At Valley Forge.AT VALLEY FORGE.
At the end of February, light began to break. The terrible winter was passing away, though the army was still in wretched state. But there came to camp, a volunteer, Baron Steuben, who had been trained in the best armies of Europe. In him Washington had, what he greatly needed, an excellent drill-master. He made him Inspector of the army, and soon, as if by magic, the men changed from slouching, careless fellows into erect, orderly soldiers. The Baron began with a picked company of one hundred and twenty men, whom he drilled thoroughly; these became the models for others, and so the whole camp was turned into a military school.
The prospect grew brighter and brighter, until on the 4th of May, late at night, a messenger rode into camp with dispatches from Congress. Washington opened them, and his heart must have leaped for joy as he read that an alliance had been formed between France and the United States. Two days later, the army celebrated the event. The chaplains of the several regiments read the intelligence and then offered up thanksgiving to God. Guns were fired, and there was a public dinner in honor of Washington and his generals. There had been shouts for the King of France and for the American States; but when Washington took his leave, "there was," says an officer who was present, universal applause, "with loud huzzas, which continued till he had proceeded a quarter of a mile, during which time there were a thousand hats tossed in the air. His excellency turned round with his retinue, and huzzaed several times."
There is no man so high but some will always be found who wish to pull him down. Washington was no exception to this rule. His men worshiped him; the people had confidence in him; the officers nearest to him, and especially those who formed a part of his military family, were warmly attached to him; but in Congress there were men who violently opposed him, and there were certain generals who not only envied him but were ready to seize any opportunity which might offer to belittle him and to place one of their own number in his place. The chief men who were engaged in this business were Generals Conway, Mifflin, and Gates, and from the prominent position taken in the affair by the first-named officer, the intrigue against Washington goes by the name of the Conway Cabal. A "cabal" is a secret combination against a person with the object of his hurt or injury.
It is not easy to say just how or when this cabal first showed itself. Conway was a young brigadier-general, very conceited and impudent. Mifflin had been Quartermaster-general, but had resigned. He had been early in the service and was in Cambridge with Washington, but had long been secretly hostile to him. Gates, who had been Washington's companion in Virginia, was an ambitious man who never lost an opportunity of looking after his own interest, and had been especially fortunate in being appointed to the command of the northern army just as it achieved the famous victory over Burgoyne.
The defeat at Brandywine, the failure to make Germantown a great success, and the occupation of Philadelphia by the British troops, while the American army was suffering at Valley Forge—all this seemed to many a sorry story compared with the brilliant victory at Saratoga. There had always been those who thought Washington slow and cautious. John Adams was one of these, and he expressed himself as heartily glad "that the glory of turning the tide of arms was not immediately due to the commander-in-chief." Others shook their heads and said that the people of America had been guilty of idolatry by making a man their god; and that, besides, the army would become dangerous to the liberties of the people if it were allowed to be so influenced by one man.
Conway was the foremost of these critics. "No man was more a gentleman than General Washington, or appeared to more advantage at his table, or in the usual intercourse of life," he would say; then he would give his shoulders a shrug, and look around and add, "but as to his talents for the command of an army, they were miserable indeed."
"Gates was the general!" Conway said. "There was a man who could fight, and win victories!"
Gates himself was in a mood to believe it. He had been so intoxicated by his success against Burgoyne that he thought himself the man of the day, and quite forgot to send a report of the action to his commander-in-chief. Washington rebuked him in a letter which was severe in its quiet tone. He congratulated Gates on his great success, and added, "At the same time, I can not but regret that a matter of such magnitude, and so interesting to our general operations, should have reached me by report only; or through the channel of letters not bearing that authenticity which the importance of it required, and which it would have received by a line over your signature stating the simple fact."
Gates may have winced under the rebuke, but he was then listening to Conway's flattery, and that was more agreeable to him. Conway, on his part, found Gates a convenient man to set up as a rival to Washington. He himself did not aspire to be commander-in-chief, though he would have had no doubt as to his capacity. Washington knew him well. "His merit as an officer," wrote the Commander-in-chief, "and his importance in this army exist more in his own imagination than in reality. For it is a maxim with him to leave no service of his own untold, nor to want anything which is to be obtained by importunity." Conway thought Gates was the rising man, and he meant to rise with him. He filled his ear with things which he thought would please him, and among other letters wrote him one in which these words occurred: "Heaven has determined to save your country, or a weak general and bad counselors would have ruined it."
Now Gates was foolish enough to show this letter to Wilkinson, one of his aids, and Wilkinson repeated it to an aid of Lord Stirling, one of Washington's generals, and Lord Stirling at once sat down and wrote it off to Washington. Thereupon Washington, who knew Conway too well to waste any words upon him, sat down and wrote him this letter:
"Sir,—A letter which I received last night contained the following paragraph:
"'In a letter from General Conway to General Gates he says: Heaven has determined to save your country, or a weak general and bad counselors would have ruined it.'
"I am, Sir, your humble servant,
"George Washington."
That was all, but it was quite enough to throw Conway and Gates and Mifflin into a panic. How did Washington get hold of the sentence? Hadhe seen any other letters? How much did he know? In point of fact, that was all that Washington had seen. He had a contempt for Conway. He knew of Mifflin's hostility and that Gates was now cool to him; but he did not suspect Gates of any intrigue, and he supposed for a while that Wilkinson's message had been intended only to warn him of Conway's evil mind.
Gates was greatly perplexed to know what to do, but he finally wrote to Washington as if there were some wretch who had been stealing letters and might be discovering the secrets of the American leaders. He begged Washington to help him find the rascal. Washington replied, giving him the exact manner in which the letter came into his hands, and then closed with a few sentences that showed Gates clearly that he had lost the confidence of his commander-in-chief.
That particular occasion passed, but presently the cabal showed its head again, this time working through Congress. It secured the appointment of a Board of War, with Gates at the head, and a majority of the members from men who were hostile to Washington. Now, they thought, Washington will resign, and to help matters on they spread the report that Washington was about to resign. The general checkmated them at once by a letter to a friend, in which he wrote:
"To report a design of this kind is among the arts which those who are endeavoring to effect a change, are practicing to bring it to pass.... While the public are satisfied with my endeavors, I mean not to shrink from the cause. But the moment her voice,not that of faction, calls upon me to resign, I shall do it with as much pleasure as ever the wearied traveler retired to rest."
The cabal was not yet defeated. It had failed by roundabout methods. It looked about in Congress and counted the disaffected to see if it would be possible to get a majority vote in favor of a motion to arrest the commander-in-chief. So at least the story runs which, from its nature, would not be found in any record, but was whispered from one man to another. The day came when the motion was to be tried; the conspiracy leaked out, and Washington's friends bestirred themselves. They needed one more vote. They sent post-haste for one of their number, Gouverneur Morris, who was absent in camp; but they feared they could not get him in time. In their extremity, they went to William Duer, a member from New York, who was dangerously ill. Duer sent for his doctor.
"Doctor," he asked, "can I be carried to Congress?"
"Yes, but at the risk of your life," replied the physician.
"Do you mean that I should expire before reaching the place?" earnestly inquired the patient.
"No," came the answer; "but I would not answer for your leaving it alive."
"Very well, sir. You have done your duty and I will do mine!" exclaimed Duer. "Prepare a litter for me; if you will not, somebody else will, but I prefer your aid."
The demand was in earnest, and Duer had already started when it was announced that Morris had returned and that he would not be needed. Morris had come direct from the camp with the latest news of what was going on there. His vote would make it impossible for the enemies of Washington to carry their point; their opportunity was lost, and they never recovered it.
It was not the end of the cabal, however. They still cherished their hostility to Washington, and they sought to injure him where he would feel the wound most keenly. They tried to win from him the young Marquis de La Fayette, who had come from France to join the American army, and whom Washington had taken to his heart. La Fayette was ambitious and enthusiastic. Conway, who had been in France, did his best to attach himself to the young Frenchman, but he betrayed his hatred of Washington, and that was enough to estrange La Fayette. Then a winter campaign in Canada was planned, and the cabal intrigued to have La Fayette appointed to command it. It was argued that as a Frenchman he would have an influence over the French Canadians. But the plotters hoped that, away from Washington, the young marquis could be more easily worked upon, and it was intended that Conway should be his second in command.
Of course, in contriving this plan, Washington was not consulted; but the moment La Fayette was approached, he appealed to Washington for advice. Washington saw through the device, but he at once said, "I would rather it should be you than another." La Fayette insisted on Kalb being second in command instead of Conway, whom he disliked and distrusted. Congress was in session at York, and thither La Fayette went to receive his orders. Gates, who spent much of his time in the neighborhood of Congress, seeking to influence the members, was there, and La Fayette was at once invited to join him and his friends at dinner. The talk ran freely, and great things were promised of the Canada expedition, but not a word was said about Washington. La Fayette listened and noticed. He thought of the contrast between the meager fare and the sacrifices at Valley Forge, and this feast at which he was a guest. He watched his opportunity, and near the end of the dinner, he said:
"I have a toast to propose. There is one health, gentlemen, which we have not yet drunk. I have the honor to propose it to you: The Commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States!"
It was a challenge which no one dared openlyto take up, but there was an end to the good spirits of the company. La Fayette had shown his colors, and he was let alone after that. Indeed, the Canada expedition never was undertaken, for the men who were urging it were not in earnest about anything but diminishing the honor of Washington. It is the nature of cabals and intrigues that they flourish in the dark. They can not bear the light. As soon as these hostile intentions began to reach the ears of the public, great was the indignation aroused, and one after another of the conspirators made haste to disown any evil purpose. Gates and Mifflin each publicly avowed their entire confidence in Washington, and Conway, who had fought a duel and supposed himself to be dying, made a humble apology. The cabal melted away, leaving Washington more secure than ever in the confidence of men—all the more secure that he did not lower himself by attempting the same arts against his traducers. When Conway was uttering his libels behind his back, Washington was openly declaring his judgment of Conway; and throughout the whole affair, Washington kept his hands clean, and went his way with a manly disregard of his enemies.
The news of the French alliance, and consequent war between France and England, compelled the English to leave Philadelphia. They had taken their ease there during the winter, while hardships and Steuben's drilling and Washington's unflagging zeal had made the American army at Valley Forge strong and determined. A French fleet might at any time sail up the Delaware, and with the American army in the rear, Philadelphia would be a hard place to hold. So General Howe turned his command over to General Clinton, and went home to England, and General Clinton set about marching his army across New Jersey to New York.
The moment the troops left Philadelphia, armed men sprang up all over New Jersey to contest their passage, and Washington set his army in motion, following close upon the heels of the enemy, who were making for Staten Island. There was a question whether they should attack the British and bring on a general engagement, or only follow them and vex them. The generals on whom Washington most relied, Greene, La Fayette, and Wayne, all good fighters, urged that it would be a shame to let the enemy leave New Jersey without a severe punishment. The majority of generals in the council, however, strongly opposed the plan of giving battle. They said that the French alliance would undoubtedly put an end to the war at once. Why, then, risk life and success? The British army, moreover, was strong and well equipped.
The most strenuous opponent of the fighting plan was General Charles Lee. When he was left in command of a body of troops at the time of Washington's crossing the Hudson river more than a year before, his orders were to hold himself in readiness to join Washington at any time. In his march across New Jersey, Washington had repeatedly sent for Lee, but Lee had delayed in an unaccountable manner, and finally was himself surprised by a company of dragoons, and taken captive. For a year he had been held a prisoner, and only lately had been released on exchange. He had returned to the army while the cabal against Washington was going on, and had taken part in it, for he always felt that he ought to be first and Washington second. He was second in command now, and his opinion had great weight. He was a trained soldier, and besides, in his long captivity he had become well acquainted with General Clinton, and he professed to know well the condition and temper of the British officers.
Washington thus found himself unsupported by a majority of his officers. But he had no doubt in his own mind that the policy of attack was a sound one. All had agreed that it was well to harass the enemy; he therefore ordered La Fayette with a large division to fall upon the enemy at an exposed point. He thought it not unlikely that this would bring on a general action, and he disposed his forces so as to be ready for such an emergency. He gave the command to La Fayette, because Lee had disapproved the plan; but after La Fayette had set out, Lee came to Washington and declared that La Fayette's division was so large as to make it almost an independent army, and that therefore he would like to change his mind and take command. It never would do to have his junior in such authority.
Here was a dilemma. Washington could not recall La Fayette. He wished to make use of Lee; so he gave Lee two additional brigades, sent him forward to join La Fayette, when, as his senior, he would of course command the entire force; and at the same time he notified La Fayette of what he had done, trusting to his sincere devotion to the cause in such an emergency.
When Clinton found that a large force was close upon him, he took up his position at Monmouth Court House, now Freehold, New Jersey and prepared to meet the Americans. Washington knew Clinton's movements and sent word to Lee at once to attack the British, unless there should be verypowerful reasons to the contrary; adding that he himself was bringing up the rest of the army. Lee had joined La Fayette and was now in command of the advance. La Fayette was eager to move upon the enemy.
"You do not know British soldiers," said Lee; "we can not stand against them. We shall certainly be driven back at first, and we must be cautious."
"Perhaps so," said La Fayette. "But we have beaten British soldiers, and we can do it again."
Washington Rebuking Lee, at Monmouth.WASHINGTON REBUKING LEE, AT MONMOUTH.
Soon after, one of Washington's aids appeared for intelligence, and La Fayette, in despair at Lee's inaction, sent the messenger to urge Washington to come at once to the front; that he was needed. Washington was already on the way, before the messenger reached him, when he was met by a little fifer boy, who cried out:
"They are all coming this way, your honor."
"Who are coming, my little man?" asked General Knox, who was riding by Washington.
"Why, our boys, your honor, our boys, and the British right after them."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Washington, and he galloped to a hill just ahead. To his amazement and dismay, he saw his men retreating. He lost not an instant, but, putting spurs to his horse, dashed forward. After him flew the officers who had been riding by his side, but they could not overtake him. His horse, covered with foam, shot down the road over a bridge and up the hill beyond. The retreating column saw him come. The men knew him; they stopped; they made way for the splendid-looking man, as he, their leader, rode headlong into the midst of them. Lee was there, ordering the retreat, and Washington drew his rein as he came upon him. A moment of terrible silence—then Washington burst out, his eyes flashing:
"What, sir, is the meaning of this?"
"Sir, sir," stammered Lee.
"I desire to know, sir, the meaning of this disorder and confusion?"
Lee, enraged now by Washington's towering passion, made an angry reply. He declared that the whole affair was against his opinion.
"You are a poltroon!" flashed back Washington, with an oath. "Whatever your opinion may have been, I expected my orders to be obeyed."
"These men can not face the British grenadiers," answered Lee.
"They can do it, and they shall!" exclaimed Washington, galloping off to survey the ground. Presently he came back; his wrath had gone downin the presence of the peril to the army. He would waste no strength in cursing Lee.
"Will you retain the command here, or shall I?" he asked. "If you will, I will return to the main body and have it formed on the next height."
"It is equal to me where I command," said Lee, sullenly.
"Then remain here," said Washington. "I expect you to take proper means for checking the enemy."
"Your orders shall be obeyed, and I shall not be the first to leave the ground," replied Lee, with spirit.
The rest of the day the battle raged, and when night came the enemy had been obliged to fall back, and Washington determined to follow up his success in the morning. He directed all the troops to lie on their arms where they were. He himself lay stretched on the ground beneath a tree, his cloak wrapped about him. About midnight, an officer came near with a message, but hesitated, reluctant to waken him.
"Advance, sir, and deliver your message," Washington called out; "I lie here to think, and not to sleep."
In the morning, Washington prepared to renew the attack, but the British had slipped away under cover of the darkness, not willing to venture another battle.
Pursuit, except by some cavalry, was unavailing. The men were exhausted. The sun beat down fiercely, and the hot sand made walking difficult. Moreover, the British fleet lay off Sandy Hook, and an advance in that direction would lead the army nearer to the enemy's re-enforcements. Accordingly Washington marched his army to Brunswick and thence to the Hudson river, crossed it, and encamped again near White Plains.
After the battle of Monmouth, Lee wrote an angry letter to Washington and received a cool one in reply. Lee demanded a court-martial, and Washington at once ordered it. Three charges were made, and Lee was convicted of disobedience of orders in not attacking the enemy on the 28th of June, agreeably to repeated instructions; misbehavior before the enemy on the same day, by making an unnecessary and disorderly retreat; and disrespect to the Commander-in-chief. He was suspended from the army for a year, and he never returned to it. Long after his death, facts were brought to light which make it seem more than probable that General Lee was so eaten up by vanity, by jealousy of Washington, and by a love of his profession above a love of his country, that he was a traitor at heart, and that instead of being ready to sacrifice himself for his country, he was ready to sacrifice the country to his own willful ambition and pride.
But his disgrace was the end of all opposition to Washington. From that time there was no question as to who was at the head of the army and the people.
(To be continued.)
Fresh from a Dip in the Breakers.FRESH FROM A DIP IN THE BREAKERS.
The flowers are fringing the swift meadow brooks,The songsters are nesting in shadowy nooks;The birds and the blossoms are thronging to meet us,With loveliness, perfume, and music they greet us,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!The bobolink tilts on the tall, nodding clover,And sings his gay song to us over and over;The wild roses beckon, with deepening blushes,And sweet, from the wood, sounds the warble of thrushes,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!The white lilies sway with the breeze of the morning,In raiment more fair than a monarch's adorning;The bright-throated humming-bird, marvel of fleetness,Comes questing for honey-blooms, draining their sweetness,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!High up in the elm is the oriole courting,A new suit of velvet and gold he is sporting;With gay bits of caroling, tuneful and mellow,He wooes his fair lady-love, clad in plain yellow,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!The blossoms and birds bring us, yearly, sweet tokenThat Nature's glad promises never are broken.Then sing, happy birdlings, nor ever grow weary!Laugh on, merry children, 'tis time to be cheery!—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!
The flowers are fringing the swift meadow brooks,The songsters are nesting in shadowy nooks;The birds and the blossoms are thronging to meet us,With loveliness, perfume, and music they greet us,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!
The bobolink tilts on the tall, nodding clover,And sings his gay song to us over and over;The wild roses beckon, with deepening blushes,And sweet, from the wood, sounds the warble of thrushes,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!
The white lilies sway with the breeze of the morning,In raiment more fair than a monarch's adorning;The bright-throated humming-bird, marvel of fleetness,Comes questing for honey-blooms, draining their sweetness,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!
High up in the elm is the oriole courting,A new suit of velvet and gold he is sporting;With gay bits of caroling, tuneful and mellow,He wooes his fair lady-love, clad in plain yellow,—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!
The blossoms and birds bring us, yearly, sweet tokenThat Nature's glad promises never are broken.Then sing, happy birdlings, nor ever grow weary!Laugh on, merry children, 'tis time to be cheery!—For Summer, the beautiful, reigns!
CCÆSAR AND THE PEACOCK. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
lifford and Jack went down from Brooklyn last summer to spend a few weeks with Clifford's aunt, in the cozy old homestead on the Shrewsbury River. Yachting was to be their chief enjoyment. To be sure, they were not practical yachtsmen; but Jack said he "had read up the subject," and Cliff "had been out in a yacht once or twice," so they had no fears.
Clifford and Jack were second cousins, and great friends; but Jack had been in the habit of spending his summers at Saratoga, and accordingly he looked forward to his present trip with the feeling of an adventurous explorer of unknown regions. And in order to be prepared for every emergency, he brought an "outfit" that filled a strong trunk, two valises, a shawl-strap, and a number of queerly-shaped packages.
Clifford, who for several years had spent a part of each summer at his aunt's, carried a handbag. When Jack asked him where the rest of his things were, Clifford, with a glance at his cousin's paraphernalia, answered that he preferred to keep his "outfit" at his aunt's. He was not likely to need it elsewhere, and he saved expense for extra baggage.
But Cæsar was Jack's chief reliance and most weighty responsibility. Cæsar was a dog;—according to Jack, a setter-dog. And as Clifford was unable to state what was the dog's breed, if it were not a setter, Jack felt that he had established his point. Moreover, when Cæsar, upon their arrival at Mud Flat, immediately celebrated the occasion by slaughtering eight out of a brood of eleven Cochin China chicks that were great pets of their hostess, Jack claimed that his pet's success as a game dog was assured beyond cavil. Jack was somewhat discouraged on learning that the principal "game" in that vicinity was the sideling "shedder," or crab, and he acknowledged that in the pursuit of such plunder he feared even Cæsar was not ambitious. But nothing ever discouraged Cæsar, and he had more fun with Miss Goodmaid's favorite peacock than all the game in New Jersey would have afforded him; as subsequent events developed the fact that he was mortally afraid of a gun. This is not strange, considering that he had spent the previous eight months of his short life in a stable on Henry street, in Brooklyn. Indeed, his principal amusement during the rest of the boys' visit, was to chase the gorgeous bird of Juno into the branches of a pear-tree, and stand below and bark.
Though this was severe on the nervous organism of the peacock, it seemed to afford unlimited satisfaction to Cæsar, and it kept him out of so much other possible mischief, that he was rarely interfered with on these occasions.
Jack Exhibits His 'Outfit.'JACK EXHIBITS HIS "OUTFIT."
As soon as Jack could have his luggage taken to the house and put in the room the boys were to occupy, he hastened to unpack his outfit before the wondering eyes of Clifford. A handsome double-barreled shot-gun, Clifford suggested, might be used in trying to kill his aunt's three remaining chickens; a delicate split-bamboo fishing-rod might come in well for catching live bait, if they were not in a hurry; and an extensive collection of artificial flies would perhaps serve to frighten away the mosquitoes. A large horse-pistol Cliff thought would be "just the thing for picking off bull-frogs in the marshes"; but he was forced to tell his cousin that he feared his shooting-coat, his fine yachting suit, his knickerbockers for mountainclimbing, and his tennis flannels, would scarcely be needed in that vicinity.
Poor Jack looked ruefully at his expensive "outfit," which Clifford seemed to prize so little, and then he asked his cousin to tell him what specialties of costume and accouterments were best fitted to the Shrewsbury region. Without answering in words, Clifford simply pointed to a closet, through the open door of which could be seen, hanging from hooks, a broad-brimmed straw hat, a blue flannel shirt, a stout pair of trousers, and a lanyard. A large jack-knife lay upon the shelf, and a substantial pair of high shoes stood firmly on the floor.
Little more was said concerning the subject that evening, but Jack went to bed in a very sober frame of mind. In the morning, he put all his fancy toggery back into his trunk, selecting only such useful garments as Clifford suggested, and took an early opportunity of purchasing a hat which was an exact counterpart of the one worn by his cousin.
Indeed, it was dangerous to mention the word "outfit" in Jack's hearing for a long time.
Clifford's aunt, Miss Goodmaid, was asked to tell them where they could hire a sail-boat for their proposed trip; she had heard that Johnny Peltsman, the carriage-maker's son, in Mud Flat, had such a boat, and to him the boys went to "negotiate."
Johnny Peltsmandidhave a boat, which he said he would let, if he "could get his price." The Slug, he admitted, looked a trifle heavy, and, while under "proper conditions" she would go fast, Johnny confessed that she couldn't sail very close to the wind. Upon payment of five dollars, he said, the boys might have the boat for two weeks.
"Done!" cried Jack, eagerly. "I dare say she will suit us perfectly. Some people may like boats that sail close to the wind. But a boat to suit me must be able to slide away from the wind, and not stay crawling around close to it!"
Clifford's face was a study as his partner thus aired his nautical opinions, while Johnny Peltsman greeted the remark with open-mouthed astonishment; and when Jack concluded his observations, Johnny said earnestly:
"By the way, young friend, it is understood, of course, that if you sink or wreck the Slug, you must pay damages."
"Certainly, if we lose the yacht, you shall be paid for it," Jack answered, feeling rather indignant at the suggestion.
The Boys Engage the 'Slug.'THE BOYS ENGAGE THE "SLUG."
Being directed to the place where the Slug lay, the boys hastened away to take immediate possession. Johnny stood looking after them until they were out of sight. Then turning to enter his shop, he soliloquized:
"Well, that beats all! The idea of hiring a boat without seeing it, and not caring to have it to sail close to the wind! I suppose, of course, those chaps can swim." And with an ominous shake of the head, Johnny resumed his carriage-making.
Our heroes found their prize lying in a little cove just above the bridge. The Slug was a flat-bottomed center-board boat, fifteen feet long, five feet across the stern, and narrowing gradually to a point at the bows. A more clumsy sail-boat was never seen. But Jack only noticed the two large lockers, and with unbounded satisfaction, remarked to his cousin:
"We can stow away a big stock of provisions in those boxes, Cliff."
It was Friday, so the two boys decided to give the "yacht" a short trial-trip down to the Highlands and back. In that way they would become familiar with the boat, and on Monday morning would be ready to start on a week's cruise. It chanced that a flood-tide was just beginning when the lads shovedthe Slug well out into the river, while the wind was blowing a brisk gale straight down-stream, the very direction in which the boys wished to go. Clifford was enough of a sailor to step the little mast and properly set the leg-of-mutton sail for a breeze directly astern. With a strong wind behind her, and only a weak tide opposing, it was not surprising that the Slug made a progress quite satisfactory to the two amateur yachtsmen. As the tide increased in force, however, the boat went slower and slower, and it was six o'clock when the Highlands "hove in sight," as Jack said—having learned that and other nautical terms from his story-books. On finding how late it was, Clifford remarked:
"We'd better be making for home."
The boys managed to put the Slug about, and very soon Jack ascertained that there were times when it was an advantage to have a boat able to sail close to the wind; for, as the breeze still blew down-stream, Clifford found it simply impossible to beat up the river in the Slug. The truth was, the only "proper conditions" under which Johnny Peltsman's boat would sail at all were those of going straight before the wind!
'''How Can You Sleep?' Asked Clifford.''"'HOW CAN YOU SLEEP?' ASKED CLIFFORD."
Clifford told Jack that they must "row the old tub back to Mud Flat," and both boys pluckily bent to the work. It was hard work, too. The oars were long and heavy, the boat was as unwieldy as a raft of logs, and at length Jack exclaimed:
"It seems to me, Cliff, that the scenery along this river is very monotonous. We passed just such banks and houses as those over there, ten minutes ago."
Clifford threw a hurried glance shoreward, looked down at the water, and immediately pulled his oar into the boat, saying:
"The fates are against us, Jack. In spite of our pulling and tugging, we are actually drifting down-stream. The tide has turned; it's dead against us, and so is the wind. It would take a Cunarder to tow this miserable scow back to Mud Flat, now."
"What's to be done?" asked Jack, suddenly realizing that they might be swept out into the bay, where the whitecaps gave evidence that a very high sea would be encountered.
"Neither of us can swim very far," said Clifford. "Our only chance is to land on that little island, yonder. Luckily we're drifting straight toward it."
Favored by the current, the boat was carried close to the sand-bar of the island, and by a vigorous use of the oars they were able to bring their craft safely to land.
"We'll have to stay here until slack water," said Clifford, "and then perhaps we can row across to the shore. The next slack will be about midnight, so we'd better camp here and take advantage of to-morrow morning's slack. Then we can cross to the Highlands Landing, a short distance below here, and go back by steamboat. The Seabird will tow the Slug home for us."
"All right; I'll stand by you," laconically answered Jack.
They at once set about gathering grass and sea-weed with which to make a bed, intending to use the Slug's sail for a covering. After a couch had been arranged to their satisfaction, the twofriends strolled around their domain, which they found to be a little larger than a city lot. During their walk, the boys caught four or five soft-shell crabs, which the epicurean Jack prudently stowed away in one of the lockers.
The mosquitoes had troubled the lads greatly from the moment they landed on the sand-island; and, as they had no matches and could not make a "smudge," they soon decided to "turn in" as Jack technically stated. But then the vicious insects attacked their victims in clouds, until the boys were forced to cover their heads and hands completely with the sail; and in that uncomfortable condition they finally fell asleep.
It seemed but a short time to Clifford before he became conscious of a stinging, smarting sensation on his face that was almost unbearable, and he awoke to find that he was literally covered with swarms of the poisonous little pests, while Jack, snugly rolled up in the sailcloth of which he had taken complete possession in his sleep, snored loudly.
Slapping, brushing, and shaking off his tormentors, Clifford punched his companion and exclaimed:
"How can you sleep through this?"
"Oh,I'mall right," answered Jack, in smothered tones.
"Well,I'mnot!" growled Clifford, as he sprang to his feet and proceeded to spend the few hours until daybreak in battle with his small but ferocious enemies.
At sunrise, the castaways refreshed themselves with a prolonged bath; and then, hungry as bears, they impatiently waited for slack water, when they sprang into the Slug, and by long and hard work, at last reached the mainland not far above the Highlands.
''The Two Hungry Lads Were Soon Dispatching Their Breakfast.''"THE TWO HUNGRY LADS WERE SOON DISPATCHING THEIR BREAKFAST."
An investigation of their finances showed the boys that they had, together, exactly sixty-five cents. With that sum, therefore, they had to provide a breakfast, pay steamboat fares home, and meet unknown incidental expenses. A little shop was soon found where coffee, butter, and a roll would be furnished to each boy for thirty cents. Their fares home would amount to twenty cents; and the boys decided to take the chance that fifteen cents would prove adequate to the unforeseen. Remembering the soft-shell crabs in the locker, Clifford induced the good-natured landlady to cook them "without extra charge;" and soon the two hungry lads were dispatching their thirty-cent breakfast, which included fried potatoes, also "donated" by the kind-hearted hostess.
At ten o'clock on that eventful Saturday morning, the young navigators re-embarked and dropped down with the tide to the steamboat landing at the Highlands.
The boys soon saw the Seabird plowing her way to the landing. When she had landed, theSlug was quickly made fast to the stern of the larger boat, and ere long the steamer was bearing them homeward.
Seated well forward on the upper deck, the boys were congratulating themselves on being at last free from all anxiety, when suddenly they were startled by loud cries from the stern of the steamboat:
"Hi! Hi! You lads who own the little boat astern! Hurry! quick! quick! She's sinking! she's sinking!"
Running to the spot whence came those warning shouts; Clifford and Jack looked down at the Slug and saw that the small center-board had been thrown entirely out of its trunk by the force of the water which had been churned to a white foam under the huge paddle-wheels of the Seabird,—and a broad stream pouring through this opening into their "yacht" threatened each moment to swamp it.
"Bother that yacht! She's going to haunt us all our lives!" cried Jack, in dismay; but Clifford, taking in the state of affairs at a glance, ran to the lower deck, and with one stroke of his pocket-knife cut the Slug's painter, and then the two boys silently and sadly watched their boat drop far behind in the fan-shaped wake of the larger vessel.
"She may be picked up by some one alongshore, but, more likely, she'll go to the bottom," thoughtfully remarked Clifford.
"I don't believe it," said Jack; "that yacht will never sink! She will be turning up against us all through life, bringing trouble and disgrace."
In due time, the boys arrived at the Goodmaid homestead, where they received a warm welcome from Clifford's aunt, who had almost begun to fear that her young guests were at the bottom of the Shrewsbury.
On Monday morning, bright and early, the two boys started down the left bank of the river to find their boat. They found it after an hour's walk. It had been hauled out upon the beach. The Slug had been sighted and recovered by a farmer living alongshore. After paying two dollars as salvage, Jack asked the farmer concerning the best way of getting the boat home.
"There are three ways," answered the man, thoughtfully. "The first is to wait till there's a hurricane blowing straight up the river, when perhaps you can sail up. The second is to hire me to row her up. And the third is to let me put the boat on my lumber wagon, and haul it up to Mud Flat."
"Of the three, which would be best?" persisted Jack.
"Well," replied the farmer, "you may have to wait weeks for the hurricane; I will haul the boat for two dollars; and I will undertake to row it up the river—(though, understand, I don't say how long I shall be about it)—but row her up I will, somehow, and charge you only two hundred and fifty dollars for the job. And that's very cheap, I can tell you, for I know that boat!"
It is hardly necessary to say that the boys decided that the Slug should go home on wheels, provided they might ride, too, without increase of pay. By the use of rollers, an inclined plane and levers, the boat was safely hoisted upon the wagon. The farmer occupied the bow, and Jack and Cliff each sat on a thwart.
And now, for the first time in her history, the Slug was under complete control. The whip cracked, the horses strained at their collars, the wheels rolled, and away went Jack's "yacht," trundling homeward. The road led past the Goodmaid farm, and over the long bridge crossing the Shrewsbury. As they neared the farm, the boys raised a shout, and Cæsar, Jack's mongrel and mischievous dog, leaving the peacock for a moment, came bounding out to meet them.
True to his nature, he at once began a series of noisy gambols about the farmer's young and high-spirited horses. But soon wearying of that harmless jumping at the wagon, the dog suddenly ran under the forward wheels, and sprang at the long fetlocks of the "near" horse.
Like a flash, the team made a wild plunge, and dashed down the road. The wagon was jerked from beneath the Slug, and the boat and its passengers fell heavily to the ground. The anchor, dropping between the wagon-box and a wheel, became firmly fixed; while the line to which the anchor was attached, being good manilla rope, was uncoiled and dragged after the horses with great rapidity.
Fortunately, the boys and the driver had time to jump out of the "yacht" before the anchor-rope was all "paid out," and so, with the exception of a bad shaking-up and a few bruises, they suffered no injury from their unceremonious disembarking. But the sudden fall had "broken the backbone" of the Slug, as Jack expressed it; and, as if that were not enough, the poor boat, as it hung by the painter, was swung, bumped, knocked, and dragged along, until it was literally reduced to fragments. There was scarcely a residence in all Mud Flat that did not have, long afterward, some satisfactory reminder of the last cruise of the Slug.
But all agreed that the old boat had one virtue—it made famous firewood!