Harper's Young People, June 15, 1880 Part 3

It is not pleasant to think that when Was.h.i.+ngton went back to his quiet home on the Potomac he was not as generally beloved as when he took his high office. He had had to disappoint a great many men who looked to him to help their private ambition at the expense of the country. He had had to enforce laws which some people looked upon as unjust. He had differed from various public men as to the war between France and England, and the payment of the debt, and other things, and it is so easy for all of us to think that a man who differs from us is in some way a bad man. A good many writers in the newspapers of that day had said hard things about him. But, after all, the moment the country got into trouble, all hearts turned toward him.

The men who had come into power in France after the Revolution of 1789 were proud, quarrelsome, and selfish. Because the Americans would not side with the French in their quarrel with England, these men directed American s.h.i.+ps to be plundered. When the American agents in France complained, they were insulted; there was danger that such conduct would lead to war, and the American government began to get ready for it. The first thing was to choose a commander for the army, and again all eyes turned to Was.h.i.+ngton. In 1798 he was made Commander-in-chief, and for the next year and a half he was closely engaged getting the army ready for war. Happily it did not come.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

In the midst of this work General Was.h.i.+ngton's n.o.ble life was brought to a sudden end. In December, 1799, he was taken with a violent disease of the throat, from which he died on the 14th of that month. In his last sickness he was brave, as he had been on the battle-field; patient, as he had been in public council; and unselfish, as he had always been. "I am not afraid to go," he said to those about him, and he begged them not to take too much trouble for him. The pain he bore was very great, but he never complained.

When he died, grief spread like a shadow over the whole land. In every home men felt that they had lost a faithful friend, a wise and loving guide. Wherever men gathered, words of sorrow for his loss, and praise for his great life, were spoken. Nor this alone. The French Generals, against whom he was preparing at the moment of his death to defend his country in arms, wrapped their flags in mourning in honor of his memory.

The English s.h.i.+ps in the Channel hung their flags at half-mast in sign of the grief of the English people. Surely no better proof of his high character could be given. It had won the love of those who had fought against him, and those who were on the point of going to battle with him.

It was found by the will which Was.h.i.+ngton left that he had given freedom to the slaves which he had held during his life, and whom he could not free before; that he had provided for all the aged and weak among them, and for the children; and that he had left large sums of money to give free schooling to the children of those in his neighborhood who could not get schooling otherwise. His last thoughts were of others, and how to do them good.

Indeed, the thing which made Was.h.i.+ngton so great was the earnest way in which he tried to find what was right, and to do it. Other men have had greater gifts of mind than he, and could do what he could not. But no man was ever more true to duty, small or great. At each moment he asked himself what he ought to do, and he spared no pains to make a true answer to that question. He carefully studied the rights of others as much as his own. He looked ahead to see what would follow his acts, that he might do no wrong by mistake. And when he had made up his mind what was right, he bent himself to do it. No fear for himself, no love of ease, no hope of gain, prevented him from going the way that he thought he ought to go. It was given to him to serve his country better than any other man has ever served it, and to leave a name which will be honored for a long time. But if we were to try to tell the secret of his greatness, it could be done in this short sentence: He always tried his best to do his duty.

THE END.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FLIGHT OF THE ARROWS.]

AN INDIAN GAME.

When not on the war-path, or engaged in hunting, Western Indians spend much of their time in various games or contests of skill. Of these contests one of the most popular is flying the arrow, a sport to which the Indians of all tribes devote considerable time and attention.

When this game is proposed, each of those who wish to join in it lays on the ground something of small value, such as a pipe, quiver of arrows, a bow, spear, tobacco pouch, or knife, and when all have been collected, the value of the whole makes a prize well worth trying for.

Then bows are carefully examined, a dozen of the best arrows in the quiver selected, and the first of the compet.i.tors steps out in front of the rest, and prepares to shoot, not at a mark, but straight up into the air. His object is to have as many arrows in the air as possible at the same time; and he who can send up the greatest number, before the first touches the ground, wins the game and all the prizes.

But few of the most expert of the Indian bow-men have been known to put more than ten arrows into the air at once, and to do even this requires extraordinary skill and strength. The arrows, ten or twelve in number, are held in the hand that grasps the bow, and the rapidity with which each is fitted to the string and sent upward is truly wonderful.

s.h.i.+P-BUILDING.

BY LIEUT. J. A. LOCKWOOD.

Few people who are not sailors at all realize what a wonderful thing a s.h.i.+p is, and of how many different parts one is made up.

In the first place, a model of the proposed vessel has to be made. The model is an American invention. Formerly what was known as the draught of a s.h.i.+p took the place of the model. In the draught the proposed s.h.i.+p was represented on paper from three points of view. The first gave a complete view of the side; the second, or body plan, showed the breadth, having described on it every timber composing the frame of the s.h.i.+p; lastly came the horizontal plan, showing the whole as if seen from above. The model is much simpler than the old-fas.h.i.+oned draught. It is simply a miniature s.h.i.+p.

Once having a perfect model, the good s.h.i.+p-constructor feels that half his battle is already won. It may be as well here to mention the fact that, as a rule, the length of a s.h.i.+p is five times her greatest breadth of beam; her depth two-thirds of her breadth. Steamers are longer in proportion than sailing vessels. This is on account of the extra speed to be attained, even at the expense of strength.

After the model has been approved, the building of the s.h.i.+p begins. Most of our s.h.i.+ps are now built of wood from the South, where, since the war, entire forests can be bought for a song.

The keel of a s.h.i.+p has been likened to the backbone of a man, running, as it does, from stem to rudder. It consists of several timbers scarfed or pieced together, and under it is the shoe, a kind of second keel, but differing from the keel proper in that it is only loosely joined to it, whereas the keel is bolted to the s.h.i.+p's bottom through and through. The reason for this is that in case of grazing a rock a vessel having a shoe will, in most cases, part with the shoe, thus saving the keel, and escaping without serious injury. Corresponding with the keel outside is a set of timbers within the frames, known as the keelson. On each side of the keelson are a.s.sistant-keelsons to give greater strength.

On the after-end, and morticed into the keel, is the stern-post, another important timber, all the after-part of a s.h.i.+p curving gracefully toward this post. The rudder-stock works on the stern-post, which performs the double duty of supporting the after-timbers and the rudder.

s.p.a.ces are purposely left between a vessel's frames for "salting down."

Sometimes this salt can be seen oozing out of her sides after a long voyage. Two hundred hogs-heads of salt is not an unusual quant.i.ty for an ordinary-sized s.h.i.+p. It is the only thing that will prevent what is known as the "dry-rot" from attacking her timbers.

As a rule, every wooden vessel's ribs are of oak, and, for greater strength, preference is given to the best qualities of live-oak. As a s.h.i.+p's side curves, her outside planking has to be forced into place, and for the short curves near the bows and stern, the planks have to be steamed, and bent on while moist, as otherwise they would crack and split in the process. After these outside planks are all on, the calkers begin their work, which consists in filling in the s.p.a.ces between the planks with oak.u.m, mallets and calking-irons being used for this purpose. These seams are afterward covered with pitch.

In order to prevent barnacles from injuring a s.h.i.+p's bottom, sheathing is put on. This usually consists of a composition of zinc and copper, and covers all parts of a vessel exposed to the action of the water.

In Longfellow's beautiful poem, "The Building of the s.h.i.+p," the reader is led to infer that the masts are "stepped" (_i. e._, put in) before the launching occurs. But practically a s.h.i.+p is first launched, and then shears are rigged, and she is fitted out with her spars.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A LITTLE MISER."]

LIVING HONEY-COMBS.

BY CHARLES MORRIS.

"Isn't it queer what dumb things animals are?" asked Harry Mason, as he looked up inquiringly into the face of his uncle. "Here's my dog Roger; why, he knows nothing except to hunt for bones, and to bark at tramps.

And there are the cows, and the horses, and the pigs--what do they know that's of any account? I'd like somebody to tell me that."

"They know enough to know when dinner is ready, and I could not say that for some boys that I am acquainted with," replied his uncle, quizzically.

"Oh yes, that's me, I know," rejoined Harry, laughing. "But that's because I have something else to think of. Now they don't think of anything but their dinners. And they are always eating. That's about all they live for."

"Perhaps they think more than you imagine, Harry," said his uncle, looking down from his arm-chair which he had leaned back comfortably against a tree. "They don't talk, it is true; but they have other ways of showing their thoughts. I could tell you some stories about the good sense of animals that would open your eyes."

"Oh yes, about elephants squirting water all over a tailor, and that sort of thing," said Harry, disdainfully. "I have read all that. But I mean something else. Why can't they build themselves houses, like men do, with chimneys and fires? And why don't they have farms, and roads to travel in, and barns?"

"And cows to milk?" broke in little Willie Mason; "and somebody to work for them and to fight for them--and--and pies, and candy, and such?"

Uncle Ben looked down with a comical expression upon the eager little fellow, with his bright young face and his sparkling blue eyes.

"Perhaps they do," he said.

"Oh, now, Uncle Ben!" cried Harry and Willie in chorus. "You're only funning now. Who ever heard of cows building houses?"

"I didn't say cows," replied Uncle Ben.

"But there can't be any animal that builds houses and barns, and raises crops," persisted Harry.

"Indeed there is, then," rejoined his uncle. "And milks cows, too, and has armies and workmen, as Willie says; and builds roads and bridges, and digs tunnels, and carries umbrellas. I don't know any that bakes pies, but I could name more than one that lives on candy."