The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Boy Patriot, by Edward Sylvester Ellis This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Boy Patriot Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis Release Date: April 17, 2007 [eBook #21125] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY PATRIOT*** E-text prepared by Taavi Kalju, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital material generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/americana) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See http://www.archive.org/details/boypatriot00elliiala title page illustration THE BOY PATRIOT. By EDWARD SYLVESTER ELLIS THE AUTHOR OF "THE BLUE FLAG," "CHEERILY, CHEERILY," ETC. "HE WILL BLESS THEM THAT FEAR THE LORD, BOTH SMALL AND GREAT." decorative motif PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. The character of Blair Robertson, the Fairport boy, will not have been sketched in vain, if it prompt one young American to such a hearty serving of God as will make him a blessing to our dear native land. We have laid the scene of our story fifty years ago, but we trust that its lessons will be none the less appropriate to the present day. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by the American Tract Society, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of the State of New York. Contents I. FAIRPORT. 5 II. THE YOUNG ORATOR. 9 III. THE ENGLISH BOY. 25 IV. THE PATRIOT'S WORK. 36 V. BLAIR'S COMPANY. 44 VI. A PILOT. 55 VII. NO! 62 VIII. THE STORM. 69 IX. A REWARD. 74 X. A NEW DECK. 80 XI. "MUM." 86 XII. THE FIRST EFFORT. 95 XIII. TEMPTATION. 105 XIV. DERRY DUCK. 113 XV. A LETTER. 128 XVI. A MARVEL. 134 XVII. THE CONFLICT. 144 XVIII. WAGES. 152 XIX. HOME. 160 XX. SACRED JOY. 170 XXI. CONCLUSION. 174 CHAPTER I. FAIRPORT. Were you ever on the coast of Maine? If so, you know how the rocky shores stretch out now and then clear into the ocean, and fret the salt waves till they are all in a foam. Old Ocean is not to be so set at defiance and have his rightful territory wrung from him, without taking his revenge after his own fashion. Far up into the land he sends his arms, and crooks and bends and makes his way amid the rocks, and finally falls asleep in some quiet harbor, where the tall pines stand by the shore to sing him a lullaby. In just such a spot as this the town we shall call Fairport was built. Axe in one hand and Bible in the other, stern settlers here found a home. Strong hard-featured sons, and fair rosy-cheeked daughters made glad the rude cabins that were soon scattered along the shore. The axe was plied in the woods, and the needle by the fireside, and yet grim Poverty was ever shaking her fist in the very faces of the settlers, and whispering sad things of what the uncertain future might have in store for them. Cheerily they bore the hardships of the present hour, and a deaf ear they turned to all such whispers. Yet those settlers were sensible, matter-of-fact men; and it was soon plain to them, that healthful as were the breezes that made so rosy the cheeks of their daughters, Fairport was not the very best site in the world for a settlement, at least if its people were to depend on the thin and rocky soil won from the forest, which scarcely produced the bare necessaries of life. Was Fairport given up in despair? No, no. Her settlers were not the men to be so daunted and foiled. If the land was unkindly, they could take to the water; and so they did, to a man. Some were off to the Newfoundland Banks, tossing about the codfish, and piling them up into stacks that were more profitable than any hay of their own raising. Some were on board swift vessels, doing a good share of the carrying trade between the West Indies and the New England cities. Some were seeking the whale far in the northern seas; while others, less enterprising, were content to fish nearer home for all sorts of eatable dwellers in the sea, from halibut to herring. Now a new day had begun for Fairport. The original cabins began to tower in the air or encroach on the submissive gardens, as building after building was added by the prosperous owners. Miniature villas, with a wealth of useless 5 6 7 8 piazzas, appeared in the neighborhood of the town, and substantial wharves bordered one side of the quiet harbor, and gave a welcome to the shipping that seemed to grow and cluster there like the trees of a forest. Fairport had passed the struggles of its early youth when our story begins, though there were gray-haired citizens yet within its borders who could tell how the bears had once looked in at their cabin windows, and the pine-trees had stood thick in what was now the main street of the rising town. CHAPTER II. THE YOUNG ORATOR. The boys of Fairport were an amphibious set, who could live on land truly, but were happiest when in or near the water. To fish and swim, row, trim the sail, and guide the rudder, were accomplishments they all could boast. A bold, hardy, merry set they were; and but for the schoolmaster's rod and the teaching of their pious mothers, might have been as ignorant as oysters and merciless as the sharks. Master Penrose had whipped into most of them the elements of a plain English education, and gentle mothers had power to soften and rule these rough boys, when perhaps a stronger hand would have failed. Master Penrose always gave a full holiday on Saturday. Then the wharves were sure to swarm with the mischievous little chaps, all eager to carry out some favorite plan for amusement, in which old Ocean was sure to be engaged as a play-fellow. Poor indeed was the lad who had not a fish-hook and line with which to try his skill. The very youngest had his tiny boat to be launched, while his elders were planning sailing-parties, or jumping and leaping in the water like so many dolphins. Boys like to have a leader, some one they look up to as superior to the rest, and capable of deciding knotty questions, and "going ahead" in all times of doubt and difficulty. Blair Robertson occupied this position among the youngsters of Fairport. He had lawfully won this place among his fellows and "achieved greatness," by being the best scholar at the academy, as well as the boldest swimmer, most skilful fisherman, and most experienced sailor among all the boys for miles along the coast. It was Blair Robertson's boast that he belonged to the nineteenth century, and grew old with it. It was doubtful whether the bold lad considered this age of progress as honored by his playing his part in its drama, or whether he claimed a reflected glory, as having been born at the very dawn of that century which promised so much for the thronging millions of our world. Be that as it may, Joe Robertson the pilot and Margaret his wife rejoiced, in the year 1800, over their first and only child. Thirteen years had swept by, and the honest couple were now as proud of that brave, strong boy as they had been of their baby, and with better reason. Troublous times had come upon their native land. War had been declared with England. All Fairport was ablaze at the idea of American seamen being forced to serve on English ships, and of decks whose timber grew in the free forests of Maine or North Carolina, being trodden by the unscrupulous feet of British officers with insolent search-warrants in their hands. Blair Robertson had his own views on these subjects—views which we find him giving forth to his devoted followers one sunny Saturday afternoon. Blair was mounted on a sugar hogshead which stood in front of one of the warehouses on the wharf. From this place of eminence he looked down on a constantly increasing crowd of youthful listeners. A half hour before, a row of little legs had been hanging over the side of the wharf, while their owners were intent upon certain corks and lines that danced or quivered amid the waves below. Now the lines were made fast to stone and log, while the small fishermen stood agape to listen to the fluent orator. This was but the nucleus of the gathering crowd. Every boy who came near the eager circle must of course stop to find out what was going on; and it was with no little pride that Blair beheld the dozens of faces soon upturned to his. Blair might have remembered that if there had been but a dead dog in the centre of the group, there would have been an equal gathering and pushing to know the cause of the meeting; but he, like many an older speaker, was willing to attribute to his eloquence what might have had even a humbler cause. "Our rights invaded; a man's ship no longer his castle; the free American forced to forsake his stars and stripes! The foot of the Briton pollutes our decks. His tyrannical arm takes captive our fathers, and dooms them to a servitude of which the world knows no equal. Shall we submit? We will not submit. We have protested. We have declared war to the death. Has Fairport a voice in this matter? Where are those whom we love best? Where but upon the wide sea, a prey to our remorseless enemy. Where is your father, and yours, and yours, and mine?" said Blair, making his appeal 9 10 11 12 13 14 personal as he pointed to the sailors' sons. "This insolence must be checked. We must rebuke the proud Briton on the very scene of his abominations. We must triumph over him on the tossing ocean, and teach him that America, not Britannia, rules the waves. Would that we all stood on some staunch ship, to do battle with our young right-arms. Then should Englishmen cringe before us; then would we doom to sudden destruction their boasted admirals and flimsy fleets. Down with the English! down with the English!" Blair stamped emphatically on his hollow throne, until it rang again. "Down with the English!" echoed the crowd in a burst of enthusiasm. At this moment a short, stout lad came round a neighboring corner. On his arm he carried a large basket of clean linen, with which he now tried to elbow his way through the crowd. "An English boy! Shame that he should show his face among us," said Blair in his excitement. "We'll give him a taste of salt water," said two or three of the oldest boys as they seized the stranger roughly by the shoulders. "We'll teach him to mend his manners." "Stop, stop, boys. Give him fair play," shouted Blair; but Blair was no longer the object of attention. The English boy, in spite of his struggles, was hurried to the edge of the wharf, and pushed relentlessly over the brink. A thorough ducking to him, and the scattering of his precious basket of clothes, was all that the young rascals intended. To their horror, the stranger sank like a heavy load—rose, and then sank again. "He can't swim; he can't swim. He'll be drowned!" burst from the lips of the spectators. All were paralyzed with fear. Blair had forced his way through the crowd, and reached the edge of the wharf in time to see the pale, agonized face of the English boy, as he for the second time rose to the surface. In another moment Blair was diving where, far in the deep water, the pale face had vanished from sight. There was a moment of breathless silence, then a deafening cheer, as Blair reappeared with the drowning boy in his arms. There were hands enough outstretched to aid him in laying his burden on the shore. "Help me carry him, boys, straight to our house. Mother will know what to do for him," said Blair, speaking very quickly. It was but a few steps down a neighboring street to Joe Robertson's pleasant home. Blair did not fear to take in the dripping boy and lay him on his mother's best bed. He knew that mother's joy was to minister to the distressed and succor the unfortunate. The water was soon pouring from the mouth, nose, and ears of the unconscious lad. Then he was rubbed and wrapped round with hot flannels, while Mrs. Robertson's own hands forced his lungs to work, until they again took their natural movement. Not a word was asked as to how the accident had happened, until, out of danger, the rescued boy was in a sweet sleep. The eager crowd who had followed Blair and his charge had vanished, and the mother sat alone with her son. Blair's dripping garments had been exchanged for another suit, but in the midst of the late confusion his mother's eye had silently and gratefully marked upon him the signs that to him the English boy owed his life. "You saved him, my son. God be thanked. I may well be proud of my boy," said the mother earnestly and fondly. A sudden flush of shame crimsoned the cheeks of Blair Robertson. "Oh, mother, it was all my fault," he exclaimed. "If he had died—Oh, if he had died, that pale struggling face would have haunted me to my grave. I had been making one of my speeches to the boys, and it pleased me to see how I could rouse them. I had just shouted 'Down with the English!' and made them join me, when poor Hal came round the corner. Nobody would have noticed him if I had gone right on; but I pointed him out, and angry as they were, I could not stop them before they had thrown him into the water. They thought he could swim, I dare say; but I knew he couldn't. Oh, mother, what I suffered, thinking he might drown before I could reach him. But he's safe now. You think he'll get well, don't you, mother?" "Yes, my child," said Mrs. Robertson, trembling with deep feeling. "God's mercy has been great to you, my boy. May you learn this day a solemn lesson. You have a powerful influence over your companions. You know it, and I am afraid it has only fed your pride, not prompted you to usefulness. Is it real love for your country that leads you to these speeches; or is it a desire to see how you can rouse the passions of your listeners, and force them to do your bidding? For every talent we must give an account, and surely for none more strictly than the power to prompt men to good or evil. I believe you love your country, my boy. You love our dear country, or I would blush to own you as my son. But I fear you have as yet but a poor idea what it is to be a true patriot." "A true patriot, mother? I think I know what that means. One who loves his country, and would cheerfully die for her," said Blair with enthusiasm. 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 "You might even love your country and die for her, and yet be no true patriot," said the mother. "You might be her disgrace, and the cause of her afflictions, while you shed for her your heart's blood." "I don't understand you," said the boy thoughtfully. "Perhaps Korah and his company thought themselves patriots when they rebelled against the power of Moses and Aaron. They doubtless moved the people by cunning speeches about their own short-lived honor; yet they brought destruction on themselves and a plague upon Israel. There is nothing more plain in the Bible than God's great regard to the righteousness or wickedness of individual men. Suppose that there had been found ten righteous men in Sodom, for whose sake that wicked city would have been spared its awful doom. Humble and obscure they might have been; but would not they, who brought such a blessing down on the neighborhood where they dwelt, be worthy of the name of patriots? My son, if you were willing to lay down your life for your country, and yet were guilty of the foul sin of swearing, and taught all around you to blaspheme, would you not be laying up wrath against your native land, though you fought with the bravery of an Alexander? These are times to think on these things, my boy, if we really love our country. No man liveth unto himself. His home, his state, his country is in a degree blessed or cursed for his sake. Dear Blair, you cannot be a true patriot without God's grace to help you rule your heart, guard your lips, and purify your life. May you this day begin, for your own sake as well as for that of your country, to serve the God of our fathers. He has mercifully spared you the bitter self-reproach to which you might have been doomed. Go in repentance to his footstool, and he will abundantly pardon. Resolve henceforward to walk humbly before him, trusting in his grace and striving to do his will, and you shall count this day the most blessed of your life." Mrs. Robertson put her arm round the tall, strong boy at her side. He yielded to her touch, as if he had been a little child. Side by side they knelt, while the mother poured out such a prayer as can only flow from the lips of a Christian mother pleading for her only son. Blair Robertson spent that long Saturday evening alone in his room. That was indeed to be the beginning of days to him. He was no longer to be a self-willed seeker of his own pleasure and honor. He was "bought with a price," and was henceforward to be a servant of the King of kings. CHAPTER III. THE ENGLISH BOY. No loving friends came to inquire after the fate of Hal Hutchings, the English boy. His efforts to save his basket of clean linen had been as vain as his struggles to free himself from the hands of his persecutors. The garments that had been starched and ironed with such scrupulous care were scattered along the wharf, and trampled under the feet of the thoughtless young mob. The old washerwoman on whose errand Hal had been sent forth, was too indignant at the destruction which had befallen her handiwork, to give one kindly thought to the poor boy who had so honorably striven to spare her the misfortune over which she lamented so dolorously. Her Sunday thoughts strayed far more frequently to the dingy, stained garments soaking in her back kitchen, than to Hal Hutchings, quietly lying in Mrs. Robertson's best bedroom. "I wonder no one comes to inquire after him. Has he no friends, Blair?" said Mrs. Robertson as evening was drawing on. "I dare say not, mother. I never saw him with anybody. He does errands round town, and has been sleeping at Mrs. McKinstry's, the washerwoman's. He didn't take his meals there, I know, for I've seen him eating bread and cheese in some corner just when other folks were sitting down to dinner. They call him 'Hal the English boy;' but I guess nobody knows much about him." "A stranger in a strange land," said Mrs. Robertson thoughtfully; and then she rose up and went into the room where Hal was still lying. Blair took up his Bible. How precious that Bible seemed to him now—the light for his feet, the lamp for his path. With reverence he turned the sacred pages until he found the fifty-first psalm, which he read with solemn earnestness, making its humble petitions truly his own. While Blair was thus employed, Mrs. Robertson was talking in her own kindly way to the stranger. "So you are an English boy, Hal," she said. "That will not keep me from loving you, for you know the Bible says we must 'love our enemies;' but I don't believe you are such a very dangerous enemy, after all." Her pleasant smile was like sunshine to the heart of the lonely boy, and his reserve melted away before it. "I'm Hinglish, because I was born in Hingland," said the boy. "I couldn't help that; and I couldn't blame my father and 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 mother for it neither, for I never knowed them. I've been an orphan always. But I'm an American, because I chose this for my country, and I worked my passage over here, and I haven't begged from anybody." "I'm glad you want to be an American," said Mrs. Robertson gently; "it is a great privilege. But there is something more to do for every boy who wants to be an American citizen, than just landing in this country and earning his own living, and then by and by voting for our rulers." Hal opened his large pale blue eyes in confused expectation, and was silent. Mrs. Robertson was not easily discouraged, and she went on. "You would think it very rude, Hal, if I were to invite a poor stranger to my house to dinner, and he should jump and laugh while I was asking God's blessing before eating; and then toss the plates about, breaking my dishes and scattering the food over my clean floor. You would think the least he could do would be to be civil, and keep the rules of my house while he was in it." "Such a chap as that ought to have the door showed him right straight," said Hal warmly. "Well, my boy, this is what I mean: When we welcome strangers to our free country, which our fathers fought for and gave their blood to win, we expect those strangers to fall in with our ways, and not disturb the peace and order of the pleasant home they have come to. Is not that right?" "Yes, ma'am; and I haven't disturbed anybody's peace nor order," said Hal with another blank look of the blue eyes. "No, and I do not believe you ever will; but I have not done yet. A free people, to be a safe people, must be a Christian people. Are you a Christian boy, Hal?" The question was asked with deep seriousness. "I a'n't a heathen," said Hal in surprise. "No, you don't bow down to a wooden idol, or worship snakes and bulls, as some heathen people do. But are you trying to serve God in all you think and do and say? Have you asked him to forgive you all your sins, for the sake of his dear Son; and do you believe he has forgiven you, and taken you to be his own dear child?" "I never had anybody talk to me so before," said Hal with a confused look; "but I take it, I a'n't what you call a Christian." "I dare say you do not understand me very well," said Mrs. Robertson. "God can make these things plain to you. Close your eyes, and I will kneel down here and ask him to teach you to know and love his holy will." Hal had been at church many times in his life, and looked curiously on at the whole proceeding, as at a "show." Now for the first time he heard prayer made for him, for poor Hal Hutchings, to the great God of heaven. He gathered but little of the burden of the prayer; yet his first remark after Mrs. Robertson resumed her seat beside him was a proof that he appreciated the sincerity of her interest in him. "You are very kind, ma'am," he said. "I'd like to be such an American as you. I take it you are the best sort, not like them boys on the wharf." "Those boys are very sorry for their mischief by this time," said Mrs. Robertson. "My own son would gladly do any thing for you. He says he never shall forget what he suffered when he thought you might be drowned in consequence of his folly. But I think he has learned a lesson he will never forget. He has seen how far wrong he might go if he followed his own foolish ways. I trust he will hereafter be a faithful, humble child of God." "He pulled me out of the water," said Hal warmly. "He's true grit. I'd go to the death for him." "He will be very glad to have you for a faithful friend," said Mrs. Robertson; "but look, you must not teach him any thing bad, or tempt him to do wrong. He is my only child, and my dearest wish is to see him a noble, pure, Christian man." "I wont teach him any 'arm as I knows to be 'arm," said Hal, putting out his hand to ratify the bargain. It was a rough, hard hand, but Mrs. Robertson took it kindly as she answered, "God help you to keep your promise, Hal;" and so their interview closed. When Monday morning came, Hal Hutchings was up and dressed almost as early as Mrs. Robertson herself. Into the kitchen he walked, hearing the good lady's voice in that direction. "I'm going now," he said, "and I just looked in to bid you good-by." "Stop and take breakfast with us, wont you, Hal? You shall not go away hungry." Some crisp cakes of codfish and potatoes were getting the last coat of brown in a frying-pan over the fire, and a huge loaf of Boston "brown bread" was on the table near at hand. "I wouldn't mind a slice of that bread and one of them cakes, if you would let me sit down here and eat 'em," said Hal. Mrs. Robertson understood the boy's unwillingness to take a meal with strangers who had been raised in habits of greater refinement than his own. She kindly made a place for him where he was, and he soon rendered it evident that bashfulness had not taken away his appetite. "I don't want you to leave us," said Mrs. Robertson. "I should like to have 29 30 31 32 33 34 you stay here until we can find something for you to do. I want to teach you to be a good Christian boy, the right kind of an American." "I don't want to be beholden to anybody," said Hal with decision. "I worked my way over, and I haven't begged a penny since I came. I don't mean to, unless I'm starving. Mrs. McKinstry has let me her little room. I've paid for it for this month, and I don't mean to lose my money. But I like your teaching, ma'am. It takes hold of me different from any thing I ever heard before." "Come in on Sunday evenings then, Hal. I am always at home then, and I should love dearly to teach you, and help you to be a good boy. Will you come?" said Mrs. Robertson. "I will, ma'am, I will," said Hal; and making a rude attempt at a bow, he took his leave. CHAPTER IV. THE PATRIOT'S WORK. Mrs. Robertson and her son were sitting at their pleasant breakfast-table together. "Blair," said the mother, "you want to be a patriot. Here is some work for you to do for your country. We must try to make a good American citizen out of Hal, and a good Christian at the same time. The poor fellow is deeply grateful to you, and you will have a powerful influence over him." "I can't bear the English," said Blair warmly. "I don't like any foreigners, for that matter. It don't seem to me they are the right stuff to make American citizens out of. Give me the native-born Yankee, free and independent from his cradle upwards. That's my way of thinking." Blair stood up as he spoke, and waved his knife in a manner more emphatic than elegant. A speech, one of his favorite speeches, seemed imminent. Blair did love to hear himself talk. "My son, our question in life is not what we like, but what is duty. I think the laws of the kingdom of heaven should be the guide to every lover of his country. The voice of our Saviour is, 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy- laden, and I will give you rest.' 'The Spirit and the bride say, Come; and let him that heareth say, Come.' Every true Christian echoes the saying of St. Paul, 'I would to God that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.' So it should be with every favored citizen of our happy land. We should welcome the oppressed of every clime, and strive to make them worthy partakers of the blessings we enjoy. I do not like to hear you say you hate any nation. We are all of one blood, made in God's image." "Dear mother," said Blair, "you are right; you are always right. How thankful I ought to be to have such a guide, and such a help in keeping my new resolutions. I want to do my duty even when it is hard for me. You shall see what a friend I will be to Hal. I mean to go out as soon as I have done breakfast, and see if I can look him up some steady work. I heard Old Jock say on Saturday he wanted a strong boy to help him handle his nets. I'll try to get the place for Hal." Blair was as prompt to act as to plan. A half hour after breakfast was over he was standing by the cottage of an old fisherman and knocking for admittance. It took all Blair's powers of persuasion to induce Jock to have any thing to do with what he called a "furriner." The case seemed well-nigh lost, when Blair mounted on a chair, and made a small speech in his best style for the benefit of his single auditor. Whether won over by its logic or through a sense of the honor thus conferred upon him, Jock agreed to Blair's proposition. "The first speech I ever made to any purpose," thought Blair, as he walked rapidly along the shore, wending his way to Mrs. McKinstry's dwelling. Hal had locked himself into his "castle," as the only way in which he could escape the merciless scolding of his voluble hostess. She seemed to consider every stain on the injured garments a blot on the shield of the English boy which no apologies could excuse or efface. Hal fairly fled before the enemy; and once safe in his own room, whistled so lustily as to drown all sound of the railing from without. It was an unusually busy day with Mrs. McKinstry, or it is doubtful whether she would have allowed even this close to the skirmish, for she had a taste for such encounters. Blair however heard the dripping and swashing of water in the rear of the house as he went up the narrow stairway. The wide cap-border of Mrs. McKinstry was fanning backwards and forwards, as she bent with a regular motion over the tub in which her red arms were immersed. She gave one look at 35 36 37 38 39 40 Blair as he went up to her lodger's room, but did not condescend even to exchange watchwords with him. In answer to Blair's knock was returned a resolute "Who's there?" The reply set Hal's mind at ease, and the visitor was promptly admitted. Blair stated his business at once, but to his surprise he met with a blank refusal from Hal. He would not fall in with such a plan, not he. He would keep out of the water while there was any land left to stand on. He had had enough of plumping to the bottom, and coming up, ears singing, throat choking, and soul almost scared out of him. Better a crumb of bread and a morsel of cheese, than fatness and plenty earned in such a way. It was hard for Blair to understand the nervous fear of drowning which had taken possession of poor Hal. Fairport boys could swim almost as soon as they could walk. They knew nothing of the helpless feeling of one who has the great deep under him, and is powerless to struggle in its waves. But a few short days before, Blair would have pronounced Hal a coward, and left him in disdain. Now he stood silent for a moment, baffled and puzzled. "I'll teach you to swim, Hal," he said at length. "We'll try in shallow water first, where you couldn't drown, unless you wish to drown yourself. It is easy—just as easy as any thing, if you only know how. I'll come for you after school this evening, and we'll go up the creek, where the boys wont be about. I shouldn't wonder if you were to take to it like a fish." The English boy looked into Blair's frank pleasant face, and the dogged expression passed from his own. He took Blair's hand as he said, "I'll try. You shall see what you can make out of me." Before many weeks were over, Hal Hutchings was as good a swimmer as half the boys in Fairport. Old Jock no longer waded into the deep water to set his nets or push his boat ashore. He declared that Hal had scared the rheumatism out of his bones, and it was not likely to make bold to come back, if things went on as they seemed to promise. CHAPTER V. BLAIR'S COMPANY. Blair Robertson had long had a famous military company of his own, called the Fairport Guard. A guard against what had never been publicly stated; and as they had no written constitution for their association, posterity must ever remain in ignorance on this point. Up and down the streets of Fairport it was their delight to parade on a Saturday afternoon, to the infinite amusement of the small girls who ate molasses candy and looked at the imposing array. The breaking out of the war infused a new military spirit into all the youngsters on the Atlantic coast, and the Fairport Guard came in for their share of this growing enthusiasm. Cocks' tail feathers and broomsticks were suddenly in great requisition for the increasing rank and file, and the officers bore themselves with added dignity, and gave out their orders with an earnestness which proved that they appreciated the work they were imitating. When it was rumored that Blair Robertson had become a communicant in the church to which his mother belonged, there was a general groan among his old followers and adherents. Here was an end, in their minds, to the Fairport Guard, and every other species of fun in which Blair had been so long a leader and abettor. Blair was at first inclined to shrink from his old companions; but as the right spirit grew and strengthened within him, he mingled among them more freely, actuated by the desire to win new citizens for the kingdom of heaven, and to guide his wild associates into such paths as would make them a blessing to their native land. Blair's heart had been like rich ground, in which his mother had been sowing, sowing, sowing good seed, prayerfully waiting until it should spring up and take root to his own salvation and the glory of God. That happy time had come. All the words of counsel, all the pure teaching that had been stored in his mind, seemed now warmed into life, and ever rising up to prompt him to good and guard him from evil. Happy are the boys who have such a mother. A series of rainy Saturdays had postponed the question as to whether the Fairport Guard should parade as usual under the command of their long honored captain. A bright sunny holiday came at last, and Blair's decision on this point must now be declared. Long and prayerfully the boy had considered the subject, and his conclusion was fixed and unalterable. The change in Blair's principles and feelings had not alienated him from his former companions. Each one of them had now for him a new value. They were to him wandering children of his heavenly Father, whom he longed to bring back to that Father's house. The wildest and most erring among them called forth his most tender interest, as farthest from the kingdom of heaven and in the most danger of utter destruction. 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 Blair's love of his country too had been but deepened and increased by his late realization of the allegiance he himself owed to the King of kings. His native land was now to him a dear portion of the great vineyard on which he desired the especial blessing of God. He more deeply appreciated the fact that every true Christian man is indeed an element of wholesome life and prosperity to the neighborhood and land in which he dwells. The boys of the present day were soon to be the men on whom the state must rely for power and permanency. With a true patriot's zeal, Blair resolved to do all in his power to bring the boys of Fairport to be such Christian men as would be a blessing in their day and generation. These thoughts had gone far to fix his decision with reference to the Fairport Guard. It was with a burst of enthusiastic applause that the little company saw Blair appear upon the public square in his well- known uniform. His three-cornered hat of black pasteboard was surmounted by a long black feather, and fastened under his chin by a fine leather strap, the strap being bordered by a ferocious pair of whiskers, to afford which the "black sheep" of some neighboring flock had evidently suffered. His grandfather's coat, which had been worn at Bunker Hill, enveloped his slender form, and increased the imposing effect of his tall figure upon the minds of his subordinates. "Three cheers for Captain Robertson! Three cheers for Blair!" shouted the boys as their leader approached. The cheers rung out on the air somewhat feebly, though that was owing to the weakness of the throats that raised them, rather than to any want of goodwill, and so Blair understood it. "Now give us a speech before we fall into rank," called out one of the company. "That is just what I mean to do, if you will all listen to me," said the captain in his most dignified manner. The stump of a fallen tree served to elevate our speaker on this occasion, as it has many an older orator in circumstances no more interesting to his hearers than were the present to the eager group of listeners. Blair had another purpose now than to hear himself talk. The short pause which preceded his opening sentence was not merely for effect. In those few seconds Blair was asking aid from his heavenly Father so to speak that he might have power to move his hearers and guide them aright. "Boys," he began, "boys, I want to be your captain. I don't want to give up the Fairport Guard. We have had many a good time together, and I love you all; yes, every one. Our marching and drilling has hitherto been play, but now we ought to be in earnest. We should prepare to be really a guard to our native town. At any moment the British may land on our shores, and threaten the lives of those who are dearest to us. We must be able to protect our mothers and sisters if the evil day comes. We must learn the use of firearms. This musket did duty at Bunker Hill. Every young patriot here must learn to use it well. In due time we must each have our musket, and make it carry true, if need be, to the heart of the enemy. But, boys, if we are to be real defenders of our native land, we must be worthy of such an honor. I am willing, I want to be your captain; but hear the rules I propose for our company: We are to be a temperance band; no drop of the cup that intoxicates must pass our lips. No profane word must sully our tongues. The name of the God of our fathers must be honored among us. Any member of this company who shall be found guilty of a lie, a theft, or bullying the weak and defenceless, shall be cast out by common vote. We will strive to be a credit to our beloved home —true American citizens, who may dare to ask God to bless them in all their undertakings and prosper all they do. Boys, do you agree to these regulations? If so, I shall rejoice to be your captain. If not, I must sadly bid adieu to the Fairport Guard, and with this time-honored musket in my hand, stand alone on the threshold of my home in the hour of danger, trusting in God and in the strength of this single right-arm." As Blair concluded, he grounded his musket, and stood silently awaiting the reply of his companions. There was a moment of hesitation; then one of the older boys, the first-lieutenant, stepped forward and silently placed himself at the side of his young commander. In true martial style the whole company followed, arraying themselves around their leader. "We agree! We agree! We agree to every thing!" shouted one and all. "May God help us to keep to our compact," said Blair. Then, after a short pause, he added, "Let me propose to you a new member for our company—my friend Hal Hutchings, who, born on English soil, is yet a true American at heart. Let all in favor of his admission say Aye." Hal had been striving to give himself a military air by appearing in his red flannel shirt and trousers, while Old Jock's red night-cap was perched above the yellow curls of the boy. As his name was mentioned, he raised to his shoulder a borrowed crutch which served him for a musket, as if to signify his readiness for martial duty. "The English boy! Admit the English boy!" said several voices; but a hearty "Aye, aye" from two or three prominent members of the company decided the question in Hal's favor, and he was admitted at once by general consent. Forming now in regular ranks, the Fairport Guard went through their usual drill, and then set off in a creditable march, to let the citizens have a view of their doughty defenders. 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 illustration chapter VI CHAPTER VI. A PILOT. It is strange that the moon generally has all the blame for fickleness, when the sun quite as often hides his face without sufficient warning. The Fairport Guard had hardly made the circuit of the town, before the late smiling sky was overcast by dark hurrying clouds, and the weatherwise began to predict a coming storm, which was to be "no joke on sea or land." Luckless members of the Fairport Guard who had not had the precaution to tie on their head-gear, might be seen breaking rank and running indecorously in various directions in pursuit of hat or cap, while the skirts of the captain's time-honored coat flapped in the wind, like the signal of a ship in distress. It was in the endeavor to complete their usual tour, by passing along the wharf, that this military body was subjected to this attack from old Boreas. Worse confusion, however, soon broke up all order among them. A group of men on the wharf had been for some time looking at a ship nearing the harbor. They could not make her out, they said. She was a stranger in those waters, and yet bore the American flag. She seemed a man-of-war, and was evidently signalling for a pilot. Fairport harbor, smooth and safe as it was, cradled among the overhanging cliffs, had a guard at its entrance which no stranger might defy. Its deep narrow channel went winding among hidden rocks, and woe betide the keel that ventured a dozen yards from its appointed path. For thirty years Joe Robertson had been the pilot of Fairport, and was as well known to the frequenters of that harbor as was the tall spire which was the pride of the town. The sound of war had, however, roused within him the spirit of his father of Revolutionary memory. He declared he would not have it said that Joe Robertson was content to play door- keeper to the harbor of Fairport, while brave men were shedding their blood for the country, as dear to him as to them. Joe's enthusiasm was contagious. It spread through all Fairport, and there was hardly a man who could bear arms on sea or land who was not off at his country's bidding. Old Jock, who had had one leg bitten off by a shark, men who had been crippled by a fall from mainmast or yard, and sickly sailors, worn out by the fevers of southern ports, were left at home to keep company with the few true landsmen, 55 56 57 58 the shopmen of the town. Old Jock had been content to serve as pilot since the departure of Joe, and well he knew the channel; but he seemed to have grown lazy, or particularly careful of himself, since Hal had come under his roof. Now he positively refused to go to the vessel in the offing. He plainly expressed his doubts as to what kind of a craft she was, and moreover declared that such a squall as was coming up was "not to be risked by any man in his senses, even if that old ship went to the bottom with every soul in her." Blair listened intently to this conversation. Too many times had he been to and fro with his father in his pilot's duty not to know well the dangerous channel. Every crook and turn in it was as familiar to him as the windings of the little path in his mother's flower-garden. The boy stood erect with growing determination as the speakers went on. "She makes for the shore. She'll surely run on the rocks if a pilot don't go to her. If Joe Robertson were only here. What business had a man of his age going off to the war, instead of staying to look after the harbor of his own town?" "He has left his son to take his place," said Blair quickly. "I know the channel. I am not afraid. I will just speak to my mother, and then I'm off." In a few hurried words the son told his design to the mother who understood him so well. "May I go?" he added; "I know you will not refuse." The mother's eyes filled with tears as she spoke. "I will not keep you, my noble boy. God bless and watch over you. The true Christian, like his Master, takes his life in his hand, and goes forth at the call of duty. The true patriot will risk all for his dear countrymen. Go. My prayers shall be around you like a guard." When Blair returned to the wharf it was with his mother at his side. The little pilot-boat had been made ready. As he jumped into it, another figure quickly followed him. It was Hal Hutchings. "I must go with you," he said with determination. "I can manage a boat. I sha'n't be in the way. I couldn't stand it to wait on the shore. May-be two of us will be needed." Blair gave Hal one cordial grasp of the hand, then hoisted his bit of a sail, and soon over the wild waves the two boys took their course together. "God help that Blair Robertson. He has the making of the right kind of a man in him," exclaimed a bystander. "He's our captain, Blair is," said one of the youngest members of the Fairport Guard. "Who would have thought of Hal's making such a venture?" said Old Jock. "He's a little skeary about water yet. But I believe he'd die for Blair Robertson. Whatever takes hold of that Hal Hutchings takes him strong." The mother's eye followed the little boat as it went dancing over the waves, but her heart was uplifted in silent prayer. CHAPTER VII. NO! The pilot-boat was nearing the strange vessel, when Blair suddenly exclaimed, "I see British uniforms on board. We have been tricked by that flag falsely displayed. It is an English man-of-war. Put about. We'll pilot no such vessel into Fairport." Quick as thought the little boat had turned its head, and was making towards the shore. The movement was not unperceived on board the man-of-war, and its cause was at once understood. A boat, manned by a dozen strong rowers, had been made ready for such an emergency. They were quickly in pursuit of the retreating pilot. They gained rapidly upon the boys, and were soon alongside, commanding Blair to surrender, while half a dozen muskets were aimed at the brave lads. "Fire! Do your worst! I am not afraid to die!" sprang to the lips of Blair Robertson; but he thought of his mother, and was silent. He had no right so to throw away the life of her only son. "Surrender, or we shall fire," was again repeated. "A couple of unarmed boys, decoyed within your reach, would be a worthy mark for your treacherous British muskets," said Blair boldly. "I would dare you to fire, but there are those at home who would miss us too much. Do what you will with us; we are your prisoners." The British tars handled their captives without ceremony, and hurried them at once on board the man-of-war and 59 60 61 62 63 64 presented them before its impatient commander. Not a little surprised at the grotesque appearance of the prisoners, he exclaimed in astonishment, "Who and what are you?" "I am a Yankee boy, the captain of the Fairport Guard," said Blair frankly. "We had been parading, when your signal for a pilot called me too suddenly away for me to have time to lay aside this dress, this coat which my grandfather wore at Bunker Hill." A strong emphasis was laid on the last word of the sentence. "You young rascal!" exclaimed the commander. "And who is this Tom-fool of a companion?" "It is my friend, and one of our company. He would not see me risking my life on the water while he stood on the shore. Would that we had many such 'Tom-fools,' with brave, strong hearts like his." As Blair spoke, he took off his official cap and left his noble young head bare. With another movement the precious coat was thrown over his arm, and the stripling stood in his school-boy dress before the English commander, who exclaimed, "A pretty pilot, you. Who sent you on this mad errand?" "My father has been for thirty years the pilot of Fairport. He is now absent fighting for his country against her oppressors. I know the channel well. No one of our few remaining men would venture his life in such a sea for an unknown vessel, and so I came. I knew it would be certain death for you to try to enter that harbor without a pilot." "Then do your duty, young malapert. There is no time to be lost. We'll run up the British flag, and go into port under fair colors." The commander gave the necessary orders to have the last suggestion carried out, and the sailors were prompt to do his bidding. Blair stood perfectly still, while a look of stern determination sat on his young face. "I will never pilot enemies to the shores of our land. You can shoot me, but you cannot force me to act the traitor." The boy spoke resolutely. The English commander eyed him for a moment, and then said quickly, "Shooting is too good for you, young dare-devil. That is quick work, soon over. There are other means of bringing you to terms." The commander held in his hand a thick pamphlet in which he had been reading. He made it into a firm scroll, and placed it upon the edge of the railing near which he was standing. Then turning to one of the sailors, he said, "Here, let me see you cut that through with your knife. Be quick." The man drew the long knife from his belt, and with one sweeping stroke severed the thick scroll. One part went fluttering through the air and dropped in the angry waters, while the other was firmly held by the commander. "Put young master's right-hand in the same place, and we will see it food for fishes. Or will he choose to do his duty, and keep his precious five fingers for future use?" The words had hardly passed from the lips of the British officer, when Blair laid his hand calmly on the railing, and exclaimed, "Now, God helping me, you may tear me limb from limb, and I will be true to my country and my home." "It's no use. He'll keep his word. You can't force 'im," shouted Hal Hutchings, the tears coursing down his cheeks. The wild winds swept through the rigging, and the storm came on with sudden violence. This was no time for contention with such a spirit as Blair had displayed, and the captain at once gave orders to make for the open sea, where he might the more safely abide the approaching tempest. The Fairport channel had been strewn with too many wrecks to be ventured without a careful pilot, and of that the English captain had been fully warned. Blair and Hal were hastily thrust below, while rapid preparations were made to meet the coming hour of danger. CHAPTER VIII. THE STORM. The place in which Blair and his companion found themselves was a small strongly built closet, used as a "lock-up" for refractory sailors. A single bull's-eye admitte...