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THE CONSTITUTION JR.
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY.
FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT OF THE
YOUNG READERS OF THE CONSTITUTION.
Sent Free, as a Supplement, to the Readers
of the Daily Constitution.
All Letters and Communications Intended
for this Issue Must be Addressed to The
Constitution, Jr. •
Atlanta, Ga., June 2, 1894.
A Prize Offer.
Several weeks ago we told- our young
readers to look for another prize offer be
fore very long. The wonderful interest
taken in our other prize offers and the ex
cellent talent developed by the boys and
girls for writing induces us to make an
other offer.
The schools have just closed and all the
boys and girls are thinking about the holi
days. Some already have their plans laid
out for the summer vacation—others are
wondering how they will spend the summer
months; but the minds of one and all are
filled with golden dreams of the three
happy months of the year, to which they
have all been looking forward during the
long school term.
Now, while the minds of the boys and
girls are filled with visions of the bright
summer days to come, and before they be
gin to get tired of their holidays and al
most wish school would open again, we are
going to offer $5 in gold for the best story
written about “A Summer Vacation.” We
leave the rest to the imaginations of our
young readers. The story must not be
longer than 1,000 words. It must be written
without any assistance from any one, and
a pledge to that effect must be enclosed
with each story. The name and address of
the writer must be written at the beginning
or the end of each story and the manuscript
must be written on one side of the paper
only. These directions must be closely fol
lowed, and you should cut this out and
keep it before you when you write.
You may write your story about anything
that the theme—‘‘A Summer Vacation”—
suggests, but it must be a story. Just go
off to a quiet place and sit down and think
about what might take place during a sum
mer vacation. All children are naturally
story-tellers, and if you will just give rein
to your imagination it will not be long be
fore you will have a good story in your
mind. Then write it out and send it in to
compete for the $5 in gold.
All stories must be in hand by the 23d
of June. This gives you nearly three weeks
in which to think about and write your
story. This is an open contest to all boys
and girls under fifteen years of age. Here
tofore we have offered separate prizes for
the boys and girls. This is offered for
both, and it will be a good way to see
JVJi.C7h.SW. ’’enllv write better efnriec
A Billiard Ball.
The globe of ivory which is knocked
about a table in a game of billiards costs,
if good quality, at least $lO. This repre
sents its cost in money. There is, however,
a far more important and formidable ele
ment in the price which has been paid for
it. The billiard ball of pure ivory repre
sents, as it lies white and glistening upon
the cloth, an expenditure of human life
blood as well as of money.
Elephants’ tusks are brought down to the
African coast by caravans, generally in
charge of Arabs, which have been trading
in the interior. Very often they have
picked up slaves as well as ivory. But
this phase of the matter may be left out of
the account.
It is estimated that every large caravan
bringing ivory to the coast has cost more
than a hundred and sixty human lives
through fights and murders in the course of
the expedition. Thirty more men are likely
to have succumbed to fevers or other dis
eases and the fatigues of the march.
The hunting of the elephants and the cap
ture of the ivory are very likely to have
caused the death of ten men altogether.
Such casualties are the rule in elephant
hunting rather than the exception.
An average tusk does not furnish more
than enough material for two good billiard
balls. Os course the remainder of the ivory
in each tusk is made use of in other ways;
a perfect cut billiard ball requires special
quality or so-called “nerve,” which is found
only in one part of the tusk.
The chances are that a billiard ball of the
first quality has cost at least one human
life; and there is not one such ball which
may not truly be said to be stained with
men’s blood. They can hardly be consider
ed, therefore, a cheerful accompaniment
to a sensitive person’s diversions.
Game.
In his book on Abyssinia Sir Samuel
Baker gives the following account of the
capture of a hippopotamus. After a long
chase the animal had left the river, and
much to the disappointment of his pur
suers had disappeared. But one of the
knowing attendants expressed his firm con
viction that the “hippo” would soon be
seen again. This prediction was fulfilled
much sooner than the most sanguine had
expected. At a distance of nearly half a
mile, says the writer, we saw the animal
emerge from the jungle, and descend at
full trot to the bed of the river, making
directly for the first rocky pool, in which
we had previously seen a herd of hippopo
tami.
Accompanied by the old howarti (hippo
hunter) we walked quickly toward the spot;
he explained to me that I must shoot the
harpooned hippo, as we should not be able
to secure him in the usual method by ropes
—nearly all our men being absent from
camp upon other duties.
Upon reaching a certain pool, which was
about a hundred and thirty yards in di
ameter, we were immediately greeted by
the hippo, who snorted and roared as we
approached, then he dived, and the buoy
ant float upon which the man with the
harpoon was stationed, ran along the sur
marking’ his course ixt the sama aw-u-
THE ATLANTA CONSTITUTION, JR.
ner as the cork of a trimmer with a pike
upon the hook.
Several times he appeared, but as he
invariably faced us, T could not obtain a
favorable shot. I therefore sent the old
hunter round the pool, and he, swimming
the river, advanced to the opposite side,
and attracted the attention of the hippo,
who immediately turned toward him.
This afforded me a good chance, and I
fired a steady shot behind the ear, at
about seventy yards, with a single-barreled
rifle.
As usual with hippopotami, whether dead
or alive, he disappeared beneath the water
at the shot. The crack of the ball and the
absence of any splash from the bullet told
me that he was hit; the float remained
perfectly stationary upon the surface. I
watched it for some minutes —it never
moved; several heads of hippopotami ap
peared and vanished in different directions,
but the float was still; it marked the spot
where the grand old bull lay dead beneath.
When the men reappeared they swam out,
regardless of crocodiles, to the spot where
the aminal had gone down, and securing
the rope attached to the harpoon, dragged
the body of the hippo to the shore.
A LEAP FOR LIFE.
There are few Indian raids or outbieaks
now such as there were thirty or forty years
past, and even later, bad as they were,
could not compare with those of a century
ago. Much of the country was then a wil
derness, but the settlers were brave and
fearless. Often they were lulled into fan
cied security by the apparent friendliness
of the-Indians, and would relax their watch
fulness. That was -what the wily savages
were waiting for, and some day they would
sweep down upon a whole settlement, com
pletely wiping it out.
It was this fate which befell a number of
settlers in western Pennsylvania more than
a hundred years ago. Among the latter was
a family who had adopted two boys, Sam
uel Brady, an orphaned nephew, and Simon
Girty, whose father had been killed by sav
ages. Both boys were strong, athletic and
hardy, and played and hunted together.
In the massacre of the settlers, Simon
was taken prisoner and carried off by the
Indians, but Samuel escaped, and, as he
grew up, joined in many an attack on the
Indians, in revenge for the killing of those
1 who had been father and mother to him.
He was brave and fearless, and thoroughly
versed in woodcraft. He could follow a
trail as unerringly as an Indian, and in
time his name became a terror to the sav
ages.
The story of some of his deeds may al
most sound legendary, but it is well known
that he was a brave fighter, and a leader in
Pennsylvania and Ohio.
Meantime his old playmate, Simon, had
been adopted by the Senecas, into whose
hands he fell. He soon became one of them,
and after a while he was made a chief. He
grew to be a deadly enemy of the whites,
and was the scourge oi Ohio and Kentucky.
Samuel often heard of him. but the two had
never seen each other since the day of the
Samuel’s raids on the Indians
near Kent, Ohio, all his party were killed in
a sharp fight except niinseif and another.
They were captured and taken to Sandusky.
The Indians were overjoyed to think that
their enemy had at last fallen into their
hands, and preparations were made to put
him to the torture.
Among the chiefs Samuel saw one who
looked like somebody he had once known,
and at last he felt sure that it was his old
playmate, Simon.
He spoke to him and the Indian at first
pretended he did not understand English,
but at length admitted that he was Simon.
Samuel pleaded with him to help him to
escape, but he refused.
At last Samuel was bound to the stake.
The fire was lighted, the Indians danced
around, and, as the flames touched him, the
withes that bound his hands began to
loosen.
Just then an Indian girl, probably pitying
hun and meaning to rescue him, rushed for
ward. Samuel freed his hands, and think
ing she was about to kill him, seized her,
and with the strength born of despair,
threw her in the flames and bounded away
for his life. The savages were stupefied,
and by the time they had saved the girl the
captive was out of reach.
But they were soon in hot pursuit. All
day and night they followed him. Next day
they kept tracking him, and in forty-eight
hours he had traveled one hundred miles. In
the morning he' was resting against the
trunk of a tree, when he saw them coining.
Weary as he was, he started off again,
and as the Indians caught sight of him they
gave utterance to a wild war-whoop. He
was near the Cuyahoga river, which at that
point was deep and twenty-four feet wide.
To try to cross might mean death, but
then there was death behind, and so, when
he reached the bank, he made one tremen
dous leap, and succeeded in grasping the
bushes on the other side of the river.
The Indians yelled their disappointment,
but were afraid to follow. They crossed
the river some distance below, but they
-were too late. Samuel was safe. Brady's
leap is remembered to this day.
J. H. Sinclair.
A farmer, living a few miles from Boston,
has two dogs—one that guards his premises,
the other, a bright little terrier, that al
ways' rode to town on the seat with his
master. One day, when the farmer stopped
at a house on the way to deliver some
vegetables, a large dog rushed out, seized
the little terrier, and would have killed
him but for the interference of the farmer.
Next day, when a mile or two on his way
to market the man discovered that the
big dog was following the wagon. He
stopped and ordered him back, but the dog
would not obey him, and finally the farmer
gave it up and continued on his way.
When they came to the scene of the con
flict of the previous day the same large
dog flew out again to attack the little one,
whereupon the farmer’s big dog, which had
been concealed under the wagon, dashed
out and fell upon the enemy with such
fury that it was with difficulty restrained
from making an end of him. All this time
the terrier was barking away for joy.
After the canines had been separated the
farmer’s dog evidently regarded his mission
as fulfilled, as he at once trotted home by
himself. ,
LITTLE “THOR” FRANKLIN.
He Could Throw the IlHinmer.
It all came about through little Tom’s
love of mythology. If it had not been for
that, he would never have heard of old
Thor, the hammer-throwing god of the
Norsemen.
When we moved from town out here to
the farm, because father was sick, the first
book Tom put in his box of things was the
mythology, and rainy days he read it as in
terestedly as if he hadn’t read it a dozen
times before!
One day he came out where I was at work
on my water wheel and said, “Will, I’m
going to learn to throw a hammer.”
“Throw a hammer?” said I; “what for?”
“For fun,” said he, picking up mine and
whirling it around his head. “I’ve been
reading about Thor, and the way he
smashed the big door when he was a boy.”
“Oh, you have,” said I. “Well, I’ll have
to ask you to get somebody else’s hammer
to practice with-*-! need this one.”
“You needn’t worry,” said Tom. “I’m
going to get the blacksmith to make me
one.” And he did.
It was a curious looking thing, like a
shoemaker’s hammer, with a short, thick
handle, and a solid iron head, and that
very afternoon, almost before the thing was
cold, from the shop, Tom had it out in the
meadow practicing. He’d whirl it around
his head once and then let go, and away it
would whirl, like a shot. There was no
telling just where it would land, at first.
Sometimes he’d come pretty near what he
was throwing at and sometimes he
wouldn’t; so it was safest to watch him a
long way off.
Tom always keeps at a thing when he
starts in, and I got tired and went back to
my wheel. When he came in to supper he
said he could make that hammer of his
land on its head anywhere now, instead of
the handle, as at first.
But the next day, wasn’t Tom’s arm stiff
and lame! He could hardly hold his
knife and fork at breakfast; but the min
ute breakfast was over what did he do but
march out with that hammer and throw it
until dinner time. Then he came in hot
and red, declaring he could hit a tree
twenty yards off.
About this time the Halls bought the
farm next to ours and about a month after
something happened chat both the Halls
and ourselves have never stopped being
glad of.
It was a warm Saturday in the early part
of July, and Tom, as usual, had started
out after dinner for the woods.
Every Saturday Tom stuck his hammer
in his belt and went for a stroll, to kill rab
bits, and he realiy had hit one once and
killed it. Half an hour later I needed
something from our litHe workshop, and
discovered that Tom had the key. And
Tom was then—land only knows where!
For awhile I was pretty much put out
with him, for I’d asked him again and
again to be sure and leave it at home; but
there was no use wasting time being mad,
z-v r Lint Infl- ■»-».-» i T xir/Milx , k »-» rl iII
search of him, taking the path he always
took, and wondering how much time I’d
spend hunting for him before dark.
The mountains back of our farm, I forgot
to say, are pretty wild. They have been
“cleared” very little, and such things as
bears and rattlesnakes, though not what
one would call common, are met with oc
casionally. Since we had been there I
know the men had killed one small bear in
the edge of the upper corn field and two
rattlesnakes a mile or so off. It was up
into this mountain Tom had gone.
Deeper and deeper the steep little path
led me into the woods, until it got so wild
and still that I began to feel kind of lone
some. But I could see Tom had been along
the path, for he had left his trademark
every now and then—little scars on the
rocks and trees, where that hammer of
his had been thrown.
At last, after full an hour’s walking, I
heard his cheerful whistle not far in front
of me. But as I hurried forward it grew
less and less and finally stopped, as if he
were busy making his way through the
brush which now grew on every hand, and
had no breath to waste.
As I was about to shout to him the path
opened suddenly on a deserted clearing,
and at the further side of it stood the re
mains of an old cabin.
I was surprised, for we had always
thought the mountain had never had a
cabin built on it; but the most surprising
part was yet to come, for there, on
the doorstep of the old house, sat Mr.
Hall’s little girl, Nellie, her chubby little
hands full of wild flowers she had gathered,
her bonnet by her side.
“Well, what are you doing here, little
girl?” I began, when the words fairly stuck
in my throat. There, not three away,
was one of the biggest, most wickeu looking
rattlesnakes I ever vaw, coiled, ready to
spring! And the child was throwing
flowers at him and laughing at the whirr
he made with his rattle.
For a moment I stood still, wondering
what on earth I could do to save her, yet
knowing that to make an effort would mean
sure death to the little thing. Every
second the snake was angrier. And here I
was fifty feet away, without so much as a
stick in my hand. I tell you, I felt posi
tively sick.
But before I could move or think much
there was a slight noise a few feet from
where I stood, and there was Tom, staring
straight before him at the door. He’s the
quickest witted boy I know, is Tom. He
had taken the whole thing in, while I still
stood staring at the situation.
Puckering his lips quietly, he gave a
sharp shrill whistle. Both the snake and
the child, neither of whom had seen him,
turned toward the noise. As they did it
Tom stepped out into the clearing, and |
whirling his hammer once or twice about [
his head he sent it straight at the rattle- I
snake. Like a thunderbolt the trusty little
iron hammer spun through the air, and
crack! it landed square upon the reptile’s
coil. The thick, short handle struck it
across the neck at the same time.
With both its neck and back broken the
snake dropped down in a writhing, dying
mass, while the little girl, who had dodged
the hammer as if she thought it thrown at
her, looked at it in surprise.
Tom, with a laugh, walked across and
picked her up. “Get the hammer, will you,
Will?” he said, “when that snake Is
through with it.”
After I had unwound the snake and put
the hammer in Tom’s belt for him, I took
the rattles off the snake’s tail, and we went
home, Nellie crying nervously all the way.
Just what Tom said to Mrs. Hall when
he put the child down on their porch I
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He Sent it Straight at the Rattlesnake.
don’t know, for I staid out at the gate
until he came, but from the time he took,
he must have had to tell the whole story
and been interrupted a good deal. When
he did come out at last, looking kind of
queer about the eyes, I asked: “What did
she say, Tom?”
“Oh, a lot of things,” he answered, get
ting red in the face. “You’d think I had
done something absolutely wonderful!”
This is how Tom got to be called “Thor”
Franklin. Everard Jack Appleton.
Assailed by Wild Hogs.
In “Recollections of the Early Settlement
of the Wabash Valley” the author relates
an adventure with wild hogs which befell
him in 1835. As the reader is aware,
droves of hogs left to wander in the woods
and forage for themselves sometimes be
come fierce and dangerous.
I was strolling along the bank of the
Wabash, says the writer, at some distance
from my brother’s cabin, when 1 suddenly
heard a confused cracking of bushes, rat
tling of stones and gnashing of teeth, with
a loud boo-boo-oh from the ravine below.
Instantly I realized the terrors of my situa
tion; it was one of the droves of wild hogs
of which my brother had spoken warningly.
I took to my heels and ran to the summit
of the hill, making for a large oak tree
with the intention of climbing it. On my
way I seized a stout maple limb.
The trunk was so lofty that 1 was unable
to climb the oak, but I stood with my back
against it and faced my assailants, which
were now upon me, squealing and grunting
fiercely, a dozen of them.
I shouted for help and wielded my blud
geon with good effect. The hugs were
eager to get at me. First one and then
another would advance, snapping its ugly
jaws. A 'blow from my club would send it
squealing to the rear. My brother had told
me that these hogs would make nothing of
devouring a man, clothes and all, if they
got a chance at him.
For fifteen minutes I kept them at bay
with my club, but they were becoming
bolder and fiercer. One had torn a piece
from my pantaloons, and I was fearful that
I should be unable to hold them off longer,
when, to my relief, I heard my brother’s
voice.
He soon came up, gun in hand. He had
heard my cries for help. The loud report
of his gun frightened the hogs, and with
many loud oophs ami squeals they scamper
ed down the hill. But for his fortunate ar
rival I probably should not be alive to tell
this tale.
Godmother Mule.
There is a madrina, or godmothers, in all
herds of mules. “Madrina,” in Spanish,
means “godmother.” This mule is a stately
creature, big in stature and bigger in her
own sense of importance. All the mules in
the herd follow her and defer to her.
How it is that one female mule of a herd
becomes the most important individual in
it no one has been able to find out, but all
muleteers know the fact.
Each madrina wears a bell on her neck.
Several herds, 300 or 400 mules, may be
turned into one great pasture land together.
When the drovers wish to separate them
again they have only to look for the ma
drinas and lead them out. All the rest of
the mules will follow, each his own ma
drina, knowing the tinkle of her bell from
all the others.
Animals certainly do appear to possess a
finer sense of hearing than we human
beings. _ Helen Evertson Smith.
A Syracuse maiden lady has a riirrot, an
excellent talker, and his cage hangs in the
bedroom of his mistress. One night a burg
lar got into the house, and, after ransack
ing the lower rooms, ascended to the lady’s
sleeping apartment and proceeded to collect
all the jewelry and valuables he could find.
While thus engaged, the parrot, which had
been watching him all the time, suddenly
cried out, “Hallo! What do you want;”
The burglar was so startled by the sepul
chral voice that he dropped his dark lan
tern, and, in stooping to recover it, fell
over a chair. This awoke the lady, and
she began to scream at the top of her voice.
The thief, now thoroughly alarmed, took
a flying leap for the stairway, and, in his
haste, slipped and went head over heels to
the bottom. There he lay insensible until
the servants came running to the scene and
easily captured him.
Farmer (to young trespasser)—What are
you doing under the tree with that apple?
Bright Boy—Please, sir, I was just going
to climb up the tree to put back this apple
which I see has fadlmi
