came to the conclusion that she was a show girl kept by the manager
merely to prove that he had the goods when required, provided anyone
wished to pay a sufficiently high salary, and the salary was made high
enough to deter most applicants. We got it from the girl that she had
several times been hired and had worked a few days for each of a number
of employers, until she could find some rational excuse for breaking
away and returning to the agency, the manager of which, we also learned,
was her brother, and she was a partner in the business.
The incident reminded me of a story told by a friend of mine in New York
who bought a beautiful and highly trained Scotch terrier of a Broadway
dog vendor, thinking that after keeping the dog tied up for a week,
feeding him and treating him with kindness, he could be depended upon to
stay with his new master, but the moment the dog was freed he
disappeared, and the next day he was again with his master, the dog
vendor, ready to be resold. Some time later, a light was thrown upon the
inner consciousness of my friend by reading an account in the newspapers
of the arrest of the dog vendor for obtaining money under false
pretenses and practicing fraud in the sale of dogs, or rather, of the
dog. The canine was a sort of homing-pigeon dog, trained, like a carrier
pigeon, to return from each new master as soon as freed. The buying and
selling of that one dog constituted the main business of the scamp.
When our interview with the young woman was concluded, we started to
leave the office in disgust, but at that moment a young woman of rather
prepossessing appearance, about thirty years of age, entered the office
looking for a position. She explained that her late employer having gone
to Europe, she was looking for a new place.
After a critical examination, we found that she would meet our
requirements very well. Then it developed that, having read in
newspapers and magazines some of the accounts, highly colored by the
writers of them, of how I cooked with high explosives and lighted my
cigar with a stick of dynamite, and burned nitroglycerin in a lamp to
light the room, she, being of a rather nervous temperament, was afraid
of the prospective companionship with explosive materials.
I assured her that the accounts were misrepresentations of actual facts,
and explained that we lived at a very safe distance from any explosive
works, and that she would be exposed to no danger whatsoever. I finally
convinced her that our home was a safe place, and although still
harassed with some doubts she decided to come with us.
In the edge of the evening, after her arrival, she and I were sitting at
the dining-room table engaged in conversation. I was telling her how
groundless had been her fears, when there came a terrific explosion. The
sky was lighted up with a brilliancy that would shame the noon-day sun,
and fragments of brands from the burning fell all about the house.
I confess that I was as much surprised as she was--and that was going
some. I rushed out, and found that my tool-house, located about a
hundred yards from my residence, had blown up, and the wreckage was on
fire. Being sure that there were no explosives in the building, I was
greatly puzzled.
There were in the place at the time perhaps a hundred rounds of Mauser
rifle cartridges. These were exploding, one after another, from the
heat. The neighbors who had run to witness the fire, were greatly
frightened, and did not dare to render any assistance in putting out the
flames, especially while the cartridges were exploding.
I ran to a hydrant nearby, got out the fire-hose, and found, to my
amazement, what one usually finds under such circumstances, that the
nozzle of the hose had been taken off, and the hose disconnected from
the hydrant, and that there was no wrench there. I ran and got another
hose and a wrench, made the connections, and ran out the hose to
extinguish the fire, when I found that only a small stream of water as
big as my thumb flowed from the hose. I then ran down to my house to see
if there were any faucets open which would reduce the pressure, and then
to the pump-house to measure the water in the supply tank, and found
that the tank was nearly full, and that thirty-five thousand gallons of
water were available for extinguishing the fire. Yet I could get no
pressure. The result was that nothing was saved, and the building and
all its contents were a complete loss. As there was no insurance, the
loss was about fifteen hundred dollars.
After it was too late to save the building, I walked down to the Hotel
Durban, on my property, which I supplied with water, to calm the fears
of some of the guests who were agitated, when, to my amazement, I found
a two-inch fire-hose turned on full, and running in the road. I learned
then that a stupid fellow who was staying at the hotel, had turned the
water on at several fire hydrants to play water on the hotel, although
the hotel was at such a safe distance from the tool-house that there was
not a particle of danger whatsoever. It never occurred to him to close
off one hydrant when he opened another; consequently, the pressure was
reduced so that no water at all could be had at the scene of the fire,
and not pressure enough on the hose-pipes that he had turned on to do
any good even had they been needed.
After things had quieted down, I returned to the house to resume my
conversation, and to repeat my assurances to the young lady secretary,
but I found a polite note tacked to the table-cloth, requesting that her
trunk be forwarded the next day. She had not waited for further
conviction as to the safety of her new position.
On investigation, I learned that a fire had started in the tool-house
from some cause unknown, and had proceeded long enough to get one side
of the interior of the building well ablaze. As there were five gallons
of denatured alcohol in the place, and the same quantity of gasoline,
and about ten pounds of sulphuric ether, it is probable that one of
these had become heated and, bursting, set free a lot of vapor which,
mixing with the atmosphere, exploded. There were also in the building
about thirty pounds of finely pulverized aluminum, ten pounds of
magnesium powder and other ingredients for flashlight powders, with
which I intended to conduct experiments. As these materials were not
mixed, they were not explosive, but their combustion was what produced
the wonderful light when the explosion occurred. The result was not like
that from an explosion of dynamite, in which case the building would
have been literally blown to fragments, but, as is usual in gas
explosions, the roof of the building was lifted up, the sides thrown
out, and the roof dropped in. Even the front door of the building,
charred from the initial fire, was found otherwise intact.
While sitting on the porch of my house on Lake Hopatcong, dictating this
story to my stenographer, and when I had arrived at this point, she
suddenly called to me, "Look!" pointing her finger across the Lake to a
huge column of smoke going up from the Atlas Powder Works, and
mushrooming out into the sky. The direct distance is about three miles,
but it seemed quite a long time before we felt the shock and heard the
sound. Although the sound was loud and the shock considerable, the sound
was much louder and the shock much heavier even at longer distances in
several directions, owing, I imagine, to the difference in the
underlying strata of earth.
As I learned later, the explosion took place at one of the packing
houses, which carried another packing house with it, together with a
nitroglycerin storehouse, so that about ten tons of dynamite, or its
equivalent, went up in that column of smoke. I understand that seven men
were killed, and about twice as many injured. It was the largest and
most destructive explosion that had ever occurred at those works.
WHEN THE WASH VANISHED
I was once invited to speak at a County Fair at Pittsfield,
Massachusetts, where I used to live when in the publishing business. My
subject was Explosive Materials and Their Use in Warfare.
The management was especially desirous that I should give my auditors
some sort of spectacular demonstration, to show what explosives would
do. A platform was erected in an open field, and I had an arena roped
off at the rear of the platform about fifty feet wide, and running back
several hundred feet. In the rear portion of this arena I buried several
sticks of dynamite, and connected them with an exploder and a battery on
the platform.
Also, I brought several cotton bosom-shirts, several cotton undershirts,
half-a-dozen handkerchiefs, a couple of towels, half-a-dozen pairs of
cotton socks, and as many cheap cotton collars and cuffs. These I had
immersed in a concentrated mixture of nitric and sulphuric acids,
converting them all into guncotton. Then I washed and soaked the acid
out of them, and dried them.
I stretched a clothes-line from the speaker's platform to a distance of
about thirty feet to my right, and on this I hung my guncotton clothes,
only a few feet away from the front of the audience.
There were, perhaps, a thousand people massed in front of me, crowding
up close, that nothing should miss them. I made a brief talk on the
nature and use of explosives, and burned some smokeless powder under
water, and then I touched off the dynamite in the rear of the field,
which made a very pretty showing.
The audience was very curious about that wash. That I should have hung
my linen out to dry on that occasion they thought was very peculiar
taste, to say the least; and some of them did not hesitate to say that
they considered it very bad taste.
I then said to the audience that I must beg their pardon for displaying
my underwear as I had done; that I appreciated the fact that it was an
unsightly display, and, to accommodate them, I would immediately
proceed to get it out of sight. I then touched it off with an electrical
igniter, and that laundry disappeared in one great bright flash of
flame.
There happened to be in my audience an ingenious fellow with some
knowledge of chemistry, who was a noted wag and practical joker. Taking
the hint from my nitrated laundry, he nitrated a cotton handkerchief and
sent it to the Chinese laundry with the rest of his wash.
When he called for his clothes, he found John Chinaman with his right
arm in a sling. However, John was all smiles, and apologized for the
absence of the one handkerchief, but said nothing more about it.
A short time after the fellow had put on his clean underwear, he
developed a very severe case of prickly heat, followed, a little later,
by a sensation like that of needles being stuck into his body over the
entire surface. Anyone who has taken a bite of a wild Indian turnip
knows what that sensation is. The Chinaman had charged his customer's
garments with a preparation extracted from a Chinese variant of the
Indian turnip. It took a couple of weeks, with the aid of a physician,
for the wag to recover from the little unpleasantness which the Chinaman
had inflicted upon him.
THE FRIGHTENED FISHERMAN
When testing big guns at Sandy Hook, the officers are often greatly
annoyed by fishing boats that persist in getting within range of the
guns and in remaining there, entirely regardless of the work or wishes
of the officers of Uncle Sam.
It is a curious circumstance that, according to the law of the country,
these ships have the right of way, and even the officers of the
Government Proving Grounds have no power to compel a fishing smack to
move out of range.
There was one boat of this kind that persisted in anchoring daily
exactly in the range of a ten-inch gun that was under test, and day
after day the tests had to be delayed.
One morning, however, there being a haze or fog floating close down upon
the water at a distance of a couple of miles from the shore, and the sea
looking perfectly clear to that distance, the officers in charge of the
testing of the gun concluded that the range was clear, and they fired,
but the captain of the fishing boat above referred to happened to be on
his job, just as usual, though concealed by the fog. He had stretched
himself out in a hammock on deck and was taking a snooze, when a
ten-inch projectile passed through his boat under him, and ricocheted on
out to sea. He kept out of the gunner's range after that.
Following this incident, one of the officers conceived the brilliant
idea of keeping fishermen from coming into the line of fire in the
following manner: When a boat was seen sailing into range he would fire
several six-pound shells, exploding them in the water along the line of
range, and directly in the path of the oncoming boat. This method served
the purpose admirably. While the fishermen would calmly cast anchor and
occupy a position directly in range of a gun being tested, they did not
dare to sail directly into the line of fire of exploding six-pound
shells.
THE COLONEL WAS PROVOKED
An Army officer tells me the following story:
One time, while he was on duty at the Sandy Hook Proving Grounds, they
were testing a gun-shield to see whether or not it would resist the
penetration of a six-inch shell.
The officer whose duty it was to attend to the loading and firing of the
gun did not always allow the required time to elapse after sounding the
warning before discharging the gun, especially when he took it for
granted that no one was in the zone of danger, in which case he was apt
to consider the signal of warning a mere formality.
Such was his attitude and action on the occasion to which this story
refers: He gave the signal, and immediately fired. The projectile, which
was expected to penetrate the shield, went only half through, and stuck
there, when, to the horror of all participants, especially of the
careless officer referred to, the Colonel of Artillery emerged from
behind the shield, unhurt, but madder than a demon in Dante's Inferno.
No more guns were fired without the lapse of an ample period of
warning.
WHEN THE DARKIES TURNED PALE
At one of our Government proving grounds, some years ago, the officers
were testing a new high explosive, and, as was their custom, they
charged a twelve-inch shell with the material in order to estimate the
power of the explosive by the fragmentation of the projectile when the
charge was detonated.
They had a bomb-proof chamber prepared for this purpose. It consisted of
a room about ten feet wide, twelve feet long, and eight feet high, lined
with armorplate. The projectile was placed on the armored floor in the
middle of the room, and covered with a few hundred pounds of fine sand.
It was armed with an electrical exploder, which was set off from another
bomb-proof at a safe distance. After each explosion, the fragments were
sifted from the sand and counted and weighed.
A twelve-inch shell charged with Maximite and exploded at Sandy Hook
during the tests there of that explosive, was broken into ten thousand
fragments. The fragments made deep dents in the hard face of the
armorplate. The shell that enters into this story was exploded under
similar conditions.
When the officers were ready to explode the shell, they sounded the
usual alarm to give warning to laboring men on the premises to seek
cover. Now, it so happened that about a dozen negroes who were engaged
in some pick-and-shovel work had been in the habit of using this very
bomb-proof as a shelter when a big gun was fired; consequently, when the
warning was sounded, they immediately rushed for cover within that
bomb-proof.
The officer in command was about to close the switch to explode the
projectile, and his hand was already upon it, but, being an exceedingly
cautious man, he thought he would take another look to be sure that all
was safe, and, to his amazement, he saw a negro who had been screening
himself behind a pile of rubbish making a dash for the bomb-proof
containing the projectile, when it was revealed that the dozen darkies
had all huddled into it for safety.
When those darkies found out how close a call they had had, they turned
just as pale as negroes can turn. Had the projectile been exploded while
they were in the bomb-proof, they would not only have all been killed by
the blast, but would also have literally been blown to ribbons.
THE DOG THAT WAS A REAL MASCOT
In the long line of trenches that constitutes the French and British
front, facing the equally long German front, the soldiers relieve time's
tedium by numerous artifices. Many kinds of pets--dogs, cats, owls,
doves, parrots--are harbored for the sake of their company, or as
mascots--bringers of good luck.
A French soldier had a dog that was a great favorite in the trenches,
for the reason that he was a famous ratter, and as the trenches were
infested with rats, he was a most welcome guest.
One day, when the Germans were bombarding the French position before
Verdun preparatory to a charge, a huge howitzer shell, penetrating deep
into the earth in front of one of the French trenches, and exploding,
buried half a hundred men--among them the owner of the dog.
The dog also was quite buried by the explosion, but he quickly dug
himself out, and then he began an eager search for his master. Smelling
out his location, he dug furiously with all his might to unearth him.
Fortunately, his master's head was near the surface of the ground, but
his arms and legs were bound tight so that he could not move, and he was
nearly suffocated when the dog succeeded in digging out his head and
face so that he could breathe.
Happily, relief came soon, and when the rescuing party arrived, they
found the dog still working with all his strength to uncover his master.
Pick and spade soon brought the dog's quarry to the surface, who was
quite unharmed except for a few bruises, while the dog, it was seen, was
bleeding at ears, eyes and mouth from the effect of the explosive
blast.
WEARY WILLIE'S DISCOMFITURE
Some good old English folk whose prosperous son had made a large amount
of money in the railroad business in America, were persuaded by their
boy to give up their fine, old-fashioned English country home for such
home life as America could afford.
The dutiful son had anticipated the wants and pleasures of his parents,
and on a fine country estate he had built practically a replica of the
old English homestead. There was the big fireplace and the big, wide
chimney, to be swept by the smutty chimney-sweep. The chimney was
provided with pegs to climb up and down.
Some time after the good parents were quartered in their new home, Weary
William the wanderer, a real hobo, walking past the place late one
night, could see enough of it in the moonlight to recognize its genuine
English aspect; for Weary Willie had, in his boyhood days, been one of
those smut-faced chimney-sweeps in old England, and when he walked up
and peeped through the window and saw a few embers in the familiar
fireplace, he concluded to go down that chimney and take a nap in the
cosy comfort that the room provided, and perchance find something to eat
and drink without waking anyone.
Entering the room by way of the chimney, he did find, all set as though
for himself, edibles and wine--left-overs from someone's late supper.
After feasting, he took a snooze on the sofa, intending to take his
leave the way he came at an early hour before the family was up, but he
had drunken more of the good wine than he ought, and he slept soundly.
He was awakened by voices, which told him that it was high time and past
for him to make his exit, and he scooted up the chimney in great haste,
but not a whit too quickly, for by the time he had raised himself up out
of sight, several persons entered the room. He did not dare continue his
ascent or move for fear of making a noise. He waited there, breathless,
for a more favorable opportunity to climb out.
It so happened that an ingenious Yankee neighbor of the English
gentlefolk had suggested a more expeditious way of cleaning the chimney
than by sweeping it out in the old British fashion. He said that all
that was necessary was to throw several pounds of black gunpowder into
the fire, which, flashing, would blow the soot out of the chimney. Of
course, the genius had never tried the experiment himself, but as such
geniuses are usually cocksure, he was so confident of success that he
did not feel the need to make any preliminary experiments. Therefore,
just as the tramp had mounted above the line of vision into the chimney,
the genius, entering the room, threw the gunpowder into the fire, which
instantly exploded with a great flash and smoke, blowing cinders and
embers all over the room and filling it with dense, black, sulphurous
smoke, burning the face and hands of the genius considerably, and
frightening the elderly people out of their wits. But what frightened
them all still more, was the appearance of the thoroughly singed and
scared tramp, who fell from his perch in the chimney, down into the
fireplace, and rolled out into the room, sneezing, coughing and saying
things, all at once.
The terrified tramp was easily secured, and when the master's gold
watch--a gift from royalty and a family heirloom--was found upon his
person, the genius was not only forgiven for his miscalculated
experiment, but also thanked for his good offices.
LO, THE POOR INDIAN!
Dave King, editor of the _Morris County Press_, Morristown, New Jersey,
was reared a lariat man in the Wild and Woolly, in the days before
civilization, rum and guns had subdued the Cheyennes, the Comanches and
the Sioux to extinction or to the more uncongenial fate of enforced good
behavior.
In all of Dave's hair-ruffling experiences--corralling stampeding
long-horns, lassoing and riding a bull-buffalo bare-back, hunting, with
Rex Beach, the great Kadiak bear in Alaska, whose enormous bulk and
Ivan-the-Terrible disposition would by comparison make the grizzly of
the Rocky Mountains a gentle companion--his most intimately interesting,
close-to-nature adventure was when he was ten years old, and dwelt upon
the upper waters of the Arkansas.
Dave's father, a husky pioneer, accompanied by his ten-year-old son, his
brother, "Uncle Joe," an assortment of dogs, guns and ammunition,
embracing a dozen kegs of gunpowder, had gone there to stake a
squatter's claim, hunt buffalo and grow up with the country.
Timber was scarce, so, after the manner of the troglodyte, they burrowed
out a room in the side of a hill, which constituted at once cook-room,
dining-room and parlor, and also museum of rare weapons, dog-kennel and
powder-magazine. The cook-stove was placed in the middle of the room,
and the flue was run up through the ground for ventilation and the
escape of products of combustion.
One day, Dave's father and Uncle Joe went on a buffalo hunt, much to the
disconsolation of Dave, who wanted to go along. Toward the end of the
afternoon following the departure of the hunters, Dave built a roaring
fire in the stove to keep himself company, and incidentally to prepare
supper for himself and the hunters, who were expected to return before
sundown.
His eyes regarded longingly a double-barreled shotgun hung on the wall.
He had many times been warned by his father to exercise caution in
handling the guns during his absence, but Dave had the dare-devil
spirit of his parent, with the added impulses of the small boy, and he
took down the shotgun and fondled it lovingly, examining its firing
mechanism. Then he proceeded to return it to its hanging, not noticing
that he had left one of the hammers cocked. He did not know that the gun
was loaded, and he would not have been deterred had he known. In putting
up the weapon he accidentally touched the trigger of the cocked hammer
and the charge in that barrel exploded, sending shot and burning wads
under the sleeping-bunks, just missing one of the kegs of gunpowder.
Dave proceeded with his cooking, but soon he smelled smoke, and looking
under the bunks discovered, to his horror, that a fire had started.
Under the bunks he went, pawed at the fire with his hands, and smothered
it with his hat, until he thought that he had extinguished the last
spark. Then he started for a water-hole an eighth of a mile distant, to
get a pail of water, accompanied by his favorite dog.
When he got out into the open, he saw a dozen horsemen just coming into
view over a rising ground between him and the sinking sun. He thought
at first that his father was bringing company home to dinner, and he
waited and watched. But he soon saw by the feathered and blanketed
make-up and demeanor of the horsemen that they were savages on the
warpath.