tell
him and me the story at the same time. I think that will be the best way to manage it."
So the well-dressed young gentleman, accompanied by the two rude-looking New Jersey
"beach-combers," set off through the jostling, bustling London crowds toward Mr.
Whittingham's office in Cheapside. George's father was at his desk, and expressed his
readiness to listen to the story of the two boys, whom he was surprised to see in London.
Hiram Wardell, when bidden to go on with his narrative, hung his head and twisted his
cap nervously in his long red fingers.
"Go on, Hi," said his companion; "ye got to tell it, an' ye might as well start an' git
through."
Hiram straightened himself up with a jerk, ran the red fingers through his shock of dust-
brown hair, and began: "Well, sir, I s'pose we two boys is a pair o' fools, an' that's the
truth. But we'll know better nex' time. You see, it ain't very much of a country down
there on the Jersey coast, except in the summer, when the city people is there, an' then
what is it? Only drivin' a hack, or takin' a gentleman out fishin', or somethin' o' that sort.
So Dave an' I this spring got mighty tired o' the whole business, an' we made up our
minds that we'd got to git out. So one day we was a-settin' on the beach talkin' about it,
an' Dave he says to me to look at a schooner wot was goin' down to the south'ard. An'
he says to me, wot was the matter with goin' to New York an' shippin' on one o' them
schooners an' goin' to the West Injies, or Savannah, or Halifax, or some sich place? Right
off it seemed to me that was about the finest scheme I'd ever heard of. But we didn't
have much money betwixt—only sixty-four cents—an' the question were how to git to
New York. First off, Dave thought it would be the best way for him to take the money an'
go to York, an' when he'd earned enough to send for me. But I was mistrustful o' bein'
left behind an' seein' Dave wave his hat at me some day from the deck o' one o' them
schooners goin' South."
Mr. Whittingham lay back in his chair and shook with laughter, while Dave Hulick looked
at Hiram with a countenance full of solemn reproach.
"Well, you know you'd 'a' done it, Dave," said Hiram, as he continued with his story.
"After talkin' the thing over for a good while, I proposed that we pervision Dave's father's
smallest fishin' skiff with them sixty-four cents an' sail for York. Dave he said it weren't
fair for him to furnish twenty-eight cents an' the boat, an' me only thirty-six cents. But I
told him the boat didn't cost him nothin', an' he had to allow that I was tellin' the truth;
so he agreed to my plan. I ain't a-goin' to stop to tell you all the botheration we had a-
gettin' them pervisions an' gettin' 'em stored ready for shippin'. Land sakes! Folks was so
mighty curious that I 'most lost my wits inventin' answers for all their questions."
"All about sixty-four cents' worth of provisions?" inquired Mr. Whittingham, who could not
conceal his amusement.
"Jest that, sir, an' nothin' else," replied Hiram, gravely. "Well, at last everything was all
ready, an' bright an' 'arly one fine mornin' we slipped out an' down to the beach. Of
course it wasn't no great shakes of a matter for us two boys to launch the boat an' get
out through the surf. Mr. George he knows that, 'cause he's often gone out with us. Well,
when we got out there wasn't enough wind to sail, the ocean bein' as smooth as one o'
the plate-glass winders in Bill Smock's drug-store. So we had to get to work an' row.
There was other boats goin' out, an' my sakes alive! what a lot of questions we had to
answer! Seems to me there wasn't any reason for 'em, either, 'cause we boys often went
out fishin'. But anyhow we pulled along till we got well to the north'ard o' Joppa an' out
o' reach o' questions, an' then Dave he struck work. 'Blowed if I'm goin' to row all the
way to York,' says he. Didn't you, Dave?"
"That's wot I said," was Dave's laconic answer.
"We set the mast an' sail, an' let her drift. It was a putty middlin' hot day, an' along in the
early afternoon, when we hadn't got more'n five or six miles to the north'ard, I reckon
both of us fell asleep. I don't know how long we was asleep, but I know what woke us
up. The blamed boat turned turtle."
"What—upset?" exclaimed Mr. Whittingham.
 "THEN I GOT OUT MY BIG RED HANDKERCHER AND WAVED
IT."
"Yes, sir, upset. You see, there was a kind of a squall, an' we, bein' asleep, didn't get no
notice of't till we was in the water. Well, I climbed up on to the bottom o' the boat, an'
Dave he hung on to me an' grumbled. 'Nice sort o' doin's,' says Dave; 'there's that sixty-
four cents' worth o' good grub gone to feed the fish.' An' then I says to Dave to shut up
his all-fired nonsense, and be glad that we wasn't gone along with the grub. Then I got
out my big red handkercher an' waved it. There was a small coastin' schooner ratchin'
along not more'n a mile away. The squall had died down to a good breeze, an' she was a
hustlin'. She didn't see us, though. Well, sir, we hung on to the bottom o' that there boat
till putty nigh sundown, an' all the time we was a-driftin' further an' further out to sea.
About then this here Dave he woke up an' says, 'Here comes a big wessel right at us.'
Sure enough, there was a full-rigged ship what had just cast off her tug an' was a-makin'
sail. She was a-headin' so's to come within a hundred yards of us. So I got the
handkercher out again an' waved it, and when she got putty near we both yelled. The
ship hove to an' lowered a boat, an' in a few minutes we was aboard o' her. We told the
skipper our story an' he laffed. He wasn't putty when he laffed, either, because his teeth
was all out in front an' his nose was broke. 'So you was bound to New York, was you?'
says he. 'Well, now you're bound to London.' I didn't want to go to London, but this here
Dave—he don't know much, sir—he said he'd jest as leave go to London on a ship as the
West Injies on a schooner. So to make the story short, sir, we two lunatics—'cause that's
ezackly what we was—shipped on to that there wessel as green hands."
Hiram paused a moment, overcome by the flood of his melancholy recollections.
"I hope, sir," he continued, gravely, "that you was never a green hand on a ship. A green
hand don't know how to do nothin', an' one o' the mates tells him to do it, an' then yells,
'I'll l'arn ye, ye slob!' An' he allus teaches him with his fist or his foot or a belayin'-pin. I
bin punched, kicked, an' knocked down all the way from off Long Beach to the North
Foreland. I was taught to furl a royal off Davis South Shoal with a kick in the ribs. I had a
long splice, a short splice, an eye splice, an' a black eye punched into me off George's
Bank. I got the science o' heavin' to in a gale o' wind kicked clean through me off Cape
Race. I learned how to heave the log off Sable Island by bein' hove down the forehatch
head fust,'cause I didn't know how to do 't. I got a fust-class chart o' the North Atlantic
Ocean hammered on to my body in black an' blue, an' ef ever I git lost out there again,
it'll be because the Jersey coast has lost its anchor an' gone adrift. An' now, sir, here's
Dave an' me; we don't want to go South on to a schooner no more. All we wants to do is
to git back to Joppa, let our fathers lick us, an' then settle down to cod-fishin' an' peace
an' quiet for the rest of our lives."
Mr. Whittingham laughed heartily over this account of the two boys, but said their final
decision was a very wise one, and that he thought they had paid in full all they owed for
having run away from home. He sent them home in the steerage of a swift ocean liner
that landed them in Joppa a week later.

THE SCIENTIST AND THE FARMER.

A distinguished scientific writer was once on a shooting excursion in an English shire.

Coming across a bluff, hale farmer, he entered into conversation with him. As they walked
along, they reached a heap of stones. Pointing to them, the scientific man asked the
farmer if he knew how they were made. The farmer grinned and replied, "Why, they
bean't made, sir; they grows."
"Grow? Why, nonsense, man! What do you mean by grow?"
"Why, same as 'taters grows."
"Dear me! Why, those stones can never grow!" said the scientific man. "They have been
that way for years and years, and if you were to look at them years hence, they would be
just the same size."
At this the farmer actually laughed, and looked at the man of science as though he pitied
his ignorance as he exclaimed, "Why, in course they'd be, 'cause they've been taken out
o' the earth, and they stops growin' then same as 'taters would."
 FOR KING OR COUNTRY.
BY JAMES BARNES.
A Story of the Revolution.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A LOYAL TRAITOR.
"How many men have you?" inquired William, as he accompanied the black-bearded man
down the road.
"About one hundred," he said; "but there are about twice as many good lads gathering to
the southward who will be up in time to assist us. The English have taken possession of a
brick house with a stone wall, and are afraid to leave it. They are waiting for re-
enforcements."
To his astonishment, William saw that the company was composed, with the exception of
the men who had met him in the road, of few whom he would consider fit to fight in the
ranks—boys of fourteen and old gray-headed men that had been left at home, for the
flower of New Jersey manhood was in the army.
Ralston had called a score or so about him. "Friends," he said, "this is an old comrade,
now a Lieutenant in the army. Let us hold counsel. It is right that he should take
command. We are quite well drilled but not equipped, sir," he said, turning to William.
The latter looked about. Some of the farmers were armed only with pitch-forks or rough
pikes made from scythes. The Quaker with the pig had been greeted with the cry of
"Fresh pork! Fresh pork!" and a rail fence was soon converted into fuel.
"I am on special duty," William said, after a thought. "I should not tarry long."
If he refused to accede to their wishes he would place himself in a dangerous position,
and not only that, but would probably hurt most seriously the brother whom he was
supposed to be. What would he not give for some news about George's condition? He
had only gathered, from what Cato had told him, that his younger brother was not
seriously wounded.
"Let's adjourn to the barn," suggested the sergeant, "and talk matters over."
All followed him, and seated themselves on the edge of a large bin. With ears of corn
Ralston marked out the position that the English and Hessians held in the valley below.
To save himself, William could not help but be interested.
"Keep them talking," he thought. "That's it; but propose great caution. It may give the
others time to get away."
A freckle-faced red-eyed boy with a narrow-stocked rifle much taller than himself looked
into the door.
"What is it, Tommy?" said one of the men, as the boy pulled off his coon-skin cap.
"Are we going to fight, sir?" asked the youth.
"Ay, you'll get your chance," was the answer.
The boy shouldered his musket and walked away.
"Did you mark the lad, Mr. Frothingham?" said Ralston, glancing up from his plan. "The
Hessians two days ago killed his old grandfather and burnt his sick mother's house down
about her head."
This recital started another of the group, and William listened in horror and amazement.
In common with many other officers in the English service, he had deprecated the use of
the German hirelings. His anger at their outrages overcame every other feeling in his
breast.
"You say the Hessians are here," he said, pointing with his finger at a bunch of corn-
cobs, "and that the hill is off here to the right?"
"Yes," answered Ralston, "and the swamp guards their retreat to the eastward."
Before he knew it, William found himself offering a plan of attack. The others listened
with great attention.
"A true military eye," observed one old man, leaning over his neighbor's shoulder. "It is a
young David come to lead us against the Philistines."
Suddenly William caught his breath. What was he doing? This was nice work for an
officer in the service of the King. "How far off is this brick house you speak of?" he
asked, hoping that even now he might escape the consequences of his impetuosity.
"Maybe a mile or so," was the response from the old man.
"Had we better not divide our forces, as you suggest, and prepare for an attack?" said
Ralston.
"Yes, I have a thirsty sword." The man tapped an old Scotch claymore that hung by his
side.
"Well said, McPherson," put in another, and William followed them as they went out
through the barn door.
"Draw up in line, comrades, the older men to the top of the hill, and the younger take
position at the edge of the swamp," Ralston spoke again.
It seemed impossible that such a mob could do anything against an organized resistance,
but a surge of mingled admiration and pride swept over William. A great lump came into
his throat. He glanced at the eager boys and the bent forms of the old men. Ye gods!
These were his countrymen! Some one, he did not know who, shouted, "Forward!" and
he found himself at the head of a shuffling, swaying company that straggled out across
the road. He was leading as they silently went through the meadow and came to the
crest of a hill where the stubble of the corn-stalks just showed above the snow. Below
him he saw a large brick house, and about it a strong stone wall. Even from this distance
he could make out the green uniforms of the Hessians and a few red coats dotted
amongst them. William halted an instant.
The weak point of the defence he observed at once. From behind the rocks on the hill-
side the interior of the yard could be commanded. There were few windows in the house
facing the westward, and a large hay-cock stretched up almost to the second story. He
could not help it! The tales he had heard made him hate the mercenary green coats that
had brought disgrace upon warfare, if such could be. He was in command. He could not
back out, but hesitated to give the word. Another mind, however, had seen the same
opportunity that had struck William so forcibly. As the men stopped on the hill-side there
was a rattling volley below them. A body of ragged men in homespun much like those
grouped about him appeared on the edge of the alders in the swamp. Others swarmed
out from the woods. The party from the southward had decided to wait no longer for
assistance from the forces under Ralston. Captain Littel, of New Jersey, was in command
of this attack. So well feared and hated had he been that there was a reward upon his
head. William was surprised at the intrepid charge that these farmer soldiers made upon
the wall. A handful ran out across the meadow, and despite the fact that three fell before
they had gone one hundred yards, they reached the side of the house. One of the men
was carrying a flaming torch. In an instant the hay-cock roared up in flames, and now
the men about him could stand it no longer, but with a shout they dashed down the hill-
side with no more order than a herd of charging cattle. Spurts of smoke sprang from the
windows of the farm-house. The Waldeckers and the British were driven from behind the
wall, but the house had now caught fire from the burning hay. The Americans swarmed
about it. A man with an axe burst the door. There were some more shots, but soon the
white flag was extended from one of the windows. This recalled William to his senses,
and then he noticed that he was not alone. Ralston stood beside him.
"Hasten!" he said. "They have surrendered; but so great is their rage that I am afraid if
we do not interfere our people will take no prisoners. Their blood is hot, they seek
revenge!"
Holding his lame arm closely to his side, William ran down the hill, and was soon at the
house. Captain Littel, who had led the first attack, had been wounded.
"Is any one in command here?" shouted a voice from the window.
Looking up, a British officer was seen standing there. One of the countrymen levelled a
rifle at him, taking aim.
William knocked the piece aside. "Teach them a lesson. Behave like men. You are not
murdering Indians!"
"But those green-coated devils are," said the man, "which is just as bad." Again he rested
his rifle.
William drew back his hand as if to fell the man.
"Hold! You are right," said the latter; "but if you had seen what I have—" He stopped.
In a minute William found himself haranguing the angry crowd about him. The fearless
ring of his voice and his soldierly bearing had its effect.
The men grew calmer. The fire had now eaten its way into the interior of the house, and
the roof was blazing.
"We surrender," said the officer at the window. "Is there any one here to whom I can
give my sword? For God's sake, don't burn us all to death!"
Ralston, standing at William's side, shouted back, "Come down, then, all of you."
He pushed the men hither and thither with his strong arms, and formed a lane for them
to pass through. Again he needed strong efforts to restrain the feelings of the victors as
the frightened Hessians and a few English hurried out of the burning house. The officer
was carrying his sword by the blade. He approached and extended it toward Ralston, but
the latter waved him to where William was standing, pale and torn with conflicting
emotions. As the man in the red coat approached he started, and almost dropped his
sword. It was Captain Markham, who only a few days ago William had left in the coffee-
room at the tavern in New York.
"Do I give my sword to you?" he said.
"Keep it," said William.
"I will not," said the officer, and he dashed it to the ground at the latter's feet. "So you
are in your true colors at last," he said; "but let me tell you, sir, it was lucky that you left
just when you did. You were seen talking in a doorway with a man who is now known to
be a spy, and, worse luck, he escaped us also. You know whom I mean?"
"I do not," was William's reply.
"That old man Norton."
William said nothing. He remembered the incident now in the snow-storm.
"Your name is stricken from your regiment, and you are posted for what you are, you
rebel!"
William had no reply to this long speech, and his attention was now called to a different
direction. One of the attacking party had recognized a low-visaged German who had
been prominent in the outrages at the village. They were for hanging him at once. The
band of English were outnumbered now three to one. They had piled their arms in a
heap as they left the doorway of the house, and were huddled together in an angle of
the wall. Once more William's calm words and appearance had their effect, and there was
a lull. Quickly he told off the most prominent leaders of the guerilla forces and divided
the prisoners into squads. Once started on the march, it would be easier to keep order.
When this was accomplished he spoke to Captain Markham.
"I cannot reply at length to what you say. All I can do is to save your lives. Maybe fortune
has granted me that power. I am not a traitor by intent."
The company moved out across the fields, taking up their wounded, and leaving the dead
Hessians where they were.
Captain Markham marched silently along, paying no attention to the looks that were
thrown at him by the angry victors. He admired William's bearing, despite the standpoint
from which he looked upon him. "I understand now," he said, "why it was you never took
the oath of allegiance to the King."
It was William's turn to start. It was a fact. The ceremony, owing to the haste in the
purchasing of his command and of the departure of Colonel Forsyth from England, had
been omitted.
"What are you going to do with us?" asked the Captain. "How did you come to be in
command?"
"Through fate, perhaps," responded William; "it has decided many things. I am going to
take you to Morristown, if I can; and as for myself, I shall turn myself in as a prisoner of
war with the rest of you. I cannot explain. Some day you will understand."
It was necessary to hasten the march now, for a messenger had arrived, stating that re-
enforcements of the British were approaching from Elizabethtown. They marched ahead
at a faster pace.
It was a strange tale that William Frothingham related when he brought his command to
the American lines. The idea of an English officer leading an American attack, and after
victory convoying his prisoners to his enemy's lines, and there insisting upon giving
himself up also as a prisoner of war—this was something new in the annals of history. He
found himself in the most remarkable position that probably a man had ever been placed
in before.
After hearing his tale and recovering from the astonishment of finding that it was not the
Lieutenant Frothingham they knew, the Americans would not accept him as a prisoner.
The Commander-in-Chief expressed the sentiment of the meeting in these words:
"You are free to return, sir, without exchange; but it is my advice that you do not do so.
What you can explain to us you could never explain to the gentlemen who are
temporarily in New York city."
Colonel Roberts, of Washington's staff, here whispered a suggestion. It was taken up at
once, and the sentence of the court to which William had presented his remarkable
petition was as follows:
"Lieutenant William Frothingham, late of his Majesty King George's service, is hereby
ordered to free confinement at the Manor House of Stanham Mills, to be paroled there on
honor not to escape or desert a country that has profited by his free service."

It was at Stanham Mills.

"Yes, I knowed it all de time," said old Cato to the group in the kitchen. The old man was
breathless from reiterating this statement.
In the big hall a strange meeting was taking place. So many explanations had to be
made; so many questions asked and answered; so many stops and pauses for Aunt
Clarissa to overcome her tears and bursts of self-deprecation, that it was a long time
before quiet and calm could be restored; but when this had happened, the impossible
seemed to have been accomplished, for there sat the
twins as they had years and years before, hand in hand,
and grouped around them were Aunt Clarissa, Colonel
Hewes, Grace, and Carter, for the young Captain had
considerately been given charge of the remarkable
prisoner, and many a long chat and silent hand-grasp
had they indulged in between Morristown and Stanham.
William's depression was rolling off him. Somehow it
seemed very natural to be here with his own people
again, so much happier than being with the roistering,
swaggering officers that he had so long been thrown in
with.
At last good-nights were said, and Aunt Clarissa, with a
final burst of weeping, had gone up stairs on the arm of
her tall young niece. George and William stepped to the
door as they watched Carter and his father mount their
horses, for the latter was now living in a small house
with the troops at the foundry. "BROTHER MINE," SAID
A figure was standing leaning against one of the pillars. GEORGE.... "IT IS FOR
It advanced as the twins came out upon the piazza. KING OR COUNTRY."
"How!" was the greeting in a deep chest tone.
"How, Adam!" William responded, taking the old Indian's extended hand. Again the latter
repeated this exclamation, and turning, shuffled off. In his belt shone a great horse-
pistol. It had once belonged to Cloud, the Renegade.
"Brother mine," said George, placing his arm across William's shoulder, "it has been the
finger of the Lord."
William rested his head on his arm. "But they say I am a traitor," he replied.
George laughed. "You are a patriot, then," he said. "You could not help what grew up in
your heart. It is for King or country."
"For country, then," said William, firmly.
"God prosper us," said George, "we will help deliver it together."

[the end.]
 RICK DALE.
BY KIRK MUNROE.

CHAPTER VII.

CAPTAIN DUFF OF THE SLOOP "FANCY."

As the newly engaged crew of the sloop Fancy slowly and awkwardly descended the
slippery ladder leading down to his ship, he experienced his first regrets at the decisive
step he had taken, and doubts as to its wisdom. The real character of the sloop as shown
by a single glance was so vastly different from his ideal, that for a moment it did not
seem as though he could accept the disreputable old craft as even a temporary home.
Never before had he realized how he loathed dirt and disorder, and all things that
offended his delicately trained senses. Never before had he appreciated the cleanly and
orderly forms of living to which he had always been accustomed. He could not imagine it
possible to eat, sleep, or even exist on board such a craft as lay just beneath him, and
his impulse was to fly to some remote place where he should never see or hear of the
Fancy again. But even as he was about to do this the sound of Bonny's reassuring voice
completely changed the current of his thoughts.
Was not the lad who had brought him to this place a very picture of cheerful health, and
just such a strong, active, self-reliant boy as he longed to become? Surely what Bonny
could endure he could! Perhaps disagreeable things were necessary to the proper
development of a boy. That thought had never come to him before, but now he
remembered how much his hands had suffered before they were trained to catch a
regulation ball.
Besides all this, had not Bonny hesitated before consenting to give him a trial, and had
he not insisted on coming? Had he not also confidently asserted that all he wanted was a
chance to show what he was good for, and that nothing save a dismissal should cause
him to relinquish whatever position was given to him? After all, no matter how bad things
might prove on the sloop, there would always be plenty of fresh air and sunshine,
besides an unlimited supply of clean water. He could remember catching glimpses, in
foreign cities, of innumerable pestilential places in which human beings were compelled
to spend whole lifetimes, where none of these things were to be had.
Yes, he would keep on and make the best of whatever presented itself, for perhaps
things would not prove to be as bad as they seemed; and, after all, he was willing to
endure a great deal for the sake of continuing the friendship just begun between himself
and Bonny Brooks. He remembered now having once heard his father say that a
friendship worth having was worth fighting for. If that were the case, what a coward he
would be to even think of relinquishing his first real friendship without making an effort
to retain it!
By the time all these thoughts had flashed through the boy's mind he had gained the
sloop's deck, where he was startled by an angry voice that sounded like the bellow of an
enraged bull. Turning quickly, he saw his friend Bonny confronted by a big man with a
red face and bristling beard. This individual, supported by a pair of rudely made crutches,
was standing beside the after-companionway and glaring at the bag containing his own
effects that had been tossed down from the wharf.
"Ye've got a hand, have ye?" roared this man, whom Alaric instinctively knew to be the
Captain. "Is this his dunnage?"
"Yes, sir," replied the first mate. "And I think—"
"Never mind what you think," interrupted the Captain, fiercely. "Send him about his
business, and pitch his dunnage back on the wharf or pitch it overboard, I don't care
which. Pitch it! d'ye hear?"
"But, Captain Duff, I think—"
"Who asked ye to think? I do the thinking on board this craft. Don't ye suppose I know
what I'm talking about? I tell ye I had this Phil Ryder with me on one cruise, and I'll
never have him on another! An impudent young puppy as ever lived, and a desarter to
boot. Took off two of my best men with him, too. Oh, I know him, and I'd Phil him full of
his own rifle-bullets ef I had the chance! I'd like to Ryder him on a rail, too."
"You are certainly mistaken, sir, this time, for—"
"Who, I? You dare say I'm mistaken, you tarry young swab you?" roared the man, his
face turning purple with rage. "Oh, ef I had the proper use of my feet for one minute I'd
show ye! Put him ashore, I tell ye, and do it in a hurry too, or you'll go with him without
one cent of wages—not one cent, d'ye hear? I'll have no mutiny where I'm Cap'n."
Poor Alaric listened to this fierce outbreak with mingled fear and dismay. Now that the
situation he had deemed so surely his either to accept or reject was denied him, it again
seemed very desirable. He was about to speak up in his own behalf when the angry
man's last threat caused him to change his mind. He could not permit Bonny to suffer on
his account, and lose the position he had so recently attained. No, the very first law of
friendship forbade that; and so, stepping forward to claim his bag, he said, in a low tone,
"Never mind me, Bonny; I'll go."
"No, you won't!" retorted the young mate, stoutly, "or, if you do, I'll go with you; and I'll
have my wages too, Captain Duff, or know the reason why."
Without paying the slightest attention to this remark, the man was staring at Alaric,
whom he had not noticed until this moment. "Who is that landlubber togged out like a
sporty salt?" he demanded.
"He's the crew I hired, and the one you have just bounced," replied Bonny.
"What's his name?"
"Rick Dale."
"What made you say it was Phil Ryder, then?"
"I didn't, sir. You—"
"Don't contradict me, you unlicked cub! Can he shoot?"
"No, sir," replied Alaric, as Bonny looked at him inquiringly.
"All right. I wouldn't have him aboard if he could. Why don't he take his thundering
dunnage and go for'ard, where he belongs, and cook me some grub when he knows I
haven't had anything to eat sence sunup? Why don't he, I say?"
With this Captain Duff turned and clumped heavily to the other side of the deck; while
Bonny, hastily picking up the bag that had been the innocent cause of all this uproar,
said, in a low voice,
"Come on, Rick. It's all right."
As they went forward together he dropped the bag down a tiny forecastle hatch. Then,
after asking Alaric to cut some kindlings and start a fire in the galley stove, which was
housed on deck, he dove into the cabin to see what he could find that could be cooked
for dinner.
When he reappeared a minute later, he found his crew struggling with an axe and a
chunk of hard wood, from which he was vainly attempting to detach some slivers. He had
already cut two deep gashes in the deck, and in another moment would probably have
needed crutches as badly as the Captain himself.
"Hold on, Rick!" cried the young mate, catching the axe-helve just as the weapon was
making another erratic descent. "I find those grocery chaps haven't sent down any
stores. So do you just run up there. It's two doors this side of Uncle Isaac's, you know,
and hurry them along. I'll 'tend to the fire while you are gone."
Gladly exchanging his unaccustomed, and what he considered to be very dangerous, task
of wood-chopping for a task that he felt sure he could accomplish creditably, Alaric
hastened away. He found the grocer's easily enough, and demanded of the first clerk he
met why the stores for the sloop Fancy had not been sent down.
"Must have been the other clark, sir, and I suppose he forgot all about 'em; but I'll attend
to the order at once, sir," replied the man, who took in at a glance Alaric's gentlemanly
bearing and the newness of his nautical garb. "Have 'em right down, sir. Hard bread, salt
junk, rice, and coffee, I believe. Anything else, sir?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Alaric.
"Going to take a run on the Fancy yourself, sir?"
"Yes."
"Then of course you'll want some soft bread, a few tins of milk, half a dozen jars of
marmalade, and a dozen or so of potted meats?"
"I suppose so," assented the boy.
"Step this way, sir, and let me show you some of our fine goods," suggested the clerk,
insinuatingly.
In another part of the building he prattled glibly of pâté-de-foie-gras and Neufchatel
cheese, truffles, canned mushrooms, Albert biscuit, anchovy paste, stuffed olives,
Weisbaden prunes, and a variety of things—all of which were so familiar to the
millionaire's son, and had appeared so naturally on all the tables at which he had ever
sat, that he never for a moment doubted but what they must be necessities on the Fancy
as well. Of ten million boys he was perhaps the only one absolutely ignorant that these
luxuries were not daily articles of food with all persons above the grade of paupers; and
as he was equally without a knowledge of their cost, he allowed the clerk to add a dozen
jars of this, and as many pots of that, to his list, until even that wily individual could think
of nothing else with which to tempt this easy-going customer. So, promising that the
supplies just ordered should be sent down directly, he bowed Alaric out of the door, at
the same time trusting that they should be honored with his future patronage.
Bethinking himself that he must have a tooth-brush, and that it would also be just as well
to have his own comb, in spite of Bonny's assurance that the ship's comb would be at his
service, the lad went in search of these articles. When he found them he was also
tempted to invest in what he regarded as two other indispensables, namely, a cake of
fine soap and a bottle of eau-de-Cologne.
He had gone quite a distance for these things, and occupied a full half-hour in getting
them. As he retraced his steps toward the wharves he passed the slop-shop in which his
first purchases of the day had been made, and was greeted by the proprietor with an
inquiry as to whether old Duff had taken aboard his cargo of "chinks and dope" yet. Not
understanding the question Alaric did not answer it; but as he passed on he wondered
what sort of a cargo that would be.
By the time he regained the wharf to which the Fancy was moored the flooding tide had
raised her to a level with it, and on her deck Alaric beheld a scene that filled him with
amazement. The stores that he had ordered had arrived. The wagon in which they had
come stood at one side, and they had all been taken aboard. One of the two men who
had brought them was exchanging high words and even a shaking of fists with the young
first mate of the sloop, while the other was presenting a bill to the Captain and insisting
upon its payment.
 CAPTAIN DUFF, FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AND PURPLE IN
THE FACE, WAS SPEECHLESS WITH RAGE.
Captain Duff, foaming at the mouth and purple in the face, was speechless with rage, and
could only make futile passes with one of his crutches at the man with the bill, who
dodged each blow with great agility. As Alaric appeared this individual cried out,
"Here's the young gent as ordered the goods now!"
"Certainly," said Alaric, advancing to the sloop's side. "I was told to order some stores,
and I did so."
"Oh, you did, did ye! you thundering young blunderbuss?" roared Captain Duff, finding
his voice at last. "Then suppose you pay for 'em."
"Very well," replied the lad, quietly, thinking this an official command that must be
obeyed.
A minute later peace was restored, Captain Duff was gasping, and his first mate was
staring with amazement. The bill had been paid, the wagon driven away, and Alaric was
again without a single cent in his pockets.

CHAPTER VIII.

AN UNLUCKY SMASH.
Captain Duff's first order after peace was thus restored and he had recovered the use of
his voice, temporarily lost through amazement at the spectacle of a sailor before the
mast paying out of his own pocket for a ship's stores, and stores of such an extraordinary
character as well, was that the goods thus acquired should be immediately transferred to
his own cabin. So Bonny, with Alaric to assist, began to carry the things below.
The cabin was very small, dirty, and stuffy. The air of the place was so pervaded with a
combination odor of stale tobacco smoke, mouldy leather, damp clothing, bilge water,
kerosene, onions, and other things of an equally obtrusive nature, that poor Alaric
gasped for breath on first descending the steep flight of steps leading to it.
On his next trip below the lad drew in a long breath of fresh air just before entering the
evil-smelling cabin, and determined not to take another until he should emerge from it.
In his haste to execute this plan he dropped his armful of cans, and without waiting to
stow them, had gained the steps before realizing that the Captain was ordering him to
come back.
Furious at having his command thus disregarded, the man reached out with one of his
crutches, caught it around the boy's neck, and gave him a violent jerk backward.
The startled lad, losing his foothold, came to the floor with a crash and a loud escaping
"Ah!" of pent-up breath. At the same moment the cabin began to be pervaded with a
new and unaccustomed odor so strong that all the others temporarily withdrew in its
favor.
"Oh, murder! Let me out!" gasped Captain Duff, as he scrambled for the companionway
and a breath of outer air. "Of all the smells I ever smelled that's the worst!"
"What have you broken, Rick?" asked Bonny, anxiously, thrusting his head down the
companionway. He had been curiously reading the unfamiliar labels on the various jars,
pots, and bottles, and now fancied that his crew had slipped down the steep steps with
some of these in his arms.
"Whew! but it's strong!" he continued, as the penetrating fumes greeted his nostrils. "Is it
the truffles or the pate grass or the cheese?"
"I'm afraid," replied Alaric, sadly, as he slowly rose from the cabin floor and thrust a
cautious hand into one of his hip pockets, "that it is a bottle of eau-de-Cologne."
"Cologne!" cried Bonny, incredulously, as he caught the word. "If these foreign kinds of
grub are put up in Cologne, it's no wonder that I never heard of them before. Why, it's
poison, that's what it is, and nothing less. Shall I heave the rest of the truck overboard,
sir?"
"Hold on!" cried Alaric, emerging with rueful face from the cabin in time to catch this
suggestion. "It isn't in them. It was in my pocket all by itself."
"I wish it had staid there, and you'd gone to Halifax with it afore ever ye brought the
stuff aboard this ship!" thundered the Captain. "Avast, ye lubber! Don't come anigh me.
Go out on the dock and air yourself."
So the unhappy lad, his clothing saturated with cologne, betook himself to the wharf,
where, as he slowly walked up and down, filling the air with perfume, he carefully
removed bits of broken glass from his moist pocket, and disgustedly flung them
overboard.
While he was thus engaged, the first mate, under the Captain's personal supervision, was
fumigating the cabin by burning in it a bunch of oakum over which was scattered a small
quantity of tobacco. When the atmosphere of the place was thus so nearly restored to its
normal condition that Captain Duff could again endure it, Bonny finished stowing the
supplies, and then turned his attention to preparing supper.
Meanwhile Alaric had been joined in his lonely promenade by a stranger, who, with a
curious expression on his face as he drew near the lad, changed his position so as to get
on the windward side, and then began a conversation.
"Fine evening," he said.
"Is it?" asked Alaric, moodily.
"I think so. Do you belong on that sloop? Where does she run to from here?"
"The Sound," answered Alaric, shortly.
"What does she carry?"
"Passengers and cargo."
"Indeed? And may I ask what sort of a cargo?"
"You may."
"Well, then, what sort?" persisted the stranger.
"Chinks and dope," returned Alaric, glancing up with the expectation of seeing a look of
bewilderment on his questioner's face. But the latter only said:
"Um! About what I thought. Paying business, isn't it?"
"If it wasn't we wouldn't be in it," replied the boy.
"No, I suppose not; and it must pay big since it enables even the cabin-boy to drench
himself with perfumery."
Ere Alaric could reply the stranger was walking rapidly away, and Bonny was calling him
to supper.
The first mate apologized for serving this meal on deck, but that Captain Duff objected to
the crew's presence at his table on this occasion. "So," said Bonny, "I told him he might
eat alone, then, for I should come out here and eat with you."
"I hope he will always feel the same way," retorted Alaric, "for it doesn't seem as though
I could possibly stay in that cabin long enough to eat a meal."
"Oh, I guess you could," laughed Bonny. "Anyway, it will be all right by breakfast-time, for
the smell is nearly gone now. But I say, Rick Dale, what an awfully funny fellow you are
anyway! What made you pay for all that truck? It must have taken every cent you had."
"So it did," replied Alaric. "But what of that? It was the easiest way to smooth things over
that I knew of."
"It wouldn't have been for me, then," rejoined Bonny, "for I haven't handled a dollar in so
long that it would scare me to find one in my pocket. But why didn't you let them take
back the things we didn't need?"
"Because, having ordered them, we were bound to accept them, and I thought we
needed them all. I'm awfully tired of such things myself, but I didn't know you were."
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