The Girl Warriors: A Book for Girls Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.

  The school which Winnie and her friends attended was in the habitof selecting certain authors, whose birthday anniversaries theycommemorated. This year, however, the principal had concluded tocelebrate Washington's birthday by patriotic songs, declamations, and soon. In consequence the pupils were all in a state of great excitement,pleasurable to boyish and girlish hearts.

  Lessons were shortened, classes dismissed early, rehearsals conductedmorning, noon and night. From one end of the building to the other,"spouting" was heard, gestures were being made in the most franticmanner, the strains of "The Star Spangled Banner," "America," and "TheRed, White and Blue" rose upon the air; and, as the crowds of boys andgirls passed to and from school, their conversation contained allusionsto "The Father of our Country," or the fine way in which Harry or Tom orFrank gave that declamation, or the sweetness of Mabel Gray's voice, orwhy Mr. Bowen hadn't selected Clarence instead of Bob, etc., etc., etc.,until all the air around the school-house must have been as heavilycharged with patriotism as the air around Lexington on the morning ofthat memorable battle which, too, was talked of, for there had been much"brushing up" of United States history.

  The memorable day of the 21st of February arrived (there being no schoolon the 22d), and found the rooms finely decorated with flags and swordsand battle relics, portraits of George and Martha Washington, andflowers and living plants, while the blackboards were entirely filledwith ornamental scrolls containing patriotic mottoes.

  Two o'clock had been set for the beginning of the programme, but longbefore that time visitors had begun to arrive and were shown to seats bythe two gentlemanly boy-ushers in quite an impressive manner.

  Among the visitors, our friends the Burtons, not excepting Ralph, wererepresented. Ralph sat snuggled up to his mother, his big eyes havingtheir most pleased and wondering look. Mrs. Alroy, too, was there,dressed quietly but tastefully, and looking a perfect lady; havingindeed so thoroughbred an air that even Fannie's somewhat haughty mammawho sat next her, could scarcely equal her.

  Gretta Berger took her place at the piano, and soon the inspiringstrains of a patriotic medley were heard, while the boys and girls fromthe various rooms marched into the hall and took their places with sucha fine idea of time and military precision of movement that to see themwas not the least pleasure of the afternoon.

  The next thing on the programme was a sketch of George Washington'slife, by Ernestine Alroy, read by her in a sweet, dignified way, ina well-modulated voice, and an expression which showed a thoroughappreciation of the fine character and life she was describing. One ofthe boys followed with a recitation of Drake's "American Flag." Next asmall choir of girls and boys (the girls dressed in the national colorsand the boys wearing flag badges) sang the "Star Spangled Banner." ThenWinnie went upon the stage, and recited the following, which is given infull, as it is one of those fugitive things which seem to have no home.It is entitled:

  THE USED-TO-BE.

  The mother gathered her children together, She folded them close to her heart in glee, For the red sun had brought them rainy weather, And what they should do, they never could see. And they cried in querulous tones, "Mamma, Now think back, ever and ever so far, And see if _you_ ever had rainy days That troubled the plans, and spoiled the plays, And what you did in the Used-to-be."

  The mother laughed with low, soft laughter; She was remembering, they could see. "I see, you rogues, what you are all after; I'll tell you a tale that happened to me. I and some wee little bits of girls, With hair as yellow as shaving-curls, When it rained for a day and a night and a day, And we thought it hard to go on that way, As we were as tired as tired could be.

  "Up in the attic, in grandma's attic, There's a chest of drawers--or there used to be; Though we had many a charge emphatic, Not to go near enough to see. But one rainy day we opened them wide, And strewed the contents on every side; We dressed ourselves in the queer old caps, The brass-buttoned coats, with long blue flaps. And--but wait a minute; papa calls me."

  They waited and waited and waited and waited,-- "Forty hours, it seems to me," Said weary Kitty, with eyes dilated. "Let's do it ourselves; I can find the key." They climbed the stairs,--as still as a mouse. You might have heard them all over the house. They dressed themselves in the queer old dresses, The powdered wigs and hempen tresses, Just as they did in the Used-to-be.

  The warning stairs kept creaking and creaking,-- There was no time to turn and flee. "_What's all this!_" (It was grandma speaking.) "I shall take every one of you over my knee." And I regret to say that she did, All except Kitty, who ran and hid. And when they went and told mamma, She only said, with a soft "ha! ha!" "Just what your grandmamma did to me."

  The amusing little poem suited Winnie's childish face and figure, andher mother had read between the lines for her, so that the picture wasplain to her mind. Winnie saw the pretty young mother playing the littlejoke on the children, and the affected wrath of the grandmother as shespanked each of the little ones--saw the picture so plainly herself thatit was easy for her to make her good-natured audience see it, too, andher hearers laughed while they applauded.

  Of course they had "The Red, White and Blue" sung by the whole school;and "America," which can never be old to any of us; and for furtherrecitations. "Independence Bell," and "The Blue and the Gray"--for whatpatriotic celebration would be complete without these?

  The finest declamation of the day, given by the pride of the class, sofar as elocutionary ability was concerned, and with a drum accompanimentby a corps of boys well drilled for the occasion, was the followingstirring

  SONG OF THE DRUM.

  Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan! Follow me, follow me, every true man! Hark to the song of the rolling drum: Come with me! Come with me! Come with me! Come! Follow me! Follow me! Follow me now! Come from the anvil, come from the plow. Don't think of the danger which threatens your lives! Leave home, leave friends, leave your children, your wives! Hark to the sound of the rolling drum! Come with me! Come with me! Come! Follow me, follow me, every one, To where the white camps shine in the sun.

  Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan! Follow me, follow me, every true man! From the crowded streets of the city, come! Follow the drum, the drum, the drum! From fields where the blithe birds chirp and sing, From woods where your sturdy axes ring; Leave the plow in the furrow to stand; Grasp the musket firm in your hand: There's a grander place in the world for you, And nobler work for your hands to do.

  Come with me! Come with me! Come with me! Come! Follow the drum, the drum, the drum! Come with me where the camps shine white; Hark to my shrill tattoo at night, To my loud reveille when morning breaks. And the golden eye of the dawn awakes. Come with me out to the trenches then. Where are gathered scores of your fellow-men Beginning to dig with pick and with spade,-- This is the way entrenchments are made.

  There's a puff of smoke, and now comes a shell; See yonder, there, where its fragments fell; Nobody hurt! and above on the hill, Our batteries, until this moment still, Now blaze away with a deafening noise, And a shout goes up from our gallant boys. Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan! This is the life for every true man.

  Come with me now to the picket! Come! Follow the drum, the drum, the drum! That's a sharpshooter's rifle we hear, And that was the bullet that sang so near; There's another rifle, that shrill, sharp sound; And yonder's a wounded man on the ground, With the blood flowing out in a crimson tide From a gaping hole in his quivering side. Don't sicken and pale at the sight you see, For this is where only men should be.

  Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan! Follow me, follow me, every true man! Come with me over the battle field, come! Follow the drum, the drum, the drum! Through the smoke and heat and the storm of lead, Adown this gulley piled deep with dead; And along the edge of this shattered wood, Where the trees are splintered and dashed with bloo
d; Then on through this field of trampled corn, Where the once broad leaves into shreds are torn; Into the shadow of this ravine, Where the dead and wounded are everywhere seen.

  Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan! Follow me, follow me, every true man! Follow me on through the fiery breath Of the vengeful cannon, scattering death. On through the battle's sound and glare, Follow me, follow me, everywhere! And hear the cries and the awful groans, The piercing shrieks and the feeble moans-- And the ringing shout which goes up to the sun, When a work is stormed and a victory won. Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan! This is the death for every true man.

  Then Winnie recited.--See page 25.]

  But the crowning performance of the day, in the opinion of all thegirls and boys, was a little drama, written expressly for the occasion,entitled, "Revolutionary Days." The characters represented were anelderly lady, two young girls, two little children, a negro servantgirl, an elderly gentleman, a Tory, and two young men, Continentalsoldiers.

  While the platform was being cleared and prepared, the girls andboys who took part were having what they called "fine fun" in thedressing-room, getting their hair powdered, caps and wigs adjusted, andso on.

  When the curtain rose, Miriam was discovered, dressed as an elderly ladyof the eighteenth century, sitting in an old-fashioned chair beside aspinning-wheel, and singing a song of Revolutionary days. As she ceasedsinging, two little children, borrowed from the primary class in the"Colony," came in, begging their grandmother to tell them somethingabout George Washington. She tells them that she is busy, but theypersist, and then tell her that they know some verses about him,and each recites, alternately, a verse of four lines, descriptiveof Washington's childhood and school days, and, as seems inevitable,winding up with the story of the hatchet.

  As they finish, a negro servant girl rushes in, in which burnt-corkheroine it would be utterly impossible to discover the maiden of thepickles and of the ardent desire to enjoy herself while young, had shenot been seen in the dressing-room "making up" for the occasion. Sheinforms Mrs. Grey that the cat or something has pulled all the yarn offthe reel, and of its consequent fearful state of entanglement. Mrs.Grey rouses herself from her reverie, and asks the children if they knowanything about it. Each accusingly points to the other, whereupon theirgrandmother looks at them sternly, when they say they "can't tell alie," that they did it with--

  They are interrupted by Mrs. Grey, who tells Dinah to take them awayand put them to bed without their supper. They begin to howl, andreproachfully tell their grandmother that she ought to say, "Come tomy arms, my precious children;" whereupon an audacious small boy in theaudience--a visitor, it is needless to say--shouts, "Chestnut!" and Mrs.Grey's face hardens into a look of positive inflexibility, as if thiswere the last straw, and the children, howling and struggling, arecarried away by Dinah.

  Quiet being thus restored, Mrs. Grey paces up and down, indulging ina long soliloquy. She speaks of the long years of war, and the hopedeferred which maketh the heart sick. She regretfully recalls the bonnielittle island, with its green fields and blooming gardens, which hadbeen forsaken for these scenes of hardship. Then, however, she remembersthe days of oppression there, and bursts into a thanksgiving that theyhad at last found a spot where they could worship God in peace accordingto the dictates of their own conscience. Then she thinks of theDeclaration of Independence, and tries to remember the resolution ofRichard Henry Lee. Seeing the girls come in, she says that they willremember.

  The two girls, Winnie and Fannie, attired in short-waisted dresses, bigpoke bonnets, and immense outside pockets, are asked by Mrs. Greyto recall the resolution which has for the moment slipped from herrecollection. One of them (Fannie), in answer, declaims the resolution,and as she comments, in rather excited tones, "Glorious, mother, isn'tit?" Mr. Cranston, the Tory gentleman, enters. This was one of the boysof the class, resplendent in hempen wig, frilled shirt front, and theveritable "brass-buttoned coat, with long blue flaps," knee breeches,and silver-buckled slippers. He tauntingly informs them that they willfind it "too glorious, when the rebellion is crushed, and they are allsentenced to be executed as rebels."

  Whereupon he and the colonial young ladies enter into a heated argument,with taunts on one side about the minute-men of Massachusetts and thebattles of Lexington and Concord, and retaliations from the Tory aboutthe battle of Long Island and the miseries at Valley Forge. They retortwith the news of the treaty of alliance with France, and he replies byreminding them of the loss of their ports in the north.

  He is interrupted by the entrance of the children, who tell the groupthat every one in the village is shouting "Hurrah!" that the bell in thechurch is ringing, and that the big flag is waving over the roof. Whilethe patriots are exclaiming that "there must be good news," two youngmen enter, carrying guns. All spring up in surprise, and the childrendance and caper about, with shouts of "Uncle Mark! Uncle John!"

  Mark and John inform Mrs. Grey and their sisters of the surrender ofCornwallis. The Tory makes his way out as quietly as possible, witha very evident desire to do so unobserved, saying, "Cornwallissurrendered! Then this is no place for me!" The curtain falls, as Mrs.Grey exclaims, with clasped hands and upraised eyes, "The morning hasdawned at last!"

  There was the usual applause, and soon visitors and children--theentertained and the entertainers--were on their homeward way, and the"exhibition" had become a part of the past.