The Knights of the White Shield Part 8

"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.

n.o.body, however, was disposed to ask questions, as every one had slept later than he intended.

"Knights of the White s.h.i.+eld!" 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 pa.s.sed along, each one of the "knights" touched his feathery head-gear, while every horn sent out as ringing a blast as possible.

"Ma.s.sy!" 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 s.h.i.+elds," 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 partic.i.p.ants 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 compet.i.tor 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e.

"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 sh.o.r.e, Charlie as obstinately pus.h.i.+ng 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 ash.o.r.e."

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 ash.o.r.e, has jined a temperance society."

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

"What saint is that?"