The Boy Patriot | Page 2

for all sorts of eatable
dwellers in the sea, from halibut to herring.
Now a new day had begun for Fairport. The original cabins began to
tower in the air or encroach on the submissive gardens, as building after
building was added by the prosperous owners. Miniature villas, with a
wealth of useless piazzas, appeared in the neighborhood of the town,
and substantial wharves bordered one side of the quiet harbor, and gave
a welcome to the shipping that seemed to grow and cluster there like
the trees of a forest.
Fairport had passed the struggles of its early youth when our story
begins, though there were gray-haired citizens yet within its borders
who could tell how the bears had once looked in at their cabin windows,
and the pine-trees had stood thick in what was now the main street of
the rising town.
CHAPTER II.

THE YOUNG ORATOR.
The boys of Fairport were an amphibious set, who could live on land
truly, but were happiest when in or near the water. To fish and swim,
row, trim the sail, and guide the rudder, were accomplishments they all
could boast. A bold, hardy, merry set they were; and but for the
schoolmaster's rod and the teaching of their pious mothers, might have
been as ignorant as oysters and merciless as the sharks. Master Penrose
had whipped into most of them the elements of a plain English
education, and gentle mothers had power to soften and rule these rough
boys, when perhaps a stronger hand would have failed.
Master Penrose always gave a full holiday on Saturday. Then the
wharves were sure to swarm with the mischievous little chaps, all eager
to carry out some favorite plan for amusement, in which old Ocean was
sure to be engaged as a play-fellow. Poor indeed was the lad who had
not a fish-hook and line with which to try his skill. The very youngest
had his tiny boat to be launched, while his elders were planning
sailing-parties, or jumping and leaping in the water like so many
dolphins.
Boys like to have a leader, some one they look up to as superior to the
rest, and capable of deciding knotty questions, and "going ahead" in all
times of doubt and difficulty. Blair Robertson occupied this position
among the youngsters of Fairport. He had lawfully won this place
among his fellows and "achieved greatness," by being the best scholar
at the academy, as well as the boldest swimmer, most skilful fisherman,
and most experienced sailor among all the boys for miles along the
coast. It was Blair Robertson's boast that he belonged to the nineteenth
century, and grew old with it. It was doubtful whether the bold lad
considered this age of progress as honored by his playing his part in its
drama, or whether he claimed a reflected glory, as having been born at
the very dawn of that century which promised so much for the
thronging millions of our world.
Be that as it may, Joe Robertson the pilot and Margaret his wife
rejoiced, in the year 1800, over their first and only child. Thirteen years
had swept by, and the honest couple were now as proud of that brave,

strong boy as they had been of their baby, and with better reason.
Troublous times had come upon their native land. War had been
declared with England. All Fairport was ablaze at the idea of American
seamen being forced to serve on English ships, and of decks whose
timber grew in the free forests of Maine or North Carolina, being
trodden by the unscrupulous feet of British officers with insolent
search-warrants in their hands.
Blair Robertson had his own views on these subjects--views which we
find him giving forth to his devoted followers one sunny Saturday
afternoon.
Blair was mounted on a sugar hogshead which stood in front of one of
the warehouses on the wharf. From this place of eminence he looked
down on a constantly increasing crowd of youthful listeners. A half
hour before, a row of little legs had been hanging over the side of the
wharf, while their owners were intent upon certain corks and lines that
danced or quivered amid the waves below. Now the lines were made
fast to stone and log, while the small fishermen stood agape to listen to
the fluent orator.
This was but the nucleus of the gathering crowd. Every boy who came
near the eager circle must of course stop to find out what was going on;
and it was with no little pride that Blair beheld the dozens of faces soon
upturned to his.
Blair might have remembered that if there had been but a dead dog in
the centre of the group, there would have been an equal gathering and
pushing