Part 4

He must show testimonials of good character, and, of course, must have been influenced to enter by a taste for a seafaring life, and he must come to a decision of his own free will. The examination, outside of the physical one, is very simple. He must be able to read and spell, to write legibly, and to know enough of arithmetic to figure simple sums up to and including percentage. Lastly, as the boy is not of age, his parent or guardian must sign the necessary papers. Once enlisted, he is maintained at the expense of the city, but has to come provided with numerous articles necessary to a sailor. The list includes two pairs of black leather shoes, rubber boots, one black silk hand-kerchief, one strong jack-knife, tooth-brushes, clothes-brushes, and hair-brushes; thread, needles, wax, tape, and buttons, and many other things to keep him comfortable.

The blue uniform and the canvas working suit are given to him, and only thirty dollars are required to defray the expense of clothing and bedding for the two years' cruise.

The winter's school term, which begins in November, ends on April 1, when the boys are given a vacation of ten days and bid their farewells. Upon their return to the ship they find the temporary deck-house taken down, and they are put to work rigging the ship and preparing for what they have so long been looking forward to--the summer's cruise.

About April 20 the yards are all up, and the _St. Mary's_ is all-a-taunt-o and ready to go to sea. Now for a month, they cruise in the waters of Long Island Sound, learning to handle ship, and then when they have thoroughly learned their stations and the duties assigned to them, they set sail for the far countries and foreign ports which most of them are anxious to visit.

The writer remembers being in the harbor of Southampton, England, upon one occasion when the _St. Mary's_ came into port. It made his heart beat with pride to see the beautiful vessel (just as if she had sailed out of the past history of the good old days) come sweeping in from the Channel. All her white sails were set when she first was sighted, and the nimble little sailors aloft began to take them in one by one as she drew up to her anchorage.

The flag flying at her peak is the most beautiful thing to an American to be seen in foreign countries, and proud indeed was the writer to turn to an English friend and explain what the trim craft was, and to tell that the crew were New York boys, and Americans every one.

Soon after she dropped her anchor and trimmed ship a boat was lowered away, and it came dashing up to the pier. It was a pleasure to look at the brown, healthy faces, and to notice the well-kept cadence of the stroke pulled by the strong young arms.

Leaving one of the officers on shore, the lads pulled back to the ship, looking curiously at the town, and longing perhaps for the liberty which would be allowed them on the morrow.

Engaging a boatman to row us off, the author and his English friend were soon alongside the school-ship, where the former explained that he was a New-Yorker, and was asked to come on board.

Although she had been at anchor only an hour or so, all the running gear was being neatly stowed away, and the loose ends flemished (_i.e._, coiled down flat) on the deck. But a word as to the vessel herself:

The _St. Mary's_ was an old United States sloop-of-war, the type of a vessel, modernized a little, that had won honor and glory for the country. The _Wasp_ was such a one as this, and every one knows what she did during the war of 1812. The other craft that stung the English so badly when commanded by Lawrence, the gallant little _Hornet_, was about this type--a sloop-of-war--also. Although the _St. Mary's_ was very peaceful looking, because she lacked the rows of black carronades along her sides, still it required but little stretching of the imagination to change her into a man-of-war.

We spoke to a little wiry youngster, who told us he lived in "West Twenty-thoid" Street, and asked him how he liked being a sailor. The grin that accompanied his answer--"It's bully good fun"--convinced us that he, at least, was happy, and had rightly chosen his calling. In fact, we did not see an unhappy face amongst the crew, and this speaks volumes.

The _St. Mary's_ had stopped at the Azores, on the voyage out, where the boys had had fine times, according to account, and where the people had been looking forward to their coming, for they generally touched there on their cruises. Of course I had to explain to my English friend that these boys had nothing to do with the regular navy, but were intended for the merchant service, unless they wished, of course, to change it for life on board one of the new cruisers. Every one of them hoped to be an officer some day, and there is no reason, if they attend to duty, why this hope should not be fulfilled, for a better training for positions of command could not be had.

One of the officers told us of a little adventure that had happened upon one of the former voyages, which not only showed the spirit of the _St. Mary's_ crew, but also proved that most of the lads had profited by New York's being surrounded by water. One of the boys, a little fellow, had fallen off the boat-yard into the water. The tide had swept him quite a distance from the ship before his cries were heard. When "man overboard!" was shouted, in half a jiffy a score or more of the crew had plunged headlong from the railing and bowsprit after him. In fact, it looked as if the whole ship's company was going for an impromptu swim. Two of the rescuers laid hold of the drowning boy and kept him afloat, while the rest paddled about like a flock of ducks. It took some time for the boat that was hurriedly manned to pick them all up, as the tide had carried some of them quite a distance out. But they were all taken aboard safe and sound, and, as everybody writes when telling of a rescue from "a watery grave," "none the worse for their wetting."

From Southampton the _St. Mary's_ was bound to Cherbourg, France; then to Lisbon, Portugal; Cadiz, Spain; and Gibraltar.

I could well imagine what fun the boys were going to have at the last named place, thy strongest fortress of the English, and the "key of the Mediterranean," as every one says again when speaking of it.

It is from here that the lads always write the longest letters home, for there is much to tell about; and no matter how many times they visit the port afterwards, when in command of their own vessels, perhaps, they will never forget their first sight of the great frowning rock, and their visit to the hidden guns and casemates. In the harbor they find all sorts of strange sailing-craft of the Mediterranean, and hear the jargon of tongues of the multitude of foreign mariners that meet here from all quarters of the globe.

On the return voyage they stop at the Madeira Islands, and thence, setting sail, they make for home, arriving in Long Island Sound about, the last of August. Now, until the middle of October, they spend the time in practical exercises, cruising to and fro in calmer waters; and in the middle of October the _St. Mary's_ returns to her dock in the city.

A leave of two weeks is granted the boys, and it is easy to imagine what heroes they are to their younger brothers and to their old companions who have spent the hot summer in the city.

When they return to the ship on the first of November they find the topmasts housed, the yards taken down, and the deck-house in position for the winter's term of schooling, which begins at once. During the cruise at sea the whole time has been taken up with the study of seamanship and the practice of professional branches of knowledge. They have learned to tie knots, to hand, reef, and steer, and may be pardoned a slight roll in their walk and a tendency to indulge in nautical phraseology.

The boys whose second cruise it has been are found positions on board the American vessels who receive a subsidy under the postal-subsidy bill, for all such are required to be officered by Americans, and to carry a "cadet" for each thousand tons burden. This enables the graduates of the school to step at once into a paying situation, where their education will be of great advantage to them. Maybe some of them make up their minds to go into the navy, or others decide that they are not cut out for the sea, and take up some life on shore; but no matter what they do, they cannot but be benefited by what they have learned and seen.

The first-year boys and the new recruits begin to take up their studies, which are those taught in the common schools--geography, history of the United States, English grammar, arithmetic, algebra, and last, but not least, theoretical navigation. Ship's routine is followed in their daily life, but there is plenty of time for play and skylarking.

When a boy has been graduated from this school, if he has paid attention to his duties and his studies, he is competent to navigate a vessel, he understands thoroughly dead reckoning, and he knows how to find the latitude and longitude by the sun, moon, planets, or stars, and besides this, he knows the duties of a seaman from beginning to end. There is nothing for him to learn about the handling of a sailing-vessel, for he has taken his trick at the wheel, he has learned the rule of the road, and how to give proper orders. He can heave the lead like an old hand, and has had plenty of practice in handling small boats under both oars and sails. The American sailor has proved himself often indeed to be the best afloat, and the lad from the _St. Mary's_ is qualified to take first rank.

During the war of the rebellion many of the commissioned officers were drawn from the ranks of the merchant marine. Had the _St. Mary's_ then been in existence, her boys would have given accounts of themselves, and there is no question that, should at some future time a war arise, there would be places aplenty for them to make use of the knowledge they have gained, or to win laurels in the service of their country. Not long ago a big sailing-ship, returning home from a long cruise, had the misfortune to lose, by death and accident, all of her officers fit to navigate and command her. On board at the time was one of the _St. Mary's_ lads, only nineteen years of age, and the command and responsibility of bringing the great ship safely to port fell upon his shoulders. I am glad to state that he did not fear or shirk the responsibility, and that the grown men under him knew at once that they had a commander who was familiar with his business, and who could be trusted in any emergency, for they encountered severe storms after the boy Captain had assumed command.

The officers of the school-ship are all graduates of Annapolis and appointed by the government, and the petty officers are made up of old men-of-war's men, a few of whom are on board as assistant instructors. The boys, however, fill some of these positions themselves, and thus early assume the duties which teach them how to get on with men who are compelled to obey their orders.

If a boy has a taste for the sea, and his parents have no objections to his selecting it as a calling, he can find out a great deal about the world and not a little about himself by spending two years on board the school-ship _St. Mary's_.

THE TRANSFERRED FLAG.

BY JAMES BUCKHAM.

Frigate and schooner in conflict dread, Banners throbbing at each mast-head; England's jack in the smoke and reek, Stars and stripes at the schooner's peak.

Clash and roar of the awful fight; Sabres gleaming like shafts of light; Crack of pistols; a musket's boom; Shouts and groans in the drifting gloom.

Overhead, in the murk, the flags Toss, with their edges torn to rags, Lash at each other, and writhe and snap-- Silken musketry, clap on clap!

See! On the Yankee yard-arm stands A daring middy, with outspread hands! He bends, he leaps--and without a slip, Catches the yard of the British ship!

Up, up, he climbs, till, the cross-trees past, He reaches the top of the swaying mast. Then, with a slash of his knife, he throws The British flag to his country's foes.

Lo! from his bosom, like flame unfurled, He draws the banner that rules the world, And nails it there, with its crimson bars And gleaming glory of unstained stars!

Quick was the brain that conceived the thought, And brave the deed that the sailor-boy wrought; Bright he his name on history's roll, And far the flash of his hero-soul!

SEED-SOWING.

BY EMMA J. GRAY.

Gardening is said to come natural to Japanese boys and girls, but there is no reason why our amateur gardeners should not rival them.

Spring has been well named the "mother of the flowers," for then indeed nature wakes. The previously hard soil softens, gentle showers fall, the long sunny days follow one after the other, and serious mistake must indeed have been made at the time of planting if the cheerless winter garden is not readily transformed into beds and bowers of delicate richest color, and bewilderingly beautiful flowers do not send lavish and grateful odor.

An important matter, however, is the preparation of the soil, and another quite as important is to sow seeds late and not early. Then, too, attention must be given to their size and construction. Some seeds are round and tiny, such as the portulaca. These are scattered over the ground and gently mixed by the hand into the soil, while others must be planted, really embedded in the earth, such as sweet-pease. Again, other seeds have a shell-like covering, which must be removed before sowing, and others must be placed in the earth in a special direction. We have all heard of the boy who wondered why his beans didn't grow. On investigation he learned they were growing as fast as possible, only they would have bloomed and borne in China, for he had planted them upside down. Seeds such as the verbena must be planted lengthwise, and there are others which must be soaked before planting at all.

Young gardeners should commence with the easiest-raised plants, and wait until experience and study will lend a hand with the more difficult. And do not forget that the world is full of kind people who will gladly tell you what you do not know.

After sunset is the best time for seed-sowing. When they are sown, gently water, and then cover with an old piece of carpet. This is to keep the ground in a more equal temperature. Every evening pick up the carpet and examine the earth. Keep it moist--not wet--and when the seeds are sprouted replace the carpet with paper. To prevent this blowing, put stones on its outer edges. When the tender shoots are positively strong, hardy enough to withstand violent winds and hot suns, remove the paper. Keep on watch for the unexpected--such as insects, for example, which must be picked off. Weed carefully, and water when necessary.

Beginners may be sure of success if they sow any of the following seeds: Sweet-alyssum and candy-tuft, both of which have delicate white blossoms, and bloom freely from June to October; asters, which are very hardy, and whose colors are without number and exceedingly showy; balsam--or, as usually called, lady's-slipper, both double and single, is an old-fashioned favorite; morning-glories are beautiful, and fine to cover an unsightly pole or unpainted fence; mignonette and pansies will be sweet, while zinnia, portulaca, and marigold will lend brilliance.

A NATURALIST'S BOYHOOD.

MR. WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON'S START.

BY BARNET PHILLIPS.

I am enjoying a book, a picture, a statue, or say a piece of music. I know these to be the finished works of the man or the woman, but I invariably hark back to the boy or the girl.

What I want to discover is the precise time, in the lives of certain boys and girls, when the steel first struck the flint, the spark flew, and out streamed that jet of fire which never afterwards was extinguished.

I was reading an article entitled "Professor Wriggler," written by Mr. William Hamilton Gibson, which appeared in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, in the number of October 31, 1893. I need not tell you that both old and young, at home and abroad, delight in reading what Mr. Hamilton Gibson has written, because he was not alone the most observant of naturalists, but a distinguished artist and a sympathetic author.

He thus filled a peculiar position in the literary and artistic world which is seldom given to any one man to fill. Besides being a naturalist from his boyhood, he was able to write better than most people what he wished to write, and to illustrate his articles in a way that was unique. Mr. Gibson's death a few days ago, therefore, has closed the career of a man who had the ability to interest a large number of people not only in natural history, but in art and literature.

The news of Mr. Gibson's death came to me suddenly, and as I was reading it I recalled an interesting talk I had with him less than a year ago about his work early in life and the way he got his start. I had been reading one of his articles to a lady, who, when she heard the name of the author, said:

"Why, I knew Mr. Hamilton Gibson long ago. When he was a lad he painted a lovely drop-curtain for us. He could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen then."

The next time I met Mr. Hamilton Gibson I asked him about this drop-curtain. "Do you remember it?"

"Certainly I do. We had a temperance society at Sandy Hook, Connecticut, and we gave a grand entertainment. I made the drop-curtain. It represented a wood. There was a rock in the foreground, and a Virginia-creeper was climbing over it."

"Was it an original composition?" I asked.

"I made many studies of the rock and the Virginia-creeper from nature. On the other side of the curtain I painted a drawing-room. There were a marble mantelpiece, a clock, and lace curtains. I don't think I enjoyed painting the clock as much as the Virginia-creeper."

"To paint a drop curtain at fifteen or sixteen means that you had then a certain facility. But that could not have been your beginning. When did you break your shell? What chipped or cracked your egg, so that your particular bird emerged, chirped, and finally took flight? That was what I wanted to know."

"Is that what you are after?" asked Mr. Hamilton Gibson. "From my baby days I was curious about flowers and insects. The two were always united in my mind. What could not have been more than a childish guess was confirmed in my later days." Then Mr. Hamilton Gibson paused. I could see he was recalling, not without emotion, some memories of the long past.

"I was very young, and playing in the woods. I tossed over the fallen leaves, when I came across a chrysalis. There was nothing remarkable in that, for I knew what it was. But, wonderful to relate, providentially I deem it, as I held the object in my hand a butterfly slowly emerged, then fluttered in my fingers."

"You were pleased with its beauty," I said.

"Oh! It was more than that. I do not know whether I was or was not a youngster with an imagination, but suddenly the spiritual view of a new or of another life struck me. I saw in this jewel born from an unadorned casket some inkling of immortality. Yes, that butterfly breaking from its chrysalis in my hand shaped my future career."

"But some young people may feel passing impulses, but how account for your artistic skill and literary powers?"

"As to the art side, at least deftness of hand came early. I had the most methodical of grandmothers. Every day I had a certain task. I made a square of patch-work for a quilt. I learned how to sew, and I can sew neatly to-day. I knew how to use my fingers."

"Did you like patch-work?" I inquired.

"I simply despised it. Sewing must have helped me, for it was eye-training, and when I went to work with a pencil and a paint-brush I really had no trouble. I read a great deal. I devoured Cooper's novels and the Rollo series; but there was one special volume, _Harris on Insects_, I never tired of. I studied that over and over again. It was the illustrations of Marsh which fascinated me. I never found a bug, caterpillar, or butterfly that I did not compare my specimens with the Marsh pictures. I learned this way much which I have never forgotten."

"Had you any particular advantages?"

"Yes; my brother was a doctor, and he let me use his microscope, and so I acquired a knowledge of the details of flowers and insects that escape the naked eye. I pulled flowers to pieces, but not in the spirit of destruction, but so that I might better understand their structure. When I was ten I had a long illness. When I was getting better, I was permitted to take an hour's or so turn in the garden. That hour I devoted to collecting insects and flowers. On my return to my room, what I had collected amused me until I could get out again next day or the day after."

"It was pleasure and study combined," I said.

"I was not conscious that I was studying. Then in my sick-room I began to draw and paint the insects. I think I was conscientious about it, and careful--perhaps minutely so. I tried to put on paper exactly what I saw, and nothing else. You say you like 'Professor Wriggler.' I drew him when I was ten or eleven, and I could not make him any more accurate to-day than I did thirty years ago."

"Were you encouraged at your work?" I inquired.

"Yes; once I was much pleased. I came across a curious insect. I could not find it in the books. I made a drawing of it and sent it to a professor of the Smithsonian, asking him to give me its scientific name. Back came by return mail my sketch, and under it the Latin name. The professor wrote me that if the people who were always annoying him with pictures of impossible bugs would only send him as accurate a picture as was mine, he never would have any more bother."

"Did you have any setbacks?"

"Yes; and I haven't forgotten it up to to-day. I was always collecting, and I had brought together every insect I had found in my neighborhood. As I took them home I pinned them in the drawers of an old-fashioned bureau. In time the whole of the drawers, bottom and sides, were full of pinned specimens, and there was room for no more. I had saved enough money to buy a cabinet, and I went to New York and purchased one. When I returned home the first thing I did was to look at my precious collection. When I opened a drawer there was a confused mass of wings only. One single wretch of a black ant had got in, and had passed the word to 10,000 other black ants. They had eaten the bodies of my insects in all the drawers. That quite broke my heart."

"But your writing. How did that come about?" I asked.

"I don't think that you can develop in one direction only. You must unbosom yourself. You are forced to tell or to write about the things you have most at heart. When I was a small boy I wrote a book for myself, and called it 'Botany on the Half-shell.' The first thing I ever wrote which was printed was an article for one of Messrs. Harper's publications, and I made the pictures for it. That was my début."

"Then your work went hand in hand?"