Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, APRIL 14, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 859. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
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[Illustration]
MOTHER-IN-LAW TO THE CREW.
ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
It was a beautiful summer morning. There was a light wind from the
southwest, which just tempered to a degree of endurance the blazing heat
of the full-orbed sun. A few wisps of feathery white lay slantwise
across the broad field of deep-toned blue sky, promising a change of
weather within a day's time. The sea was a vast undulating mirror of
blue, as if all the sapphires in the world and in all the other worlds
had been melted and poured into earth's majestic basin. From the rounded
slopes of the broad low swells the rays of the sun danced in a million
flashes of dazzling silver. The swells themselves ran in slow, sinuous
folds to the inner bar, where they reared themselves in curving walls of
translucent green shot with bars of snow, and then with the burst of
far-off thunder fell forward into spurting, writhing acres of yeasty
foam. Softness, warmth, and languorous sparkle lay over the sea.
Far away upon the uncertain horizon loomed the black hull of an ocean
liner, cleaving her way across the polished path at twenty knots an
hour, to make a new record, homeward bound. The tense cordage of her
rigging, the strained squareness of her tapering yards, the horizontal
backward rush of the torrents of smoke from her yawning funnels gave her
the appearance of a true greyhound, with every nerve and muscle strained
in the effort at speed. Nearer the land three schooners, two loaded to
their scuppers, and one flying light, so that she seemed to sail on her
keel, were making a long leg to the southward, close-hauled on the
starboard tack. Further in yet a score of tiny sea skiffs rose and fell
on the bosom of the deep, and now and then the glitter of sunlight on
the scales of a captured fish could be seen.
Henry Hovey and his little brother George--who was not so little as he
used to be--were walking along the ocean road. Often and often they had
gone down to the old wooden pier, and sighed much because it no longer
held their interesting friend, the Old Sailor. They had met other
sailors, but none of them could tell tales of the sea; and, worse than
that, none of them knew anything about the wonderful places the Old
Sailor had seen. So Henry and George contented themselves with telling
the old tales over, and speculating on the causes of the remarkable
events related therein. On this beautiful summer day they unconsciously
wandered down to the pier, and to their surprise there was a man sitting
on the end of it. He looked so much like their old friend that they both
stopped short and gasped. Then they shook their heads sadly and walked
slowly out on the pier. As they drew near the man they saw that his
shoulders were shaking with laughter. George gripped Henry's arm and
said, "Is it a dream?"
"I don't know," answered Henry, in a whisper. "I'm afraid--"
"W'ich the same it are not!" cried a voice they well knew; and the next
instant there was the Old Sailor himself, half laughing and half crying,
dancing on one foot and holding each of the breathless boys by a hand.
"It are not no dream," continued the Old Sailor; "'cos w'y, dreams goes
by contraries, an' this are the werry identical sailor wot it used to
be, an' not no contrary wotsomever."
"Oh! when did you come?" cried George.
"Jes now."
"What?"
"Jes now. I jes come ashore. I were a-sittin' on this 'ere werry
identical pier a-lookin' fur my trunk."
The two boys gazed at their old friend in silent wonder, for they were
sure that behind that trunk there lay some mystery.
"Where is it?" asked Henry at length.
"Down there," answered the Old Sailor, pointing at the water. "Under
hatches, stove in an' sunk. I wouldn't 'a' parted with that trunk fur a
good hogshead o' baccy. 'Cos w'y; I got that there trunk in Noo Yawk the
day I shipped, an' I had her loaded right to her hatches with things to
bring home to ye. Howsumever, it were drownin' or losin' 'em, an' so me
an' the trunk got ashore--leastways I did; an' that's wot."
With these words the Old Sailor once more sat down on the end of the
pier, and the boys sat beside him. He sent one of his long searching
glances around the horizon, indulged in one of his peculiar silent
laughs, and then suddenly said,
"S'pose I was to go fur to ask ye wot kind o' wessel are that out
yonder?"
"It's an ocean liner," answered Henry.
"An' s'posin' I was to say wot are them three yonder?"
"Schooners," said George, "under all plain sail, close-hauled on the
starboard tack."
"My son," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "you are growin' werry salt.
An' s'posin' I were to ask ye wot are that high-sided one loaded with?"
"Nothin'," said Henry. "She's flying light."
"Werry good too. An' may I be run down an' sunk by a bar'l o' your
mother's hot biscuit ef this here warn't the werry identical way wot it
happened. I shipped in St. Thomas as second mate onto the four-masted
schooner _Raw Tomatters_. She were bound fur Noo Yawk with an assorted
cargo o' cigarettes, pickled pigs' feet, mares' nests, and ice-cream."
"Mares' nests!" exclaimed Henry.
"Ice-cream!" cried George.
"Them's it! The mares' nests is built in the mountains by the wild
mares, an' is imported to this country for political purposes. The
ice-cream made in St. Thomas are werry bad, werry bad indeed; but it
won't melt in this here climate 'cos it are so hot where it are made,
an' so it are imported here in bricks an' sold as ice-cream candy, w'ich
the same you may have eat, but don't do so no more. Howsumever that
'ain't got nothin' to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye. The
_Raw Tomatters_ are a werry big schooner, an' she got under way with a
crew o' twenty men, all told, includin' me, wot were the second mate,
an' the Cap'n's mother, w'ich the same she were the cause o' the whole
bilin'. The Cap'n's name were Janders Blue, an' he were a smallish man
with a turned-up nose, one glass eye, an' a wooden arm, w'ich the same
he got in the whalin' trade. His mother's name were Mehitabel Blue, an'
she stood six feet three, an' could lift a barrel o' salt horse. So
bein', it putty soon come to be knowed that she were not only the
Cap'n's mother, but a mother-in-law to the hull crew. The trouble with
her were that she weren't brought up among seafarin' pussons, but in a
werry respectable country town where there were more churches than
stores. She'd went down to St. Thomas on a steamer fur her health, she
said, an' were now goin' fur to make the v'yidge back with her good son.
I didn't see wot she wanted o' any more health than she had; but I
didn't say nothin', her bein' the Cap'n's mother an' me the second mate,
w'ich the same 'ain't got much to say.
"Waal, the squalls commenced fur to make up jes as soon as ever we
started to git the anchor. The old lady, wearin' a wide-brimmed straw
hat with a long red feather into 't, an' holdin' a white umbreller over
her head, stood aft alongside o' her son. Sez he, 'H'ist the outer jib.'
Sez I, 'Lively there, you swabs.' With that the old woman she shet the
umbreller down with a snap, jumped forrad in about four hops, an' sez
she ter me, sez she,
"'Wot kind o' langwidge are that ter use in the presence of a lady?'
"'Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am,' sez I to she, sez I, 'I weren't aware as
how it were onperlite,' sez I, jes like that.
"'Don't you dast to call no man no sich names ag'in w'ile I'm on this
'ere boat,' sez she; 'ef ye do, I'll git my son ter discharge ye right
off.'
"Then she h'isted the umbreller ag'in an' went aft. The men looked at me
an' I looked at them, an' we didn't none on us say nothin'; 'cos why,
there weren't nothin' to say. But blow me fur pickles ef 'twere more'n
five minutes afore she bruk out in a noo place. Bill Doosenbury, the
fust mate, he sings out fur some un to set the torps'ls.
"'Lay aloft an' loose torps'ls,' sez he. 'Lively now, you sea-cooks!'
"May I never cross the blessed hequator ag'in ef the old woman didn't
dance right up to Bill, an' fetch him a swat over the head with the
umbreller.
"'I'll not stand it,' sez she to he, sez she. 'I'll not listen to no
sich talk.'
"With that the Cap'n comes a-runnin' up to her, an' sez he, 'Mother,
wot's wrong?'
"'Wot d'ye mean, Janders Blue,' sez she to he, sez she, 'by allowin' o'
sich permiskis langwidge on your boat?'
"'W'y, mother,' sez he, 'that are reg'lar sea langwidge.'
"'Then it are got to be changed,' sez she to he, sez she, jes like that,
him bein' Cap'n of the schooner, an' she bein' his mother with a white
umbreller. She turned around to go aft ag'in, an' stopped like she were
hit herself. 'Janders Blue,' sez she, 'look at this here rope!'
"'Wot's the matter with 't, mother?'
"'It are all covered with tar!'
"'That's allers the way with 'em on ships,' sez he.
"'Nonsense!' sez she. 'I ain't a-goin' to stand it. You're all in a plot
to make this 'ere v'yidge o' mine a failure. I won't have it! Janders
Blue, you set them lazy sailors to work right off with hot water 'n'
soap a-scrubbin' that stuff off. Ugh! Tar! Ugh!'
"I hope I may turn into a bloomin' Sally Growler ef the Cap'n didn't do
jes wot she told him. Ye never in the hull course o' your life see sich
a ridikalous sight as sailor-men a-scrubbin' the tar off their own
riggin'. An' that weren't the wust o' 't. Byme-by, o' course, it come on
night, and the side-lights were set. Now it so happened that we had a
strong breeze on the starboard beam that night, an' we was putty well
hove over. Mrs. Blue she come on deck jes after the lights was sot, an'
she vowed as how she were tired o' the starn part o' the wessel, an'
were a-goin' to walk up an' down forrad. She came along to the fok's'le
deck an' got down on the lee side to walk up an' down. Jes as soon as
she done that she seed the red light in the port riggin'. She let out a
yawp as almost killed the wind, and called fur Bill Doosenbury. He come
a-runnin' half scart to death, fur fear she'd got hurt. But she sez to
him, sez she:
"'Take that nasty red light down. It hurts my eyes.'
"'But, ma'am,' sez Bill, 'that's our side light.'
"'Waal,' sez she, 'put it on t'other side, and put the green one over
here. I don't mind green.'
"'Couldn't you walk on t'other side?' sez Bill.
"'No, I couldn't,' sez she; 'you know it's too windy up there. You
change them lights!'
"Bill tried to tell her why it couldn't be did, but she wouldn't listen
to him. She hollered fur the Cap'n, an' he come forrad, an' findin' out
wot were the matter, offered to put out both lights, blow me fur a
herrin' ef he didn't.
"'Wot!' sez she, 'an' leave me in the dark to fall down an' break my
neck?'
"An' with that she set up a weepin' an' wailin' that her son didn't love
her, till I'm blowed ef the old man didn't go an' shift the lights to
suit her. An' then we had to put on double lookouts fur fear we'd run
into somethin'. O' course soon's she went below we shifted 'em back. In
the mid-watch 't come on to blow putty fresh, and I, bein' on watch,
sung out a few orders about reefin', an' the watch jumped to work. Up
come the old woman in a long night-gown an' a red flannel night-cap, two
steps at a time.
"'Wot d'ye mean,' she yells, 'a-raisin' such a racket up here at this
time o' night? It's time all decent people was in bed. Shame on ye!
Shame on ye! Roisterin' an' carousin' out here this way! Go to bed, ye
miserable sinners, go to bed!'
"I tried to explain to her as how the schooner'd got to be worked
through the night.
"'Nonsense!' sez she to me, sez she; 'my son Janders'd never make no man
work all night. He'd stop the ship an' have a night watchman to mind her
till mornin'. This are some o' your doin'. You're the wust o' the hull
lot. Th' idee of your bein' out this time o' night. You're old nuff to
know better!'
"By that time the Cap'n were on deck, an' somehow he coaxed her to go
below an' stay there. But the werry next mornin' she were at 't ag'in.
We started in to wash down decks, an' up she come without her hat on an'
her hair all up in yaller curl-papers. She tuk one look along the deck,
an' then she bruk out:
"'Waal, of all the oncivilized ways o' cleanin' a floor I must say I
'ain't never seed nothin like that. Squirtin' onto 't with a hose!
Janders! Janders! Come out here!'
"The Cap'n come on deck lookin' putty tired, an' she sez to he, sez she:
"'I won't stand it--I won't! Make them lazy men git soap an' water an'
scrubbin'-brushes, an' git right down on their knees an' scrub the floor
honest. Th' idee o' squirtin' onto 't!'
"An' by the great hook block we had to do 't. Right down onto our knees,
es ef we wus so many old women hired out fur to do cookin', washin', an'
ironin! Waal, ye may keel-haul me an' copper-bottom me on top o' my head
with yaller paper ef I didn't begin fur to git putty mad. I made up my
mind that the next thing o' that sort wot the old girl called out fur us
to do were not a-goin' fur to be did. Waal, it weren't so werry long
afore the trouble bruk loose. We had a little more wind than we wanted
day afore yistiddy, an' afore we could git the torps'ls clewed down
there were a hit of a split in one ov 'em. Yistiddy I got my sail needle
an' palm an' were a-startin' to go up to mend the sail. The old woman
stopped me an' asked me wot I were a-goin' to do. She looked at me an'
at the sail needle an' the palm, an' then she let go:
"'I 'ain't never seed sich an old heathen in the hull course o' my
life,' sez she. 'The idee o' climbin' up there an' riskin' your life
w'en you could have the sail brung down! An' then to try to sew it with
sich things as them! I won't stand it, that are all I got to say.'
"I told her that were the way them things was allers did at sea, an' she
vowed it were time sich nonsense were changed. Then she called fur her
son, an' sez she to he:
"This 'ere old sailor are a-doin' his best to make me mis'able aboard
this 'ere ship. I won't stand it! You make him bring that sail down here
and sew it up proper.'
"An' the Cap'n he sez to me, sez he, that I'd better do it her way, jes
like that, him bein' Cap'n an' me second mate. I got mad an' slammed the
palm down on deck, an' said I'd be swabbed afore I'd do 't.
"'Oh--h!' screeched the old woman, 'to think as how I'd be talked to
like that in my son's own boat! I won't stand it! Janders Blue, you put
that old man off this vessel at oncet, or I'll jump off myself an' wade
ashore!'
"'But it are too deep fur wadin',' sez the Cap'n.
"'Then give him a boat.'
"'I can't spare my men.'
"'Let him row it hisself.'
"'He can't do that all alone.'
"'Oh, to think that my own son'd turn ag'in me, an' all fur a measly,
chicken-faced, turkey-footed old sinner that wants to sew with a
skewer!'
"An' she beginned fur to squeal so that the Cap'n, sez he to me, sez he,
'You git ashore somehow, quick.' Waal, my sons, we wuz about eight miles
off yonder, an' I couldn't swim so far. But down in the fok's'le I had
my trunk wot I'd carried off to bring home things in. So I went below
an' emptied all the things out 'ceptin' a Chinese umbreller an' a Indian
shawl. I brung the trunk on deck, an' sez I to the Cap'n, 'You rig a
tackle an' lower me an' my trunk into the sea,' sez I, 'an' I'll git
ashore right here. I've got friends on that there coast.' So he lowered
us--me an' the trunk--an' the wind bein' fair, I set sail with the
Chinese umbrella fur a sail. The old woman she stood on deck a-shakin'
her umbreller at me, an' yellin' loud,
"'Don't ye dast to come back to this 'ere boat, ye old reprobate!'
"'Not as long as there are any land to stay on,' sez I to she, sez I.
"'I won't stand it!' sez she.
"'Then go to bed!' sez I.
"An' by that time the schooner were so fur away I couldn't tell wot she
sez. It tuk me all night to git in half a mile o' the beach, an' then
the wind changed an' I had to paddle. The surf smashed my trunk ag'in
the pier; I lost my umbreller an' my shawl; but here I are, an' here I
stays. An' the previous part o' my percedins I'll tell ye some other
day, but jes now I'd like to see your mother an' ask her ef she's forgot
how I like her coffee."
RÖNTGEN RAYS.
BY WILLIAM A. ANTHONY.
It is now some two months since the public was startled by the
announcement that Röntgen of Bavaria had discovered that electric
discharges in certain vacuum tubes, that is, tubes from which the air
has been exhausted, gave out rays that would pass through wood,
card-board, flesh, and numerous other substances opaque to light--that
is, through which light would not pass, and would then affect the
sensitive plates used in photographing, making it possible to show upon
the plates the outlines of objects entirely hidden from the eye.
Probably what most aroused the interest of the public was the fact that
when a structure, like the hand, was interposed in the path of these
rays, the bones would cast a deep shadow, while the shadow cast by the
flesh was very faint. It was thus possible to photograph the bones of
the living body, and, of course, to show the presence of foreign
substances or abnormal growths.
What has excited most surprise, perhaps, is the fact that these rays
pass through bodies that are generally considered opaque, for it seems
to those not familiar with the facts and demonstrations of science a
most surprising thing that any rays should go through wood planks or
sheets of metal or living flesh or brick walls. But is it really any
more wonderful than that rays of light should go through glass or quartz
or diamond or water? We are familiar with this last fact, because we can
"see through" these substances. We know that glass does not shut out
light, because we can see the space beyond it illuminated. But we have
no sense that tells us of the presence of the Röntgen rays. We must
resort to the photographic plate or the fluorescent screen (to be
described further on), to show their presence, and for all information
as to their behavior. The photographic plate is affected, while our eyes
are not, and we are obliged to let such plates take the place of our
eyes, and receive impressions which we can afterwards interpret.
But what are "rays"? When we stand in front of a fire of glowing coals
we _feel_ the warmth, and our eyes tell us of the light. Light and heat
are said to _radiate_ from the glowing coals, and both light and heat
proceed in straight lines. These straight paths followed by radiations
we have called rays. These rays are quivering motions in a medium which
we call the ether, and which we believe extends through all space and
pervades all bodies. They are waves, having the character of waves on
the water, which we can see, and sound waves in air, which we know
exist.
These ether waves, those that affect the eye and those which do not,
differ from each other, as all wave motions differ, in the distance from
wave to wave, or what is the same, in the frequency of the vibratory
motions. As an example, compare the long ocean swell that comes
thundering upon the beach at intervals of several seconds with the
frequent swash, swash, swash of the little ripples on the shore of a
fish-pond, or the vibrations that can be felt as a tremor of the whole
church when the deep bass pipes of the great organ are sounded with the
sharp shrill tones of the high treble pipe.
There are means of measuring the distances from wave to wave of the
different rays in the ether, and the result is astounding. The frequency
is something of which it is impossible to form any conception. About 20
millions of millions per second is the lowest, and about 1000 millions
of millions the highest frequency. Of these, those only which lie
between 400 and 760 millions of millions per second excite vision. In
other words, the ether waves breaking upon the optic nerve must come at
the rate of at least 400 millions of millions per second before that
nerve will carry any impression to the brain--before we can "see" them.
Why rays of these frequencies only should affect the eye we do not know.
We only know that the structure of the eye is such that the other rays
are powerless to produce vision. Neither do we know why the
low-frequency rays will go through hard rubber and will not go through
glass. We only know it is a fact.
All these ether rays may produce heat. The high-frequency rays affect
the photographic sensitive plate, and also produce another effect that
is of especial interest in connection with the study of the Röntgen
rays. They have the power of exciting a peculiar luminosity, or light,
in certain substances, which are for that reason called fluorescent.
Electrical discharges in vacuum tubes have long been known as sources of
radiations which produce heat and affect the eye. Every student of
physics knows the experiment with the aurora tube, which, when exhausted
by a good air-pump and connected to a Holtz machine or induction coil,
is seen filled with a pale light having something the appearance of the
streamers of the Aurora Borealis.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--THE APPARATUS USED IN MAKING RÖNTGEN
RADIOGRAPHS.]
Professor Crookes, by obtaining a vastly better vacuum, obtained in
these tubes some new and very interesting phenomena. As the vacuum
became better and better, the light within the tubes finally
disappeared, and only the inside of the glass was illuminated. This
Professor Crookes explained upon the supposition that the air particles
remaining in the tubes are repelled from the negative terminal or
"cathode" within the tube, and shoot off from it, proceeding in straight
lines, until they come into collision with other particles or with the
walls of the tubes, producing light wherever the collision occurs. When
the exhaustion is sufficient these particles shooting out from the
cathode meet with no obstructions until they reach the walls of the
tube, which are bombarded by the flying particles until they shine with
a sort of phosphorescent light, while the whole interior of the tube
remains dark.
These experiments have been repeated again and again for the last
eighteen years in scientific laboratories and lecture-rooms, always
exciting the greatest interest in the wonderful phenomena disclosed. But
not until recently has it been known or suspected that all the time
there were proceeding from the bombarded surface other rays, incapable
of exciting vision, but possessing properties, and capable of producing
effects even more wonderful than any that the Crookes tube had before
shown. That certain invisible rays existed in the Crookes tube
radiations was known about four years ago, but it remained for Professor
Röntgen to demonstrate the remarkable properties which they possess. He
found that a piece of card-board painted on one side with barium platino
cyanide was illuminated when held near the excited Crookes tube, and
that the painted surface was equally well illuminated, whether it or the
reverse side of the card-board was presented to the tube. He further
found that when the whole tube was covered with black paper, so that no
rays affecting the eye could emerge, the painted screen was still
illuminated, and further yet, that the illumination remained visible
when a board an inch thick, a book of a thousand pages, or a plate of
hard rubber was interposed between the tube and screen.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.--A RADIOGRAPH OF A MAN'S HAND.]
On the contrary, he found that glass, thin pieces of metal, the bones of
the hand, more or less stopped the rays, and so cast shadows. It must
have been a startling image that met Professor Röntgen's eye when first
he placed his hand in the path of the rays, and saw upon the screen a
bony skeleton hand with only a faint outline of flesh and cartilage. It
was a startling experiment to me, after I had read all the accounts of
Professor Röntgen's work, and knew what to expect, when I first saw the
shadow of my own hand upon the fluorescent screen. Fig. 2 shows the
appearance of such a shadow. After demonstrating in this way the
transmission powers of various substances, Professor Röntgen tried the
effect of the rays upon the photographic plate, and found it possible to
fix there the images that he had seen upon the fluorescent screen.
Fig. 1 will show how the results are obtained. A is a galvanic battery,
B is a Ruhmkorff induction coil, C is a Crookes tube, and D is the
plate-holder containing the sensitive plate.
The battery produces a low-tension harmless current that is rapidly
closed and broken at the induction coil, which transforms it into a
high-tension current capable of producing electric sparks, and giving
exceedingly painful if not fatal electric shocks. Wires convey this
high-tension current from the coil to the terminals of the Crookes tube,
where the Röntgen rays are produced whenever the current is turned on.
In the figure the plate-holder is shown only a few inches from the tube,
where the effect of the rays is strong.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--A GOLDFISH WITH THE SPINE AND SOME OF THE
INTERNAL ORGANS VISIBLE.]
Fig. 3 shows a goldfish, with all his scales and flesh on. The line of
his spine is clearly visible, and many of the inner organs of his body
can be clearly seen, and the skeleton comes out very clearly, because
the bones are more opaque to these rays than is any other part of the
body.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.--WING OF A PIGEON, SHOWING THE SHADING EFFECT IN
BONES.]
[Illustration: FIG. 5.--HEAD AND LEG OF PIGEON.]
Fig. 4 shows the wing of a pigeon, which is interesting, because while
the outline of the flesh is distinctly marked the feathers have
practically disappeared. The bones are not only clear, however, but the
thinner parts are lighter than the thicker. Fig. 5 shows the leg and
head of the pigeon. Around the head it is just possible to make out the
outline of the feathers, the flesh is clearly marked, and all the bones
of the neck are visible. In like manner the leg is interesting.
The transparency of the flesh makes it possible to show the presence and
location in the body of foreign substances. Bullets, needles, and bits
of glass have already been located by means of Röntgen ray photographs,
and afterwards removed by a surgical operation.
It is curious that the part of the eye which is transparent to the
light, and through which light passes to reach and affect the optic
nerve, is nearly opaque to the Röntgen rays. Vision by means of these
rays would therefore be impossible, even if the optic nerve were
sensitive to them.
But suppose these rays could excite vision. What should we see? Holding
a purse between the eye and a Röntgen ray source, we should see the
coins within it. If a person stepped in the path of the ray we should
see his bony skeleton. We might see something of his internal organs;
perhaps we could see his heart beat. A broken bone could be seen, and
the operation of setting it could be watched. Diseased bones or enlarged
joints could be examined. Tubercles in the lungs would be visible. But
these things would be visible only when they came between the eye and
the source of the rays, much as on a dark night objects might be visible
between you and a camp fire.
In daylight objects become visible by means of the light which falls
upon them and is reflected to the eye. This brings out the detail of the
visible surface. But the Röntgen rays are scarcely at all reflected, and
even if they produced vision, objects would become visible only as they
intercepted the rays. They would not be illuminated as they are
illuminated by rays of light, and only outlines, therefore, would be
seen. Even fluorescent bodies which appear light under the action of the
Röntgen rays are not really illuminated, but are rendered luminous--that
is, are made to shine by their own light. When bodies opaque to the rays
are placed before the fluorescent screen, merely a shadow is seen on it.
So the photographs or "radiographs" obtained are only shadows, but they
are not the flat featureless shadows of the "shadow pictures" often
introduced as an entertainment at social gatherings, when the identity
of the person casting the shadow is often impossible to make out. Few
substances are entirely opaque to the Röntgen rays, hence the shadows
of thicker portions of an object will be deeper than of the thinner
portions, and the shadow becomes a shaded picture that may give details
of the surfaces of the object. A Röntgen ray shadow of an aluminum medal
may show the design stamped upon the surface. The shading effect is well
shown in the bones of the pigeon.
But if there are few substances entirely opaque to the newly discovered
rays, there appear to be none that are entirely transparent. Even in air
the rays appear to be rapidly absorbed, so that an extremely powerful
apparatus is required for producing effects at any distance. Air seems
to behave toward the Röntgen rays much as fog behaves to light, and it
seems unlikely that effects can be procured at any great distance,
perhaps not more than one hundred feet from the source.
It would be rash to attempt to predict the future of the Röntgen ray.
The uses to which it may be applied in surgery have already been hinted
at in this article. The transparency of wood makes it possible to
inspect the work of a carpenter, and determine whether the work hidden
under the exterior finish has been honestly done. Hidden compartments in
a desk or cabinet might be revealed. The contents of a packing-box might
be ascertained without opening it. But to scientific men these rays have
a very great interest. What are they? Are they vibrating movements
transmitted in waves, like light? Are they particles shot off from the
Crookes tube and flying with enormous velocity? These are questions to
be answered.
When you stand in front of a Crookes tube in action these flying
particles are streaming through your body, stopping not at all at your
clothing, and hardly at all checked by the flesh, nor wholly stopped
even by the bones. A hard-wood board held between you and the tube is no
protection. The streams pass through it unchecked. Sheets of metal even
do not wholly stop them. The wonder of it all is that for nearly twenty
years experimenters with the Crookes tube have been pierced through and
through by these subtle streams and have never known it. Do they produce
any effect as they pass through the body? Can they cause or cure
disease?
It has been proved that they pass quite freely through the lungs, but if
tubercules are present they stop the rays. Might not the touch of the
flowing streams dissipate the tuberculosis growth and restore health?
Questions like these are coming up for solution, and experimenters are
seeking the answers. The study of the Röntgen ray has just begun. What
may not the next few months bring forth?
AN "OLD-FIELD" SCHOOL-GIRL.[1]
[Footnote 1: Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 857.]
HARLAND.
CHAPTER IV.
The Foggs lived on a funny little piece of land wedged in between two of
the Greenfield farms. The house was a cabin of two rooms, with a stone
chimney built on the outside, but the Foggs boasted that fifty-three
children had been born and brought up in it. How they lived was a
partial mystery to the neighborhood. They raised corn and potatoes and
little else in the ground enclosed by a "worm-fence," built, it was more
than suspected, of rails stolen, a few at a time, from the Greenfield
fences. An acre of woodland behind the house was supposed to furnish
them with fuel, and there were always pigs and chickens running wild,
with a dozen or so children, in the road and fields.
They were "poor white folks" in a county where nearly everybody was
respectable and well-to-do. No member of the family was ever convicted
of an offence that took him into the courts. They might be suspected of
stealing chickens, pigs, and wood, and even of robbing a smoke-house
once in a while, but nothing was ever proved against them. Not one of
them, so far as was known, had ever been in prison, and not one had ever
grown rich or really respectable.
As the Grigsby children, neat and trim, lunch bags and books in hand,
passed the Fogg cabin on the Monday morning the school opened, two men
and four children were in and about the yard. Mrs. Fogg, the mistress of
the house, stood on the porch, her married daughter, with two dirty
babies holding to her skirt, leaned against a corner of the chimney; a
barefoot boy was chopping sticks upon a log, a smaller boy trying to
grind his knife upon a grind-stone. All stopped what they were doing to
stare at the sisters and brother, and the elder matron hailed them in a
coarse voice more like a man's than a woman's.
"Goin' t' school, ain't you?"
Dee nodded without halting; Bea walked straight onward, her chin level,
her white sun-bonnet hiding her face. To her horror and displeasure Flea
stopped, and replied politely over the tumble-down fence:
"Good-morning, Mrs. Fogg! I hope you are all well to-day."
"Tolerable, thank God!" said the old woman, changing her tone into a
snuffling whine. "Ain't you too soon fo' school? The teacher 'ain' gone
by yet."
"We like to be in good time," rejoined Flea, affably. "Aren't your boys
going?"
"No, bless you, honey. Major Duncomb won't let them go in on the county,
an' pore folks ain't got no money to pay teachers with. Ah well! Th'
Almighty, He knows! The new teacher's real spry, ain' he?"
"Flea Grigsby!" called Bea, over her shoulder. "Come right along, or
I'll tell ma when I go home."
Flea noticed her as little as she noticed Mrs. Fogg's remark on the new
teacher's spryness. She had an idea, and was in a hurry to air it.
"Major Duncombe!" she repeated. "Could he let the children in free if he
liked?"
"Cert'nly, honey! He has the fus' word in all the county. Nobody dar'
say his soul's his own 'less he lets 'em. 'Lord! how long? how long?'"
"I am _very_ well acquainted with Major Duncombe," rushed on Flea, with
an important air. "And you may be sure, Mrs. Fogg, that I'll speak to
him about your grandchildren. Good-morning!"
She was out of breath when she overtook her sister. Bea had walked fast
purposely to make the others run, loyal Dee having loitered behind with
Flea.
"I should think you'd be 'shamed of yourself, stoppin' to talk with poor
white folks 'long the road," commented the elder sister.
Flea smiled mysteriously. "I had business with Mrs. Fogg."
"Business! Well, I never! The less you have to do with that kind, the
better."
"Mrs. Fogg is not a bad woman, Bea," said Flea, seriously. "When you ask
how she is, she always says, 'Pretty well, thank God,' just like Mrs.
Elton in _Anna Ross_. I think she is a very pious person, and it is not
her fault that she is poor. I stopped in the porch once when it was
raining, and she talked a great deal about the trouble she had had, and
how much she prayed, and so on. If I could, I'd be a benefactor to
people like that."
"I think sometimes you 'ain't got the sense you were born with, Flea
Grigsby. The idea o' you _benefacting_ anything or anybody!"
Flea's smile was yet more mysterious. In her glee over her new scheme
she squeezed Dee's arm.
"You wait and see! _We_ know--don't we, Dee?"
"Yes, _sir-r-r_!" said Dee, stoutly.
The prospective benefactress was still swelling with her secret when
they arrived at the school-house. The boys sat on one side of the room,
the girls on the other, a narrow aisle separating them. Dee dropped into
a seat near the door; the girls walked well forward and took places
close to the aisle. Three minutes afterward the teacher appeared in the
doorway, and Major Duncombe with him. Whispers and shuffling ceased
instantly; all eyes were fixed upon the two gentlemen as they went up to
the top of the room, turning there to face the school. It was all quite
proper and dignified, until the Major, having motioned to Mr. Tayloe to
take the chair ready for him, hung himself, as it were, across the
corner of the desk, as Flea had seen him do last Saturday.
"For all the world like a pair of saddle-bags," Bea told her mother
afterward.
Sitting thus, he watched the assembling of the motley crowd with kindly
interest. Now and then he smiled and bowed, and it was always a girl
whom he noticed in this way. Flea flushed delightedly at seeing that his
smile and salutation to her were especially friendly. His eyes said that
he was glad she was here and no worse for her adventure. Many
recollected, in after-days, how sombre was the aspect of the new teacher
by contrast with the Major's sunny face. One recalled that he had looked
at her and frowned when she returned Major Duncombe's bow and smile.
At the time the frown gave her no concern. Her patron had distinguished
her from the common herd by special courtesy. It was a promise of the
eminence that would be hers from this time onward. She was already set
apart and above her schoolmates.
The Major made a little speech by way of opening the session of the
school. It was like himself, informal and pleasant.
"Young ladies and boys," he said, not rising from the desk, and even
switching his boot lightly with his riding-whip while he talked, "I have
gone security for your good behavior to the gentleman who takes charge
of you for the year to come. I know you won't disappoint him or me. I
have proved my faith in him as a gentleman and a scholar by putting my
two boys under his care. I have told him to be strict with them. The
teacher who does his duty is bound to be strict. A school is like an
army. Orders must be carried out and no questions asked, and no tales
told out of school. That was the law in my school-days, and it is a good
law. From the very start you must believe that your teacher is your
friend, and that he is doing _his_ best. Take my word for that until you
find it out for yourselves. I go his security too. I know all about him.
I knew his grandfather and his father. They were true Virginia gentlemen
from crown to toe. And a Virginia gentleman of the right sort is the
best specimen of a man ever made. Never forget that, boys. I knew Mr.
Tayloe's mother also, young ladies." In addressing them he arose to his
feet, and his voice was gentler: "She was a lady such as a man takes his
hat off to when he so much as thinks of her. For her sake I know that
her son will treat you kindly and respectfully. For my sake I hope that
you will prove yourselves, as young ladies always do, the most obedient
and diligent students in the school. Upon my word"--abandoning the
attempt at formal gallantry, and relapsing into his every-day
manner--"when I look into these bright eyes and rosy faces, I envy Mr.
Tayloe the privilege of leading you along the flowery paths of learning.
"This is all I have to say to you at present. All I ought to say, I
mean, for I could talk for hours, it is so delightful to see you, and to
live over for the time my own school-days in this very place. And so,
good-day, and God bless every one of you!"
In passing down the aisle he laid his hand lightly upon what her father
called Flea's "Shetland-pony mane," and sent a merry flash of his gray
eyes into hers uplifted in enchanted surprise.
Mr. Tayloe rapped smartly upon his desk with the ruler, and flourished
it at the beginning and the end of his short speech.
"Children, I am here to teach. You are here to be taught. I mean to do
my duty. I shall make it my business to see that you do yours. I shall
treat you, one and all, boys and girls, exactly alike. I shall have no
favorites, and show no partiality to anybody. If you are lazy and
disobedient and saucy, you will be punished without fear or favor. If
you study well and behave well, you will not be punished.
"The school will be opened every morning by reading the Scriptures and
with prayer. Open your Bibles at the first chapter of Genesis."
Every scholar had a Bible. Some had brought no other book with them. The
rustling of leaves caused by the command subsided, and the teacher read
distinctly, in a metallic tone, the first verse:
"'In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.' What is your
name?" addressing in precisely the same voice a boy who sat at the
extreme left of the front row of benches.
"Thomas Carter, sir!" faltered the startled lad.
"Thomas Carter will read the second verse, the boy next to him the
third, and so on, right across the room to the end of the front bench
where those girls are sitting. Then the girl next to the wall on the
second bench will take her turn, and so on, clear across the room back
to the other wall. Go on, Thomas Carter."
Some of the scholars read badly, some tolerably well. With one
exception, none of them did themselves justice. They were diffident
under the gaze of the pale blue eyes, or flustered by the sound of their
own voices in the deep stillness that had fallen upon the school-room.
Flea Grigsby alone kept a steady head and a steady voice. She read
uncommonly well for a girl of her age, and she knew it. The boy across
the aisle from her had fallen over the word "firmament," and the teacher
had helped him to pass it by obliging him to spell the word twice, then
to re-read the verse. Flea was the first girl who was called upon to
read.
In her zeal she spoke more loudly than she was conscious of doing,
emphasized certain words in a marked way, and did not forget to count
"one" to herself at the comma, and "one, two, three," at the colon.
"And God made the _firmament_, and divided the waters which were _under_
the firmament from the waters which were _above_ the firmament: and it
was _so_."
Bea's pretty lips were parting to begin the next verse when the
teacher's gesture arrested her. An unpleasant smile drew up the corners
of his mouth; his eyes were fixed upon Flea's face. To the amazement of
the school he proceeded to read aloud the verse she had just finished,
mimicking her girlish pipe, and exaggerating into absurdity the emphasis
she had meant to make effective.
Some of the boys snickered; a few girls giggled. The rest looked scared
and puzzled.
[Illustration: "THAT IS NOT READING; THAT IS MOUTHING."]
"That is not reading; that is mouthing," Mr. Tayloe ended the imitation
by saying. "The sooner you get rid of that sort of affectation, Felicia
Grigsby, the better for yourself. It may do for your private Shakespeare
studies. It will not do for the Bible and this school. You think it very
fine; it is really ridiculous. Next girl, read the eighth verse!"
The blow was brutal. It cut, as he had meant it should, down to the
quick of the child's sensibilities. True, her self-conceit and her
mannerisms had drawn it upon her. When children are thus "taken down" by
their superiors in age and position we say, "It _hurts_, but it is good
for them. But for such rubs they would be prigs; but for such pricks to
vanity they would grow up cads. We all had to go through the small mill.
In after-years we are the wiser for it."
Had Felicia Grigsby dropped from the bench in a dead swoon it would have
been a merciful relief from what she endured, as, with eyes bent upon
the page she could not see for the hot haze that swam between her and
it, she sat perfectly still and let teacher and pupils think what they
might of her.
At last she was dully awake to the fact that the boys on the front bench
were upon their second round. Her turn would be upon her again before
she could stop breathing fast or swallow the burning ball in her throat.
She could not speak! She would not try. Nearer and nearer came the
husky, reedy voices of the big boys. There were five on the front bench.
The smallest of the five sat next to the aisle. His name was Senalius
Snead. They called him "Snail" for short. He had a high, squeaking
voice, like a pig's squeal. She had not turned a leaf. She could not
have read a line if she had, but her ears, grown all at once acute, lost
not one of the stammered words. Senalius Snead read horribly. She had
pitied him when he read awhile ago. She could wish now that he would go
on forever.
"And-the-evening-and-the-morning-were-the--"
"Spell it!" ordered the teacher, as the boy brought up short.
Without looking at him, Flea knew that he used a stubby forefinger with
a dirty nail as a "pointer."
"S-i-x-t-h!" he squeaked. "_Sixtieth_ day!"
"It would have been the sixtieth if you had had a hand in the job," said
the master, smiling his unpleasant smile. "As it is, 's-i-x-t-h,' spells
'sixth.' Let us pray! The scholars will kneel."
The chapter was ended then! Flea grew sick all over. Her head felt
queer, and the sweat started out in icy drops upon her forehead and
upper lip. She never knew how she got upon her knees, but she was there,
her face in her hands, her elbows upon the bench. Mr. Tayloe stood up
and read a short prayer from a book. It asked, among other things, that
"our hands may be kept from picking and stealing." There was nothing
about breaking the hearts and casting down the dreams of others, or
trampling under foot the small, sweet courtesies that make working-day
lives tolerable. If there had been, Mr. James Tayloe would have read it
all in the one tone--a tone as void of feeling and sympathy as the
"rat-a-tat-tat" of a spoon upon a dish-pan.
The morning was given up to examination and arrangement of the scholars
into classes. There was good stuff in Felicia, for by the time she was
called forward, with six other girls about the same age and size with
herself, to show what she knew, she had plucked up spirit to answer
clearly every question put to her. Except that her eyes were dull, and
the lip-lines sagged somewhat, she looked like her usual self. The
questions that fell to her were many, and the questioner pressed them
closely, taking nothing for granted. He even laid traps for her by
varying the forms of the queries.
"You said that General Washington fought the battle of the Cowpens, I
believe?" he said once.
"No, sir; _Colonel_ Washington."
And again, "You don't pretend to tell me that Cornwallis did not give
his sword to Washington's representative after the battle of Trenton?"
"No, sir. That was at Yorktown."
By-and-by--"The sun is nearer to the earth than the moon is, or it would
not be so much hotter. That is so--isn't it?"
Flea's dull eyes did not light up, but a slight smile contracted her
mouth. "The sun is 95,000,000 miles from the earth. The moon is 240,000
miles."
It was small game for a grown man, but the exchange of question and
reply became presently a sort of wordy duel. The girl was on her
mettle--Scotch mettle--and showed no sign of confusion when sure of her
ground. Hers was an excellent mind, retentive as well as quick. What she
had learned she kept, and understood how to use it.
Her father would have been proud of his lassie's proficiency in
geography, grammar, and history, of her reading, her spelling, and her
writing, had he been there. His heart would have been sore for her when
the inquisitor at length probed her weak spot. She disliked arithmetic,
and was hardly further advanced in it than the little girls beside her,
who had heard with hanging jaws and round eyes what was to them a
miraculous show of learning.
Mr. James Tayloe's faint blue eyes shone and twinkled at the first
blunder. At the fifth he laughed out the short harsh snarl his pupils
were to learn to dread.
"Aha!" He actually snapped his fingers with glee. "You _don't_ know
everything then, if you _are_ to be a 'comfort and a pride' to your
teacher--his one 'industrious and intelligent pupil!' When I meet with a
boy--and especially with a girl--who thinks she can tell me more than I
ever thought of learning, I like to take her down a peg or two!"
He need not have said it. The whole school looking on, partly in alarm,
partly, I am sorry to say, in amusement that was the livelier for a dash
of envy, understood already that for some reason he would enjoy lowering
the girl in her own eyes and in the sight of others.
He was a man of strong prejudices and overbearing temper. He had been
brought up as a rich man's son, and his father had died poor just as his
son had left the university. In order to get the means for studying law,
he must teach school for a couple of years, and Major Duncombe, who knew
his story, offered him the neighborhood school, doubling the salary out
of his own pocket without letting this be known to the young teacher.
He had taken a positive dislike to our poor Flea on Saturday, upon what
seemed to him good grounds. Her forced composure under the severe
examination to which he had subjected her was, in his opinion, sheer
effrontery. She thought too much of herself, and should be taught her
proper place. If she had trembled and cried, as several of the other
girls had, he would have let her off more easily. She was as vain as a
peacock and as stubborn as a mule, in his opinion. Such behavior was
rank rebellion, and he meant to put it down with a strong hand.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
RICK DALE.
BY KIRK MUNROE.