Harper's Round Table, September 10, 1895 Part 5

We were pulled clear out of the Saragossa Sea, and the wind sprang up, and we made port in a week arter.

_Victoria_. Did Father Neptune let go the hawser?

_Uncle Jake_. No, miss. Ye see, I had forgot to tell him we was bound south, and nach.e.l.ly he bein' headed for the Sea-side Home, was a-goin'

north. We cut the hawser. But I'll never forgit the good turn he did us.

_Ida_. My brother's name is Willie. He is a sailor.

_Uncle Jake_. What's his last name?

_Ida_. Willie Moore.

_Uncle Jake_. Bless my soul, if that warn't the identical chap.

_Ida_. But my brother's first voyage was on the _Porpoise_. She sailed to the West Indies.

_Uncle Jake_. It _war_ the _Porpoise_. Beats all, how my memory fails.

The _Blue Turquoise_ war the next ship I sailed in.

_Ida_. Willie never spoke of that adventure at home, Captain Jake.

_Captain Jake_. Ask him, ask him. 'Mind him of the Saragossa Sea, and how the _Blue_--I mean the _Porpoise_--war tugged. He'll recollect.

Mention Miss Lorelei with her golding hair. But good-day, young ladies.

Pleased to meet ye again.

_All_. Good-day, Captain Jake.

_Miss Sommerfield_. And many thanks for your pretty tale.

[_Exit_ Captain Jake.]

_Miss James_. I fear that old man does not always speak the truth.

Neptune is a pure myth.

_Helen_. Like the Gulf Stream.

_Miss James_. And I seriously doubt, Miss Moore, if that was your brother Willie.

_Ida_. Don't you worry.

_Charlotte_. I see Madge has found the old lyric mamma loves. Read it, Madge, two lines at a time, and we will sing it to the tune of "What fairylike music steals over the sea."[1]

"What fairylike music steals over the sea, Entrancing the senses with charm'd melody?

'Tis the voice of the mermaid, that floats o'er the main, As she mingles her song with the gondolier's strain.

'Tis the voice of the mermaid, that floats o'er the main, As she mingles her song with the gondolier's strain."

[Madge _reads, and the others sing_.]

When we have the entertainment, we'll let this be the last thing on the programme.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Page 112, Vol. I., Franklin Square Library.

GREAT MEN'S SONS.

BY ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS.

THE SON OF NAPOLEON.

"Nineteen--twenty--twenty-one," the people in the Garden of the Tuileries counted. Then, with open ears, they listened breathlessly.

"Twenty-two! Hurrah! hurrah!" they shouted. "A boy; it is a boy!" they cried. "Long live the Emperor! Long live the King of Rome!"

It was the 20th of March, 1811. A baby had been born in the palace of the Tuileries. The booming cannon announced the great event, and the people knew that for a girl twenty-one guns would be fired; for a boy, one hundred. So when the twenty-second gun boomed out there was no need for further counting. All the people knew that an heir to the throne of France had been born, and with loud acclamations they shouted "welcome"

and "long life" to the son of Napoleon.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF ROME."]

He was a bright, pretty little fellow, and his father loved him from the start. At his very first cry Napoleon caught him up, and hurrying to the great chamber in which the foremost men of the empire were waiting, presented to them "his Majesty the King of Rome!"

It was at the height of Napoleon's power. All Europe lay at his feet.

Thrones and princ.i.p.alities were his to give away; but for his son he reserved the t.i.tle that would revive the greatness and glory of the ancient days and recall the widespread sway of Charlemagne; the little Napoleon was to be King of Rome, and heir to the Empire of France.

But a King must have a royal guard. So one day in September, 1811, a brigade of boys, none of them over twelve years old, marched into the Cour du Carrousel, where the Emperor was reviewing his army, and drew up in line of battle opposite the famous Old Guard of the Emperor. And Napoleon said: "Soldiers of my guard, there are your children. I confide to them the guard of my son, as I have confided myself to you." And to the boys he said: "My children, upon you I impose a difficult duty. But I rely upon you. You are pupils of the guard, and your service is the protection of the King of Rome."

There were days of splendor and ceremonial, of fete and display, in the early life of the little King of Rome. His father was, literally, Kings of Kings; he made and unmade sovereigns, he carved up nations, and cut out states.

Suddenly came the collapse. All Europe arrayed itself against this crowned adventurer--this man who, through a hundred years, has remained at once the marvel and the puzzle of history. There came days of preparation and leave-taking, of war and battle, of defeat and disgrace.

When the days of war and struggle came, the old-time fire and dash and courage of the conqueror seemed to have left him; his hopes were with his boy and that boy's future rather than in the rush and grapple of armies.

So Napoleon's star set fast. With all Europe arrayed against him for his overthrow, the great Corsican suddenly became little, and everything went wrong.

On the 25th of January, 1814, the father saw his son for the last time.

Holding by the hand the boy, then nearly three years old, the Emperor presented himself before the eight hundred officers of the National Guard of Paris, a.s.sembled in the gorgeous Hall of the Marshals.

"Officers of the National Guard," he said, "I go to take my place at the head of the army. To your protection I confide my wife and my son, upon whom rest so many hopes. In your care I leave what is next to France--the dearest thing I have in the world."

But disaster overwhelmed both the Emperor and the nation. The guards were powerless to guard. The armies of Napoleon were defeated; he himself was banished to Elba; and the little Napoleon with his mother escaped to the court of his grandfather, the Emperor of Austria.

With a final burst of courage Napoleon escaped from Elba and roused France once again to war. It was in vain. His power and his luck were gone. Waterloo gave him his death-blow, and the lonely island of St.

Helena became his prison and his grave.

Four days after Waterloo, on the 22d of June, 1815, Napoleon issued his last proclamation. "I offer myself in sacrifice to the hatred of the enemies of France," he announced. "My political life is ended, and I proclaim my son, under the t.i.tle of Napoleon II., Emperor of the French.... Let all unite for the public safety, and in order to remain an independent nation. NAPOLEON."

But the nation was paralyzed by disaster. Union was impossible. The boy thus proclaimed Emperor was far from France, held by the enemy. He was never to see his native land again, never to see his father, never to reign Emperor of the French.