Harper's Round Table, February 18, 1896

THE LITTLE CORPORALS.

BY JULIANA CONOVER.

There was a suspicious sniffle, then a series of gulps, and then the letters grew blurred and indistinct, and even hard winking would not keep the tears back; to Charlie's mortification they actually splashed down on the page before him.

Herr Dr. Hartmann looked up, peering through his glasses at the boy.

"What dost thou read?" he asked, kindly. "It is not, I hope, bad news from the home?"

"No," muttered Charlie, blowing his nose hard; "it's--a hockey story."

"Ach, du liebe Zeit!" ejaculated the puzzled master. "And what is that--an American wild animal, perhaps?"

Charlie shook his head and smiled, such a pathetic, homesick smile. "No, it's a game," he answered. "You play it on the ice with hockeys--sticks with a crook at the end--and a block of wood or rubber."

"So? and our German boys they do not know it? Then thou must teach them"--cheerfully--"yes? for the skating is good now, they tell me. Komischer Junge!" he exclaimed a little later to his wife. "He reads for pleasure, and then he cries. It is, of course, the homesickness, and I fancy he misses the out-of-door life and the sports which they have always in America."

Charlie Stanton was fourteen--quite old enough, he maintained, to be his own master, even in a foreign country; but when his mother and father had actually said good-by, leaving him in a German family in Berlin while they went to Egypt for the winter, he began to regret his boasted independence; and while not acknowledging himself homesick, even a hockey story recalled too many happy memories to be read quite stoically. Mr. and Mrs. Stanton had felt perfectly safe in leaving their son with Dr. Hartmann, for he was a man who made it as much his concern to know that his pupils were happy, as that they imbibed a sufficient quantity of German and the classics.

At two o'clock the next afternoon Charlie started out for the West End Eisbahn. It was a beautiful day, cold and crisp and clear, and the boy's eyes glistened as he adjusted the lever of his skates. Then he stood up and looked about. Germans to right of him, Germans to left of him, Germans all around him, rising and falling. He watched them for a moment, and then struck out rather dismally, for even skating lost half its charm when one was quite alone. What was his astonishment, then, when a small block of wood shot past him, propelled by a real hockey in the hands of a boy about his own size.

"Stop him! head him off! he'll make a goal!" shouted Charlie, in great excitement, forgetting his surroundings utterly; and seizing a cane that was lying on a bench, he started off in mad pursuit, colliding recklessly with girls and officers, and sending several stiff little cadets sprawling on their backs. The next minute, by a dexterous stroke, he knocked up the hockey, dislodged the ball, and before his astounded opponent could recover himself, had carried it in triumph to the end of the pond.

"Goal!" he cried, waving his stick as the other boy came up.

"You went out of bounds," he retorted; "but, George! you do know how to play hockey! Are you an American?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Rather"--emphatically. "We're only spending the winter here, because Edith, my sister, is taking violin lessons. Here she comes"--as a remarkably pretty girl, accompanied by a "colossal schneider" hussar, glittering in blue and silver, skated towards them.

"Are you on the war-path, Dick?" Edith Hartley asked, laughingly, "Herr Von Lutzow says that the dead and wounded are lying all over the pond, and that the German army will have to hold you to account."

"All right. We'll challenge the German army to a game of hockey--won't we!" turning to Charlie.

"Easily," he replied.

"Hear that, Rahden?" said Von Lutzow, to a Second Lieutenant in the Infantry Guards who had joined Miss Hartley.

The young officer laughed. "Is it what you call the American cheek--yes? I have heard of it. Guädiges Fräulein, may I have the honor?"

"Not if you insult my country. Oh, Herr Von Lutzow, do get up a hockey game. It would be such fun to see you try and play."

"You think we could not? Too stiff--what? Rahden, we will have to show them that the German army cannot be trifled with even in sport. Then, Young America, get up your company, team, what you call it, and we will meet you on the battle-ground of the Grunewald one week from to-day. Ah! It will be the birthday of your great man, is it not? Your Mr. Washington."

Dick and Charlie were old friends by the time they left the Eisbahn, and they walked home together, discussing most earnestly the vital question of "material" for their hockey team.

"A week is an awfully short time," Dick said, as they parted; "but if the ice lasts we will show them what American boys can do."

The next day, however, brought a most discouraging note to Charlie.

"I can't find a fellow who knows a hockey from a hole in the ground," Dick wrote. "It's awfully hard luck. I could get Englishmen to burn; but that wouldn't do, because we challenged the officers to an international game, and we've got to stick to it, and play them somehow."

Charlie's spirits sank to zero. He didn't know a single boy in the whole city, and, what was even worse, he could not go out that afternoon to help in the search. But surely in all Berlin there must be at least seven boys--for they needn't play eleven--who knew something of shinny, or even football--if they could only skate. So he wrote back to Dick in the words of the famous Lawrence, and then waited in a fever of impatience for Dick's next bulletin.

"It's all right," Dick wrote. "I hustled like everything yesterday, and managed to find some fellows who knew how to handle their hockeys pretty well, but have never played on a regular team. They'll do, though. I hope the officers won't crawl now."

So did Charlie, devoutly, for his spirits had risen so high with the first sentence that he felt ready for any thing--artillery, cavalry, infantry--let them all come on!

That afternoon the raw recruits were drilled with such energy by the "little corporals," as the officers had dubbed the boys, that it began to look dark for the German army.

Dick and Charlie really played a remarkably fine game for their age, and were indefatigable in their efforts to teach the team how to dodge, and stop short, and back up, and play together, etc.; and it was quite dark when a dozen dead-tired but hopeful and enthusiastic boys started for home, their skates over their arms.

Finally Washington's birthday dawned bright and clear.

"And it is to-day the great game--yes?" asked Dr. Hartmann, as he watched Charlie's serious face at the morning coffee. "And the Kaiser, he will be there?"

Charlie laughed such a clear ringing laugh it did the Herr Doctor's heart good to hear it. There did not seem to be an atom of homesickness left in the hoy, and all because of a game! Truly the sporting spirit was a strange and unaccountable thing.

No, the Kaiser was not at the Grunewald, but quite a number of brilliant uniforms lined the little sheet of ice on that memorable afternoon. The boys were in old and variegated sweaters--a great contrast to the smart military team that walked gingerly across the slippery ice while the officers on the bank chaffed them in ringing tones.

"Stillgestanden! Kopf in die Höhe!" (halt! head up!) cried one. "Knochen zusammen!" (legs together) called another; while a gaudy yellow hussar exhorted one to "shake himself into his coat."

Their amusement only increased when the Prussian force stood up in line, their faces crimson from the effort of putting on their skates without the help of a Bursche.

Frank Moore, a friend of the Hartleys, had promised to act as umpire, and had made all the necessary arrangements. After a little preliminary skirmishing, Dick and a big hussar with a fierce red mustache shook hands and declared themselves ready. Then the two teams lined up. The umpire placed the block in the centre of the field, and the whistle blew. Like a flash the forwards bore down upon the little solid vulcanized rubber block, the officers reaching it first.

"Spread out!" cried Dick. "Guard your field!"