will try another scheme." So, slinging the tiny snow-shoes across the
child's back, he picked him up and set him astride his own broad
shoulders; when Nel-te clutched his head, and shouted with glee at this
delightful mode of travel.
After they had gone a mile or so in this fashion they rounded a sharp
bend, and came so suddenly upon poor Serge, who was making his way up
the stream in search of some trace of his friend, that for a moment he
stood motionless and speechless with amazement. He could make nothing of
the approaching apparition until Phil shouted, cheerily:
"Hurrah, old man! Here we are, safe and sound, and awfully glad to see
you."
"Oh, Phil!" cried Serge, while tears actually stood in his honest blue
eyes, "I can hardly believe it! It seems almost too good to be true. Are
you sure you are not wounded nor frozen nor hurt in any way? Haven't you
suffered terribly? If you haven't, we have. I don't believe Mr. Coombs
slept a wink last night, and I know I didn't. But I am happy enough at
this minute to make up for it all, a hundred times over. Oh, Phil!"
"I have suffered a little from anxiety, and been a trifle hungry, and
had some sad experiences, but I haven't suffered half so much as I
deserved for my carelessness in getting lost. I found Cree Jim, though;
but--"
"And brought him with you?" interrupted Serge, smiling for the first
time in many hours, as he glanced at the quaint little figure perched on
Phil's shoulders.
"Not exactly," replied the other, soberly. "You see this little chap is
his son, and I've adopted him for a sort of a brother, and he is going
with us."
"You've done what?" cried Serge.
"Adopted him. That is, you see I promised my aunt Ruth to bring her
something from Alaska that was unique in the way of a curio, and it
seems to me that Nel-te here will please her about as well as anything.
Don't you think so?"
"Perhaps so," assented Serge, doubtfully. "But was his father willing
that you should have him?"
"Oh yes, perfectly. That is, you know he is dead, and so is the mother;
but I promised her to take care of the little chap, and as there wasn't
anything else to be done, why, here we are."
"Of course it's all right if you say so," agreed Serge, "and I don't
care, so long as you are safe, if you carry a whole tribe back to your
aunt Ruth; but now don't you think we'd better be getting along to camp?
It was all I could do to persuade Mr. Coombs to stay behind and look out
for things; he is so anxious. The only way I could induce him to was by
suggesting that you might come in tired and hungry, and would feel
awfully if no one was there to welcome you. But he is liable to set out
on a hunt for you at any moment."
"Certainly, we must get there as quickly as possible," replied Phil.
"How far is it?"
"Not more than one mile up the river from the mouth of this creek, which
is only a few rods below here. But oh, Phil, to think that I have found
you! When I had almost given up all hope of ever again seeing you alive
too. I have been down as far as our first camp on the river this
morning, and this creek was my last hope. I wouldn't have left the
country without you, though, or at any rate without knowing what had
become of you. Neither would Mr. Coombs. We settled that last night
while we talked over what had best be done."
"I was sure you wouldn't, old fellow," replied Phil, with something like
a choke in his voice.
At the camp they were hailed by Jalap Coombs, who almost hugged Phil in
his revulsion of feeling and unaffected joy at the lad's return.
"But you don't do it again, Philip, my son!" he cried. "That is, the
next time you feels inclined to wander from home and stay out nights, ye
may go, of course, but you'll have to take me along. So ef you gits
lost, I gets lost likewise; for, as my old friend Kite Roberson useter
say consarning prodergal sons, 'It's allers toughest on them as is left
behind.' But Phil, what be ye doing with that furry little beggar? Is he
the pilot ye went sarching for?"
"Yes," laughed Phil, lifting Nel-te down from his shoulders. "He is the
pilot who is to lead us from this wilderness, and if you have got
anything to eat, you'd better give it to him before he devours one of
the dogs, which he seems inclined to do. I can answer for it, that he
has been on short rations for several days, and is properly hungry."
"Have I got anything to eat?" cried the other. "Waal, rather! How does
fresh steaks, and roasts, and chops, and stews strike your fancy?" With
this he pointed to one side of the camp, where, to their astonishment,
the boys saw a quantity of fresh meat, much of which was already cut
into thin strips for freezing and packing.
"Where did it come from?" queried Phil, looking at Serge; but the latter
only shook his head.
"It's jest a bit of salvage that I raked in as it went drifting by,"
explained Jalap Coombs, his face beaming with gratified pride. "It's
some kind of deer-meat, and _for_ a deer he was pretty nigh as big as
one of those elephants back yonder in the moss cave. You see, he came
cruising along this way shortly after Serge left, and the dogs give
chase and made him heave to. When I j'ined 'em he surrendered. Then I
had my hands full in a hurry, driving off the dogs and lashing 'em fast
so as they couldn't eat him, horns and all, and cutting of him up. I
hain't more'n made a beginning with him, either, for there's pretty nigh
a full cargo left.
"But how did you kill him? There wasn't any gun in camp?" asked Phil,
utterly bewildered.
"Of course there warn't no gun," answered Jalap Coombs, "and likewise I
didn't need one. Sich things I leave for boys. How did I kill him, say
you? Why, I jest naturally harpooned him like I would any other whale."
CHAPTER XXX.
JALAP AND THE DOGS SING A LULLABY.
"Harpooned a moose!" cried Phil and Serge together; for they had by this
time discovered the nature of the sailor's "big deer." "And where did
you get the harpoon?" asked the former.
"Found it, leaning agin a tree while I were out after firewood," replied
Jalap Coombs, at the same time producing and proudly exhibiting a heavy
A-yan spear, such as were formerly used by the natives of the Pelly
River valley. "It were a trifle rusty, and a trifle light in the butt,"
he added, "but it come in mighty handy when it were most needed, and for
an old whaler it are not a bad sort of a weepon. I'm free to say,
though, that I might have had hard luck in tackling the beast with it ef
he hadn't been already wounded. I didn't know it till after he were
dead, but when I come to cut him up, I saw where he'd been bleeding
pretty free, and then I found this bullet in his innards. Still, I don't
reckin you'd have called him a mouse, nor yet a rat, if ye'd seed him
like I did under full sail, with horns set wing and wing, showing the
speed of a fifty-ton schooner. If I hadn't had the harpoon I'd left him
severely alone; but I allowed that a weepon as were good enough for a
whale would do for a deer, even ef he were bigger than the sun."
"It's a rifle-bullet, calibre forty-four," said Phil, who was examining
the bit of lead that Jalap Coombs had taken from his "big deer." "I
wonder if it can be possible that he is the same moose I wounded, and
without whose lead I should never have found Cree Jim's cabin. It seems
incredible that he should have come right back to camp to be killed,
though I suppose it is possible. Certainly good fortune, or good luck,
does seem to be pretty steadily on our side, and without the aid of the
fur-seal's tooth either," he added, with a sly glance at Serge.
As soon as breakfast was finished, Phil and Serge slipped away, taking a
sledge, to which was lashed a couple of axes, with them. They were going
back to bury the parents of the child, who was so happily oblivious of
their errand that he did not even take note of their departure.
The lads had no idea of how they should accomplish their sorrowful task.
Even with proper tools they knew it would be impossible to dig a grave
in the frozen ground, and as they had only axes with which to work, this
plan was dismissed without discussion.
They had not settled on any plan when they rounded the last bend of the
little stream and gained a point from which the cabin should have been
visible. Then they saw at a glance that the task they had been dreading
had been accomplished without their aid. There was no cabin, but a cloud
of smoke rising from its site, as from an altar, gave ample evidence of
its fate. A blazing log from the fire Phil left in its hearth must have
rolled out on to the floor directly after his departure. Now only a heap
of ashes and glowing embers remained to mark Nel-te's home.
"It is best so," said Phil, as the two lads stood beside the smouldering
ruins of what had been a home and was now become a sepulchre. "And oh,
Serge! think what might have been the child's fate if I had left him
behind, as I at first intended. Poor little chap! I realize now, as
never before, how completely his past is wiped out and how entirely his
future lies in our hands. It is a trust that came without our seeking,
but I accepted it; and now beside his mother's ashes I swear to be true
to the promise I gave her."
"Amen!" said Serge, softly.
They planted a rude wooden cross, the face of which was chipped to a
gleaming whiteness, close in front of the smouldering heap, and near it
Serge fastened a streamer of white cloth to the tip of a tall young
spruce. Cutting off the limbs as he descended, he left it a slender
pole, and thus provided the native symbol of a place of burial.
[Illustration: "A FLYING-FISH-CATCHER FROM OLD HONG-KONG--YO HO! ROLL A
MAN DOWN!"]
As they approached the camp they were astonished to hear Jalap Coombs
singing in bellowing tones the rollicking old sea chant of "Roll a Man
Down!"
"A flying-fish-catcher from old Hong-Kong--
Yo ho! roll a man down--
A flying-fish-catcher comes bowling along;
Give us some time to roll a man down,
Roll a man up and roll a man down,
Give us some time to roll a man down.
From labbord to stabbord away we go--
Yo ho! roll a man down."
Jalap's voice was not musical, but it possessed a mighty volume, and as
the quaint sea chorus roared and echoed through the stately forest, the
very trees appeared to be listening in silent wonder to the unaccustomed
sounds. Even Musky, Luvtuk, big Amook, and the other dogs seemed by
their dismal howlings to be expressing either appreciation or
disapprobation of the sailor-man's efforts.
The performers in this open-air concert were too deeply intent on their
own affairs to pay any heed to the approach of the returning sledge
party, who were thus enabled to come within full view of a most
extraordinary scene unnoticed. Just beyond the camp, in a semicircle,
facing the fire, a dozen dogs, resting on their haunches, lifted both
their voices and sharp-pointed noses to the sky. On the opposite side of
the fire sat Jalap Coombs holding Nel-te in his arms, rocking him to and
fro in time to the chorus that he was pouring forth with the full power
of his lungs, and utterly oblivious to everything save his own unusual
occupation of putting a baby to sleep.
"Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!" roared Phil and Serge, unable to restrain
their mirth a moment longer. "Oh my! Oh my! Oh, Mr. Coombs, you'll be
the death of me yet! What ever are you doing? Didn't know you could
sing! What a capital nurse you make! What a soft voice for lullabies!
The dogs, too! Oh dear! I shall laugh at the thought of this if I live
to be a hundred! Don't mind us, though. Keep right on. Please do!"
But the concert was ended. Jalap Coombs sprang to his feet with a
startled yell, and dropped the child, who screamed with the fright of
his sudden awakening. The dogs, whose harmonious howlings were so
abruptly interrupted, slunk away with tails between their legs, and hid
themselves in deepest shadows.
"There, there, little chap. Don't be frightened," cried Phil, darting
forward and picking up the child, though still shaking with laughter.
"It's all right now. Brother Phil will protect you, and not let the big
man frighten you any more."
"I frighten him indeed!" retorted Jalap Coombs, indignantly. "He was
sleeping quiet and peaceful as a seal pup; and I were just humming a bit
of a ditty that useter be sung to me when I were a kid, so's he'd have
something pleasant to dream about. Then you young swabs had to come
creeping up and yell like a couple of wild hoodoos, and set the dogs to
howling and scare the kid, to say nothing of me, which ef I had ye
aboard ship I'd masthead ye both till ye larnt manners. Oh, ye may
snicker! But I have my opinion all the same of any man as'll wake a
sleeping child, specially when he's wore out with crying, all on account
of being desarted. And I'm not the only one nuther. There was old Kite
Roberson who useter clap a muzzle onto his wife's canary whenever she'd
get the kids to sleep, for fear the critter'd bust inter singing. But
it's all right. You will know how it is yourselves some day."
Phil, seeing that, for the first time since he had known him, the mate
was thoroughly indignant, set out to smooth his ruffled feelings.
"Why, Mr. Coombs," he said, "we didn't mean to startle you, but those
wretched dogs kept up such a howling that we couldn't make ourselves
heard as we neared camp. I'm sure I don't see how you could think we
were laughing at you. It was those absurd dogs, and you'd have laughed
yourself if you'd looked up and seen them. I'm sure it was awfully good
of you to take so much trouble over this little fellow, and put him so
nicely to sleep with your sing-- I mean with your humming, though I
assure you we didn't hear a hum."
"Waal," replied Jalap Coombs, greatly mollified by Phil's attitude. "I
warn't humming very loud, not nigh _so_ loud as I had been at fust. Ye
see, I were kinder tapering off so as to lay the kid down, and begin to
get supper 'gainst you kim back."
"Yes, I see," said Phil, almost choking with suppressed laughter. "But
how did it happen that you were compelled to act as nurse? The little
chap seemed happy enough when we went away."
"So he were, till he found you was gone. Then he begun to pipe his eye
and set storm signals, and directly it come on to blow a hurricane with
heavy squalls. So I had to stand by. Fust off I thought the masts would
surely go; but I took a reef here and there, and kinder got things
snugged down, till after a whilt the sky broke, the sun kim out, and
fair weather sot in once more."
"Well," said Phil, admiringly, "you certainly acted with the judgment of
an A No. 1 seaman, and I don't believe even your esteemed friend Captain
Robinson could have done better. We shall call on you whenever our
little pilot gets into troubled waters again, and feel that we are
placing him in the best possible hands."
At which praise Jalap Coombs was greatly pleased, and said as how he'd
be proud at all times to stand by the kid. Thus on the same day that
little Nel-te McLeod lost his parents he found a brother and two stanch
friends.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
UNCLE SAM AS A STAMP-MAKER.
BY FRANCES BENJAMIN JOHNSTON.
"Here, boys, is a piece of legislation which will add a new series of
stamps to your collections," said Mr. Copeland, as he glanced up from
his morning paper. "The bill transferring the printing of stamps to the
Bureau of Engraving and Printing has just become a law, and hereafter
Uncle Sam will manufacture his own stamps, as well as his own paper
money."
"Why, father, if they make them here, we can see just how it's done!"
exclaimed Donald, the eldest of the Copeland boys, who, with his
brothers Jack and Ezra, was now experiencing the severest stage of the
"stamp fever."
"Huh!" grunted the latter--nicknamed "The Parson," from his
old-fashioned ways and a solemn assumption of wisdom. "Perhaps they'll
not let you know anything at all about it. Bobby Simonds told me that
the big company in New York that has always made 'em is awful particular
about letting people see their machinery and things; and Bobby ought to
know 'cause his uncle's an engraver there."
"Are they going to make all the stamps here in Washington?" broke in
May, the baby of the family. "That'll be nice for you boys,'cause you
can get 'em cheaper at the factory, can't you?"
"That's just like a girl," laughed Jack. "Anybody would think they were
going to sell stamps by the yard."
"Well, my boy," said Mr. Copeland, "your sister is right, in a sense, as
under this act the Post-office Department will buy its stamps wholesale
from the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, at a nominal price per
thousand, without reference to their face value. I think you also are
mistaken, Parson, as the public will doubtless be as free to inspect the
manufacture of stamps as they now are to see the process of
bank-note-making. When the stamp-printing plant is established, there
should be a great deal in it to interest you youngsters. What do you say
to a tour of investigation some Saturday?"
Their father's suggestion delighted the children, who waited eagerly for
the fulfilment of the promise.
This came on a bright October morning, when the little party climbed the
hill beyond the towering Washington Monument, and reached the grim brick
building which is known as the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.
Here they were shown into a small reception-room, and kept waiting, with
a throng of other sight-seers, until a card from the chief procured for
them a special guide through the building. As she led them through a
long corridor, this lady explained something of the complete and
ingenious system which is in force here to prevent fraud or loss to the
government. No visitor is permitted inside the building without one of
the guides especially detailed for this service, while the work of each
of the hundreds of employe's is so carefully checked and recorded that
even the most insignificant error is readily traceable. Ink, paper, the
engravers' dies, the printers' plates, are all given out on properly
signed receipts, and until all are accounted for, even to the tiniest
scrap of paper, the employes who have handled them are not permitted to
leave the building; so that only by a widespread plot could all these
safeguards be successfully eluded.
[Illustration: THE ENGRAVING-ROOM.]
The little party was now shown into a very long room, at one end of
which was ranged a row of compartments like sentry-boxes. In each of
these sat a silent engraver, bent over the small square of steel upon
which he was cutting some part of the design for paper money or stamps.
The plates from which the stamps were formerly printed are the property
of the government, so that the old designs, with a slight modification,
are still in use. This modification consists of a trefoil mark placed in
the upper corner of the new stamps, which will serve to distinguish them
from the old issues printed by the American Bank-note Company. The work
of the engravers is necessarily so painstaking and slow that the
original dies are considered too expensive to use in the
printing-presses. Thus, after the engraver has completed a die, it is
subjected to a hardening process, and the design multiplied indefinitely
upon soft steel plates by what is known as the transfer-press. The
children were shown a long row of these presses, as well as the great
vaults where all the designs, dies, and plates are locked up after the
day's work. From the silence of the engravers' department they were led
into the din and clatter of the press-room below. Here they found the
new steam-presses as well as old-fashioned hand-presses in operation,
and were able to see every detail of the actual printing of stamps.
[Illustration: TAKING SHEETS OFF THE PRESSES.]
The hand-presses are worked by a plate-printer and one assistant, the
printer first inking and polishing the engraved plate over a series of
small gas-jets, after which it is placed on the press. His assistant
now lays a dampened sheet of paper upon the plate, the printer gives the
press a turn, and a sheet of bright new stamps is drawn out at the other
side. This work is done quickly and accurately, but it is a very slow
process compared with that of the steam-presses, which turn out sheets
of four hundred stamps each at the rate of one hundred thousand stamps
an hour. The steam-presses carry four plates on an endless chain around
the sides of a large square, in the circuit of which the plates are
automatically heated to the proper temperature, inked, wiped off, and
printed. The blank paper is laid on the plates by one assistant, while a
second helper takes out the printed sheet. The printer in charge of the
press has the most difficult part of the work, which consists in
polishing the plate with his bare palms after it has been mechanically
inked. This must be done so delicately as to leave neither too much nor
too little ink upon the plate, but only _just enough_ to give a clean,
fine impression.
The presses clattered and clanked, and the children watched with
breathless interest while a great stack of the dampened paper
disappeared rapidly, sheet by sheet, through the press, reappearing
again to be stacked in a second neat pile in the form of thousands upon
thousands of new red two-cent stamps.
Besides the ordinary issues, the young investigators were much
interested in seeing the printing of revenue stamps, of the long-strip
stamps for cigar-boxes, and other tobacco stamps, and particularly the
new two-cent stamps for playing-cards.
Having watched to their entire satisfaction the various movements of the
great presses, the children began to feel that the object of their visit
had been realized, and that there was nothing more to see. They were
therefore somewhat surprised to learn that the _printing_ of the stamps
is merely the beginning of the work upon them, and that a number of very
important things must happen to these small squares of red, blue, brown,
and purple before they are ready to be sold through the little window in
the post-office. After they are printed the sheets must be dried and
pressed out, gummed, dried and pressed again, the sheets perforated and
cut apart, trimmed, and, in addition, carefully counted before and after
each of these operations.
In the early days of postage-stamps, and for several years after they
first came into use, two serious difficulties presented
themselves--_i.e._, the gumming and separating of the stamps. For a time
a thick muddy mucilage was used, which curled up the sheets in a very
inconvenient way. Then, again, before the ingenious device of
perforation was hit upon, it was necessary to cut the stamps apart with
a pair of scissors. Imagine a post-master in these busy days supplying
his customers by the scissors method!
[Illustration: IN THE DRYING-ROOM.]
Fortunately a clever Frenchman conceived the plan of punching a series
of small holes between the stamps, and his invention was promptly
introduced into this country. The children were now eager to see the
finishing processes of stamp-making, and so followed their guide into a
large room, where they were greeted by a rush of warm air. Here their
guide showed them the method of gumming the stamps and the curious
apparatus used for the purpose. Along the entire length of the room,
with a narrow passage between, are ranged a series of wooden boxes,
quite sixty feet in length. These are heated by steam, and through each
box passes a sort of double endless chain. The sheets are fed, face
down, into this queer machine, and passed under a roller, which allows
the escape of just enough gum to coat the sheet thinly and evenly. The
sheet is now caught on the endless chain by two automatic clamps, and
carried into the long hot-box. It takes only a few moments for the
journey through, but the sheets appear at the other end perfectly dried,
and ready to be trimmed and perforated.
As the method of gumming stamps used by the various bank-note companies
has been a carefully guarded and secret process, the Bureau of Engraving
and Printing has been forced to invent its own machine for this purpose.
The sheets are gummed at the rate of about eighteen a minute, which is
certainly a vast improvement over the old method of putting on the gum
by hand with a brush.
[Illustration: MIXING THE GLUE.]