Our Archery Club

From Hcribner for August. When an archery club was iormed in our village, I was among the first to join it ; but I should not, on this account, claim any extraordinary enthusiasm on the subject of archery, for nearly all the ladies and gentlemen of the place were among the ürst to join. Few of us I think, had a correct idea of the popularitv of archery in our midst, until the subject of a club was broached. Then we all perceived what a strong interest we feit in the study and use of the bow and arrow. The club was formed immediately, and our thirty members began to discuss the relative merits of lancewood, yew, and grenheart bows, and to survey yards and lawns for suitable spots for setting up targets for home practico. Our weekly meetings, at which we came together to show, infriendly contest, how much our home practice had taught us, were held upon the village green, or rather upon what had been intended to be the village green. This pretty piece of ground, partly in smooth lawn, and partly shaded by fine trees, was the property of a gentleman of the place, who had presented it, under certain conditions, to the township. But as the township had never f ulfllled any of the conditions, and had done nothing toward the improvement of the spot, f urther than to make it a grazing place for local cows and goats, the owner had withdrawn his gift, shut out the cows and goats by a picket fence, and having locked the gate, had hung up the key in his barn. When our club was formed, the green, as it was still called, was offered to us for our meetings, and with proper gratituda, we eleoted its owner to be our president. This gentleman was eminently qualified for the presidency of an archery club. In the first place.he did not shoot ; this gave him time and opportunity to attend to the shooting of others. He was a tall and pleasant man. a little elderly. This "elderliness," if I may so put it, seemed in his case, to resemble some mild disorder, likea gentle rheumatism, which, while it prevented him from indulging in all the wild hilarities of youth, gave him, in compensation, a position, as one entitled to a certain consideration, wtiich was very agreeable to him. His little disease was chronic, it is true, and it was growing upon him, but it was, so f ar, a pleasant ailment. And so, with as much interest in bows, and arrows, and targets, and successful shots as any of us, he never titted an arrow to a string, nor drew a bow ; but he attended every meeting, seetling disputed points (forhestudied all the books on archery) ; encouraging the disheartened ; holding back the eager ones, who would run to the target as soon as they had shot regardless of the fact that others were still shooting, and that the human body is not arrow-proof; and shedding about him that general aid and comfort which emanates from a good fellow, no matter what he may say or do. There were persons- outsiders - who said that archerv clubs always selected ladies for their presiding officers, but we did not care to be too much bound down and trammeled by customs and traditions. Another club might not have among its members such a genial elderly gentleman, who owned a village green. I soon f ound myselt greatly interested in archery, especially when I succeededin planting an arrow somewhere within the periphery of the target; but I never became such an enthusiast in bow-shooting as my f riend Pepton. If Pepton could have arranged matters to suit himacif, hs w-ouid have been born an archer ; but as this did not happen to have been the case, he employed every means in his power to rectif y what he considered this serious error in his construction. He gave his whole soul, and the greater part of his spare time to archery, and as he was a young man of energy, this helped him along wonderfully. His equipments were perfect; no one could excel him in this respect. His bow was snake-wood, backed with hickory. He carefully rubbed it down every evening with oil and bees-wax, and it took its repose in a green baize bag. His arrows were Philip Hightteld's best ; his strings the flnest Flanders hemp. He had shooting-gloves, and he had little leathern tips, that could be screwed fast on the ends of what he called his stnng-flngers. He had a quiver and a belt, and when equipped for the weekly meeting, he ca rried a f ancy-colored wiping tassel, and a little ebony grease-pot, hanging from his belt. He wore, when shooting, a polished arm-guard or bracer, lived with two good old maiden ladies, who took as much care of him as if they had been his mothers. And he was such a good, kind fellow that he deserved all the attention they gave him. They feit a great interest in his archery pursuits, and shared his anxious solicitude in the selection of a suitable place to hang his bow. "You see," said he, "a fine bow like this, when not in use, should always be in a perfectly dry place." "And when in use, too," said Miss Martha; "for I am sure that you o ïghtn't to be standing and shooting and if he had heard of anything else that an archer should have, hestraightway would have procured it. Pepton was a single man, and he in any damp spot. There's no surer way of gettin' chilled." To which sentiment Miss Maria agreed, and suggested wearing rubber shoes, or having a board to stand on, when the club met after a rain. Pepton iirst hung nis bow in the hall ; but after he had arranged it symmetrically upon two long nails (bound with green worsted, lest they should scratch the bow through its woolen cover), he reflected that the front door would frequently be open, and that damp draughts must often go through the hall. His own room had to be aired a great deal in all weathers, and so that would not do at all. The wall above the kitchen fire-place would be a good location, for the chimney was nearly always warm; but Pepton could not bring himself to keep his bow in the kitchen; there would benothing aesthetic about such a disposition of it ; and, besides, the girl might be tempted to string and bend it. The old ladies really did not want it in the parlor, for its length and its green baUe cover would make it an encroaching, and unbecoming neigaoor to tne ntue engravings and the big samplers, the pictureframes of acorns and pine-cones, the fancifully-patterned ornaments of clean wheat-straw, and all the quaint adornments which had hung upon those walls for so many years. But they did not say so. If it had been necessary to make room for tke bow, they would have taken down the penciled proflies of their grandf ather, their grandmother, and their father when a little boy, which hung in a row over the mantel-piece. One afternoon, as I was passing the old ladies' house, I saw, or thought 1 saw, two men carrying in a coffln. I was struck with alarm. "What!" I thought, "can either of those good women ? Or, can Pepton ?" "Without a moment's hesitation, I rushed in behind the men. There, at the foot of the stairs, directing them, stood Pepton. Then it was not he! I seized him sympathetically by the hand. "Which ?" I faltered. "Which? Who is that coffin for?" "Ooffin!" cried Pepton, "why, my dear fellow, that is not a coffin. That is my ascham." "Ascham?" Iexclaimed. "What is that?" "Come and look at it," he said, when the men had set it on end against the wall ; "it is an upright closet or receptacle for an archer's armament. Here is a place to stand the bow. here are supports for the arrows and quivers ; here are shelves and hooks, on which to lay or hang everything the merry man can need. And you see, moreover, that it is lined with green plush, and that the door fits tightly, so that it can stand any where, and there need be no fear of draughts or dampness affecting my bow. Isn't it a perfect thing ? You ought to get one." I admitted the perf ection, but agreed no further. I hart not the income of my good friend Pepton. Pepton was, indeed, most wonderfully well equipped, and yet, little did those dear old ladies think, when they carefully dusted and reverentially gazed at the bunehes of arrows, the arm-bracers, the gloves, the grease-pots, and all the rest of the paraphernalia of archery, as it hung around Pepton's room ; or when they af terward allowed a particular friend to peep at it, all arranged so orderly within the ascham ; or when they looked with sympathetic, loving admiration on the beautif ui polished bow, when it was taken out of ts bag - little did they think, I say, that Pepton was the very poorest shot in the club. In all the surf ace of the much perforated targets of the club, there was scarcely a hole that he could put his tand upon his heart and say he made. Indeed, I think it was the truth that Pepton was born not to be an archer. There were young f ellows in the club, who shot with bows that cost no more than Pepton's tassels, but who could stand up and whang arrows into the targets all the afternoon, if they could get a. chance ; and there were ladies who made hits five times out of six ; and there were also all the grades of archers common to any club. But there was no one but himself in Pepton's grade. He stood alone, and it was never any trouble to add up his score. And yet he was not discouraged. He practiced every day.except Sundays, and indeed he was the only person in the club who practiced at . night. When he told me about this, I was a little surprised. "Why, it's easy enough," said he. "You see, I hung a lantern, with a reflector bef ore the target, just a little to one side. It hghted up the target beautifully, and I believe there was a better chance of hitting it than V y daylight, for the only thing you could see was the target, and so your attention was not distracted. To be sure," he said, in answer to a question, "it was a gona öuui UL trobi0 fn findtf.e arrows but that I always have. When 1 get so expert that 1 can put all the arrows into the target, there will be no trouble of the kind, night or day. However," he contiuued, "I don't practice any more by night. The other evening I sent an arrow slam-bang into the lantern, and broke it all to flinders. Borrowed lantern, too. Besides, I found it made Miss Martha very nervous to have me shooting about the house after dark. She had a friend, who had a little boy, who was hit in the leg by an arrow f rom a bow. which, she says, accidentally went off in the night, of its own accord. She is certainly a little mixed in her mind in regard to this matter ; but I wish to respect her f eelings, and so shall not use another lantern." As I have said, there were many good archers among the ladies of our club. Some of them, after we had been organized for a month or two, made scores that few of the gentlemen could excel. But the lady who attracted the greatest attention when she shot was Miss Bosa. When this very pretty young lady stood up before the ladies' target- her left side well advanced, her bow firmly held out in her strong left arm, which never quivered, her head a little bent to the right, her arrow drawn back by three well-gloved flngers to the tip of her little ear, her dark eyes steadly fixed upon the gold, and her dress - well-fitted over her fine and vigorous figure - falling in graceful folds about her feet, we all stopped shooting to look at her. "There is something statuesque about her," said Pepton, who ardently admired her, "and yet there isn't. A statue could never equal her unless we knew there was a probability of movement in it. And the only staLues which have that are the Jarley Waxworks, which she does not resemble in the least. There is only one thing that that girl needs to make her a perfect archer, and that is to be able to aim better." This was true. Miss Rosa did need to aim better. Her arrows had a curious habit of going on all sides of the target, and it was very seldom that one chanced to stick into it. For, if she did make a hit, we all knew it was chance and that there was no probability of her doing it again. Once she put an arrow into the center of the gold - one of the finest shots ever made on the ground- but she didn't hit the target again for two weeks. She was almost as bad a shot as Pepton, and that is saying a good deal. One evening, I was sitting with Pepton on the little front porch of the old ladies' house, where we were taking our after-dinner smoke while Miss Martha and Miss Maria were washing, with their own white hands, the china and glass in which they took so mu h j prido. I ofton uscd to come over a&d spend an hour with Pepton. He liked to have some one to whom he could talk on the subjects which filled his soul, and I liked to hear him talk. "I teil you," said he, as he leaned back in his chair, with his fee carefully disposed on the railing so that they would not injure Miss Maria's Madeira vine, "I teil you, sir, that there are two things I crave with all my power of craving ; two goals I f ain would reach; two diadems I would wear upon my brow. One of these is to kill an eagle - or some large bird - I would Uien have it stuffed and mounted, with the very arrow that killed it still sticking in its breast. This trophy of my skill I would have fastened against the wall of my room, or my hall, and I wouid feel proud to think that my grandchildren could point to that bird- which I would carefully bequeath to my descendants - and say, 'My grand'ther shot that bird, and with that very arrow.' Would it not stir your pulses, if ■;,■; could do a thinglikethatï" "I should have to stir them up a good deal before I could do it," I replied. "It would be a hard thing to shoot an eagle with an arrow. If you want a stuffed bird to bequeath, you'd better use a rifle." "A rifle!" exclaimed Pepton. "There would be no glory in that. There are lots of birds shot with rifles - eagles. hawks, wild geese, tom-tits " "Oh no," I interrupted, "not tomtits." "Well, perhaps they are too little for a rifle," said he ; "but what I mean to say is, that I wouldn't care at all for an eagle I had shot with a rifle. You couldn t show the ball that killed him. If it were put in properly, it would be inside, where it couldn't be seen. No, sir ; it is ever so much more honorable, and far more difncult, too, to hit an eagle than to hit a target." "That is very true," I answered, "eqpooially ir theoe days when there are so few eagles and so manv targets. But what is yodr other diadeii'í" "That," said Pepton, "is to see Miss Rosa wear the badge." "Indeed!" said 1, and f rom that moment I began to understand Pepton's hopes in regard to the grandm other ot those children who should point to the eagle. "Yes, sir," he continued, "I should be truly happy to see her win the badge. And she ought to win it. No one shoots more correctly, and with a better understanding of all the rules than she does. There must, truly, be something the matter with her aiming. I've half a mind to coach her a little." During the next month our style of archery improved very much, so much, indeed, that we increased our distance, for gentlemen, to forty yards, and that for ladies to thirty, and also had serious thoughts of challenging the Ackford club to a match. But as this was generally understood to be a crack club, we finally determined to defer our challenge until the next season. When I say we improved, I do net mean all of us. I do not mean Miss Rosa. Although her attitudes were as fine as ever, and every motion as true to rule as ever, she seldom made a hit. Pepton actually did try to teach her how to aim, but the various methods of pointing the arrow which he suggested resulted in such wild shooting, that the boys who picked up the arrows never dared to stick the points of their noses beyond their boarded barricade, during Miss Rosa's turns at the target. But she was not discouraged, and Pepton often assured her that if she would keep up a good heart, and practice regularly, she would get the badge yet. As a rule, Pepton was so honest and truthf ui that a little statement of this kind, especially under the circumstances, might be forgiven him. One day Pepton came to me and announced that he had made a discovery. "It's about archery," he said, "and I don't mind telling you, because I know you will not go about telling everybody else, and also because 1 want U. see juu bi,i _, „„ „rpVipr " "I am very much obligea," 1 saiu, "and what is the discovery 't" "It's this," he answered. "When you draw your bow, bring the nock of your arrow" - he was always very particular about technical terms - "well up to your ear. Having done that, don't bother any more about your right hand. It has nothing to do with the correct pointing of your arrow, for it must be kept close to your right ear, just as if it were screwed there. Then with your left hand bring around the bow so that your fist - with the arrowhead, which is resting on the top of it - shall point, as nearly as you can make it, directly at the center of the target. Then let fly, and ten to one you'll make a hit. Now, what do you think of that, for a discovery 't I'ye thoroughly tested the plan, and it work splendidly." "I think," said I, "that you have discovered the way in which good archers shoot. You have stated the correct method of managing a bow and arrow." "Then you don't think it's an original method with me?" "Certainly not," I answered. "But it's ihe correct way ? "There's no doubt of that," said I. "Well," said Pepton, "then I shall make it my way." He did so, and the consequence was that one day, when the Champion happened to be a way, Pepton won the badge. When the result was announced, we were all surprised, but none so much so as Pepton himself. He had been steadily improving since he had adopted a good style of shooting, but he had had no idea that he would that day be able to win the badge. When our president pinned the emblem of success upon the lappel of his coat, Pepton turned pale, and then he flushed. He thanked the president, and was about to thank the ladies and gentlemen; but probably reeollecting that we had had nothing to do with ït - unless, indeed, we had shot badly on his behalf - he refrained. He said little ; but I could see that he was very proud and very happy. There was but one dra w-back to his triumph ; Miss Rosa was not there. She was a very regular attendant ; but for some reason she was absent on this momentous afternoon. I did not say anything to him on the subject; butl knew he feit tfci? absence deeply. But this cloud could not wholly overshadow his happiness. He walked home alone, his face beaming, his eyes sparkling, and his good bow under his arm. That evening I called on him, for I t&ought that, when he had cooled down a little, ho wonld like to talk over the affair. But he was not in. Miss Maria said that he had gone out is '■oo.vt as he had finished his dinner. ■3.' ii he hurried through in a way which would certainly injurehis digestión if he kept up the practice; and dinner was late, too, for they waited for him; and the archery meeting lasted a long time to-day, and it really was not right for him to stay out after the dew began to fall with only ordinary shoes on, for what's the good of knowing how to shoot a bow and arrow, if you're laid up in your bed with rheumatism or disease of the lungs? Good old lady ! She would have kept Pepton in a green baize bag, had such a thing been possible. The next morning, full two hours before church-time, Pepton called on me. His face was still beaming. I could not help smiling. "Your happiness lasts well," I said "Lasts!" he exclaimed. "Why shouldn't it last?" "There's no reason why it sbould not - at least for a week," I said. "And even longer, if you repeat your success." I did not feel so much like congratulating Pepton as I had on the previous evening. I thought he was making too much of his badge-winning. "Look here!" said Pepton, seating himself, and drawing his chair close "you are shooting wild - very wild indeed. Let me teil you something. Last evening I went to see Miss Rosa. She was delighted at my success. I had not expected this. I thought she would be pleased, but not to such a degree. Her congratulations were so warm that they set me on flre." "They must have been very warm indeed," I remarked. " 'Miss Rosa,' said I," continued Pepton, without regarding any interruption, " 'it has been my fondest hope to see you wear the badge.' 'But I never couid get it, you know,' she said. 'You have got it,' I exclairned. 'Take this. I won it for you. Make me happy by wearing it.' 'I can't do that,' she said. 'That is a gentleman's badge.' 'Take it,' I cried, 'gentleman and all ! ' '! cqn't, t.ell you all that happened iitir that, conühiiHi . i'epto'.i. "You know it wouldu't do. It is enough to say that she wears the badge. And we are both her own - the badge and I!" Now I congratulated him in good earnest. There was a reason for it. "I don't care a snap now for shooting an eagle," said Pepton, springing to his feet, and striding up and down the floor. "Let 'em all fly free of me I have made the most glorious shot that man could make. I have hit the gold - hit it fair in the center ! And what's more, I've knocked it clean out of the target ! Nobody else can ever make such a shot. The rest of you fellows will have to be content to hit the red, the blue, the black, or the white. The gold is mine!" Í called on the old ladies, some time after this, and found them alone. They were generally alone in the evenings now. We talked about Pepton's engagement, and I found them resigned. They were sorry to lose büt thoy wanted him to be happy- "We have always known," said Miss Martha, with a little sigh, "that we must die, and that he must get married. But we don't intend to repine. These things will come to people." And her little sigh was followed by a smile, still smaller.