But it matters not; when danger Mark then how quickly faction flies, Needs but a foreign foe; And so we proved before the world They were martyrs, those who perished Shall be each sainted name. They were strong to toil and suffer, They were strong to dare and bleed, They were hearts sent forth from the hand of God, To meet the time of need!" The eldest of the children Is a noble, fair-haired boy, And he drinks the words with a willing ear As at a trumpet's call : "Ah!" cries the old man, grimly, For ne'er unstained with native gore "We had gone through fire and labor For many a night and day, From Palo Alto's mournful field We paused at Buena Vista, And at last we saw the distant spires In the Vale of Mexico. "Chapultepec is taken! Upon her ruined walls A huge and smoky canopy, Like a shroud of honor, falls. The bee-like swarms that clustered, For life and home to strive, Are routed from their broken halls Or burned within their hive. The guns that woke the morning Are dumb beneath our tread, As on we march, in scrried files, Through a desert of the dead! "All faintly in the distance Are heard the foe's alarms; And hot, and grimed with blood and dust, We are resting on our arms. On every war-worn visage, Stern grief with triumph blends; For cach has sought among the ranks The voices that were dearest, We ne'er shall hear them more; Our butchered comrades lie behind, And Vengeance stalks before. "Well may we halt our column, Well may we halt our column, To catch a moment's breath; "It is a narrow causeway Across that dark morass, The City takes her stand, The invaders of the land. Like a grim and surly watch-dog Stares forth each deep-mouthed gun; And plumes, and helms, and burnished steel Are gleaming in the sun. We have chased the wounded tigress To the entrance of her lair; And, mad to battle for her young, She turns upon us there. And loudly rings the war-cry, And wide the flags are cast, And Mexico will make this hour Her proudest, or her last; For all of savage valor, And all of burning hate, That have outlived the shocks of war, Are at the Bélen Gate. "He comes, our mighty leader, Along the wasted van; There is no heart in all the ranks He is thinking of the succors, That should have come ere now; Such thoughts may dim the brightest eye, And cloud the fairest brow. But he gazes o'er the causeway, And he hears the foeman's cry; And the old stern look is on his face, And the fire is in his eye. 'Forward!' and at the signal, Beneath the General's glance, With dauntless mien and measured tread The lengthened lines advance. "There comes a blaze of lightning From gate, and wall, and spire, There comes a burst of thunder, As though the teeming earth It was as though the Demons Had risen 'gainst our plan, And brought the guns of hell to bear Upon the march of man! "But where the invading army, That stood so proudly there? Has it all so soon been swept away? Has it melted into air? No: far beneath the arches, At the signal of command, No time to pause or doubt! We can count their fierce array, The bayonet now must do its part, And end the fearful fray. "Charge!' and we break from cover, With the panther's spring and yell! Cannon and musket from the gate Peal back the challenge well. And now a bullet strikes me, And I stagger to my knee; While past me rush, in headlong race, The champions of the free. I rise and totter forward, Although with failing breath; Are raging in the strife, Before that stern and dangerous Gate, "I see our gallant chieftain I see our soldiers gather near, I see him at the portal, Still calling on his men: And now the hot blood from my wound Has blinded me again. go fishing, I was advised, would be an excellent way to recover my vigor of mind and body, my wonted healthy color, and, better yet, my appetite. "Not down the Bay," urged my adviser; nor down by Long Island's sea-girt shore; nor off Newport; nor along the Jersey shore, my dear fellow! That would be taking the medicine homeopathically, and in your case it won't work so. You want to take a real unmistakable nauseating allopathic dose." "Having made out your prescription, Sir," I returned, "will you be pleased to point out the druggist who will fill it up nicely?" Whereupon Jack opened Volume I. of Mr. Colton's Folio Atlas, turned to Map No. 12, and pointed out to me there a long narrow neck of land, labeled "Cape Cod." Running his finger past the outside, or more properly the eastern side of this land, he permitted it to rest at a little dot. "All this," said he, very gravely, "is called the south shore. Each of these dots' I take to be immense drug stores, fitted up with medicines precisely suited to dyspeptics, and others worn-out by the routine and bustle of city life. This dot on which I have my finger is called Harwich. There you will find, if you go with my prescription, the ready means to fill it. The cure is sure; the time required short; the medicine, although nauscous at first, not altogether disagreeable. In short, you had better go." And, accordingly, I went. I ought to mention that, besides the prescription (which read simply "bearer is advised to take one cruise in a mackerel catcher"), Master Jack furnished me with a note of introduction to a gentleman who would-so my worthy friend assured me-be but too happy to administer the dose. So one hot day, last month, I dropped down on the Cape, and walked down upon a fish wharf with a new-found friend, to talk over my projected curative trip. "Well," said this worthy, surveying somewhat quizzically my pale face, delicate hands, and general unseaman-like appearance, “Well" -it was spoken with the rising inflection"you don't look a good deal like a fisherman; that's a fact." "Don't criticise my looks, but help me to make out a list of such articles as I need, to give me at least the appearance of a mackerel catcher," was the reply. So we sat down upon two fish-barrels, I with memorandum book and pencil in hand, he with a bait-knife and a piece of soft pine. And by the time the pine was whittled into shavings, the following items were written in my book: "Imprimis" (which means 'first and foremost,' said I, explanatorily to my friend, who looked jealously over my shoulder to see that naught of his suggestions was omitted)-"Imprimis, then, a complete suit of waterproof oiled clothing, consisting of sou'wester, jacket, and trowsers. "Two blue flannel shirts. "Two pairs of thick woolen trowsers. catcher from Provincetown bound over to Cape Ann. We immediately hauled about, and followed suit. The wind blew heavily from east-southeast. A heavy sea rolled in from the Atlantic. Dense clouds swept rapidly to the westward. A thick fog, with occasional spirts of rain, added materially to the discomfort of the day. After a four hours' run we were glad enough to get in behind East Point light." I have to chronicle the fact that up to this time I was not sea-sick. We did not, however, reach our harbor any too soon. I was laboring under the premonitory symptoms ere we got "One pea-jacket, of approved shortness in into smooth water, and the captain declared, tail and sleeves. "One pair of fish-boots. "One sheepskin skull-cap (wool inside). And an indefinite number of woolen socks, mittens, comfortables, undervests, and other comforters of the outer man. "Next, three double mackerel lines (equal to six lines); a quantity of hooks of various sizes; a file to sharpen hooks; a pair of 'gibbing' mittens; some pewter for 'jigs;' and a round box, in which to preserve such of these articles as were not for immediate use." "There," said he, who had officiated as Solomon extraordinary on this occasion, "if you procure that outfit you need fear neither storm, cold, nor wet, and if you work yourself smartly will no doubt catch a share of mackerel." with a grin, that I "looked rather blue about the gills"—a figurative expression, by which is to be understood that my countenance rather faithfully mirrored the commotion of my "innards." Ere we were safely anchored it was blowing a whole gale outside, and the consequent heavy sea in the bay produced no little swell even in the snug nook where we were moored. Has the reader ever slept in a country garret while the rain was pouring in torrents on the roof above his head? Has he ever, when attired in his "Sunday-go-to-meeting" suit, run for dear life from an approaching shower, and, with a huge gulping laugh of joy, jumped into the open door-way, just as the great premonitory drops began to splash upon the grass? Has he ever lounged upon a dry and sunny spot, on a porch looking south, during a general thaw, when "nature" seemed a compound of icewater and mud? If so, he can form some faint So with an unbounded faith in my friend and my oil-clothes, I ventured to face for a week or two the discomforts incident to life on board a schooner of 70 tons, cruising along the American coast during the first month in sum-idea of the feelings with which this writer, snugly mer. Fancy me on board: my "things" bestowed in a berth in the dog-hole called by courtesy the forecastle, myself in woolens, working manfully at the windlass. stowed away in a berth six feet by two and a half, in a cuddy-hole about big enough for a good sized Newfoundland dog, but accommodating (?) four full-sized fishermen and their boots, listened to the gale which roared overhead all night. At six o'clock the following morning it was raining and blowing more persistently than ever. The forecastle, which was in form a triangle having a base of five feet, with six feet sides, We were shortly under weigh. And here commences my journal of the trip, with the following entry: "Sitting upon the heel of the bowsprit, out of reach of the horrible smells with which the little vessel is infested, trying to reason myself into the belief that I am enter-contained, besides four berths, part of the foreing upon a very romantic adventure, a heavy shower of spray came over the bow, completely drenching me; to the intense amusement of sundry villainous boys, and my own unmitigated disgust-the last not much relieved by the captain's comforting assurance that it is all clean water.'" mast, a table, seats, lockers, and a mediumsized cooking stove, with all the appurtenances thereunto belonging. In this stove the cook built up a roaring fire about half past four A.M. The heat at first added to the comfort of us sleepers; then caused us to throw off coverings; then to divest ourselves of shirts and trowsers (the fisherman retires to rest fully accoutred for the next day's operations); and, finally, to jump out of bed, convinced that the deck was the only place of refuge from the cook's persecutions. The Happy-go-lucky was "off Chatham" by three P.M., and at ten o'clock was hove-to off the Highland light, Cape Cod. My journal, indited, I flatter myself, in strictly nautical phrase, says: "Fresh breezes from the eastward during "Turning out" in a dark forecastle is not the night, with a tolerably heavy sea. At five the easiest matter in the world. It was not till A.M., luffed to. After holding the lines over I had stepped successively into the slop-bucket, the side till our fingers were numb, without into a water puddle, and, finally, into an empty feeling the longed-for twitch, got under way, butter keg, that I at last landed safely on the and steered for Provincetown to make a harbor, dry deck. Boots are the first necessity on as an easterly gale seemed impending. When emerging from the bed-clothes. It is usual, I nearly abreast of Wood End spoke a mackerel believe, to pull these on before getting out of the berth. But I had used mine for a pillow, | morsel makes you shudder; and you recall, with and could not reach them while in bed, the a sort of inward astonishment, your past dinnerlimited space of my bed-place not permitting table transgressions. Your mouth is full of of any motion save getting out and in. water. You become dizzy and irritable. The Arrayed in boots, oil-clothes, and sou'wester, captain's best joke-told, too, for your especial I at length made my way up the fore-ladder, look-benefit-seems immeasurably stupid. You woning like a fisherman, and feeling like a mummy der how any one can laugh; and faintly debate of my former self. Scarce had I reached the with yourself as to the possibility of ever again deck when a gust of rain completely drenched indulging in unseemly levity. Presently the my face. This first rough welcome over, I smell of fish and potatoes, being cooked for stumped valiantly about, bidding a laughing dinner, assails your olfactories, causing you to defiance to the weather, which had done its groan dolorously with disgust. You begin to worst already. entertain a vehement desire for vast quantities of soda water, pepper vinegar, tomato catsup, Worcestershire sauce, and whatever else there may be, tonic, strengthening and invigorating to the inner man. A boy walking past you "Hurrah, boys, we've seen the worst of this gale!" says the weatherwise skipper, poking his head up the companion hatch, but quickly subsiding again into his berth. nounce him at once a disgusting brute. The captain suggests brandy, but upon producing the flask a smell at its contents nearly finishes you. Your bowels yearn to be relieved of their responsibility. Thus far I got. There are but two stages beyond, in sea-sickness; first, the actual casting up of accounts; and lastly, the wretched debility following thereon. These I escaped. About seven o'clock there comes a lull. Short-chewing a piece of raw salted cod, you proly a small speck of blue appears in the eastern heavens-bright promise of better weather. The rain still spits spitefully at us, but the breeze has evidently done its worst. There is yet a struggle between good weather and bad; between blue sky and leaden. But the blue prevails, and spreads mightily. The rain ceases; the wind veers gradually to the westward; the sun shines out-dubiously at first, as though not sure of his predominance-and weatherbeaten nature puts on a damp sea-sick smile. The wind, which has veered half a dozen times around the horizon within the last fifteen min-menticus, steering between Boone Island and the utes, blows at last firmly from the west, the sky is presently cleared of clouds, and the weather question is settled for the day. "Guess we'll get under weigh, our folks," says the captain, "after breakfast." It seems like folly to go out in the face of such a sea as last night's gale has raised. But "there are mackerel Down East, and the fleet may be catching of 'em while we lie here," remarks Uncle Veny Baker. So we tossed, and jumped, and tumbled along; passed Thatcher's Island, Portsmouth, the Isles of Shoals, and in view of the blue hills of Agu main land; and about one o'clock A.M. came to So we sail seaward. Our little vessel is tossed about at a rate which seems likely to tear every thing to pieces. Now she stands al-wise, you will make the cook your friend," was most perpendicularly upon her stern; and again the parting advice of him who acted as my she buries her bow beneath an enormous wave, chief counselor in projecting this fishing cruise. rising from the plunge staggeringly, and dripping Wretched mortal! Pleased with the thought like a half-drowned Newfoundland. Now she of so easily proving my wisdom, I laid in a suprolls over upon one side, then upon the other, ply of cigars and tobacco, with which to prodipping water over the bulwarks at every roll. pitiate the tyrant of the galley. My little venStanding upon deck is almost an impossibility, ture was productive of a friendship so active and even to the old fishermen, who, suiting them- tireless as to nearly put an end to me, its unforselves to circumstances, contentedly lie down tunate object. There is an old proverb conupon the quarter-deck, vowing that "there's cerning the origin of cooks. I venture here to quite a swell on this morning." express my firm belief in its truth. Our cook As for me, I bestow myself as nearly as pos- was undoubtedly a direct emissary of Satan, sible to the vessel's centre of gravity-that is to sent to cause poor hungry mortals to peril their say, upon the main-hatch-and await the ap- souls by diverse profanities. I am not a saint; proach of the inevitable ail of green-horns. It in fact, I will own that in my time I have been is not long ere that lethargic feeling creeps over a great sinner. Whether, with truly devilish me, which is the premonitory symptom of sea- penetration, the cook saw in me a more than sickness. I bury my face in my coat-collar, usually impressible subject, or whether his Masand sink into a not unpleasant stupor, rolled ter moved him to seize so favorable an opporabout unresistingly in the vessel's unceasing gy-tunity as this of my prostrate helplessness to rations. Now ensues a general loss of appetite. make sure of his prey-whatever may have been The unwelcome thought of some before relished the motive, I was the unfortunate object of most persistent persecution on his part. Ever since master-effort. Expectation was on tiptoe, es the first dinner on board-which, by-the-way, passed me by untasted-he had been torturing his mind for devices by which to tempt my appetite. No remonstrance however touching, no look however appealing, availed to soften his determination to make me swallow-to say eat would be to use profanely a word hallowed by many pleasures. At every temptation, whether of codfish swimming in pork fat, of bread solid and heavy enough to be lead, of tea or coffee tasting like an infusion of oak leaves and senna, my stomach only groaned more dolefully. I could neither eat nor drink. Water tasting horribly of the pine barrels wherein it was kept, potatoes tainted and sticky with the fish in company of which they had been boiled, salt beef and pork salter than Lot's wife of old-what but disgust could these excite in the mind and stomach of a Christian man? Thank fortune! after three days of persistent endeavor the cook owned himself nearly at his wit's end. He "did not know what to cook for me"-and my heart bounded with delight at his ignorance. Having entered Portland at one A.M., we got under weigh again at five. I had partaken of no food since our departure from Cape Ann, and by dint of early rising, and reasonable exertions during the operations of getting up the anchor and hoisting the sails, was the possessor of a tolerable appetite for breakfast by the time that meal was announced. I descended to the breakfast-table, therefore, with a determination to astonish the cook by my gormandizing powers. Alas for the frailty of all human calculations! At sight of the unctuous table-cloth, whose shining surface was innocent of the purifying touch of water these many months; of the knives covered with rust; of the butter, redolent of fish and onions; of the bread-well, that at least was untouched by any fingers save the cook's, which might be supposed clean. So I breakfasted on two rolls and a cup of water, declining, to the cook's profound surprise, my modicum of the molasses-sweetened abomination called coffee. "The breeze freshening after we got clear of the harbor, the fleet, about sixty vessels, stood along shore, toward Townshend Harbor. Wind fresh from the south'ard, a heavy sea, and no fish. No sea-sickness this day." So reads my journal. pecially with the boys, who augured great things of the meal which required so much time for preparation. At last "Seat ye!" yelled up the forecastle-hatch, proclaims that all is ready, and calls our some-time-hungry crew to the longedfor repast. "Flummadiddle" was the name of the mess on which my worthy enemy had laid himself out on this occasion. Flummadiddle is a compound mixture (one could guess as much from the name), the component parts of which are stale bread, pork fat, molasses, water, cinnamon, allspice, and cloves. It is a kind of mush, baked in the oven, and placed upon the table hot and brown. It is a holiday mess for fishermen, who lick their chops at the very mention of its uneuphonious name. I should call it a pudding, whereto hunger is the best and only sauce. Poor cook was doomed to disappointment. My pampered stomach rebelled against Flummadiddle. My portion was passed back almost untasted. Said Uncle Veny, with a disparaging shrug of his bent shoulders, "A man that can't relish such good grub as that has no taste-that's all ;” an opinion in which I made haste most heartily to concur. After dinner we ran into Townshend Harbor. We found there anchored a collection of fishermen to the number of nearly a hundred-the fleet-so said our skipper. They had got no mackerel lately; but, as usual, told great yarns of fish caught " away Down East, off MountDesert Rock," by the real, genuine, original fleet. Mackerel-catchers like company. "The fleet" is the aim of every vessel on starting from home; and in its movements this fleet is as united as though all were under command of one man. If half a dozen of the foremost vessels-that is to say, the fastest vessels and smartest fishermen-stand in toward a harbor-presto! all the rest follow suit. And after the subsidence of a gale the first click of a windlass is the signal to several thousand men to “turn out and get under weigh." Townshend Harbor is a safe anchorage. We lay in smooth water, behind a little island at the head of the Bay, where we were protected even from the long, steady swell which prevailed farther down. As usual in such snug harbors, the vessels lay moored in tiers, half a dozen lashed side to side, and perhaps hanging by one anchor. This day witnessed the cook's entire and final defeat. Chagrined at his repeated repulses, he devoted the entire forenoon to the study of a After a run ashore, during which I astonished new preparation for dinner. Hot water flew a female Mainite by my inordinate capacity for about, and tin pans rattled ominously, as, in the sweet milk and pumpkin-pie (you see I had dim recesses of his galley, he prepared himself pretty well come to my appetite after all), I got for the contest. Not content to rely upon his out on the bowsprit for a contemplative smoke. own resources, he took into his counsel several Just ahead of us was anchored a Lynn boat, a of the older fishermen, who sat about the cook-beautiful little vessel, of about sixty tons, buting-stove, smoking short pipes, and uttering so perfectly symmetrical was her build-looking opinions worthy of oracular Jack Bunsby himself. Dinner was kept back till half-past one, to give cook time for the execution of this his not more than half that size. She was a thing of beauty-not a faulty line nor an imperfect curve or sweep about her. Sharp of bow, broad of beam, gracefully curving astern, till the beau |