Chapter 1

THE "HEATHEN CHINEE" AT HOME.

The first sight of China--that region of marvel and mystery, where everything seems exactly opposite to what one sees at home, and the fashions of three thousand years ago are supreme as ever--is a great event in any one's life. So thought Frank Austin, who was on the watch for the Chinese coast long before it came in sight, although the run from Singapore was an unusually quick one; for the _Arizona_ exerted all her speed to "get in for a cargo" before a rival steamer, which had kept close to her all the way, coming so near at times that the respective officers could exchange a little good-humored "chaff" through their speaking-trumpets.

But our hero got a glimpse of the "Celestials" sooner than he expected. For the last two or three days of the voyage the sea was literally covered with Chinese junks, large and small, many of them strongly manned, and armed with cannon, to guard against the countless pirates of the "China seas." At every moment it seemed as if the _Arizona_ must run some of them down; but just as the crash was about to come, the junk would veer, and slide nimbly away. When several of them came by together, the barking of dogs, crowing of roosters, and shouts of children made Frank feel quite as if he were in a town instead of on the open sea. So steadily do the "trade-winds" (here called "monsoons") blow from one quarter, that these junks, starting at the same time every year, often make a whole voyage without shifting sail at all.

Frank was delighted with the picturesque sight, and overwhelmed Herrick with questions, that the old tar answered readily enough.

"That's right, lad," he would say; "keep your eyes open, and when you don't know a thing, never be ashamed to ask. That's the way to git on--you see if it ain't! Why, there's that feller Monkey, now: 'stead o' lookin' about him when we were at Singapore, I found him fast asleep in the shadder o' the quarter-boat, never knowin' whether he was in Malacca or Massachusetts! If you'd been one o' _that_ sort, 'stead o' bein' supercargo, you'd ha' been shovellin' coal down thar yet?'"

* * * * *

For some time past Frank had noticed a curious change in one of the men, who, after showing himself, a brave and able seaman in the earlier part of the voyage, had suddenly, without any apparent reason, become so gloomy and miserable that his mates nicknamed him "Dick Calamity." The surgeon, though finding no sign of actual illness about the man, had pronounced him quite unfit for duty, and thenceforth the poor fellow would sit for hours looking moodily over the side, with a weary, hopeless expression, which, as Herrick truly said, "made a man's heart ache to look at."

One evening there was some music on the after-deck (there being several good musicians among the lady passengers who had come aboard at Singapore), and Frank, with some of the officers, stood by to listen. As the last notes of "Home, Sweet Home" died away, Austin's quick ear caught a smothered sob behind him. Following the sound, he discovered poor Dick crouching under the lee of one of the boats, and crying like a child.

Frank spoke to him kindly, but for some time could get nothing from him but sobs and tears. At last, however, the whole story came out. The man was homesick.

"I want to be home agin!" he groaned, "and I don't care to live if I can't. If I could just git one glimpse o' my little farm yonder among the Vermont hills, it 'ud be worth every cent I've got."

"But you'll soon be home _now_, you know," said Frank, cheerily. "We're close to Hong-Kong, and you can get a passage home from there whenever you like."

Dick only shook his head mournfully; but after a time he seemed to grow quieter, and went below. His mates--who had long since left off making fun of him, and now did all they could to cheer him up--helped him into his bunk, and recommended him to go to sleep.

The next morning an unusual bustle on the forecastle attracted Frank's attention, and he went forward to ask what was the matter.

"Poor Dick's gone and killed himself,"[1] answered one of the men, sadly. "I was al'ays afeard that 'ud be the end of it."

It was too true. An hour later the poor fellow's body, sewn up in a hammock, and weighted with a heavy shot, was plunged into the sea; and Herrick, drawing his rough hand across his eyes, muttered, "_That's_ what comes o' goin' to sea when you ain't fit for it."

* * * * *

On the seventh day of the voyage the Chinese coast was seen stretching like a thin gray cloud along the horizon. Presently the mountains began to outline themselves against the sky, and as the vessel drew nearer, the huge dark precipices and smooth green slopes grew plainer and plainer, while in the background towered the great blue mass of Victoria Peak, at the foot of which lies Hong-Kong.

Frank was not a little puzzled by a number of strange-looking brown objects that lay close inshore, tumbling and bobbing about like porpoises. But as the steamer approached, they turned out to be Chinese "sampans" and fishing-boats, hard at work. Some had white sails criss-crossed with strips of bamboo, others huge brown sails of woven matting, like bats' wings; and altogether--what with the brightly painted boats, the queer faces and gestures of the pigtailed fishermen, the barking of the big dogs which seemed to act as sentries, the glittering scales of the fish that came pouring out of the nets, and lay flapping on the deck, the general bustle and activity--it was a sight well worth seeing.

Over the after-part of each boat was an awning of straw or matting, under which the fisherman's family could be seen at work upon their morning meal of rice and fish, flipping it into their mouths with long knitting-needles, which Herrick said were the famous Chinese "chopsticks." They hardly took the trouble to look round at the steamer as she passed, seeming to care very little whether she happened to run them down or not.

And now larger junks began to appear, together with not a few foreign vessels, which seemed to start out of the solid mountain, for as yet no opening was to be seen. But all at once the _Arizona_ made a sharp turn to port, around the elbow of a huge headland, and there, through a gap in the cliffs, appeared the beautiful harbor of Hong-Kong, right ahead.[2]

"Dutch Gap, by hoe-cake!" cried a tall Virginian, with a joyful grin.

"Ah! don't I jist wish it was!" muttered another, who was beginning to feel a touch of poor Dick Calamity's complaint.

Gliding past the pretty little islet that sentinels the entrance, the _Arizona_ ran in and dropped anchor, while the rival steamer, came slowly up behind her.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A fact.

[2] The Russian port of Balaklava, in the Crimea, has an entrance of the same kind.

THE STORY OF A WINGED TRAMP.

BY FLETCHER READE.

Tramps, you think, are a modern invention, and a very disagreeable one, too; but if you had chanced to live so long ago as when the earth was young, you would know that the institution is a very old and honorable one.

You would have heard, too, in that far-off golden age, of the winged tramp--a beautiful youth who spent his life in travelling from place to place, sometimes on the earth, sometimes in the air, walking or flying as the humor seized him: a merry fellow withal, and the very Prince of the wandering brotherhood.

He was, indeed, a true Prince, for his father, Zeus, was King of Olympia, and his mother, Maia, was descended from the Titans, an ancient and royal family.

Instead of living in the grand Olympian palace, however, Maia preferred to remain in her own home--a beautiful grotto on the hill Kyllene, and it was here that the young Prince Hermes was born.

Even then babies were wonderful beings, as they are now, and always must be; but of all astonishing and precocious infants Hermes was certainly the most remarkable.

Cuddled and wrapped in his cradle, and six hours old by the sun, he leaped to his feet, and ran swiftly across the hard, uneven floor of Maia's cave.

Just outside the door he spied a tortoise.

"Aha, my fine fellow!" said this wonderful baby, "you are just the person I wished to see."

The tortoise was so taken by surprise that he could not find a word to say, and by the time he had made up his mind that the best thing for him to do was to get out of the way, there was nothing left of him to get away with, for the baby Prince had thrust out his eyes, and had converted his shell into a lyre.

Hermes smiled as he held it between his hands, and then, seating himself by his mother's side, he began to sing, recounting to her all the most wonderful events of her life.

It was now that Maia discovered for the first time that her baby wore on his feet a curious pair of sandals, on each of which grew tiny wings.

She turned quickly to clasp him in her hands, for she knew by the sign of the winged shoes that he would soon fly away from the little grotto of Kyllene.

But Hermes sprang out of her reach, and laughed gayly as she chased him about the cave, hardly stopping to turn his head as he bounded past her, and out into the open air, carrying his lyre in his hand, and wearing on his head a funny little hat, on which were two wings like those upon his shoes.

Faster and faster he flew, now floating on the wind like a swallow, now bounding over the earth, and now rising just above the tops of the highest trees.

This was the little tramp's first journey, and his errand, I am sorry to say, was a very wicked and mischievous one; for no sooner did he see the cows of Prince Apollo feeding in the pastures of Pieria than he decided to steal a couple of them for his breakfast, and to let the rest stray away. Having accomplished this piece of mischief, he went back to his cradle, gliding through the open door as swiftly and softly as the summer wind.

Phoebus Apollo soon discovered what had happened, and started off in pursuit of the robber; but Hermes was by this time fast asleep.

"What! I steal your cows!" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes, as Apollo stood at the door of Maia's cave. "I beg your pardon, but I do not even know what a cow is."

Then he laughed to himself, and hid his face under the clothes; but Apollo was not to be deceived, and Hermes was compelled to leave the pleasant grotto, and appear before Zeus to answer for his crime.

Still the little tramp denied the theft: "No, no," he said, "I never stole a cow in my life. I do not know a cow from a goat. I, indeed!" And the boy turned on his heel, laughing as he spoke.

"Hermes," said Zeus at length, from his royal throne, "it is useless for you to try longer to deceive us. Return the cows, make up the quarrel, and Apollo will forgive the theft."

Hermes saw that his secret was discovered, and confessed his fault as gayly as he had before denied it.

Prince Apollo was still somewhat out of humor, but as the boy led him back along the sandy shores of Pieria, he told such pleasant stories and sang such bewitching songs that the angry Prince began to smile, and at last declared that the music was worth the loss of a hundred cows.

Hermes, who was as generous as he was mischievous, immediately made Apollo a present of his lyre, and Apollo, not to be outdone, gave him in return a magic wand. This wand, which was so cunningly carved that it looked like two serpents twining around a slender rod, was called a caduceus, and Hermes carried it with him in all his wanderings.

After Apollo and Hermes had exchanged presents, they swore eternal friendship to each other; and then, having pointed out the place where the cows were hid, Hermes hurried back to Olympus.

Having once tasted the delights of travel, he could not endure the thought of a quiet humdrum life in the little cave at Kyllene, and he besought the King to send him on some foreign mission.

Zeus, pleased with the boy's adventurous spirit, appointed him his special Ambassador.

Light of foot and light of heart was the bright-haired messenger of the gods, the very merriest tramp that ever walked, or flew, or ran.

Sometimes he showed to travellers the road they had lost, and sometimes he led them far out of the way, stealing their purses, and then laughing at their tears.

On one occasion, having found Zeus in great distress because the Queen had determined to kill Io, a lovely young girl of whom the King was very fond, he declared that he alone would save her.

Zeus at first changed Io into a heifer, but the Queen discovered the secret, and sent Argus, a monster with a hundred eyes, to watch her.

It seemed impossible that the lovely Io could escape, and the poor old King was in despair.

"Trust me," said the cheerful Hermes, "I will manage the matter."

Swifter than a cloud that flies before the wind, he glided through the air until he reached the spot where the monster lay in wait for Io.

With one touch of his wand Hermes put the beast to sleep, and before he had time to wink even one of his hundred eyes Argus was dead.

It would take too long to tell of all the wonderful deeds which Hermes, the "Argus slayer," the messenger of the gods, performed.

Wherever he went he was greeted with prayers and songs and gifts, for although he sometimes wrought more harm than good, the winged tramp was always a welcome visitor both to gods and men.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 24, April 13.]

THE STORY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.

BY EDWARD CARY.