Part 1

Produced by Annie R. McGuire

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VOL. III.--NO. 153. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, October 3, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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THE SOLDIER'S CHEESE.

BY DAVID KER.

Any one who had come down the St. Gothard to the village of Andermatt, just at daybreak one cold winter morning in 1799, would have seen a very curious sight. All night long the village folks had been busy packing up and carrying away in carts or on horse and mule back whatever they could most easily remove. The first gleam of dawn saw the hindmost fugitives slinking away into the passes of the northern hills, looking fearfully back every now and then at the towering crest of the St. Gothard, as if expecting the whole mountain to fall upon them at once, or to send forth a torrent of fire that would sweep them all away.

The danger from which they were flying was not long behind them. Scarcely had the sun peered above the surrounding hill-tops when the great white slope of the St. Gothard seemed to grow black all at once, like a white cloth swarmed over by flies. Instantly the whole mountain-side was alive with bear-skin caps, and glittering bayonets, and prancing horses, and bright epaulets, and rumbling wheels, and shining cannon.

Down they came, still downward, thousands upon thousands--tall sallow grenadiers in long overcoats of gray frieze, sharp-faced, narrow-eyed Cossacks with long lances in their hands, black-capped gunners, glittering hussars, blue-nosed, shivering staff officers--and high above all, fluttering gayly in the keen morning breeze, the bullet-torn standard that bore the imperial ensign of Russia.

At sight of the deserted village there was a murmur of satisfaction among the Russian soldiers; for it was now forty-eight hours since any of them had touched a morsel of food, and they were all as hungry as wolves.

"These mountain goats have run away at the very sound of our coming," said a big grenadier; "but so long as they've left some food behind them, it's all right."

"Isn't this the place where they said the famous cheese was made?" suggested a gaunt, red-bearded Cossack.

"Sure enough!" cried one of his comrades, joyfully. "Hey, brothers! won't we have a good feed when we get down there!"

A good feed they certainly _did_ have, a few minutes later. Scarcely had the foremost battalion entered the village when a shout of "Cheese! cheese!" from the front drew every one in that direction. The little shop into which the starving men had rushed was hardly big enough to hold twenty of them at a time; but Russian soldiers, after a two days' fast, are not the men to be over ceremonious. In a trice the plank front of the store was beaten in and torn down, the shining yellow blocks which made such a tempting show were tossed into the street by hundreds, and there began such a feast as Andermatt had not seen, for many a year, even upon a market-day.

But just as they were at the busiest, munching and gnawing away like so many rats, a few dropping shots in front, followed by the roll of a full volley, made them all spring up and seize their arms.

"Infantry, form!" roared an officer, galloping in among them. "Skirmishers, advance! Forward! march!"

And now the work began in earnest. The French had covered their retreat by filling the wood beyond the village with sharp-shooters, and as the Russians moved on, the pine-clumps around them seemed alive with crackling musketry and quick puffs of white smoke, while the gray coats of fallen soldiers dotted the snow on every side.

But presently up came three or four light guns at a hard trot, and sent a shower of grape-shot rattling into the thickets, stirring the crouching marksmen from their covert like rabbits. On pressed the Russians; back fell the French; when suddenly a deep, hoarse roar was heard above all the din of the firing, and right in front of the charging Russians, as they broke from the wood, yawned a chasm as deep and narrow as if made by the cut of a sword. A quaint old bridge of moss-grown stone spanned the gulf, over which the last of the French soldiers were just filing at a run.

No time to lose, evidently. Forward sprang the Russians with a loud hurrah, when suddenly there came a report, sharp as a thunder-clap, while the whole air was filled with smoke and dust and whizzing masses of stone. The bridge had been blown up, leaving an impassable gulf between the two armies; and a taunting laugh from the French, accompanied by a volley of musketry, answered the yell of rage that broke from their pursuers.

What was to be done? Unless they could reach the enemy with the bayonet, the superior numbers of the Russians would avail them nothing; and if they stayed where they were they would be shot down like sparrows.

"This won't do, lads," cried a tall, handsome man in a rich gold-laced uniform, turning to the Cossacks who stood around him. "Follow me."

All obeyed without a word, for the speaker was no other than Prince Bagration, one of the best generals in the Russian army. Creeping round behind the thickets, that the enemy might not see what they were about, they came out again upon the river about half a mile higher up, at a point where the edge of the precipice, though quite bare and rocky on their side of the gap, was thickly wooded on the other.

"If we had three or four of those trees over here," said the Prince, "they'd bridge this gap for us famously. But how are we to get at them?"

"Twist the officers' sashes into a rope, your Highness," suggested a Cossack beside him, "knot a stone in the end of it, fling it across so as to catch in one of the branches, and send somebody over on it. I once robbed a house that way myself at home in Russia."

"_Did_ you?" said the General, with a broad grin. "Well, then, you shall make up for it by being the first man to cross. Off with your sashes, gentlemen."

The impromptu rope was soon twisted, the stone knotted in it, and flung so dexterously across the chasm that it caught in the fork of a tree at the first cast. The daring Cossack, with a sapper's axe slung round his neck, swung himself nimbly over the fearful gulf, and went to work upon the trees with such vigor that it was not long before three of them lay right across the gap, bridging it completely.

Then the Prince and his men, stirred to frenzy by the increasing uproar of the battle below, scrambled like mad-men across the perilous bridge, and rushing up the heights beyond, commenced firing down upon the French on the other side. Confounded by this unexpected attack, the enemy broke and fled, and the fight was won.

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"Well done, my children," said Marshal Suvoroff, as he passed along the Russian lines after the battle, with a glow of honest admiration on his rough old face--"well done, indeed! You have given those French dogs a lesson, and shown them that Russian bayonets have points."

"If _you're_ satisfied with us, father, that's all we want," replied a grim old grenadier, with a face criss-crossed with scars, like a railway map; "but, after all, we might well fight stoutly when we'd just had such a big meal of that good cheese."

"Cheese, eh? Where did you get it?"

"In the village yonder. We ate a whole shopful in passing through. I've got a bit left yet, if your Excellency would like to taste."

And opening his pouch, the veteran displayed to the old General's astounded eyes a half-gnawed piece of _yellow soap_.

A roar of laughter, which even the presence of the Commander-in-Chief could not restrain, broke from the staff officers around, and for many a day after the "good cheese" of Andermatt was their standing joke.

THE MOON LENDS A HAND.

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

If you drop a lump of sugar into a cupful of tea, or stir the tea about with a spoon, there will be little bubbles, floating on the surface. Watch these bubbles, and you will see that they soon slide off and gather along the edge of the cup. Boys in the first class in philosophy know what that means. It is the attraction of the cup. It is larger than the bubbles, and, as they are free to move about on the tea, they are attracted or pulled toward the sides of the cup.

If you lift the tea-cup, you find it is heavy. The great earth, that is millions of times larger than the cup, pulls it downward. We call it weight. We say the cup is pulled down by the attraction of gravitation.

Out of doors you can see the sun. It too has an attraction for the cup and for the whole round world and all it contains. It is bigger than our earth, and is pulling it toward itself. So strong is this attraction for the sun that everything that is lying loose on the earth would fly away if it were not that the world is so much nearer, and is attracting it the other way at the same time. There are some things that really start to go to the sun every day, but very fortunately they soon come back again.

Then there is the moon. She too is trying to pull everything toward herself. Poor Mrs. Moon! She is in an unfortunate position. She is pulled away toward the sun, and at the same time the earth attracts her this way. She wants to fly away and tumble into the sun, and she feels a great desire to fall down upon the world. She can't go both ways at once, so she contents herself with flying round the world once every day, and keeping us company in our journey round the sun.

The moon has her revenge on the earth. It pulls hard on the world all the time, and some of the things on the surface, that, like the bubbles in the tea-cup, are free to move, try every day to jump up to the moon. There is the air and all the water in the sea. They can move about, and whenever the moon passes overhead they move up as if to meet it. They can't go far, but they make a good start, and never seem tired of trying. If we could go up in a balloon to the top of the air we would probably find the air at one place piled up in a heap, as if it wanted to fly away to the moon if the earth would only give it a chance.

As it is not convenient for us to go up to the top of the air, we will go down to the beach to see how the water behaves when the moon goes by. No matter what time of the day or night you go to the sea-shore, you will find the water either rising up toward the moon or falling back again. It never seems to be discouraged, but as soon as it fails it starts again. You can not see it move, but if you put a stone at the edge of the water, and wait an hour or two, you will find the stone has been covered by the water or is left quite high and dry. It seems as if the whole of the great sea was forever slowly rising or falling, up and down, with a slow and solemn motion.

Any boy who lives by the shore knows that this is the tide. He knows that all his fun depends on this regular rising and falling of the tide. At high tide the fishing is good. At low tide the flats are bare, and the boys can dig clams or watch the long-legged plovers wading about in the shallow water. This curious rising and falling of the tide is caused by the attraction of the moon. The sun also helps, but in a lesser degree. How and why it all happens would take a long time to explain. We do not care for that just now, as the strange effects of the tides upon the land are more interesting.

I have already told you something of the way in which the sea and the waves are at work cutting out, tearing down, or building up the dry land on which we live. Perhaps you remember the stories of the walking beaches and the fight between the rivers and the sand-bars? We can now see what the moon has to do with this business.

The tide is like a wave. It is not very high, but wonderfully wide. It is so broad that a single tide-wave will reach half round the world. Out at sea it is impossible to tell whether it is high or low tide at any time. Near the shore the tides behave in a curious and often wonderful manner, and we can walk along the beaches and see how they work. One of the best places to do this is the vicinity of New York city.

South of this city is the harbor. Still farther south, past the Narrows, is the beautiful bay called New York Bay. Sandy Hook at the south and Coney Island at the north mark the broad entrance to this bay from the Atlantic Ocean. The Hudson River, that stretches far back into the country, runs along the west side of the city. On the east is the narrow and crooked arm of the sea called the East River. You know all this, and it may seem a trifle like a school-book, but your books never told you of half the wonders of this familiar place. The East River opens into Long Island Sound, and the Sound opens into the Atlantic at the farther end of Long Island. Thus it is possible for ships to start from New York and go to sea by the way of the harbor and bay, past Sandy Hook, or they may sail up the East River into the Sound, and reach the sea at Block Island, more than a hundred miles to the east of Sandy Hook.

In the same way the tide coming in from the sea may reach New York by the way of Long Island Sound and the East River, or by the way of Sandy Hook and the bay. Suppose it is low tide off Block Island, at the east end of Long Island (you should look on your map for all this). The tide begins to rise, and enters the Sound. In two hours the wave reaches Sand's Point, and begins to enter the East River. Now happens a curious thing. The Sound grows narrower, and the river is narrower still, and as all the water has to pass at the same time, it rises higher and runs faster. At Block Island the tide rises only two feet. At Hallet's Point, near the city, it rises more than seven feet. The quiet peaceful tide at Block Island becomes here a swiftly flowing stream that surges with foam and fury between the rough rocky banks, and making many a dangerous eddy and whirl-pool. It is no wonder the sailors used to call this place Hell Gate.

Let us look at this place a moment. The East River is open to the sea at each end. It is not like a real river, flowing down hill, and with a current constantly flowing in one direction. It has no current of its own, and were it not for the tides that surge backward and forward through the place twice every day, its waters would be dull and stagnant as any of the quiet lagoons behind the beaches that we have been studying. You can guess what would happen then. The place would soon fill up with mud and sand. Oysters and shell-fish would make it their home; sea-weeds and mosses would cover the bottom, and before long the river would be filled up, and Hell Gate would be closed. This wild turmoil of water just here, this swift-flowing current, keeps the place clear. The tides scour out the river-bed, and help keep it clean for the ships. There are more vessels passing through Hell Gate in a year than at any other place on this continent. If it were closed, our commerce would be sadly injured. Millions of dollars have been spent to make the channel clear, but it is the moon that keeps this great water gate open.

The same tide that first appears off Block Island, and travels through the Sound, also travels along the southern shore of Long Island, and reaches Sandy Hook. As the water grows more shallow, the tide piles up higher, and at Sandy Hook it is more than four feet high. It sweeps on into the bay, and past the Narrows into the harbor, growing higher at every step. It rushes past the Battery, and into the East River, and now it is a swift and powerful current. It rushes onward along both sides of Blackwell's Island, and at Hell Gate the two tides meet. This only increases the war and turmoil of the waters. One tide seems to be piled upon another, and the currents become more furious. In a very little while one or the other gives way. The current turns, and rushes as swiftly the other way. All this strange performance is the work of the moon and the sun.

Everywhere on the sea-coast all round the world the moon lends a hand to help the sea carve out the land. At Sandy Hook it also holds the key of the bay, and keeps the harbor open, that ships may pass out and come in. Were it not for the moon, Sandy Hook would creep slowly out over the shallow waters until it nearly reached Coney Island. The friendly tide comes sweeping in from the sea, and spreads far and wide over the bay. It fills miles and miles of bays and rivers with water, and then when the moon passes on, and the water can follow her no farther, it turns in a mighty flood, and scours and sweeps out all the channels. The outflowing tide is a big broom to brush away the sand and mud, and keep the front door of our port open to all the ships of the world. Did not the sea every day try to reach after the moon, perhaps there would be no tides. Were the tides to stop, our grand front gate would soon be shut, and our convenient back way into the Sound would be closed. It is in this way a great and wise Creator has commanded even the moon to lend a hand in controlling the sea and the land.

GOLDEN-ROD.

BY M. R. COLQUITT.

Oh, mamma, I've heard such charming news From the Bobolink down in the lane; He knows many beautiful stories, And promised to meet me again.

He told me about this rich Golden-Rod, And whence came its glowing hue; And I'm sure the bright little gossip Wouldn't care if I should tell you.

He says when dear little Titania Was proclaimed the fairies' Queen, There was such a splendid banquet As never before was seen,

And Titania's gorgeous costly robe, All puffed with fold on fold, Was made of a sunset tissue Of shining dazzling gold.

The Knight of the Topaz Helmet Was chosen to dance with her, And he tore her beautiful court train With the point of his diamond spur.

The wonderful exquisite fragment Fluttered about in the breeze, Now lighting the spears of the bending grass, Now floating among the trees,

Till 'twas caught by the old head gardener, Who gazed at it long, and said; "This, fugitive flying sunbeam Has put something new in my head,

"And our royal lady's accident Has strangely given a hint, And furnished me just what I longed for-- An idea of shape, and a tint

"For the flower that must be ready, As soon as the dancing is done, To present to our lovely sovereign In token of fealty won.

"I'll take its form from the flashing plume Of the Knight who threw in my way This fleecy fluttering fragment, So delicate, dainty, and gay.

"And if she accepts the token, And prints with her gracious hand The mystical sign upon it That shows it from Fairy-land,

"I'll blow its seed to the outer world, And scatter them over the sod, And christen my feathery favorite Queen Titania's _Golden-Rod_."

THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.[1]

[1] Begun in No. 146, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

BY W. L. ALDEN,

AUTHOR OF "THE MORAL PIRATES," "THE CRUISE OF THE 'GHOST,'" ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER VIII.

There is no place more unfit for a sudden and unexpected bath than the lock of a canal. The sides and the gates are perpendicular and smooth, and present nothing to which a person in the water can cling. Charley had no difficulty in supporting himself by throwing one arm over the stern of Harry's canoe, but had he been alone in the lock he would have been in a very unpleasant position.

As soon as the gates were opened the boys paddled out of the lock, and went ashore to devise a plan for raising the sunken canoe. Of course it was necessary that some one should dive and bring up the painter, so that the canoe could be dragged out of the lock; but as canal-boats were constantly passing, it was a full hour before any attempt at diving could be made. There were half a dozen small French boys playing near the lock, and Charley, who was by no means anxious to do any unnecessary diving, hired them to get the canoe ashore, which they managed to do easily. It was then found that nearly everything except the spars had floated out of her, and the rest of the morning was spent in searching for the missing articles in the muddy bottom of the canal. Most of them were recovered, but Charley's spare clothes, which were in an India-rubber bag, could not be found.

This was the second time that the unfortunate _Midnight_ had foundered, and Charley was thoroughly convinced of the necessity of providing some means of keeping her afloat in case of capsizing. It was impossible for him to put water-tight compartments in her, such as the _Sunshine_ and the _Dawn_ possessed, but he resolved to buy a dozen beef bladders at the next town, and after blowing them up, to pack them in the bow and stern of his canoe. Tom, whose "Rice Lake" canoe was also without water-tight compartments, agreed to adopt Charley's plan, and thus avoid running the risk of an accident that might result in the loss of the canoe and cargo.

When the fleet finally got under way again there was a nice breeze from the south, which sent the canoes along at the rate of four or five miles an hour. Chambly, the northern end of the canal, was reached before four o'clock, the boys having lunched on bread and water while in the canoes in order not to lose time by going ashore. They passed safely through the three great locks at Chambly; and entering the little lake formed by the expansion of the river, and known as Chambly Basin, they skirted its northern shore until they reached the ruins of Chambly Castle.

More than one hundred and fifty years ago the Frenchmen built the great square fort, with round towers at each angle, which is now called Chambly Castle. At that time the only direct way of communication between the settlements on the St. Lawrence and those in the valleys of the Hudson and the Mohawk was up the Richelieu River, Lake Champlain, and Lake George. It was this route that Burgoyne followed when he began the campaign that ended so disastrously for him at Saratoga, and it was at Chambly Castle that he formally took command of his army. The castle was placed just at the foot of the rapids, on a broad, level space, where Indians used to assemble in large numbers to trade with the French. Its high stone walls, while they could easily have been knocked to pieces by cannon, were a complete protection against the arrows and rifles of the savages, and could have withstood a long siege by any English force not provided with artillery. In the old days when the castle was garrisoned by gay young French officers, and parties of beautiful ladies came up from Montreal to attend the officers' balls, and the gray old walls echoed to music, and brilliant lights flashed through the windows, the Indians encamped outside the gates must have thought it the most magnificent and brilliant place in the whole world. Now there is nothing left of it but the four walls and the crumbling towers. The iron bolts on which the great castle gate once swung are still imbedded in the stone, but nothing else remains inside the castle except grassy mounds, and the wild vines that climb wherever they can find an angle or a stone to cling to.

The canoeists made their camp where the Indians had so often camped before them, and after supper they rambled through the castle and climbed to the top of one of the towers. They had never heard of its existence, and were as surprised as they were delighted to find so romantic a ruin.

"I haven't the least doubt that the place is full of ghosts," said Charley, as the boys were getting into the canoes for the night.

"Do you really believe in ghosts?" asked Tom, in his matter-of-fact way.

"Why," replied Charley, "when you think of what must have happened inside of that old castle and outside of it when the Indians tortured their prisoners, there can't help but be ghosts here."