Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table November 26 1895 by Various

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Ebook has 615 lines and 30542 words, and 13 pages

"Good sharpie! Good old girl!" he exclaimed; and in the excitement he patted the boat on the gunwale. "If you hadn't been a flier, we'd been goners that time."

Benito's heart was in his throat for a few minutes; he would not pretend to deny that. But no wonder, for no boat ever had a narrower escape. He ran out several miles more and burned his white light, which said to the schooner:

"Land your men! I have the cruiser busy." And then he ran out five miles further to the northeast and burned another red light.

"That's an extra touch, that last red light," he said to himself. "They gave me a close rub, so I'll just mix them up a little worse."

Then he put the sharpie about, and headed her for Ginger Key. He had risked his little all--his life and his boat--in the cause of his country, and his night's work was done. With the wind on his starboard quarter he knew that no cruiser in Cuban waters could overtake him. Before he had gone far he saw lights on the cruiser again, and they showed her to be nearly where he had burned the white fire, fully ten miles from the schooner. And by that time the men were all on shore.

Next day Benito was on Ginger Key as usual; but it was not till nearly a month later that a passing schooner carried to the key a letter with an Havana postmark, addressed to Benito Bastian. The letter was only a few lines, without any signature; but it enclosed a Spanish draft for two hundred dollars.

"We landed safely, and are with friends," the letter said. "We have made up this little testimonial for a brave boy we know."

FOR KING OR COUNTRY.

A Story of the Revolution.

BY JAMES BARNES.

IN OLD NEW YORK--A GREAT DEPARTURE.

Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 836.

The next morning Cato was sent over to the Hewes' mansion with a note signed by both the twins, and addressed to Carter. It requested him to come to Stanham Manor and spend the day, and plans were laid to have a glorious time.

But what was their disappointment when Cato brought back the news that their new-found friend and old-time enemy had left that very morning with his father for New York.

The twins were much cast down, but there was soon to be a greater burden on their minds, for after luncheon they had been told that a parting would shortly take place between them, and that Mr. Daniel Frothingham was going to take William back with him to England.

For some reason Uncle Nathan had a marked partiality for William, but he was the last person in the world to have held a preference in this regard, as it was absolutely impossible for Uncle Nathan to tell the twins apart.

The boys had listened to the news of the coming separation in dignified silence, and as soon as possible they had made their way back to the garden behind the house. Their feelings at first were too deep for words.

"I will not go, unless you go too," said the elder boy at last, seating himself on the edge of a grass-plot. He had hard work to keep from crying.

"You said you wanted to go to England," said George. "You have talked about it often."

"Well, it's not fair," said William. "Why should he choose me?"

"It may not be for long," answered George. "You'll come back--or probably I can go over there to see you."

"And we may be able to get into the army," said William, trying to be cheerful.

George sat down beside him. "I do wish I were leaving with you," he said, choking back the tears, "but he refused to think of sending us both. Aunt Clarissa asked him." He put his arm about his brother's shoulders. "I'm going to be sent to town to school," he added.

"I tell you what let's do," said William. "Let's draw lots, and see which one of us will go to London."

He broke a bundle of spears of grass and tore them off, some longer than others. Then he rubbed two of them in his hands.

"I don't know which it is," he said; "but if you get the shorter one, you go, and if you get the longer one, I go."

George drew at once. It was the shorter spear. So far as Uncle Nathan's preference went, it counted for nothing with his nephews.

The departure that took place the following week was an affair of the greatest moment. Although the young Frothinghams did not know it at the time, it was a long farewell they were taking of Stanham Mills.

Good-byes were said at last, and, to tell the truth, tears were shed in plenty as they parted from their sister.

The twins' belongings were packed into small boxes, then the old chaise was harnessed up, and seated beside their Uncle Daniel, and followed by Nathaniel Frothingham and Cato on horseback, they set out to make the long journey to the city. Mr. Wyeth had started the previous afternoon.

The young Frothinghams had been to New York only once before, when they were very small indeed, and their recollections of the first visit were somewhat vague.

It was long after dusk when the little party arrived at their destination. They had been rowed across the river from Paulus Hook, and went with their uncle at once to a tavern which in the days of Dutch supremacy had been one of New York's most aristocratic dwelling-houses. Now it was the rendezvous for merchants of Tory principles and army officers. Young, befrilled, and powdered dandies who aped the manners of the Continent hero exchanged their pinches of snuff with as much gallantry and courtesy as if they had met at the palace of St. James.

The Stanham party had been driven from the ferry in a rough lumbering affair--half coach, half omnibus--and had been deposited with their small box and the saddle-bags at the door of the tavern.

As they had gone down the hallway they caught a glimpse, through the open door on the right, of a group of men in red coats, with much glitter of gold lace and many buttons, who could be seen through the thick clouds of tobacco smoke seated about a large steaming punch-bowl on a great oak table. They were some of the officers of his Majesty's forces that had been sent to "protect" the inhabitants of his "thankless colonies."

Everything was new to the boys--the sound of the many voices, the snatches of songs and choruses that now and then came up from the coffee-room, the jingle of spurs and sabres as a party of troopers made their way across the stone flagging of the court. In all directions were delights, and in their little room they could hardly sleep from excitement that first night.

Early in the morning they looked out of the window, still thrilled with the pleasure that all young natures feel at being amidst new surroundings. It was a beautiful day, and the wind blowing from the southward was filled with the fresh smell of the sea. Their room was high up, and they could look over the sloping roofs and house-tops across the river and out into the bay, where two or three huge men-of-war lay straining at their anchors.

"Isn't it fine!" exclaimed William, as they knelt on the floor with both elbows on the window-sill, drawing short breaths with gasps of sheer delight.

At the end of the street was a small green, and here a company of infantry was drilling. They could catch the glint of the sunlight upon the muskets, and almost hear the energetic words of the young officer, who strode up and down the front.

"Oh, to be a soldier!" said William.

"Wouldn't it be grand?" said George, the martial spirit that animates almost every boy welling up in him so strongly that he quivered from the top of his head to the soles of his bare feet.

Just then a two-horse equipage was seen coming down the street, with the dust flying up from the great red wheels. In it sat a man, richly dressed, with his three-cornered hat set sideways over his powdered hair, his chin resting on his hands, which were supported by a gold-headed cane, and a sneer was upon the cruel lips.

It was Governor Tryon, who had put down the so-called "rebellion" in the Carolinas, and for his "fidelity" in hanging several people who strongly expressed their views had been honored by the post of being his Majesty's representative, the Governor at New York.

The boys were craning their necks to get a good view of the red-wheeled coach, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was old Cato.

"Come on, young gentlemen," he said. "Hurry on yo' close; yo' uncles is waitin' breakfast down below stairs."

They jumped up, and in a few minutes were both arrayed in the quaint costumes in which we first saw them. True, the pink breeches, despite Aunt Polly's careful ironing, showed traces of the plunge into the brook, and the buttons on the heavy velvet coats were not all mates; but Aunt Clarissa had sacrificed some of her treasures, and the lace trimmings were fresh and clean.

"I wish we had swords," said George, thinking of the glimpse of a young periwigged dandy he had seen talking to some ladies in the tavern parlor the night before.

The two uncles greeted the twins quite cheerfully. The ship that was going to take Uncle Daniel back to England was to sail early on the morrow, and he appeared glad indeed at the prospect of leaving America behind him. As the boys sat down, Mr. Wyeth came up and joined the party.

"Well, my young gentlemen," he said, bowing over the back of his chair, "we're glad to see you in the city; and what do you think of it?" he inquired.

"It's very fine," ventured George, but then he could say no more. He grasped his brother's hand underneath the table. He could not speak of the prospect of leaving William then, for, of course, no one else knew that the twins had decided in their own way which one was to go with Uncle Daniel.

A party of officers in all the bravery of their red coats and glittering accoutrements came laughing through the doorway. They hardly acknowledged Mr. Wyeth's salute, and seated themselves at a table, thumping loudly with their fists, and calling for the waiter.

The twins looked at them in wide-eyed admiration.

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