The Boy Patriot | Page 9

enthusiastic applause that the little company saw
Blair appear upon the public square in his well-known uniform. His
three-cornered hat of black pasteboard was surmounted by a long black
feather, and fastened under his chin by a fine leather strap, the strap
being bordered by a ferocious pair of whiskers, to afford which the
"black sheep" of some neighboring flock had evidently suffered. His
grandfather's coat, which had been worn at Bunker Hill, enveloped his
slender form, and increased the imposing effect of his tall figure upon
the minds of his subordinates.
"Three cheers for Captain Robertson! Three cheers for Blair!" shouted
the boys as their leader approached.
The cheers rung out on the air somewhat feebly, though that was owing
to the weakness of the throats that raised them, rather than to any want
of goodwill, and so Blair understood it.
"Now give us a speech before we fall into rank," called out one of the
company.
"That is just what I mean to do, if you will all listen to me," said the
captain in his most dignified manner.
The stump of a fallen tree served to elevate our speaker on this
occasion, as it has many an older orator in circumstances no more
interesting to his hearers than were the present to the eager group of
listeners.
Blair had another purpose now than to hear himself talk. The short
pause which preceded his opening sentence was not merely for effect.
In those few seconds Blair was asking aid from his heavenly Father so
to speak that he might have power to move his hearers and guide them
aright.
"Boys," he began, "boys, I want to be your captain. I don't want to give
up the Fairport Guard. We have had many a good time together, and I

love you all; yes, every one. Our marching and drilling has hitherto
been play, but now we ought to be in earnest. We should prepare to be
really a guard to our native town. At any moment the British may land
on our shores, and threaten the lives of those who are dearest to us. We
must be able to protect our mothers and sisters if the evil day comes.
We must learn the use of firearms. This musket did duty at Bunker Hill.
Every young patriot here must learn to use it well. In due time we must
each have our musket, and make it carry true, if need be, to the heart of
the enemy. But, boys, if we are to be real defenders of our native land,
we must be worthy of such an honor. I am willing, I want to be your
captain; but hear the rules I propose for our company: We are to be a
temperance band; no drop of the cup that intoxicates must pass our lips.
No profane word must sully our tongues. The name of the God of our
fathers must be honored among us. Any member of this company who
shall be found guilty of a lie, a theft, or bullying the weak and
defenceless, shall be cast out by common vote. We will strive to be a
credit to our beloved home--true American citizens, who may dare to
ask God to bless them in all their undertakings and prosper all they do.
Boys, do you agree to these regulations? If so, I shall rejoice to be your
captain. If not, I must sadly bid adieu to the Fairport Guard, and with
this time-honored musket in my hand, stand alone on the threshold of
my home in the hour of danger, trusting in God and in the strength of
this single right-arm."
As Blair concluded, he grounded his musket, and stood silently
awaiting the reply of his companions.
There was a moment of hesitation; then one of the older boys, the
first-lieutenant, stepped forward and silently placed himself at the side
of his young commander. In true martial style the whole company
followed, arraying themselves around their leader.
"We agree! We agree! We agree to every thing!" shouted one and all.
"May God help us to keep to our compact," said Blair. Then, after a
short pause, he added, "Let me propose to you a new member for our
company--my friend Hal Hutchings, who, born on English soil, is yet a
true American at heart. Let all in favor of his admission say Aye."

Hal had been striving to give himself a military air by appearing in his
red flannel shirt and trousers, while Old Jock's red night-cap was
perched above the yellow curls of the boy. As his name was mentioned,
he raised to his shoulder a borrowed crutch which served him for a
musket, as if to signify his readiness for martial duty.
"The English boy! Admit the English boy!"