THE RALEIGH REDS.

BY JULIANA CONOVER.

"Attention! Right dress! Front! Order arms! Carry arms! Present arms! Right shoulder arms! Carry arms! Stand straighter, Billy. Can't you fellows keep in line? Right face! Left face! About face! Oh, all right, I won't go on with the drill if you don't try harder than that."

"Let us off this afternoon, Tommy? There's a good fellow," begged Billy Atkins, a fat little chap of twelve, who, between the heat and his exertions to keep his round body erect, was nearly used up.

"You won't ever learn to drill decently, then," answered the discouraged Sergeant.

"Oh, yes, we will, in double-quick time; but it is so hot, and we all want to be in good shape for to-morrow."

"What do you say, fellows?" asked Tommy, turning to the other panting recruits.

"Let's stop," they all responded, briskly, "and try to fix up some scheme for the Fourth."

"Very well," answered the Sergeant, a little reluctantly. "I did want to try the bayonet exercise; but I suppose we can do that some other time." Then drawing himself up in true martial style: "Port arms! Dismissed!"

The boys took instant advantage of the command, and hastily stacking their arms, they squatted on the grass to try and cool off by means of mumble-the-peg and a discussion of Fourth-of-July plans.

Tom Porter, aged twelve, had spent a year at a military academy, and had come home for his summer holidays burning with military ardor, and primed with tactics from the latest manual of arms.

He soon fired the ambition of the other boys, and in a week had organized a company—or "squad," as he decided it really was—composed of ten raw recruits and a band of two, mustered under the banner of the Raleigh Reds.

They drilled faithfully day after day under the command of their enthusiastic Sergeant, and the discordant sounds from the fife and drum became a nuisance to the neighborhood.

But now that the novelty of the drill was wearing off, the boys began to pine for active service, and wild plans of campaigns, with long marches, bloody battles, and glorious victories, floated through Tommy's brain, as he nightly revolved the future of the Raleigh Reds.

"Well, how are we going to celebrate the Fourth?" asked Lilly Atkins, throwing down the knife in disgust, after failing ignominiously in the delicate operation known as "eating oysters." "It's no fun just marching at the tail end of a parade."

"We might make another raid on old Jones's cattle," suggested Herbert Day; "we know a lot more tactics and manœuvres now."

"Not much, unless Tommy teaches us some slick barbed-wire-fence drill," said Dick. "I'm on my last pair of trousers."

"That was a pretty big fizzle," Tommy said, shaking his head. "And how they did jolly me at home! Did you ever hear the poem my sister wrote about it?"

"No; what was it?"

"Well, it was sort of like 'Half a League,' only different, about us, instead of the 'Six Hundred.' It's pretty good," modestly.

"Can't you say it?" asked Herbert.

"Yes, go ahead, Tommy," chimed in the others.

Tommy blushed. It seemed conceited to recite his sister's verses, and yet he was genuinely proud of them.

"It's a grind on us, you know," he said, warningly.

"Oh, that's all right; we're used to it; fire away."

Thus pressed, Tommy began:

"'Half a mile, half a mile, Dust-choked and solemn, Straight for old Jones's field Marched the brave column. "Forward, the Raleigh Red! Charge for the bull!" he said. Into the grazing herd Marched the firm column. "'Forward the squad brigade.'

"That's wrong, you know," he stopped to explain, "but Alice wouldn't change it; she said it didn't matter."

"It doesn't a bit," Dick answered. "Go on; it's great!"

"'Forward the squad brigade.'"

Went on Tommy.

"'Was there a man afraid? Not though the privates knew Jones's bull's bad manners. Theirs not to make a row, Theirs not to question how, Theirs but to charge the cow, Into the grazing herd Marched the red banners. "'Cows to the right of them. Cows to the left of them, Cows still in front of them, Peacefully chewing. Gazed at in wild surprise, Boldly, with steady eyes, Marched on at double-quick Shouting their battle-cries, To their undoing.' "'Whisked all the tails so bare, Whisked in the sultry air, Staring, as cows do stare, Chewing the cud the while. When from the close ranks Broke forth a muffled beat. Not of bass drums, but feet, Jersey and Alderney Gazed on this mad retreat, Gazed on the gay pranks Of the old bull, who had Broken the phalanx. "'Fence to the right of them, Fence to the left of them, Jones's bull behind them. Pawing and bellowing. What need commands to tell? Boldly they ran and well, Not one small private fell. "'Out of the horns of death, Sergeant and squad pellmell, Through the barbed-wire fence Crawled the torn column. When can their glory fade, Oh, the retreat they made, All Raleigh applauded! Honor the Sergeant's feet, Honor the squad's retreat, Long be it lauded!'"

"Guy, that's fine!" ejaculated little Billy. "Isn't it, Dick?" enthusiastically.

"Slickest thing I've ever heard," answered Dick.

"We did get to that fence quick, and no mistake. And, George! I woke up every night for a week dreaming that the old bull was just running his horns into me."

"We'll have to do something to get a better 'rep,'" said Tommy; "we've done nothing but retreat so far. Old Farmer Applegate sent us flying, when he had nothing but cow-hide boots and a pitchfork."

"It was his garden," reflected Fatty Simmons; "that was why I ran."

"Well, what are we going to do to-morrow, that's what I want to know?" said Jack Green.

"I have it!" exclaimed the Sergeant, his eyes sparkling. "The very thing, fellows! I heard Davis and Jim White talking yesterday (they didn't know I was there), and they were arranging a scheme for the Fourth, which it would be dandy fun to break up."

"What was it?" the others asked, eagerly.

"You know the little cannon in Mr. Scott's field? He thinks no end of it; it's a Revolutionary relic or Waterloo or something. Well, those fellows are going to steal it to-night and have a great time to-morrow. Five of them are in it."

"Whew!" whistled Herbert Day. "I shouldn't like to be in their shoes when Mr. Scott finds it out; he'll make it hot for them! But how's that going to help us, Tommy; we're not in it?"

"I know; but what we want to do," answered the Sergeant, "is to guard the cannon and spoil their little game. It would be great to get ahead of Davis for once."

"Wouldn't they punch our heads?" said Billy, doubtfully; "they're bigger."

"I'd like to see them," blustered Fatty; "we'd run them through with our bayonets."

"What time did they agree to take the cannon, Tommy?" asked Bert.

"After dark, about nine, I suppose. They said they could drag it across the field to Davis's barn, and that nobody would catch on."

"What sport!" chuckled Green. "We'll go early, then, and form in single file round the old cannon, and I'd like to see the man who could take it from us."

"Mr. Scott has a big mastiff, hasn't he?" asked Billy.

"What of that?" scornfully, and Billy was silenced. The boys forgot their heat and fatigue in their eagerness to prepare for such a great undertaking, and over and over again the Sergeant's commands rang out: "Load! squad, ready! aim! fire! Order arms! Load! ready! aim! recover arms! fire!" etc., for a full hour.

At half past eight that same evening the Raleigh Reds, with fife and drum silent, marched through the lane leading to Mr. Scott's field.

"Squad, halt!" was the command when they reached the fence. Then after a whispered consultation and a stealthy glance round, lest the enemy might attack them in the rear, they climbed carefully over the rails, and came down cautiously on the other side.

"Forward, march!" ordered the Sergeant, and his squad started by twos up the field.

The cannon was mounted at the other end, and the shadows which the moon cast across their path looked to the boys' excited fancy like figures rising from the ground.

"A little faster step—hep, hep!" urged the Sergeant, as they lagged. "Double time!" he commanded; but alas! a low ferocious growl, followed by a loud bark, caused a sudden panic in the dauntless Reds.

"The mastiff!" cried Joe Morris; "cut for your lives!"

"Don't you do it! Charge bayonets!" shouted Tom, dismayed by this breaking of the close-locked ranks.

"About face!" yelled Fatty Simmons, assuming the command in his terror: "quick to the fence, fellows—run!" and as the big dark object bounded towards them, the squad for the second time in its short history took to its heels without waiting further orders. Before the Sergeant could collect his scattered wits, a rough hand seized him by the collar, and a grim voice said, "I've caught you, hev I? You'll just come to Mr. Scott, young man; he's waitin' for you."

"Call that dog off; he'll chew them fellows up," gasped Tommy, trying to wriggle away from the tight grip.

"Sarve 'em right for sneaking in after dark and stealing the old cannon that's stood here over a hundred years."

"We didn't steal it," said the indignant Sergeant. "We came to guard it!"

"To guard it! Well, you didn't have much luck, then, for it's been gone this half-hour. Mr. Scott, he's in a terrible way about it."

"My, how early they must have come!" exclaimed Tom.

"They? Who?"

"Why, the fellows we came to keep from taking it." And then he explained to the astonished farmer.

The result was that the "Raleigh Reds" were recalled, trembling, from their refuge behind the rail breastwork. Dom Pedro was quieted down, and the demoralized squad was marched sheepishly to the house as prisoners of war of the tall farmer.

Mr. Scott interviewed them, and his anger gave way to amusement as the boys told, in shamefaced confusion, of their part in the evening's work.

"What your men need, Captain, is experience," he said; "so I will make a bargain with you. If you manage to bring the cannon back by twelve o'clock to-morrow morning, I will promise to furnish the finest display of fireworks ever seen in this town, to celebrate the valor of the 'Raleigh Reds.'"

The boys blushed as crimson as their colors at these words, but Tom replied, stoutly:

"We'll do it, Mr. Scott. Just see if we don't. I know we deserve to be locked up in the guard-house for desertion; but give us one more chance, and if we can't do anything but retreat, and in disorder too, then we'd better give up the soldier business altogether."

And so Mr. Scott clinched the bargain.

How the little Sergeant racked his brains that night, as he tossed from side to side, trying to hit upon some plan by which they could get the field-gun away from its triumphant capturers!

It would be no easy matter to drag the heavy cannon so far even if they had a fair field; but when it was held by the enemy—five big boys—Tommy shook his head in doubt, for he had no longer confidence in the courage of his squad.

The more he thought of it, the more he felt convinced that the only thing to do was to decoy the guard in some way; but how? Suddenly he sat up in bed and looked out of the window. It was moonlight, and he could see some distance through the trees into a large field at the end of the garden.

"Yes, that will work," he murmured. "I don't want to do it, but it's the only thing I can think of, and we've got to get that field-gun somehow."

So, having at last made up his mind, he turned over and fell asleep.

"Fire! fire! fire!" clanged the great iron bell, putting all the toy cannons to shame.

"Fire! fire!" shouted the men and boys as they dropped their pipes and their fire-crackers, and started in the direction from which a volume of smoke rose black and dense against the clear sky. There were not many fires in Raleigh, and this looked like a promising one. From all parts of the little town the people swarmed, eager for any excitement that would help to celebrate the holiday.

"Now's our chance," whispered Tommy to the "Reds," as, ensconced behind a hedge, they watched the crowd assemble. "We've got to hustle, for the fire won't last long."

"The fellows are all there, except Jim White," returned Dick, "and there he comes, puffing like a steam-engine."

"Then we're safe. Have you got the rope all ready, Billy?"

"Yes, slip-knot and all."

"Then come on, fellows."

And the boys cast one lingering glance at the crackling flames, the fire-engine, and the crowd, then turned round and started heroically in the opposite direction. They knew well where the cannon was, for had not the victorious party jeered at them from the top of the shed, when they went to reconnoitre early in the morning? They looked cautiously over the gate of Davis's barn-yard. All was quiet. They opened the gate, and walked softly in. Yes, there stood the bone of contention, alone, unguarded, its mouth pointed towards the barn.

"Hurry up, Bert; you understand about putting on the rope," said the nervous Sergeant, as he watched the smoke against the sky growing perceptibly less.

"They'll suspect us, sure," replied Joe, "when they find we're not there."

"Think of missing a fire!" groaned Bert; "and such a beauty too!"

By the time the boys were ready to start the smoke had almost died away, and the shouts had entirely subsided.

"We must fight to-day, fellows, or break up the company," said Tommy, as they toiled up the field dragging the gun after them over the rough ground.

"Does Pat Kinney know we're coming?" asked Dick.

"Yes; and he's going to bring Dom Pedro to back us up," answered "Fatty," straining away on the rope.

"Lucky for us," said Billy, his spirits rising.

Just as they reached the end of the field where the cannon always stood, a shout from the fence made them grasp their arms and fall quickly in line with bayonets fixed.

"Steady!" cried the Sergeant, his knees beginning to shake—"steady, fellows; don't run."

On the big boys came. Six or seven of them, headed by Davis, bearing down on the trembling squad with yells like wild Indians.

"Steady," said the Sergeant again, and immovable as the Inchcape Rock the line received the charge.

"Get out of here or we'll break your necks!" cried White, as the squad closed in round the cannon.

"Throw a pack of big crackers at them," said a rough-looking boy; "that will break their ranks," and a shower of fire-crackers followed these words.

Still the squad stood firm.

"All right, then," said Harvey, solemnly; "if you don't surrender we'll have to wade in and do you up. Won't we, Davis?"

"Yield!" shouted Davis, flourishing a big stick; "the cannon or your life!"

"Come on," cried the undaunted little Sergeant, as a twenty-five-cent cracker went off under his nose. "We'll never surrender!"

"We'll never surrender!" echoed the rest of the squad, spurred on to resistance by their leader. "Come on!"

And the next moment the bayonets were shattered by the charge, the guns wrenched from the boys' hands, and down they went on the ground a wriggling mass of arms and legs.

It began to look very bad for the Raleigh Reds, when, to their great relief, the reserve force came up on a full gallop, urged on by the command of, "At 'em, Pedro, at 'em!"

This time Dom Pedro discriminated between his allies and the foe, for he dashed at Davis with a growl that struck terror to the stoutest heart.

"Here comes Mr. Scott, boys!" cried White, scrambling up from Dick's prostrate form; "we'd better skip;" and leaving the still unconquered squad fighting manfully on their backs, the big boys made for the fence, with Dom Pedro in hot pursuit.

The Reds picked themselves up, and looked ruefully for their scattered arms. They were pretty well battered and broken, but the cannon was safe.

"Fall in," commanded the Sergeant, as Mr. Scott walked up, holding Pedro by the collar.

"Good for you, boys," he said, smiling; "you held your own well. I watched from behind the fence, and was delighted with the way you stood up to those big fellows."

Tommy blushed with pride and pleasure. "They would have whipped us," he replied, modestly, "if Dom Pedro hadn't scared them off."

"At any rate you brought the field-gun back, and you deserve great credit for the way you stuck to your colors. But what is this that Kinney tells me about setting a barn on fire?"

"It belonged to Tommy," said the others. "It was an old tool-house which his father gave him to keep our things in. It made a beautiful fire." Regretfully.

"And you burnt it up just so as to decoy the boys?" Incredulously.

"It was the only way to get the cannon," Tommy answered. "And the roof leaked, anyway."

"It certainly was a clever scheme, though rather a risky one," said Mr. Scott.

"I asked my father," Tommy hastened to explain. "And first he said no, we mustn't do it, but when I told him that it was military tactics, and how we wanted to prove to you that we were not such miserable cowards, he gave in and said to go ahead."

"Well, you certainly have proved it, and fulfilled your part of the contract with honor, so now I want to do my part. So you may invite everybody you want—the whole town, if you wish—in my name, to a grand exhibition of fireworks in honor of the Raleigh Reds."

The little Sergeant beamed from ear to ear. "Guy!" he ejaculated, fervently, "what a slick old time we'll have!" Then, turning to the smiling and embarrassed line, he cried, "Squad, salute!" and every hand went up while the demoralized fife and drum favored Mr. Scott with their wildest and most discordant tones.

Then down the field they marched triumphantly, with torn banner flying, and Dom Pedro stalking gravely on ahead.