Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table September 17 1895 by Various

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long. He was going to ask his neighbor for further information on the subject, but when he turned around toward the Gopher he saw that the little animal had in some way gotten possession of the soup-tureen, and had thrust his head into it, and was almost drowning because he could not get it out. And then, just as the ex-Pirate and Tommy had rescued the Gopher from a soupy grave, the Lion arose at the head of the table, and pounded loudly on the board and called the assembled multitude to order.

When silence had spread over the room, the King of Beasts announced that the Goat had eaten the passenger list and other important notices off the bulletin board, and that it was thus impossible for him as toast-master to know who was present and who was not, and so he could not call on any one by name to make a speech. He added, however, that any one who desired to make a speech might do so, or, instead of a speech, any animal could sing a song or tell a story. Having made this announcement, the Lion sat down again; and all the animals glared frowningly upon the Goat, who stroked his whiskers nervously and looked embarrassed, either because of these rebuking glances or possibly because of the antediluvian ink on the passenger list.

"I feel awfully sorry for that Goat," whispered the Gopher to Tommy.

"Why don't you get up and make a speech then, and distract the general attention?"

"I don't know any speech," answered the Gopher; "but I know a joke."

"Tell the joke," urged Tommy; and so the Gopher stood up in his chair, and took off his pink sun-bonnet, and said he wanted to tell his joke.

A STORY OF CORN-BREAD AND CROWS.

BY DORA READ GOODALE.

Two sportsmen one morning, right dashing to view In velvet and buckskin from helmet to shoe. Were passing the field where the river runs by, When they chanced in the distance a figure to spy-- Such a figure as farmers, from time out of ken, Convinced that in clothes is the measure of men, Have fashioned in spring-time of brushwood and hay For the cheating of Solons more crafty than they.

"Sir Scarecrow; behold him!" the first hunter cries-- "What a marvel of rags which a Jew would despise! Here's a fig for the bird that so witless appears When he's lived among Yankees a good fifty years-- If the fowl really flies that his corn-bread would miss For a wooden-legged, broken-backed puppet like this! Come, choose a few nubbins to roast on the spot, While I pepper his crown with a capful of shot."

Now the farmer that morning was tilling his soil, Flushed, ragged, and sunbrowned, and grimy with toil, When pausing a moment, as all farmers will, He spied our two friends coming over the hill. "Good land!" quoth the rustic, "a nice thing it is Fer two city fellers to ketch me like this!" Then, dropping his hoe, he exclaims with a grin, "Young chaps, I'll be blessed ef I don't take you in!"

So, urging his slow wits to cope with the case, He jerks his old hat down to cover his face, Stretches limb like a windmill that spreads to the breeze, Draws his fists up like turtles and stiffens his knees; Yet a tremor of fun through the homespun appears As the sound of that parley floats back to his ears, And the honest ears burn as it calls up the words Which declare that in plumes is the making of birds!

HOW REDDY GAINED HIS COMMISSION.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U.S.A.

When Reddy found himself in the water, he realized the impossibility of swimming to the shore, and began to struggle in an effort to reach the jam. This jam had its origin in a group of sandstone bowlders in the centre of the river, on the edge of the rapids. The river d?bris had collected and compacted about them into several square yards of solid surface. To the corporal and his fellow soldiers, now gathered on the shore and watching the swimmer, it seemed that the boy must be carried past to certain death.

They were about giving him up for lost when they saw him snatch at a branch attached to the edge of the jam and swing himself about, then reach a protruding log and climb out. Instantly he ran to the outer end of the log and reached his floating oar. With the oar he caught the prow of the boat, and swinging it within reach of his hands, drew it out of the water.

The soldiers gazed at the stranded boys in perplexity. There seemed no chance of rescuing them. They knew of no other boat nearer than the next government post, nor would a raft be of use at the head of the roaring fall. The stream was too deep for wading and too near the plunge for swimming. The corporal quickly mounted the mule and rode to the fort to report the lads' plight to the commanding officer.

As soon as possible an ambulance containing the officers and Mrs. Maloney started for the river. They brought some tools, a spare oar, and several coils of rope. A few moments later nearly all the men of the garrison not on duty lined the southern shore. Mrs. Maloney's worst fears seemed to be realized when she saw her son clinging helplessly to the snag in mid-stream. Her anguish was heart-rending.

"Ah, Teddy b'y!" she screamed, oblivious to the fact that he could not hear her voice above the roar of the water, "don't ye let go the tray, darlint! Howld on till hilp gets t' yez!"

But how to get to them, or to get anything to them, was a serious question. The soldiers were brave and willing men, but they did not possess the skill of river-drivers nor the appliances and tools of the craft. If the boys were only a mile farther up stream, clear of the rapids, a score of swimmers could take lines out to them; or, for that matter, the boys could swim ashore without assistance. The close vicinity of the snag to the plunging and tumultuous descent in the river made all the difference.

Experiment after experiment was tried. Several brave fellows in turn tied the end of the rope to their waists and swam out; but the current pulling at the slack between them and the shore drew them back. Another went far up stream and swam out, while the shore end of the rope was carried down by comrades at the same rate as the flow of the current. He succeeded in grasping the snag; but the instant he paused the titanic force of the water tore him away, burying him beneath the surface. He was drawn ashore nearly drowned.

The commanding officer was about to send to the fort for material for a raft and an anchor, when his attention was called to the boy on the jam. After the failure of the last attempt to rescue his friend, Reddy was seen to approach the boat and launch it. He then drew it to the end of the log previously mentioned, held it by the stern, with the prow pointed downward, and appeared to be looking for a passage through the submerged bowlders. Presently he turned towards his friends on shore, swung the oar over his head, stepped on board, and was quickly out of sight.

A cry of alarm went up from the soldiers when Reddy disappeared, and they with one accord started on a run down the shore. At the foot of the steep descent they found the brave boy paddling his skiff into a quiet eddy.

He was greeted with vociferous enthusiasm, and a dozen men shouldered him and the boat, and carried them back to the landing. There a line was attached to the stern of the skiff, and a strong man rowed out toward the snag, but the current dragged it back precisely as it had the swimmers. Captain Bartlett next ordered the boat to be towed a quarter of a mile up stream, and as it floated down and was rowed outward he directed the shore end of the line to be carried along with it.

It became quickly evident to the spectators that the skiff would reach the snag, and an involuntary cheer went up, Mrs. Maloney waving her apron and screaming with tearful joy. But through some blunder, or lack of skill, the original accident was repeated. The wherry dropped sideways against the tree and was swamped. This time, however, a line being attached, the skiff was drawn free, and swung back to the shore by the pull of the current. The man clung to the boat and was landed at the crest of the rapid.

The anguish of the poor mother at the failure of what had promised to be a certain rescue of her son was pitiful. She fell upon her knees, wrung her hands, and sobbed in abject despair. Reddy approached, stooped beside her, and placing an arm about her neck, said:

"Do not cry, Mrs. Maloney; I'm going to ask the Captain to let me go to Teddy, and I'll have him here with you in no time."

"No, no, child. Don't ye be dhrownded, too. Nothing can save me b'y now ahl the min have failed."

"But I mean to try it, Mrs. Maloney. Dry your tears and watch me do it."

Teddy Maloney on the snag in mid-stream was now suffering intensely. Seated upon a tree trunk barely ten inches in diameter, and kept from flipping down its slope by a rugged knot, his position was almost unendurable. For five hours he had clung there hatless and coatless, with his back to a broiling sun. Dazed by suffering and dizzied by the leaping, gliding, and wrinkling water that gurgled and pulled at his half-submerged legs, he was still conscious of the efforts being made for his rescue. He saw Reddy shoot the rapids, and with a growing conviction that he could not hold on much longer, he wondered why his boy friend did not come to his aid. "He is the only one in the whole crowd that knows anything about a boat. Why don't they let him do something?" thought poor Teddy.

As if in answer to this silent appeal, Redmond Carter at the same moment approached Captain Bartlett and begged permission to go for his comrade.

"But, Carter, how can you expect to accomplish what these older and stronger men have failed to do?" asked the Captain.

"They do not know what to do, sir. I was born on the Kennebec, sir. I have run barefooted on booms, rafts, and jams, and have boated in birch canoes, dugouts, punts, and yawls, and I can run a rapid, as you have just seen."

"A Kennebec boy, Reddy!" said the officer, for the first time using the boy's pet name. "I know what Kennebec boys could do when I was one of them. Yon may try it; but be careful."

Reddy sprang into the boat and began rowing up stream in the shore eddy. Reaching the desired distance he turned into the middle of the river, and changing his seat to the stern and using an oar for a paddle, he dropped down the current toward the snag. As he neared it, he saw Teddy's hands relax and his body sway slightly to the right.

"Hold on, Teddy!" he shouted. "Keep your grip! I'm right here!"

Gliding along the right side of the trunk he stayed the motion of the skiff by grasping it with his left hand.

"Tumble in, Teddy--quick!" he said.

Teddy obeyed, literally falling into the bottom of the boat, limp and sprawling between the thwarts.

Reddy let go the trunk, went towards the rapids, raking the crest at the same place he had taken it before. Down, down the boiling, foaming, roaring descent he sped, plying his oar with all his might, lest in turning a frothing Scylla he might be hurled upon a threatening Charybdis. His former success attended him.

Again the soldiers ran to meet him at the foot of the watery slope, filling the air with shouts as they ran. But the sight of Teddy lying senseless in the bottom of the boat, checked further joyous demonstration. He was tenderly lifted in stalwart arms and borne to a grassy knoll near by, where he was received by his anxious mother and the surgeon. Restorative treatment brought him back to consciousness, and he was taken at once to the fort. The wherry was again carried to the landing before the hay-camp, and the crowd of soldiers dispersed through the ravines and groves in the direction of their barracks.

Captain Bartlett accompanied Redmond Carter to the place where the mule and pony were picketed, and, saying that he would ride Puss to the post, ordered one of the men to saddle her, and entered into conversation with the boy.

"I think you are out of place in the army, Carter," said he.

"What, sir! Have I not always done my duty well?" asked Reddy, in dismay.

"Much better than the average soldier. But that is not what I mean. You seem qualified for something better than the position you occupy. You are not of the material from which the army is usually recruited. This slip of paper, found beside the orderly bench at the office," observed the officer, handing the boy his sketch of the Trojan horse with the accompanying Latin sentence, "shows that you have been a student. I do not know what accident brought you here, but I think school is the proper place for you."

"Nothing would please me better, sir, than to be able to return to school; but it is not possible at present."

"Are you willing to tell me how you come to be in the service?"

"Yes, sir; it is not a long story," replied the young soldier. "My father and mother died when I was too young to remember them, and I was left to the care of a guardian, who sent me to school, and afterwards to an academy, where I prepared for college. I passed my entrance examination to the Freshman class in June, and expected to go on in September; but the failure of companies in which my property had been invested left me destitute, and I gave it up."

"But you have relatives?"

"Lots of them; but they showed little inclination to help me. There had been some family differences that I never understood, and I was too proud to go begging for assistance. I shipped on a granite-schooner for Philadelphia. I was miserably seasick the whole trip, and was discharged by the master of the vessel without pay. Having no money I could not find food while looking for work. I obtained an odd job now and then, but soon wore my clothes to rags, so that no respectable establishment would think of hiring me. I slept on the streets, and frequently passed a day without proper food. One day I passed a recruiting-office, and it suggested a means of escape from destitution. I enlisted as a fifer, and was assigned to your company."

"And you have been with me ten months," said the Captain. "I suppose your relatives cannot trace you?"

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