WHERE IS THE CENTRE OF THE UNITED STATES?
The more Mr. Ramey reflected upon his recent ridiculous adventure,
the more determined he became to keep its history from reaching the
ears of his shipmates on board the _Phoca_, if such a thing were
possible. He knew that if it once got into the wardroom he would never
hear the last of it, for nothing more pleases a wardroom mess than a
good joke at the expense of one of its members. The story is told and
retold with such humorous additions as may suggest themselves from
time to time. It is treasured up to be related through coming years
in many different wardrooms until, unless its victim is sensible and
good-natured, it weighs upon him like a chronic nightmare, and causes
him much unhappiness. Fortunately, most wardroom men have had both
these qualities thoroughly rubbed into them by a four-years’ course of
vigorous polishing at Annapolis, and so are in a condition to laugh
as heartily over a good story at their own expense as at any other.
Unfortunately, in the present case, Mr. Ramey was not an Annapolis man,
and had not yet learned to take such things good-naturedly. Then, too,
as he was very fond of jokes at the expense of others, he realized
how bitter and nauseous the dose would be made for him. Therefore, he
mentally vowed that, if he could compass it, neither Philip Ryder nor
Serge Belcofsky should again set foot on the deck of the good ship
_Phoca_. To this end he began to scheme, even while they were brushing
the dirt of the rookery from his uniform, and from the very first
fortune seemed to favor him.
“I wouldn’t mention this if I were you,” he said in a low tone to the
lads, “until we are once more aboard ship and away from the island,
because there is such a strong feeling here against any one who
disturbs a rookery that it might get me into trouble. Of course it is
too good a yarn to withhold from the wardroom, but it will be all the
better for being kept a few days.”
“All right,” replied Phil, striving politely to smother his laughter;
“we won’t speak of it on the island.” At the same time the lad smiled
to think how he should enjoy telling it to Miss May, and how heartily
that appreciative daughter of the sea would laugh over it.
Captain Matthews dined ashore with the company’s agent that day, while
Mr. Ramey and our lads had accepted an invitation from the government
inspector, under whose hospitable roof the latter were also to spend
the night.
During the meal, at which, in honor of the guests, were served all the
delicacies of the islands, Phil paid particular attention to a large
omelette, a dish of which he was very fond. As he had seen no fowls
about the village, he inquired of his host where he kept his hens.
“Oh, just around the corner!” laughed the inspector, “where we have
a chicken ranch containing several millions of egg-laying fowls.
By-the-way,” he continued, more soberly, “that is one of the sights of
this region, and you ought certainly to visit it before leaving here.
It――Walrus Island, I mean――supports the most accessible as well as one
of the most populous and densely-packed bird rookeries in the world
outside of the Antarctic Ocean. That is where we keep our million or
so of hens, only we call them gulls, murres, arries, auks, chookies,
sea-parrots, and cormorants. On the five or six acres of level surface
offered by Walrus they are packed as tightly as sardines in a box; they
are everlastingly quarrelling among themselves, and yet they are so
perfectly fearless of man that they will scarcely move out of the way
to avoid being stepped on. Yes, indeed, it is a sight you ought not to
miss. A boat is sent over from here every few days after eggs, of which
six men will collect several tons in as many hours. If I find that one
is going over in time for you to make the trip, I will let you know,
and I should advise you to take it.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Phil. “I should like it above all things.”
“There is another thing on hand just now,” continued the inspector,
“that I think would interest you immensely. Have you ever seen a
sea-lion?”
“Yes,” replied Phil, “I shot two only the other day.”
“Then you know what great ferocious-appearing monsters they are. Would
you believe that a herd of them could be driven out on land, and kept
for days at a time within a corral, or fence, of nothing but sticks,
strings, and bits of fluttering cotton rags, such as a child could
easily tear down?”
“No,” answered Phil. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Well, it is,” said the inspector, “and you can see that very thing
to-morrow, if you care to visit Northeast Point. You see, as we kill
all our seals for the year inside of a month, we made our last drive of
this season to-day. A lot of our young men, being thus set at liberty,
have gone over to Northeast to begin a sea-lion drive on their own
account. The skins are valuable for making boats, you know, while the
flesh is esteemed much more highly than that of a seal.”
“But how can they drive sea-lions?” asked Phil. “I thought they were
so shy that a man couldn’t get near them.”
“So they are, and for that reason they can only be approached at night,
when they are asleep on the beach, and then only by exercise of the
utmost caution. The hunters creep along the beach, among its many
bowlders, on all-fours, until they are between the herd and the water.
Then they jump up with waving arms and a wild yelling that frightens
the sea-lions almost out of their senses. Those that have been asleep,
with their noses pointed towards the sea, rush into the water with such
force that nothing could stop them, and so escape. At the same time,
those who are so unfortunate as to be headed inland when thus rudely
awakened, rush with equal precipitation in that direction. The natives
close in behind them, dancing, brandishing weapons, screaming, making
all sorts of frantic noises, and so drive them at a sort of a lumbering
gallop for several hundred feet, when the frenzied animals, breathless
and exhausted, fall panting to the ground. Instead of killing them
where they are, the natives allow them to rest a few minutes. Then
they rouse and urge them forward by all manner of devices, the most
successful of which is the sudden opening of gingham umbrellas in their
faces. When they have got the herd out of sight of the water, behind
some sand-dune, they crowd them together and run a fence of strings
around them in no time. The strings are supported by slender sticks
thrust into the sand, each of which bears a bit of fluttering cotton
cloth. Here the forty or fifty big brutes are as securely fenced as
though behind stone walls, and here they remain for several weeks, or
until three or four hundred of their kind have been secured and herded
with them. During this time, instead of remaining stupidly quiet,
as you might imagine, they are constantly on the alert, writhing,
fighting, and climbing over each other with incessant motion.”
“Seems to me I never heard of anything so stupid!” exclaimed Phil.
“Did you ever hear of any one being afraid of ghosts?” asked the
inspector.
“Yes, sir, I believe I have.”
“Well, it seems to me that such people are just as silly and stupid
as the sea-lions, who are afraid of bits of fluttering cotton cloth.
Doesn’t it to you?”
“Of course it does, sir!” answered the lad, heartily, for John Ryder
had taught his son to regard all forms of superstition as the result of
combined cowardice and ignorance. “But while I should hate to meet or
know any person who is such a coward as to believe in and be afraid of
ghosts, I should dearly love to see a herd of sea-lions in a corral of
strings. So I think I will go over there to-morrow. I shall have plenty
of time, sha’n’t I, Mr. Ramey?”
“Certainly,” replied the lieutenant, “you have still two days and two
nights to spend ashore; or, rather, you have two whole days, for the
nights here are so short now that they are hardly worth counting.”
“By-the-way, Ramey,” remarked the inspector, “speaking of nights, do
you remember the questions you promised to look up for me when you were
last here? One was whether sunlight was ever absent from all parts of
the United States at once, and the other was, where is the centre of
this country between the east and the west?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant, “I do and I have looked them up. In
summer the sun may always be seen from one part or another of United
States territory; for it rises over Eastport, Maine, before it sets on
Attu Island. As to the east-and-west centre of the country, it is――”
“Where do you say?” interrupted the inspector, and putting the question
to Phil.
“Omaha,” was the prompt reply.
“Do you think so, too?” asked the inspector of Serge.
“No, sir. I should think it might be somewhere west of the Rocky
Mountains.”
Phil laughed at this, but the inspector said: “Don’t laugh too soon, my
lad, I expect he is more nearly right than you. How is it, Ramey?”
“They are both pretty far out in their guesses,” replied the young
officer, delighted at this opportunity of exposing the ignorance
of “these youngsters,” as he mentally termed them. “Omaha is away
off the mark, and the ‘somewhere west of the Rocky Mountains’ is
very indefinite. The truth is that Attu, the westernmost Aleutian
island, being very nearly three thousand miles to the westward of San
Francisco, makes that city practically the midway point. In reality,
though, the point is still some sixty miles to the westward of the
Golden Gate, while the exact geographical centre of the United States
is at a point in the Pacific forty miles off the mouth of the Columbia
River.”
“Well!” cried Phil, laughing. “So that is the case――”
“I can assure you that it is,” interrupted Mr. Ramey, stiffly, “for I
made the calculations myself.”
“I had no intention of doubting the correctness of your figures,”
responded Phil, in a tone that was painfully polite. “I was only about
to say, if that is the case, when the seals leave here they seek
winter-quarters in the very centre of the country.”
This Mr. Ramey considered a very flippant manner of treating a problem
upon the solution of which he had exhausted his entire stock of
mathematics, and it confirmed him in his opinion that this young Ryder
was decidedly “fresh.”
Soon after this Captain Matthews and his third lieutenant returned
to the cutter, while our lads visited the library, the hospital, the
quaint Greek church, and the interiors of several native houses, which
they found to be surprisingly neat and comfortable. Having thus seen
all there was of interest in the immediate vicinity, they turned in to
get a good night’s rest, preparatory to their long trip of the morrow.