Fort Ticonderoga, from Eastern Shore.

HISTORICAL SERIES—BOOK II

STORIES
OF HEROIC DEEDS
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

BY

JAMES JOHONNOT

NEW YORK * CINCINNATI * CHICAGO

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY

Copyright, 1887,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
E-P 2

PREFACE.

In preparing this little book, three things have been kept constantly in mind—the plan of the whole series, the thought and sentiment expressed in each lesson, and the language used to express the thought.

The main feature of the plan is to furnish pupils interesting historical stories for the purpose of giving them a taste for the study of history, to enable them to distinguish between fact and fiction, and to stimulate them to high endeavor by noble example.

In selecting, preparing, and arranging the stories, care has been taken that the thought is such as to be readily understood, and that on the whole it tends to awaken the higher emotions. The moral lesson involved should be absorbed rather than learned, and the teacher should beware of destroying the value of any lesson by dealing out moral pap.

The language is that of common life, such as the pupil hears every day from parent, friend, and teacher—such as the morning newspaper brings, and such as is necessary for him to master in its printed and written forms in the shortest possible time. When a word is unknown, the teacher should develop its meaning before permitting the lesson to go on. The interest in the story will be a sufficient stimulus to secure the best of attention, and the highest excellence in delivery.

In the use of language, it is far better that pupils should be obliged to stretch upward rather than be remanded to the nursery. Baby-talk should no more be revived than long-clothes, and the time spent in writing stories in words of one syllable might be used to a much better purpose.

The history of the Do-as-you-likes speaks for itself. It is a fancy story rather than a myth, but it is one that children will like, long before they will understand its whole significance; and we much doubt whether the Rev. Charles Kingsley ever produced a more valuable and original book than "Water-Babies," from which this story is taken.

CONTENTS.

MYTHS.

I.—LATONA AND THE RUSTICS.

1. Once on a time the goddess Latona wandered into the country with her infant twins in her arms. Weary with her burden and parched with thirst, she espied in the bottom of the valley a pond of clear water, where the country people were at work gathering willows and osiers. The goddess approached, and, kneeling on the banks, would have slaked her thirst in the cool water but the rustics forbade her.

2. "Why do you refuse me water?" said she; "water is free to all. Nature allows no one to claim as property the sunshine, the air, and the water; I come to take my share of the common blessing. Yet I ask it of you as a favor. I only desire to quench my thirst. My mouth is so dry that I can hardly speak. A draught of water would revive me, and I would own myself indebted to you for life itself. Let these infants move your pity, who stretch out their little arms as if to plead for me."

3. Who would not have been moved with the gentle words of the goddess? But these clowns would not desist; they even added jeers and threats of violence if she did not leave the place. Nor was this all; they waded into the pond, and stirred up the mud with their feet, so as to make it unfit to drink.

4. Latona was so angry that she lifted up her voice to Heaven and cried out, "May they never quit that pool, but pass their lives there!" And so it came to pass. They now live in the water, sometimes below and sometimes with their heads above the surface. Sometimes they come out on the bank, but soon leap again into the water. They still use their bass voices in railing, and, though they have the water all to themselves, they still croak about it. Their voices are harsh, their throats bloated, their mouths have stretched, their necks have disappeared, and their heads are joined directly to their bodies. Their backs are green, their huge bellies white, and they leap instead of walking. Have you seen anything like them?

II.—THE MUSIC OF PAN.

1. Pan, the earth-god, had great skill in music, and he performed upon his pipes in a wonderful way. Everybody praised him, and he grew so vain that he thought no one could equal him, and he sent a challenge to Apollo, the god of the lyre, to a trial of skill. The challenge was accepted, and Imolus, the mountain-god, was chosen umpire. Imolus cleared away the trees from his ears, to listen. At a given signal, Pan blew his pipes, and his rustic melody greatly pleased himself and his followers.

2. Then Imolus turned his head toward the sun-god, and all the trees turned with him. Apollo rose: in his left hand he held the lyre, and with his right hand struck the strings. The music was truly heavenly, and Imolus at once awarded the victory to the god of the lyre. All agreed with him except old King Midas, who happened to be present. He questioned the decision of the umpire, and declared that Pan's music was the best. Apollo would not permit such a depraved pair of ears any longer to wear the human form, but caused them to grow out long, and to become hairy within and without, and movable at the roots. So the old king, as long as he lived, wore the ears of a donkey.

III.—BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.

1. On a certain hill in Phrygia stand a linden-tree and an oak. Not far from the spot are a marsh, and a lake which was once the site of a thriving village. Once on a time, Jupiter, in human shape, and Mercury, without his wings, paid a visit to this country, and, after a weary day's walk, they reached the village about nightfall. Here they applied for shelter in vain. Everywhere they were driven away with insults, and even, in some places, the dogs were set upon them. At last they reached the outskirts of the village, where stood a humble thatched cottage. Here Baucis, a pious old dame, and her husband Philemon, united when young, had grown old together.

2. One need not look here for master or for servant; they two were the whole household, master and servant alike. Here the two travelers found rest. As they crossed the humble threshold, and bowed their heads to pass under the low door, the old man placed a seat, and Baucis set about preparing them some food. She raked out the coals, kindled up the fire with dry sticks, and with her scanty breath blew it into a flame. Her husband gathered pot-herbs from the garden, and cut a slice of bacon from the flitch in the chimney, which Baucis quickly prepared for the pot. She then filled a beechen bowl with clean water for her guests to wash, keeping up a pleasant talk all the time.

3. On the bench where her guests were to sit she placed a cushion filled with sea-weed, and then set out the table. This she rubbed down with sweet-smelling herbs, and placed upon it some olives, radishes, and cheese, and eggs lightly cooked in the ashes. All was served in coarse earthen dishes. When all was ready, the stew, smoking hot, was placed upon the table. Some wine was added; and, for dessert, apples and wild-honey; and, over and above all, friendly faces and simple and hearty welcome.

4. The guests sat down, and the old couple saw with astonishment that, as fast as it was poured out, the wine renewed itself, and they then knew that they were entertaining superior beings. They begged pardon for the coarseness of their fare, but Jove raised them to their feet, thanked them for their kindness, and then said: "We are gods. The people of the village must pay the penalty for their indolence and cruelty. Come with us to the top of yonder hill." They hastened to obey, and, with staff in hand, labored up the steep ascent. At the top they turned their eyes below, and they saw the whole village turned into a lake, and their house the only one remaining.

5. But, while they gazed with wonder at the sight, their old cottage changed into a temple. Lofty columns took the place of the corner-posts, the thatch was changed to a gilded roof, the floors became marble, and the doors were hung with ornaments of gold. Then Jupiter spoke and said: "Excellent old people, what favors have you to ask of us?" Then Baucis and Philemon took counsel together, and answered, "Let us finish our lives here, where we have lived so long, and we wish to pass from life together in the same hour."

6. The prayer was granted. For many years they were the keepers of the temple, and when they were very old, as they stood before the steps of the sacred edifice, they felt themselves stiffen so they could not stir. At the same moment a leafy crown grew over the heads of each, and they had scarcely time to say, "Good-by, dear Philemon," "Good-by, dear Baucis," when they were changed into two stately trees—he into a sturdy oak, and she into a graceful linden. There they stand, side by side, to the present day, and when the wind rises the peasant can hear the rustle of the leaves as the branches caress each other, which seems to say, "Dear Baucis!" "Dear Philemon!"

IV.—THE DRAGON'S TEETH.

1. For many years Cadmus traveled in search of his lost sister Europa, who was carried off by Jupiter in the disguise of a white bull. As he was unsuccessful, he dare not return to his own country, but consulted the oracle to know where he should settle. He was told to follow a cow, and where she lay down he should found a city and call it Thebes. As he came out of the cave where the oracle dwelt, he saw the cow and followed her. After several hours' weary tramp she lay down on a broad plain, and Cadmus saw that here he must build his city.

2. He gave thanks, and, wishing to offer a sacrifice to Jupiter, he sent his servants to bring pure water for a libation from a grove near by. In the cave by the fountain lurked a horrid serpent with a crested head, and scales glittering like gold. His eyes shone like fire, and he had a triple tongue and triple rows of teeth. No sooner had the servants dipped their vessels in the water, than out rushed the serpent with a fearful hiss and killed them all with his fangs and poisonous breath.

3. Cadmus waited until midday for their return, and then went in search of them. He wore a lion's hide, and besides his javelin he carried a lance. When he entered the wood and saw the dead bodies of his men, and the monster with his bloody jaws, he exclaimed, "O faithful friends, I will avenge you or share your death!" So saying, he lifted a huge stone and threw it at the serpent, but it made no impression on the monster. Cadmus next threw his javelin, and this penetrated the serpent's scales. Fierce with pain, the monster broke off the handle of the weapon but left the iron point still in the flesh. His neck swelled with rage, bloody foam covered his jaws, and the breath of his nostrils poisoned the air around. Now he threw himself forward upon Cadmus, but the hero retreated backward holding his spear before the monster's open jaws. At last Cadmus made a sudden thrust with the spear and pinned the serpent's head to a tree. Then how the monster did writhe, and hiss, and spit out his venom! but the spear held fast, and he soon died.

4. Then Cadmus heard a voice telling him to take out the dragon's teeth and sow them in the ground. So he made a furrow in the ground, and into it he sowed the teeth and covered them up. Scarce had he done so, when the clods began to move, and the points of spears appeared above the ground. Next helmets, with their nodding plumes, came up, and next the shoulders and breasts and limbs of men. Soon a crop of warriors stood before him, all armed for fight. Their looks became fierce and cruel as they stood and glared at one another. Cadmus was afraid of his life, but one of them said, "Meddle not with our civil war." At length one of the warriors raised his sword and smote down another. Then commenced a fight, and soon all of them were killed but five. These cast away their weapons and said, "Let us live in peace." They joined Cadmus, and helped him build his city of Thebes.

V.—THE DO-AS-YOU-LIKES.

1. The fairy brought out from her cupboard a big book, and Tom and little Ellie read in the title-page, "The History of the Great and Famous Nation of the Do-as-you-likes, who came away from the Country of Hardwork, because they wanted to play on the Jew's-harp all day long."

2. In the first picture they saw these Do-as-you-likes living in the land of Ready-made, at the foot of the Happy-go-lucky Mountains, where flap-doodle grows wild; and if you want to know what that is, you must read "Peter Simple."

3. Instead of houses, they lived in the beautiful caves of tufa, and bathed in the warm springs three times a day; and, as for clothes, it was so warm there that the gentlemen walked about in little besides a cocked hat and a pair of straps, or some light summer tackle of that kind; and the ladies all gathered gossamer in autumn to make their winter dresses.

4. They were very fond of music, but it was too much trouble to learn to play the piano or violin; so they sat on ant-hills all day long and played on the Jew's-harp; and if the ants bit them, why they just got up and went to the next ant-hill, till they were bitten there also.

5. And they sat under the flapdoodle-trees, and let the flapdoodle drop into their mouths; and under the vines, and squeezed the grape-juice down their throats; and if any little pigs ran about ready roasted, crying "Come, and eat me," as was the fashion in that country, they waited till the pigs ran against their mouths, and then took a bite, and were content, just as so many oysters would have been.

6. They needed no weapons, for no enemies ever came near their land; and the stern old fairy Necessity never came near them to hunt them up, and make them use their wits or die. And so on, till there were never such comfortable, easy-going, happy-go-lucky people in the world.

7. "Well, that is a jolly life," said Tom. "You think so?" said the fairy. "Do you see that great peaked mountain there behind, with smoke coming out of its top?" "Yes." "And do you see those ashes, and slag, and cinders lying about?" "Yes." "Then turn over the next five hundred years, and you will see what happens."

8. And behold! the mountain had blown up like a barrel of gunpowder, and then boiled over like a kettle; whereby one third of the Do-as-you-likes were blown into the air, and another third were smothered in the ashes; so that there were only one third left. "You see," said the fairy, "what comes of living on a burning mountain."

9. "Oh, why did you not warn them?" said little Ellie. "I did warn them all I could. I let the smoke come out of the mountain, and wherever there is smoke there is a fire. And laid the ashes and cinders all about; and wherever there are cinders, cinders may be again. But they did not like to face facts, my dears, as few people do; and so they invented a cock-and-bull story, which, I am sure, I never told them, that the smoke was the breath of a giant, whom some god or other had buried under the mountain; and other nonsense of that kind. And when folks are in that humor I can not teach them, save by the good old birch-rod."

10. And then she turned over the next five hundred years; and there were the remnant of the Do-as-you-likes, doing as they liked, as before. They were too lazy to move away from the mountain; so they said, "If it has blown up once, that is all the more reason it will not blow up again." And they were few in number, but they only said, "The more the merrier, but the fewer the better fare."

11. However, that was not quite true; for all the flapdoodle-trees were killed by the volcano, and they had eaten all the roast pigs, who, of course, could not be expected to have little ones; so they had to live very hard, on nuts and roots which they scratched out of the ground. Some of them talked of sowing corn, as their ancestors used to do, before they came into the land of Ready-made, but they had forgotten how to make plows, and had eaten all the seed-corn which they had brought out of the land of Hardwork years since; and of course it was too much trouble to go away and find more. So they lived miserably on roots and nuts, and all the weakly little children had great stomachs, and then died.

12. "Why," said Tom, "they are growing no better than savages." "And look how ugly they are all getting!" said Ellie. "Yes; when people live on poor vegetables, instead of roast beef and plum-pudding, their jaws grow larger and their lips grow coarser, like the poor people who eat nothing but potatoes."

13. And she turned over the next five hundred years, and there they were all living up in trees, and making nests to keep off the rain. And underneath the trees lions were prowling about. "Why," said Ellie, "the lions seem to have eaten a good many of them, for there are very few left now!" "Yes," said the fairy, "you see it was only the strongest and most active ones who could climb the trees, and so escape." "But what great, hulking, broad-shouldered chaps they are!" said Tom; "they are as rough a lot as ever I saw."

14. And she turned over the next five hundred years. And in that they were fewer still, and stronger, and fiercer; but their feet had changed shape very oddly, for they laid hold of the branches with their great-toes, as if they had been thumbs, just as a Hindoo tailor uses his toes to thread his needle.

15. The children were very much surprised, and asked the fairy whether that was her doing. "Yes and no," she said, smiling. "It was only those who could use their feet as well as their hands who could get a good living; so they got the best of everything, and starved out all the rest." "But there is a hairy one among them," said Ellie. "Ah!" said the fairy, "that will be a great man in his time, and chief of all the tribe."

16. And when she turned over the next five hundred years, it was true. For this hairy chief had hairier children still. The climate was growing so damp that none but the hairy ones could live; all the rest coughed and sneezed, and had sore throats, and went into consumptions, before they could grow up into men and women.

17. Then the fairy turned over the next five hundred years. And they were fewer still. "Why, there is one on the ground picking up roots," said Ellie, "and he can not walk upright." No more he could; for, in the same way that the shape of their feet had altered, the shape of their backs had altered too. "Why," said Tom, "I declare they are all apes!"

18. "Something fearfully like it, poor, foolish creatures," said the fairy. "They are grown so stupid now, that they can hardly think; for none of them have used their wits for many hundred years. They have almost forgotten, too, how to talk. For each stupid child forgot some of the words it heard from its stupid parents, and had not wit enough to make fresh words for itself. Besides, they have grown so fierce and suspicious and brutal, that they keep out of each other's way, and mope and sulk in dark forests, never hearing each other's voice, till they have forgotten almost what speech is like. I am afraid they will all be apes very soon, and all be doing only what they liked."

19. And in the next five hundred years they were all dead and gone, by bad food and wild beasts and hunters; all except one tremendous old fellow with jaws like a jack, who stood full seven feet high; and M. du Chaillu came up to him and shot him, as he stood roaring and thumping his breast. And he remembered that his ancestors had once been men, and he tried to say, "Am I not a man and a brother?" but he had forgotten how to use his tongue; and then he had tried to call for a doctor, but he had forgotten the word for one. So all he said was "Ubboboo!" and died. And that was the end of the great and jolly nation of the Do-as-you-likes.

INDIAN STORIES.

VI.—COLUMBUS AND THE ECLIPSE.

1. When Columbus first landed upon the shores of the New World, and for a long time after, the natives thought that he had come down from heaven, and they were ready to do anything for this new friend. But, at one place, where he stayed for some months, the chiefs became jealous of him and tried to drive him away. It had been their custom to bring food for him and his companions every morning; but now the amount they brought was very small, and Columbus saw that he would soon be starved unless he could make a change.

2. Now, Columbus knew that in a few days there was to be an eclipse of the sun; so he called the chiefs around him and told them that the Great Spirit was angry with them for not doing as they agreed in bringing him provisions, and that, to show his anger, on such a day, he would cause the sun to be darkened. The Indians listened, but they did not believe Columbus, and there was a still greater falling off in the amount of the food sent in.

3. On the morning of the day set, the sun rose clear and bright, and the Indians shook their heads, as they thought how Columbus had tried to deceive them. Hour after hour passed, and still the sun was bright; and the Spaniards began to fear that the Indians would attack them soon, as they seemed fully convinced that Columbus had deceived them. But at length a black shadow began to steal over the face of the sun. Little by little the light faded, and darkness spread over the land.

4. The Indians saw that Columbus had told them the truth. They saw that they had offended the Great Spirit, and that he had sent a dreadful monster to swallow the sun. They could see the jaws of this horrible monster slowly closing to shut off their light forever. Frantic with fear, they filled the air with cries and shrieks. Some fell prostrate before Columbus and entreated his help; some rushed off and soon returned laden with every kind of provisions they could lay their hands on. Columbus then retired to his tent, and promised to save them if possible. About the time for the eclipse to pass away, he came out and told them that the Great Spirit had pardoned them this time, and he would soon drive away the monster from the sun; but they must never offend in that way again.

5. The Indians promised, and waited. As the sun began to come out from the shadow, their fears subsided, and, when it shone clear once more, their joy knew no bounds. They leaped, they danced, and they sang. They thought Columbus was a god, and, while he remained on the island, the Spaniards had all the provisions they needed.

VII.—THE PEQUOTS.

1. Early in 1621 the Pilgrims who settled at Plymouth, Massachusetts, made a treaty with Massasoit, the chief of the Wampanoags, who inhabited the eastern part of the State. This treaty was observed by all the Indian tribes in the vicinity for a long time, and it was not until three years after the first settlers arrived in Connecticut that an Indian war broke out.

2. The Pequots were a small but very warlike tribe, living upon Long Island Sound, near the border of Rhode Island. These Indians attacked the settlers, and in 1627 they killed three men at Saybrook, and six men and three women at Wethersfield.

3. These things caused great alarm, and a council was called at Hartford to consider what was to be done. A force, consisting of ninety white men and seventy friendly Indians, under the command of Captain Mason, were sent against them.

4. They went down the Connecticut River from Hartford to Saybrook in boats, and thence eastward along the Sound to the Indian fort Mystic, near where Stonington now stands. They reached the spot about daybreak. The Pequots had no suspicion that an enemy was near. But as they reached the fort a dog barked, and the Indian sentinel called out, "Owanux! Owanux!" (Englishmen! Englishmen!), and the savages sprang to arms. The soldiers fired and killed many Indians, but it was a fight of the little army of whites against six hundred.

5. The Indians fought bravely, and Captain Mason, fearful of being defeated, called out, "We must burn them!" A torch was applied to a wigwam, and soon the whole fort was in flames. Seventy wigwams were burned, and six hundred men, women, and children perished.

6. A few Indians escaped, and, joining others of their tribe, took refuge in a swamp in Fairfield. Here the whites pursued them, and killed and captured nearly the whole tribe. The prisoners and all that remained alive of the Pequots, were divided and given to the Mohicans and the Narragansetts, two tribes friendly to the English.

VIII.—SCHENECTADY.

1. In the winter of 1690 a small party of French and Indians made a raid upon Albany. They concluded to destroy Schenectady first. The people of Schenectady had been warned of their danger, but they would not believe that men would come from Canada, a distance of two or three hundred miles, through the deep snows of winter, to molest them.

2. But they were fatally deceived. A strong stockade, of more than a mile in length, was built around the houses which composed the village. This stockade had a gateway at each end, and these gateways were usually carefully guarded at night. But, believing themselves safe, the watchman became careless and went to sleep. The enemy arrived on Saturday night, and succeeded in getting within the stockade without giving any alarm. They divided themselves into small parties, so that every house might be attacked at the same instant. They entered the place about eleven o'clock.

3. The inhabitants were all asleep, and stillness rested upon the place. With a noiseless step the enemy distributed themselves through the village, and, at a given signal, the savage war-whoop was sounded. What a dreadful cry was this to the startled fathers and mothers of this unhappy town!

4. It is scarcely possible to describe the scene that followed. The people, conscious of their danger, sprang from their beds, but were met at the door and slaughtered by the savages; and the Indians, rendered frantic by the wild scene, ran through the place, slaying those they chanced to meet.

5. Sixty of the people were killed, and twenty-five were made prisoners. Some attempted to escape, but as they were in their night-clothes, and the night was very cold, only a part of them reached Albany, sixteen miles distant, the nearest point of refuge, and of these, twenty-five lost limbs by the cold. As the alarm was given, the Indians returned to Canada without an attack upon Albany.

IX.—THE STORY OF MRS. DUSTIN.

1. In the winter of 1696 a party of Indians made an attack upon the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts. Among the people of that town was a Mr. Dustin. He was in a field at work, when the news of the attack reached his ears. He immediately started and ran to his house to save his family. He had seven children, and these he collected for the purpose of taking them to a place of safety before the Indians should arrive.

2. His wife was ill, and she had an infant but a week old. He now hurried to her, but, before she could get ready to leave the house, Mr. Dustin saw that a party of savages were already close by. Expecting that all would be slain, he ran to the door and mounted his horse, with the intention of taking one of his children—the one that he loved best—and flying with it to a place of safety.

3. But which should he take? Which of his seven children should he leave to the savages? He could not decide, and therefore, telling the children to run forward, he placed himself between them and the Indians. The Indians fired at him, but they did not hit him. He had a gun, too, and he fired back at them.

4. Then he hurried his little children along, loading his gun as he went, and firing at his pursuers. Thus he proceeded for more than a mile—protecting his little family, defending himself, and keeping the enemy at a distance. At length, he reached a place of safety, where the children were beyond the reach of the Indians. His feelings were divided between joy for the escape, and grief for the poor wife left behind.

5. But Mrs. Dustin was destined to undergo the severest trials. Although she was very ill, the savages compelled her, with the nurse and her little infant, to go with them. They soon left the town of Haverhill, and set out to go to the homes of the Indians. These were at a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. It was winter, and the journey was to be taken on foot through the wilderness.

6. Mrs. Dustin and the nurse were soon overcome with fatigue. The Indians, seeing that the little infant occupied much of their attention, snatched it from its mother, and killed the little innocent by striking it against a tree. After a toilsome march, and the greatest suffering, Mrs. Dustin and her companion completed the journey.

7. But now the Indians were to remove to a distant place, and these two women were forced to accompany them. When they reached the end of their journey, they found out that they were to be tortured. They then resolved to make their escape.

8. One night Mrs. Dustin, the nurse, and another woman rose secretly while the Indians were asleep. There were ten of them in the wigwam where they were. These the women killed with their own hands and then departed. After wandering a long time in the woods, they reached Haverhill, and Mrs. Dustin was restored to her family.

X.—ROGERS'S SLIDE.

1. Major Rogers, a brave patriot, commanded a corps of rangers in the winter of 1758. He was stationed on Lake George. One day he started with a few men to spy out the position of his Indian foes.

2. A band of Indians surprised the party, and put them to flight. Major Rogers, by the aid of his snow-shoes, was able to gain the summit of a hill overlooking the lake. At this point the lake is narrow, and the rocks are piled up in huge masses. One crag rises to the height of about four hundred feet, with an almost perpendicular surface, sloping down to the lake below.

3. The major knew that the Indians would follow rapidly on his track. When he reached the brow of the cliff he quickly cast off his knapsack and haversack, and sent them sliding down the icy path. He then took off his snow-shoes, and, without moving them, turned himself about and put them on his feet again. He retreated along the brow of the hill for several rods, and down a ravine he made his way to the lake, found his pack, and fled on the ice to Fort George.

Rogers's Slide, Lake George

4. The Indians arrived at the spot, saw the two tracks, and supposed that two people had cast themselves off the rock rather than be captured. Just then they saw the bold ranger making his way across the ice, and believed that he had safely slid down the steep face of the rock. They thought that the pale-face must be protected by the Great Spirit, and made no attempt at pursuit. The rock has ever since been known as Rogers's Slide.

XI.—GENERAL CLINTON'S MARCH.

1. In the War of the Revolution, the Indians belonging to the Six Nations, living in Central and Western New York, mostly joined the British. For several years parties of Tories and Indians, every little while, would attack the frontier settlements and murder the settlers. In 1778 General Sullivan was sent into the country around Seneca Lake to break up the hostile force, and, if possible, to drive the Indians out of the country. A part of this force, under the American General Clinton, started from the Mohawk Valley to join Sullivan in Southern New York.

2. The march was through an unbroken wilderness. As there were no roads, their provisions were loaded into boats and floated up the small streams, and there the freight, boats, and all, were carried by the men to the head-waters of another stream. They had little trouble until they reached Otsego Lake, and from this point they expected less, as the outlet of the lake formed the Susquehanna River, and on this river, far below, they expected to join Sullivan. But the weather was hot, and for many weeks there had been no rain. The river had not water enough to float the boats, and for a time Clinton thought he would be obliged to turn back.

3. But at last he hit upon a scheme that promised success. He built a dam across the river just where it flows out of the lake. His soldiers rolled in great bowlders from the fields, and filled the spaces between with brush and clay. The water could not flow out freely, and the lake began to rise. In three weeks it was six feet above its summer level. The boats were then made ready, with the provisions and men on board, and the dam was torn down. The waters flooded the banks of the narrow stream, and the whole party were carried down to the place of meeting with Sullivan in safety.

4. The Indians along the stream saw this sudden rise of waters, and they were much frightened. No rain had fallen, and the only way they could account for it was that the Great Spirit had sent the waters to help the white men, and they everywhere fled in the greatest alarm. General Clinton did not meet one armed enemy until he joined Sullivan, and the combined army met no opposition until they reached the spot where Elmira now stands. Here a battle took place, in which the Indians were defeated. Upon the return of Sullivan from his successful raid into the Indian country, he was obliged to kill his horses for want of forage, and the place where the horses' skulls lay for a long time has since been called Horseheads.

XII.—FRANCES SLOCUM.

1. In 1778 the Tories and Indians made an attack upon the little settlement of Wyoming, on the Susquehanna River, in Pennsylvania. The fort was captured, and nearly all the prisoners—men, women, and children—were murdered in cold blood. Every house was burned, and the few people who escaped into the woods, went through terrible trials before they reached a place of safety. Most of the savages had bloody scalps hung to their belts, to show that they had taken part in the battle and the murder that followed.

2. Near the scene of the Wyoming battle lived a Quaker, named Slocum, who had been a great friend of the Indians. For a time no one troubled him; but early one morning some Indians came down, scalped a boy, named Kingsley, and carried away Frances, Mrs. Slocum's little daughter, five years old. Soon after, Mr. Slocum was also murdered. The mother stayed in the valley, hoping to hear of her lost child. When peace came, two brothers of the lost one went to Canada in search of her, but all their inquiries were in vain, and they gave her up as dead.

3. But the mother still hoped on. She was certain that Frances was still alive. Other captives were found, but the mother went down to her grave without any tidings of the child that had been so cruelly taken from her. The brothers became aged men, and little Frances was almost forgotten.

4. In 1837, fifty-nine years after her capture, an Indian agent and trader gave an account of a white woman living with the Indians near Logansport, Indiana. Joseph Slocum and a sister at once set out for Ohio, where they met their younger brother, Isaac. The three then went on to Logansport, where they learned that the white woman lived about twelve miles distant. She was sent for, and the next morning she came riding into town upon a spirited young horse, and accompanied by her two daughters. She could not speak English, and an interpreter was found. She listened to what her brothers had to say, but did not answer. At sunset she started for her home, but promised to be back in the morning.

5. She came, true to her promise. The mother had told Joseph years before of one sure test. When they were little children Joseph, then a child two and a half years old, while playing with a hammer gave Frances a blow upon the middle finger of the left hand, which crushed the bone and deprived the finger of the nail. When Joseph told this incident the aged woman was greatly agitated, and, while tears streamed down her face, she held out the wounded finger. There was no longer a doubt. The love for her kindred which had slept for more than fifty years was aroused, and she eagerly inquired after her father, mother, brothers, and sisters.

6. Her full heart was opened, and she freely gave the story of her life. She said the savages took her to a cave in the mountains the first night. She was kindly treated, and was tenderly carried in their arms when she was weary. She was adopted by an Indian family, and brought up as their daughter. For years she had led a roving life, and she liked it. She was taught the use of the bow, and soon learned all the arts of the Indian household. When she grew up, her Indian parents died, and she soon afterward married a young chief of the nation.

7. She was treated with more respect than Indian women generally are; and she was so happy in her life that the greatest evil she feared was that she should be obliged to go back to the whites, whom she regarded as the Indians' worst enemies. Her husband was dead, and she had been a widow many years. Children and grandchildren were around her, and life was passing pleasantly away. When she finished her story, she lifted her right hand in a solemn manner and said, "All this is as true as that there is a Great Spirit in the heavens!"

8. The next day her brothers and sister went out to visit her at her home. She was living in a well-built log-house, which was surrounded by cultivated fields. She had a large herd of cattle and sixty horses. She had saved her share of the annuity which the Government paid the Indians, and had about one thousand dollars in specie. Her white friends stayed with her several days, and had a delightful visit. Afterward Joseph, his wife, and daughter paid her another visit, and then bade her a last farewell. She died about 1844, and was buried with great honors, as she was regarded as a queen by her tribe.

XIII.—OBED'S PUMPKINS.

1. Moving was serious business ninety years ago, when the Moore family migrated to Ohio, for everything had to be carried hundreds of miles in a wagon, and there was no sending back for anything forgotten. So Obed prudently secured passage for some pumpkin-seeds, lest a failure of pumpkin-pies for Thanksgiving might annul that festival altogether in the unknown wilderness.

2. There was only one room in their new house, and no regular up-stairs at all—only a loft where the boys slept, and to which they had to climb on a ladder when they went to bed. Ruth and Dolly slept in the trundle-bed down-stairs.

3. That first winter was a hard one, but nobody really suffered. Mr. Moore was clearing up his land, so they had an abundance of fuel; the boys trapped rabbits, and their father's musket kept them supplied with other game, but Mrs. Moore had to measure the flour and meal very carefully, and as for other things, they went without, only once, when Obed found a squirrel's nest in a hollow tree, and came in with his pockets full of nuts.

4. "Little did that rascal know who he was gathering these for," he remarked, as they cracked them on the hearth that evening. "Yes, and maybe it's little you know who you'll raise your pumpkins for. Injuns, like as not," said Joe.

5. One morning Dolly declared that she had been wakened in the night by mice in the chimney-cupboard. "It can't be mice; we're too far from neighbors," said Mrs. Moore, opening the cupboard. Joe climbed upon a chair behind her, and there on the topmost shelf were some nibbled scraps of cloth and paper.

6. "O Obed!" he exclaimed, in dismay, "your pumpkin-seeds are all gone!" Just then there was a rustle, and he caught sight of two bright, black eyes. They saw him, too, and another rustle gave him a vanishing glimpse of a bushy tail. "It's squirrels!" he shouted; "Obed, they've come to get their pay for the nuts you stole." "Oh, dear!" said Obed, "I'd rather have my pumpkin-seeds than all the nuts that ever grew. We never shall taste pumpkin-pies again, now."

7. Weeks afterward they were burning out some stumps in the clearing, when out from a hollow one popped a squirrel. Obed ran to investigate, and, poking around and pulling away the rotten wood, brought to light some rags and bits of paper. "Hello!" he exclaimed, "the identical chap that carried off my pumpkin-seeds!" And sure enough, there were the empty shells, and among them—oh, for a vision of the smile that lighted Obed's freckled face!—three whole, sound seeds.

8. All their crops did well that first year, and the way those pumpkin-vines bore was a marvel; but no abundance could shake Obed's resolve to reserve the first pumpkin-pies for Thanksgiving.

9. On the preceding Monday, Mr. Moore started for the nearest village to purchase winter supplies. With many brave assurances and secret misgivings, his family saw him set out, for the journey required two days, and the Indians were growing threatening of late. But when the first night had worn away in safety, they began to feel easier, and gave themselves up to the Thanksgiving preparations.

10. "O Obed!" said Joe, as late in the afternoon he staggered into the house under a huge yellow pumpkin, "let's make some jack-lanterns; 'twon't hurt the pumpkins for pies." Obed assented, and they had just completed those grotesque horrors, and were going out to do the chores, when a man galloped up, and everybody rushed to the door.

11. "Get ready for the redskins!" he shouted, springing from the saddle, "and give me a fresh horse. They killed a family down the river last night, and nobody knows where they'll turn up next! Husband away? Whew! that's bad! Well, shut up as tight as you can. Cover up your fire, and don't strike a light to-night." And, leaping upon the horse the boys led around, he flew away to warn the next settler.

12. They made what hasty preparations they were able, and Mrs. Moore reluctantly yielded to Obed's urgent plea that she would keep the younger children quiet in the loft, while he and Joe watched below.

13. The two boys crouched beside the hearth listening to every sound. At last Obed crept to the window. A snow-flurry had whitened the ground early in the evening, and, as he peered out, the boy descried shadows moving across the fields. "They're coming, Joe!" he whispered; "stand by that window with the axe, while I get the rifle pointed at this one."

14. Joe noiselessly stationed himself, and Obed opened the bullet-pouch. As his fingers came in contact with the leaden balls, his heart chilled. They were too large for his rifle! They belonged to the musket, and his father had taken the wrong pouch. With a last despairing hope he was feeling in the cupboard for any chance balls that might have been left behind, when he stumbled over something that nearly threw him headlong. It was the forgotten jack-lantern. With a sudden thought he pulled off his coat and flung it over the face of the lantern, then searching in the ashes for a live coal, cautiously lighted the candle within and closed the opening. With every sense sharpened to its utmost, he lifted the pumpkin and went softly toward the window. Ten or twelve dusky figures were stealthily nearing the house, and at the same instant he detected a slight noise at the door.

15. "They'll sound the war-whoop in a minute, if I give them time," he said to himself. "Now for it!" And he dropped the coat, leaving the grinning monster exposed to view. Mrs. Moore, listening with bated breath in the room above, just then heard an unearthly yell and fainted dead away. "Quick, Joe! Light up the other one!" exclaimed Obed, excitedly, as he saw the savages flying wildly back to the woods.

16. Joe, with every hair on end, was still standing valiantly at his post, his uplifted axe ready to fall on the first head that should risk an entrance. He had paid no attention to Obed's movements, and was momentarily expecting to hear the roar of the old rifle.

17. "The other jack-lantern! Don't you see that's what scar't 'em so?" demanded Obed as, emboldened by his success, he bobbed the hideous thing up and down before the window. Joe finally comprehended, and, speedily lighting the second one, imitated Obed's lively evolutions with such effect that, when Mrs. Moore came-to, the yells were dying away in the distance, and she heard Obed climbing the ladder.

18. The anxious mother now gathered her family in the room below, and watched patiently for daylight and her husband. They came together, and the story had to be told all over again. "And so," added Joe, "Obed did raise his pumpkins for the Injuns, after all."

STORIES OF THE REVOLUTION.

XIV.—THE GASPÉ.

1. Just before the Revolution, the British ship-of-war Gaspé was sent to Narragansett Bay to see that the trade was all right there. Lieutenant Duddington was the commander, and he annoyed the traders as much as possible. He would order a vessel to stop, go on board of her, and, having seen that everything was right, would go off with words of insult instead of apology. The Governor of Rhode Island ordered Duddington to let the trading-vessels alone, but the pert little officer only laughed at him. Next the Governor appealed to Admiral Watson, and received an insulting reply.

2. By this time the people were aroused. The petty little tyrant had issued an order that all vessels sailing up the bay should lower their flag by way of salute—an order very much like that of Gessler when he required the people to bow to a hat set upon a post. On the 9th of June Captain Lindsay, coming up in his packet, refused to lower his flag. The Gaspé gave chase, but Captain Lindsay dodged about among the shoals in such a way that the Gaspé got aground on the sand. Here she must stick until high tide, about three o'clock the next morning.

3. The news soon reached Providence. Mr. John Brown, one of the leading merchants, saw that it was a good time to end the troubles. He fitted out eight of the largest boats he could get, and placed them under the command of Captain Whipple, one of his most trusted ship-masters. The boats left Providence about ten o'clock in the evening, with sixty-four men, armed with paving-stones. As they approached the Gaspé, the sentinel hailed them, and Lieutenant Duddington fired a pistol at them. The reply was a single musket-shot, which brought the officer down, badly wounded. The ship's company were then ordered ashore, and the ship set on fire. At dawn she blew up.

4. A large reward was offered by Admiral Watson for the discovery of the parties engaged in this affair. Although the boats were publicly fitted out, and their departure was seen by hundreds of people, not one jot of information could he get. Commissioners sent over from England met with no better success, and after a trial of six months they gave it up as a bad job. A poem, written in regard to this affair, concludes with this verse:

5. "Now, for to find these people out,

King George has offered very stout:

One thousand pounds to find out one

That wounded William Duddington;

One thousand more he says he'll spare

For those who say the sheriffs were;

One thousand more there doth remain

For to find out the leader's name;

Likewise five hundred pounds per man

For any one of all the clan.

But let him try his utmost skill,

I'm apt to think he never will

Find out any of those hearts of gold

Though he should offer fifty-fold."

XV.—ETHAN ALLEN.

1. During the Revolution, the pride and the hero of the Green Mountains was Ethan Allen, and probably there was no man living then that had more of the elements of the popular hero than he. He was tall, almost a giant in stature, and strong in proportion. He was easily excited to anger, and his rage was something terrific. In another place it is told how he surprised and captured the strong fortresses of Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Afterward he was captured and taken prisoner to England. The brutal British officer in command put him in irons, and one day spat in his face. Allen, beside himself with rage at this insult, with his teeth wrenched off the head of the nail which fastened his handcuffs, and attacked the officer, who was obliged to retreat to save his life.

2. With all his rough ways and fits of anger Allen was a remarkably honest man. It is related of him that he owed a person in Boston sixty pounds, for which he gave his note. When due, it was sent to Vermont for collection. Allen could not pay at the time, and he employed a lawyer to postpone the payment until he could raise the money. The lawyer arose in court and denied Allen's signature to the note, as this would oblige the other party to send to Boston for a witness, and give Allen all the time he wanted.

3. When the lawyer made his plea, Allen, who happened to be in the back part of the court-room, strode forward, and in a voice of thunder addressed the lawyer: "Mr. Jones, I did not hire you to come here to lie! This is a true note—I signed it—I'll swear to it—and I'll pay it! I want no shuffling, I want time. What I employed you for was to get this matter put over to the next court, not to come here and lie and juggle about it." The lawyer shrank from his blazing eye, and the case was put over as he wished.

XVI.—JOSEPH REED.

1. A hero of another kind, and one we should never forget, is Joseph Reed, of New Jersey. He entered the patriot army, and proved a brave and efficient officer. In 1778 he entered Congress, and, while quiet, he became one of the most useful members. Soon after he entered Congress, a British commission was sent out to see if the difficulties between the two countries could not be adjusted and the war terminated. The terms they offered, however, did not include independence. Convinced that they could not accomplish their object directly, the commissioners resorted to deceit and bribery, and they offered Joseph Reed ten thousand guineas if he would use his influence to help along their project. The noble patriot heard the offer with great indignation, and replied, "I am not worth purchasing, but, such as I am, the King of Great Britain is not rich enough to buy me." The poet Freneau has recorded this incident in a poem from which the following extract is made:

2. "No single art engaged his manly mind,

In every scene his active genius shined;

Nature in him, in honor to our age,

At once composed the soldier and the sage.

3. "Firm in his purpose, vigilant and bold,

Detesting traitors, and despising gold,

He scorned all bribes from Britain's hostile throne,

For all his country's wrongs were thrice his own."

XVII.—GENERAL PRESCOTT.

1. In 1777 the British troops upon the Island of Rhode Island were commanded by General Prescott. Of all the disreputable officers sent over by the British during the Revolution, he was the meanest and the worst. He was cruel at heart, a petty tyrant, and a real coward. His government was so offensive to the people of Rhode Island, that they determined to put an end to it. The British army was stationed at Newport, and the British ships sailed up and down Narragansett Bay to protect the island from any attempted surprise on the part of the Americans. Feeling perfectly secure under the protection of the fleet, General Prescott made his headquarters at the house of a Mr. Ovington, five miles out of Newport, and beyond the British military lines.

2. The residence of General Prescott became known to the patriot leaders at Providence, and they resolved to make an effort to capture him. The enterprise was intrusted to Colonel William Barton, who entered upon the service with zeal and discretion. On the night of July 10, 1777, Barton, with a few chosen men, embarked in four whale-boats, and with muffled oars rowed across the bay to the island, passing directly through the fleet of ships and guard-boats. They came so near the ships that they could hear the sentinel's cry of "All is well!" After landing they made their way silently to the Ovington house, and captured the guard without creating an alarm.

3. Barton boldly entered the house, and found Mr. Ovington reading, the rest of the family being in bed. He inquired for General Prescott's room, and was told it was directly overhead. Taking with him four sailors, and Sisson, a powerful negro, Barton ascended the stairs, and gently tried the door. It was locked; but there was no time to be lost: the negro drew back a few paces, and, using his head for a battering-ram, burst open the door at the first effort. Prescott begged time to dress, but, as time was precious, he was hurried down to the shore without clothes, and placed in the boat, where he could dress at leisure. The boats then took their way back in perfect silence, and about midnight landed upon the mainland in safety. "Sir, you have made a bold push to-night!" said Prescott, to his captor. "We have been fortunate," replied Barton.

XVIII.—PRESCOTT AND THE YANKEE BOY.

1. In the spring of 1778, Prescott was exchanged for General Charles Lee, and returned to Rhode Island. Soon afterward the British admiral invited the general to dine with him and his officers on board his ship, then lying in front of Newport. Martial law yet prevailed on the island, and men and boys were frequently sent by the authorities on shore to be confined in the ship as a punishment for slight offenses. There were several on board at the time.

2. After dinner, the free use of wine made the company hilarious, and toasts and songs were frequently called for. A lieutenant remarked to the admiral, "There is a Yankee lad confined below who can shame any of us in singing."

3. "Bring him up," said the admiral. "Yes, bring him up," said Prescott. The boy was brought to the cabin. He was pale and slender, and about thirteen years of age. Abashed by the presence of great officers, with their glittering uniforms, he timidly approached, when the admiral, seeing his embarrassment, spoke kindly to him, and asked him to sing a song.

4. "I can't sing any but Yankee songs," said the trembling boy. "Come, my little fellow, don't be afraid," said the admiral. "Sing one of your Yankee songs—any one you can recollect."

5. The boy still hesitated, when the brutal Prescott, who was a stranger to the lad, roared out: "Sing us a song, or I will give you a dozen with the cat!" But the admiral interfered and told him to sing, and he should be set at liberty the next morning. Thus encouraged, the lad sang the following ballad, composed by a sailor at Newport:

6. "'Twas on a dark and stormy night,

The wind and waves did roar;

Bold Barton then, with twenty men,

Went down upon the shore.

7. "And in a whale-boat they set off,

To Rhode Island fair,

To catch, a red-coat general

Who then resided there.

8. "Through British fleets and guard-boats strong

They held their dangerous way,

Till they arrived unto their port,

And then did not delay.

9. "A tawny son of Afric's race

Them through the ravine led,

And entering then the Overton house,

They found him in his bed.

10. "But to get in they had no means

Except poor Cuffie's head,

Who beat the door down, then rushed in.

And seized him in his bed.

11. "'Stop! let me put my clothing on,'

The general then did pray;

'Your clothing, massa, I will take,

For dress we can not stay,'

12. "Then through rye-stubble him they led,

With shoes and clothing none,

And placed him in their boat quite snug,

And from the shore were gone.

13. "Soon the alarm was sounded loud,

'The Yankees they have come,

And stolen Prescott from his bed,

And him have carried home!'

14. "The drums were beat, sky-rockets flew,

The soldiers shouldered arms,

And marched around the ground they knew,

Filled with most dire alarms.

15. "But through the fleet with muffled oars

They held their devious way,

And landed him on 'Gansett shores,

Where Britons held no sway.

16. "When unto land the captors came,

When rescue there was none,

'A bold push this,' the general cried;

'Of prisoners I am one.'"

17. The boy was frequently interrupted by roars of laughter at Prescott's expense, which strengthened the child's nerves and voice; and when he had concluded his song, "I thought," wrote a gentleman who was present, "the deck would go through with the stamping." General Prescott joined heartily in the merriment produced by the song, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a coin, and handed it to the boy, saying, "Here, you young dog, is a guinea for you!" The boy was set at liberty the next morning, and went ashore.

XIX.—BATTLE OF THE KEGS.

1. In 1777, while the British occupied Philadelphia, Washington made an effort to destroy their shipping. He caused torpedoes to be constructed in the form of strong kegs, and launched in the river, hoping that the tide would float them against the British ships, when they would explode. But the British discovered them, and for a time were greatly frightened. Then they opened upon them a furious cannonade; and for the next twenty-four hours they fired at everything that floated in the water. Mr. Hopkinson, the author of "Hail, Columbia," has given the following amusing account of this battle:

2. Gallants attend, and hear a friend

Trill forth harmonious ditty;

Strange things I'll tell, which late befell

In Philadelphia city.

3. 'Twas early day, as poets say,

Just when the sun was rising,

A soldier stood on log of wood,

And saw a sight surprising.

4. As in his maze, he stood to gaze,

The truth can't be denied, sir,

He spied a score of kegs or more

Come driving down the tide, sir.

5. A sailor too, in jerkin blue,

The strange appearance viewing,

First rubbed his eyes in great surprise,

Then said, "Some mischief's brewing."

6. The soldier flew, the sailor too,

And, scared almost to death, sir

Wore out their shoes to spread the news,

And ran till out of breath, sir.

7. Now up and down, throughout the town,

Most frantic scenes were acted;

And some ran here, and others there,

Like men almost distracted.

8. Some fire cried, which some denied,

But said the earth had quaked;

And girls and boys, with hideous noise,

Ran through the streets half naked.

9. Now in a fright, Howe starts upright,

Awaked by such a clatter;

He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,

"For God's sake, what's the matter?"

10. At his bedside he then espied

Sir Erskine at command, sir;

Upon one foot he had one boot,

And 'tother in his hand, sir.

11. "Arise! arise!" Sir Erskine cries,

"The rebels—more's the pity—

Without a boat, are all afloat,

And ranged before the city!

12. "The motley crew, on vessels new,

With Satan for their guide, sir,

Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,

Come driving down the tide, sir.

13. "Therefore prepare for bloody war!