Chapter 8

Our revolutionary heroes were not all plain-garbed farmers. Indeed, not a few of them were rather dandified--which is not surprising, inasmuch as men dressed more showily in those times than they dress now.

John Hancock, whose bold signature is so prominent among those of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, was addicted to rich apparel. One who saw him in 1782 says that he then had the appearance of advanced age, though his years were only forty-five.

He had been repeatedly and severely afflicted with gout, probably owing in part to the custom of drinking punch--a common practise in high circles in those days. As recollected at this time, Hancock was nearly six feet in height and of thin person, stooping a little, and apparently enfeebled by disease. His manners were very gracious, of the old style; a dignified complaisance. His face had been very handsome.

Dress was adapted quite as much to the ornamental as useful. Gentlemen wore wigs when abroad, and commonly caps when at home. At this time, about noon, Hancock was dressed in a red velvet cap, within which was one of fine linen. The latter was turned up over the lower edge of the velvet one, two or three inches.

He wore a blue damask gown lined with silk, a white stock, a white satin embroidered waistcoat, black satin small clothes, white silk stockings, and red morocco slippers. It was a general practise in genteel families to have a tankard of punch made in the morning and placed in a cooler when the season required it.

At this visit Hancock took from the cooler standing on the hearth a full tankard, and drank first himself and then offered it to those present. His equipage was splendid, and such as is not customary at this day.

His apparel was sumptuously embroidered with gold, silver, lace, and other decorations fashionable among men of fortune of that period; and he rode, especially upon public occasions, with six beautiful bay horses, attended by servants in livery.

He wore a scarlet coat, with ruffles on the sleeves, which soon became the prevailing fashion; and it is related of Dr. Nathan Jacques, the famous pedestrian of West Newbury, that he passed all the way from West Newbury to Boston in one day, to procure cloth for a coat like that of John Hancock, and returned with it under his arm on foot.

Hancock was a rich man. In 1764 his uncle, Thomas Hancock, left him about eighty thousand pounds and the control of a large mercantile business. His position as a colonial aristocrat emphasized the importance of his defection from British allegiance. His patriotic services are well remembered, but it is true, also, that he was somewhat vain and somewhat jealous.

MEN WHOSE NAMES LIVE IN THEIR INVENTIONS.

ODD COINING OF SUITABLE WORDS.

McAdam, MacIntosh, and Guillotin Examples of Men Whose Inventions Transmit Their Names to Posterity.

Many common words have been derived from proper names, just as many proper names have been derived from common words. The London _Globe_ cites several instances of men who have been immortalized by the application of their names to inventions.

While the word "macadamize" was rapidly establishing its position in the English language, no less an authority than Jeremy Bentham gave it a helping hand on its way by declaring that "the success of Mr. McAdam's system justified the perpetuation of his name in popular speech."

This is, perhaps, the most perfect example of a spontaneous popular impulse whereby an inventor who had benefited mankind was embalmed, so to say, in his own invention. His name, connected indissolubly with it, was handed down to future ages with a certainty that it would endure as long at least as the language continued to exist.

But, curiously enough, at almost the same time when the great roadmaker was achieving immortality, another inventor, with a no less obviously Scotch name, was treading the same path to linguistic fame.

The labors in the field of chemistry which enabled MacIntosh to perfect and patent a new sort of clothing--and that in a time when traveling by stage coaches rendered it particularly welcome--were almost as prolonged as those which qualified his fellow countryman in a long life to solve the problem of constructing a durable roadway for wheeled traffic.

A third notable specimen of the conversion of a name into a vernacular word may be taken from France, where Dr. Guillotin found himself effectually, though not perhaps very agreeably, immortalized in connection with the lethal implement which still bears his name. The popular belief that he perished by the machine which he had introduced appears to be erroneous. This rather left-handed compliment was not paid him by the authorities, but by the voice of public opinion, which insisted that the association of the doctor with his invention should be thus commemorated.

This list might be extended by many names which have become descriptive of their original owner's acts or theories. There is, for example, the case of Captain Boycott. And more recently, of course, people have begun to use the verb "to Oslerize."

HOW INSECTS CONDUCT THEIR CONVERSATIONS.

THE MUSIC OF THE GRASSHOPPER.

Some Insects Talk by Vibrating Their Wings, Others Stridulate, and Others Emit Sounds from the Thorax.

Insects, like birds and animals, have their calls. But the sounds they produce include the rubbing together of their limbs or wing covers and the vibration of their wings, so they cannot always be spoken of as voices. For that matter, when man knocks at a door, or rings a bell, or snaps his fingers to attract the attention of a waiter, he is communicating by other than spoken sounds--as is also the case when he uses the telegraph. Says an old exchange:

Flies and bees undoubtedly mean something when they hum louder or lower. Landoise has calculated that to produce the sound of F by vibrating its wings, they vibrate 352 times a second, and the bee to create A vibrates 440 times a second.

A tired bee hums on E sharp. This change is perhaps involuntary, but undoubtedly at the command of the will, and is similar to the voice.

When seeking honey a bee hums to A sharp.

Landoise noticed three different tones emitted by insects--a low one during flight, a higher one when the wings are held so that they cannot vibrate, and a higher one yet when the insect is held so that none of his limbs can be moved. This last is of course the voice proper of insects and is produced by the stigmata of the thorax.

No music is as familiar as that produced by the locusts, grasshoppers, and crickets, and, although they are not produced by the mouth, they answer as calls, and are undoubtedly a language to a certain extent, and indeed their calls have been reduced to written music.

The music of grasshoppers is produced in four different ways, according to Scudder. First, by rubbing the base of one wing upon the other, using for that purpose veins running through the middle portion of the wing; second, by a similar method, by using the veins of the inner part of the wing; by rubbing the inner surface of the hind legs against the outer surface of the wing covers; and, fourth, by rubbing together the upper surface of the front edge of the wings and the under surface of the wing covers. The insects which employ the fourth method also stridulate during night.

The first method is used by the crickets, the second by the green or long-legged grasshoppers, the third and fourth by certain kinds of short-horned or jumping grasshoppers. Butterflies have been heard to utter a loud click, and the same is true of many beetles; while the cicada, or seventeen-year locust, utters a most remarkable note or series of sounds.

Spiders have often been heard to utter sounds. John Burroughs says in his "Pepacton," that one sunny April day his attention was attracted by a soft, uncertain, purring sound made by little spiders that were running over the dry leaves.

LUCKLESS SPY WHO SWALLOWED A BULLET.

A MESSAGE STRANGELY CONCEALED.

Alertness of Governor Clinton's Men Defeated the Stratagem of a British Courier on His Way to Burgoyne.

One of the strangest incidents of the American Revolution is the story of a silver bullet.

The year was 1777. Burgoyne, pushing down from the north, was expecting to effect a junction with Sir Henry Clinton at Albany. The field of Saratoga was still before him. Clinton was pressing up the Hudson Valley from New York. After taking Fort Montgomery, in the Highlands, he sent a letter to Burgoyne with news of his movements.

As the message had to pass through the American lines, the letter was enclosed in a silver bullet, coated with lead, and the spy who carried it placed it in his pocket with a few real bullets.

In Dutchess County the spy was captured. His captors found nothing incriminating, and were about to release him, when one of them happened on the bullets, and noticed that one bullet was lighter than the others.

"Why," he exclaimed, "this can never be a bullet; it is too light!"

At this moment the spy snatched the bullet and swallowed it. The incident was promptly reported to Governor George Clinton, commander of the Revolutionary force, and by his direction a surgeon recovered the bullet. In it was found Sir Henry Clinton's letter, which read as follows:

FORT MONTGOMERY, OCTOBER 8, 1777.

_Nous voici_, and nothing between us but _Gates_. I sincerely hope this little success of ours may facilitate your operations. In answer to your letter of 28th September, by C.C., I shall only say that I cannot presume to order, or even advise, for reasons obvious. I heartily wish you success.

Faithfully yours,

HENRY CLINTON.

_To General Burgoyne._

The spy was hanged on a tree at Hurley, a few miles from Kingston.

FINDING MONEY IN UNEXPECTED PLACES.

WEALTH WAS HIDDEN IN A CRUTCH.

Mustard-Tins, Bicycle Handle-Bars, Bibles, Nests of Mice, Chimneys, Etc., Have Concealed Treasure.

Old stockings are proverbially the savings-banks of the poor--and no interest on deposits. To-day, when all towns have their banks, the family hoard is usually more safely placed than in a domestic cranny.

Queer hiding-places are, however, still uncovered. There are savers who will not trust the banks. An English exchange, having collected facts in a number of cases where money has been found in very strange places, presents the following interesting incidents in this way:

A few months ago a dealer in old furniture secured for thirty shillings, at an auction held in a village near Carnarvon, North Wales, an oak dresser, part of the property of an old lady who had just died. On his arrival home he proceeded to overhaul his purchase, when to his surprise he discovered, on the top shelf, a mustard-tin filled to the brim with sovereigns and half-sovereigns.

An old bicycle was not long since knocked down to a gentleman for a mere song. In due course it was sent to a cycle repairer in Hampstead to be put in working order. During this process nine half-sovereigns were found concealed in the handle-bars.

In October of 1899 a gentleman residing at East Dulwich purchased at a local auction-room for a few shillings a parcel of second-hand books, among which was an old Bible. On the following Sunday his wife, on opening this, found several of the leaves pasted together. These she took the trouble to separate, when six five-pound Bank of England notes dropped out. On the back of one of these notes the former owner of the Bible had written his will, which ran as follows: "I have had to work very hard for this, and having none as natural heirs, I leave thee, dear reader, whosoever shall own this holy book, my lawful heir."

On the appraisers of the estate of an old miser, who died a year or so back at Newburgh, searching his house, they came upon an old cupboard seemingly filled with rubbish. This they overhauled, to find in a corner a family of young mice comfortably ensconced in a nest constructed of bank-notes to the value of four hundred pounds.

A mouse was the cause of a still greater find. As an old Paris hawker, named Mme. Jacques, was endeavoring to dislodge one of these little animals that had taken refuge in her chimney, she knocked aside some bricks and laid bare a cavity containing a number of bank-notes, amounting in value to forty thousand francs, which had belonged to a former tenant of the house, who had died seven years previously.

'Tis an ill-wind that blows no one any good. Some time ago an old Birmingham woman, who had the misfortune to lose her leg, purchased a pair of crutches at a second-hand dealer's. Not long after one of the crutches snapped beneath her weight, disclosing a hollow in the wood, within which were secreted twenty pounds in notes and a diamond scarf-pin.

Among a quantity of household effects, forming one lot, that a gentleman purchased some years since at a sale in Kent, was a stuffed parrot. This being of no value was given over to his children, who, after the manner of their kind, proceeded in due course to inspect its anatomy. Curiosity in this case met its reward, for within the bird reposed fifteen sovereigns and two spade guineas of George III--no bad return for the few shillings invested originally in the purchase of the entire lot.

NO ROYAL ROAD TO THE PRESIDENTIAL CHAIR.

ROUTES THROUGH POLITICAL MAZE.

Senators, Representatives, Governors, and Others Who Have Made Their Way to the White House.

The road to the Presidency is as uncertain as the course of a Western river. Men have marched to the White House by so many different routes that it seems as if any path might lead to that center of our political labyrinth. On the other hand, any path may unexpectedly present an obstacle to the ambitious traveler.

Senator La Follette hesitated to leave the Governorship of Wisconsin for the Senate, and at the time political experts said pointedly that the Senate was not the road to the Presidency. The ghost of that old superstition is laid by the Louisville _Herald_:

This statement does not bear investigation. Virginia sent two men who had served as Senators, James Monroe and John Tyler, later on to the White House. Martin Van Buren served as a Senator from New York before he became President. James Buchanan, of Pennsylvania, served in the Senate from 1834 till 1845, when he became Secretary of State under President Polk. John Quincy Adams was elected to the Senate in 1803.

Andrew Jackson, of Tennessee, was sent to the Senate twice, first in 1797 and second in 1823. He did not become President till 1829. Andrew Johnson, of the same State, was elected to the Senate in 1857, and became President in 1865.

Franklin Pierce was a Senator from New Hampshire in 1837. Benjamin Harrison went direct almost from the Senate to the White House, the term which he served in the Senate expiring in 1887, the year before his election to the Presidency.

Abraham Lincoln was a defeated candidate for the Senate, and his leading opponent for the Presidency, Douglas, a full-fledged Senator at the time of the election of Lincoln for President. Breckinridge, another of Lincoln's opponents, was Vice-President from 1857 till 1861.

Successful soldiers find, it is often said, an easy road to the White House; but not all the soldiers who have been candidates for the Presidency have succeeded. Scott and Fremont both failed of election. So did McClellan and Hancock.

Scott was beaten by another soldier, Franklin Pierce, but Fremont was in turn defeated by a civilian, Buchanan. McClellan was defeated by Lincoln, a lawyer, and Hancock by another soldier, Garfield.

McKinley had served a long time in the House of Representatives before becoming a candidate for the Presidency. His opponent, Bryan, had also served for a time in the House of Representatives. James G. Blaine, who so often aspired to the Presidency, had, like Henry Clay, also a frequent Presidential aspirant, served with distinction as Speaker of the House.

President Roosevelt broke, in 1904, the tradition that no Vice-President succeeding to the Presidency by the death of the actual incumbent could be elected President.

BRIDEGROOM NAMED A BABY AS SECOND WIFE.

TRUTH BORN IN HONEYMOON JEST.

Twenty Years Later John Thacher's Prophecy Came True When He Married His Son's Sweetheart.

Thacher is a solid name in American history. Beginning with Thomas Thacher, the minister and physician, who came from England to New England in 1635, there is a long line of educators and professional men; and the cognate branches of the family have also contributed many prominent citizens, including James Thacher, the famous surgeon of the Revolution.

An old copy of the Yarmouth (Massachusetts) _Register_ gives an anecdote concerning John Thacher, son of one of the first settlers at Yarmouth.

He married, in 1661, Miss Rebecca Winslow, of Duxbury, Plymouth County, if we mistake not. On his way home with his new bride, he stopped for the night at the house of a friend, a Colonel Gorham, of Barnstable, one of the most prominent citizens of the town.

Merriment and gaiety prevailed, and during the evening a female infant about three weeks old was introduced, and the night of her birth being mentioned, Mr. Thacher observed, "That is the very night on which we were married," and, taking the child in his arms, he presented it to his bride and jokingly said: "Here, my dear, is a little lady that was born on the same night that we were married. I wish you would kiss her, for I intend to have her for my second wife."

"I will, my dear, with great pleasure," replied she, "but I hope it will be very long before your intention is fulfilled in that respect."

Mr. Thacher and his wife lived happily together until her death, about twenty years later. She left him a large family of children, among whom was a son named Peter.

After Mr. Thacher had mourned a reasonable length of time he began to think of getting another partner. None of the maidens, young or old, seemed to please him like Lydia Gorham, the little lady of the preceding part of the story, now grown up, if we may believe tradition, to a fair, comely girl.

But there was one impediment in the way. His eldest son, Peter, had shown a predilection for the girl, and the old man was at a loss to decide whether she favored the suit of the sire or the son.

The one rode a black horse in his visits, and the other rode a white. There was a kind of tacit agreement between the two that one should not interfere with the visits of the other; so when the father found a white horse tied in front of Colonel Gorham's, unlike the good Samaritan, he crossed over on the other side; and the son, when the black horse was there, returned the favor.

Thus things went on till the patience of the elder gentleman was well-nigh exhausted, and he resolved upon a desperate step to decide the matter. Taking his son one side, he said to him:

"Peter, are you or are you not going to marry Lydia Gorham?"

Peter replied that he had not yet made up his mind.

"Well," said the old gentleman, "I will make you an offer; if you will give her up and court her no more, I will give you thirteen pounds in money and the pair of black steers. What do you say to that?"

The young man hesitated but a moment. "'Tis a bargain," said he; and it is due the parties to say that it was observed by them all with perfect good faith.

Whether Lydia knew the bargaining that her charms had occasioned, tradition sayeth not; but she subsequently became Mr. Thacher's wife, and bore him ten children.

A LEARNED BLACKSMITH AND THE IRON HORSE.

BURRITT, THE SELF-MADE SCHOLAR.

Word-Picture of the Locomotive, "Strutting Forth from His Smoky Stable," and the "Man in the Saddle."

A considerable figure in his time, Elihu Burritt has left no very definite impress on American life or letters. Born in New Britain, Connecticut, December 8, 1810, the son of a shoemaker, he became a blacksmith, but his desire for learning was so insatiable that in the intervals of his trade he mastered many branches of study, and especially languages, for which he possessed great aptitude.

His strongest claim to remembrance lies in his work in the interest of peace. The first international congress of Friends of Peace, held in Brussels in 1848, was organized by him. He died in New Britain, March 9, 1879.

Mr. Burritt, the "Learned Blacksmith," made frequent lecture tours. His descriptive power is seen in the following word picture of the steam locomotive:

I love to see one of those huge creatures, with sinews of brass and muscles of iron, strut forth from his smoky stable, and, saluting the long train of cars with a dozen sonorous puffs from his iron nostrils, fall gently back into his harness.

There he stands, champing and foaming upon the iron track; his great heart a furnace of glowing coals; his lymphatic blood is boiling in his veins; the strength of a thousand horses is nerving his sinews--he pants to be gone.

He would "snake" St. Peter's across the desert of Sahara if he could be fairly hitched to it, but there is a little sober-eyed, tobacco-chewing man in the saddle, who holds him in with one finger, and can take away his breath in a moment should he grow restive and vicious.

I am always deeply interested in this man; for, begrimed as he may be with coal, diluted in oil and steam, I regard him as the genius of the whole machinery, as the physical mind of that huge steam horse.

BIG FORTUNES FOUND IN DISEASED WHALES.

ONE LEVIATHAN YIELDED $100,000.

A Dirty-Looking Lump of Ambergris Is Worth More Than Half Its Weight in Gold.

Ambergris is one of the most valuable products of the sea. The mariner who spies floating on the waves a grayish mass, fatty in appearance, will, if he knows what ambergris is, betray considerable excitement, for the substance fetches high prices.

Captain James Earle, of New Bedford, Massachusetts, is said to have been the luckiest of all skippers in the old whaling days. From a single sperm whale he realized more than a hundred thousand dollars. It was not the ninety barrels of oil which gave the leviathan its extraordinary value, for that was sold for something like four thousand dollars; but within the whale's vast interior there was found a solid piece of ambergris weighing seven hundred and eighty pounds. This was sold in chunks in all markets of the world for about one hundred thousand dollars.

The finest piece, if not the largest, obtained in recent years weighed one hundred and sixty-three pounds. It was sold in London in 1891.

As to what ambergris is, we may quote the Philadelphia _Saturday Evening post_:

There is no longer any mystery as to the origin of ambergris. It is a morbid secretion due to a disease of the liver of the sperm whale, in the intestines of which animal lumps of it are occasionally, though rarely, discovered. Dr. C.H. Stevenson, of the United States Fish Commission, who has made a special study of the subject, says that the whales which yield ambergris are sickly and emaciated.

Anciently, the substance was known as amber--a name which was subsequently applied also to the fossil gum now commonly so called. But, to distinguish the two, one was called "_amber gris_" (gray), and the other "_amber jaune_" (yellow).