Chapter 7

A short distance down the railroad a body of cavalrymen had dismounted, and soon they were as busy as ants, tearing up the track. One squad preceded the others and loosened the rails by drawing the spikes; then came another squad that placed the ties in great heaps; after this came a third that kindled fires beneath them. The ties were rotten and dry, and, in a very few moments, there were scores of bright, hot fires. Soon the rails were at a red heat near the center, the ends being comparatively cool. While in this state a number of men would take the rails and bend them around telegraph poles or any solid objects that were near. The soldiers twisted the rails into fantastic shapes; and when they were through with their work of destruction, they seemed perfectly satisfied that none of the old material could be used in reconstructing the road. Harry and his mother had observed the operations of these men with much interest for some time, when suddenly they saw one of them mount his horse, and ride toward the house.

"He is a rebel!" exclaimed Harry, who stood watching the approaching horseman.

"Surely you are mistaken, Harry. There can be no Confederates here," said Mrs. Magill, "the Federals are too near."

While yet the soldier was some distance from the house, the boy's face lighted up with joy, as he exclaimed:

"Oh, mother, I do believe it's John!"

"John? Where is he?" asked his mother, running to where the boy stood.

"Why, there, on the horse! He's coming home! He's coming home!" And thus exclaiming, Harry danced around the veranda like an Indian lad in a first war-dance. Then he ran to meet his brother in gray. Mrs. Magill was thrilled with sensations of joy and fear: joy, because she was about to see again her eldest son, after a painful separation of two years; fear, because of the nearness of the Federals. When within a short distance of his brother, Harry stopped and waited there, prepared to give the military salute due one of his brother's rank. But that salute was never given; for almost at the same instant that Harry stopped, Captain John Magill reined up his horse quite suddenly, drew a pistol from its holster, and looked suspiciously toward a clump of trees on the hill-top. Harry turned his eyes to learn what had startled his brother. He beheld a score or more of men in blue uniforms, partly concealed by the clump of trees; and it was evident that these were the vanguard of a larger body of Federals. Captain John Magill wheeled as suddenly as he had halted, and galloped back to the Confederates engaged in demolishing the railroad. As fast as he could run, Harry followed. Mrs. Magill comprehended the situation; and, spell-bound, she stood on the veranda, with arms outstretched, a statue of anguish and expectancy.

When Captain John Magill reached his comrades, he gave the alarm, and "there was mounting in hot haste." The two hundred raiders had time only to form an irregular line of battle, when twice as many Federals appeared on the hill-top. It was evident that there was going to be a lively skirmish. Harry singled out John, who rode up and down the line giving commands, and running to him, he clasped him around a leg with both arms, enthusiastically exclaiming:

"Howdy, John! Don't you know me?"

The young captain looked down at the joy-beaming face of his little brother, but, as he had never seen the little fellow in his fantastic uniform, for a moment failed to recognize him.

A shade of disappointment flitted over Harry's face as he said:

"I am your little brother Harry; and I'm just as much Rebel as Yankee."

Captain John Magill laughed as he leaned over and grasped Harry's hand.

"Why, Harry! What on earth are you doing here? Get up behind me, and I will gallop home with you before the firing begins," said John, evidently alarmed for the boy's safety. Placing his foot on that of his brother, Harry clambered up behind. By this time the lines were in range of each other, and a lively fusillade at once began. Harry behaved manfully under fire, and entreated his brother to allow him to stay until the fight was over. But the elder brother was intent on taking him to a place of safety, so putting spurs to his horse he rode swiftly toward the house. His plan was to return the boy to his mother, and then rejoin his comrades. But the Confederates did not know his intentions; and seeing their Captain making his way rapidly to the rear, with this strangely-clad boy behind him, they of course thought him retreating, and they followed pell-mell.

Captain John Magill saw the effect of his movement, and, halting, made an effort to rally his men. But the Confederates were thoroughly stampeded, and they dashed madly away. The shouting Federals were now at close range, and the bee-like song of the bullets could be heard on every side. Hastily placing Harry in front of him, to shield him as much as possible from the enemy's fire, he followed his men, now some distance in advance. When they reached the house, Mrs. Magill stood pale and motionless, expecting every moment to see her children fall. Glancing back, Captain John Magill saw that a moment's delay would make him a prisoner; so as he dashed past his mother he cried out, "Don't be uneasy. I'll take care of Harry"; and then he was gone like the wind, his pursuers not a hundred yards behind him. Then a complete change came over Mrs. Magill. Impelled by the great love of a mother, she ran into the yard, and stood calmly in the way of the advancing Federals, whose course lay between the cabins and the house--as if to stop, with her frail form, the impetuous charge.

On they came like a hurricane. The mother did not move. Her eyes were closed and her lips compressed. Very near her sounded the hoof-beats. A moment more and she expected to be trampled to death beneath those hurrying feet; but she hoped--yea, and prayed--that her death might somehow delay the Federals until her sons should escape.

"Halt! Halt!" The command was in thunder tones, and was echoed and re-echoed along the charging line. The soldiers pulled with all their might on the bits, and many a horse was thrown back on his haunches. Opening her eyes Mrs. Magill saw that the Federal captain, bending over her from his saddle, was her son Thomas.

"Oh, Thomas!--would you kill John and Harry!" she exclaimed, and then fell fainting in his arms. Laying her tenderly on the veranda, he directed a surgeon to attend her, and mounting his horse, rode rapidly in the direction taken by his brothers. Soon he saw them a quarter of a mile ahead. Taking a white handkerchief he held it aloft, and digging the spurs deep into his horse's flanks, he rode with increased speed, all the time hallooing at the top of his strong voice. John heard; but, thinking it a summons to surrender, he urged his horse forward, hoping to gain the sheltering wood. But the horse, in attempting to jump across a washout, stumbled and fell; and John found himself rolling on the ground with Harry in his arms. Rising, he placed Harry behind him, and drew his sword, determined to sell their lives dearly. Imagine his surprise when he beheld but one pursuer, and that one holding on high an emblem of peace. In a moment more, he recognized his brother. Their meeting was affectionate. Harry was beside himself with joy. He had really been under fire, with "sure-enough bullets" singing about his ears! This was something of which none of the boys who had scorned his blue-gray uniform could boast!

"Our brother is a brave little fellow. He did not once flinch when your bullets were singing around us," he heard John say to Thomas, and this praise elated the boy very much.

"Let us return to mother. She is very anxious," said Thomas.

John gazed inquiringly at his brother in blue.

"You need have no fear," said Thomas. "I will be responsible for your safety."

So the two soldier brothers, leading their horses, and each holding one of Harry's hands, walked up to the house.

"I see you wear the gray, Harry; that's right," said John, with a malicious glance at Thomas.

"He is true blue on this side," said Thomas, laughing heartily, as the ludicrousness of Harry's uniform dawned upon him.

An affecting meeting was that between mother and sons; and something on the cheeks of the brave men who were present "washed off the stains of powder."

When parting time came, the sun rested, like a great ruby, above the circling wood of crimson and gold; and when the brother in blue stood hand in hand with the brother in gray, all nature seemed to smile in anticipation of the time when a fraternal grasp should reunite the North and South.

This day was the turning-point in Harry's life. Thenceforth all his inclinations were to become a soldier. After the war, he was educated by John and Thomas; and, passing his examination triumphantly over three of the boys who had derided him, he was appointed to West Point. He is now Lieutenant Henry Magill, U. S. A.

His brothers still treasure the little blue-gray uniform as the memento of a "divided duty."

THE "WALKING-BEAM BOY."

BY L. E. STOFIEL

In 1836 the steam-whistle had not yet been introduced on the boats of the western rivers. Upon approaching towns and cities in those days, vessels resorted to all manner of schemes and contrivances to attract attention. They were compelled to do so in order to secure their share of freight and passengers, so spirited was the competition between steamboats from 1836 to 1840. There were no railroads in the West (indeed there were but one or two in the East), and all traffic was by water. Consequently steamboat-men had all they could do to handle the crowds of passengers and the tons of merchandise offered them.

Shippers and passengers had their favorite packets. The former had their huge piles of freight stacked upon the wharves, and needed the earliest possible intelligence of the approach of the packet so that they might promptly summon clerks and carriers to the shore. The passengers, loitering in neighboring hotels, demanded some system of warning of a favorite steamer's coming, that they might avoid the disagreeable alternative of pacing the muddy levees for hours at a time, or running the risk of being left behind.

Without a whistle, how was a boat to let the people know it was coming, especially if some of those sharp bends for which the Ohio River is famous intervened to deaden the splashing stroke of its huge paddle-wheels, or the regular puff, puff, puff, puff, of its steam exhaust-pipes?

The necessity originated several crude signs, chief among which was the noise created by a sudden escapement of steam either from the rarely used boiler waste-pipes close to the surface of the river, or through the safety-valve above. By letting the steam thus rush out at different pressures, each boat acquired a sound peculiarly its own, which could be heard a considerable distance, though it was as the tone of a mouth-organ against a brass-band, when compared with the ear-splitting roar of our modern steamboat-whistle. Townspeople of Cincinnati and elsewhere became so proficient in distinguishing these sounds of steam escapement that they could foretell the name of any craft on the river at night or before it appeared in sight.

It was reserved for the steamboat _Champion_ to carry this idea a little further. It purposed to catch the eye of the patron as well as his ear. The _Champion_ was one of the best known vessels plying on the Mississippi in 1836. It was propelled by a walking-beam engine. This style of steam-engine is still common on tide-water boats of the East, but has long since disappeared from the inland navigation of the West. To successfully steam a vessel up those streams against the remarkably swift currents, high-pressure engines had to be adopted generally. In that year, however, there were still a number of boats on the Mississippi and Ohio which, like the _Champion_, had low-pressure engines and the grotesque walking-beams.

One day it was discovered that the _Champion's_ escapement-tubes were broken, and no signal could be given to a landing-place not far ahead. A rival steamboat was just a little in advance, and bade fair to capture the large amount of freight known to be at the landing.

"I'll make them see us, sir!" cried a bright boy, who seemed to be about fourteen years old. He stood on the deck close to where the captain was bewailing his misfortune.

Without another word, the lad climbed up over the roof of the forecastle, and, fearlessly catching hold of the end of the walking-beam when it inclined toward him with the next oscillation of the engine, swung himself lithely on top of the machinery. It was with some difficulty that he maintained his balance, but he succeeded in sticking there for fifteen minutes. He had taken off his coat, and he was swinging it to and fro.

The plan succeeded. Although the other boat beat the _Champion_ into port, the crowd there had seen the odd spectacle of a person mounted on the walking-beam of the second vessel, and, wondering over the cause, paid no attention to the landing of the first boat, but awaited the arrival of the other.

The incident gave the master of the _Champion_ an idea. He took the boy as a permanent member of the crew, and assigned him to the post of "walking-beam boy," buying for him a large and beautiful flag. Ever afterward, when within a mile of any town, the daring lad was to be seen climbing up to his difficult perch, pausing on the roof of the forecastle to get his flag from a box that had been built there for it. By and by he made his lofty position easier and more picturesque by straddling the walking-beam, well down toward the end, just as he would have sat upon a horse.

This made a pretty spectacle for those upon shore who awaited the boat's arrival. They saw a boy bounding up and down with the great seesawing beam. For a second he would sink from view, but up he bobbed suddenly, and, like a clear-cut silhouette, he waved the Stars and Stripes high in the air with only the vast expanse of sky for a background. The vision was only for an instant, for both flag and boy would disappear, and--up again they came, before the spectator's eye could change to another direction! This sight was novel--it was thrilling!

"I used to think if I could ever be in that young fellow's place, I would be the biggest man on earth," remarked a veteran river-man. Like thousands of others along the Mississippi and Ohio, he remembered that when a child he could recognize the _Champion_ a mile distant by this unique signal.

After a while, though, other steamboats operating low-pressure engines copied the idea, and there were several "walking-beam boys" employed on the rivers, and their flags were remodeled to have some distinctive feature each. It was a perilous situation to be employed in, but I am unable to find the record of any "walking-beam boy" being killed or injured in the machinery. On the other hand, the very hazard of their duty, and the conspicuous position it gave them, made them popular with passengers and shippers, and so they pocketed many fees from Kentuckians, confections from Cincinnati folks, bonbons from New Orleans Creoles, and tips from Pittsburgers.

But at length, in 1844, the steam-whistle was introduced, and the "walking-beam boys" were left without occupation.

THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS

BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

"W'en you git a leetle bit older dan w'at you is, honey," said Uncle Remus to the little boy, "you'll know lots mo' dan you does now."

The old man had a pile of white oak splits by his side and these he was weaving into a chair-bottom. He was an expert in the art of "bottoming chairs," and he earned many a silver quarter in this way. The little boy seemed to be much interested in the process.

"Hit 's des like I tell you," the old man went on; "I done had de speunce un it. I done got so now dat I don't b'lieve w'at I see, much less w'at I year. It got ter be whar I kin put my han' on it en fumble wid it. Folks kin fool deyse'f lots wuss dan yuther folks kin fool um, en ef you don't b'lieve w'at I 'm a-tellin' un you, you kin des ax Brer Wolf de nex' time you meet 'im in de big road."

"What about Brother Wolf, Uncle Remus?" the little boy asked, as the old man paused to refill his pipe.

"Well, honey, 't ain't no great long rigamarole; hit's des one er deze yer tales w'at goes in a gallop twel it gits ter de jumpin'-off place.

"One time Brer Wolf wuz gwine 'long de big road feelin' mighty proud en high-strung. He wuz a mighty high-up man in dem days, Brer Wolf wuz, en 'mos' all de yuther creeturs wuz feared un 'im. Well, he wuz gwine 'long lickin' his chops en walkin' sorter stiff-kneed, w'en he happen ter look down 'pon de groun' en dar he seed a track in de san'. Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at it, en den he 'low:

"'Heyo! w'at kind er creetur dish yer? Brer Dog ain't make dat track, en needer is Brer Fox. Hit's one er deze yer kind er creeturs w'at ain't got no claws. I'll des 'bout foller 'im up, en ef I ketch 'im he'll sholy be my meat.'

"Dat de way Brer Wolf talk. He followed 'long atter de track, he did, en he look at it close, but he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby de track tuck 'n tu'n out de road en go up a dreen whar de rain done wash out. De track wuz plain dar in de wet san', but Brer Wolf ain't see no sign er no claws.

"He foller en foller, Brer Wolf did, en de track git fresher en fresher, but still he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby he come in sight er de creetur, en Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at 'im. He stop stock-still and look. De creetur wuz mighty quare-lookin,' en he wuz cuttin' up some mighty quare capers. He had big head, sharp nose, en bob tail; en he wuz walkin' roun' en roun' a big dog-wood tree, rubbin' his sides ag'in it. Brer Wolf watch 'im a right smart while, he act so quare, en den he 'low:

"'Shoo! dat creetur done bin in a fight en los' de bes' part er he tail; en w'at make he scratch hisse'f dat away? I lay I'll let 'im know who he foolin' 'long wid.'

"Atter 'while, Brer Wolf went up a leetle nigher de creetur, en holler out:

"'Heyo, dar! w'at you doin' scratchin' yo' scaly hide on my tree, en tryin' fer ter break hit down?'

"De creetur ain't make no answer. He des walk 'roun' en 'roun' de tree scratchin' he sides en back. Brer Wolf holler out:

"'I lay I'll make you year me ef I hatter come dar whar you is!'

"De creetur des walk roun' en roun' de tree, en ain't make no answer. Den Brer Wolf hail 'im ag'in, en talk like he mighty mad:

"'Ain't you gwine ter min' me, you imperdent scoundul? Ain't you gwine ter mozey outer my woods en let my tree 'lone?'

"Wid dat, Brer Wolf march todes de creetur des like he gwine ter squ'sh 'im in de groun'. De creetur rub hisse'f ag'in de tree en look like he feel mighty good. Brer Wolf keep on gwine todes 'im, en bimeby w'en he git sorter close de creetur tuck 'n sot up on his behime legs des like you see squir'ls do. Den Brer Wolf, he 'low, he did:

"'Ah-yi! you beggin', is you? But 't ain't gwine ter do you no good. I mout er let you off ef you 'd a-minded me w'en I fus holler atter you, but I ain't gwine ter let you off now. I'm a-gwine ter l'arn you a lesson dat 'll stick by you.'

"Den de creetur sorter wrinkle up he face en mouf, en Brer Wolf 'low:

"'Oh, you nee'n'ter swell up en cry, you 'ceitful vilyun. I'm a-gwine ter gi' you a frailin' dat I boun' you won't forgit.'

"Brer Wolf make like he gwine ter hit de creetur, en den----"

Here Uncle Remus paused and looked all around the room and up at the rafters. When he began again his voice was very solemn.

--"Well, suh, dat creetur des fotch one swipe dis away, en 'n'er swipe dat away, en mos' 'fo' you can wink yo' eyeballs, Brer Wolf hide wuz mighty nigh teetotally tor'd off 'n 'im. Atter dat de creetur sa'ntered off in de woods, en 'gun ter rub hisse'f on 'n'er tree."

"What kind of a creature was it, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.

"Well, honey," replied the old man in a confidential whisper, "hit want nobody on de topside er de yeth but ole Brer Wildcat."

* * * * *

GEOGRAPHICAL STORIES RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE

IN SIX VOLUMES

A Series of Books of Adventure, Travel and Description, chiefly in the Great Sections of the United States

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