1869.] 
34r5 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
OUR YOUNG FOLKS MAGAZINE. 
“ THE BEST JUVENILE MAGAZINE EVEN PUBLISHED IN ANY LAND OR LANGUAGE.” 
extract from Mr. Audbich’s popular Story—“Tlie Story of a Bad Boy.” 
THE RIVBRMOUTHIANS, 
From the September number we make the following 
HOW WE ASTONISHED 
Among the few changes that have taken place in Rivermonth during the past twenty years 
there is one which I regret. I lament the removal of all those varnished iron cannon which 
used to do duty ns posts at the corners of streets leading from the river. They were quaintly 
ornamental, eacli set upon end with a solid shot soldered into it3 mouth, and gave to that 
part of the town a picturesqueness very poorly atoned for by the conventional wooden 
stakes that have deposed them. 
Tiiese guns (“ old sogers” the boys called them) had their story, like everything else in 
Elvermouth. When that everlasting last war—the war of 1812,1 mean—came to an end, all the 
brigs, schooners, and harks, fitted out at this port a3 privateers were as eager to get rid of 
their useless twelve-pounders and swivels as they had previously been to obtain them. 
Many of the pieces had cost large sums, and now they were little hotter than so much crude 
iron,—not so good, in fact, for they were clumsy things to break up and melt over. The 
government did n't want them; private citizens did n't want them; they were a drug in 
the market. 
But there was one man, ridiculous beyond his generation, who got it Into his head that a 
fortune was to be made out of these same guns. To buy them all, to hold on to them until 
war was declared again (as lie had no doubt it would lie in a few months), and then sell out 
at fabulous prices,—this was the daring idea that addled the pate of Silas Trefetlien, “Dealer 
in E. & W. I. Goods and Groceries," as the faded sign over his sliop-door informed the public. 
At Trcfetlien’s death his unique collection came under the auctioneer’s hammer. Some 
of the larger guns were sold to the town, and planted at the corners of divers streets; 
others went off to the iron-foundry; the balance, numbering twelve, were dumped down 
on a deserted wharf at the foot, or Anchor Lane, where, summer after summer, they rested 
at their ease in the grass and fungi, pelted in autumn by the rain, and annually buried by 
the winter snow. It is with these twelve guns that our story lias to deal. 
The wharf where they reposed was shut off from the street by a high fence,—a silent, 
dreamy old wharf, covered with strange weeds and mosses. On account of its seclusion 
and the good fishing it afforded, it was much frequented by us boys. 
Jack Harris, Charley Marden, Harry Blake, and myself, were fishing off the grass-grown 
wharf one afternoon, when a thought flashed upon me like an inspiration. 
“ I say. boys !” I cried, hauling in my line hand over hand, “ I’ve got something!” 
“ What does it pull like, youngster?” asked Harris, looking down at the taut line and 
expecting to see a big perch at last. 
“ O, nothing in the fish way,” I returned, laughing; “it'sabout the old guns.” 
“ What about them?” 
“I was thinking what jolly fun it would be to set one of the old sogers on his legs and 
serve him out a ration of gunpowder.” 
Up came the three lines in a jiffy. An enterprise better suited to the disposition of my 
companions could not have been proposed. 
In a short time we had one of the smaller cannon over on its back and were busy scraping 
the green rust from the touch-hole. The mould had spiked the gun so effectually, that for 
a while we fancied we should have to give up our attempt to resuscitate the old soger. 
“ A long gimlet would clear it out,” said Charley Marden, “ if we only had one.” 
I looked to see if Sailor Ben’s flag was Dying at the cabin door, for he always took in the 
colors when lie went off fishing. 
“ When you want to know if the Admiral’s abroad, jest cast an eye to the buntin', my 
hearties,” says Sailor Ben. 
Sometimes in a jocose mood lie called himself the Admiral, and I[am sure he deserved to 
be one. The Admiral’s flag was flying, and I soon procured a gimlet from his carefully kept 
tool-chest. 
Before long we had the gun in working order. A newspaper lashed to the end of a lath 
served as a swab to dust out the bore. Jack Harris blew through the touch-hole and pro. 
nounced all clear. 
Our first intention was to load and fire a single gun. How feeble and insignificant was 
such a plan compared to that which now sent the light dancing into our eyes ! 
“What could we have been thinking of?” cried Jack Harris. “We ’ll give ’em a broad¬ 
side, to be sure, if we die for it!" 
We turned to witli a will, and before nightfall had nearly half the battery overhauled and 
ready for service. To keep the artillery dry we stuffed wads of loose hemp iuto the muzzles, 
and fitted wooden pegs to the touch-holes. 
At recess the next noon the Centipedes met in a corner of the school-yard to talk over the 
proposed lark. The original projectors, though they would have liked to keep the .thing 
secret, were obliged to make a club matter of it, inasmuch as funds were required for am¬ 
munition. There had been no recent drain on the treasury, aud the society could well 
afford to spend a few dollars in so notable an undertaking. 
It was unanimously agreed that the plan should be carried out in the handsomest manner, 
and a subscription to that end was taken on the spot. Several of the Centipedes had n't a 
cent, excepting the one strung around their necks ; others, however, were richer. I chanced 
ts have a dollar, and it went into the cap quicker than lightning. When the club, in view 
of my munificence, voted to name the guns Bailey’s Battery I was prouder than I have ever 
been since over anything. 
The money thus raised, added to that already in the treasury, amounted to nine dollars,— 
a fortune in those days; but not more than we had use for. This sum was divided into 
twelve parts, for it would not do for one boy to buy all the powder, nor even for us all to 
make our purchases at the same place. That would excite suspicion at any time, particu¬ 
larly at a period so ramote from the Fourth of July. 
There were only three stores in town .licensed to sell powder; that gave each store four 
customers. Rot to run the slightest risk of remark, or.c boy bought his powder on Monday, 
the next boy on Tuesday', and so on until the requisite quantity was in our possession. This 
we put into a keg and carefully hid in a dry spot on the wharf. 
"Who knew anything about fuses? Who could arrange it so the guns would go oil'one 
after the other, with an interval of a minute or so between ? 
Theoretically we knew that a minute-fuse lasted a minute; double the quantity, two 
minutes; but practically we were at a stand-still. There was but one person who could help 
us in this extremity,—Sailor Ben. To me was assigned the duty of obtaining what inform¬ 
ation I could from the ex-gunner, it being left to my discretion whether or not to intrust 
him with our secret. 
So one evening I dropped into the cabin and artfully turned the conversation to fuses in 
general, and then to particular fuses, but without getting much out of the old boy, who 
was busy making a twine hammock. Finally I was forced to divulge the whole plot. 
The Admiral had a sailor's love for a joke, and entered at once and heartily into onr 
scheme. He volunteered to prepare the fuses himself, and I left the labor in his hands, hav¬ 
ing bound him by several extraordinary oaths—such as “ Hope-I-may-die" and “ Sliiver-niy- 
ttmbers ’’—not to betray us, come what would. 
This was Monday evening. On Wednesday the fuses were ready. That night we were to 
unmuzzle Bailey’s Battery. 
Directly after twilight set in Phil Adams stole down to the wharf and fixed the fuses to 
the guns, laying a train of powder from the principal fuse to the fence, through a chink of 
which I was to drop the match at midnight. 
At ten o'clock Rivermonth goes to bed. 
At eleven o'clock Rivermonth is as quiet as a country churchyard. 
At twelve o’clock there is nothing left with which to compare the stillness that broods 
over the little seaport. 
In the midst of this 6tillncss.I arose and glided out of the house like a phantom bent on 
an evil errand; like a phantom I flitted through the silent street, hardly drawing breath 
until I knelt down beside the fence at the appointed place. 
Pausing a moment for my heart to stop thumping. I lighted the match and shielded it 
with both hands until it was well under way, and then dropped the blazing splinter on the 
slender thread of gunpowder. 
A noiseless flash instantly followed, and all was dark again. I peeped through the crevice 
in the fence, and saw the main fuse spitting out sparks like a conjurer. Assured that the 
train had not failed, I took to my heels, fearful lest the fuse might burn more rapidly than 
we calculated, and cause an explosion before I could get home. This, luckily, did not hap¬ 
pen. There’s a special Providence that watches over idiots, drunken men, and boys. 
I dodged the ceremony of undressing by plunging into bed, jacket, boots and all. I am 
not sure I took off my cap ; but I know that I had hardly pulled the coverlid over me, when 
“ Boom !” sounded the first gun of Bailey’s Battery. 
I lay as still as a mouse. In less than two minutes there was another burst of thunder, and 
then another. The third gun was a tremendous fellow and fairly shook the house. 
The town was waking up. Windows were thrown open here and there, and people called 
toi each other across the streets asking what that firing was for. 
“ Boom 1" went gun number four. 
I sprung out of bed and tore off my jacket, for I heard the Captain feeling his way along 
the wall to my chamber. I was half undressed by the time he found the knob of the door. 
“ I say, sir," I cried, “do you hear those guns?” 
“Hot being deaf, I do,” said the Captain, a little tartly,—any reflection on his hearing al¬ 
ways nettled him ; “ but what on earth they are for, I can’t conceive. You had better get 
up and dress yourself.” 
“ I’m nearly dressed, sit;.’ 
“ Boom ! Boom !"—two of the guns had gone off together. 
The door of Miss Abigail’s bedroom opened hastily, and that pink of maidenly propriety 
stepped out into the hall in her nightgown,—the only indecorous thing I ever knew her to 
do. She held a lighted candle in her hand and looked like a very aged Lady Macbeth. 
“ O Dan’eb this is dreadful! What do you suppose it means? ’ 
“ I really can’t suppose,” said the Captain, rubbing his ear • “ but I guess it’s over now. 
“Boom!" said Bailey’s Battery. 
Rivermonth was wide awake now, and half the male population were in the streets, run¬ 
ning different ways, for the firing seemed to proceed from opposite points of the town. 
Everybody waylaid everybody else witli questions; but as no one knew what was the oc¬ 
casion of tlie tumult, people who were not usually nervous began to be oppressed by tlio 
mystery. 
Some thought the town was being bombarded; some thought the world was coming to 
an end, as the pious and ingenious Mr. Miller had predicted it would; but those who could’nt 
n’t form any theory whatever were the most perplexed. 
In the meanwhile Bailey’s Battery bellowed away at regular intervals. The greatest 
confusion reigned every where by this time. People with lanterns l'uslied hither and thither. 
The town-watch had turned out to a man, and marched off, in admirable order in the 
wrong direction. Discovering their mistake, they retraced their steps, and got down to the 
wharf just as the last cannon belched forth its lightning. 
The cause of the racket soon transpired. A suspicion that they had been sold, gradually 
dawned on the Rivermouthians. Many were exceedingly indignant, and declared that no 
penalty was severe enough for those concerned in such a prank; others—and these were 
the very people who had been terrified nearly out of their wits—had the assurance to laugh, 
saying they knew all along it was only a trick. 
The town-watch boldly took possession of the ground, and the crowd began to disperse. 
Knots of gossips lingered here and there near the place, indulging iu vain surmises as to 
who the invisible gunners could be. 
There was no more noise that night, but many a timid person lay awake expecting a 
renewal of the mysterious cannonading. The Oldest Inhabitant refused to go to bed on 
any terms, but persisted in sitting up in a rocking-chair, with his hat and mittens on, until 
daybreak. 
I thought I should never get to sleep. The moment I drifted off in a doze I fell to laugh¬ 
ing and woke myself up. But towards morning slumber overtook me and I had a series 
of disagreeable dreams, in one of which I was waited upon by the ghost of Silas Trefetlien 
with an exorbitant bill for the use of ids guns. In another, I was dragged before a court- 
martial and sentenced by Sailor Bon, in a frizzled wig, and three-cornered cocked hat, to 
be shot to death by Bailey’s Battery,—a sentence which Sailor Ben was about to execute 
with his own hand, when I suddenly opened my eyes and found the sunshine lying pleasant¬ 
ly across my face. I tell you I was glad ! 
Tlie price of OUR YOUNG FOLKS is §3.00 per Year. The first foil numbers of Our Young Folks for 18G9 sent free to all persons wishing 
to examine them, on application to the publishers. 
FIELDS* OSGOOD & CO., Publishers. Boston. 
