  They gave him a chest full of wonderful tools when he got to be six years old, The C. and V. Railroad half encircles Riverdale on the south and west sides. For the most part it runs along a narrow shelf on the mountain-side many feet above the village, but toward the southwest is the valley of the little Jewell River, and this is crossed by a long, narrow embankment and a high bridge, where the track curves sharply northward. A few years ago an important part of the traffic over this line consisted of long trains from the far West loaded entirely with hogs. "Earle's excursions," the boys called them, in allusion to the famous pork-packer to whom they were consigned. One afternoon—it was in midsummer—a train of thirty-eight cars and a caboose started from the summit, five miles above Riverdale. The grade is very steep, and the train soon attained a terrific speed as it thundered down the mountain. No one can tell the cause of the accident, but just as the train struck the embankment at Riverdale it doubled up in the middle like a startled snake, and five cars were forced out of the train and went down the embankment, carrying rails, sleepers, and a foot or two of the road-bed. Fortunately none of the trainmen was on these cars, so no one was injured. But as the cars went crashing down they broke in pieces like kindling-wood. Many hogs were killed and injured, but it is certain that about four hundred large, able-bodied, hungry, half-crazy hogs were let loose upon the outskirts of the lovely village of Riverdale. Without a moment's hesitation the invaders began their work of destruction. Near the foot of the embankment was the cozy parsonage, and the Rev. Mark Sanders was at work in his garden when the accident occurred. Startled by the crash, he stood staring at the splintering cars until one of them brought up almost against his garden fence, and a dozen screeching hogs were trying to squeeze through the gate together. Then he struck out valiantly with his sharp hoe, and thought he drove all back, and locked the gate. But when he turned about, three hungry hogs were feasting on his early potatoes, and they led him such a chase that he heartily wished that every hog in the world had been in that herd which in ancient times ran violently down a steep place into the sea and were choked. Meanwhile the main body of the army moved toward the centre of the village, sending out foraging excursions to every garden and lawn, unmindful of shrill threats or fluttering aprons. On the bank of the Jewell River stood a little photograph saloon, and there Miss Sally Graham, for twenty years the village dressmaker, was having her picture taken. It was a critical moment. The photographer's head was underneath the green cloth behind the camera. "Please turn your head just a trifle toward the left, and look a little more cheerful, Miss Graham," said the artist. Miss Sally turned her head so that she looked toward the open door. She was just saying "besom" for the last time when two large hogs, one of them as black as Erebus, scrambled into the room and came directly toward her. "Oh, horrors!" shrieked Miss Sally, jumping up and whirling wildly about in search of a way of escape. She rushed into the dark room and slammed the door, overturning a bottle of some malodorous compound. There she stood amid the horrible smells till, after much squealing, shouting, and crashing of glass, the artist bade her come forth again. By this time the hogs began to arrive at the centre of the village. Those who saw them coming were first amused, and then amazed, and then alarmed. Several of them climbed up four steps to the piazza of Boynton's fruit-store, and began to eat a bunch of bananas and other fruit exposed for sale. Oscar Boynton's wrath was great, his arm was mighty, and his weapon was an iron poker; but all these produced no effect whatever until he hooked the end of the poker into the nostrils of the hogs, and so persuaded them to turn aside. The situation was in truth growing serious. The hogs began to collect in large numbers on Main Street. They drove the people into the houses, especially where the men were not at home. They spread across Depot Street until they came to Prospect Street. This was known as "Ladies' Row," because so many spinsters and widows lived there. It was the street of flower gardens, and all summer long it was a glorious rivalry of violets, pansies, daisies, roses, asters, and every sweet and beautiful blossom. Into this paradise the hogs entered, and began to root up and destroy. Toward the lower part of Main Street stood the grocery-store of Mr. Heman Hemenway, Chairman of the Board of Village Trustees. Trade being very dull, Mr. Hemenway sat dozing behind the counter dreaming of better times. Suddenly quick footsteps tapped along the knotty floor. Mr. Hemenway sprang up and put on the expectant smile with which he greeted every customer. It was Miss Placentia Hannum, of Ladies' Row, who stood before him. Her face was flushed, her dark eyes blazed with indignation, and her voice was pitched on a very high note as she exclaimed, "Mr. Hemenway! aren't you going to do anything?" "Do—do—anything? What—?" stammered the chairman of the trustees. "Don't you know?" cried Miss Placentia, with an eloquent gesture of disdain. "A whole train of hogs has run off the embankment, and they are just pouring into the village, thousands and thousands of them, and now they are on our street tearing up my beautiful flowers." Mr. Hemenway was a man who intended to do his duty, and he went out to the street at once. He was met by a deputation of hogs of such numbers that he believed that Miss Hannum's statement was literally true. He also began to feel that here was a condition of things not provided for in his Manual for Village Officers. He saw the hogs swarming down the street. He saw the people retreating into their houses after disastrous conflict with the enemy. Yet he kept bravely on up the street as far as the hay-scales, and there he met his fate. Two hogs saw Mr. Hemenway approaching, and they immediately gave him their entire attention. They were the humorists of the herd, and they played with Mr. Hemenway. When he went toward the right, they gently swayed in the same direction. He went toward the left, and they imitated him, smiling very widely. He stopped, and the hogs stood patiently before him. "Whey!" cried Mr. Hemenway, waving his hand. Apparently the hogs were startled by so harsh a word, and they fell back a few paces. Then they darted forward so suddenly that Mr. Hemenway nearly fell over his own heels, and when he recovered himself he stood with his feet far apart. This was an opportunity not to be lost. One hog ran between Mr. Hemenway's feet and upset him. He came down just in time to take a short ride on the back of the other, and then rolled off into the street. It seemed to him that a hundred hogs gathered around him in a moment. Across the street a door was cautiously opened, and the head and shoulders of Gran'sir Pease appeared. "Heman!" he cried, in a shrill, quavering voice, "go 'n' git the ol' Fo'th o' July cahnern and shewt 'em. It used to be 'round thar under Simon Hyle's shed." But this did not seem to Hemenway a feasible plan, especially as he knew that the "cahnern" had been at the bottom of the mill-pond for three years. A horse came rattling down the hill and across the mill bridge near the harness-shop. It was driven by Norris Wood, who had been out among the farms buying cattle for his meat market. He drove up to the harness-shop and hitched his horse. Three or four hogs stood in the way, but it seemed a very easy thing for Norris to set his great boots against them and send them sprawling along the ground. He looked so big and strong that Mr. Hemenway dismounted from the wooden horse. "Well, Heman, what have you got here?" said Norris, widening his bushy whiskers with a beaming smile. "Norris," said Mr. Hemenway, solemnly, "the village is overrun with hogs from a wrecked train, and I rely on you to drive 'em out. I give you full authority to do or take anything you want to." "They've got pretty well started," said Norris, "but if I had a few good helpers I guess we could master them. Hi!" he continued, "here come the academy boys." There were about twenty of them coming across the mill bridge. They were Riverdale Academy boys just out of school. They were on the double-quick, for they had seen the hogs, and felt sure there was fun ahead. "'Arma virumque cano!' Come here, every one of you!" cried Norris, who was an old academy boy himself. The boys immediately gathered around him, some of them, and Harry Burton in particular, inventing a great terror of the sniffing hogs. "Norris! Oh, Norris!" he cried, "protect us from these wild beasts of the desert. Let me ride in safety upon your broad shoulders," and he made as if he would suit the action to the word. "Quit your fooling," said Norris, sternly. "I want volunteers to drive these hogs out of the village. Every one who is willing to help, step out." With a hilarious cheer the whole company stepped forward. "Now," said Norris, "you see that pile of wood by the hay-scales? Every one of you go and get a stick." In less than a minute every boy was armed with a stout cudgel and waiting for further orders. Norris quickly scanned the crowd. "Julian Ross," he said, "you take six boys and stay here. Don't let a single hog get by you up the hill. Harry Burton, you take seven with you down to the bridge. Don't you let a hog pass over it into the lower village." Julian and Harry selected their followers. "Friends, Romans, countrymen," cried Harry, "follow me! "'Still is the story told And they went down the street on the double-quick. "All the rest of you come with me to Prospect Street," commanded Norris. They arrived at the scene of destruction none too soon. As they ran down the street they were greeted with tearful pleadings by the ladies to save their gardens from utter ruin. At length they outran the hogs and faced around to drive them back. The boys formed a line across the road, and beat them unmercifully with their cudgels. "Hit 'em on the snout every time," said Norris. And now began a high and piercing symphony which mingled and harmonized with a blood-curdling melody from Main Street. Norris, like the great CÆsar, was everywhere at one time. His methods were very interesting. He had persuasive powers with his big boots which caused a hog to point to the sky with four feet at a time. He was very dexterous in seizing a hog by a hind-leg and casting it out of a flower-bed into the road. And just as an enormous hog was about to root up Miss Placentia Hannum's rose-bush, Norris calmly took the animal by the ear, and led it squealing to the street. At last the hogs were beaten back and driven across to Main Street. There they mingled with the others slowly retreating before Julian Ross and Harry Burton and their followers. The boys were nearly exhausted, but Harry encouraged them by shouting, "Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley on!" and like historic exhortations. The hogs were now all brought together, filling the street in a solid mass. And there they stuck in spite of every effort to induce them to move on. Gran'sir Pease advised Norris to "slarter 'em" where they stood. It was time for a stroke of Napoleonic genius or the day would be lost. Norris unhitched his horse and jumped into the wagon. "Boys!" he cried, "hold 'em right where they are till you see me again. Go on, Bill." And he galloped away up Depot Street, and disappeared under the small railroad bridge. Ten long minutes the boys waited and shouted and fought the obstinate hogs. Then Norris was seen coming far up Main Street. He drove down to the hogs and turned his cart around. In the wagon was a box, and out of it Norris shovelled some yellow stuff into the road. The hogs nearest to him saw, smelled, hustled, and gobbled. In an instant others followed, pushing and upsetting each other. Norris drove on and cast out more meal, and in a minute the whole rushing, squirming, squealing herd glided away like the mill-pond when the dam broke. They followed the trail of corn meal up the street, and in a short time they were all safely enclosed in Norris's cattle-yard. Then the boys carried their sticks right shoulder shift, and came down the street singing, "When Johnny comes marching home again." |
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