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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:09:49 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:09:49 -0700 |
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diff --git a/23751-h/23751-h.htm b/23751-h/23751-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a23706 --- /dev/null +++ b/23751-h/23751-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3891 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Southern Stories, by Various. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .centerbox { width: 60%; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + } + + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center; margin-top: 3em;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + img {border:0;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .cpoem {width: 25em; margin: 0 auto;} /* centers text and maintains left justified margin */ + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Stories, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Southern Stories + Retold from St. Nicholas + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 6, 2007 [EBook #23751] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Janet Blenkinship, Linda McKeown +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 510px"> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 93px;"> +<img src="images/imgspine.jpg" width="93" height="600" alt="" title="book spine" /> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width: 382px;"> +<img src="images/imgcover.jpg" width="382" height="600" alt="" title="cover" /> +</div></div> + + + +<h1>SOUTHERN STORIES<br /><br /></h1> + + + + +<h2>RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 265px;"> +<img src="images/illus-005.jpg" width="265" height="350" alt="" title="title page decoration" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1907<br /> +Copyright, 1889, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 1898, 1900, 1902, 1903, 1907,<br /> +by <span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span><br /><br /> +THE DE VINNE PRESS<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 491px;"> +<a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> +<img src="images/illus-004.jpg" width="491" height="600" alt="A REAL UNCLE REMUS STORY" title="" /> +<span class="caption">A REAL UNCLE REMUS STORY.</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="70%" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Real Uncle Remus Story</span></td><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><a href='#frontis'><b><i>Frontispiece</i></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">His Hero</span></td><td align='left'><i>Margaret Minor</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_3'><b>3</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Jericho Bob</span></td><td align='left'><i>Anna Eichberg King</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_18'><b>18</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">How We Bought Louisiana</span></td><td align='left'><i>Helen Lockwood Coffin</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_28'><b>28</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The City that Lives Outdoors</span></td><td align='left'><i>W. S. Harwood</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_34'><b>34</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Queer American Rivers</span></td><td align='left'><i>F. H. Spearman</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_52'><b>52</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Watermelon Stockings</span></td><td align='left'><i>Alice Caldwell Hegan</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_65'><b>65</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The "'Gator"</span></td><td align='left'><i>Clarence B. Moore</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_80'><b>80</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Earthquake at Charleston</span></td><td align='left'><i>Ewing Gibson</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_96'><b>96</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hiding Places in War Times</span></td><td align='left'><i>J. H. Gore</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_102'><b>102</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">St. Augustine</span></td><td align='left'><i>Frank R. Stockton</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_108'><b>108</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Catching Terrapin</span></td><td align='left'><i>Alfred Kappes</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_126'><b>126</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Locoed</span>"</td><td align='left'><i>Edward Marshall</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_130'><b>130</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Divided Duty</span></td><td align='left'><i>M. A. Cassidy</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_165'><b>165</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The "Walking-Beam Boy"</span></td><td align='left'><i>L. E. Stofiel</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_178'><b>178</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Creature with No Claws</span></td><td align='left'><i>Joel Chandler Harris</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_185'><b>185</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SOUTH" id="SOUTH"></a>SOUTH</h2> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<p> +Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees;<br /> +Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens<br /> +Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><i>Longfellow.</i></span></p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HIS_HERO" id="HIS_HERO"></a>HIS HERO</h2> + +<h3>BY MARGARET MINOR</h3> + + +<p>It was an October afternoon, and through Indian summer's tulle-like haze +a low-swinging sun sent shafts of scarlet light at the highest peaks of +the Blue Ridge. The sweet-gum leaves looked like blood-colored stars as +they floated slowly to the ground, and brown chestnuts gleamed +satin-like through their gaping burs; while over all there rested a +dense stillness, cut now and then by the sharp yelp of a dog as he +scurried through the bushes after a rabbit.</p> + +<p>Surrounded by this splendid autumn beauty stood Mountain Top Inn, near +the crest of the Blue Ridge in Rockfish Gap, its historical value dating +from the time when Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe, after a long and +spirited discussion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> in one of its low-ceiled rooms, decided upon the +location of the University of Virginia.</p> + +<p>On the porch of this old inn there now sat a little boy, idly swinging a +pair of sun-tanned legs. Occasionally he tickled an old liver-colored +hound that lay dozing in a limp heap; but being rewarded only by +toothless snaps at very long intervals, he finally grew tired of this +amusement, and stretching himself out on his back, he began to dream +with wide-open eyes. At these dream-times, when he let his thoughts +loose, they always bore him to the very same field, and here his fancy +painted pictures with the vivid colors of a boy's imagination: pictures +so strong that they left him flushed and tingling with pride; again, +pictures that brought a cool, choking feeling to his throat; and at +times pictures that made his childish mouth quiver and droop. Among all +of these thought-born scenes, at intervals there would stand out the +real ones, scenes that were etched on the clean walls of his memory in +everlasting strokes.</p> + +<p>He never tired thinking of that first morning—that morning when all the +world seemed gilded with sunshine and throbbing with martial music. His +grandfather had lifted him up on one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> "big gate" posts to see the +soldiers march by. With mingled feelings of admiration and childish envy +he had watched them drill for many weeks, but they had never seemed such +real, grand soldiers until now, as they came marching by with quick, +firm steps, keeping time to the clear, staccato notes, marching off to +real battle-fields. It was all so beautiful, splendid, and gay—the +music, the soldiers, the people, the hurrahing! It stirred his sentient +little body through and through with a kind of joy, and he thought it so +strange that his mother's eyes were full of tears.</p> + +<p>Just a few days later he had listened eagerly to the sharp, crackling +sound of guns and the rumbling thunder of cannon, so near that the air +seemed to vibrate. He and another little boy had stood and talked in +high, quick tones, bragging and predicting breathlessly the result of +the battle as they used the term "our men."</p> + +<p>Finally they climbed the tallest oak on the lawn, and strained their +young eyes to see which was "gettin' whipped."</p> + +<p>A little while after this he remembered following his father through the +long hospital ward. Over the first bed he saw him stoop and loosen the +white cotton bandages of a wounded man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> On the next narrow cot there +was a slender boy of fifteen, who lay with clenched hands watching the +work of the surgeon. Then they passed a woman, who was gently bathing +the forehead of a man whose soldier days seemed likely to come to an +early end.</p> + +<p>Some weeks had gone by, when one day he followed a party of men to +Marye's Heights. It was a short time after the battle of Fredericksburg. +A light snow had fallen the night before, which the wind whirled and +sifted about the dead, in a way that made them appear to be shuddering. +Once a sharp gust blew the snow off a body lying on its face, and the +boy's eyes filled. He scarcely heeded the talk of the men with whom he +had gone. His thoughts were held fast by the awful scene which lay +spread before his young eyes.</p> + +<p>How often since then had the boy pictured himself a grown man, seated on +just such a fine horse and following Lee! It was always Lee; in his +dreamland through the heart of the battle he always followed General +Robert E. Lee, his hero, whom he had never seen, but whom he had carried +halo-crowned in his heart ever since he could remember.</p> + +<p>And then the very saddest day in his life had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> come—the day when the +first news of Lee's surrender lay heavy on the hearts of the household. +For a while he had followed his mother as she went silently, with closed +white lips, from one duty to another. Finally he went out to seek +comfort from Uncle Jake, whom he found sitting with his back propped +against the side of the corn-crib, drawing little quick puffs of smoke +from his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Jake," he said, "Lee's just <i>had</i> to s'render."</p> + +<p>"Yes, honey." And as he looked into Uncle Jake's little red, watery +eyes, he saw no comfort there, and turned away.</p> + +<p>Seven months had gone by since the war had ended; still, on this October +afternoon, as the boy lay stretched out on the porch of the old inn, he +dreamed his boyish dreams of romance and heroism.</p> + +<p>Suddenly his attention was attracted by the sound of hoofs, and turning +his head he saw a man riding slowly down the road. A new arrival at the +inn was always most interesting. An eager light came into the boy's eyes +as he watched the rider, who was now near enough for him to see how +firmly he sat in his saddle. The man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> seemed a very part of the strongly +built horse, which carried him with an ease that indicated long habit.</p> + +<p>A wiry little negro had also seen the approaching horseman, and was now +hurrying across the lawn to meet him.</p> + +<p>"May I spend the night here, my man?" asked the stranger.</p> + +<p>"Yessuh—yessuh!" answered Uncle Jake, quickly, and opening the gate he +stepped out and caught the bridle near the bit, as the horseman swung +out of the creaking saddle to the ground.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Jake, take the horse around to the stable!" called out the boy, +who felt that the honors of hospitality rested on him, there being no +one else in sight. Then he ran briskly down the walk to meet the +stranger, who extended his fine, strong hand with a little smile, and +said very kindly:</p> + +<p>"How do you do, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I'm well," replied the boy.</p> + +<p>"And what is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Jimmy."</p> + +<p>"Jimmy? Well, Jimmy is a nice name," he said. Then he turned, and still +held the boy's hand as he watched the little old negro, who stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> with +his head under the saddle-skirt, tiptoeing and straining in his effort +to unfasten the girth. Finally, when he succeeded, he flung the saddle +on the ground, and the horse, feeling relieved of his burden, first +shook himself violently, and then expressed his comfort again and again +in deep chest-tones.</p> + +<p>During all this time Jimmy's eyes had been fastened on the stranger's +spurs, and a peculiar feeling of incredulity gradually filled his mind.</p> + +<p>Silver, indeed! He could not fool him! No one was rich enough to have +real silver spurs! So sternly did he resent what he thought to be an +attempt at deception that he drew his small brown hand slowly out of the +stranger's gentle clasp.</p> + +<p>After slipping off the bridle from the horse's head and dropping it by +the saddle, Uncle Jake led him away by his forelock to the stable, and +Jimmy walked toward the inn with his guest, who said as they reached the +steps:</p> + +<p>"Jimmy, we will sit here for a while, and then I will go over to the +stable and see about my horse."</p> + +<p>As they sat down the old hound came cautiously down the steps, wheezing +out a husky greeting.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She is too old to hurt any one," said Jimmy.</p> + +<p>"Is she yours?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Tip's mine. Listen!" he exclaimed, as the sharp yelp of a dog +again broke the stillness. "That's Tip! He goes off and runs rabbits all +by himself."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is after a fox."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; Tip won't run a fox."</p> + +<p>"Jimmy, can you tell from a dog's cry whether he is running a fox or a +rabbit?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, if he is trailing a rabbit he does not bark continually, but if +he is after a fox he does; so you can always tell if you listen +carefully."</p> + +<p>"Never heard about that before," replied Jimmy, with a smile.</p> + +<p>After this there followed a long pause, during which the stranger looked +about inquiringly, then said:</p> + +<p>"Jimmy, how long have you been living here?"</p> + +<p>"Not very long. We refugeed over in North Carolina the first part of the +war. Then we came back to Spottsylvania County while father was in +prison. Why, we just came here after the s'render. You remember when Lee +just had to s'render?" he asked, looking up into the stranger's face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 494px;"> +<img src="images/illus-019.jpg" width="494" height="600" alt=""'YOU REMEMBER WHEN LEE JUST HAD TO S'RENDER?' ASKED JIMMY"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'YOU REMEMBER WHEN LEE JUST HAD TO S'RENDER?' ASKED JIMMY."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>The boy's mouth, as usual, quivered as he uttered the word "s'render," +but the man did not appear to see this. He seemed to be looking at a +far-off mountain peak. After a pause he replied, "Yes, I remember," as +he arose and started toward the stable.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you the way," said Jimmy.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," he answered gravely.</p> + +<p>When they entered the stable the big gray horse greeted his master with +some soft little nickerings. "Oh, he knows you without even looking!" +exclaimed Jimmy, in tones expressing delight and surprise.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he knows me pretty well," the man replied, as he looked with +anxious sympathy at a saddle-galled place on the horse's back.</p> + +<p>Jimmy had climbed up on the side of the stall, and was also looking with +much interest. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I know what's good for that! Some +stuff down in the bottom of the chalybeate spring."</p> + +<p>He pronounced each syllable of the word "chalybeate" very clearly, for +it was a newly learned word, and he was proud of his ability to use it.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes; the iron in it ought to be healing. How far is the spring?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, just a little way; I'll show you," Jimmy replied, jumping to the +ground and quickly opening the stable door. "Let me lead him," he added.</p> + +<p>"Hadn't you rather ride him, Jimmy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," he replied, in rather shy but pleased tones.</p> + +<p>"All right," said the man, as he swung the little fellow up on the +horse. "There! Sit farther back, so you will not hurt that galled place. +Now I'll lead him, and you tell me in which direction to go."</p> + +<p>"Down the road there, just on the other side of the ice-pond," said +Jimmy, pointing in that direction as they moved off.</p> + +<p>The boy was happy as he cupped his bare legs close around the body of +the horse, and watched the square shoulders of the man who walked slowly +ahead. He thought him exceedingly nice and kind, and his feelings in +regard to the spurs were not nearly so intense. The desire to ask if +they were real silver, though, was strong, but he felt that perhaps it +would not be polite, so he said nothing.</p> + +<p>After they had gone some distance Jimmy exclaimed, "There's the spring!" +Then he slid quickly to the ground, and without other words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> knelt down +and, baring one arm, dipped out of the bottom of the spring a handful of +rust-colored flakes.</p> + +<p>"This is what you put on his back," he said. "Just lay it right on. It +doesn't hurt; it just feels cool."</p> + +<p>The directions were quietly obeyed, and the horse made no movement, save +a slight quiver of the skin, as if to shake off a fly.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Jake says that doctors can't make any finer medicine than this," +he said, as he scooped up another handful.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jimmy, I am very much obliged to you, and I'm sure that my horse +is also," said the stranger, as they started on back to the stable.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the saddle left by Uncle Jake near the horse-rack had +attracted the attention of a young man as he came through the front +gate. After looking at it for a few minutes, idle curiosity prompted him +to turn it over with his foot, and as he did so three bright brass +letters—"R. E. L."—greeted him. He looked sharply at them at first, +then his eyes dilated, and a little prickly thrill ran through him. "I +wonder if it can be!" he said. Suddenly some convincing feeling seemed +to fill his mind, and then he almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> ran to the house. On reaching the +steps, he sprang up them two at a time, and entered the hall, where he +met Mrs. Claverly.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Claverly—" he began, and stopped.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she asked, smiling at his hesitation. "What is it, Charley?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, do you know, Mrs. Claverly, I think that General Lee is here." His +voice was husky with excitement.</p> + +<p>"General Lee! Where?" But without waiting for a reply, she stepped +quickly to the door of the old-fashioned parlor, and exclaimed in soft, +suppressed tones to a group of women sitting there:</p> + +<p>"They think that General Lee is here!"</p> + +<p>"What makes them think so?" asked a thin, gray-haired woman, as she +hastily arose.</p> + +<p>"Why," replied the young man, his tones now quite positive, "his saddle +with 'R. E. L.' on it is out there by the gate."</p> + +<p>"There he comes now," said one of the group, eagerly; "at least, I +suppose that it is he."</p> + +<p>"Let me see," said Mrs. Claverly, going rapidly to the window. "I saw +him once at the Greenbrier White, and I am sure that I would know him. +Yes, it is he!" she exclaimed, as she looked at the man coming slowly +across the lawn, talking earnestly to the barefoot boy at his side. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +thoughts were so completely occupied by what he was saying that not +until he was quite near the inn did he see the group on the porch, and +his face flushed slightly as he realized that they were there to greet +him. Lifting his hat, he ascended the steps with bared head. Mrs. +Claverly walked quickly forward, and extended her slim white hand.</p> + +<p>"General Lee, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam," he replied gravely, as he bowed low over her hand.</p> + +<p>At the sound of Lee's name Jimmy's eyes grew round, and filled with +astonishment. For one brief moment he stood gazing up at the stately old +soldier, whom every one was greeting, then he backed slowly away until +he reached the door. There he stood another moment, seeing nothing but +his hero.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he turned and darted down the long hall, up the stairway, and +into his mother's room.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" he exclaimed in breathless wonderment, "mother! General Lee is +downstairs, and he is just splendid, and—er—mother, he's just exactly +like anybody else!"<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="JERICHO_BOB" id="JERICHO_BOB"></a>JERICHO BOB</h2> + +<h3>BY ANNA EICHBERG KING</h3> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 221px;"> +<img src="images/026.jpg" width="221" height="350" style="margin-top: -2em; margin-right: -1em;" alt="" title="J" /> +</div> +<p>ericho Bob, when he was four years old, hoped that one day he might be +allowed to eat just as much turkey as he possibly could. He was eight +now, but that hope had not been realized.</p> + + +<p>Mrs. Jericho Bob, his mother, kept hens for a living, and she expected +that they would lay enough eggs in the course of time to help her son to +an independent career as a bootblack.</p> + +<p>They lived in a tumble-down house in a waste of land near the steam +cars, and besides her hens Mrs. Bob owned a goat.</p> + +<p>Our story has, however, nothing to do with the goat except to say he was +there, and that he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> on nibbling terms, not only with Jericho Bob, +but with Bob's bosom friend, Julius Cæsar Fish, and it was surprising +how many old hat-brims and other tidbits of clothing he could swallow +during a day.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Bob truly said, it was no earthly use to get something new for +Jericho, even if she could afford it; for the goat browsed all over him, +and had been known to carry away even a leg of his trousers.</p> + +<p>Jericho Bob was eight years old, and the friend of his bosom, Julius +Cæsar Fish, was nine. They were both of a lovely black; a tallow-dip +couldn't take the kink out of their hair, and the hardest whipping did +not disturb the even cheerfulness of their spirits. They were so much +alike that if it hadn't been for Jericho's bow-legs and his turn-up +nose, you really could not have told them apart.</p> + +<p>A kindred taste for turkey also united them.</p> + +<p>In honor of Thanksgiving day Mrs. Bob always sacrificed a hen which +would, but for such blessed release, have died of old age. One drumstick +was given to Jericho, whose interior remained an unsatisfied void.</p> + +<p>Jericho Bob had heard of turkey as a fowl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> larger, sweeter, and more +tender than hen; and about Thanksgiving time he would linger around the +provision stores and gaze with open mouth at the noble array of turkeys +hanging, head downward, over bushels of cranberries, as if even at that +uncooked stage, they were destined for one another. And turkey was his +dream.</p> + +<p>It was spring-time, and the hens were being a credit to themselves. The +goat in the yard, tied to a stake, was varying a meal of old shoe and +tomato-can by a nibble of fresh green grass. Mrs. Bob was laid up with +rheumatism.</p> + +<p>"Jericho Bob!" she said to her son, shaking her red and yellow turban at +him, "Jericho Bob, you go down an' fetch de eggs to-day. Ef I find yer +don't bring me twenty-three, I'll—well, never mind what I'll do, but +yer won't like it."</p> + +<p>Now, Jericho Bob meant to be honest, but the fact was he found +twenty-four, and the twenty-fourth was so big, so remarkably big.</p> + +<p>Twenty-three eggs he brought to Mrs. Bob, but the twenty-fourth he +sinfully left in charge of the discreet hen.</p> + +<p>On his return he met Julius Cæsar Fish, with his hands in his pockets +and his head extinguished by his grandfather's fur cap.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>Together they went toward the hen-coop and Julius Cæsar Fish spoke, or +rather lisped (he had lost some of his front teeth):</p> + +<p>"Jericho Bobth, that 'th a turkey'th egg."</p> + +<p>"Yer don't say so?"</p> + +<p>"I think i'th a-goin' ter hatch." No sooner said than they heard a pick +and a peck in the shell.</p> + +<p>"Pick!" a tiny beak broke through the shell. "Peck!" more beak. "Crack!" +a funny little head, a long, bare neck, and then "Pick! Peck! Crack!" +before them stood the funniest, fluffiest brown ball resting on two weak +little legs.</p> + +<p>"Hooray!" shouted the woolly heads.</p> + +<p>"Peep!" said turkeykin.</p> + +<p>"It's mine!" Jericho shouted excitedly.</p> + +<p>"I'th Marm Pitkin'th turkey'th; she laid it there."</p> + +<p>"It's mine, and I'm going to keep it, and next Thanksgiving I'm going +ter eat him."</p> + +<p>"Think your ma'll let you feed him up for thath?" Julius Cæsar asked, +triumphantly.</p> + +<p>Jericho Bob's next Thanksgiving dinner seemed destined to be a dream. +His face fell.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell yer whath I'll do," his friend said, benevolently; "I'll keep +'m for you, and Thanksgivin' we'll go halvth."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-030.jpg" width="600" height="266" alt="JERICHO BOB AND JULIUS CÆSAR FISH PLANNING THEIR +THANKSGIVING DINNER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">JERICHO BOB AND JULIUS CÆSAR FISH PLANNING THEIR +THANKSGIVING DINNER.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jericho resigned himself to the inevitable, and the infant turkey was +borne home by his friend.</p> + +<p>Fish, Jr., lived next door, and the only difference in the premises was +a freight-car permanently switched off before the broken-down fence of +the Fish yard; and in this car turkeykin took up his abode.</p> + +<p>I will not tell you how he grew and more than realized the hopes of his +foster-fathers, nor with what impatience and anticipation they saw +spring, summer, and autumn pass, while they watched their Thanksgiving +dinner stalk proudly up the bare yard, and even hop across the railroad +tracks.</p> + +<p>But, alas! the possession of the turkey brought with it strife and +discord.</p> + +<p>Quarrels arose between the friends as to the prospective disposal of his +remains. We grieve to say that the question of who was to cook him led +to blows.</p> + +<p>It was the day before Thanksgiving. There was a coldness between the +friends which was not dispelled by the bringing of a pint of cranberries +to the common store by Jericho, and the contributing thereto of a couple +of cold boiled sweet potatoes by Julius Cæsar Fish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>The friends sat on an ancient wash-tub in the back yard, and there was a +momentary truce between them. Before them stood the freight-car, and +along the track beyond an occasional train tore down the road, which so +far excited their mutual sympathy that they rose and shouted as one man.</p> + +<p>At the open door of the freight-car stood the unsuspecting turkey, and +looked meditatively out on the landscape and at the two figures on the +wash-tub.</p> + +<p>One had bow-legs, a turn-up nose, and a huge straw hat. The other wore a +fur cap and a gentleman's swallow-tail coat, with the tails caught up +because they were too long.</p> + +<p>The turkey hopped out of the car and gazed confidingly at his +protectors. In point of size he was altogether their superior.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Jericho Bob, "we'd better ketch 'im; to-morrow's +Thanksgiving. Yum!"</p> + +<p>And he looked with great joy at the innocent, the unsuspecting fowl.</p> + +<p>"Butcher Tham 'th goin' ter kill 'im for uth," Julius Cæsar hastened to +say, "an' I kin cook 'im."</p> + +<p>"No, you ain't. I'm goin' to cook 'im," Jericho Bob cried, resentfully. +"He's mine."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He ain'th; he'th mine."</p> + +<p>"He was my egg," and Jericho Bob danced defiance at his friend.</p> + +<p>The turkey looked on with some surprise, and he became alarmed when he +saw his foster-fathers clasped in an embrace more of anger than of love.</p> + +<p>"I'll eat 'im all alone!" Jericho Bob cried.</p> + +<p>"No, yer sha'n't!" the other shouted.</p> + +<p>The turkey fled in a circle about the yard.</p> + +<p>"Now, look yere," said Julius Cæsar, who had conquered. "We're goin' to +be squar'. He wath your egg, but who brought 'im up? Me! Who'th got a +friend to kill 'im? Me! Who'th got a fire to cook 'im? Me! Now you git +up and we'll kitch 'im. Ef you thay another word about your egg I'll +jeth eat 'im up all mythelf."</p> + +<p>Jericho Bob was conquered. With mutual understanding they approached the +turkey.</p> + +<p>"Come yere; come yere," Julius Cæsar said, coaxingly.</p> + +<p>For a moment the bird gazed at both, uncertain what to do.</p> + +<p>"Come yere," Julius Cæsar repeated, and made a dive for him. The turkey +spread his tail. Oh, didn't he run!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now I've got yer!" the wicked Jericho Bob cried, and thought he had +captured the fowl; when with a shriek from Jericho Bob, as the turkey +knocked him over, the Thanksgiving dinner spread his wings, rose in the +air, and alighted on the roof of the freight-car.</p> + +<p>The turkey looked down over the edge of the car at his enemies, and they +gazed up at him. Both parties surveyed the situation.</p> + +<p>"We've got him," Julius Cæsar cried at last, exultantly. "You git on the +roof, and ef you don't kitch 'im up thar, I'll kitch 'im down yere."</p> + +<p>With the help of the wash-tub, an old chair, Julius Cæsar's back, and +much scrambling, Jericho Bob was hoisted on top of the car. The turkey +was stalking solemnly up and down the roof with tail and wings half +spread.</p> + +<p>"I've got yer now," Jericho Bob said, creeping softly after him. "I've +got yer now, sure," he was just repeating, when with a deafening roar +the express-train came tearing down the road.</p> + +<p>For what possible reason it slowed up on approaching the freight-car +nobody ever knew; but the fact remains that it did, just as Jericho Bob +laid his wicked black paw on the turkey's tail.</p> + +<p>The turkey shrieked, spread his wings, shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> the small black boy's +grasp from his tail, and with a mighty swoop alighted on the roof of the +very last car as it passed; and in a moment more Jericho Bob's +Thanksgiving dinner had vanished, like a beautiful dream, down the road!</p> + +<p>What became of that Thanksgiving dinner no one ever knew. If you happen +to meet a traveling turkey without any luggage, but with a smile on his +countenance, please send word to Jericho Bob.</p> + +<p>Every evening he and Julius Cæsar Fish stand by the broken-down fence +and look up and down the road, as if they expected some one.</p> + +<p>Jericho Bob has a turn-up nose and bow-legs. Julius Cæsar still wears +his dress-coat, and both are watching for a Thanksgiving dinner that ran +away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HOW_WE_BOUGHT_LOUISIANA" id="HOW_WE_BOUGHT_LOUISIANA"></a>HOW WE BOUGHT LOUISIANA</h2> + +<h3>BY HELEN LOCKWOOD COFFIN</h3> + + +<p>It is a hard matter to tell just how much power a little thing has, +because little things have the habit of growing. That was the trouble +that France and England and Spain and all the other big nations had with +America at first. The thirteen colonies occupied so small and +unimportant a strip of land that few people thought they would ever +amount to much. How could such insignificance ever bother old England, +for instance, big and powerful as she was? To England's great loss she +soon learned her error in underestimating the importance or strength of +her colonies.</p> + +<p>France watched the giant and the pygmy fighting together, and learned +several lessons while she was watching. For one thing, she found out +that the little American colonies were going to grow, and so she said to +herself: "I will be a sort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> of back-stop to them. These Americans are +going to be foolish over this bit of success, and think that just +because they have won the Revolution they can do anything they wish to +do. They'll think they can spread out all over this country and grow to +be as big as England herself; and of course anybody can see that that is +impossible. I'll just put up a net along the Mississippi River, and +prevent them crossing over it. That will be the only way to keep them +within bounds."</p> + +<p>And so France held the Mississippi, and from there back to the Rocky +Mountains, and whenever the United States citizen desired to go west of +the Mississippi, France said: "No, dear child. Stay within your own yard +and play, like a good little boy," or something to that effect.</p> + +<p>Now the United States citizen didn't like this at all; he had pushed his +way with much trouble and expense and hard work through bands of Indians +and through forests and over rivers and mountains, into Wisconsin and +Illinois, and he wished to go farther. And, besides, he wanted to have +the right to sail up and down the Mississippi, and so save himself the +trouble of walking over the land and cutting out his own roads as he +went. So when France said, "No, dear," and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> told him to "be a good +little boy and not tease," the United States citizen very naturally +rebelled.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jefferson was President of the United States at that time, and he +was a man who hated war of any description. He certainly did not wish to +fight with his own countrymen, and he as certainly did not wish to fight +with any other nation, so he searched around for some sort of a +compromise. He thought that if America could own even one port on this +useful river and had the right of Mississippi navigation, the matter +would be settled with satisfaction to all parties. So he sent James +Monroe over to Paris to join our minister, Mr. Livingston, and see if +the two of them together could not persuade France to sell them the +island of New Orleans, on which was the city of the same name.</p> + +<p>Now Napoleon was the ruler of France, and he was dreaming dreams and +seeing visions in which France was the most important power in America, +because she owned this wonderful Mississippi River and all this +"Louisiana" which stretched back from the river to the Rockies. He +already held forts along the river, and he was planning to strengthen +these and build some new ones. But you know what happens to the plans of +mice and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> men sometimes. Napoleon was depending upon his army to help +him out on these plans, but his armies in San Domingo were swept away by +war and sickness, so that on the day he had set for them to move up into +Louisiana not a man was able to go. At the same time Napoleon had on +hand another scheme against England, which was even more important than +his plans for America, and which demanded men and money. Besides this, +he was shrewd enough to know that he could not hold this far-away +territory for any long time against England, which had so many more +ships than France. He suddenly changed his mind about his American +possessions, and nearly sent Mr. Monroe and Mr. Livingston into a state +of collapse by offering to sell them not only New Orleans but also the +whole Province of Louisiana.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a href="images/img040.jpg"> +<img src="images/img040tb.jpg" width="600" height="356" alt="" title="MAP OF THE UNITED STATES" /> +</a> +</div> + +<h4>MAP OF THE UNITED STATES<br /> + +SHOWING<br /> + +THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE<br /> + +AND OTHER<br /> + +ACCESSIONS OF TERRITORY.</h4> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no time to write to President Jefferson and ask his advice, +and this was before the days of the cable; so Monroe and Livingston took +the matter into their own hands, and signed the contract which +transferred the Louisiana territory to the United States for a +consideration of $15,000,000. They were severely criticized by many of +their own countrymen, and they had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> some doubts of their own about the +wisdom of their action. You see, nobody knew then that corn and wheat +would grow so abundantly in this territory, or that beyond the +Mississippi there were such stretches of glorious pasture-lands, or that +underneath its mountainous regions were such mines of gold, silver, and +copper. Americans saw only the commercial possibilities of the river, +and all they wanted was the right of navigating it and the permission to +explore the unknown country to the westward.</p> + +<p>But Jefferson and Monroe and Livingston builded better than they knew. +All this happened a hundred years ago; and to-day that old Louisiana +territory is, in natural resources, the wealthiest part of the whole +United States. Without that territory in our possession we should have +no Colorado and no Wyoming, no Dakotas, or Nebraska, or Minnesota, or +Montana, or Missouri, or Iowa, or Kansas, or Arkansas, or Louisiana, or +Oklahoma, or Indian Territory.</p> + +<p>For all these reasons we owe our most sincere and hearty thanks to the +patriotic and far-sighted men who were concerned in buying this +territory for the United States.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CITY_THAT_LIVES_OUTDOORS" id="THE_CITY_THAT_LIVES_OUTDOORS"></a>THE CITY THAT LIVES OUTDOORS</h2> + +<h3>BY W. S. HARWOOD</h3> + + +<p>When the wind is howling through the days of the mad March far up in the +lands where snow and ice thick cover the earth, here in this city that +lives outdoors the roses are clambering over the "galleries" and the +wistaria is drooping in purplish splendor from the low branches of the +trees and from the red heights of brick walls.</p> + +<p>The yellow jonquils, too, are swelling, and the geraniums are throwing +out their scarlet flame across wide stretches of greensward, while the +violets are nodding at the feet of the gigantic magnolias, whose huge +yellowish-gray buds will soon burst into white beauty, crowning this +noblest of flower-bearing trees.</p> + +<p>It is a strange old city, this city that lives outdoors—a city rich in +romantic history, throbbing with tragedy and fascinating events, a +beautiful old city, with a child by its side as beautiful as the mother. +The child is the newer, more modern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> city, and the child, like the +parent, lives out of doors.</p> + +<p>The people seem to come into closer touch with nature than the people of +most other portions of the land. The climate, the constant invitation of +the earth and sky, seem to demand a life lived in the open. This city +that lives outdoors is a real city, with all a city's varied life; but +it is a country place as well—a city set in the country, or the country +moved into town.</p> + +<p>For at least nine months in the twelve, the people of this rare old town +live out of doors nearly all the waking hours of the twenty-four. For +the remaining three months of the year, December, January, and February, +they delude themselves into the notion that they are having a winter, +when they gather around a winter-time hearth and listen to imaginary +wind-roarings in the chimney, and see through the panes fictitious and +spectral snow-storms, and dream that they are housed so snug and warm. +But when the day comes the sun is shining and there is no trace of white +on the ground, and the grass is green and there are industrious buds +breaking out of cover, and the earth is sleeping very lightly. +Open-eyed, the youngsters sit by these December fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>sides and listen to +their elders tell of the snow-storms in the long ago that came so very, +very deep—ah, yes, so deep that the darkies were full of fear and would +not stir from their cabins to do the work of the white people; when +snowballs were flying in the streets, and the earth was white, and the +"banquettes," or sidewalks, were ankle-deep in slush.</p> + +<p>All the long years of the two centuries since this old city was born, a +mighty river has been flowing by its doors, never so far forgetting its +purpose to live outdoors as to freeze its yellow crest, stealing softly +past by night and by day, bearing along the city's front a vast commerce +on down to the blue waters of the Gulf, and enriching the city by its +cargoes from the outer world and from the plantations of the upper +river. Strangely enough, the great yellow river flows above the city, +its surface being nearly thirty feet above the streets in time of flood. +It is held in its course by vast banks of earth.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 419px;"> +<img src="images/illus-045.jpg" width="419" height="600" alt="THE SPANISH DAGGER IN BLOOM" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE SPANISH DAGGER IN BLOOM.</span> +</div> + + +<p>It is a cold, drear March where the north star shines high overhead; but +here, where it seems suddenly to have lost its balance and to have +dropped low in the brilliant night, March is like June. It is June +indeed, June with its wealth of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> grasses, its noble avenue of +magnolias, its great green spread of live-oaks—most magnificent of +Southern trees; June with its soft balm, and its sweet sunshine, and its +perfume-laden air. And if you have never seen the pole star in the sky +of the north, where the star is almost directly over your head, you +cannot realize how strange a sight it is to see it so low in the sky as +it is here.</p> + +<p>There is a large garden in this city—it is, in fact, a part of the city +proper. It was once a beautiful faubourg, now known as the Garden +District, where the people live outdoors in a fine old aristocratic way, +and where all the beauty in nature seen in the other sections of the +city seems to be outdone. Very many rare old homes are in this garden +region, with its deep hedges and ample grounds, inclosed in high stone +walls, and a wealth of flowers and noble courts and an abounding +hospitality. But what, after all, are houses to a people that lives +outdoors? Conveniences only; for such a people, better than houses are +the air of the open, the scent of the roses, the blue of the Southern +sky, the vast, strong sweep of the brilliant stars!</p> + +<p>If we pause here along this street where run such every-day things as +electric street-cars, we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> shall see on one side of the splendid avenue a +smooth-paved roadway for the carriages, on the other a course for the +horsemen, and in the center a noble inner avenue of trees set in a +velvet-like carpet of grass; and here and there along the way, almost in +touch of your hand from the open car window, appears the Spanish dagger, +with its green, sharp blades and its snowy, showy plume. Not far away +stands a lowly negro cabin, where the sun beats down hot and fierce upon +a great straggling rose-bush, reaching up to the eaves, beating back the +rays of the sun defiantly and gaining fresh strength in the struggle. On +such a bush one day I counted two hundred and ninety roses.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<p>This city which lives outdoors must play most in the open, and in its +noble park, with its vast stretches of bright green, here empurpled by +masses of the dainty grass-flower, there yellowing with the sheen of the +buttercup, one finds the tireless golf-players leisurely strolling over +the links; from yonder come the cries of the boys at ball; and in the +farther distance you may see through the frame-like branches of a +giant live-oak the students of a great university hard set at a +game of tennis. And yet—is it the air, or the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> race, or the +traditions?—something it is which makes the sportsmen, like the spring, +seem slow to move.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;"> +<img src="images/illus-050.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="FAR IN THE PINEY WOODS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FAR IN THE PINEY WOODS.</span> +</div> + + +<p>And here even the palms grow outdoors in the city yards. And should you +go past the city's limits, and yet within seeing distance of its +blue-tiled housetops, you will find the palms growing rank in the great +swamps, which you must search if you care to hunt for the languid +alligators—palms growing so thick and rank that it is quite like +looking into some vast conservatory, with the blue dome of the sky for +glass. And here grow the magnolias in their wild, barbaric splendor of +bloom, and the live-oaks, mighty of girth and spread, draped in somber +gray moss as if for the funeral of some god of the deep green wood. At +the fringe of the swamp, tempting you until near to jumping into the +morass after them, are the huge fleurs-de-lis, each gorgeous blossom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +fully seven inches across its purple top.</p> + +<p>To the north, somewhat apart from the reach of the treacherous river, +lie the health-giving piny woods, and along the big, sullen stream the +sugar plantations, some of them still the home of a lavish hospitality, +some of them transformed into mere places of trade, where thrift and +push have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> elbowed out all that fine gallantry and ease and ample +hospitality of an earlier day—that hospitality which will ever remain a +leading characteristic of the people. To be a Southern man or a Southern +woman and to be inhospitable—that is not possible in the nature of +things.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;"> +<img src="images/illus-052.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="A PICTURESQUE FRONT IN THE FRENCH QUARTER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A PICTURESQUE FRONT IN THE FRENCH QUARTER.</span> +</div> + + +<p>It is, when all is said and done, on the gallery that this city lives +most of its life—on the gallery even more than on the evening-thronged +banquette, which is the sidewalk of the North, or the boulevards, or +even the fragrant parks, where life flows in a fair, placid stream. Some +there must be who toil by day in shop, or at counter, or in dim +accounting-rooms, or on the floors of the marts where fortunes are made +and lost in sugar or cotton or rice. For such the gallery is a haven of +rest. If they must pass the earlier day indoors, for them the gallery +during the long, late afternoon, and the ghost of a twilight, and the +long evenings far into the starry night. The ghost of a twilight +indeed—the South knows no other. Sometimes I have watched the long, +splendid twilight come down over the wild Canadian forest—slowly +delaying; creeping up the low mountains; halting from hour to hour in +the glades below; shade after shade in the glorious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> sky of the west +gradually merging into the dimness of the oncoming dusk; the moments +passing so slowly, the day fading so elusively, until, at last, when +even the low moon has hung out its silver sign in the west and the stars +are pricking through, it is still twilight along the lower earth. And +still farther to the north, around the globe in the far upper Europe, +with the polar circle below you, it is like living on a planet of +eternal day to sit through the northern light and feel about you the +all-pervasive twilight of the land of the midnight sun. But the night is +so hasty here, and the day is swift; and between them runs but a +slender, dim thread.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-055.jpg" width="600" height="385" alt="OLD PLANTATION VILLA ON ANNUNCIATION STREET." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OLD PLANTATION VILLA ON ANNUNCIATION STREET.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<p>The gallery is a feature of every house in this city that lives +outdoors, be it big or little, humble or grand, or lowly or mean. It is +on the first floor or the second, or even the third, though the third it +seldom reaches, for few people care for houses of great height. Indeed, +there are hundreds of homes of but one story, full of the costliest +tokens of the taste of an artistic people. And the soil below is so like +a morass that ample space must be left between floor and earth; while as +for cellars, I have heard of but two in all the great city. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +gallery may run around the entire house, flanked and set off by splendid +pillars with capitals rich and ornate; it may run across one end of the +residence and be a marvel of rich ironwork, as fine as art and +handicraft can make it, with, mayhap, the figures of its field outlined +in some bit of color, as gold or green; it may be but a single cheap +wooden affair, paintless, dingy, dilapidated, weather-worn, and stained +with neglect; but a gallery it is still, an important social feature of +this outdoor life.</p> + +<p>Over the gallery grow the roses; out near at hand a bignonia-vine lifts +its yellow flare aloft and throws down a fluttering shower of bell-like +blooms, and all the air is heavy with the scents of the South. So +through the long evening the people sit upon the gallery and chat or +read or sing or doze or plan or discuss their family affairs. By day the +galleries are protected with gay-colored awnings or those filmy woven +sheets of reeds which keep out the glare and let through the light and +the fragrant breeze. Children make of the gallery a play-house; young +people here entertain their friends; the elders discuss the affairs of a +nation or dwell on that wonderful past<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> through which this ancient +Southern city has come tumultuously down through the lines of Castilian +and Saxon and Gaul.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-058.jpg" width="600" height="309" alt="OLD SPANISH HOUSES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OLD SPANISH HOUSES.</span> +</div> + + +<p>If you should take your map of the United States and run your finger far +down its surface until it rested upon the largest city in all the +beautiful South, and the metropolis of a vast inner empire which holds +two civilizations, one French-Spanish, one American, both slowly, very +slowly, merging through the centuries; or, better still, if you should +stroll along the streets on a sweet March day, peering into its curious +quarters, watching the beautiful little children and the dark-eyed men +and the gaily dressed women and all the throngs of people, city people +who can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> never long remain away from the green fields and the noble old +trees and the scent of the roses—then you could not fail to hit upon +this charming old place, New Orleans—in many ways the most interesting +of all the cities in America, the beautiful city that lives outdoors.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="QUEER_AMERICAN_RIVERS" id="QUEER_AMERICAN_RIVERS"></a>QUEER AMERICAN RIVERS</h2> + +<h3>BY F. H. SPEARMAN</h3> + + +<p>I wonder if my readers realize what a story of the vast extent of our +country is told by its rivers?</p> + +<p>Every variety of river in the world seems to have a cousin in our +collection. What other country on the face of the globe affords such an +assortment of streams for fishing and boating and swimming and +skating—besides having any number of streams on which you can do none +of these things? One can hardly imagine rivers like that; but we have +them, plenty of them, as you shall see.</p> + +<p>As for fishing, the American boy may cast his flies for salmon in the +Arctic circle, or angle for sharks under a tropical sun in Florida, +without leaving the domain of the American flag. But the fishing-rivers +are not the most curious, nor the most instructive as to diversity of +climate, soil, and that sort of thing—physical geography, the teacher +calls it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-061.jpg" width="600" height="453" alt="A LIVE-OAK WITH SPANISH MOSS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A LIVE-OAK WITH SPANISH MOSS.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>For instance, if you want to get a good idea of what tropical heat and +moisture will do for a country, slip your canoe from a Florida steamer +into the Ocklawaha River. It is as odd as its name, and appears to be +hopelessly undecided as to whether it had better continue in the fish +and alligator and drainage business, or devote itself to raising +live-oak and cypress-trees, with Spanish moss for mattresses as a side +product.</p> + +<p>In this fickle-minded state it does a little of all these things, so +that when you are really on the river you think you are lost in the +woods; and when you actually get lost in the woods, you are quite +confident your canoe is at last on the river. This confusion is due to +the low, flat country, and the luxuriance of a tropical vegetation.</p> + +<p>To say that such a river overflows its banks would hardly be correct; +for that would imply that it was not behaving itself; besides, it has +n't any banks—or, at least, very few! The fact is, those peaceful +Florida rivers seem to wander pretty much where they like over the +pretty peninsula without giving offense; but if Jack Frost takes such a +liberty—presto! you should see how the people get after <i>him</i> with +weather-bulletins and danger-signals and formidable smudges. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> the +Ocklawaha River and a score of its kind roam through the woods,—or +maybe it is the woods that roam through them,—and the moss sways from +the live-oaks, and the cypress trees stick their knees up through the +water in the oddest way imaginable.</p> + +<p>In Florida one may have another odd experience: a river ride in an +ox-cart. Florida rivers are usually shallow, and when the water is high +you can travel for miles across country behind oxen, with more or less +river under you all the way. There are ancient jokes about Florida +steamboats that travel on heavy dews, and use spades for paddle-wheels.</p> + +<p>But those of you who have been on its rivers know there is but one +Florida, with its bearded oaks and fronded palms; its dusky woods, +carpeted with glassy waters; its cypress bays, where lonely cranes pose, +silently thoughtful (of stray polliwogs); and its birds of wondrous +plumage that rise with startled splash when the noiseless canoe glides +down upon their haunts.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 423px;"> +<img src="images/illus-066.jpg" width="423" height="600" alt="MOSS-DRAPED LIVE-OAKS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MOSS-DRAPED LIVE-OAKS.</span> +</div> + +<p>Every strange fowl and every hideous reptile, every singular plant and +every tangled jungle, will tell the American boy how far he is to the +south. Florida is, in fact, his corner of the tropics; and the clear +waters of its rivers, stained to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> brown and wine-color with the juices +of a tropical vegetation, will tell him, if he reads nature's book, how +different the sandy soil of the South is from the yellow mold of the +great Western plains.</p> + +<p>Such a boy hardly need ask the conductor how far west he is if he can +catch a glimpse of one of the rivers. All the rivers of the plains are +alike full of yellow mud, because the soil of the plains melts at the +touch of water. These are our spendthrift rivers, full to the banks at +times, but most of the year desperately in need of water. It is only +with the greatest effort that they can keep their places in the summer: +there is just a scanty thread of water strung along a great, rambling +bed of sand, to restrain Dame Nature from revoking their licenses to run +and turning them into cattle-ranches.</p> + +<p>No wonder that fish refuse to have anything to do with such streams, and +refuse tempting offers of free worms, free transportation, and +protection from the fatal nets. Fancy trying to raise a family of little +fish, and not knowing one day where water is coming from the next!</p> + +<p>Not but what there is water enough at times; only, those rivers of the +great plains, like the Platte and the Kansas and the Arkansas, are so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +wasteful of their supply in the spring that by July they are gasping for +a shower. So, part of the year they revel in luxury, and during the rest +they go shabby—like shiftless people.</p> + +<p>But the irrigation engineers have lately discovered something wonderful +about even these despised rivers. During the very driest seasons, when +the stream is apparently quite dry, there is still a great body of water +running in the sand. Like a vast sponge, the sand holds the water, yet +it flows continually, just as if it were in plain sight, but more slowly +of course. The volume may be estimated by the depth and breadth of the +sand. One pint of it will hold three quarters of a pint of water. This +is called the underground flow, and is peculiar to this class of rivers. +By means of ditches this water may be brought to the surface for +irrigation.</p> + +<p>Scattered among the foot-hills of the Rockies are rivers still more +wilful in their habits. Instead of keeping to their duties in a +methodical way, they rush their annual work through in a month or two; +then they take long vacations. For months together they carry no water +at all; and one may plant and build and live and sleep in their deserted +beds—but beware! Without warning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> they resume active business. Maybe +on a Sunday, or in the middle of the night, a storm-cloud visits the +mountains. There is a roar, a tearing, a crashing, and down comes a +terrible wall of water, sweeping away houses and barns and people. No +fishing, no boating, no swimming, no skating on those treacherous +rivers; only surprise and shock and disaster!</p> + +<p>So different that they seem to belong in a different world are the great +inter-mountain streams, like the Yellowstone and the Colorado.</p> + +<p>They flow through landscapes of desolate grandeur, vast expanses +compassed by endless mountain-ranges that chill the bright skies with +never-melting snows. The countless peaks look down on the clouds, while +far below the clouds wind valleys that the sunlight never reaches. +Twisting in gloomy dusk through these valleys, a gaping cañon yawns. +Peering fearfully into its black, forbidding depths, an echo reaches the +ear. It is the fury of a mighty river, so far below that only a sullen +roar rises to the light of day. With frightful velocity it rushes +through a channel cut during centuries of patience deep into the +stubborn rock. Now mad with whirlpools, now silently awful with +stretches of green water, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> wait to lure the boatman to death, the +mighty river rushes darkly through the Grand Colorado Cañon.</p> + +<p>No sport, no fun, no frolic there. Here are only awe-inspiring gloom and +grandeur, and dangers so hideous that only a handful of men have ever +braved them—fewer still survived.</p> + +<p>Grandest of American rivers though it is, you will be glad to get away +from it to a noble stream like the Columbia, to a headstrong flood like +the Missouri, or an inland sea like the Mississippi; on them at least +you can draw a full breath and speak aloud without a feeling that the +silent mountains may fall on you or the raging river swallow you up.</p> + +<p>In the vast territory lying between the Missouri River and the Pacific +Ocean the rivers are fast being harnessed for a work that will one day +make the most barren spots fertile. Irrigation is claiming every year +more of the flow of Western rivers. Even the tricksy old Missouri is +contributing somewhat to irrigation, but in the queerest possible way.</p> + +<p>With all its other eccentricities, the Missouri River leaks badly; for +you know there are leaky rivers as well as leaky boats. The government<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +engineers once measured the flow of the Missouri away up in Montana, and +again some hundred miles further down stream. To their surprise, they +found that the Missouri, instead of growing bigger down stream, as every +rational river should, was actually 20,000 second-feet<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> smaller at the +lower point.</p> + +<p>Now, while 20,000 second-feet could be spared from such a tremendous +river, that amount of water makes a considerable stream of itself. Many +very celebrated rivers never had so much water in their lives. Hence +there was great amazement when the discrepancy was discovered. But of +late years Dakota farmers away to the south and east of those points on +the Missouri, sinking artesian wells, found immense volumes of water +where the geologists said there would n't be any. So it is believed that +the farmers have tapped the water leaking from that big hole in the +Missouri River away up in Montana; and from these wells they irrigate +large tracts of land, and, naturally, they don't want the river-bed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +mended. Fancy what a blessing it is, when the weather is dry, to have a +river boiling out of your well, ready to flow where you want it over the +wheat-fields! For of all manner of work that a river can be put to, +irrigation is, I think, the most useful. But isn't that a queer way for +the Missouri to wander about underneath the ground?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WATERMELON_STOCKINGS" id="THE_WATERMELON_STOCKINGS"></a>THE WATERMELON STOCKINGS</h2> + +<h3>BY ALICE CALDWELL HEGAN</h3> + +<p class="center">(Author of "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch")</p> + + +<p>"Jes' look at dat ornery little nigger!" exclaimed Aunt Melvy, as she +deposited a basket of clothes on the cabin floor. "I lef her to clean +up, an' to put de 'taters on to bile, an' to shoo de flies offen de +twinses, an' I wisht you 'd look at her!"</p> + +<p>Nell Tracy, who had come down with Aunt Melvy from the big house on the +hill, viewed the culprit ruefully. 'Mazin' Grace was Aunt Melvy's eighth +daughter, and had been named for her mother's favorite hymn, which began +"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound." She was very short and very fat, +and her kinky hair was plaited into ten tight pigtails, each of which +was bound with a piece of leather shoe-string. At present she sat with +her back propped against the door, her mouth wide open, and slept +peacefully while the flood of her mother's wrath passed over her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-074.jpg" width="600" height="426" alt=""'MAZIN' GRACE SLEPT PEACEFULLY."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'MAZIN' GRACE SLEPT PEACEFULLY."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, but, Aunt Melvy, won't you please let her come?" begged Nell, +throwing off her sun-bonnet and letting down a tangle of yellow curls. +"I have n't got anybody to play with me. Mother drove to town with +father, and she said I was to get 'Mazin' Grace to stay with me."</p> + +<p>"Why, I'se gwine to let her come, honey," said Aunt Melvy, "co'se I is. +I wouldn't mek you cry fer nothin'! Only, I'se gwine to whup her fust. +She ain't 'sponsible on her word, dat's what's de matter wid her. She +done 'low to me she would n't wink her eyeball while I was gone. What +you think I ketch her doin' one time?" Aunt Melvy's voice sank to a +whisper. "She sewed, on a Sunday! She knowed as well as me dat w'en she +gits to heben she'll hab to pick out ebery one ob dem stitches wid her +nose."</p> + +<p>Nell looked at the sleeper's round pug-nose and wondered how she would +ever be able to do it. But it was no use thinking of the punishment in +the next world, when an immediate whipping was promised in this; +consequently she turned the whole battery of her eloquence upon Aunt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +Melvy, who in the end gave in.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 433px;"> +<img src="images/illus-076.jpg" width="433" height="600" alt=""'AND I AM GOING TO WEAR THE WATERMELON STOCKINGS,' CRIED NELL."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'AND I AM GOING TO WEAR THE WATERMELON STOCKINGS,' CRIED NELL."</span> +</div> + + +<p>Ten minutes later the two little playmates were skipping down the avenue +under the shady old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> beech-trees where their fathers had played +together in the long ago.</p> + +<p>"Is yer maw gwine lemme tek you to de Christian an' Debil Society?" +asked 'Mazin' Grace, as they skirted the house, and made their way into +the back yard.</p> + +<p>"Yes," cried Nell, gleefully, "and I am going to wear the watermelon +stockings!"</p> + +<p>If 'Mazin' Grace had not been so black, a cloud might have been seen +passing over her face. She was the sharer of all Nell's woes, and of all +but one of her joys. The exception was the possession of the watermelon +stockings.</p> + +<p>These were a sort of heirloom among the children of the family, and were +regarded with reverence and pride. They were of a peculiar shade of pink +silk, with clockwork up the sides and sprays of white flowers +embroidered over the instep. A long time ago they had belonged to Cousin +Mary, who was quite a big girl now, and she had sent them to Uncle +Robert's boy up in Ohio. He learned to waltz in them, and in time sent +them to little Agnes in Virginia, who wore them for a year on state +occasions, then sent them back to Kentucky to little Cousin Nell.</p> + +<p>If ever a tempted soul longed for a forbidden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> treasure, 'Mazin' Grace +longed for the watermelon stockings. "Effen they was mine, I'd give you +one anyways," she argued with Nell, but to no avail.</p> + +<p>In the back yard stood a big old chicken-coop, which had been cleaned +out and nicely whitewashed for the children to use as a play-house. It +had an upstairs and a downstairs, and a square little door that fastened +on the outside with a wooden peg. Nell could climb in easily; but +'Mazin' Grace was too fat, and after many efforts she had given up, +contenting herself with watching the play from outside.</p> + +<p>To-day a doll funeral was in progress, and Nell, moving comfortably +about inside the coop, arranged the broken bits of china in a spool-box, +tied a sweeping piece of crape on her biggest doll, and allowed her +imagination full swing in depicting the grief of the doll family.</p> + +<p>'Mazin' Grace, sitting under the apple-tree outside, took little +interest in the proceedings. The hot sun beat down on the long stretch +of blue-grass, and up from the creek came the warm odor of mint; a fat +old bumblebee hummed close to her head, but she did not stir. She was +thinking about the watermelon stockings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-079.jpg" width="600" height="515" alt=""NELL TIED A SWEEPING PIECE OF CRAPE ON HER BIGGEST DOLL."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"NELL TIED A SWEEPING PIECE OF CRAPE ON HER BIGGEST DOLL."</span> +</div> + + +<p>Presently she began to move stealthily toward the coop, watching Nell +cautiously from the corner of her eyes. "Ain't nobody to home but me an' +her," she whispered to herself, "an' there wouldn't nobody know, an'—" +With a deft movement she closed the small door and fastened it with the +wooden peg. Then she turned, and, leaving the unconscious prisoner, sped +softly up the garden path, through the basement, and up the stairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>In Mrs. Tracy's bedroom was a wide old mahogany dresser with big glass +knobs that seemed to glare unwinking reproof at 'Mazin' Grace as she +opened the bottom drawer.</p> + +<p>"Dis heah is where dey stays at," she said, tossing aside ribbons and +laces in her eagerness. "Oh, goody, goody! Heah dey is!"</p> + +<p>Tearing away the tissue-paper, she gazed with delight at the coveted +stockings. The knobs might glare as much as they liked; the sparrows +might scold themselves hoarse on the window-sill; 'Mazin' Grace was lost +in the rapture of the moment, and refused to consider consequences. She +traced the pattern of the embroidery with her stubby finger, she rubbed +the silk against her cheek, and even tied one stocking around her head +and stood on tiptoe to see the result in the mirror. The more she +handled them the more reckless she became.</p> + +<p>"I 'spect I 'se gwine to try dese heah stockin's on!" she said, with a +giggle, as she drew the silken lengths over her bare, dusty feet. "Gee<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +Bob! Ain't them scrumptious! I look lak a shore-'nuff circus lady!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 549px;"> +<img src="images/illus-081.jpg" width="549" height="600" alt=""CATCHING HER RAGGED SKIRTS IN EITHER HAND, SHE BOWED LOW TO HER IMAGE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"CATCHING HER RAGGED SKIRTS IN EITHER HAND, SHE BOWED LOW TO HER IMAGE."</span> +</div> + +<p>She tipped the mirror in order to get the full reflection, and stood for +a moment entranced.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> Then catching her ragged skirts in either hand, +she bowed low to her image, and, after cutting a formal and elaborate +pigeonwing, settled down to a shuffle that shook the floor. Music and +motion were as much a part of 'Mazin' Grace as her brown skin and her +white teeth. All Aunt Melvy's piety had failed to convince her of the +awful wickedness of "shaking her foot" and "singing reel chunes." She +danced now with utter abandon, and the harder she danced the louder she +sang:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Suzanne Goffin, don't you cry;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take dat apron from your eye.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't let de niggers see you sigh;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll git a pahtner by an' by."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The small figure with its flying pigtails swayed and swung, and the pink +legs darted in and out. Backward, forward, right glide, left glide, two +skips sidewise. Her breath was almost gone, but she rallied her forces +for a grand finale. With a curtsy to the bedpost and hands all around, +she dashed into the rollicking ecstasy of the "Mobile Buck":</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Way up yonder in de moon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yaller gal lickin' a silver spoon.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cynthy, my darlin', who tol' you so?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cynthy, my darlin', how do you know?"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>As she dropped panting on the floor, something arrested her attention. +She held up her head and sniffed the air. It was a familiar odor that +roused her conscience as nothing else could have done. Something burning +usually meant that she had failed to watch the stove, and that +catastrophe usually meant a whipping. She scrambled to her feet and ran +to the window. Over across the road, the big barn where Mr. Tracy stored +his grain was wrapped in flames. The wind was blowing from that +direction, and it fanned the smoke into 'Mazin' Grace's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Gee! Dat was a spark of fire," she cried, as she snatched her hand from +the window-sill. She climbed out of the window upon the porch, and +looked anxiously up and down the road. Nothing was to be seen save the +long stretch of empty turnpike, with the hot sun beating down upon it. +As she turned to go back inside the window, she stopped, horrified. On +the cornice of the roof above her a glowing ember was smoldering +dangerously. 'Mazin' Grace wrung her hands.</p> + +<p>"Mammy said I was gwine to git burned up fer bein' so wicked. An' Marse +Jim's house, what's belonged to we-all sence de wah! An' de settin'-room +where we hangs up our stockin's ebery Christmas! An' dere ain't nobody +to take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> keer ob it all but me! Oh, Lordy! Lordy! what mus' I do?—what +mus' I do?"</p> + +<p>As she stood there, wild-eyed and tearful, a thought made its way +through the kinky hair into her bewildered brain. She darted back into +the house, and reappeared with a broom.</p> + +<p>"I'se gwine up dat ladder," she said with grim determination, "an' I'se +gwine to sweep dem sparks off. An' effen I can't sweep 'em off I kin +spank 'em out."</p> + +<p>The fire at the barn was now raging; great volumes of smoke swept toward +the house, heavily laden with live embers. 'Mazin' Grace, choking and +frightened, wielded her broom with telling effect; no sooner did a spark +touch the roof than it was brushed off into the long grass below. But +they were coming faster and faster, and, watch as she would, she could +not keep some of them from igniting the dry shingles. From side to side +she scrambled, sweeping, beating, fighting the fire with all the +strength in her little body. Her eyes smarted fiercely, her feet were +bruised, the heat was suffocating; but 'Mazin' Grace never thought of +deserting the post: she worked, as she had danced, with all her might +and main, pitting her puny strength valiantly against that of the +flames.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-085.jpg" width="600" height="364" alt=""FROM SIDE TO SIDE SHE SCRAMBLED, SWEEPING, BEATING, AND FIGHTING THE FIRE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"FROM SIDE TO SIDE SHE SCRAMBLED, SWEEPING, BEATING, AND FIGHTING THE FIRE."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>But courage does not always bring success. Just when the fire at the +barn began to subside, and the sparks ceased to fall on the roof, a tiny +column of smoke began to curl up from the gabled roof of the porch. +'Mazin' Grace clambered down the ladder, and, sitting astride of the +angle, worked her way outward toward the fire. She could not carry the +broom, but if she could only reach the blaze perhaps she could beat it +out with her hands! Excitement gave her fresh strength. On either side +the roof sloped abruptly, but she worked her way on, inch by inch. Two +shingles had caught—three! The smoke had changed into a blaze. Leaning +over as far as she dared, 'Mazin' Grace stretched out her hand toward +the flame. She could not reach it.</p> + +<p>With a cry of terror and despair, she fell forward on the ridge; all her +courage and strength suddenly deserted her—she could only cling there +face downward, and sob and sob as if her heart would break. "Effen our +house burns down, I want to die too," she whispered. "But Miss Lucy an' +Marse Jim won't never know how I tried to take keer on it. 'Deed I did."</p> + +<p>Up from the creek came the faint perfume of the mint; the sparrows +scolded in the beech-trees.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> Nellie, who had broken her prison bars, +called again and again from the playground, while slowly but surely up +the roof crawled the ever-increasing flames. But 'Mazin' Grace heard +nothing, saw nothing; she lay unconscious on the roof, an absurdly +pitiful little figure in her ragged dress and pink silk stockings.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was six weeks before 'Mazin' Grace's burns were sufficiently healed +for her to walk. Mr. Tracy, hearing of the fire on his farm, had driven +home just in time to save the child's life. His porch was completely +destroyed; but the old homestead, with its host of memories and +associations, stood intact—a monument to the faithfulness of a very +naughty little girl.</p> + +<p>Almost the first time 'Mazin' Grace was allowed to go out, she took Nell +to the "Christian an' Debil" Society. She limped as she walked, for her +feet were still tender from the recent blisters; but, in spite of the +pain, her smile was one of unalloyed bliss. Two pairs of sturdy little +legs were keeping step in two new pairs of watermelon stockings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>The "'Gator"</h2> + +<h3>BY CLARENCE B. MOORE</h3> + + +<p>The alligator, or "'gator," as it is usually called throughout its home, +the Southern States, is an object of great curiosity at the North. Every +winter many tourists visit Florida and carry back baby alligators, +together with more or less magnified accounts of the creature's doings +and habits, and their stories are probably the cause of this very +widespread interest.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>Though the alligator is rapidly disappearing from the banks of the lower +St. John's River, in Lake Washington and in the Saw Grass Lake (where +that river has its source), and in waters still farther south, they are +still to be found in almost undiminished numbers, and are hunted for a +living by native hunters. They are com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>monly sought at night, by +torch-light, for in this way they can be approached with the utmost +ease.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-090.jpg" width="600" height="406" alt="THE ALLIGATOR HUNTERS IN THEIR CAMP." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE ALLIGATOR HUNTERS IN THEIR CAMP.</span> +</div> + +<p>A rifle-ball will readily penetrate an alligator's hide, although there +exists an unfounded belief to the contrary. The creatures will "stand a +deal of killing," however, and frequently roll off a bank and are lost +even after being shot through and through.</p> + +<p>The alligator builds a nest of mud and grass, and lays a large number of +oblong white eggs, but the little ones when hatched often serve as lunch +for their unnatural papa, and this cannibalism, more than the rifle, +prevents their numbers from increasing. The alligator is not particular +as to diet. I once found the stomach of a ten-footer to be literally +filled with pine chips from some tree which had been felled near the +river's bank! They are fond of wallowing in marshes, and many a man out +snipe shooting has taken an involuntary bath by stumbling into their +wallows. In dry seasons alligators will traverse long distances overland +to reach water, and travelers have come suddenly upon alligators +crawling amid prairies or woods, in the most unexpected manner. The +alligator as a rule is very wary, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> at times sleeps quite soundly. I +saw one struck twice with an oar before it woke.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 486px;"> +<img src="images/illus-092.jpg" width="486" height="500" alt="The Haunt of the "Gator"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Haunt of the "Gator".</span> +</div> + + +<p>There is a very prevalent impression that the alligator differs from the +crocodile in that one moves the upper jaw and the other the lower. Such, +however, is not the case. Both animals move the lower jaw, though the +raising of the head as the mouth opens sometimes gives the ap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>pearance +of moving the upper jaw only. But alligators and crocodiles differ in +the arrangement of the teeth, and the snout of the crocodile is more +sharply pointed.</p> + +<p>The hides are salted to preserve them and are shipped to dealers in +Jacksonville, where those less than six feet long are worth a dollar, +while for those which exceed this length twenty-five cents extra is +allowed. A fair estimate of the number of alligators killed for sale in +Florida alone, and not counting those shot by tourists, would be ten +thousand annually. One hears very conflicting reports as to the length +of large alligators. A prominent dealer in Jacksonville said that out of +ten thousand hides handled by him none were over twelve feet long. I am +told that at the Centennial, side by side with a crocodile from the +Nile, there was shown an alligator from Florida sixteen feet in length.</p> + +<p>Years ago near a place called Enterprise, on a point jumping into Lake +Monroe, during all bright days a certain big alligator used to lie +basking in the sun. He was well known to the whole neighborhood. The +entire coterie of sportsmen at the only hotel used to call him "Big +Ben," and proud hunters would talk, and even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> dream, of the time when a +well-aimed rifle-shot would end his long career. But Big Ben was as +cunning as a serpent, and whenever any one, afoot or afloat, came +unpleasantly near, he would slide off into the water,—which meant +"good-by" for the rest of the day.</p> + +<p>One fine morning one of these sportsmen, paddling up the lake, luckily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +with his rifle in his canoe, came upon Big Ben so sound asleep that he +stole up within range and put a bullet through the alligator's brain. +What to do next was a problem. He could not tow the monster all the way +to Enterprise with his small canoe. A bright idea struck him. He put his +visiting-card in the beast's mouth and paddled swiftly back. A number of +hunters were at the wharf, and the slayer of Big Ben hastened to inform +them with apparent sincerity that while out paddling he had come within +easy range of the "'gator," who was, no doubt, still lying motionless on +the point. A flotilla of boats and canoes, manned by an army with +rifles, instantly started for the point. To avoid confusion it was +unanimously agreed that all should go down together, and that the entire +party, if they were lucky enough to find Big Ben still there, should +fire a volley at the word of com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>mand. As they approached the point, +the hearts of all beat quickly; and when, with straining eyes, they saw +Big Ben apparently asleep and motionless upon the bank, even the coolest +could scarcely control his feelings. The boats were silently drawn up +within easy shot, and the word was given. Bang, bang! went a score of +rifles and Big Ben, riddled with bullets, lay motionless upon the point! +With a cheer of triumph the excited sportsmen leaped ashore, and +fastening a rope around the dead alligator, speedily towed him to +Enterprise. There the original slayer awaited them upon the wharf. When +Big Ben was laid upon the shore, opening the animal's mighty jaws he +disclosed his visiting-card, and thanked them most politely for their +kindness in bringing his 'gator home for him.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-095.jpg" width="600" height="310" alt="A QUIET NAP ON THE RIVER BANK." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A QUIET NAP ON THE RIVER BANK.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>I once met with a curious adventure. Man is rarely attacked by +alligators in Florida, except by the female alligator called upon to +defend her young. Some years ago, in a small steamer chartered for the +purpose, I had gone up a branch of the St. John's beyond Salt Lake until +we could proceed no farther, because the top of the river had become +solid with floating vegetation under which the water flowed. We tied up +for the night,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> and shortly after were boarded by two men who said +that their camp was near by and that they shot alligators and +plume-birds for a living. One of the men carried his rifle, a +muzzle-loader, and from its barrel projected the ramrod, which had +become fast immediately above the ball while loading. He intended to +draw it out after they should return to camp.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-098.jpg" width="600" height="371" alt="CATCHING AN ALLIGATOR ASLEEP." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CATCHING AN ALLIGATOR ASLEEP.</span> +</div> + + +<p>We went ashore with these men to look at an alligator's nest near by, +and were filling our pockets with baby-alligators, when we heard a +grunting sound and saw an alligator eight or nine feet long coming +directly at us. With the exception of the man already referred to, we +were all unarmed and affairs began to look a little unpleasant, for the +creature evidently meant mischief. When it was within a few feet, the +man with the rifle, knowing that he alone had a weapon, took deliberate +aim and fired bullet, ramrod, and all down the 'gator's throat. The +animal turned over twice, and rolling off the bank, sank out of sight.</p> + +<p>The alligators of the Amazon River in South America are very numerous, +and owing to scarcity of hunters attain a very great size. In the upper +waters apparently they are entirely unaccustomed to the report of +firearms, and if not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> actually hit will lie still while shot after shot +is fired. The largest I ever killed and measured was thirteen feet and +four inches in length; but this was much smaller than many which I shot +from dugouts and canoes too far away from shore to tow them in.</p> + +<p>Buried an inch deep in one of these dead alligators I once found a +piraña, that troublesome fish which makes swimming in some parts of the +Amazon a risky matter. It bores into flesh very much after the manner of +a circular punch, and when it starts, its habit is to go to the bone. +The piraña of course could not penetrate the hide of the alligator, but +entering by the bullet-hole it had turned to one side and partially +buried itself in the flesh. I have seen men bearing very ugly scars, the +results of wounds inflicted by the piraña while they were bathing. If +this fish is cut open after having bored its way into an animal a solid +round mass of flesh will be found inside corresponding to the hole it +has made, showing that the fish really bores its way in.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 458px;"> +<img src="images/illus-101.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt="ONE OF THE "BIG FELLOWS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">ONE OF THE "BIG FELLOWS."</span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is said that the alligator of the Amazon is more likely to attack man +than its brother of our Southern States. The captain of a small steamer +running between Iquitos and Para, told me that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> on the preceding trip +he had carried to a doctor a boy who had lost his arm from the bite of +an alligator, while allowing his arm to hang in the water from a raft. +The same captain, however, also informed me that he had been treed by +one of these animals and compelled to remain "up a tree" for some time; +so that I have some hesitation in quoting him as an authority upon the +nature and habits of these alligators. The flesh of young alligators is +considered a delicacy in Brazil and is regularly sold in the markets.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_EARTHQUAKE_AT_CHARLESTON" id="THE_EARTHQUAKE_AT_CHARLESTON"></a>THE EARTHQUAKE AT CHARLESTON</h2> + +<h3>BY EWING GIBSON</h3> + + +<p>On Tuesday, the 31st of August, 1886, every one in Charleston, South +Carolina, complained of the severe heat and sultriness of the air. Not a +breath cooled the atmosphere, parched by the burning summer sun's rays. +In the afternoon the usual sea breeze failed to appear, and there was no +relief from the intense closeness and almost overpowering warmth. The +sky was clear, but with a misty, steamy appearance which reminded one +strongly of glowing, tropical countries.</p> + +<p>As the night came on, the absence of the glare of the sun was the only +relief to the parched and panting population. Seated in the parlor of a +large three-storied brick house in the central portion of the city, I +spent the evening after tea conversing with two friends who had called +to see me. After a few hours of pleasant conversation, one of my friends +said it was time to leave. Taking out his watch, he continued, "Six +minutes of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> ten, and—<i>what is that?</i>" A low, deep rumbling noise as of +thunder, only beneath instead of above us, coming from afar and +approaching us nearer and nearer, muttering and groaning, and ever +increasing in volume,—it was upon us in an instant.</p> + +<p>The massive brick house we were in began to sway from side to +side—gently at first with a rhythmical motion, then gradually +increasing in force, until, springing to our feet, we seized one another +by the hand and gazed with blanched and awe-struck faces at the +tottering walls around us. We felt the floor beneath our feet heaving +like the deck of a storm-tossed vessel, and heard the crashing of the +falling masonry and ruins on every side. With almost stilled hearts we +realized that we were in the power of an earthquake. The motion of the +house, never ceasing, became now vertical. Up and down it went as though +some monstrous giant had taken it in his hands as a plaything and were +tossing it like a ball for his amusement. Recalling our dazed senses, +and staggering to our feet as best we could, with one accord we rushed +down the steps leading to the front door, and, grasping the handle, +turned it. In vain—the door was jammed, and we were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> compelled to wait +like rats in a trap until the shock had passed!</p> + +<p>Concentrating its energies into one final, convulsive effort, the huge +earth-wave passed and left the earth palpitating and heaving like a +tired animal. There came crashing down into our garden-plot the chimneys +from the house in front of ours. Fortunately the falling bricks injured +none of us. Making another trial, we succeeded in opening the door and +rushed into the street.</p> + +<p>Now there came upon us an overpowering, suffocating odor of sulphur and +brimstone, which filled the whole atmosphere. We were surrounded by a +crowd of neighbors—men, women, and children—who had rushed out of +their houses, as we had done, and who stood with us in the middle of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +street, awaiting they knew not what.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came again to our ears the now dreaded rumbling sound. +Like some fierce animal, growling and seeking its victim, it approached, +and we all prepared ourselves for the worst. The shock came, and for a +moment the crowd was awed into silence. Fortunately this shock was not +nearly so severe as the first. The earth became still once more, and the +roaring died away in the distance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;"> +<img src="images/illus-108.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="STREET SCENE DURING THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">STREET SCENE DURING THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>How the people shunned their houses and spent that and succeeding nights +in the streets, private gardens, and on public squares, is well known +from the many accounts given in the daily and illustrated papers at the +time.</p> + +<p>So perfectly still and calm was the air during the night, that a lamp, +which was taken out in the open air burnt as steadily as though +protected in a room, and no flickering revealed the presence of a breath +of wind.</p> + +<p>Again, some strong and powerful buildings in certain portions of the +city were wrecked completely, while others older and undoubtedly weaker +passed through the shock unharmed. A house on one corner was perfectly +shattered, while, just a few hundred feet away, the house on the +opposite corner was not damaged in the slightest except that a little +plastering was shaken down.</p> + +<p>Knowing that a city with a population of sixty thousand had been wrecked +in every direction by an earthquake, one would expect the death-list to +be enormous; but not more than about forty were killed outright, and but +a few more were wounded. Had the shock occurred in the daytime, when the +streets were thronged, the loss of life must have been terrible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="HIDING_PLACES_IN_WAR_TIMES" id="HIDING_PLACES_IN_WAR_TIMES"></a>HIDING PLACES IN WAR TIMES</h2> + +<h3>BY J. H. GORE</h3> + + +<p>For some years after the close of our Civil War, the attention of our +people was chiefly occupied with a study and recital of the most +prominent battles, the decisive events, and the acts of famous officers. +But when these bolder features of the war panorama had been examined and +discussed, more time was taken to look at some of the details, to call +up the minor incidents, to bestow meed of praise upon privates, or to +record the littles that made up the much.</p> + +<p>The sacrifices of the women and children at home have been repeatedly +referred to in general, but seldom do we see mention made of their daily +privations, the petty but continual annoyances to which they were +subjected, and the struggle they made to sow and reap, as well as the +difficulties they met in saving the harvested crops.</p> + +<p>The hiding-places here described were all in <i>one</i> house. This house was +in Virginia, near a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> town which changed hands, under fire, eighty-two +times during the war—a town whose hotel register shows on the same page +the names of officers of both armies, a town where there are two large +cities of the fallen soldiers, each embellished by the saddest of all +epitaphs—"To the unknown dead." Out from this battered town run a +number of turnpikes, and standing as close to one of these as a city +house stands to the street was the house referred to—the home of a +widow, three small children, a single domestic, and, for part of the +time, an invalid cousin, whose ingenuity and skill fashioned the secret +places, one of which was on several occasions his place of refuge.</p> + +<p>With fall came the "fattening time" for the hogs. They were then brought +in from the distant fields, where they had passed the summer, and put in +a pen by the side of the road. And although within ten feet of the +soldiers as they marched by, they were never seen, for the pen was +completely covered by the winter's wood-pile, except at the back, where +there was a board fence through whose cracks the corn was thrown in. +Whenever the passing advance-guard told us that an army was approaching, +the hogs were hurriedly fed, so that the army might go by while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> they +were taking their after-dinner nap, and thus not reveal their presence +by an escaped grunt or squeal. Fortunately, the house was situated in a +narrow valley, where the opportunities for bushwhacking were so great +that the soldiers did not tarry long enough to search unsuspected +wood-piles. On one occasion we thought the hogs were doomed. A wagon +broke down near the house, and a soldier went to the wood-pile for a +pole to be used in mending the break. Luckily, he found a stick to his +liking without tearing the pile to pieces. This suggested that some +nice, straight pieces be always left conveniently near for such an +emergency, in case it should occur again.</p> + +<p>The house had a cellar with a door opening directly out upon the "big +road," and never did a troop, large or small, pass by without countless +soldiers seeking something eatable in this convenient cellar. It was +never empty, but nothing was ever found. A partition had been run across +about three feet from the back wall, so near that even a close +inspection would not suggest a space back of it; and being without a +door, no one would think there was a room beyond. The only access to +this back cellar was through a trapdoor in the floor of the room above. +This door<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> was always kept covered by a carpet, and in case any danger +was imminent, a lounge was put over this, and one of the boys, feigning +illness, was there "put to bed." In this cellar apples, preserves, +pickled pork, etc., were kept, and its existence was not known to any +one outside of the family.</p> + +<p>The two garrets of the house had false ends, with narrow spaces beyond, +where winter clothing, flour, and corn were safely stored. The partition +in each was of weather-boarding, and nailed on from the inner side so as +to appear like the true ends, and, being in blind gables, there was no +suspicion aroused by the absence of windows. The entrance to these +little attics was through small doors that were a part of the partition, +and, as usual in country houses, the clothesline stretched across the +end from rafter to rafter held enough old carpets and useless stuff to +silence any question of secret doors. Several closets also were provided +with false backs, where the surplus linen of the household found a safe +hiding-place.</p> + +<p>In such an exposed place a company of scouts, or even a regiment, could +appear so unexpectedly that it was necessary to keep everything out of +sight. Even the provisions for the next meal had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> to be put away, or +before the meal could be prepared a party of marauders might drop in and +carry off the entire supply. In the kitchen a wood-box of large size +stood by the stove. It had a false bottom. In the upper part was "wood +dirt," a plentiful supply of chips, and so much stove-wood that the +impression would be conveyed that at least there was a good stock of +fuel always on hand. The box was made of tongued and grooved boards, and +one of these in the front could be slipped out, thus forming a door. +Into this box all the food and silverware were put. No little ingenuity +was needed in making this contrivance. The nails that were drawn out to +let this board slip back and forth left tell-tale nail-holes, but these +were filled up with heads of nails, so that all the boards looked just +alike. I remember once a soldier was sitting on this box while mother +was cooking for him what seemed to be the last slice of bacon in the +house. She was so afraid that he would drum on the box with his heels, +as boys frequently do, and find that the box was hollow, that she +continually asked him to get up while she took a piece of wood for the +fire. It was necessary to disturb him a number of times before he found +it advis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>able to take the proffered chair, and in the meantime a hotter +fire had been made than the small piece of meat required.</p> + +<p>Of course it was advisable to have at least scraps of food lying +around—their absence at any time would have aroused suspicion and +started a search that might have disclosed all. The large loaves of +bread were put in an unused bed in the place of bolsters; money, when +there was any on hand, was rolled up in a strip of cotton which was tied +as a string around a bunch of hoarhound that hung on a nail in the +kitchen ceiling; the chickens were reared in a thicket some distance +from the house, and, being fed there, seldom left it.</p> + +<p>Although this house was searched repeatedly, by day and by night, by +regulars and by guerrillas, by soldiers of the North and of the South, +the only loss sustained were a few eggs, and this loss was not serious, +for the eggs were stale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ST_AUGUSTINE" id="ST_AUGUSTINE"></a>ST. AUGUSTINE</h2> + +<h3>BY FRANK R. STOCKTON</h3> + + +<p>The city of St. Augustine, on the eastern coast of Florida, stands in +one respect preeminent among all the cities of the United States—it is +truly an old city. It has many other claims to consideration, but these +are shared with other cities. But in regard to age it is the one member +of its class.</p> + +<p>Compared with the cities of the Old World, St. Augustine would be called +young; but in the United States a city whose buildings and monuments +connect the Middle Ages with the present time, may be considered to have +a good claim to be called ancient.</p> + +<p>After visiting some of our great towns, where the noise and bustle of +traffic, the fire and din of manufactures, the long lines of buildings +stretching out in every direction, with all the other evidences of +active enterprise, proclaim these cities creations of the present day +and hour, it is re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>freshing and restful to go down to quiet St. +Augustine, where one may gaze into the dry moat of a fort of medieval +architecture, walk over its drawbridges, pass under its portcullis, and +go down into its dungeons; and where in soft semi-tropical air the +visitor may wander through narrow streets resembling those of Spain and +Italy, where the houses on each side lean over toward one another so +that neighbors might almost shake hands from their upper windows, and +are surrounded by orange-groves and rose-gardens which blossom all the +year.</p> + +<p>St. Augustine was founded in 1565 by Pedro Menendez de Aviles, who was +then Governor of Florida. Here he built a wooden fort which was +afterward replaced by the massive edifice which still exists. St. +Augustine needed defenses, for she passed through long periods of war, +and many battles were fought for her possession. At first there were +wars in Florida between the Spanish and the French; and when the town +was just twenty-one years old, Sir Francis Drake captured the fort, +carrying off two thousand pounds in money, and burned half the buildings +in the town. Then the Indians frequently attacked the place and +committed many atrocities; and, half a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> century after Drake, the +celebrated English buccaneer Captain John Davis captured and plundered +the town.</p> + +<p>Much later, General Moore, Governor of South Carolina, took the town and +held it for three months, but was never able to take the fort. In 1740 +General Oglethorpe, Governor of Georgia, attacked St. Augustine, +planting batteries on the island opposite, and maintaining a siege for +forty days; but he was obliged to withdraw. Three years later he made +another attack, but succeeded no better. Even now one can see the dents +and holes made in the fort by the cannon-balls fired in these sieges.</p> + +<p>In 1819 Florida was ceded to our Government, and St. Augustine became a +city of the United States.</p> + +<p>Approaching St. Augustine from the sea, the town looks as if it might be +a port on the Mediterranean coast. The light-colored walls of its houses +and gardens, masses of rich green foliage cropping up everywhere in the +town and about it, the stern old fortress to the north of it, and the +white and glittering sands of the island which separates its harbor from +the sea, make it very unlike the ordinary idea of an American town.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the center of the city is a large open square called the Plaza de la +Constitucion, surrounded by beautiful live-oaks and pride-of-India +trees, with their long, hanging-mosses and sweet-smelling blossoms.</p> + +<p>Most of the streets are narrow, without sidewalks, and from the +high-walled gardens comes the smell of orange-blossoms, while roses and +other flowers bloom everywhere and all the time.</p> + +<p>At the southern end of the town stands the old Convent of St. Francis, +which is now used as barracks for United States soldiers.</p> + +<p>The old palace of the governor still stands, but now contains the +post-office and other public buildings. There was once a wall around the +town, and one of the gates of this still remains. There is a tower on +each side of the gateway, and the sentry-boxes, and loopholes through +which the guards used to look out for Indians and other enemies, are +still there. Along the harbor edge of the town is a wall nearly a mile +long, built at great expense by the United States Government as a +defense against the encroachments of the sea. This is called the sea +wall, and its smooth top, four feet wide, is a favorite promenade. +Walking northward on this wall, or on the street beside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> it, if you like +that better, we reach, a little outside of the town, what I consider the +most interesting feature of St. Augustine. This is the old fort of San +Marco, which, since it came into the possession of our government, has +been renamed Fort Marion.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 392px;"> +<img src="images/illus-120.jpg" width="392" height="450" alt="THE SPANISH COAT-OF-ARMS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE SPANISH COAT-OF-ARMS.</span> +</div> + + +<p>The old fort is not a ruin, but is one of the best-preserved specimens +of the style of fortification of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> the Middle Ages. We cross the moat and +the drawbridge, and over the stone door-way we see the Spanish +coat-of-arms, and under it an inscription stating that the fort was +built during the reign of King Ferdinand VI of Spain, with the names and +titles of the dons who superintended the work. It took sixty years to +build the fort, and nearly all the work was done by Indians who were +captured and made slaves for the purpose. Passing through the solemn +entrance, we come to an open square surrounded by the buildings and +walls of the fort, which, in all, cover about an acre of ground. On the +right is an inclined plane which serves as a stairway to reach the +ramparts where the cannon were placed. The <i>terre-plein</i>, or wide, flat +surface of the ramparts, makes a fine walk around the four sides of the +fort from which we can have views of land and sea. At each corner was a +watch-tower, three of which remain; and into these one can mount, and +through the narrow slits of windows get a view of what is going on +outside without being seen himself. At one end of the fort is the old +Spanish chapel, and all around the square are the rooms that used to be +occupied by the officers and the soldiers. Into the chapel the condemned +prisoners used to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> taken to hear their last mass before being marched +up to the north rampart and shot.</p> + +<p>Down in the foundations of the fort are dungeons into which no ray of +sunlight can enter. After the fort came into the possession of our +government, a human skeleton was found in one of the dungeons, chained +to a staple in the wall; and in another dungeon, without door or window +and completely walled up, there were discovered two iron cages which had +hung from the walls, each containing a human skeleton. The supports of +one of the cages had rusted away, and it had fallen down, but the other +was still in its place. A great many romantic stories were told about +these skeletons, and by some persons it was supposed that they were the +remains of certain heirs to the Spanish throne whose existence it was +desirable utterly to blot out. One of the skeletons was that of a woman +or girl. The cages and skeletons have been removed, but we can go into +the dungeons if we take a lantern. Anything darker or blacker than these +underground cells cannot be imagined. I have seen dungeons in Europe, +but none of them were so hopelessly awful as these.</p> + +<p>In another part of the fort is a cell in which Os<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>ceola, the celebrated +Indian chief, was once imprisoned, in company with another chief named +Wild Cat. There is a little window near the top of the cell, protected +by several iron bars; and it is said that Wild Cat starved himself until +he was thin enough to squeeze between two of the bars, having first +mounted on the shoulders of Osceola in order to reach them. Whether the +starving part of the story is true or not, it is certain that he escaped +through the window.</p> + +<p>When I last visited San Marco, it was full of Indian prisoners who had +been captured in the far West. Some of them were notorious for their +cruelties and crimes, but in the fort they were all peaceable enough. It +was one of these Indians, a big, ugly fellow, who lighted me into the +dungeon of the skeleton-cages.</p> + +<p>This fort, which is in many respects like a great castle, is not built +of ordinary stone, but of coquina, a substance formed by the +accumulation of sea-shells which, in the course of ages, have united +into a mass like solid rock. On Anastasia Island, opposite St. +Augustine, there are great quarries from which the coquina stone is +taken, and of this material nearly the whole town is built. It is +interesting to visit one of these quar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>ries, and observe how in the +upper strata the shells are quite distinct, while the lower we look down +the more and more solid and stone-like the masses become.</p> + +<p>The harbor of St. Augustine is a portion of the sea cut off by Anastasia +Island. Southward, the Matanzas River extends from the harbor; and in +all these waters there is fine fishing. On the sea-beaches there is good +bathing, for the water is not too cold even in winter. St. Augustine is +an attractive place at all seasons of the year, and its three superb +hotels—the Ponce de Leon, the Alcazar, and the Cordova—are among the +most celebrated in America. In winter people come down from the North +because its air is so warm and pleasant, and in summer people from the +Southern States visit it because its sea-breezes are so cool and +refreshing. It is a favorable resort for yachts, and in its wide, smooth +harbor may often be seen some of the most beautiful vessels of this +class.</p> + +<p>St. Augustine is not only a delightful place in which to stay, but it is +easy to reach from there some points which are of great interest to +travelers. The great St. John's River is only fourteen miles away, and +is connected with the town by a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> little railroad. At Tocoi, the river +terminus of the railroad, people who wish to penetrate into the heart of +Florida, with its great forests and lakes and beautiful streams, can +take a steamer and sail up the St. John's, which, by the way, flows +northward some two hundred miles. In some parts the river is six miles +wide, resembling a lake, and in its narrow portions the shores are very +beautiful.</p> + +<p>About forty miles above Tocoi the Ocklawaha River runs into the St. +John's, and there are few visitors to St. Augustine who do not desire to +take a trip up the little river which is in many respects the most +romantic and beautiful stream in the world. At Tocoi we take a small +steamboat which looks like a very narrow two-story house mounted upon a +little canal-boat, and in this we go up the St. John's until we see on +the right an opening in the tree-covered banks. This is the mouth of the +Ocklawaha, and, entering it, we steam directly into the heart of one of +the great forests of Florida. The stream is very narrow, and full of +turns and bends. Indeed, its name, which is Indian, signifies "crooked +water"; and sometimes the bow of the boat has even to be pushed around +by men with long poles. Of course<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> we go slowly, but no one objects to +that, for we do not wish to hurry through such scenery as this. On each +side we see green trees with their thick evergreen foliage, with vines +and moss hanging from many of them, and the ground beneath covered with +the luxuriant shrubbery which grows in these warm regions.</p> + +<p>Sometimes we can see through the trees into the distant recesses of the +forest, and then again we are shut in by walls of foliage. Now and then +we may see an alligator sunning himself on a log, and as our boat +approaches he rolls over into the water and plumps out of sight. +Water-turkeys, whose bodies are concealed in the bushes, run out their +long necks to look at us, presenting the appearance of snakes darting +from between the leaves; while curlews, herons, and many other birds are +seen on the banks and flying across the river. In some places the stream +widens, and in the shallower portions near the banks grow many kinds of +lilies, beautiful reeds, and other water-plants. For long distances +there is no solid ground on either side of the river, the water +penetrating far into the forest and forming swamps. Near the edge of the +river we frequently see myriads of tree-roots bent almost at right +angles,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> giving the trees the appearance of standing on spider-legs in +the water.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the forest opens overhead, but nearly all the way we are +covered by a roof of green, and at every turn appear new scenes of +beauty and luxuriance. Occasionally the banks are moderately high, and +we see long stretches of solid ground covered with verdure. There is one +spot where two large trees stand, one on each bank, close to the water, +and the distance between the two is so small that as our boat glides +through this natural gateway there is scarcely a foot of room to spare +on either side.</p> + +<p>Although the river is such a little one that we are apt to think all the +time we are sailing on it that we must soon come to the end of its +navigation, we go on more than a hundred miles before we come to the +place where we stop and turn back. The trip up the Ocklawaha requires +all the hours of a day and a great part of a night; and this night trip +is like a journey through fairyland. On the highest part of the boat is +a great iron basket, into which, as soon as it becomes dark, are thrown +quantities of pine-knots. These are lighted in order that the pilot may +see how to steer. The blazing of the resinous fuel lights up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> the forest +for long distances in every direction, and, as may easily be imagined, +the effect is wonderfully beautiful. When the fire blazes high the scene +is like an illuminated lacework of tree-trunks, vines, leaves, and +twigs, the smallest tendril shining out bright and distinct; while +through it all the river gleams like a band of glittering silver. Then, +as the pine-knots gradually burn out, the illumination fades and fades +away until we think the whole glorious scene is about to melt into +nothing, when more sticks are thrown on, the light blazes up again, and +we have before us a new scene with different combinations of illuminated +foliage and water.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<p>It often happens that during the night our little steamer crowds itself +to one side of the river and stops. Then we may expect to see a splendid +sight. Out of the dark depths of the forest comes a glowing, radiant +apparition, small at first, but getting larger and larger until it moves +down upon us like a tangle of moon and stars drifting through the trees.</p> + +<p>This is nothing but another little steamboat coming down the river with +its lighted windows and decks, and its blazing basket of pine-knots. +There is just room enough for her to squeeze past<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> us, and then her +radiance gradually fades away in the darkness behind us.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-129.jpg" width="600" height="421" alt="FORT MARION—VIEW FROM WATER-BATTERY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">FORT MARION—VIEW FROM WATER-BATTERY.</span> +</div> + +<p>We travel thus, night and day, until we reach Silver Springs, which is +the end of our journey. This is a small lake so transparent that we can +see down to the very bottom of it, and watch the turtles and fishes as +they swim about. A silver coin or any small object thrown into the water +may be distinctly seen lying on the white sand far beneath us. The land +is high and dry about Silver Springs, and the passengers generally go on +shore and stroll through the woods for an hour or two. Then we reëmbark +and return to St. Augustine as we came.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that St. Augustine contains nothing but +buildings of the olden time. Although many parts of the town are the +same as they were in the old Spanish days, and although we may even find +the descendants of the Minorcans who were once its principal citizens, +the city now contains many handsome modern dwellings and hotels, some of +which are exceptionally large and grand. Hundreds of people from the +North have come down to this city of orange-scented air, eternal +verdure, and invigorating sea-breezes, and have built handsome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> houses; +and during the winter there is a great deal of bustle and life in the +narrow streets, in the Plaza, and on the sunny front of the town. Many +of the shops are of a kind only to be found in semi-tropical towns by +the sea, and have for sale bright-colored sea-beans, ornaments made of +fish-scales of every variety of hue, corals, dried sea-ferns, and ever +so many curiosities of the kind. We may even buy, if we choose, some +little black alligators, alive and brisk and about a foot long. As to +fruit, we can get here the best oranges in the world, which come from +the Indian River in the southern part of Florida, and many sorts of +tropical fruits that are seldom brought to Northern cities.</p> + +<p>If St. Augustine were like most American cities, and had been built by +us or by our immediate ancestors, and presented an air of newness and +progress and business prosperity, its delightful climate and its natural +beauties would make it a most charming place to visit. But if we add to +these attractions the fact that here alone we can see a bit of the old +world without leaving our young Republic, and that in two or three days +from the newness and busy din of New York or Chicago we may sit upon the +ramparts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> of a medieval fort, and study the history of those olden days +when the history of Spain, England, and France was also the history of +this portion of our own land,—we cannot fail to admit that this little +town of coquina walls and evergreen foliage and traditions of old-world +antiquity occupies a position which is unique in the United States.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CATCHING_TERRAPIN" id="CATCHING_TERRAPIN"></a>CATCHING TERRAPIN</h2> + +<h3>BY ALFRED KAPPES</h3> + + +<p>In the shoal waters along the coast south of Cape Henlopen, terrapin are +caught in various ways. Dredges dragged along in the wake of a sailing +vessel pick them up. Nets stretched across some narrow arm of river or +bay entangle the feet of any stray terrapin in their meshes; but these +require the constant attendance of the fisherman to save the catch from +drowning. In the winter, in the deeper water, the terrapin rise from +their muddy quarters on mild sunny days and crawl along the bottom. They +are then taken by tongs, their whereabouts being often betrayed by +bubbles.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>The method shown in the drawing is resorted to only in the spring and in +water not over a foot or two in depth. Turtles will rise at any noise, +and usually the fisherman only claps his hands, though each hunter has +his own way of attracting the terrapin. One hunter whom I saw when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> I +made the drawing uttered a queer guttural noise that seemed to rise from +his boots.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-135.jpg" width="600" height="386" alt="CATCHING TERRAPIN IN THE SPRING" title="" /> +<span class="caption">CATCHING TERRAPIN IN THE SPRING.</span> +</div> + + +<p>Whatever the noise, all turtles within hearing—whether terrapin or +"snapper"—will put their heads above water. Both are welcome and are +quickly sold to the market-men. The snapper slowly appears and +disappears, leaving scarcely a ripple; and the hunter cautiously +approaching usually takes him by the tail. The terrapin, on the +contrary, is quick, and will descend in an oblique direction, so that a +hand-net is needed unless he happens to come up near by. If he is near +enough the man jumps for him. The time for hunting is the still hour at +either sunrise or sunset.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LOCOED" id="LOCOED"></a>"LOCOED"</h2> + +<p class="center">(<i>A story of a Texan girl.</i>)</p> + +<h3>BY EDWARD MARSHALL</h3> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 293px;"> +<img src="images/illus-138.jpg" width="293" height="300" style="margin-top: -2em; margin-right: -1em;" alt="" title="J" /> +</div> +<p>ohn Fredding had laughingly taken his sister Martha as a partner in his +Texas saddle store. She made a good partner although she was only +thirteen years old. There were other women on the ranch (the saddle +store was only an adjunct of the big cattle-ranch itself), but the +grandmother was very old, and the servant-girl was Welsh and would not +learn to speak more English than was required in the daily routine of +housework.</p> + +<p>Not far away was the town of Amarilla (pronounced Ah-ma-ree-ah). There +were plenty of women and girls there, but Martha knew none of them well +except the preacher's daughter, Scylla. Martha and Scylla were great +friends. They saw each other as often as Martha could get time and +permission to ride in to Amarilla. Scylla could seldom visit the ranch, +for she was an invalid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> When she had been a very little girl, a horse +had kicked her. She was ill for many weeks, and after the doctor had +told her parents that she would live, he had added that she might never +have full use of her right side again. It was partially paralyzed.</p> + +<p>But Martha was seldom lonely. For in the daytime there was always +something to do around the ranch or store. She had her pet calf to +attend to, for one thing. He was given to her by a cow-boy who bought a +saddle from her brother one day, and who cried that evening when Martha +played "Home, Sweet Home" for him on her guitar. The calf was in several +respects remarkable. In the first place, he was almost black—an unusual +thing among Texas cattle. In the second place, he was not quite black, +for he had a white spot on his forehead shaped almost exactly like +Martha's guitar. That was why they called him "Gitter." In the third +place, Martha had taught him several tricks. He had learned to low three +times when he was thirsty, and twice when he was hungry; he would stand +on his hind legs and paw the air with his front legs for a moment when +Martha cried, "Up, Gitter!" and he would lie down and roll over on the +grass when she commanded "Down,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> Gitter!" She had a cat that would climb +up on her shoulder whenever he got the chance, and a clever dog that +liked the cat. She had two horses, also. One of them was an ordinary +"cow-pony," but the other was a big black Spanish horse who seemed to +love Martha as well as she loved him. When she was on his back he never +varied his long, swinging, graceful gallop by jumping or shying, but if +any one else rode him, he was apt to make them hold fast when he went +around corners. His name was "Dan." Martha thought almost as much of the +cow-pony, though, as she did of Dan, and called him "Texas," after the +great State she lived in.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her brother, too, did many things to make her happy. In the long winter +evenings he often read to her for hours, or taught her new airs on the +guitar, of which he was a master; and sometimes, when summer came, they +took long rides off on the prairie together. These occurred when there +was a band of cow-boys camped near by, and John generally combined +business with pleasure by talking with them about cattle and saddles. +But that did not detract at all from Martha's enjoyment of the rides. +She always carried her guitar swung over her shoulder by a strap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> when +she went out with her brother to see the cow-boys.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-142.jpg" width="600" height="348" alt=""SOMETIMES WHEN SUMMER CAME THEY TOOK LONG RIDES ON THE PRAIRIE TOGETHER."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SOMETIMES WHEN SUMMER CAME THEY TOOK LONG RIDES ON THE PRAIRIE TOGETHER."</span> +</div> + + + +<p>The little girl's life was a queer one, but then, she was a queer little +girl and among queer people. For instance, there was "Mister Jim," who +came up to the store every few weeks to lay in supplies. Mister Jim was +one of the men who were hired to keep wild animals out of the Cañon. The +Cañon was a favorite place for Amarilla's excursions and picnics, and +was very beautiful; but it communicated with other cañons into which +picnics could never penetrate, and in which there were wild beasts of +many kinds. To prevent these unpleasant visitors from wandering where +they were not wanted, men were stationed at various places to shoot +them. Mister Jim was the one nearest to Martha's home, and he was +Martha's stanch friend. He never went to the ranch without some gift for +her—the soft pelt of an animal he had shot, the gay wings of a strange +bird, or some crystal or stone he had found in his explorations of the +Cañon. Martha returned his admiration. He lived in a cave, and that +interested her—she thought she might like to try it herself some time. +She considered his clothes very grand and impressive. In the Cañon he +wore a leather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> suit; but when he visited the ranch he was always +dressed in black velvet trimmed with gold braid, and wore a high, +pointed hat wound with red ribbons like those of the seldom-appearing +Mexican cow-boys, only much finer.</p> + +<p>But the "loco men" were Martha's favorites. There were three of +them—Big Billy, Little Billy, and One-eyed Saylo. Why Saylo was called +"one-eyed" was a mystery, for he had two of the very best eyes for +spying the hated loco-weed ever known in that region. Loco-weed grows, +when unmolested, to a height of sixteen or eighteen inches, and its +queer leaves shine and sparkle in the sunlight like silver and crystals. +Its effects on horses or cattle that happen to eat it are worse than +deadly. One good, big meal of loco-weed will ruin an animal forever.</p> + +<p>A locoed horse, once locoed, is locoed until he dies. Apparently he may +recover wholly, but he is not a safe animal to ride, for at any moment +he may stagger and fall, or go suddenly mad. A locoed horse is almost +certain to show it when he becomes heated by rapid traveling or hard +work. The great danger from locoed cattle is, that they will begin to +tumble around in the midst of a herd and frighten their fellows into a +stampede.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<p>As it can work such ruin, in order to avoid the danger of having their +animals locoed, the ranchmen, in those regions where the weed is +plentiful, hire men to search for it, cut it down, and destroy it. Of +these men who make their living in searching for the dreaded loco-weed +and destroying it wherever found were Big Billy, Little Billy, and +One-eyed Saylo.</p> + +<p>One summer night John told Martha to get her guitar, while he saddled +Texas and his own pony for a ride. In a few moments they were galloping +over the prairie on their way to a cow-boy camp about three miles away. +When they reached it, they found all the five men, but one, rolled up +from top to toe in their tarpaulins, and asleep on the prairie. The one +who was awake welcomed them in effusive cow-boy style, and then with a +"Wake up, you-uns! Yar's John Fredding an' 'is little woman!" kicked +each of his sleeping companions into consciousness with his foot. They +were all glad to see John and Martha, for they knew them of old.</p> + +<p>In the twinkling of an eye the smoldering fire was livened into a cheery +blaze, the visitors' ponies were picketed, and the men were grouped +around Martha and the fire. For a little while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> John talked business +with them; but, before long, one of the men arose and, deferentially +taking off his broad hat to Martha, asked her if she wouldn't give them +a "chune." The music of her guitar was indescribably sweet, there in the +little oasis of light in the prairie's desert of darkness, and for a +time the men sat silently, with their hands clasped about their knees, +enjoying it. Then she struck into a rollicking cow-boy song, and they +joined in shouting it out. It is a favorite among the cow-boys of +southern Texas, and begins thus:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather hear a rattler rattle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather do a Greaser battle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather buck stampeding cattle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to fight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather eat a pan of dope,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather ride without a rope,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather from this country lope,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to fight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>After that came "I'm Gwine Back to Dixie," and "'Way Down Upon the +Suwanee River," and then John said it was time to start home again. Loud +were the protests of the cow-boys, and when John and Martha went, the +whole party went with them except one man, who was left to watch the +cattle. They were "full of sing," as one of them put it, and it was a +jolly ride back to the ranch. When it was finally reached, the cow-boys +gave them a "send-off" that could have been heard a mile away. They +shouted and yelled like the wild "In-ji-ans" they had sung about, and as +they wheeled around to gallop back to camp, they fired all the charges +in their revolvers into the air as a parting courtesy. Then there was a +mad scamper of horses' hoofs, the yells grew fainter, and the cow-boys +were gone.</p> + +<p>When John went into the house he found two letters which had been +brought up by some passing friend from Amarilla. One of them was from an +old schoolmate of his, who had become a professor in a Northern college, +asking for some loco-weed, to be added to the college botanical +collection. The other was from Scylla's father, saying that if it would +be convenient he would bring his little daughter out to the ranch in a +few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> days for a long-promised visit to Martha. This second letter sent +Martha to bed a very happy little girl.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>Several days passed before Scylla arrived at the ranch; but when she did +come there was great rejoicing. After she was comfortably ensconced in +her wheeled chair on the porch, she held a mimic reception. John and +Martha did the honors, and every human being within call was introduced +to the little invalid. In the store there were a dozen leather-decked +cow-boys, and Scylla felt quite like a queen as each one scrambled up to +her, and with his broad sombrero in one hand took her tiny fingers in +the other as he turned red and tried to say something polite. Nor did +her impromptu court end with that. After the introductions were over, +all the visitors sat down on the porch or the grass before it, while +Martha exhibited her pets to her friend. Gitter, the calf, was put +through all his tricks, the cat was placed in Scylla's poor little arms, +where he purred contentedly, and the dog chased sticks thrown by whoever +could find any to throw. After Gitter had been led away, Martha came up +from the stables with her two horses—Texas and Dan. Big black Dan was +inclined to frisk a bit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> and jump about at the unusual scene; but +little Texas worked his way right into Scylla's heart by marching +steadily and straight up to her, despite Martha's laughing pulls on the +lariat looped about his neck. With ears pricked forward, he made +friendly overtures to the new-comer on the spot. He poked his nose into +her lap and rubbed it against her hands and ate sugar from her fingers.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-150.jpg" width="600" height="345" alt="MARTHA RIDES DAN OVER THE HURDLE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MARTHA RIDES DAN OVER THE HURDLE.</span> +</div> + + +<p>"Oh, I wish I could ride him!" said Scylla.</p> + +<p>"He never was so cordial before, not even with me," said Martha.</p> + +<p>Then she suddenly thought of something, and after intrusting her horses +to one of the cow-boys, went and talked it over in whispers with her +brother, Scylla's father, and the doctor, who had been discussing +politics together on one end of the porch. After this mysterious +conversation had lasted a little while, Martha danced back to Scylla, so +happy that she "just <i>had</i> to hop."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Scylla!" she exclaimed, "you <i>can</i> ride him. Your papa says so and +the doctor says so and Brother says so. John is going to fix up one of +my saddles for you with an extra strap to keep you from falling, and +Texas likes you so much he will be gentle and careful as he can be, I +know. And the doctor says he thinks it will do you good,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> if John and I +keep close by you all the time, so there won't be any danger."</p> + +<p>The following days at the ranch were very pleasant ones for Martha and +her visitor. In the morning after the work was done—Martha always did +some of the light house duties—they would watch with never-flagging +interest the great herds of cattle as they were driven on their way for +shipment from Amarilla, and gossip as girls do. Sometimes the cattle +passed quite near to the house, but oftener they were half a mile or +more away on the prairie—sometimes so far that the great herds seemed +to be mere black blots moving over the dun brown of the Texas grass.</p> + +<p>Every afternoon the two girls went riding, escorted either by John or +one of the men employed about the ranch. John had fixed one of Martha's +saddles so that poor little Scylla could not fall, and Texas seemed to +bear his tiny burden with more than ordinary care. At first they rode +very slowly, and for only a few moments at a time; but Scylla gained +strength daily, and by the end of the second week had improved so much +that she could ride for an hour without great fatigue, and Texas was +occasionally allowed to start his gentle gallop.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was as they were returning from one of these rides that Scylla's +sharp eyes spied the figure of a horseman rushing out to them from the +ranch. He waved his hat and yelled, firing his revolver between whoops +and generally conducted himself like a madman. Martha recognized him at +once.</p> + +<p>"It's One-eyed Saylo," she said. "He always acts like that—he thinks it +wouldn't be showing proper respect to a lady unless he wasted half a +dozen cartridges and showed off his horsemanship."</p> + +<p>Saylo acknowledged his introduction to Scylla with great ceremony, and +then told John that he had come to bring the loco-weed for the college +professor. By dint of much searching and hard riding he had gathered a +gunny-sack full of it.</p> + +<p>Then, as they rode slowly toward the ranch, he told John how the cattle +in the whole region seemed to be getting "panicky." All the cow-boys he +had met had had the same story to tell. It was only by the most careful +handling that they were able to keep their herds from stampeding.</p> + +<p>By this time the little cavalcade had reached the ranch. After Scylla +had been lifted from the saddle and carried to her seat on the porch,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +Martha, full of the irrepressible good spirits of a healthy girl, had a +long frolic with her big black horse. She took his saddle off, and let +him enjoy the luxury of a long roll on the grass, and then she made him +do all his tricks. First he shook hands with great dignity—"just to +show that this was friendly fun," Martha said. Then she replaced the +saddle, clambered to its easy seat, and put him through his paces. He +walked, slow and stately, with much self-consciousness, as a real +Spanish horse should; he trotted, he loped, he paced, and went +single-foot, greatly to the admiration of the three spectators. Martha +kept her seat with perfect ease and grace.</p> + +<p>Two posts near the house Martha had turned into the uprights of a +jumping-hurdle with bars which could be placed at various heights. Over +these bars that afternoon, Dan, with Martha sticking to his back like a +burr, jumped many times, surpassing, to the delight of both girls, his +previous best record.</p> + +<p>John, in the meantime, was busy in the shop, where One-eyed Saylo had +followed him to gossip with the workmen about the all-absorbing topic of +saddles and bridles. Martha had finished her fun, led Dan away and +picketed him, and was sit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>ting by Scylla's side talking about that happy +day when health and strength should have come back to the preacher's +little daughter, when the men came out again. The gunny-sack of +loco-weed was lying at the side of the porch, and both girls watched +John and Saylo with interest as they shook out and examined its +contents.</p> + +<p>"So they all want some of this stuff to look at an' study, up No'th, do +they?" said Saylo, and added: "I reckon we-all wouldn't be so +over-flowin' with grief ef they'd take all th' loco thar is in th' State +o' Texas."</p> + +<p>Just then the Welsh servant blew loud and long on a great tin horn, and +they all went in to supper. Saylo and John had picketed their ponies, +Saylo intending to ride in to Amarilla that night, and John having in +view a visit to the camp of cow-boys four or five miles away. Martha had +tethered Texas near the other ponies, because he was "such a sociable +little beast."</p> + +<p>It was nearing sundown when supper was over. One-eyed Saylo vaulted into +his saddle after elaborate good-bys and went off toward Amarilla in a +wild canter, and John prepared to start off on his saddle mission to the +cow-boys. His pony and Texas stood with heads hanging dejectedly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> down, +close together, as far away from the house as their long lariats would +let them go, when John, carrying on his arm a new saddle that he wanted +to try, went toward them. As he walked away from the house he called +cheerily: "Come, Mattie,—want to go along?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; I'll stay here with Scylla to-night," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Why can't she go too?—it's too nice an evening to stay at home. I'll +ride as slow as you like, and it isn't far."</p> + +<p>Both girls were delighted at this.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he good to poor little me!" Scylla exclaimed to Martha as John +fixed her on Texas's back.</p> + +<p>Martha ran around, brought Dan, and in a very few moments they were +riding leisurely toward the setting sun.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The evening was perfect. As the great, clean-cut disk of the sun dropped +slowly below the far-off edge of the prairie, the breeze that had been +busy all day rustling the prairie-grass died away, and the silence was +so complete that they all stopped involuntarily "to listen to it." They +had ridden until they were three or four miles from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> the ranch, when +they paused again, this time to hear the crooning of far-away cow-boys. +They were between two great herds of cattle. One, on the left, was half +a mile away; and the moon, which now shed a great white light over the +prairie showed it only as a black mass. Those cattle had been "bedded" +for the night—that is, two cow-boys had ridden around and around them +driving them closer together so that they would be easy to watch, and +much less likely to be restless. The other herd was a little nearer, and +the cow-boys were bedding it as the trio from the ranch approached. The +camp-fire flickered between the riders and the herd, and its flaring +light seemed to make the cow-boys and cattle nearest it lurch back and +forward in and out of the gloom while their changing shadows danced +fantastically over the prairie. Here the three riders paused again to +listen. Closer by, the cow-boys' crooning would have sounded harsh and +unmusical, but at this distance it shaped itself into a plaintive, minor +melody that was very pleasing. For many moments they waited and enjoyed +it in silence. Then suddenly a quick gust of wind and a low, muttering +rumble of thunder made them turn quickly and look at the sky behind +them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>A bank of dead black clouds was rising on the eastern horizon.</p> + +<p>John stopped, gazed at it ruefully for a moment, and said:</p> + +<p>"There's a big thunder-storm coming; but we can get home all right +before it strikes us. You girls ride slowly back. I'll rush to the camp +and tell the boys to stop in in the morning. I'll overtake you before +you've gone far."</p> + +<p>With that he was off at a brisk canter toward the herd.</p> + +<p>Martha and Scylla did as he told them. The rising but still distant +clouds, lighted on their edges by the moon, added greatly to the beauty +of the night, and both the girls appreciated the sight. They walked +their horses and talked girlish nonsense. John had promised to take +Martha to the North the next winter, and she told Scylla some of the +wonderful things she had heard about the great cities and the curious +things to be seen up there.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Scylla interrupted her with:</p> + +<p>"Martha, I believe there's something the matter with Texas—he's +trembling all over."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess not," said Martha; "he's just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> tired. Texas has had a +pretty hard day of it. But yet, he doesn't often get tired."</p> + +<p>She rode up close to Scylla and put her hand on Texas's neck. It was wet +with sweat, although he had hardly gone faster than a walk since he had +left the ranch.</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, he <i>was</i> trembling slightly.</p> + +<p>"There is something the matter with him, I know," said Scylla.</p> + +<p>"Stop a minute and take my reins; I'll get off and see what it is," said +Martha. "You're right. Texas is trembling like a leaf. Perhaps we'd +better wait here for John."</p> + +<p>There was an anxious little quaver in her voice as she dismounted and, +going in front of Texas, took his head between her hands. There was no +longer any doubt that the horse was sick, and very sick. His eyes closed +sleepily, and his head dropped low. Then he suddenly began to sway and +totter on his feet.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Martha, I'm afraid!" cried Scylla.</p> + +<p>Martha was badly frightened, too, but she acted instead of saying +anything. She rushed to Scylla's side and hastily unbuckled the straps +that held the weak little body in the saddle.</p> + +<p>"Quick, jump into my arms!" she commanded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> as the last buckle fell +jinglingly downward and Texas gave another alarming sidewise lurch. With +more strength than she supposed she had, she half lifted, half pulled +Scylla out of the saddle and eased her, almost fainting, to the ground. +It was none too soon, for in an instant more Texas had fallen with a +groan and lay quiet on the prairie.</p> + +<p>This lasted only for a few seconds; then with an unsteady stagger the +little horse scrambled to his feet. For another instant he stood quiet; +then he began to tremble again and looked around toward the girls. But +the pony's eyes had changed; they were wild and blood-shot. With a mad +snort he started off on a wild run into the gloom.</p> + +<p>For a moment the girls were too surprised to speak. Scylla was +sobbing on the ground, and Martha stood by her. She had the reins +of Dan's bridle in her hand, and gazed dumfounded after the +rapidly-disappearing Texas. Finally she turned to her companion:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Scylla," she said, "I'm so glad I got you off his back!"</p> + +<p>"What do you think is the matter with him?" Scylla asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't imagine, unless—yes, that's it—he's locoed! Oh, my poor +little Texas! My dear, gentle little pony! You ate that loco-weed Saylo +brought for the college professor!"</p> + +<p>Now Martha was crying, too, for she knew that her pony was lost to her.</p> + +<p>"They—they left it lying by the porch," she went on, "and—you ate it +while we were at supper. Oh, my little Texas!"</p> + +<p>Martha had forgotten everything but her grief, but soon she remembered +that there was a storm coming and that Scylla must be taken home in some +way. At first she tried to lift her to Dan's high back, but she was not +strong enough. Then she thought of his education, and commanded him to +lie down. He was nervous and excited and did not, at first, obey her, +but finally she coaxed him into getting down on his knees. Then, with +great pains and trouble, she pulled and lifted Scylla into the saddle. +As Dan struggled to his feet again, it was hard work to keep the little +invalid from falling, but it was done. Then Martha led him slowly toward +the ranch. The exciting events that had just passed had made her +nervous, and for the first time in a long while she felt afraid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish John would hurry and catch up with us!" she exclaimed. +"Please don't fall, Scylla—hang on to the pommel tight."</p> + +<p>Scylla, who had stopped crying, told Martha not to worry, that she would +not fall; and the slow journey over the prairie continued silently for a +minute or two. Every once in a while Martha turned back and looked +toward the flickering camp-fire of the cow-boys. An exclamation of +surprise was drawn from her when she failed to see it shining in the +distance, and she stopped. Then, faintly, she heard shouts and the +thumping of racing hoofs on the prairie.</p> + +<p>"John is coming at last," she said.</p> + +<p>But then she realized that more than one animal's hoofs were drumming +desperately on the turf. While she stood wondering if some of the +cow-boys were coming home with John, she heard the hoof-beats merge into +a steady roar. Even the shouts of the men which she had just heard were +drowned in this dull, threatening rumble. For just an instant she +thought it was thunder, and then her quick reasoning told her the truth.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<p>The herd had stampeded!</p> + +<p>That she and Scylla were directly in its path she was certain, for the +camp-fire had, a moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> before, been between them and the herd and +was now invisible. It had either been trampled out or was hidden by the +advancing mass of cattle.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-163.jpg" width="600" height="358" alt=""JUST THEN ANOTHER FLASH CAME AND SHOWED A COW-BOY +LEANING FAR OVER THE NECK OF HIS PONY, RIDING FOR HIS LIFE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"JUST THEN ANOTHER FLASH CAME AND SHOWED A COW-BOY +LEANING FAR OVER THE NECK OF HIS PONY, RIDING FOR HIS LIFE."</span> +</div> + + + +<p>Martha well knew what it meant to be in the path of a stampede; but, +strangely enough, all her fear left her. She was puzzled, that was all. +Had she been alone, she could easily have escaped by jumping on Dan's +back and riding hard. Dan could have distanced the cattle, even when +they were stampeding. But now she had helpless Scylla to take care of.</p> + +<p>The advancing thunder-clouds had wholly hidden the moon and put the +prairie in inky darkness. At first Martha thought of starting Dan away +with Scylla and trusting to Providence to keep the little invalid on his +back, while she remained to face the danger alone; then she thought of +trying to ride with her. But she knew Scylla could not possibly keep her +place in the saddle of the horse while he ran, even if she herself +should mount him too and try to hold Scylla on.</p> + +<p>She stepped back to Scylla's side. There was a deathly doubt in her +heart as to whether she was doing the right thing; but she had made a +desperate resolve. Scylla had heard the thunder of the approaching herd +too, and was too fright<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>ened to speak. Martha held her arms up toward +her just as the first flash of lightning came.</p> + +<p>"Come, Scylla," she said, "slide off into my arms. The herd has +stampeded and is coming toward us, but I will try to save us both."</p> + +<p>Without a word Scylla did as she was told, and in a few seconds was half +kneeling, half lying on the ground.</p> + +<p>Then Martha struck Dan as hard as she could with her flat hand.</p> + +<p>"Hey up, Dan!" said she, "run! run! <i>You</i> needn't stay here, too!"</p> + +<p>The horse galloped off into the darkness.</p> + +<p>Just then another lighting-flash came and showed a cow-boy leaning far +over the neck of his pony, riding for his life. He passed only a dozen +yards from them, but did not see them. Behind him Martha could dimly see +two or three other riders coming toward them at desperate speed, while +still beyond she caught a glimpse of the tossing horns and lurching +heads of the cattle.</p> + +<p>Without a moment for thought, and as coolly as if she had nothing in the +world to fear, she bent over trembling Scylla, unfastened the waistband +of her dress-skirt and pulled it deftly from under her. Then she quickly +removed her own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> and took one of the bright-colored garments in each +hand.</p> + +<p>Just then the storm broke furiously. The night was suddenly lighted by +lightning-flashes that followed one another so closely they seemed to +make one long, lasting flare. The cow-boys had all passed, and Martha +saw that the herd was scarcely two hundred yards away.</p> + +<p>She stepped directly in front of Scylla's prostrate form and raised the +skirts.</p> + +<p>"Scream, Scylla, scream!" she cried.</p> + +<p>Then, while the driving rain fell in torrents, and the lightning made +the prairie as light as day, she stood straight up and waved those +skirts wildly about her head, and shouted at the top of her voice.</p> + +<p>She was dimly conscious that her shouts shaped themselves into a prayer +that her brother was safe, and that the herd might divide and pass them. +Her face was as pale as paper. Her long hair was tossed about by the +wind, and by her own violent motions.</p> + +<p>The foremost of the cattle was only a hundred yards away now. She could +see the lightning shining on his horns and in his red, rolling eyes. He +was coming straight toward her. Louder she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> shouted and more wildly she +swung the skirts. Would he crush her, or would he turn aside? She felt +an almost overpowering impulse to turn and run away, but that would mean +certain death. Her only hope was to keep her position firmly, and to +swing her skirts and scream. If the first steer swerved and passed her, +his followers might do so too.</p> + +<p>He seemed of mammoth proportions as he lurched toward her. His head was +lowered, and his great hoofs pounded the ground like trip-hammers. +Closer! Closer! He was not twenty feet away. His big, crazy eyes seemed +to look straight into hers. Closer! Closer!—Then he changed his course +a trifle. In an instant he had passed her like a great fury. Others were +only a few feet behind him, and back of them was the compact mass of the +herd. She screamed louder and redoubled her waving. The thunder in the +heavens, and the thunder of the hoofs, drowned her voice so that she +could not even hear it herself. A dozen cattle passed her. Fifty cattle +passed her. She was in the midst of the herd which seemed to make a +solid, living wall on each side of her. The earth trembled beneath the +hammering of the hoofs. Her throat seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> ready to burst, and she was +certain that no sound came from her lips. It seemed a long time since +that first one had plunged toward her, but still the maddened beasts +advanced with lowered heads and lunging bodies. They did not seem to +turn aside, and each instant she expected to be struck down and trampled +under their feet. She could not even try to scream any longer, but still +she waved the skirts.</p> + +<p>At last, slowly, she saw that the herd was thinning. Short gaps began to +appear between the animals. She knew that the herd had nearly passed. +Then the living walls on each side melted away behind her, and only +stragglers were left. Then these, too, were gone. The stampeding herd +had passed her, and she was still alive.</p> + +<p>She turned dizzily toward Scylla.</p> + +<p>The little invalid—the cripple—was standing straight up, close behind +her. For a second Martha doubted her eyes. The storm still raged, and +she thought it was a vagary of the lightning. She held her hands out, +though, and convinced herself that it was true. Scylla was standing on +her feet, for the first time in many years. The two girls threw their +arms around each other, and sank to their knees on the prairie. As they +said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> a prayer of thanks together, the uneven glare of the lightning, +which had kept up almost uninterruptedly ever since a few seconds before +the cattle reached them, died away. One or two feeble flashes followed, +and then the storm had passed.</p> + +<p>Martha took Scylla's face between her hands and kissed her. Then she +said:</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it awful?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Martha," Scylla answered, "I thought every second that we'd be +killed, but there you stood as brave as a lion, and waved those dresses +right in the faces of the cattle. You saved both our lives. I lay here +on the ground for a minute after you took my skirt, and then I got up."</p> + +<p>"You <i>got up</i>, Scylla! How could you, all alone?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Martha, but I felt as if I <i>must</i>. I tried to rise once, +and fell back. Then the cattle came and I tried again, and all the +weakness seemed to be gone, and I stood right up behind you and stayed +there while the herd went by. I don't feel as I used to—I feel as if +the paralysis had all gone. See, I can get up again,—don't help +me,—all alone."</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, Scylla scrambled to her feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> She stood a little +unsteadily on them, but she stood. They were so glad it was true that +they did not try to understand it.</p> + +<p>After Scylla's new-found strength had been rejoiced over for a moment, +they began to wonder how they could get home. They knew that they could +not walk—Martha was terribly tired, and Scylla, even if she could stand +up, was not equal to the long tramp back to the ranch, of course. They +were dripping wet. The elation that followed their escape, and the +discovery of Scylla's great good fortune, was followed by a nervous +breakdown on the part of both girls, and they cuddled in each other's +arms on the wet grass, sobbing and frightened, to wait for morning to +come.</p> + +<p>Hardly half an hour had passed before they heard horses. Martha stood up +and saw the shadowy form of a rider away off to the right. She tried to +scream, but her overstrained voice was hoarse and husky. Scylla called +out as well as she could, but the horseman rode on. By and by they +changed their course, however, and came near enough for the girls to +make their presence known.</p> + +<p>As the horses approached, Martha recognized<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> in the foremost one the big +black form of Dan. Her brother John was on his back, and with him were +men from the ranch.</p> + +<p>There were tears in the eyes of the big men as they lifted the girls in +their arms, and started home. They had not expected to find them alive.</p> + +<p>Before they went to sleep, the thrilling story of Martha's bravery had +been fully told, and to it had been added the news of Scylla's strange +recovery.</p> + +<p>The next day the doctor was called in to see about it. He gravely shook +his head, and said it was strange, but that such things had happened +before. The great mental excitement of the stampede had wrought what +seemed a miracle.</p> + +<p>Her recovery after that was rapid. When John and Martha went North the +next winter, Scylla went with them, and was able to walk about almost as +easily as Martha herself.</p> + +<p>A few days after the stampede, the bruised body of poor Texas was found +where he had been trampled to death by the herd. What was left of the +loco-weed that had wrought his ruin was burned, and the Northern college +professor is still without his specimens.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_DIVIDED_DUTY" id="A_DIVIDED_DUTY"></a>A DIVIDED DUTY</h2> + +<h3>BY M. A. CASSIDY</h3> + + +<p>The Magill residence was situated near the highways connecting Knoxville +and Chattanooga. Encamping armies had burned every splinter of fencing, +and so the cleared space was thrown into one great field, encircled by a +gigantic hedge of oak and pine. Near the center of the cleared land, on +a little eminence, was a farm-house. It was a long, one-story building, +running back some distance, its several additions having been +constructed as the family required more room. A little to the right, and +extending the full length of the house, was a row of negro cabins—there +being a passway between the two as wide as an ordinary road. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> yard +sloped gently to the roadway and railroad; near the latter, another rise +began, which extended back to the woodland and commanded an extensive +view of the surrounding country.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, early in the autumn of 1864, Mrs. Magill and her son +Harry, a comely lad of thirteen, sat on the front veranda, and talked of +what a happy reunion there would be when their loved ones should return +from the war. And on this glorious autumnal afternoon the hearts of the +widow and her son were happy in anticipation.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Magill had two sons in the war. One wore the Blue, the other the +Gray. John, the eldest of three boys, had enlisted in Wheeler's +Confederate cavalry, in the second year of the war; and, a year later, +Thomas had joined the Federals under General Burnside at Knoxville. Both +were known as brave and dashing soldiers, and both had been promoted, +for gallantry, to captaincies. This family division was a source of +great grief to Mrs. Magill. Dearer to her than Union or Confederacy were +her children; and from their youth she had trained them in the ways of +peace. And now, in their manhood, two of them, under different flags, +were arrayed against each other in a deadly and unnatural<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> strife. She +often heard from both her soldier boys, and their inquiries after the +welfare of each other were full of tenderness. Harry, as is usual with +younger brothers, fairly worshiped both of them. He was no less troubled +than his mother when they went away to fight on opposite sides. Their +contrary action left him in doubt as to which side he should take. Every +boy of his acquaintance was ardent in espousing one side or the other. +But what could he do, since he had a brother in each army? Should he +become a rebel, Thomas might be displeased; and he loved Tom too well to +willfully incur his displeasure. Should he decide to remain loyal to the +Union, John might resent it; and he could not think of offending one +whom he held in such high esteem. "What shall I do?" he asked himself a +great many times a day. The war spirit in him was becoming rampant, and +must have scope. He at length took the perplexing question to his +mother. She promptly advised him to remain neutral. But somehow Harry +got it into his head that neutrality was something very different from +manliness. So he made up his mind to be one thing or the other, +or—happy thought!—why not be both? And, after puzzling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> over the +question a long time, he settled on the novel idea of making himself +half "Rebel" and half "Yankee." In pursuance of this plan, he persuaded +his mother to make him a uniform, half of which should be blue, and the +other half gray. She made it of a Federal and a Confederate overcoat; +and Harry was a queer-looking little fellow as he went about the +country, clad in his blue-gray uniform, the U. S. A. buttons on one +side, and the C. S. A. on the other. The boys called him a "mongrel"; +and neither the Federal nor Confederate commands of boy soldiery would +allow him in their ranks. This was a source of great mortification to +Harry; but he was seriously in earnest, and fully resolved to carry out +his campaign of impartial affection. His being cut by the other boys, +who could afford to take a decided stand because they did not have a +brother on each side, reduced him to the necessity of playing "war" +(about the only game indulged in by Southern boys at this time) alone. +When he put up his lines of corn-stalk soldiers, to play battle, it was +observed, by his mother, that both sides always won an equal number of +victories. Harry was not sure that the war could ever end at this rate +of even fighting; but ar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>rayed as he was, in the colors of both armies, +his inclination was to be true to both. There were generally tears in +his mother's eyes, when she saw that two of the corn-stalk soldiers, the +tallest and straightest of them all, representing John and Thomas, were +always left standing, even after the most furious of contests, in which +all the others had fallen.</p> + +<p>Harry had left off playing quite early, on the afternoon of which I +write, and had joined his mother on the veranda. They had not been long +together when something unusual attracted their attention.</p> + +<p>A short distance down the railroad a body of cavalrymen had dismounted, +and soon they were as busy as ants, tearing up the track. One squad +preceded the others and loosened the rails by drawing the spikes; then +came another squad that placed the ties in great heaps; after this came +a third that kindled fires beneath them. The ties were rotten and dry, +and, in a very few moments, there were scores of bright, hot fires. Soon +the rails were at a red heat near the center, the ends being +comparatively cool. While in this state a number of men would take the +rails and bend them around telegraph poles or any solid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> objects that +were near. The soldiers twisted the rails into fantastic shapes; and +when they were through with their work of destruction, they seemed +perfectly satisfied that none of the old material could be used in +reconstructing the road. Harry and his mother had observed the +operations of these men with much interest for some time, when suddenly +they saw one of them mount his horse, and ride toward the house.</p> + +<p>"He is a rebel!" exclaimed Harry, who stood watching the approaching +horseman.</p> + +<p>"Surely you are mistaken, Harry. There can be no Confederates here," +said Mrs. Magill, "the Federals are too near."</p> + +<p>While yet the soldier was some distance from the house, the boy's face +lighted up with joy, as he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, I do believe it's John!"</p> + +<p>"John? Where is he?" asked his mother, running to where the boy stood.</p> + +<p>"Why, there, on the horse! He's coming home! He's coming home!" And thus +exclaiming, Harry danced around the veranda like an Indian lad in a +first war-dance. Then he ran to meet his brother in gray. Mrs. Magill +was thrilled with sensations of joy and fear: joy, be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>cause she was +about to see again her eldest son, after a painful separation of two +years; fear, because of the nearness of the Federals. When within a +short distance of his brother, Harry stopped and waited there, prepared +to give the military salute due one of his brother's rank. But that +salute was never given; for almost at the same instant that Harry +stopped, Captain John Magill reined up his horse quite suddenly, drew a +pistol from its holster, and looked suspiciously toward a clump of trees +on the hill-top. Harry turned his eyes to learn what had startled his +brother. He beheld a score or more of men in blue uniforms, partly +concealed by the clump of trees; and it was evident that these were the +vanguard of a larger body of Federals. Captain John Magill wheeled as +suddenly as he had halted, and galloped back to the Confederates engaged +in demolishing the railroad. As fast as he could run, Harry followed. +Mrs. Magill comprehended the situation; and, spell-bound, she stood on +the veranda, with arms outstretched, a statue of anguish and expectancy.</p> + +<p>When Captain John Magill reached his comrades, he gave the alarm, and +"there was mounting in hot haste." The two hundred raiders had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> time +only to form an irregular line of battle, when twice as many Federals +appeared on the hill-top. It was evident that there was going to be a +lively skirmish. Harry singled out John, who rode up and down the line +giving commands, and running to him, he clasped him around a leg with +both arms, enthusiastically exclaiming:</p> + +<p>"Howdy, John! Don't you know me?"</p> + +<p>The young captain looked down at the joy-beaming face of his little +brother, but, as he had never seen the little fellow in his fantastic +uniform, for a moment failed to recognize him.</p> + +<p>A shade of disappointment flitted over Harry's face as he said:</p> + +<p>"I am your little brother Harry; and I'm just as much Rebel as Yankee."</p> + +<p>Captain John Magill laughed as he leaned over and grasped Harry's hand.</p> + +<p>"Why, Harry! What on earth are you doing here? Get up behind me, and I +will gallop home with you before the firing begins," said John, +evidently alarmed for the boy's safety. Placing his foot on that of his +brother, Harry clambered up behind. By this time the lines were in range +of each other, and a lively fusillade at once began. Harry behaved +manfully under fire,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> and entreated his brother to allow him to stay +until the fight was over. But the elder brother was intent on taking him +to a place of safety, so putting spurs to his horse he rode swiftly +toward the house. His plan was to return the boy to his mother, and then +rejoin his comrades. But the Confederates did not know his intentions; +and seeing their Captain making his way rapidly to the rear, with this +strangely-clad boy behind him, they of course thought him retreating, +and they followed pell-mell.</p> + +<p>Captain John Magill saw the effect of his movement, and, halting, made +an effort to rally his men. But the Confederates were thoroughly +stampeded, and they dashed madly away. The shouting Federals were now at +close range, and the bee-like song of the bullets could be heard on +every side. Hastily placing Harry in front of him, to shield him as much +as possible from the enemy's fire, he followed his men, now some +distance in advance. When they reached the house, Mrs. Magill stood pale +and motionless, expecting every moment to see her children fall. +Glancing back, Captain John Magill saw that a moment's delay would make +him a prisoner; so as he dashed past his mother he cried out, "Don't be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +uneasy. I'll take care of Harry"; and then he was gone like the wind, +his pursuers not a hundred yards behind him. Then a complete change came +over Mrs. Magill. Impelled by the great love of a mother, she ran into +the yard, and stood calmly in the way of the advancing Federals, whose +course lay between the cabins and the house—as if to stop, with her +frail form, the impetuous charge.</p> + +<p>On they came like a hurricane. The mother did not move. Her eyes were +closed and her lips compressed. Very near her sounded the hoof-beats. A +moment more and she expected to be trampled to death beneath those +hurrying feet; but she hoped—yea, and prayed—that her death might +somehow delay the Federals until her sons should escape.</p> + +<p>"Halt! Halt!" The command was in thunder tones, and was echoed and +re-echoed along the charging line. The soldiers pulled with all their +might on the bits, and many a horse was thrown back on his haunches. +Opening her eyes Mrs. Magill saw that the Federal captain, bending over +her from his saddle, was her son Thomas.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Thomas!—would you kill John and Harry!" she exclaimed, and then +fell fainting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> in his arms. Laying her tenderly on the veranda, he +directed a surgeon to attend her, and mounting his horse, rode rapidly +in the direction taken by his brothers. Soon he saw them a quarter of a +mile ahead. Taking a white handkerchief he held it aloft, and digging +the spurs deep into his horse's flanks, he rode with increased speed, +all the time hallooing at the top of his strong voice. John heard; but, +thinking it a summons to surrender, he urged his horse forward, hoping +to gain the sheltering wood. But the horse, in attempting to jump across +a washout, stumbled and fell; and John found himself rolling on the +ground with Harry in his arms. Rising, he placed Harry behind him, and +drew his sword, determined to sell their lives dearly. Imagine his +surprise when he beheld but one pursuer, and that one holding on high an +emblem of peace. In a moment more, he recognized his brother. Their +meeting was affectionate. Harry was beside himself with joy. He had +really been under fire, with "sure-enough bullets" singing about his +ears! This was something of which none of the boys who had scorned his +blue-gray uniform could boast!</p> + +<p>"Our brother is a brave little fellow. He did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> not once flinch when your +bullets were singing around us," he heard John say to Thomas, and this +praise elated the boy very much.</p> + +<p>"Let us return to mother. She is very anxious," said Thomas.</p> + +<p>John gazed inquiringly at his brother in blue.</p> + +<p>"You need have no fear," said Thomas. "I will be responsible for your +safety."</p> + +<p>So the two soldier brothers, leading their horses, and each holding one +of Harry's hands, walked up to the house.</p> + +<p>"I see you wear the gray, Harry; that's right," said John, with a +malicious glance at Thomas.</p> + +<p>"He is true blue on this side," said Thomas, laughing heartily, as the +ludicrousness of Harry's uniform dawned upon him.</p> + +<p>An affecting meeting was that between mother and sons; and something on +the cheeks of the brave men who were present "washed off the stains of +powder."</p> + +<p>When parting time came, the sun rested, like a great ruby, above the +circling wood of crimson and gold; and when the brother in blue stood +hand in hand with the brother in gray, all nature seemed to smile in +anticipation of the time when a fraternal grasp should reunite the North +and South.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>This day was the turning-point in Harry's life. Thenceforth all his +inclinations were to become a soldier. After the war, he was educated by +John and Thomas; and, passing his examination triumphantly over three of +the boys who had derided him, he was appointed to West Point. He is now +Lieutenant Henry Magill, U. S. A.</p> + +<p>His brothers still treasure the little blue-gray uniform as the memento +of a "divided duty."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WALKING-BEAM_BOY" id="THE_WALKING-BEAM_BOY"></a>THE "WALKING-BEAM BOY."</h2> + +<h3>BY L. E. STOFIEL</h3> + + +<p>In 1836 the steam-whistle had not yet been introduced on the boats of +the western rivers. Upon approaching towns and cities in those days, +vessels resorted to all manner of schemes and contrivances to attract +attention. They were compelled to do so in order to secure their share +of freight and passengers, so spirited was the competition between +steamboats from 1836 to 1840. There were no railroads in the West +(indeed there were but one or two in the East), and all traffic was by +water. Consequently steamboat-men had all they could do to handle the +crowds of passengers and the tons of merchandise offered them.</p> + +<p>Shippers and passengers had their favorite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> packets. The former had +their huge piles of freight stacked upon the wharves, and needed the +earliest possible intelligence of the approach of the packet so that +they might promptly summon clerks and carriers to the shore. The +passengers, loitering in neighboring hotels, demanded some system of +warning of a favorite steamer's coming, that they might avoid the +disagreeable alternative of pacing the muddy levees for hours at a time, +or running the risk of being left behind.</p> + +<p>Without a whistle, how was a boat to let the people know it was coming, +especially if some of those sharp bends for which the Ohio River is +famous intervened to deaden the splashing stroke of its huge +paddle-wheels, or the regular puff, puff, puff, puff, of its steam +exhaust-pipes?</p> + +<p>The necessity originated several crude signs, chief among which was the +noise created by a sudden escapement of steam either from the rarely +used boiler waste-pipes close to the surface of the river, or through +the safety-valve above. By letting the steam thus rush out at different +pressures, each boat acquired a sound peculiarly its own, which could be +heard a considerable distance, though it was as the tone of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> a +mouth-organ against a brass-band, when compared with the ear-splitting +roar of our modern steamboat-whistle. Townspeople of Cincinnati and +elsewhere became so proficient in distinguishing these sounds of steam +escapement that they could foretell the name of any craft on the river +at night or before it appeared in sight.</p> + +<p>It was reserved for the steamboat <i>Champion</i> to carry this idea a little +further. It purposed to catch the eye of the patron as well as his ear. +The <i>Champion</i> was one of the best known vessels plying on the +Mississippi in 1836. It was propelled by a walking-beam engine. This +style of steam-engine is still common on tide-water boats of the East, +but has long since disappeared from the inland navigation of the West. +To successfully steam a vessel up those streams against the remarkably +swift currents, high-pressure engines had to be adopted generally. In +that year, however, there were still a number of boats on the +Mississippi and Ohio which, like the <i>Champion</i>, had low-pressure +engines and the grotesque walking-beams.</p> + +<p>One day it was discovered that the <i>Champion's</i> escapement-tubes were +broken, and no signal could be given to a landing-place not far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> ahead. +A rival steamboat was just a little in advance, and bade fair to capture +the large amount of freight known to be at the landing.</p> + +<p>"I'll make them see us, sir!" cried a bright boy, who seemed to be about +fourteen years old. He stood on the deck close to where the captain was +bewailing his misfortune.</p> + +<p>Without another word, the lad climbed up over the roof of the +forecastle, and, fearlessly catching hold of the end of the walking-beam +when it inclined toward him with the next oscillation of the engine, +swung himself lithely on top of the machinery. It was with some +difficulty that he maintained his balance, but he succeeded in sticking +there for fifteen minutes. He had taken off his coat, and he was +swinging it to and fro.</p> + +<p>The plan succeeded. Although the other boat beat the <i>Champion</i> into +port, the crowd there had seen the odd spectacle of a person mounted on +the walking-beam of the second vessel, and, wondering over the cause, +paid no attention to the landing of the first boat, but awaited the +arrival of the other.</p> + +<p>The incident gave the master of the <i>Champion</i> an idea. He took the boy +as a permanent member of the crew, and assigned him to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> post of +"walking-beam boy," buying for him a large and beautiful flag. Ever +afterward, when within a mile of any town, the daring lad was to be seen +climbing up to his difficult perch, pausing on the roof of the +forecastle to get his flag from a box that had been built there for it. +By and by he made his lofty position easier and more picturesque by +straddling the walking-beam, well down toward the end, just as he would +have sat upon a horse.</p> + +<p>This made a pretty spectacle for those upon shore who awaited the boat's +arrival. They saw a boy bounding up and down with the great seesawing +beam. For a second he would sink from view, but up he bobbed suddenly, +and, like a clear-cut silhouette, he waved the Stars and Stripes high in +the air with only the vast expanse of sky for a background. The vision +was only for an instant, for both flag and boy would disappear, and—up +again they came, before the spectator's eye could change to another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +direction! This sight was novel—it was thrilling!</p> + +<p>"I used to think if I could ever be in that young fellow's place, I +would be the biggest man on earth," remarked a veteran river-man. Like +thousands of others along the Mississippi and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> Ohio, he remembered that +when a child he could recognize the <i>Champion</i> a mile distant by this +unique signal.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus-191.jpg" width="600" height="371" alt=""HE WAVED THE STARS AND STRIPES HIGH IN THE AIR"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE WAVED THE STARS AND STRIPES HIGH IN THE AIR."</span> +</div> + + + +<p>After a while, though, other steamboats operating low-pressure engines +copied the idea, and there were several "walking-beam boys" employed on +the rivers, and their flags were remodeled to have some distinctive +feature each. It was a perilous situation to be employed in, but I am +unable to find the record of any "walking-beam boy" being killed or +injured in the machinery. On the other hand, the very hazard of their +duty, and the conspicuous position it gave them, made them popular with +passengers and shippers, and so they pocketed many fees from +Kentuckians, confections from Cincinnati folks, bonbons from New Orleans +Creoles, and tips from Pittsburgers.</p> + +<p>But at length, in 1844, the steam-whistle was introduced, and the +"walking-beam boys" were left without occupation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CREATURE_WITH_NO_CLAWS" id="THE_CREATURE_WITH_NO_CLAWS"></a>THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS</h2> + +<h3>BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS</h3> + + +<p>"W'en you git a leetle bit older dan w'at you is, honey," said Uncle +Remus to the little boy, "you'll know lots mo' dan you does now."</p> + +<p>The old man had a pile of white oak splits by his side and these he was +weaving into a chair-bottom. He was an expert in the art of "bottoming +chairs," and he earned many a silver quarter in this way. The little boy +seemed to be much interested in the process.</p> + +<p>"Hit 's des like I tell you," the old man went on; "I done had de +speunce un it. I done got so now dat I don't b'lieve w'at I see, much +less w'at I year. It got ter be whar I kin put my han' on it en fumble +wid it. Folks kin fool deyse'f lots wuss dan yuther folks kin fool um, +en ef you don't b'lieve w'at I 'm a-tellin' un you, you kin des ax Brer +Wolf de nex' time you meet 'im in de big road."</p> + +<p>"What about Brother Wolf, Uncle Remus?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> the little boy asked, as the +old man paused to refill his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Well, honey, 't ain't no great long rigamarole; hit's des one er deze +yer tales w'at goes in a gallop twel it gits ter de jumpin'-off place.</p> + +<p>"One time Brer Wolf wuz gwine 'long de big road feelin' mighty proud en +high-strung. He wuz a mighty high-up man in dem days, Brer Wolf wuz, en +'mos' all de yuther creeturs wuz feared un 'im. Well, he wuz gwine 'long +lickin' his chops en walkin' sorter stiff-kneed, w'en he happen ter look +down 'pon de groun' en dar he seed a track in de san'. Brer Wolf stop, +he did, en look at it, en den he 'low:</p> + +<p>"'Heyo! w'at kind er creetur dish yer? Brer Dog ain't make dat track, en +needer is Brer Fox. Hit's one er deze yer kind er creeturs w'at ain't +got no claws. I'll des 'bout foller 'im up, en ef I ketch 'im he'll +sholy be my meat.'</p> + +<p>"Dat de way Brer Wolf talk. He followed 'long atter de track, he did, en +he look at it close, but he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby de +track tuck 'n tu'n out de road en go up a dreen whar de rain done wash +out. De track wuz plain dar in de wet san', but Brer Wolf ain't see no +sign er no claws.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 564px;"> +<img src="images/illus-195.jpg" width="564" height="500" alt=""BRER WOLF MAKE LIKE HE GWINE TER HIT DE CREETUR, EN +DEN——"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"BRER WOLF MAKE LIKE HE GWINE TER HIT DE CREETUR, EN +DEN——"</span> +</div> + + + +<p>"He foller en foller, Brer Wolf did, en de track git fresher en fresher, +but still he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby he come in sight er +de creetur, en Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at 'im. He stop +stock-still and look. De creetur wuz mighty quare-lookin,' en he wuz +cuttin' up some mighty quare capers. He had big head, sharp nose, en bob +tail; en he wuz walkin' roun' en roun' a big dog-wood tree, rubbin' his +sides ag'in it. Brer Wolf watch 'im a right smart while, he act so +quare, en den he 'low:</p> + +<p>"'Shoo! dat creetur done bin in a fight en los' de bes' part er he tail; +en w'at make he scratch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> hisse'f dat away? I lay I'll let 'im know who +he foolin' 'long wid.'</p> + +<p>"Atter 'while, Brer Wolf went up a leetle nigher de creetur, en holler +out:</p> + +<p>"'Heyo, dar! w'at you doin' scratchin' yo' scaly hide on my tree, en +tryin' fer ter break hit down?'</p> + +<p>"De creetur ain't make no answer. He des walk 'roun' en 'roun' de tree +scratchin' he sides en back. Brer Wolf holler out:</p> + +<p>"'I lay I'll make you year me ef I hatter come dar whar you is!'</p> + +<p>"De creetur des walk roun' en roun' de tree, en ain't make no answer. +Den Brer Wolf hail 'im ag'in, en talk like he mighty mad:</p> + +<p>"'Ain't you gwine ter min' me, you imperdent scoundul? Ain't you gwine +ter mozey outer my woods en let my tree 'lone?'</p> + +<p>"Wid dat, Brer Wolf march todes de creetur des like he gwine ter squ'sh +'im in de groun'. De creetur rub hisse'f ag'in de tree en look like he +feel mighty good. Brer Wolf keep on gwine todes 'im, en bimeby w'en he +git sorter close de creetur tuck 'n sot up on his behime legs des like +you see squir'ls do. Den Brer Wolf, he 'low, he did:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Ah-yi! you beggin', is you? But 't ain't gwine ter do you no good. I +mout er let you off ef you 'd a-minded me w'en I fus holler atter you, +but I ain't gwine ter let you off now. I'm a-gwine ter l'arn you a +lesson dat 'll stick by you.'</p> + +<p>"Den de creetur sorter wrinkle up he face en mouf, en Brer Wolf 'low:</p> + +<p>"'Oh, you nee'n'ter swell up en cry, you 'ceitful vilyun. I'm a-gwine +ter gi' you a frailin' dat I boun' you won't forgit.'</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 564px;"> +<img src="images/illus-195.jpg" width="564" height="500" alt=""WELL, SUH, DAT CREETUR DES FOTCH ONE SWIPE DIS AWAY, EN +'N'ER SWIPE DAT AWAY."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WELL, SUH, DAT CREETUR DES FOTCH ONE SWIPE DIS AWAY, EN +'N'ER SWIPE DAT AWAY."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Brer Wolf make like he gwine ter hit de creetur, en den——"</p> + +<p>Here Uncle Remus paused and looked all around the room and up at the +rafters. When he began again his voice was very solemn.</p> + +<p>—"Well, suh, dat creetur des fotch one swipe dis away, en 'n'er swipe +dat away, en mos' 'fo' you can wink yo' eyeballs, Brer Wolf hide wuz +mighty nigh teetotally tor'd off 'n 'im. Atter dat de creetur sa'ntered +off in de woods, en 'gun ter rub hisse'f on 'n'er tree."</p> + +<p>"What kind of a creature was it, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.</p> + +<p>"Well, honey," replied the old man in a confidential whisper, "hit want +nobody on de topside er de yeth but ole Brer Wildcat."</p> + + + +<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This story is based upon the personal experience of one who +related it to the author.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The volume of rivers is measured by the number of cubic +feet of water flowing past a given point every second. The breadth of +the river is multiplied by its average depth, and the ascertained speed +of the current gives the number of cubic feet of water flowing by the +point of measurement each second. This will explain the term +second-feet.</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<h3>GEOGRAPHICAL STORIES<br />RETOLD FROM<br />ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE</h3> + +<h4>IN SIX VOLUMES</h4> + +<p class="center">A Series of Books of Adventure, Travel and Description,<br />chiefly in the +Great Sections of the United States</p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">WESTERN FRONTIER STORIES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stories of the early West, full of adventure.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">STORIES OF THE GREAT LAKES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Niagara and our great chain of Inland Seas.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">ISLAND STORIES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stories of our island dependencies and of many other islands.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">STORIES OF STRANGE SIGHTS</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Descriptions of natural wonders, curious places and unusual sights.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">SEA STORIES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tales of shipwreck and adventures at sea.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">SOUTHERN STORIES</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pictures, scenes and stories of our Sunny South.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="center">Each about 200 pages. 50 illustrations. Full cloth, 12mo.</p> + +<p class="center">THE CENTURY CO.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Southern Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 23751-h.htm or 23751-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/5/23751/ + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Janet Blenkinship, Linda McKeown +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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