Book: Our Boys

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[Illustration: THE BOYS HURRIED OFF TOWARD HOME.]

On this morning the exercises seemed specially long to the two
brothers, full of anticipations of pleasure; but finally the last
block of wood was hurled, the last arrow shot, the last wrestling
match ended, and the boys, bearing a sealed roll of papyrus,
containing a leave of absence for one day, hurried off towards home.

Their father's palace stood at no great distance from the royal
residence, on the long, wide street extending straight to the city
gates, and like the houses of all the Persian nobles, was surrounded
by a beautiful walled garden called a paradise, laid out with
flower-beds of roses, poppies, oleanders, ornamental plants, adorned
with fountains, and shaded by lofty trees.

The hunting party was nearly ready to start, and the courtyard was
thronged. Servants rushed to and fro bearing shields, swords, lances,
bows and lassos, for a hunter was always equipped with bow and arrows,
two lances, a sword and a shield. Others held in leash the dogs to be
used in starting the game.

The enormous preserves in the neighborhood of Babylon were well
stocked with animals, including stags, wild boars, and a few lions.
Several noblemen clad in the plain hunting costume always worn in the
chase, were already mounted, among them the father of the two lads,
who greeted them affectionately as they respectfully approached and
kissed his hand.

"Make haste, boys, your horses are ready. Take only bows and
shields--the swords and lances will be in your way; you must not try
to deal with larger game than you can manage with your arrows."

"May we not carry daggers in our belts, too, father?" cried Otanes
eagerly. "They can't be in our way, and if we should meet a lion--"

A laugh from the group of nobles interrupted him. "Your son seeks
large game, Intaphernes!" exclaimed a handsome officer. "He must have
better weapons than a bow and dagger, if--"

The rest of the sentence was drowned by the noise in the courtyard,
but as the party rode towards the gate Intaphernes looked back: "Yes,
take the daggers, it can do no harm. Keep with Candaules."

The old slave, a gray-haired, but muscular man, with several other
attendants, joined the lads, and the long train passed out into the
street and toward the city gates. Otanes hastily whispered to his
brother: "Keep close by me, Smerdis; if only we catch sight of a lion,
we'll show what we can do with bows and arrows."

The sun was now several hours high, and the streets, lined with tall
brick houses, were crowded with people--artisans, slaves, soldiers,
nobles and citizens, the latter clad in white linen shirts, gay
woollen tunics and short cloaks. Two-wheeled wooden vehicles, drawn by
horses decked with bells and tassels, litters containing veiled women
borne by slaves, and now and then, the superb gilded carriage, hung
with silk curtains, of some royal princess passed along. Here and
there a heavily laden camel moved slowly by, and the next instant a
soldier of the king's bodyguard dashed past in his superb uniform--a
gold cuirass, purple surcoat, and high Persian cap, the gold scabbard
of his sword and the gold apple on his lance-tip flashing in the sun.

[Illustration: THE HUNTING PARTY WERE NEARLY READY TO START.]

High above the topmost roofs of even the lofty towers on the walls
rose the great sanctuary of the Magi,[1] the immense Temple of Bel,
visible in all quarters of the city, and seen for miles from every
part of the flat plain on which Babylon stood. The huge staircase
wound like a serpent round and round the outside of the building to
the highest story, which contained the sanctuary itself and also the
observatory whence the priests studied the stars.

[Footnote 1: The Magi were the Persian priests.]

Otanes and Smerdis, chatting eagerly together, rode on as fast as
the crowd would permit, and soon reached one of the gates in the huge
walls that defended the city. These walls, seventy-five feet high, and
wide enough to allow two chariots to drive abreast, were strengthened
by two hundred and fifty towers, except on one side, where deep
marshes extended to their base. Beyond these marshes lay the
hunting-grounds, and the party, turning to the left, rode for a time
over a smooth highway, between broad tracts of land sown with wheat,
barley and sesame. Slender palm-trees covered with clusters of golden
dates were seen in every direction, and the sunbeams shimmered on the
canals and ditches which conducted water from the Euphrates to all
parts of the fields.

Otanes' horse suddenly shied violently as a rider, mounted on a fleet
steed, and carrying a large pouch, dashed by like the wind.

"One of the Augari bearing letters to the next station!" exclaimed
Smerdis. "See how he skims along. Hi! If I were not to be one of the
king's bodyguard, I'd try for an Augar's place. How he goes! He's
almost out of sight already."

"How far apart are the stations?" asked Otanes.

"Eighteen miles. And when he gets there, he'll just toss the letter
bag to the next man, who is sitting on a fresh horse waiting for it,
and away _he'll_ go like lightning. That's the way the news is carried
to the very end of the empire of our lord the King."

"Must be fine fun," replied Otanes. "But see, there's the gate of the
hunting-park. Now for the lion," he added gayly.

"May Ormuzd[2] save you from meeting one, my young master," said the
old servant, Candaules. "Luckily it's broad daylight, and they are
more apt to come from their lairs after dark. Better begin with
smaller game and leave the lion and wild boars to your father."

[Footnote 2: The principal god of the Persians.]

"Not if we catch sight of them," cried Otanes, settling his shield
more firmly on his arm, and urging his horse to a quicker pace, for
the head of the long train of attendants had already disappeared amid
the dark cypress-trees of the hunting park. The immense enclosure
stretching from the edge of the morasses that bordered the walls
of Babylon far into the country, soon echoed with the shouts of the
attendants beating the coverts for game, the baying of the dogs, the
hiss of lances and whir of arrows. Bright-hued birds, roused by
the tumult, flew wildly hither and thither, now and then the superb
plumage of a bird of paradise flashing like a jewel among the dense
foliage of cypress and nut-trees.

Hour after hour sped swiftly away; the party had dispersed in
different directions, following the course of the game; the sun was
sinking low, and the slaves were bringing the slaughtered birds and
beasts to the wagons used to convey them home. A magnificent stag was
among the spoil, and a fierce wild boar, after a long struggle, had
fallen under a thrust from Intaphernes's lance.

The shrill blast of the Median trumpet sounded thrice, to give the
first of the three signals for the scattered hunters to meet at the
appointed place, near the entrance of the park, and the two young
brothers who, attended by Candaules and half a dozen slaves, had
ridden far into the shady recesses of the woods, reluctantly turned
their horses' heads. No thought of disobeying the summons entered
their minds--Persian boys were taught that next to truth and
courage, obedience was the highest virtue, and rarely was a command
transgressed.

They had had a good day's sport; few arrows remained in their quivers,
and the attendants carried bunches of gay plumaged birds and several
small animals, among them a pretty little fawn. "Let's go nearer the
marshes; there are not so many trees, and we can ride faster," said
Otanes as the trumpet-call was repeated, and the little party turned
in that direction, moving more swiftly as they passed out upon the
strip of open ground between the thicket and the marshes. The sun was
just setting. The last crimson rays, shimmering on the pools of water
standing here and there in the morasses, cast reflections on the tall
reeds and rushes bordering their margins.

Suddenly a pretty spotted fawn darted in front of the group, and
crossing the open ground, vanished amid a thick clump of reeds. "What
a nice pet the little creature would make for our sister Hadassah!"
cried Otanes eagerly. "See! it has hidden among the reeds; we might
take it alive. Go with Candaules and the slaves, Smerdis, and form
a half-circle beyond the clump. When you're ready, whistle, and I'll
ride straight down and drive it towards you; you can easily catch it
then. We are so near the entrance of the park now that we shall have
plenty of time; the third signal hasn't sounded yet."

Smerdis instantly agreed to the plan. The horses were fastened to some
trees, and the men cautiously made a wide circuit, passed the bed of
reeds, and concealed themselves, behind the tall rushes beyond. A low
whistle gave Otanes the signal to drive out the fawn.

Smerdis and the slaves saw the lad straighten himself in the saddle,
and with a shout, dash at full speed towards the spot where the fawn
had vanished. He had almost reached it when the stiff stalks shook
violently, and a loud roar made them all spring to their feet. They
saw the brave boy check his horse and fit an arrow to the string, but
as he drew the bow, there was a stronger rustle among the reeds; a
tawny object flashed through the air, striking Otanes from his saddle,
while the horse free from its rider, dashed, snorting with terror,
towards the park entrance.

"A lion! A lion!" shrieked the trembling slaves, but Smerdis, drawing
his dagger, ran towards the place where his brother had fallen,
passing close by the body of the fawn which lay among the reeds with
its head crushed by a blow from the lion's paw. Candaules followed
close at the lad's heels.

Parting the thick growth of stalks, they saw, only a few paces off,
Otanes, covered with blood, lying motionless on the ground, and beside
him the dead body of a half-grown lion, the boy's arrow buried in
one eye, while the blood still streamed from the lance-wound in the
animal's side.

Smerdis, weeping, threw himself beside his brother, and at the same
moment Intaphernes, with several nobles and attendants, attracted
by the cries, dashed up to the spot. The father, springing from the
saddle, bent, and laid his hand on the boy's heart.

"It is beating still, and strongly too," he exclaimed. "Throw water in
his face! perhaps--"

Without finishing the sentence, he carefully examined the motionless
form. "Ormuzd be praised! He has no wound; the blood has flowed from
the lion. See, Prexaspes, there is a lance-head sticking in its side.
I believe it's the very beast you wounded early in the day."

The officer whose laugh had so vexed Otanes, stooped over the dead
lion and looked at the broken shaft.

"Ay, it's my weapon; the beast probably made its way to the morass for
water; but, by Mithras![3] the lad's arrow killed the brute; the barb
passed through the eyeball into the brain."

[Footnote 3: The Persian god of the sun.]

"Yes, my lord," cried old Candaules eagerly, "and doubtless it was
only the weight of the animal, which, striking my young master as it
made its spring, hurled him from the saddle and stunned him. See! he
is opening his eyes. Otanes, Otanes, you've killed the lion!"

The boy's eyelids fluttered, then slowly rose, his eyes wandered over
the group, and at last rested on the dead lion. The old slave's words
had evidently reached his ear, for with a faint smile he glanced
archly at Prexaspes, and raising himself on one elbow, said:

"You see, my lord--even with a bow and dagger!"

MARY J. SAFFORD.




DO YOU KNOW HIM?


[Illustration: COULDN'T BEAR TO BE LAUGHED AT.]

There was once a small boy--he might measure four feet;
His conduct was perfectly splendid,
His manners were good, and his temper was sweet,
His teeth and his hair were uncommonly neat,
In fact he could not be amended.

His smile was so bright, and his word was so kind,
His hand was so quick to assist it,
His wits were so clever, his air so refined,
There was something so nice in him, body and mind,
That you never could try to resist it.




THE WEAVER OF BRUGES.


[Illustration]

The strange old streets of Bruges town
Lay white with dust and summer sun,
The tinkling goat bells slowly passed
At milking-time, ere day was done.

An ancient weaver, at his loom,
With trembling hands his shuttle plied,
While roses grew beneath his touch,
And lovely hues were multiplied.

The slant sun, through the open door,
Fell bright, and reddened warp and woof,
When with a cry of pain a little bird,
A nestling stork, from off the roof,

Sore wounded, fluttered in and sat
Upon the old man's outstretched hand;
"Dear Lord," he murmured, under breath,
"Hast thou sent me this little friend?"

And to his lonely heart he pressed
The little one, and vowed no harm
Should reach it there; so, day by day,
Caressed and sheltered by his arm,

The young stork grew apace, and from
The loom's high beams looked down with eyes
Of silent love upon his ancient friend,
As two lone ones might sympathize.

At last the loom was hushed: no more
The deftly handled shuttle flew;
No more the westering sunlight fell
Where blushing silken roses grew.

And through the streets of Bruges town
By strange hands cared for, to his last
And lonely rest, 'neath darkening skies,
The ancient weaver slowly passed;

Then strange sight met the gaze of all:
A great white stork, with wing-beats slow,
Too sad to leave the friend he loved,
With drooping head, flew circling low,

And ere the trampling feet had left
The new-made mound, dropt slowly down,
And clasped the grave in his white wings
His pure breast on the earth so brown.

Nor food, nor drink, could lure him thence,
Sunrise nor fading sunsets red;
When little children came to see,
The great white stork--was dead.

M.M.P. DINSMOOR.




THE MAN IN THE TUB.


Come here, little folks, while I rub and I rub!
O, there once was a man who lived in a tub,
In a classical town far over the seas;
The name of this fellow was Diogenes.

And this is the story: it happened one day
That a wonderful king came riding that way;
Said he, to the man in the tub, "How d'ye do?
I'm Great Alexander; now, pray, who are you?"

O, yes, to be clean you must rub, you must rub!
Though he lived and he slept and ate in a tub,
This singular man, in towns where he halted,
History tells us was greatly exalted.

He rose in his tub: "I am Diogenes."
"Dear me," quoth the king, who'd been over the seas,
"I've heard of you often; now, what can I do
To aid such a wise individual as you?"

Could one expect manners, I ask, as I rub,
From a man quite content to live in a tub?
"Get out of my sunlight," growled Diogenes
To this affable king who'd been o'er the seas.

MAY E. STONE.




THE LITTLE GOLD MINERS OF THE SIERRAS.


Their mother had died crossing the plains, and their father had had
a leg broken by a wagon wheel passing over it as they descended
the Sierras, and he was for a long time after reaching the mines
miserable, lame and poor.

The eldest boy, Jim Keene, as I remember him, was a bright little
fellow, but wild as an Indian and full of mischief. The next eldest
child, Madge, was a girl of ten, her father's favorite, and she was
wild enough too. The youngest was Stumps. Poor, timid, starved Little
Stumps! I never knew his real name. But he was the baby, and hardly
yet out of petticoats. And he was very short in the legs, very short
in the body, very short in the arms and neck; and so he was called
Stumps because he looked it. In fact he seemed to have stopped
growing entirely. Oh, you don't know how hard the old Plains were on
everybody, when we crossed them in ox-wagons, and it took more than
half a year to make the journey. The little children, those that did
not die, turned brown like the Indians, in that long, dreadful journey
of seven months, and stopped growing for a time.

For the first month or two after reaching the Sierras, old Mr. Keene
limped about among the mines trying to learn the mystery of finding
gold, and the art of digging. But at last, having grown strong enough,
he went to work for wages, to get bread for his half-wild little ones,
for they were destitute indeed.

Things seemed to move on well, then. Madge cooked the simple meals,
and Little Stumps clung to her dress with his little pinched brown
hand wherever she went, while Jim whooped it over the hills and chased
jack-rabbits as if he were a greyhound. He would climb trees, too,
like a squirrel. And, oh!--it was deplorable--but how he could swear!

At length some of the miners, seeing the boy must come to some bad
end if not taken care of, put their heads and their pockets together
and sent the children to school. This school was a mile away over
the beautiful brown hills, a long, pleasant walk under the green
California oaks.

Well, Jim would take the little tin dinner bucket, and his slate, and
all their books under his arm and go booming ahead about half a mile
in advance, while Madge with brown Little Stumps clinging to her side
like a burr, would come stepping along the trail under the oak-trees
as fast as she could after him.

But if a jack-rabbit, or a deer, or a fox crossed Jim's path, no
matter how late it was, or how the teacher had threatened him, he
would drop books, lunch, slate and all, and spitting on his hands and
rolling up his sleeves, would bound away after it, yelling like a
wild Indian. And some days, so fascinating was the chase, Jim did
not appear at the schoolhouse at all; and of course Madge and Stumps
played truant too. Sometimes a week together would pass and the
Keene children would not be seen at the schoolhouse. Visits from the
schoolmaster produced no lasting effect. The children would come for a
day or two, then be seen no more. The schoolmaster and their father at
last had a serious talk about the matter.

"What _can_ I do with him?" said Mr. Keene.

"You'll have to put him to work," said the schoolmaster. "Set him to
hunting nuggets instead of bird's-nests. I guess what the boy wants is
some honest means of using his strength. He's a good boy, Mr. Keene;
don't despair of him. Jim would be proud to be an 'honest miner.'
Jim's a good boy, Mr. Keene."

"Well, then, thank you, Schoolmaster," said Mr. Keene. "Jim's a good
boy; and Madge is good, Mr. Schoolmaster; and poor starved and stunted
motherless Little Stumps, he is good as gold, Mr. Schoolmaster. And I
want to be a mother to 'em--I want to be father and mother to 'em all,
Mr. Schoolmaster. And I'll follow your advice. I'll put 'em all to
work a-huntin' for gold."

The next day away up on the hillside under a pleasant oak, where
the air was sweet and cool, and the ground soft and dotted over with
flowers, the tender-hearted old man that wanted to be "father and
mother both," "located" a claim. The flowers were kept fresh by a
little stream of waste water from the ditch that girded the brow of
the hill above. Here he set a sluice-box and put his three little
miners at work with pick, pan and shovel. There he left them and
limped back to his own place in the mine below.

And how they did work! And how pleasant it was here under the broad
boughs of the oak, with the water rippling through the sluice on the
soft, loose soil which they shoveled into the long sluice-box. They
could see the mule-trains going and coming, and the clouds of dust far
below which told them the stage was whirling up the valley. But Jim
kept steadily on at his work day after day. Even though jack-rabbits
and squirrels appeared on the very scene, he would not leave till,
like the rest of the honest miners, he could shoulder his pick and pan
and go down home with the setting sun.

Sometimes the men who had tried to keep the children at school, would
come that way, and with a sly smile, talk very wisely about whether
or not the new miners would "strike it" under the cool oak among the
flowers on the hill. But Jim never stopped to talk much. He dug and
wrestled away, day after day, now up to his waist in the pit.

One Saturday evening the old man limped up the hillside to help the
young miners "clean up."

[Illustration: "COLOR! TWO COLORS! THREE, FOUR, FIVE--A DOZEN!"]

He sat down at the head of the sluice-box and gave directions how they
should turn off the most of the water, wash down the "toilings" very
low, lift up the "riffle," brush down the "apron," and finally set the
pan in the lower end of the "sluice-toil" and pour in the quicksilver
to gather up and hold the gold.

"What for you put your hand in de water for, papa?" queried Little
Stumps, who had left off his work, which consisted mainly of pulling
flowers and putting them in the sluice-box to see them float away. He
was sitting by his father's side, and he looked up in his face as he
spoke.

"Hush, child," said the old man softly, as he again dipped his thumb
and finger in his vest pocket as if about to take snuff. But he did
not take snuff. Again his hand was reached down to the rippling water
at the head of the sluice-box. And this time curious but obedient
Little Stumps was silent.

Suddenly there was a shout, such a shout from Jim as the hills had not
heard since he was a schoolboy.

He had found the "color." "Two colors! three, four, five--a dozen!"
The boy shouted like a Modoc, threw down the brush and scraper, and
kissed his little sister over and over, and cried as he did so; then
he whispered softly to her as he again took up his brush and scraper,
that it was "for papa; all for poor papa; that he did not care for
himself, but he did want to help poor, tired, and crippled papa." But
papa did not seem to be excited so very much.

The little miners were now continually wild with excitement. They
were up and at work Monday morning at dawn. The men who were in the
father's tender secret, congratulated the children heartily and made
them presents of several small nuggets to add to their little hoard.

In this way they kept steadily at work for half the summer. All the
gold was given to papa to keep. Papa weighed it each week, and I
suppose secretly congratulated himself that he was getting back about
as much as he put in.

Before quite the end of the third month, Jim struck a thin bed of blue
gravel. The miners who had been happily chuckling and laughing among
themselves to think how they had managed to keep Jim out of mischief,
began to look at each other and wonder how in the world blue gravel
ever got up there on the hill. And in a few days more there was a
well-defined bed of blue gravel, too; and not one of the miners could
make it out.

One Saturday evening shortly after, as the old man weighed their gold
he caught his breath, started, and stood up straight; straighter than
he had stood since he crossed the Plains. Then he hastily left the
cabin. He went up the hill to the children's claim almost without
limping. Then he took a pencil and an old piece of a letter, and wrote
out a notice and tacked it up on the big oak-tree, claiming those
mining claims according to miners' law, for the three children. A
couple of miners laughed as they went by in the twilight, to see what
he was doing; and he laughed with them. But as he limped on down the
hill he smiled.

That night as they sat at supper, he told the children that as they
had been such faithful and industrious miners, he was going to give
them each a present, besides a little gold to spend as they pleased.

So he went up to the store and bought Jim a red shirt, long black and
bright gum boots, a broad-brimmed hat, and a belt. He also bought each
of the other children some pretty trappings, and gave each a dollar's
worth of gold dust. Madge and Stumps handed their gold back to "poor
papa." But Jim was crazy with excitement. He put on his new clothes
and went forth to spend his dollar. And what do you suppose he bought?
I hesitate to tell you. But what he bought was a pipe and a paper of
tobacco!

That red shirt, that belt and broad-brimmed hat, together with the
shiny top boots, had been too much for Jim's balance. How could a
man--he spoke of himself as a man now--how could a man be an "honest
miner" and not smoke a pipe?

And now with his manly clothes and his manly pipe he was to be so
happy! He had all that went to make up "the honest miner." True, he
did not let his father know about the pipe. He hid it under his pillow
at night. He meant to have his first smoke at the sluice-box, as a
miner should.

Monday morning he was up with the sun and ready for his work. His
father, who worked down the Gulch, had already gone before the
children had finished their breakfast. So now Jim filled his bran-new
pipe very leisurely; and with as much calm unconcern as if he had been
smoking for forty years, he stopped to scratch a match on the door as
he went out.

From under his broad hat he saw his little sister watching him, and
he fairly swelled with importance as Stumps looked up at him with
childish wonder. Leaving Madge to wash the few tin dishes and follow
as she could with Little Stumps, he started on up the hill, pipe in
mouth.

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