Part 1

BOB THE SQUIRREL.

THE

TRAVELS

AND

EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES

OF

BOB THE SQUIRREL.

ILLUSTRATED WITH TWELVE ENGRAVINGS

BY

_Distinguished Artists._

PHILADELPHIA: GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESTNUT STREET.

NEW YORK: D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY.

1847.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846,

BY GEO. S. APPLETON,

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

PREFACE.

The following little story has been put in the present shape by a Father; and he takes the privilege of a Preface to say a word in behalf of children, as REASONABLE BEINGS. Whoever will take pains to talk to them, and to listen to and understand what they _say_, and what they _ask_, will find in the first much that will be worth remembering, and in the second much that will challenge the mature reason to answer. It is only those who are ignorant of the capacity of infancy, who pronounce children uninteresting, or who imagine it beneath the intellect of the adult to converse with the child.

In whatever household it is made a daily practice to hold a conversation in which the children can participate, for an hour on each day, it will be found that the time thus spent is more fruitful in good influences than all the time which is devoted to set and formal instructions can be; indeed, such twilight conversations, if properly directed, develope what the child daily learns, by enabling him to apply it. Give a boy a knife, and a girl a box of colours, and each will at once put the present to use, and affix a value to it. But give them a task in certain things which you tell them to commit to memory to apply “when they grow up,” and they will, in spite of themselves, forget nearly as fast as they learn, and find the acquisition of knowledge an irksome and apparently profitless occupation—disheartening and disagreeable.

Converse with them daily, and you put what they acquire to instant profit. They discover the advantage of education, by being enabled to make it instantly available in their conversation with their elders. And, on the other hand, those elders will not fail to perceive that there are aspects of almost every subject to which children are the first to call their attention. The little fellow in frock and trowsers looks under the table, while his seniors see only the cover.

“Stories” are always interesting to children—and are much better _told_ than _read_. A very little fancy will enable a parent, before such kind and respectful critics as his children, to introduce passages bearing on the conduct and character of members of his auditory; and reproof or encouragement, playfully conveyed in this manner, is sure to be remembered.

VOYAGES AND ADVENTURES

OF

BOB THE SQUIRREL.

“Now, father! a story—a story!” said Mr. Goodman’s children, as their father and mother drew up to the fire one winter evening, after the tea-service was removed—“A story! a story!”

There were two children; one a fine little girl, whose name was Mary, the other a little boy, whose name was Frank. He looked a little pale, as if he had been sick, and one of his arms was hung in a handkerchief, which was fastened round his neck. Why this was done, the little reader will find out, before the end of the book.

“Well,” said the kind father, willing to oblige his children, “what shall the story be? About a good boy?”

“No, father,” said little Mary, “we have heard quite enough about good boys.”

“About a bad one, then?”

“No, sir, if you please,” said Frank. He was very much afraid if his father began a story about bad boys, that it might come a great deal too near home. Histories of bad girls and good girls were also objected to, and Mr. Goodman cut the dispute short by commencing:

“Once upon a time—”

“That’s the way you always begin,” said Mary.

“Well, you wouldn’t have him say ‘_twice_ upon a time,’ would you?” asked Frank, who tried to be thought _smart_, like a great many other boys that we see. Now if these little folks could only hear with other people’s ears, how _very_ little wit there is in some of these attempts to be satirical, we think they would not be so fond of “taking up” their brothers and sisters; and trying to be amusing at the expense of their neighbours. Mr. Goodman _thought_ all this, but did not say it. He smiled, and continued his story:

“Once upon a time there was a little mischievous—”

“Boy,” whispered Mary.

“Squirrel,” said her father, and Frank laughed with a look of triumph at Mary, to think he had escaped so nicely.

“Well, this young squirrel felt very large of his age, and was not much disposed to listen to what his father and mother said to him.”

“Ho! ho!” shouted Frank—“squirrels a-talking!”

“The squirrel’s name was Robert, and his playmates called him Bob, for shortness. He was sent to a very excellent school, and his father and mother tried every means to teach him to climb up in the world; but I am sorry to say that Master Bob was sometimes naughty and disobedient. He paid little attention to the entreaties of his mother, and the good advice of his father, but was continually running away, and getting into all manner of troubles and difficulties. His father and mother lived in a very large and respectable old oak, where he might have been as happy as the day is long. Close to this oak was a large lake—”

“Such a one as our Frank went sailing upon?” asked Mary.

“Very much, I dare say,” said the father, and went on with the story.

“There were plenty of fine apple and nut trees near his home, and a delightful large playground for Master Bob, all round the tree. Robert’s father and mother always loved to see him playing here where he was safe and happy, for he was their only son.”

“Had he a sister?” asked Mary.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Goodman, “one.”

“Oh, I say this is not fair, father!” cried Frank.

“_What?_” asked his father.

“Oh, _you_ know what I mean,” answered Frank, pretending to be very much displeased, although he was really as anxious to hear the rest as his sister Mary was. The parents exchanged pleased glances, and Mr. Goodman continued:

“The peaceable life of a well-disposed and well-behaved young squirrel did not seem to suit the temper and disposition of Master Bob. He was continually running away from home, and putting his good father and mother in trouble to know what had become of him; and at last he wished, like some bad boys I have heard of, that he could get away from the care and control of his parents altogether. He saw that some wild young squirrels of his acquaintance, whose friends did not do their duty by them, were left to go when they pleased, and come home when it suited them; and he desired, in search of the largest liberty, to go to sea.”

“Oh father!” interrupted Mary, “that’s what Frank is always a-saying!”

Frank gave his sister a look which was intended to be very cross; but it ended in a laugh, and Mr. Goodman went on with the story.

“The little squirrel thought he should like to take a trip over the lake. He was tired, he said, of always seeing the same trees, and the same green grass, and he wanted to find out what the rest of the world was made of. His father and mother charged him not to go, and his father warned him that he would meet in the world many artful and cruel enemies, and that he was too young to guard against danger. Master Bob, who thought he knew what was right, was fully determined upon going. Wilful boys—”

“Boys, father?” interrupted Frank, with a curious look.

“Squirrels, I should say,” answered his father; “but boys are just as bad.

“Wilful and naughty young squirrels are never willing to listen to the advice of their elders, but choose to try for themselves. So when Master Bob found he could not get permission, he determined to go without. He stole away from home, and making a raft or boat out of the bark of a willow, loaded it with nuts as his provision. He then launched his boat, and skipped on board, with as much importance as the rocking of his crazy vessel would permit. His parents, who discovered what he was doing too late to stop him, called after him; but he paid no heed, and his father then told him that he really hoped he would meet difficulty enough to bring him back home, in his senses.”

“Be still!” shouted Frank to his sister.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Goodman.

“Mary might look at father, when he is talking, and quit laughing at me!”

“The old squirrels, when they found they could not check their undutiful child, ran up into the branches of their tree, to see him fairly off. Notwithstanding his undutiful behaviour, they hoped he would learn good from his travels. The bad conduct of children makes parents bitterly grieve, but cannot kill their affection. Captain Robert Squirrel, as the vain Master Bob now styled himself, hoisted his sail with great pomposity—”

“What is pomposity, father?” inquired Frank.

“Why, parade, or dignity, or consequence; or, as you boys say, _brag_; such as a little fellow I know of shows, when he has his tin sword, his wooden musket, and his noisy drum, all at once, and fancies himself a whole regiment, with a band of music.”

“Oh, is that all?” asked Frank; “I thought pomposity might be a name for the mast.”

Father laughed and tried to go on with the story; but Frank was curious now to know what kind of a sail the squirrel had.

“Why, it was a sail _au naturel_, as the French would say; a domestic arrangement entirely, which Bob always took with him, wherever he went. And, by the way, my dear children,” said Mr. Goodman, “we cannot too much admire the goodness of God in furnishing the lower animals with the quality called _instinct_. Man has _reason_ for his guide, because he is called upon to act as a responsible being.”

“What is responsible, father?” asked Frank.

“Well, really, the more I explain, the deeper I get into difficulty,” said Mr. Goodman, smiling. “A responsible being is one who knows right from wrong, and will be held to answer for what he does; now, animals are not responsible—”

“Why, then,” asked Mary, “do people whip horses?”

“Because _instinct_ leads horses to fear blows; and therefore, instinct makes them shun what has caused them a whipping before. But if I do not make haste, we shall not get done with the story until bed-time.

“Bob crossed his paws knowingly before him, and had nothing to do but sit still, and be blown along. It was now fine weather with Captain Robert. He looked upon the sky, and the water, and the shore, as if they all belonged to him, and he was merely taking a voyage of survey over his possessions. Every thing attracted his attention; and he made himself very happy, and very much at home in his excursion.

“The fine weather continued for two days and two nights, and Captain Robert Squirrel breakfasted, dined, and supped at his own hours, and helped himself first, because there was nobody else to eat. He thought it was mighty fine not to have to wait until his elders were served, and only wondered that he could have been willing to submit so long to his parents, when, by launching out into the world, he could be so much more of a hero, and his own master besides.”

Mrs. Goodman here watched her son’s eyes, and found by their animated expression that Master Frank was very much, just now, of the opinion of Captain Robert. Once, indeed, Frank’s lips parted, as if to speak; but he wisely thought he would wait, and hear a little more of the squirrel’s adventures, before he committed himself.

“This was all very fine,” continued Mr. Goodman, “but, unluckily, sailors have not the direction of the weather. If they had, any old lady might go to sea, without losing the starch from her nightcap, and any rattle-headed boy could launch away, whenever he was tired of his own good home. On the third day, a furious storm spoiled his breakfast. Heigho! thought Bob, this _is_ life, and something like! So he kept all sail spread, in defiance of wind and weather, and fancied he was going ahead at a fine rate. But at last his pride was upset; Captain Robert, provisions, and all, were spilt into the water, and his little boat was made a complete wreck. He had to swim for it; and if his father had not taught him how, he would have been in a sad plight.

“Captain Robert did not feel like Captain any more, but like plain Bob, and very sorry at that, and heartily did he wish that he was safe and sound at home again, and in the tree he used to despise so much. Thoroughly broken down, tired, and almost dead with cold, he succeeded, at last, in getting to the shore.

“But it requires a great deal to teach wisdom to a discontented squirrel, or to a disobedient boy. So the shipwrecked Captain Robert hardly found himself safe on land, before his vanity returned again; and he was rather pleased than otherwise to have a shipwreck to boast of. What matters a little drenching? he said. What great squirrel ever went free of dangers? How many famous navigators have been cast upon unknown shores!

“But while he tried to make light of his misfortunes, and to laugh at his distress, night came, and found him unprovided with food and lodging. The disobedient child, who could treat with contempt the tears of his mother, was not able to put aside, so easily, the cravings of his stomach; and Bob, like many naughty boys, began to think how convenient it would be to have parents, if he could only neglect them always, except when he wanted to eat or to sleep. He turned his steps toward a neighbouring forest, and was fortunate enough to encounter there a kind old lady in Dame Rabbit.

“She saw that he was a runaway, by his looks; but, good and obliging creature that she was, she knew that even a runaway must eat. So Captain Robert, with all his pride and dignity, was glad to accept the hospitality and bounty of the poor old dame; just as I have known some other children to run away from home, where they had plenty to eat, and a nice bed to sleep in, and to trespass upon the charity of those who have enough to do to provide for their own.”

“Has black Jane any children?” asked little Mary.

“Ask Frank,” said his mother, “I believe he has spent a night there.”

Poor Frank! He made no answer to this teasing, and Mr. Goodman again resumed the narrative.

“Dame Rabbit gave him a nice supper, and a comfortable lodging, and in the morning Bob took leave of his kind hostess, and determined upon climbing a high hill which he saw at a distance. Now browsing a little on the grass, as boys pick apples or berries by the way; now smoothing his fur a little, which had suffered some in the shipwreck, as runaways scrape off a little mud at a time; and now staring about him, as truants generally do, to divert their conscience from its reproaches, Bob found the sun already set, when he reached the top of the hill. There he was, without any supper, too late to go back, and not a tree in sight in which he could make his bed for the night.

“He began to think that the independence for which he had longed was no such very desirable thing, after all; and he thought of the times when he so very foolishly ran off at bed-time, and put his good mother to so much trouble to compel him to take his own comfortable rest. What could he do? All his boasted freedom could not help him, and he was too happy when he discovered the residence of Sir Hare, of whom he very penitently begged supper and lodging. Sir Hare looked very curiously at him—”

“Did he tell him he would send him to jail, as a little vagrant?” asked Mary.

“Why, what put that in your head, child?” said her father.

“Oh, nothing; only it’s what Squire Jones—”

“Do be still interrupting!” shouted Frank. “We can’t take any sense of father’s story.”

“_We_, indeed,” said Mrs. Goodman, laughing till she almost cried, while Mr. Goodman continued:

“Sir Hare looked very earnestly and suspiciously at the young wanderer. If he had given him what he needed most, Bob would have been warmed with a good whipping; but as people are not very apt to volunteer in a disagreeable duty, Master Bob did not receive what would have done him more good than his supper. If he had been severely punished that night by Sir Hare, he might have humbly asked to be sent home to his parents.

“But as Master Bob did not receive the whipping he merited, his supper and comfortable lodging made him as bold and foolish as ever. Having found a lodging two nights with the charitable, he thought now that all he had to do was to enjoy himself all day, and trust to fortune that some good animal would give him a bed at night. So he wandered and capered about, as the whim took him, roving here, wandering there, and taking as little thought or care of himself as if he had his mother at hand, to run home to, as soon as he needed rest.

“Before noon, however, he was pretty well tired and rather hungry. The chance food that runaways pick up is not like the wholesome fare that children receive at home, and in Bob’s hunger, he stumbled upon some articles which made him sick. Young gentlemen are very apt to think that their mothers do not know much, and that their fathers are very little wiser; but if Bob’s mother had been with him he would not have poisoned himself with wild ivy.”

“Wild ivy!” said Mary, laughing, and pinching her brother’s elbow, “that’s what Frank ate!”

“Oh quit!” cried Frank, and his father went on again.

“Weary, and not quite so confident, Master Bob wandered about in the afternoon, and soon began to have his fears whether a lodging was to be had that night for the asking. He met no respectable animal to take pity on the runaway, and although a snake or two would have been glad to have taken him in, he happened to know enough to think their kindness would not have been much to his profit.

“An obliging porcupine did indeed offer him part of her den, assuring him he would not be at all in the way. But Bob soon found that if he was not in the way of the porcupines, they were very much in his, with their sharp quills, and he was obliged to take to the open air for it.

“To add to his discomfort, it rained smartly. Crouched down in the grass, soaking wet, and half frozen, Captain Bob would very gladly have given up his freedom, for shelter in his mother’s arms.

“He did not cling to his cold lodgings very long after daybreak, though like some other young people, he used to like very well to cling to his bed, after the breakfast bell had rung at home.”

“Oh ho!” cried Frank, “breakfast bells in a rabbit’s nest!”

“Spirit-broken and cowed, at early dawn he recommenced his wanderings. The storm continued through the whole day. The country was deserted and wild. Not a tree afforded food or shelter, and scanty indeed was the fare that the poor squirrel could find.

“Completely cured of his desire to travel, Captain Robert would gladly have taken the way back to his own green forest, and his father’s house. He looked on every side for some friend who might direct him,—but who would be strolling about in such weather as this, except foolish, disobedient, wandering Robert?

“Troubles never come singly to the truant; and while our poor squirrel was looking for the way home, and thinking of nothing else, he came very near being saved the trouble of looking further.

“A hungry, mischievous fox, saw and almost caught him. In spite of his fatigue and hunger, unlucky Bob had to skip for it now. The fox was too fast for him on the level ground, and Master Robert just saved his distance, by running fleetly up some ragged rocks, where the fox could not follow.

“Here was a pretty case for Robert the bold captain, who despised danger, and laughed at the tears of his mother, and the warnings of his father. His fine bushy tail dragging on the wet earth, his paws torn and bleeding with running among the sharp stones, and not a bit of food, or a drop of drink, to be found on the barren rock to which he had been compelled to betake himself for safety.”

“Was the fox a hound, father?” asked Mary.

“No, child, I imagine not,” answered Mr. Goodman, “A hound is a dog.”

“Oh, that’s what I mean—a dog fox—no, a fox-hound,” said Mary, clapping her little hands. “It was Squire Jones’s fox-hounds that chased our Frank up into the hay-loft.”

“Captain Robert Squirrel’s plight was a bad one, indeed,” continued Mr. Goodman. “He feared to descend, cold, shivering, and all exposed as he was; for though he could not see the fox, who could tell out of what hole his cunning and watchful enemy would pop, to seize him? And if he stayed where he was, the chances were that he would die of cold and hunger.

“Now, then, Bob was compelled to confess his faults, and to own to himself how foolish and wicked he had been, while every moment he imagined his foe was watching his distress from some sly corner, and making up his mind what sauce was best to eat squirrels with.

“‘Oh, dear!’ sobbed the poor runaway, ‘if I was only at home, in my native forest, and in my father’s tree, I would never run away again, nor wander off from my parents! There is the hole in the old oak, my mother’s cupboard, all filled with apples and nuts, and nice acorns for a relish, and they have no need to-day to wet so much as the tips of their ears in the rain! And here am I, half-drowned, and starving besides! There is my comfortable bed of dry, sweet leaves, and no dangers near it, while here I must run for my life, without a tree to take refuge in, and no rest for my weary limbs, and no sleep for my eyelids! Oh, my dear, wise father! what a wicked fool I was to scorn your advice! Oh, my poor, dear mother! How much better I should have fared, if I had minded your entreaties!’

“All his tears, however, did not help the matter any, but rather made it worse. The more he thought of his home, the worse the present place seemed; and the more he lamented himself, the more his conscience smote him. While he was thus deploring his folly, and nearly blind with grief, an enemy came from a new and unexpected quarter.

“A raven, who, like the poor squirrel, was half famished, made a dive after him; and Bob, who had taken a high place to get away from the beast, was glad to hurry down to escape the talons of the bird.

“Away he scampered, and the raven after him; fear giving him new strength, and the terror of the raven making him forget the fox.

“But that hungry gentleman, who had merely taken a nap with one eye open, while he waited for the squirrel to come down from his perch, was awakened by the outcry which was made by the pursuer and the pursued, and the poor squirrel found himself in a double danger. The fox was at his heels, and the raven was over his head. If there had been a tree by which he could have got away from the fox, it would not have saved him from the raven; and if there had been a hole which would have protected him from the bird, the beast would have followed him into it.

“Which of the two deaths he would die seemed now the only choice left for him; and the raven at last settled that matter, by catching him up, and giving him a sail in the air, as an offset to his former sail on the water.