Chapter 6

THE NATION'S BIRTHDAY.

"The great thing on the Fourth is to have a good time," said the president.

"No, the great thing," said the practical governor, "is to be sure and wake up in season."

"That's so," chimed several voices in chorus.

"How shall we fix it?" asked Pip.

"Tie your toe to the bed-post," said some one.

"Put a lot of stones in your bed," said Sid, "and then you can't sleep easy."

"Two sleep together and tie their toes to one another," said the governor.

Objections were found against all these plans, as they had been ineffectually tried by various members of the club.

"Go and holler under every boy's window," said Billy Grimes, with the air of one who had made an important discovery. "I will holler under your's, Pip," was his magnificent offer.

"But who will be the feller to go to your window?" asked Sid.

"Why--why--_you_."

"Well, who will holler under my window?" said Sid.

"I," said Wort.

"And under yours?" continued the president.

"I," said Juggie.

"And who under Juggle's?"

"I," said Tony.

"And who under Tony's?"

"I," said Charlie.

"And who under Charlie's?"

That was a problem.

"Aunt Thanthy," suggested Pip.

"Aunt Stanshy is going out visiting," remarked Charlie.

There was a very sad pause. Despair was on the faces of the club. A happy thought came to Charlie. "Some one has got to sit up and wake the next one, and I will. I can take a nap the next forenoon, you know."

"Three cheers for Charlie!" called out Wort, and they were cordially given. It was arranged on the spot that Charlie should sit up. If Aunt Stanshy had been at home she would have vetoed the plan, but, purposing to be absent the night before the Fourth she had engaged Silas Junkins to stay with Charlie and guard the premises. Charlie had no difficulty in obtaining Silas's consent to the plan, and not only his consent, but also his co-operation. In the main entry of Aunt Stanshy's house was a tall, old-fashioned clock. It was an aged household servant, and had done duty in the entry many years. It always stood in one place, one particular corner in the rear of the entry. It is a wonder its voice did not show any sign of collapse, as it had called off the hours so many years. It would not have been strange if it had lost its patience. But uncomplainingly, even cheerily and without any sign of weakness, it told you what time it was. Charlie sometimes heard it in the night, and then it sounded like, "Cheer up! cheer up!" its pleasant voice halting on the "cheer," and then emphasizing the "up." It divided all its peals into two such notes, and when Charlie heard it strike one o'clock the effect was quite enlivening as be lay there in his dark little chamber. At an hour earlier, when it sounded twelve "Cheer ups," what a joyous procession of notes that was! It was like a watchman's voice ringing out "All's well!" twelve times. It occurred to Charlie that he might occupy a chair in the entry, and, if at all inclined to go to sleep, the striking of the clock would keep him awake. Silas Junking moved a table into the entry for Charlie, and set a lamp on it. At nine Silas, who enjoyed very much a large quantity of sleep, went to his rest in a little bedroom on the same floor with the entry.

"You can step into my room and wake me, Charlie, if any thing happens."

"O, I sha'n't need to," was the watchboy's very emphatic reply.

"Well, good-night!"

"Good-night!"

"Now all I've got to do," soliloquized Charlie, "is just to keep awake, and it is a great deal better than to go to sleep with a string tying your big toe to the bed-post. Hark, there is some one firing off a gun! Wont I wake 'em with a blow on my horn!" Here he saw himself, as he visited house after house, arousing boy after boy. It would be like the falling of a row of bricks, where the only need is to push over the first one and the whole set will follow. Every thing, though, depended on the fall of the first brick. Would Charlie do his part?

"I'll take this story-book about Indians, giants, and fairies," he said, "into the entry, and that will keep me awake splendid."

It was a book startling enough, and the trouble was that it was too startling.

After looking at the book a while, Charlie's mind was so peopled with ferocious giants, Indians on the war-path, fire-breathing dragons, and ghostly genii, that he transferred them to all the corners of the room, and especially to that receptacle of shadows, the space under the table, the very place where his legs were--ugh! Charlie did not like to look at the book, and, dared not, at the forms under the table! He shut the book and he shut his eyes. Hark, the clock was saying "Cheer up!" and somebody in the lane fired a pistol that seemed to say, "Wake up!" Yes, yes, that was all right, Charlie thought, but--but--he guessed he would close his eyes just this once--and close them just this once--and close them just this once--and in a few minutes the champion watchman was fast asleep! In an hour the clock struck again, and its voice seemed harsh, as if saying, "Young man, young man, wake up!" The notes had no startling effect on Charlie. Indeed, he heard them only as a very sweet, musical voice. The pistols and cannons going off in Water Street reached his ear as mild little pops. Things went on in this way till morning. About five Charlie dropped on the floor the book of Indians and dragons, that patiently had been resting in his lap all night. It roused him. He partially opened his eyes. Before him was an opened door that led into the parlor, and, sitting in his chair, he could see the parlor windows, whose curtains were up and whose panes were brightened by the light in the eastern sky. What did he see at those windows? Had some of the Indians, imagined to be under Charlie's table, gone to the outside of the windows, there to look in, grinning at him and shaking their head-feathers at a boy stupidly sitting near a table on which was a lighted lamp? Charlie rubbed his eyes for a better look, then rubbed again and again, and--and--were those Indians shouting, "Charlie, how are you?" He now sprang to his feet, fully awake, and there were several members of the club, their faces streaked with red chalk, their caps ornamented with all kinds of feathers, their--Charlie did not take another look at their decorations! He only glanced at the clock, exclaimed, "Five o'clock! Whew!" seized his cap, and rushed out-doors.

"Wake up, Charlie! Wake up, Charlie!" was the greeting of his comrades.

"Whew, fellers, aint this cheeky?" inquired Charlie.

"I should think it was--in you. Did your nap refresh you?" asked Sid.

"Why didn't you come round and wake me up?" said the governor.

"And me?" said Billy.

"And me?" said Pip.

"And me?" said Tony.

"You see--you see," replied Charlie, "I overslept."

"That is," said Sid, "you slept _over_ the table. Three cheers for Charlie, our faithful watchman! I nominate Charlie for _honorary_ sentinel."

The cheers were delivered, and Charlie was declared by the president to have been unanimously chosen honorary sentinel.

"You see, boys," said Sid, patronizingly, "I don't know what would have become of you if it hadn't been for _me_. My big brother Nehemiah was out banging away all night, and he got tired and came home about three, and said to me, 'You in bed now? I thought you were going to get up several hours earlier than the lark.' Well--after a while--I dressed quick, I tell you, and then I went and woke our governor, and Billy, and so on."

Sid omitted to say how long that "after a while" might be, and that his brother aroused him several times, and finally he got into his clothes. Nobody, however, was disposed to ask questions, as every one had slept later than he intended.

"Knights of the White Shield!" suddenly shouted Sid, "three good ringers on your bugles for our honorary member, Miss Stanshy Macomber? Here she comes!"

Aunt Stanshy was now returning from her visit, having concluded to make an early start for home, feeling somewhat anxious for its safety on "the glorious Fourth." The club separated into two ranks, and, as Aunt Stanshy passed along, each one of the "knights" touched his feathery head-gear, while every horn sent out as ringing a blast as possible.

"Massy!" cried Aunt Stanshy. "My ears!" Then she retreated to her home as quickly as possible lest another salute be tendered her.

What a day that was! What liberty! It seemed as if those patriots in the Up-the-Ladder Club had been oppressed by a terrible yoke of bondage, domestic especially, but it was all lifted and thrown off that day. There was freedom--to blow horns, freedom to fire crackers, freedom to "holler," freedom to crack torpedoes, freedom to buy pea-nuts, buns, ancient figs and dates and abominable cheap candy, freedom to make one's self as dirty, tired--and cross the next day--as possible! O, blessed liberty to boys who had patiently borne the yoke three hundred and sixty-four days, ever since the last Fourth! After a forenoon of miscellaneous and multiplied joys, the club planned to spend an afternoon in the woods. Emptying their pockets, they found that, altogether, they could raise eleven cents, and this was laid out in the judicious expenditure of as many buns as possible.

"It is proposed, White Shields," said Sid, "this afternoon that we spend a little time playing, a little time in bun-lunching, and then we will have a raft-race on the water near the railroad track."

This programme was carried out in part successfully. The games concluded with success, there was a successful time in eating, as far as the number of buns would permit. Then there was a little speech-making.

"I understand," said the president, as he concluded his remarks, "that the rights of one of our number have been interfered with. He has been forbidden to fire off any more crackers, and must confine himself to caps."

This announcement was followed by groans and hisses, even as thunder and lightning come after the black summer cloud. The person who had lost his freedom and been compelled to return to slavery was Charlie.

Aunt Stanshy had said to him at the dinner-table, "I don't want you to fire any more crackers to-day."

Charlie's chin went down.

"Why?"

"Because there is danger of setting fire to something. The wind is warm and dry."

Charlie's chin now went up.

"It was warm and dry, but the wind has just changed, and it is coming in from the sea, and it is damp and misty."

"But, that wont put out fires."

Charlie's chin now dropped again and dropped to stay. He went up stairs and, having a knack at rhyming, wrote a string of lines and put them in his pocket. Sid had found out the contents of Charlie's pocket when it had been emptied in behalf of the bun fund, and at the "collation" in the woods, he concluded his speech with these words: "I learn that the Hon. Charles Pitt Macomber, who has been forbidden to fire off crackers, has some poetry, and I will ask him to read it I would only add that freemen must stand for their rights." Cheers were now given for "the poet of the day." Charlie stood up and read these lines, which were subsequently found by Aunt Stanshy in the pocket of his pants, for these needed the help of her needle after the great and fatiguing duties of the Fourth. The name and age of the author, Charlie had been particular to place over the poetry. We give the lines exactly as they appear in the original now in our possession.

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH.

By C.P. MACOMBER, (nine years.)

"Hurrah for the Glorious Fourth of July, When sky-rockets mount to the sky, When fire-crackers are whizzing so fine, And all is Majesty Grandeur an' sublime.

"If I could have the whole day to myself, I would fire off crackers all day like an elf, The Giant Torpedoes would fall to the ground, And all would come down with a terrible sound.

"What good are little paper caps? I would not give two ginger snaps, They do not make a noise worth hearing, But fire-crackers, the ladies are fearing."

If Charlie should write this again, he would change the above, but it is too late to alter now, and we give it as preserved in our note-book. Furious applause followed this ebullition of poetic genius.

The collation was followed by the raft-race. The ditch that ran beside the railroad embankment widened in one place to forty feet. Half a dozen logs were here floating. The keeper of the great seal had brought with him a hammer and a handful of nails, and seeing on his way several strips of board, he had picked them up and now nailed the six logs together in pairs, making three rafts.

"There will now be a race between our first treasurer, our sentinel, and the keeper of the great seal," pompously announced Sid. "This will be the first race. I expected Tony and the governor would compete, but they have gone home. The Fourth was too much for them."

They both began to be sick after the collation. Rick, with his usual pertinacity, wanted to "stick it out," but his feelings overcame him, and he adjourned. He and Tony had eaten too much green-tinted candy. The participants in the raft-race were preparing for the contest, Charlie having already boarded his craft and pushed off into position, when a cry from Pip arrested the attention of all and made them think of something besides rafting.

"Down-townieth!" he shrieked, and pointed up the railroad embankment. There stood a stout boy whom Charlie recognized immediately as one of the evil force that raided on the club the day of the grand march! It was Tim Tyler, one of the hardest boys in Seamont, aged fifteen. Back of him was a smaller boy, but a competitor in vice, Bobby Landers. How many others might soon show themselves, no one could say, but the down-townies were clannish and loved to turn out in crowds, and to the club the probability appeared to be, that others would speedily rise up and charge along the railroad track. Sid Waters, who had urged freemen to stand for their rights, was now turning on his heel. He headed for a fence that separated the railroad lot from the woods. It was evident that the first club race would be, not on the water, but the land, and that Sid Waters's legs would take an unexpected but active part in it. Other legs followed his, and this race of freemen for their rights became a general one. At first, it was not positively certain who would reach the fence first and so beat in the race, but Sid's alacrity in starting was so great that he gained the prize, or would have taken it, had any been offered. The others though made very good time, and showed what freemen could do when hard pushed by their oppressors. Charlie, alas! was too far from shore to share in their good fortune, and, besides, Tim Tyler was on hand to object to any such movement.

"Don't be in too much of a hurry to leave," he said provokingly to Charlie, and seizing a pole left by one of the retreating club, pushed off the raft that Charlie had shoved near the shore.

"Leave me alone," growled Charlie.

"I have, haven't I? I don't see how any one could be much more aloner than you are off there."

Charlie looked like a jar of pickles, a keg of gunpowder, and a small thunder-cloud combined. He was so angry that he could now say nothing. When Tim had repeatedly pushed Charlie's vessel back from the shore, Charlie as obstinately pushing toward it again, Tim cried out, "Say, I will make you an offer. Do you see that?"

He pulled out of his pocket a dirty bottle and held it up.

"There, some of the best beer made anywhere is in that. If you will take a swaller, I'll let you come ashore."

Charlie could hardly contain himself now. He was scarcely able to sputter out this defiance, "When you catch me tasting that stuff, you'll know it!"

"O jest hear him, Bob!" said Tim, mockingly. "I s'pose this young sailor, who don't know enough about sailin' to get his craft ashore, has jined a temperance society."

"Yes," said Charlie, "I belong to Mr. Walton's at St. John's."

"What saint is that?"

The wrathful Charlie gave Tim a look of contempt and turned away.

"O, so he wont turn his pretty face this way, wont he?"

Having said this, Tim changed his tone and shouted fiercely, "You've got to look this way, sir. Bob, you get on that other raft and I will take this one here, and we will catch that young saint."

The two unoccupied rafts were immediately brought into service. Never did an innocent merchantman fleeing from two pirates make a harder exertion than did Charlie to get away from Tim and Bob. They gained on him, though, rapidly.

"There they come," thought Charlie, giving one look back at the dirty, saucy buccaneers. Tim had now reached the middle of the little pond when a thing greatly in his favor proved to be a serious thing against him, and that was the strength of his push. The fastenings of the log-raft were not equal to any violent pressure upon them, and suddenly they gave way and the logs separated. Tim's legs separated with them till they could part no farther, and then he tried to spring from one log to the other. Alas for him, he put his foot in the wrong place, and that wrong place was the water! Down he went into as thorough a bath as ever a young rascal got in this world. The water was not over his head, and he was soon on his feet, but the dip had been complete enough to satisfy the most vindictive members of the Up-the-Ladder Club, and Tim was spitting and sputtering, then spitting and sputtering again, trying to clear month, eyes, nose, ears, of the unwelcome, dirty ditch-water.

"Give--us--a--hand, Bob," he gasped.

Charlie did not stay to see any further developments, but pushed for the shore, safely reaching it, and then made his way to the fence, climbing it and gaining the wood-lot. In the meantime, the other members of the club had halted and were consulting together. It was Juggie who arrested their flight. "It is too bad," he said, "to leave Charlie."

That remark detained Billy, and then Sid, Wort, and Pip stopped.

Sid laughed and said, "My father has been in the army and he would call this the flying artillery. So you see it is all right."

"I'm afraid it's all wrong," said Billy, "to leave Charlie behind."

"Yes," said Wort, "to run away from a member of the club."

There was now a general feeling of indignation toward any member of the club that had deserted Charlie, if that member could be found, as each one's motive had not been to desert another, but the prudent impulse to save himself.

Sid was among the fiercest to shout and the most furious to propose. "Charlie deserted!" he said. "Who's deserted Charlie? That wont do! Back, fellers, to the rescue!"

A brave, sympathetic shout arose. A few minutes ago Sid would have been afraid of it as something that might attract the enemy's attention, but he calculated that they must now be at a safe distance from the down-townies.

"Let's make a flank movement on the enemy," said the president.

"What ith that?" asked Pip.

"Why, not so much to go _at_ them as to go about them and take them unawares in the rear."

This mode of attack, which did not necessitate the actual facing of the enemy, was very popular and took wonderfully with the club. To Sid, in particular, it was a very agreeable mode. He boldly headed this movement. He intended to go off in a direction where no enemy would ever be met, but in his ignorance of the woods, he took a course that would have led the club back to the pond, and it was an agreeable thing for Charlie that he did, as that fugitive from the pirates soon was met.

"Hullo, there he is!" shouted Wort.

"Who?" asked Sid, trembling, and fearful that it might be Tim Taylor.

"Here I am, boys," shouted Charlie.

"Ho, to the rescue!" cried Sid, now taking long leaps forward. "Charlie, I rescue thee!"

"We are coming to fank de enemy," said Juggie, anxious to have a hand in winning the laurels now coming so rapidly to the Knights of the White Shield.

"Going to surround the enemy," exclaimed the warlike Sid, "and also rescue Charlie, but--but--we might as well go back now. Did you have a hard time, Charlie?"

"I did have a time, I tell you," and Charlie eagerly told the story of his adventures.

"How we will go back, boys," said the president, "and go round home through the woods."

"No, sir," declared Billy, who had somewhat of his cousin's resoluteness; "I'm going home the way we came, and if any body stops me, it is his lookout."

The heroic sentiment was loudly applauded, and the club returning valiantly stormed the railroad fence and carried it--a remarkable feat considering that there was nobody on it to oppose them.

Billy Grimes in his earnestness even brought down the top-rail with him.

"Stop, fellers!" warned Sid. "The enemy!" Lifting their eyes to the top of the high railroad embankment, they saw Tim in the act of chastising Bob. It was afterward ascertained that Tim was rewarding Bob for not helping him more efficiently at the time of the raft accident. Tim completed the bestowal of this reward, and then noticing the club, he shook his fist at them. He did not linger, but followed sullenly by Bob, passed down the other side of the embankment. The club did not find out whether this was an intended retreat, or simply the taking of a convenient route to reach home. They put their own construction on it, and the movement was judged to be "a shameful retreat by the enemy." Billy led off in a brave, determined charge up the embankment--Sid shouting, "Hurrah! Glory for us! Those getting the battle-field are victors, you know!"

Nobody disputed this, and the valiant knights continued their triumphant advance to their very homes.

The Fourth was drawing to a close. The sun was breaking out through the clouds that had covered the heavens, and so brilliant was the outburst of colors, it seemed as if the folds of an immense star-spangled banner had been suddenly let loose in the western sky. It very soon paled though. The clouds thickened everywhere and the easterly wind that had been blowing all the afternoon, bringing occasional mist, now drove to land a blinding fog. Finally it began to rain, and yet gently, as if reluctant to spoil any festivities of the Fourth. Gathering up all their pyrotechnic resources, it was found that the club boys could muster a few pin-wheels, five Roman candles, and a "flower-pot." Most of these had been stored in the barn, but were now moved out-doors and taken to the shelter of a stout leafy maple by the side of the lane.

"The rain wont trouble us here," said the president. "Where is Charlie?"

"He has gone to get his fire-works," replied Billy Grimes. "He left them in the house and it is locked, for his Aunt Stanshy has gone out, and he's waiting for her, I guess."

"We had better begin, fellers, and he will come soon. The rain is coming," said Sid, warned by a big drop that glancing through the branches smote him on the nose. Pin-wheels, candles, and the other attraction were pronounced a success, though their discharge was hastened on account of the thickening rain.

The boys separated, tired and sleepy, sorry to part with the Fourth, and yet secretly glad that there was such a thing as "bed."

"Whar's Charlie," asked Juggie, as the boys separated. No one knew. "Good-bye, Charlie!" shouted one after the other, and all hastened to their homes.

Charlie was where he had been the last twenty minutes, occupying a seat out in the porch at the back door and waiting for Aunt Stanshy. He had fallen asleep, so thoroughly tired was this patriotic young American, and the day for him was ending as it began--in a chair. Aunt Stanshy came at last, feeling her way through the shadows in the porch and striving to reach the back door, whose key she carried.

"What's this?" she said, running against the sleeper. "If it isn't that boy! And here the rain has been working round into the porch and it is coming on him! If you don't take cold, Charles Pitt Macomber, then I am mistaken! Wake up, wake up!"