v^s^i^^&d s{ ^/ THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE A STORY OF A SEAPORT TOWN BY EDWARD HENRY ELWELL BOSTON LEE AND SHEPARD, 47 FRANKLIN STREET NEW YORK CHAS. T. DILLINGHAM, 678 BROADWAY 1884 '/* 7 COPYRIGHT, 1883, BY LBB AND SHKPARD. ALFRED MUDGB & SON, PRINTERS, BOSTON. I CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE SCENE OF ACTION 9 II. IN WHICH THE READER MAKES SOME NEW ACQUAINT- ANCES, AND A GREAT BATTLE IS FOUGHT . . 22 III. I ENTER THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS . . 35 IV. THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 55 V. How JIM TRUMAN LOST HIS ARM .... 71 VI. GENERAL MUSTER 87 VII. THE LIBERTY STREET LANCERS GO INTO WINTER QUARTERS 103 VIII. TAR-BUCKET NIGHT 114 IX. STUB-SHORTS 128 X. ON THE ICE 140 XL WE VISIT THE TROPICS AND ENGAGE IN A SEA- FIGHT 163 XII. A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 172 XIII. IN CAMP 193 XIV. WE JOURNEY TO A FAR COUNTRY .... 226 XV. IN AFTER YEARS 250 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. CHAPTER I. THE SCENE OF ACTION. I WAS born at Landsport, a tdwn which boasted of having the best harbor on the Atlantic coast. I am particular to state this fact, because I have heard that seven cities disputed for the honor of being the birthplace of Homer, but I do not want any uncer- tainty to hang about the place of my nativity. It must be very annoying not to know where you were born. I knew a young lady once who said she was not born anywhere in particular ; she was the daugh- ter of a Methodist clergyman. I thought she always had a bewildered look, as if she were trying to select her birthplace out of the score of towns which mingled confusedly in her memory. Another young lady of my acquaintance was born on the Pacific Ocean, on board an American ship, under the Eng- lish flag, and was nursed by a Chinawoman. She has always been troubled with perplexing doubts as to her nationality, and then it is so awkward when (9) IO THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. asked your birthplace to be compelled to say, " In about lat. 30 15' N., and Ion. 140 10' E." Who would care to make a pilgrimage to such a birthplace? I hasten, therefore, at the outset of my story, to give Landsport the credit of being the place where I was born. I have good authority for the statement, which I need not introduce here. Landsport is now a considerable city, but when I arrived there, on a dark day in December, at seven o'clock in the morn- ing, it was but a bustling village, largely engaged in exporting lumber to the West Indies, in return for which its low-deck brigs brought home cargoes of molasses, great part of which was made into rum at its half-dozen distilleries. Some portion of the molasses, together with a good many "kintals" of salt fish, and a sufficient quantity of the rum to ap- pease the thirst which the fish created, was exchanged for round hogs, cheese, butter, and lard, which the Vermonters, in their low red pungs, brought down through the Notch of the White Mountains. I took little note of these things, however, on my arrival, but devoted myself for a long time, as I have been informed, to sucking my thumb. The first thing I can remember is my grandfather's .house, in which I was born. I can see it now, in my mind's eye, although it was long since destroyed in the great fire which swept over the town, and w:is THE SCENE OF ACTION. II stayed just beyond the line on which the old house stood. It had seen many a troublous time, having been one of the few houses that escaped the flames when the British burned the town in 1775. It stood close upon the sidewalk, and originally fronted the street ; the town authorities declared that it encroached upon the roadway and proposed to set it back, but my grandfather threatened to shoot the first man who attempted to move it. I used to fancy him stalking up and down in front of the house, with his gun upon his shoulder. His direful threat was not without its effect, for the old house remained undisturbed until after his death. He was a ship-master, and one dark night, while going down Long Wharf in Boston, he fell overboard and was drowned. All fear of the avenging gun being now removed, the selectmen turned the house about, presenting its gable end to the street. My grand- mother weakly consented to this encroachment, but she always said that the town never kept its agree- ment to make the house as good as it was before She was only a widow, and kept no gun. The old house was of but one story, but like a Dutch man-of-war, it had great breadth of beam, and was solidly built. The frame was of oak, and thl corner posts stood out in the rooms with great prominence. I can see the " front room " now, with 12 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. my grandmother sitting by the fire busily knitting. On the right as you entered was the buffet, a recess in the wall, extending half-way from the ceiling to the floor, and forming a sort of cupboard, with a cur- tain in front. Here my grandmother kept her best "chany" set; but the chief ornament of the buffet was a great naval pitcher, with a picture on it of two frigates engaged in battle, and guns and flags crossed in the foreground. Inscribed upon it was the senti- ment, "Success to our Infant Navy." I used to wonder who was the infant Navy, not doubting that he was somebody's baby. My grandmother, whose father had sailed with Commodore Truxtun, said the picture commemorated Truxtun's victory over the French frigate La Vengeance, away back in 1800, but this information did not much enlighten me. I had good reason to remember that pitcher, for it owed its destruction to one of my youthful indiscre- tions. One day, with many injunctions to carry it carefully, I was sent with it to the house of a neigh- bor who had wished to borrow it. The neighbor lived at some little distance, and as I went on my way, with my precious burden, it occurred to me that it would be interesting to ascertain how fast I could walk with my eyes shut. I tried the experiment, and thought I was going on in a remarkably straight line, when my progress was suddenly arrested by a violent THE SCENE OF ACTION. 13 shock and a great crash. I opened my eyes, and was much surprised to find that I had run into a stone post that stood on the edge of the sidewalk, and that the great naval pitcher lay in fragments at my feet. My heart sank within me, for I knew my grand- mother set great store by that pitcher. As I looked sorrowfully down at the fragments I saw that the picture of the ships engaged in combat was unbroken. I took heart at this, for I knew that it was in one of those ships that my great-grandfather had fought, and that my grandmother took great pride in that picture. Picking up the fragment I ran home, and bursting into the house exclaimed, " I saved the ships, grandma'am ! " " Saved the ships, child ; why, what have you done with my pitcher ? " " It hit against a post and broke all to pieces, but I saved the ships," said I, with an air worthy of the descendant of a naval hero. " What a pity ! But did n't you hurt you, child ? " That was all she said. If I had been a boy of to-day I should have inwardly remarked, " Is n't she a bully grandmother ? " But being forty years behind the times, I only said, "No, ma'am," and ran off to my play. Next beyond the buffet was the fireplace. I re- member the brass-headed andirons that stood in it, 14 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. because there was a small hole in the top of one of them into which I used to drop all the pins I could find, for the pleasure of unscrewing the top and taking them out. We used to sit by the hearth on the winter even- ings and listen to the stories my grandmother told of the time when my grandfather brought her home to the old house, from Salem, where he married her. Mother used to say that grandmother was the Salem beauty in her day, but grandmother never said so. I know she was a comely old lady. She wore a calash, and somehow I always think of her now as having a sort of old-fashioned chaise-top over her head. She used to tell us that when she came home to my great-grandfather's house he owned one or two negro slaves, and that when they misbehaved my great-grandmother had them tied up to the apple- trees in the garden and flogged. I used to picture her a very stern old lady, with a big whip in her hand. One stormy winter night, as we sat by the blazing wood fire, on the big wooden settees, the high backs of which kept off the draughts from the rattling win- dows, she told us of the great storm when so many vessels were lost on the coast. A furious gale raged all night, and the snow piled in high drifts almost to THE SCENE OF ACTION. 15 the tops of the low windows. Such snow-storms as they used to have in the old times ! There is noth- ing like them in these degenerate days. My grandmother said that my uncle Benjamin, who was a printer, was obliged to rise very early on the morning following the storm, and groping in the fireplace for a coal with which to light his candle (there were no friction matches in those days), his hand fell upon a human face ! He was much startled, but presently, succeeding in lighting his can- dle, he saw a man lying at full length upon the hearth. It required some effort to arouse him, but when at last he was able to sit up and speak he told this story : He was a poor fisherman whose craft had been dashed against the wharf until she sank, he barely escaping with his life. At midnight, in the driving storm, he struggled through the snow-drifts up into the town, trying every door, but finding all fastened until he came to my grandfather's. Here he entered and sought to warm himself by the dying embers, until he fell asleep. Doors were often left unfastened all night in those primitive days. In my boyhood a stout bar at the top was all the fastening of the door. After these stories my grandmother would rake the ashes over the embers to preserve some coals for the morning fire, and I would be sent to bed in one 1 6 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. of the great chambers of the garret. (There were no "attics" then.) There I would lie and listen to the wind whistling in the great chimney which ran up through the centre of the house. One of those garret chambers was my play-ground on winter days when the snow was too deep to admit of my going out of doors. Heavy oaken beams ran along the gable end of the garret, just above the floor, and on these I used to marshal my company of toy soldiers, and fire my tiny cannon. I had, however, more of a nautical than a military y turn of mind, and used to " make believe " the garret was a ship in which I made long voyages. Great beams ran across near the ridge-pole, and one of these I could reach by means of the flight of steps that led up to the scuttle in the roof. Fastening a rope in a loop, from one end of the beam to the other, to serve as a foot-rope, I regarded the beam as a yard on the mast of the ship, while the ladder by which it was reached was the ratlines. Once, when out on this yard-arm, taking in sail in a tremendous gale of wind, the foot-rope swung out from under my feet, doubtless owing to a sudden lurch of the ship ; and turning a summersault I fell head-foremost into a barrel of feathers. Nothing was seen of me for a time but a very lively pair of heels, and I might have smothered in the feathers if THE SCENE OF ACTION. If Si Sumner, the ship's mate, had not cried, " Shiver my timbers ! " and rushed to the rescue. Si had great command of the nautical vocabulary, and I rated him as a first-class seaman. When dragged out by the heels I had very little breath in me, but the feathers had broken my fall, and I was not seriously hurt. In my struggles to release myself I had grasped a handful of feathers, and when I opened my hand something fell from it on to the floor. Si picked it up and declared that it was a piece of gold money. I told my mother that I saw it on the bottom of the ocean, and dived over- board after it, but grandmother, while trying to brush the feathers from my clothes with a damp brush, said she knew better. The feathers had been emptied from an old bed for the purpose of cleansing, and doubtless the coin had been brought home by one of my sea-faring uncles, and had accidentally found its way into the bed. It was customary in those days to conceal money between the beds. I have kept the coin all these years as a memento of my early sea-faring days, and not long since, in turning over some old keepsakes, I came upon it. It is as bright and fresh as when coined, although it bears date of 1730. It is a Por- tuguese coin, of the reign of John V., and bears the inscription, "In hoc signo vinces" In that sign I 2 1 8 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. conquered, for the finding of the coin diverted atten- tion from my perilous adventure, and I was per- mitted to continue my voyage without further reproof. than an admonition against going on to the yard-arm in a gale of wind. There was a large garden in the rear of my grand- father's house, and the day had been when it was still larger. It once ran through to Fore Street, but my grandfather had sold off several lots, and in my boy- hood it was bounded at the foot by Chaddock's orchard. The old wide-spreading apple-trees in Chad- dock's dropped their ripe fruit in the tall grass, from which the red and yellow apples peeped out tempt- ingly. From the top of the fence I used to gaze upon them much as the ancient Israelites looked upon the Promised Land. But away through the vista of the trees there was a glimpse of a back door, seldom open, but always looking as if some grim personage was ready to issue from it and pounce upon any tres- passer. Undoubtedly there were raids made upon those apples in my time, but I never knew a boy to go beyond the fence and tell of it. In my grandfather's garden there were two very large apple-trees, the Pearmain and the Bitter-sweet. The Pearmain was a wide-spreading tree, branching near the ground, into which I could climb and nestle among the embowered boughs. I was in this tree THE SCENE OF ACTION. 19 when Bill Truman fell from it, and, striking on his head, lay insensible on the ground until his father came and carried him into the house. I remember how I stole away with a deep awe upon me, thinking poor Bill was dead. But he was a hard-headed boy, and lived many a long year after. The Bitter-sweet, unlike the Pearmain, had a tail, straight stem, which I could never climb, but by way of compensation it had a large cavity near the ground, which served me for a cavern, in which many pre- cious possessions were hidden. On one side of the garden there rose the high dead wall of the stage-coach company's stable,- broken only in the basement by a long row of square apertures admitting light to the stalls, and out of which the horses used to poke their noses for a whiff of fresh air. I used to make acquaintance with them as I played in the garden, and fancied they got to know me. One, whose mild eyes I always recognized, often greeted me with a gentle whinny, which I inter- preted to mean " good morning." I have since thought it was only a reminder of the apple he was accustomed to receive at my hands. I remember one long sunny afternoon, during which I was all alone, at the foot of the garden, engaged in the tantalizing pursuit of a butterfly. The gayly painted creature seemed to enter into the sport with 2O THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. me, hovering about my head, and then, as I threw up my cap at it, mounting higher, as if in mockery of my vain attempts to catch it. It led me a long chase among the flowers, still hovering about, until some- thing of its own light-heartedness took possession of me, and I rejoiced in its companionship, the long, bright hours gliding away like a pleasant dream. I sometimes wonder if I have ever been as happy in the pursuit of the world's allurements as I was when chasing the butterfly in my grandfather's gar- den. On the side of the garden opposite the stable there was a vacant lot used as a lumber-yard, beyond which ran the long building of the twine factory, with many small windows. At the head of the lumber-yard, fronting the street, stood a building occupied by Si Sumner's father as a joiner shop. In the second story of this building, approached by an outside flight of stairs in the rear, was a long-disused school- room in which one of the old "masters " had taught. We boys used to climb the long flight of stairs, which made a sharp turn above the first story, and from the upper landing peer in at the windows. Once we got possession of the key, and entering, ran riot over the deserted benches. On one of these were the initials " J. C.," cut large with a grand flour- ish around them. The owner of those initials after- THE SCENE OF ACTION. 21 wards cut a great figure in the world's school-room, and his name stands graven there still. Do you see, as I do, the low, unpainted cottage, with its gable end close upon the sidewalk, the great stable standing back from the street on one side of it, the old school-house on the other, and the long garden stretching away behind it ? It is all in my mind's eye only, for now the ground "where once the garden smiled " is covered with great blocks of brick and stone, and Chaddock's apple-trees have given place to store-houses and workshops. Having set the stage, let me now introduce the characters who are to act upon it. 22 THE BOYS QF THIRTY-FIVE. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH THE READER MAKES SOME NEW ACQUAINT- ANCES, AND A GREAT BATTLE IS FOUGHT. ONE morning in spring, when the weather had grown warm enough to enable us to play on the sunny side of the street, a half-dozen boys were en- gaged in a game of rolly-pooly on the sidewalk in front of the house in which Si Sumner lived, which stood opposite my grandfather's. In the game of rolly-pooly a ball was rolled into a slight depression in the ground. Ed Thompson had the ball, and he tossed it into the air just as a gentleman was pass- ing, with a small boy at his side. The gentleman caught the ball as it came down, and critically ex- amined it. It was not a cast-iron ball, such as is now used in the noble game of base-ball, but was stuffed with woollen yarn and india-rubber, and covered with soft leather. Ed Thompson's mother had made it for him, and we considered it a great suc- cess, Si Sumner's sister having signally failed in an attempt to a similar manufacture. She produced a cylinder instead of a globe, and when Ben Hunter caught sight of it he cried out, NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 2$ " Hallo, Si, where did you get that pepper-box ? " " Si's pepper-box " it remained to the end. The gentleman seemed satisfied with his examina- tion of the ball, and turning to Ed Thompson handed him a fourpence 'alfpenny, gave the ball to the boy by his side, and passed on. Ed Thompson, who was a shy little fellow, stood dumbfounded, while Ben Hunter cried out, " That 's John Neal, confound his impudence ! " Ben was a big, bullying boy, with a tongue of his own, and was never backward in the expression of his opinions. "What shall we do now?" said Joe Jameson, whose turn it was to roll ; " he 's carried off the ball ! " At that moment Ben Hunter cried, " Here comes ' Hurrah for Jackson ! ' ' Looking up street we- saw a gentleman driving down in a chaise. He was a big, round, jolly-look- ing man, and as he passed we all gathered on the edge of the sidewalk and shouted, " Hurrah for Jackson ! " whereupon the gentleman in the chaise lifted his hat and bowed and smiled. This was the Hon. Albert Smith, who, Ben said, was a member of Congress and a great admirer of Gen. Jackson. I afterwards heard him make a politi- cal speech, in which, in true ad captandum style, he charged the Whigs with putting a tax on molasses, " an article," said he, " I am very fond of ! " 24 THE BOVS OF THIRTY-FIVE. " I tell you what," said Ben, after the Hon. Albert had passed, "let's go into the stable and play the battle of New Orleans; Gen. Jackson, you know, whipped the Btitishers there." " Agreed," cried we all, and into the stable we went. Now this stable of the stage-coach company was a famous play-ground for us boys. As I have said, it stood back from the street, and there had once been great gates in front of it. These were now gone, but the high gate-posts and broken wall on each side remained, and I used to fancy them the entrance to a ruined castle. The ground on which the stable stood fell off in the rear, and the base- ment was occupied by the stage horses, while the first floor, on a level with the street, was filled with stage-coaches and sleigh-coaches, in which on rainy days we sat and told stories, or played hide-and-seek. Many a journey we took in those old coaches as they stood in the gloomy recesses of the carriage-room. It was a scene of great interest for us when one of them was drawn out and the horses put to, and the driver pulled on his big gloves and mounted the box, and the coach went rolling out of the gateway. On one side of the door, as you entere'd the car- riage-room, stood an immense grain-chest, the con- tents of which were conducted by a spout to the stable below. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 2$ "This," said Ben, "is the fort, and those bags of oats leaning against the well beyond are the cotton bales with which Gen. Jackson defended the city. I am Gen. Jackson, and Joe Jameson must be Gen. Packenham, the commander of the Britishers. Choose your men." " I 'm not going to be a Britisher to be beaten by you," said Joe. But the boys all declared he was just the fellow to lead the invading forces, Si Sumner sagaciously remarking that you could not tell who would be whipped until after the battle was fought. Thus flattered and entreated, Joe was compelled to take command of the British army, and the com- manders selected their forces, each choosing a boy in turn. I fell into the ranks of the British, and was made second in command. Gen. Jackson, with his forces, immediately took possession of the fort by mounting the grain-chest, when Jim Norton, who was on our side, cried out, " What shall we use for weapons ? " "There's a pile of empty meal-bags," said Gen- Jackson, ever ready in resources ; " let 's take them." Every man armed himself with a meal-bag, and then Gen. Packenham called a council of war, to determine on the best plan of attack. I was for 26 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. undermining and blowing up the enemy's fort, but the general decided on carrying his works by storm. Meantime Gen. Jackson had been busily engaged in fortifying his position by placing a line of cotton bales (bags filled with oats) along the edge of the grain-chest. Seeing this, our commander decided on dividing his forces, and while one division, under his own command, made an assault in front, I was to lead a brigade over the tops of the bags of oats still standing against the wall on one side of the fort. With a loud shout the assaulting party wished on, while I led my forces silently over the grain-bags, intending to surprise the enemy. But Gen. Jackson had his eyes about him, and immediately detached a portion of his forces, under command of Si Sumner, to beat us off, while he led the defence in front. Loud were the shouts and dire the conflict when the contending forces met. Thick flew the dust of the battle as the meal-bags waved in air and fell with many a whack on the heads and shoulders of the assailants, who, being compelled to fight from a much lower level, were at a disadvantage. They, however, contrived to give the defenders of the fort many a wipe in the face, which never failed to leave a mealy impression. Meantime my attempt at a surprise had ended dis- astrously. The grain-bags afforded but an insecure NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 2/ footing, and Gen. Sumner met our advance so gal- lantly that, together with one half my forces (in the person of Jim Norton), I was thrown to the ground. At this critical moment there rushed on to the field of battle a boy with a flaming red head and a broad grin on his face, who shouted, " Go it, boys, I 'm with ye ! " This was Tim Bunce, whose perpetual grimaces and comical antics marked him as the clown of the neighborhood. No sooner did Gen. Packenham . catch sight of him than he exclaimed, " A re-enforcement, boys ! Come on, Tim ! " Nothing loath, Tim grinned and bobbed his head, and scraped his splay foot, shouting, " I 'm going right in among 'em ! " With this he made a dash at the fort, and in attempting to climb the wall, grabbed one of the bags of oats and brought it down upon his own head. The string broke, and out poured the oats, nearly smothering Tim. But Gen. Packenham shouted, "A breach, a breach ! Now, by St. George, the day is ours." And heading a column, made a dash for the wall. The defenders filled the breach, and met our advance in the most gallant manner. Meal-bags were now dis- carded, and fists came into play. Blows rained thick and fast on our defenceless heads, but we struck back stoutly, and Tim Bunce, rising, with his great 28 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. shock of red hair filled with oats, grasped Si Sumner by the leg, and brought him down into a sitting pos- ture with a terrible thump. Before Si could regain his breath, Jim Norton seized his other leg, and the two brought Si down upon the ground with a lamentable rent in his nether garment, which had caught on a nail in the lid of the grain-chest. "A prisoner ! A wounded prisoner ! " we shouted, as poor Si, with a very crestfallen air, was led off and placed in one of the coaches under guard. At this moment there appeared on the scene a tall, slim boy, who stood at the entrance of the carriage- room, with an expression of mild wonder on his face and a huge bag on his back. Gen. Jackson, catching sight of him, shouted, " A re-enforcement for our side ! We want you, Hay-bag ! " and reaching down from the wall seized the astonished youth by the collar, and, spite of his struggles and remonstrances, dragged him into the fort, bag and all. The new-comer was " Hay-bag " Ross, whose father drove one of those long, narrow truck teams that used to block up the whole width of the street when turned across it to take on a load. His sleepy old horse was accustomed to stand and doze in the shafts, which were supported by a pole which hung from one of them, during the long summer afternoons, in front NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 2Q of the furrier's at the corner of the street. To pro- vide provender for the beast, Hay-bag was sent by his father with a bag to gather up the wisps of hay left by the teamsters after feeding their cattle on the wharves, and thus gained the nickname by which he was known among the boys. On this occasi'on he was returning from one of these forays with a bag well filled. Gen. Jackson seized upon the bag to fill the breach in his wall, while Hay-bag stood looking on, the picture of despair. The bag of hay was not so solid a defence as the bag of oats had been, and Tim Bunce soon whisked it around and was about pulling it off the wall when the other end was seized by the defenders of the fort In the struggle the hay fell out, and Gen. Jackson, seizing great armfuls of it, showered it down upon our heads and upturned faces. Half smothered by this novel ammunition, we withdrew to concert a new plan of attack. Gen. Packenham declared that the wall must be scaled, and seizing the long cross-bar that secured the great doors of the stable, he placed one end of it on the ground and detailed Tim Bunce to hold the other end against the top of the wall while he led a forlorn hope up this scaling ladder into "the immi- nent deadly breach." He had already advanced half- way up the bar when Gen. Jackson gave the end 30 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. resting on the top of the wall a vigorous kick, and down it went, our commander falling across it with a violence that knocked the wind out of him. "Are -you hurt, Joe?" said Gen. Jackson, looking down from the wall. " Pretty bad," groaned Joe. " Well, never mind, you Ve got to die, any way. Gen. Packenham was killed, you know." " I '11 be hanged if I '11 die," retorted Joe, but he had no stomach for further fight. Our general being thus disabled, the leadership devolved upon me, as second in command. Casting about for a new method of attack, my eyes fell upon the pole of a stage-coach standing in the back part of the carriage-room, in a direct line with the fort. A new idea flashed upon me. Calling Jim Norton into conference with me, I proposed using the stage-coach as a battering-ram. Jim was a little dubious about it, but I told him I had read about battering-rams in my history book ; that in old times they always used them when besieging a city, and that it was sure to frighten the enemy out of their wits, or what would be still better out of the fort. Much impressed with my superior military educa- tion, Jim fell into the plan, and we proceeded at once to put it into execution. The enemy were busily engaged in strengthening NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 31 their walls with more bags of oats, and did not at first observe our operations. Detailing Tim Bunce to manage the pole, I set the rest of my forces to pushing the coach down upon the fort, while I mounted the box to direct operations. The coach was heavy, and it required the united strength of my entire army to start it, but once in motion it acquired momentum as it rolled on. Tim tugged at the pole, dancing and capering about it, declaring that he was " a whole team and a horse to let," while I, standing on the box, in all the majesty of conscious victory, shouted, " Surrender, you villains, or I '11 knock your walls about your ears ! " Startled by Che formidable engine coming down upon them, the enemy began to scramble out of the fort, but Gen. Jackson restrained his men with a strong arm, and laughed us to scorn. " Come on with your one-horse team," he shouted. My purpose had been to have the pole strike the bags on the wall of the fort, and thus make a breach, through which we were to rush in while the enemy were in a demoralized condition. But Tim could not elevate the pole sufficiently to strike the bags, and the result was that it went crashing into the side of the grain-chest, staving a great hole in it. The shock threw the garrison off their feet, some 32 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. tumbling down to the ground, while I was knocked flat on to the top of the coach. Before I could regain my feet I heard a gruff voice exclaiming, "What does all this mean ?" and looking over the side of the coach I saw the burly figure of Joe Jameson's father, who had charge of the stable, entering the door with a whip in his hand. At that moment Gen. Jackson was descending from the walls of his demolished fort ; and as he had the reputation of being the leader in all mischief going on, Mr. Jameson seized him by the collar and began to ply his whip vigorously about Ben's legs. Ben danced and shouted, " It was n't me, Mr. Jameson, it was Harry Ingersoll," meaning me. I thought it was now time to beat a retreat ; par- ticularly as my army, deeming discretion the better part of valor, had already retired in disorder, some hiding in the coaches in the dark corners, while others scuttled out of the door. Crawling down over the rear of the coach, I dodged behind another car- riage, and made my way out of a back door that overlooked the manure heap. Scrambling over this, I jumped down into my grandfather's garden. I was proceeding up the garden, congratulating my- self that I had retired in good order, when I heard a voice crying, " Help a feller down, won't ye, Harry ? " NEW ACQUAINTANCES. $3 Looking up, I espied Tim Bunce hanging by the seat of his trousers near the top of a stack of bean- poles. The poles had been placed on end, leaning against the stable wall, their tops nearly reaching to a small door that opened out of the carriage-room, whichon this side of the stable was high above the ground. Tim in his hasty retreat had jumped out of this door on to the tops of the poles, and in trying to make his way down them had been caught in the rear by a sharp spur on one of the poles. " Why, Tim," said I, " what are you doing up there ? " " Hanging up to dry," he replied, with a grimace ; " but say, can't ye help a feller down ? " " Hush ! you '11 call Mr. Jameson to that door, with his whip." Poor Tim cast one eye up at the door and the other to the ground below, and gave another wrig- gle, but all in vain. " I can't reach you, Tim, but I '11 call grand- mother." " Don't call your grandmarm," replied Tim, with an agonized grin ; " I s'pose I 'm all tore out behind ! " Just then, sure enough, Mr. Jameson appeared at the door above. " Oh, ho ! " said he, " you are there, are you ? Just hang on, Tim, till I call round for you ! " 3 34 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. The prospect of such a call was more than Tim could endure. He writhed and struggled, something gave way, and down he came on all fours. " Are you hurt, Tim ? " I asked, with some con- cern, spite of the comical appearance he cut. "No, but I 'spect I shall be if I stop here." And with that he scuttled away out of the garden. THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 35 CHAPTER III. I ENTER THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. IT was with quaking hearts that six of us boys one morning approached the door of Master Gor- ham's grammar school. We had purposely absented ourselves from the annual examination, but had now been sent by Miss Cummings, the teacher of the primary school, to pass a supplementary examination ; so we had gained nothing by staying away, but, on the contrary, had a more terrible ordeal to pass than if we had attended the examination at the proper time. I have learned since that nothing is ever gained by shirking a trial or a task, and that those get on best who meet every duty promptly. We approached the school-house at a snail's pace, with fear and trembling. It was a long, low brick building of one story, with a double row of posts in front, set so that it was necessary to twist and turn in order to pass between them. I never knew why they were thus placed, unless it was to symbolize the difficulty of getting into the grammar school, or to encourage the boys in the practice of gymnastic exercises. The usual custom of the boys when 36 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. rushing out of school was to place each hand on a post and leap over the outside row. We, however, were content to worm our way in between them, and would have been glad, on the whole, if we had stuck fast among them. As we entered the vestibule that ran across the whole width of the building, we saw a placard hang- ing under a small window that looked in upon the master's desk, with the word " Late " upon it. After this placard was hung out no tardy scholar could find admittance. We were tardy enough, but we knew the sign was not for us and so knocked timidly at the door. A monitor gave us admission, and we found our- selves in the dread presence of the master and one hundred and fifty school-boys, all peeping furtively at us from behind their books. We were presently ranged in a row in the aisle, and the master heard each read a passage in "Worcester's Third Book"; then each was given a sum in arithmetic to solve, after which we were assigned to seats on the lower benches nearest the master's desk. The more ad- vanced scholars, according to their rank, sat farther back on the higher benches, the floor inclining towards the doors, which were placed on each side of the master's desk. The benches, without backs, but with desks in front of them, ran across the width THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 3/ of the school-room, leaving space at each end for an aisle and also for a line of single desks placed at intervals against the walls. These single desks were occupied by the monitors, for the school was conducted on the Lancastrian plan, then in great vogue as an economic and effec- tive method of enabling one master to teach any number of scholars, from one hundred to a thou- sand. This mutual or monitorial plan was thought to be an admirable method of converting pupils into teachers. The more advanced scholars taught those less advanced, and so saved the expense of assistant teachers. There was great enthusiasm about this system, both in England and in this country, and its introduction by Joseph Lancaster gave an impetus to popular education in both countries. It did not produce the highest results, but it led to the adoption of a better system. In Master Gorham's school the Lancastrian plan was principally applied to the reading exercises. The whole school was divided in "drafts," distrib- uted among the monitors occupying the side desks and the head monitor's desk at the rear end of the room. All the drafts were heard at the same time, and as one boy was reading aloud in each simulta- neously with a boy in all the others, some twenty or thirty in number, there was a rare hubbub dur- 38 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. ing the reading exercise. A passer-by might have thought bedlam had broken loose. Yet the general confusion of tongues did not dis- turb the exercises of each draft. The boys stood around the desk of the monitor, in a semicircle, extending from the wall of the school-house on one side of the desk to the other side, and being thus shut in among themselves, paid no attention to what was going on in the other drafts. For the preservation of order a special monitor was appointed whose duty it was to walk around the aisles during the reading exercise, and to whom the reading monitors reported any act of insubordination or infringement of rules. On the raised platform on which stood the master's desk there were two lower desks, one on each side of his, occupied by four mon- itors, whose duty it was to keep an oversight of the school, and call out any boy who might be detected in mischief or neglecting his studies. A certain number of benches were also given in charge of a monitor during the exercise in penman- ship. While this was going on the master sat on his high stool at his desk making and mending quill pens. When a scholar grew tired of writing, or thought his pen needed mending, he held up his hand and the monitor came and mended his pen or corrected his position in holding it. THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 39 On the memorable day of my entrance into this temple of learning, Jim Norton and I were assigned seats together on one of the long benches. The boy whose seat was next to mine welcomed me with a hideous grimace, which I resented with a scowl. Presently I saw him dexterously twitch a hair from the head of the boy on the other side of him. The boy thus assaulted seemed accustomed to these little eccentricities of his seat-mate, for he merely rubbed his scalp and shrank farther away from his tormentor. Not long after, while my attention was turned in another direction, I felt a sharp twinge, and turning my head quickly I became aware that my ingenious companion had employed the hair so feloniously obtained in sawing my ear. I immediately seized his ear and gave it a twist that caused him to howl with pain. In an instant I was started by the cry of,- " Ingersoll ! " The monitor had witnessed our little by-play, and I was called out to await condign punishment. How my heart sank within me as I saw the master approaching and glaring at me over his spectacles ! He was a short, thick-set man, irreverently nick- named " Duck-Legs " by the boys. " Hold out your hand," said he. I advanced a timid palm, but immediately 4O THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. snatched it away" again as the ferule was about to descend upon it, getting only a rap upon the knuckles. " Go to your seat, sir, and don't let me hear from you again." Glad of any dismissal, I crept back to my seat, to be greeted with a diabolical leer by my friend of the hair. I began to hate that boy, and as I passed behind him to my seat I gave his hair a twitch which caused him to give his immediate attention to his book. When the hour of recess arrived we tumbled out into the school-yard in a tumultuous crowd. Feel- ing a little lonesome among so many strange boys, Si Sumner, Jim Norton, and I got together in a corner to compare notes. "What's the name of that fellow who sits next me ? " I inquired. " That 's Bully Hawkins," replied Si; "he's the worst boy in school." " Well, he won't bully me," was my reply. At this moment Ben Hunter, who had entered the school at the previous term, and felt himself quite at home in it, approached and cried out, " Look here, Harry, Bully Hawkins is after you. He says he's bound to give you a thrashing, but don't you be afraid of him." " Who 's afraid ? " I replied, with an assumption THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 4! of courage I by no means felt. I determined not to seek a quarrel with Hawkins, but not to submit to any bullying by him. The yard was by this time all alive with boys racing across it, and seeing Joe Jameson among them, I ran to join him. On my way I happened to pass by Bully Hawkins, who put out his foot and tripped me up, so that I fell headlong to the ground. Rising again, not much hurt, but wild with rage, I dashed at my tormentor, who stood at a little distance with an insolent grin upon his ugly mug. He was startled by my sudden onset, but stood his ground and returned blow for blow. " A ring ! a ring ! " shouted the boys who saw this sudden engagement, while Ben Hunter cried out, " Fair play, boys. Give it to him, Harry ! " My blood was up, and Hawkins was hardly pre- pared for so impetuous an assault. He was a stout fellow, but was n't so mad as I was, and besides, had the consciousness of being in the wrong I went into close quarters with him, in a rough-and-tumble fight, and his superior strength was beginning to tell against me, when I hit him a blow on the nose that set it bleeding, and caused him to yell with pain. I followed this up with blows about his head and ears, when he cried " Enough ! " and slunk out of the ring. 42 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. The boys, many of whom had been the victims of his tyranny, set up a shout, and my friends clustered around me and congratulated me on my victory. I was the hero of the hour, while poor Bully was wip- ing his nose in a corner. One small boy said, " That pays him for pinching me." Another shouted, " Hurrah for Harry ; he 's whipped Bully Haw- kins!" All except a small cluster of his cronies were ready to rejoice over Hawkins's defeat. He seemed to feel this more than the flogging he had got, and casting a contemptuous and defiant glance at the exulting crowd, he came forward, with his handkerchief at his nose, and said to me, " Ingersoll, you fight like a tiger, but I guess you gave me about what I deserved. I 'm willing to be friends if you are." These frank words caused an immediate revulsion of my feelings towards him, and grasping his hand I exclaime " All right, Hawkins ; I hope you are not much hurt." The boys set up a shout at this scene of reconcilia- tion, and as the bell rang at this moment we all went tumbling into school again. There was a monitor of the school-yard, whose duty THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 43 it was at recess time to set down, slate in hand, the names of those boys who made a disturbance or were loud and boisterous in their play, to be reported to the master. Charlie Gardiner was monitor on this occasion, but he took care to keep out of the way and see nothing of the fight between Hawkins and myself. "Gardiner," said Master Gorham, "there was a great noise during recess, and I must punish you for making no report of it." Thereupon Charlie was feruled for the first and last time in his life, while Hawkins and I, who had been the guilty cause of all the disturbance, escaped scot free. Thus impartially is justice administered in this world. After this introduction I got on well with the boys, and soon began to take an interest in my studies. It was not all fun at Master Gorham's school. He was a strict disciplinarian, and when seated at his high desk, with his monitors on either side of him, he was like a general on the battle-field, keeping his forces well in hand. Then the school was on its good behavior, and every boy was busy with his books. Somehow a gleam of the master's eye made us all very diligent, and we took rapid strides up the hill of knowledge, for a time. There were, however, moments of relax- ation. Of an afternoon it was the master's wont to 44 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. thrust his broken cowhide, doubled up like a whip with its lash, into his pocket, both ends sticking out, and waddle up the school-room to the upper benches, where he gave his attention to the more advanced scholars. We boys on the lower benches, though still under the eyes of the vigilant monitors, were then left pretty much to our own devices. How lazily the hours dragged along on those sunny afternoons, as we loitered over our books, with an occasional diver- sion into other studies than those laid down for our pursuit ! It was on one of those drowsy afternoons that I heard a half-suppressed giggle ripple over the benches behind me, and turning my head, caught sight for an instant of a spectacle that nearly sent me off into a loud guffaw. In the upper left-hand corner of the school-room there was a small closet partitioned off with boards. The tradition in the school was that this was a prison pen for the confinement of truants and other incorrigible offenders, but I never knew it to be put to such a use. We smaller boys stood in some awe of it, and had never ventured to peep into it. High up on that side of the closet, looking down the school-room, was a small round hole in the wall, presumably made for the admission of air and light. What I saw on turning my head was THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 45 a comical, grimacing face at this hole, surmounted by a tuft of fiery red hair, which seemed to leave a streak of light behind it as the face quickly vanished. All the boys on the benches in my neighborhood were instantly on the alert to catch another glimpse of this comical visitant. Presently the face again appeared, with a more diabolical grimace than before, and the titter among the boys became louder than at first ; it attracted the attention of the monitors, who looked around in vain for the cause of it. We boys at once bent studiously over our books, still, how- ever, casting a furtive glance over our shoulders in the direction of the closet. Once more the mysteri- ous visage appeared, and being observed this time by a larger number of the scholars than at first, an irre- pressible laugh went up. Master Gorham was at once aroused and instantly demanded the cause of the disturbance. As he was at the upper end of the school-room, beyond the line of the closet, he could not see the orifice in its wall, and the monitors, not having observed the face, could not account for the merriment among the boys, nor could they call out a whole bench at once. The matter grew more mysterious every moment, and there was a threatening aspect in the master's face as he strode down the school-room to investigate the cause of this untimely merriment. 46 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. All eyes were now directed towards the orifice in the closet wall. Presently the face appeared again, this time directing contemptuous grimaces towards the master, whose back was turned towards it as he hurried down the aisle. The boys were now nearly beyond control. Some rose in their seats ; others laughed aloud. The master, turning quickly around, caught a glimpse of the visage as it disappeared from the hole. At that moment, just as a feeling of awe was creeping over the boys, and silence reigned, a tremendous crash was heard. The master rushed to the closet door, tore it open, and instantly dragged out by the collar the shrinking figure of Tim Bunce. The boys were now all on their feet. "Sit down !" shouted the master as he dragged Tim down the aisle and set him on his feet in front of the desk. We dropped into our seats, but kept our eyes fastened on the scene in front of us. " How came you in that closet, sir ? " said the mas- ter, who by this time had drawn his cowhide from his pocket. "I I went in," replied Tim, very humbly, at the same time casting a squint at the boys from the cor- ner of his eye that nearly upset our gravity again. "And what did you go in for, sir ?" "Ju-just to see how it would seem." " Well, siivyou '11 now learn how it seems to get a THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 4/ cowhiding." And with that the lash came down on Tim's back, and he began to caper about in a way that made it difficult for the master to control him, but he got a terrible thrashing and was sent howling to his seat. It appeared that he had stolen into the closet before the arrival of the master, and finding there a broken bench, had placed it againsjt the wall and climbed upon it. When once he looked out of the hole it was not in Tim's nature to resist making faces, and the rest followed as a matter of course. The crash heard was occasioned by the beYich slipping out from under him and throwing him down upon the floor. Poor Tim ! he was the occasion of a good deal of fun, much of which was involuntary on his part. He was not a brilliant scholar, and stumbled sadly in his reading. I remember on one occasion we were read- ing in the draft of James Moore, the head monitor, when the lesson was in " Worcester's Fourth Book," being Goldsmith's account of the golden eagle. Of this proud bird it was said, " How hungry soever he may be, he never stoops to carrion." It fell to Tim to read this paragraph, which he rendered thus, "How hungry soever he may be he never stops to carry on." " He would be a fool to stop to carry on while he was hungry," said Moore, whereat we all laughed. 48 THE BOYS OF THIRTY-FIVE. But Tim was not the author of all the mischief going on, however fertile he might be in blunders. ' What do you think, boys," said little Ed Thompson, one day, " there 's been a row over on Cotton Street, and Ben Hunter was n't in it ! " This was almost in- credible, for every piece of mischief was charged upon Ben, and he seldom took the trouble to deny it. Ben had a cool assurance, an amount of " cheek," as we should now say, that carried him through every- thing. There was a cellar under the school-house, in which was stored the wood burned in the box stoves for the heating of the school-room in the winter term. It was the custom of the master to appoint two boys, in turn, to build the fires of a morning. One day, when Ben Hunter and Joe Jameson had performed that task, Joe said to me, with a mysterious wink, " You '11 see some fun to-day." " What 's up ? " I inquired. " Never you mind, you '11 hear something that '11 astonish old Duck-Legs." As the school-bell rang at that moment I was forced to be content with this mysterious intimation of some impending event of a startling character. The forenoon passed away, and nothing remarkable hap- pened. I noticed, however, at recess, that Joe and Ben held a whispered conference and oarted with the injunction from Ben, THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL FOR BOYS. 49 " Keep dark ! " The afternoon session was wearing away, and I begun to lose faith in Joe's prognostications, when at a moment in which no classes were reciting, and all was quiet, there was heard a startling crash, followed by a rattling and rumbling, as though all the long stove-pipes that ran overhead had tumbled down. The scholars all started and looked around. " Ingersoll," said 'the master, " go down cellar and see what has caused this disturbance." Not without much trepidation I proceeded to obey. The cellar was a dark and pokerish place, and as I stumbled about in it I expected every moment to be seized by some hidden intruder. As my eyes adapted themselves to the dim light, I peered cau- tiously about, but saw nothing save a pile of old, disused stove-pipe, lying innocently in the middle of the floor. Returning above ground, I reported no- body in the cellar. The words had scarcely passed my lips when rat- tlety-bang ! came another clashing of the dead stove- pipes, as though they were all dancing a hornpipe over the cellar floor. The master eyed me sternly and exclaimed, " Come down stairs with me, sir ! " Down we went, I taking care to fall into the rear. Nothing was to be seen save the bewitched stove-pipes, demurely 4 5