Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JUNE 11, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVI.--NO. 815. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
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[Illustration]
SAVED BY A CARCASS.
A WHALEMAN'S YARN.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
"Han'some," said Farmer Joe, having stretched himself on the shady side
of the forecastle-deck and set his pipe going, "it 'pear's to me that
it's about time we heard what happened to you after you got back to your
own ship."
"You mean on my whaling voyages, I suppose," said Handsome.
"That's a right peert guess," responded Farmer Joe.
Handsome blew a whirling cloud of smoke that went swiftly out to leeward
under the swelling foot of the fore-staysail. He watched it in a
meditative manner until it disappeared, and then said:
"I was pretty glad to get back to my own ship, the _Ellen Burgee_,
because, in spite of the fact that they treated us very well aboard the
_Two Cousins_, you see I had a pretty good lay on the _Ellen_, and I
didn't want to lose it. Of course nobody ever gets rich by going to
sea, but a fellow likes to stick fast to all he gets. Well, we didn't
stay very long in the bay in company with the _Two Cousins_. We got to
sea again, and laid our course for a bit of cruising-ground away to the
southward, where our Captain said he believed the whaling was good. The
voyage down there was as stupid as a Sunday-afternoon sermon in hot
weather, and for the matter of that so was the cruising for two days,
because we didn't raise a single spout. On the third day, however, we
were gladdened by the welcome cry of 'There she blows!' There were half
a dozen whales in sight, and the old man had great hopes of getting at
least two of them. But that was not to be our luck that day. The first
mate got fast to one big fellow, and killed him, but the rest of us
returned to the ship empty-handed.
"Now I haven't told you anything about what's done with a whale after
you get him; but as this story depends on that, I'll have to explain.
The first job is to get the whale alongside the ship."
"Why not sail the ship alongside the whale?" asked one of the listeners.
"That ain't wholly practicable," answered Handsome, "because you might
run into him and sink him. The ship does sail as close as she dares, but
the boats must do their share. Two boats take the ends of a light line,
with a weight slung on the bight so as to sink it, and they pass this
under the whale's tail and around his 'small,' as the slimmest part of
him is called. By means of this line, the ends being passed aboard the
ship, a chain is run in a slip-noose around the 'small,' and Mr. Whale
is hauled alongside and kept there. Next comes the business of
cutting-in, which means cutting off the blubber and bone that are
wanted. Stages, such as ships' painters use, are slung over the side of
the vessel, and the first-class cutters, generally the ship's officers,
stand on these stages with long-handled spades. The cutting-in begins at
the place where the backbone joins the head, and the first strip taken
off there is called the blanket piece. The pieces of blubber are hauled
up with tackles, and these rip them off while the spades cut. It's a
long and tough job, and it makes a new hand pretty sick. But it's
child's play to what comes next, which is the trying-out. Say, I'd
rather be a green hand again than have another job at trying-out."
"Well, tell us about it, anyhow," said Farmer Joe.
"It ain't any use to make a long yarn of that," continued Handsome. "The
try-works, as they call them, are a sort of Dutch oven, built of bricks,
and situated amidships. A couple of big iron pots stand on top of the
oven, and the blubber, minced up, is put into them. You start a fire in
the oven, and that boils out the oil, which is ladled out into casks,
and then all hands turn to and pick out the pieces of fat and scraps so
as to have nothing put pure oil. Well, to heave ahead with the yarn, we
had our whale alongside overnight, and the next morning we started at
cutting-in. About the time we'd got ready for trying-out, and started
the fires, the breeze began to freshen up, and it looked rather dirty up
to windward. The Captain said we must shake a leg with the trying-out.
"'Boys,' says he, 'we got to boil this oil with stu'ns'ls set, because
before we get it done we'll be under a close-reefed maintops'l.'
"Well, bless you, he hadn't much more than got the words out of his
mouth than the mast-head fellow lets out a yell:
"'There she blows! And there she breaches!'
"Now it wouldn't make any difference to a whaler if he thought the world
was a-going to come to an end in ten minutes, he'd lower away if he saw
a spout. So the Captain gave orders for two boats to get under way in
chase of the new whales. One of the boats was the one I belonged to, and
the next thing I knew I was sitting on my thwart. The sail was hoisted,
and we went scudding down to leeward at a rattling gait. Say, it wasn't
altogether agreeable to sit in that boat and notice the width and height
of the sea that was getting up. But we soon forgot all about it in the
excitement of going on.
"'It's a-going to be a tough job getting this whale alongside,' says one
of the crew.
"'Wait till we get him first,' says Bacon.
"Well, it was our chance, and Bacon slung the iron into him with a vim.
Up went flukes and down went whale. He soon came up and began to swim to
windward at a fearful speed. The seas thundered against the bow of our
boat, and great sheets of water came tumbling inboard.
"'Bale there, bale!' yelled Bacon, 'or the boat'll fill and sink!'
"You can bet we didn't need to be told twice. We hadn't fairly got
started when the whale sounded, and we could tell by the trend of the
line that he was coming back toward the boat.
"'Look out!' shouted Bacon.
"The next second the brute shot clear out of the water not fifty feet
off the starboard beam of our boat, and raised such a wave when he fell
back into the sea that he nearly swamped us.
"'For goodness' sake," says one of the men, 'cut the line and let him
go.'
"'We'll never get back to the ship alive,' says another; 'look at the
sea. It's blowing a gale.'
"Well, it was blowing in a bit of a squall just then, but Bacon's blood
was up, and he was bound to have that whale.
"'Pull me up to him!' he shouted.
"We obeyed orders, and Bacon drove the lance right into his life.
"'Starn all!' he yelled, and we didn't get out of the way a second too
quick, for the monster went into his flurry, and beat the sea into an
acre of foam with his immense flukes. However, there he was dead enough,
and in the mean time the ship had worked down to leeward of us, and was
close at hand. It was a pretty troublesome piece of work to pass the
line around his small in such a nasty sea; we managed to do it after
four or five trials, and he was hauled alongside the ship just as it
began to grow dark. Now I tell you what, lads, it was a very uncommon
sight. There was the ship beginning to roll uneasily in the rising sea,
with a blazing, smoking furnace amidships, looking for all the world as
if she was on fire, and a whale on each side of her. The boats were
hauled up, and then the Captain looked about him.
"'Cut the old whale adrift,' says he; 'we can't tow the two of them in
this weather, and we've got about the best of his oil.'
"So we cut the carcass adrift, and it went rolling off down to leeward.
It hadn't got fifty yards from the ship before all the water around it
was black with sharks' fins, and the next instant a dozen of these
wolves of the sea appeared, leaping and thrashing the water in their mad
struggles to get at the remains of the whale. They seemed like regular
demons, so fiercely did they attack the carcass, ripping away the
remaining shreds of flesh, and smashing the bones in their powerful
jaws. In five minutes the body was torn to pieces and the sharks
disappeared, leaving us to imagine what would have happened to some of
us if a boat had happened to capsize in the chase. Well, the gale
increased in strength, and the sea rose more and more. The Captain
didn't want to lose the whale, so he hove the ship to with the dead
monster under our lee, where he rode pretty well, except that once in a
while when we rolled heavily he would come up against the side of the
ship with a thump that threatened to shake the timbers apart. However,
the Captain said he was going to hang on till he found it was a case of
life or death. All of a sudden we were startled by a terrible cry,
"'Fire!'
"Every man looked in the direction from which the cry came, and we saw a
small but lively flame stealing up near the foot of the mainmast.
"'It's from the try-works!' shouted Bacon.
"Sure enough the gale had taken up every one's attention so that we all
forgot about the fire in the try-works. It hadn't been put out, and now
a coal or a spark or something had fallen on the deck, and the damage
was done."
"'Why didn't you put it out?' asked one of the listeners.
"Put it out!" exclaimed Handsome: "why, man alive, don't you know the
condition a whale ship is in when trying-out is going on? She was
simply afloat with whale oil. The deck was running with it; every plank
and bit of loose rigging was soaked with it. Put it out! Why, we did all
that mortal man could think of. The Captain ordered us to get up all the
tarpaulins and spare canvas, and try to smother it, but, bless you, as
soon as we threw them over the fire they soaked up the oil and began to
burn. We fought the fire with the energy of desperate men, for we knew
that if we had to take to the boats the chances of our ever seeing land
again in such a sea would be pretty slim. Finally the Captain said he
would try a desperate scheme. As yet the flames were around the decks
and lower masts. What he proposed to do was to let the ship fall off
into the trough of the sea in hopes that a big wave would sweep her deck
and drown out the fire. Everything was made ready, and then with a face
full of sorrow he gave the order to cut loose the carcass of the whale.
He was afraid to let it hang there with the ship broadside on. We cut it
loose, and then he ordered the helm to be put up, and all hands to take
to the rigging. We went up with a good deal of misgiving. The ship fell
off into the trough and wallowed there. The seas broke over her here and
there, but not in sufficient volume to drown the fire, which was gaining
headway all the time, and was now beginning to send tongues of flame up
the rigging, as if in a mad attempt to drive us poor fellows out of our
refuge.
"'It won't do,' says the Captain; 'we must lay down, lads, and take to
the boats.'
"We all started for the deck, when suddenly Bacon uttered a fearful cry:
"'Look! Look!'
"He was pointing to windward, and looking in that direction, we all saw
a tremendous wave rolling down upon the ship with the speed of an
express train. We stopped where we were, and clung with an intense grip
to the rigging. The wave came. It pitched the vessel up as if she were a
chip of wood, and flung her over on her beam ends. There was a crashing
and rending of wood, and several wild shrieks from the men as the
foremast went by the board. There were half a dozen fellows on it, and
they were plunged into that raging sea. I never saw them again. The rest
of us were hanging on as best we could, when the very next wave that
came put out the fire sure enough, for it turned the _Ellen Burgee_
bottom up."
Handsome paused for a moment, as if overcome by the dreadful
recollection.
"Well," he continued, "when she went over, I let go of the rigging and
threw myself into the sea. I made up my mind it was all over with me,
yet it turned out that this was not to be the case. I was buried under a
ton or two of foaming water, but I came to the surface again, and found
myself a long distance off from the overturned ship, which was fast
settling in the water. I struck out, as a man will even when he doesn't
know what use it is, and kept myself afloat for several minutes, the
waves all the time driving me to leeward. Suddenly I saw a dark mass
tumbling on the seas a short distance away. I thought it must be one of
our boats that had got loose when the ship went over, and so I struck
out for it. I was growing weak, blind, and dazed in the heavy seas, when
I was caught up by a wave and flung squarely on top of the floating
object. I grabbed wildly, and caught hold of something hard and slimy. I
clung to it, though, and to my great amazement I found I was hanging to
the flipper of the dead whale. You know they float on their sides when
dead, with one flipper up in the air and the other under water. Well, it
wasn't much of a life-raft, as you may well suppose, but a man in such a
fix as I was will take anything he can get. I hung on there all right,
the dead whale jumping and tumbling under me like a live fish. Toward
morning the wind shifted, and at sunrise the gale broke. The sea began
to go down right away, but a great swell was running. When the sun got
fairly up I realized what a terrible position I was in. The heat was
intense, and the gases from the carcass nearly overwhelmed me. But that
was nothing. The air was filled with the discordant cries of hungry
sea-birds. They swooped down from every direction, and pecked at the
carcass. They beat at me with their wings, and acted as if they knew I
was a doomed man, and the sooner they could drive me into the sea the
better for me. But I fought them off, and sitting with one leg on each
side of the flipper and clasping it with one arm, I clung to my dreadful
life-buoy.
"And now came a new horror. Sharks appeared and began to fight around
the whale, snapping and biting and tearing off pieces of the flesh. I
realized that if this continued my life-buoy would be destroyed; but I
was helpless. Then thirst began to torture me. All day long I tossed on
that dead whale, with the birds and the sharks around me. At nightfall a
gentle shower came, and by holding my mouth open I managed to relieve my
thirst a little. As soon as it became dark the birds and the sharks left
me, and presently, utterly exhausted, I fell asleep, leaning against the
flipper. I remember that I was quite conscious of the danger of falling
off my perch into the sea and drowning; but I didn't care. How long I
slept I do not know. It must have been five or six hours. I was awakened
by a heavy shock, and I found myself plunged into the sea. Involuntarily
I uttered a scream for help.
"'Great Scott! there's a man,' I heard a voice say. 'Hang on there, lad.
Catch this.'
"Plump came a circular white life-buoy into the sea, luckily falling
within my reach. A few minutes later a boat had been lowered away, and I
learned that my dead whale had been run down in the darkness by the ship
_Full Moon_, bound for Liverpool from Hong-Kong. And so I was taken to
England, with a pretty clear determination in my head never to go
whaling again."
JUNE FLOWERS.
Here and there a daisy?
And now and then a clover?
And once a week a buttercup,
And so the whole land over?
A rose within the garden?
A lily in the sun?
Does dear old Mother Nature
Count flowers one by one?
No; daisies by the acre,
And clovers millionfold,
The meadows pink with blushing,
The pastures white and gold.
And roses, like the children,
Abloom at every door,
And buttercups as countless
As the sand upon the shore.
Dear Mother Nature scatters
Her flowers on road-side edge;
She carpets every forest,
And curtains every ledge.
And then she sets us dancing
To such a merry tune,
For all the world is laughing,
And, darlings, this is June!
* * * * *
"Harry, here are three apples; now suppose I wanted you to divide them
equally between James, John, and yourself, how would you do it.'"
"I'd give them one and keep the others."
"Why, how do you make that out?"
"Well, you see, it would be one for those two, and one for me, _too_."
STORIES OF OUR GOVERNMENT.
WHAT OUR REPRESENTATIVES DO.
BY THE HONORABLE HENRY CABOT LODGE,
UNITED STATES SENATOR FROM MASSACHUSETTS.
[Illustration: HON. C. F. CRISP, SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE.]
It is not easy to describe in a short article an average day in the
House of Representatives. The great days are exceptional, and a single
historic scene gives no idea of the every-day work of the House.
Moreover, if history is made on the days when excitement runs high, the
business of carrying on the government is done every day, and it is
about the latter that you wish to learn. By way of beginning, let me say
a word about the place where this work is done. The House of
Representatives holds its sessions in the southern wing of the Capitol
at Washington. The House is very large, right angled, and rigid, with
little ornament, and without beauty of proportion. The walls go up for
about fifteen feet, and from that point the galleries slant back until
they reach the next floor of the building. The roof is a vast expanse of
glass, with the arms of each State painted on the square panels. The
general effect is grayness of color and a size which can be measured in
acres better than in feet. Against the southern wall is placed a high
white marble dais or tribune, where the Speaker or presiding officer
sits. Below the Speaker's desk and in descending tiers, also of white
marble, sit the clerks of the House and the official reporters. Facing
the Speaker, and ranged in a semicircle, are 360 desks, with a
corresponding number of chairs, which are, or ought to be, occupied by
the 350 Representatives and the four Territorial delegates.
Such is the place, but it would require a volume, and a very
uninteresting one, too, to explain the machinery used in transacting the
business for which this great hall is provided. Nevertheless, it is
possible, perhaps, to give you in a general way some idea of an ordinary
day's work in the lower branch of Congress. In theory, the House ought
to take up its calendars on each day and dispose of each article in its
order. But the great beauty of the calendars is that in practice they
are never taken up at all.
How then, you will ask, is business done if the House never takes up the
list of measures prepared for its consideration? It is done by a system
of special rules. The Committee on Rules brings in a rule that the House
shall take up, let us say the tariff, on a certain day, shall debate it
a certain length of time, and shall then vote. This rule is adopted, the
bill selected is taken from the calendar, and everything else gives way
until the tariff is disposed of. Appropriation bills are privileged,
because they provide the money necessary to carry on the government, and
require no rule to be brought up. But all the other business of the
House is done practically under special rules; in other words, the
Committee on Rules selects out of the mass of business presented a small
portion which the House shall consider, and to that small selection all
the time of the House is devoted.
Imagine, then, that the House as you watch it from the gallery has come
to the end of the morning hour, and has taken up the special order of
the day made for it by its Committee on Rules. If it is the first time
the subject has come up, the chairman of the committee making the report
opens the debate. In any event, when the business of the day is thus
laid before the House the debate begins. To any one who comes into the
House gallery for the first time, the scene on the floor is one of
apparently hopeless confusion. Members are reading, writing, talking,
and moving about the chamber. There is an incessant murmur and buzz of
conversation along the aisles and in the galleries. You who are looking
on see a member rise and begin to talk, sometimes quietly, more often
with great violence and excitement, not because he is really excited,
but because he wishes to be heard above the din. Your ears are not
accustomed to the noise, and you do not hear what is said. Still less
can you guess what it is all about, and yet business is not proceeding
by chance, and there are men on that confused floor who know exactly
what is happening, and how the business is going on. You may have been
unlucky in your day, and no measure of great interest being up, it may
seem as if it were useless to stay, but if you will be patient, and bear
with the confusion for the time, or perhaps come back another day, you
will have your reward. You will see the House reach an exciting point in
a debate, or some subject of great popular interest will come up, and
then a sharp contest will follow between different members, which will
be full of interest.
[Illustration: AN EXCITING MOMENT IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.]
Instead of reading and writing and talking and moving about, you will
see the members gather about the man who is speaking and those who are
debating with him. Silence will come on the floor and in the galleries,
broken by bursts of applause, as one member makes a sharp point or
retorts quickly on his opponent. Nothing is more interesting than good
debate of this kind, when men who are fencing or sparring with their
wits instead of their hands. You will be surprised to see how easy it
now is to know what is going on. You will be glad that you came to the
gallery, for every wholesome-minded being likes to see a fair contest,
whether of brains or muscles, and incidentally you will see how we
English-speaking people have hammered out by discussion the laws under
which we live, and have gained the liberty we enjoy. On the other hand,
let us suppose that you are fortunate enough to get into the gallery on
a day of great debate, when set speeches are to be made by the leaders
on either side. A man arises near the middle of the House, a man whose
face is familiar to you, because you have seen it so often in the
illustrated papers, and all in a moment the House is hushed, and every
word that the speaker says falls distinctly upon your ear. Then, again,
you feel rewarded, for you are hearing a party leader speak and are
seeing a man about whom you have read. If it is the day upon which a
great debate closes, the last speeches are made by the two leaders of
the opposite sides, the galleries are crowded, but as every one is eager
to hear, there is no difficulty in catching every word. The leader of
the minority delivers his last assault upon the bill, the leader of the
majority replies to him, and then the Speaker of the House says: "The
hour having arrived at which the House has ordered that the debate be
closed, the vote will now be taken upon the bill and amendments." Then
comes the voting, a dreary process for everybody, for each roll-call
occupies half an hour, and when it is done the Speaker announces the
vote, and declares the bill passed or defeated as the case may be. If it
is then more than five o'clock one of the leaders of the majority moves
that the House adjourn, the Speaker declares the motion carried, and
then the House stands adjourned until the next morning at twelve
o'clock.
Such in very rough outline is a day in the House of Representatives when
some subject which awakens differences spring up, or when a great debate
closes or some important bill is passed. But there are many other days
when no conclusion is reached, and still others which are consumed in
roll-calls and motions designed to waste time, and to stop all action.
If you chance to come on a day of that kind, the sooner you go away the
better for your own comfort. The members must stay, but you need not.
It would, however, take a great deal more space than I have here to give
you a description of the various scenes which occur in the House of
Representatives, but the rough sketch which I have drawn may help you to
some idea of what happens in the great popular body which with the
Senate makes laws for the people of the United States. It is a good deal
better, however, that every American boy and girl should come to
Washington if they can possibly manage it, and try to learn from
observation what their government is, and how it is carried on. They
will have some dull hours if they pass many in the galleries of the
House of Representatives, but they may have some minutes of great
interest, which they will always be glad to remember, and they are
certain to go away with a greater ability to judge intelligently their
public men, and in this way be of better service themselves as American
citizens responsible for the government of their country. If you cannot
get to Washington, try to see your own Legislature in session, or your
own city and town government. You will learn a great deal that will be
useful to you when you come of age, and therefore responsible for your
vote or influence for the government of the United States, which is
always in the long-run what the people themselves make it.
THE LITTLE COLLECTOR.
I don't care much for the postage-stamps
Themselves--'tween me and you;
The fun I get collecting comes
From sticking 'em in with glue.
AN ENTERPRISING PHOTOGRAPHER.
The recent war between China and Japan, which now seems to be
practically over, fortunately, was watched by all the military and naval
men in the world with a great deal of interest, for it was the first
real war in which many of the modern inventions in war-ships and army
accoutrements were given a fair trial. To be sure, China had little that
was modern in her army and navy, though some of the ships of her navy
were of recent European build, and were manned by capable seamen and
good fighting-men. But the Japanese certainly did have many of the
modern inventions in their cruisers, and they made most effective use of
them.
The correspondents of the great papers of the world, however, seem to
have suffered, and whether this is a development of modern warfare, or
because the Japanese and Chinese did not understand and appreciate their
position, does not appear to have been settled. At all events, the
correspondents from Japan and China, as well as those from European and
American countries, went about their always dangerous business at their
peril, and were in constant danger of being captured and hung or
murdered by either party. Some of these bright and daring men did lose
their lives there, and no one takes the trouble to sing a requiem over
them in verse or prose, but others, in spite of all the opposition, got
to and remained at the front, and succeeded in sending out accurate news
to their papers.
[Illustration: PHOTOGRAPHER AT WORK.]
It was one of these successful newspaper men, and a Japanese at that,
who originated the idea of using a balloon to help him get to the front,
as well as to keep him safely out of the reach of both contestants. He
procured a balloon, several, in fact--and had a peculiar metal
frame-work constructed, which held him firmly in place under the
balloon, and left his arms free, so that he could use them to write, or
to work a huge camera that was also attached and supported by the same
iron frame. By means of straps over his shoulders and about his body he
could keep himself moderately firm in his position, and his camera
reasonably stationary, except, of course, for the movements of the
balloon itself, which he could not regulate.
Several times this correspondent was sent up in his balloon, and held by
an assistant with the help of a long rope far above houses, and even
hills, so that he could take photographs on his huge lens of the general
view of a battle, while he himself was either too far away or too
unimportant at the moment to the combatants to tempt them to fire upon
him. In this way he succeeded in securing some astonishing views. They
were, of course, very far removed from the scene of action, too far to
give much of the small details, but they presented a bird's-eye view of
the whole battle, which proved of great interest. Occasionally, because
of a sudden movement of the balloon, he "took" the sky or a distant
landscape instead of the raging battle beneath him, but these little
mistakes were insignificant when on being hauled down, he discovered two
or three views that showed charges of cavalry here, repulses of infantry
there, and smoke and strife, bursting shells and burning houses,
everywhere.
Sometimes the photographer would go up in his camera-balloon without
being held to the earth by a rope, and then he might drift with the wind
over the battle-field, or quietly drift away without getting a chance to
"shoot." As a rule, however, calculations were pretty well made before
the rope was dropped, and then the balloon was allowed to float where it
would, with the comparative certainty that it would pass over, or nearly
over, the scene of action.
Here is a chance for photographers who want to take new scenes and
original things with their cameras. The earth at a few hundred feet
distance would look like a big bowl covered with many little roofs,
laced with white roads, along which funny little animals would be seen
crawling along at a snail's pace.
OUR FLAG.
Fling it from mast and steeple,
Symbol o'er land and sea,
Of the life of a happy people,
Gallant and strong and free.
Proudly we view its colors,
Flag of the brave and true,
With the clustered stars and the steadfast bars,
The red, the white, and the blue.
Flag of the fearless-hearted,
Flag of the broken chain,
Flag in a day-dawn started,
Never to pale or wane.
Dearly we prize its colors,
With the heaven light breaking through,
The clustered stars and the steadfast bars,
The red, the white, and the blue.
Flag of the sturdy fathers,
Flag of the loyal sons,
Beneath its folds it gathers
Earth's best and noblest ones.
Boldly we wave its colors,
Our veins are thrilled anew;
By the steadfast bars, the clustered stars,
The red, the white, and the blue.
MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
* * * * *
A wise old doctor, for the benefit of his health, travelled around the
country in a caravan, in which he lived, stopping for short periods at
the larger towns. He had a young lad for an assistant, who was more or
less quick and intelligent, but rather inclined to jump at conclusions.
The doctor taught him a little medicine whenever he could spare the
time, and he learned considerable, but diagnosis were to him still a
mystery, especially in some cases, when the wise old doctor had used his
eyes to detect the source of the illness.
They were staying for a few days in the town of B----, and the doctor
had been in some demand, having at a previous visit secured a reputation
by some apparently marvellous cures. His young assistant accompanied him
on one occasion, when the doctor had pronounced the patient sick from
eating too many oysters. This puzzled the lad, and when they left the
house he asked his master how he knew the patient had been eating
oysters. "Very simple," his master replied, "I saw a lot of oyster
shells in the fireplace, and the answers to a few questions were all I
needed to make a diagnosis."
One day, his master being away when a call came, he determined to answer
it, and see if he could diagnose the case. He returned shortly after,
and triumphantly told the doctor that the man was sick from eating too
much horse.
"A horse, you stupid fool!" cried the irate doctor. "What do you mean?"
"Why, master, it couldn't be anything else, because I saw a saddle and
stirrups under the bed."
A PLEASANT DISAPPOINTMENT.
BY J. SANFORD BARNES, JUN.
I don't believe that Mr. Henry ever thought what a queer combination of
nicknames his son would have when he named him Thomas Richard. Some
called him "Tom," some "Dick," and others, instead of calling him by his
last name, Henry, changed that, too, to "Harry," so he became Tom, Dick,
and Harry rolled into one.
Mr. Henry was a great sportsman, and many a time had Tom listened to his
father and one of his friends plan out a day's shooting. Tom had often
made his little plans, only to be carried out in his dreams. But at
last, one September evening, in his twelfth year, dreams could no longer
satisfy him. As he sat in his father's "den" after supper, looking for
the hundredth time through the book of colored sporting incidents and
game-birds, taking occasional long glances at the little sixteen-bore
which hung over his father's head, as he sat at his desk reading the
_Forest and Stream_, Tom was really developing a plan. He must go
shooting, and with a real gun of some kind. "Sling-shots" he was done
with; then he knew if he asked permission, what the answer would be, and
therefore he decided that his hunting-trip must be made "on the sly,"
and this alone was one cause for the rather restless night which
followed. As he turned the pages of the big book he began to imagine
himself in the place of the tall man in the picture just taking a
partridge from his dog's mouth, and on the next page he was the short
thick-set man in brown hunting-coat walking up to his dogs, who were
"stiff" and "stanch" on a covey of quail, which in pictures you can
always see hiding in the clump of bushes.
Now, Tom, Dick, and Harry had a friend, and that friend had a Flobert
rifle, and on that friend's willingness to lend he was counting
strongly. The game did not seem to worry him; he kept thinking of a
certain patch of blackberry bushes just outside a small piece of woods,
where he had often started up an old cock partridge, in fact, he knew so
much about that partridge that once he crept up on him, and almost got a
shot at him with the now-to-be-despised "sling-shot"; and with a
Flobert--even if his father had said that no true sportsman would shoot
a bird on the "sit"--he felt sure he could get him, and if he did he'd
come home, own up, and trust to luck for the rest, but he was somewhat
doubtful as to the reception he would meet.
The morning was bright and clear as Tom left the house to go down and
"see what Jim Vail was going to do that day," and once outside the gate
excitement again got hold of him, and he broke into a run; it was well
he did, for about ten minutes later, as he turned into Mr. Vail's place,
Jim was on the point of mounting his bicycle to start for a ride.
"Say, Jim," he shouted, "wait a second; I want to ask you something."
"Well, Tommy," he answered, "what can I do for you to-day? I'm going to
get some exercise and get in shape for football at school; I got a
letter from Ted yesterday, and he asked me to. I guess he's written to
the rest of last year's team to do the same thing. I suppose you're
going to ride your pony. But, really, what do you want?"
"Jim," said Tom, "I'm going to ask a favor of you. But first I want you
to say you won't tell anybody anything about it. You won't, will you?"
"Of course not; but what it is?" replied Jim.
"Well," said Tom, slowly, "I'm going shooting, and I want you to lend me
your Flobert rifle; you don't use it very much since your father gave
you that beauty gun. I'll be careful, and I'll clean it all up for you
when I'm done. Say, will you do it?"
Jim saw a chance for a little lecture, and came near giving it, but he
thought of his popularity with the small boys and resisted.
"But, Tom," he answered, "how are you going to work it? I'll lend it to
you, of course, but I don't want to get into any scrape with your
father, and you'd better be careful, too. Now, what's your plan?"
Tom had this all arranged the moment he had seen Jim and the bicycle.
"I've got that all fixed," said Tom. "Say, you don't mind where you
ride, do you? Now, I tell you what you do; just give me some cartridges,
and then you start off with the rifle on your 'bike' and ride down the
hill by 'Daddy Wilson's'--that's where I'm going to go shooting. When
you get to the bridge, get off just a minute, and go down under the
bridge and leave it on top the highest log under the boards on this side
the brook, and then ride on and forget all about it. Catch?"
Jim "caught," and after another word of warning to be very careful, both
in regard to the rifle and getting caught, he started, having left a box
of Flobert cartridges with Tom.
[Illustration: HE CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF A CERTAIN FAMILIAR WHITE HORSE.]
"Daddy Wilson's" was quite a mile and a half from Jim's house; but it
did not take Tom long to cover the distance, and in a very short time he
was under the bridge and out again on the other side with the rifle
under his arm. His experience had been very limited with firearms, but
he had a natural gift of being "handy" with almost anything, and he
acted as though hunting were an old pastime, and the gun a companion of
years. However, he thought it best to try and see how it went, and was
just taking aim at a little yellow chipmunk, when the sound of an
approaching carriage made him change his mind, and dart under the bridge
and wait; he had caught a glimpse of a certain familiar white horse, and
as it trotted over the bridge, shaking a little stream of dust through
the cracks and down his neck, he realized he had had a narrow escape.
After it had gone by, he tried his aim on an old green frog, and laid
him out "flatter'n a pan-cake," as he said to himself. Two or three more
trials were made, and he started through the woods for his blackberry
patch, first walking very carefully, and finally creeping on all fours;
but whatever the reason, that wily cock partridge had had his breakfast
and declined to be found, and Tom was disappointed and cast down; he had
counted on that bird to ease the reception he would meet at home, and
now he would have to return empty handed. However, he made up his mind
"he'd shoot something," and for an hour or more be popped ineffectually
at chipmunks and small birds, and was really enjoying the sport, when it
struck him that late to dinner would require an explanation, and thus
greatly increase the chances of the very thing which he now wanted to
avoid. So he hurried towards home, and went in through the place by a
back way, intending to leave the rifle at the stable. The coachman was a
good friend of his, and would clean and return it, and everything would
be all right again. Now it happened that Mr. Henry was having built a
small shed and tool-house behind his house, and, as luck would have it,
he was watching its progress at the very moment when Tom emerged from
behind some bushes, and unconsciously was walking down this back road
towards the stable with the Flobert held close along his leg on the side
farthest away from the house, so that "no one could guess he had
anything." All looked smooth sailing. Suddenly he was startled by a
familiar voice,
"Hey, Tom!" it called; "what you got there?"
There was no escape.
"A rifle, sir," replied Tom, in a rather muffled voice.
"A what!" cried the voice.
"A rifle, sir," replied Tom, again.
"Bring it here," was the short reply, and over across the field went Tom
to his doom.
"Go back there and get one of those carpenters to give you a good sized
shingle," said Mr. Henry, "and give me the gun."
"Well," said Tom to himself, "I knew I was taking risks," and he
returned in a moment with the shingle, and looking his father straight
in the eye waited the next command.
"Now," said Mr. Henry, in his severest tones, "take that shingle and put
it up against that big tree, and give me a cartridge."
Surprise and wonder are no names for the feelings that ran through Tom's
mind; it made him tingle up and down his backbone--he couldn't say a
single word; but there were more surprises to follow.
"What you been shooting, Tommy? Elephants, hey?" said Mr. Henry, after
firing all the cartridges Tom had left; "or was it only small game--a
panther or lynx--you were after this morning?"
Tom's courage began to return, and as he found his father in such a
splendid mood he was not going to allow himself to be bluffed.
"I went out after partridges, sir," he said, "and I thought I'd have one
for supper to-night for mamma; but he wasn't there. I was sure I'd get
one."
In a short time Mr. Henry had the whole story, and not a word of fault
was found, and Tom thought he had the finest father in the world; he
thought so before, but after this incident there was no doubt about it.
* * * * *
On the evening of the same day Tom was again devouring the "bird book,"
as he had always called it. Mr. Henry, who had been writing at his desk,
pushed himself back, and looking at Tom, a smile crept over his face.
His son was exactly as he had been at that age, and the reason of his
lenient treatment of what many fathers would have given a severe
punishment for was because he knew a good deal of the world, and
especially how to treat a boy who had inherited a sportsman's love of
woods and guns, and was not to blame for it. Tom was bending close over
the book to see whether it was a woodcock or a quail the dog was
pointing, when Mr. Henry startled him as he said with a laugh,
"My boy, did you really think you'd get a partridge? Why, Dr. Carver
himself couldn't shoot a partridge with a rifle; why didn't you come and
ask me for my gun?"
"'Cause I didn't think you'd lend it to me," said Tom, "and I was afraid
you'd suspect something. I'll come to you to-morrow," he added, as a
quiet joke on his father.
But the way his father took his little joke nearly made him "have a
fit," as he told Jim Vail afterwards.
"All right, Tommy," said Mr. Henry, "come to me after breakfast and I'll
fix you out."
Another restless night followed by another beautiful morning, and down
across the field trudged Tom, Dick, and Harry, but it looked like a
brown shooting-coat walking by itself with two setters following after
it through curiosity. There went Tom with a real gun--the little
sixteen-bore--a real hunting-coat, sleeves rolled up and pinned to hold
them, and down below his knees, to be sure; real cartridges in his
pocket, and to make it complete two real bird-dogs. He was going to be
the man in the "bird book," and best of all there was no "on the sly"
about it.
Down back of the place beyond the "muck pond," where Tom had often
caught live bait for his father, and had slaughtered many a fine fat
frog, to say nothing of the turtles and lizards which had been the
starting of a small museum of which he was sole proprietor, down beyond
this pond he struck into the woods and let "Jet" the Gordon and "Bang"
the Irish setter run. He followed them closely. Soon they came to a
point, and he walked towards them. But here's where there was a
difference between the picture and his position at that moment; he
looked in vain for the bird; in the picture he could see it, but, try
his best, he could not see it in life. The dogs worried a little, he
stepped on a twig which cracked; whir! and up got Mr. Partridge from the
bushes--not exactly where Tom had expected--and whirled off, Tom
crouching down to see where he lit, to try him again. Time and again the
same thing happened, but Tom never could seem to see the bird till he
got up, and he never thought to try him flying. The dogs got tired of
this kind of shooting and came in "to heel," and finally, rather
discouraged and decidedly tired, Tom sat down to decide whether he would
go home or not. He was sitting under a large pine-tree and thinking what
his father would say, when out of the branches above his head sailed,
with a quiet, subdued whir, the very bird he had been chasing so long.
It settled not more than thirty yards off on the roots of an upturned
birch-tree and began a gentle cluck, spreading its fanlike tail and
shaking its feathers, but only for a moment. Tom's chance had come. A
hurried and excited aim, a loud bang, and the partridge was fluttering
on the ground, and Tom was stooping over it; the gun was back where he
had shot from; he had gotten to the bird before the dogs. What he wanted
was a partridge in his coat pocket; he did not seem so anxious to have
the dogs hand it to him, as his dreams had made him.
Tell the truth, Tom ran most of the way home. He met his father on the
driveway, and a sudden composure took hold of him.
"Say, Pop," he said, "it ain't so easy as one thinks, is it?"
"I'll bet you didn't get anything, not even a chipper bird," said Mr.
Henry; "now did you?"
Tom braced himself, his heart was beating fast, and the shivers were
again making him jump and wriggle.
"I only got one decent shot," replied Tom, beginning very coolly, "but I
got him, and mamma'll have that bird I didn't get yesterday to-night for
supper. Look at that!" he shouted the last part of his sentence, and
swinging the bird in front of his father's face, darted past to show and
tell all in the house, leaving Mr. Henry in blank astonishment. What he
was saying to himself was:
"I'll get that boy the prettiest gun in the city for Christmas, that's
what I'll do; he'll be giving me points before long."
SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.
BY KIRK MUNROE.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A WILDERNESS-ORPHAN.
The position in which Phil now found himself was certainly a perplexing
one. By the very simple process of getting lost he had discovered Cree
Jim's cabin, but was appalled to consider what else he had found at the
same time. He now knew that the remainder of their journey, its most
difficult and dangerous portion, must be undertaken without a guide. Not
only this, but they must be burdened with a child so young as to be
practically helpless. In the mean time, what was to be done with those
silent and motionless forms whose dread presence so pervaded that lonely
cabin? And how was he to communicate with his friends? There was no back
trail to follow, for the snow had wiped it out. He did not even know in
which direction camp lay, for in the ardor of his chase the evening
before he had taken no note of course nor distance.
There was the stream, though, on whose bank the cabin was perched. It
must flow into the river. Yes, that was his only hope. But the river
might be miles away, and the camp as much farther, if, indeed, it could
still be found where he had left it. But of course it would be! So long
as Serge Belcofsky and Jalap Coombs had life and strength to search for
him that camp would remain a permanent fixture until he returned to it.
Phil was absolutely sure of that, and he now realized, as never before,
the priceless value of a friendship whose loyalty is beyond doubt.
So the plan was formed. He would go down the stream and up the river
until he found camp. Then he would bring Serge and a sledge back with
him. In the mean time the child must be left where he was, for Phil
doubted if he could carry him over the weary miles that he knew must lie
between the cabin and camp, while for the little fellow to walk that
distance was out of the question.
Phil sat on a stool before the fire while doing all this thinking. As he
rose to carry out his plan, Nel-te, who was becoming terrified at his
mother's silence in spite of his efforts to attract her attention,
slipped from the bed, ran to his new friend, and thrusting a cold little
hand into one of his, looked up with a smile of such perfect trust that
Phil snatched him in his arms and kissed him, at the same time giving
him a great hug.
Then he said: "Now, Nel-te, brother Phil is going away for a little
while to get some doggies for you to play with, and you must stay here
like a good boy, and not open the door until he comes back. Do you
understand?"
"Yes; me go get doggies. Nel-te like doggies. Good doggies." And almost
before Phil knew what the child was about he had slipped from his arms,
run to the door, and was putting on the tiny snow-shoes that had been
left outside. Then with an engaging smile, he called, cheerily: "Come.
Nel-te say come. Get doggies."
"All right, little chap. I expect your plan is as good as mine, after
all," replied Phil, into whose mind had just flashed the promise made to
that dead mother, never to desert her baby. "And here I was, about to
begin by doing that very thing," he reflected as he glanced at the
marble face overspread by an expression of perfect content that his
promise had brought.
Moved by a sudden impulse he picked up the boy, and, bringing him back,
held him so that he might kiss the peaceful face. This the child did
with a soft cooing that served to convey both love and pity. Then he ran
to the stalwart figure that still lay on the floor, and, patting its
swarthy cheek, said something in the Cree tongue that Phil did not
understand.
After that Phil carefully closed the door to prevent the intrusion of
wild beasts, and the two, whose fortunes had become so strangely
interwoven, set forth together down the white surface of the
forest-bordered stream, on whose bank Nel-te had been born and passed
his few years of life. He was happily but unconsciously venturing on his
first "little journey into the world," while his companion was filled
with a sense of manliness and responsibility from the experiences
through which he had just passed that the mere adding of years could
never have brought.
Phil wondered at the ease with which the little fellow managed his
snow-shoes, until he reflected that the child had probably been taught
to use them from the day of taking his first step. So the two fur-clad
figures, ridiculously contrasted in size, trudged along side by side
down the winding stream, the one thoughtfully silent and the other
chattering of "doggies," until he began to lag behind and give signs
that the pace was telling on his slender strength.