[Illustration]
It was a sleepy little town, far from the busy world, almost hidden away
in the backwoods. During the long summer days, small boys--and sometimes
grown-up folks as well--hardly knew what to do to pass the time. It was
an event of some importance, therefore, when one afternoon Grizzly Jim,
the trapper, brought to the only hostelry the settlement could boast a
live badger. He carried it in a big bag, and shook it out over the
half-door into the empty stable, that the hotel-keeper and his friends
might have a look at the shy and rarely-seen animal. At that hour there
were not many people about, so when the other half of the stable door
was drawn to, and the captive left alone, the news of its arrival was as
yet known only to a few.
[Illustration: "HE SHOOK IT OUT OVER THE HALF-DOOR."]
Among these few, however, was the hotel-keeper's son Dick, a youngster
about twelve years old, who had inspected the badger with keenest
interest and a critical eye. He had also listened to every word of the
conversation between Grizzly Jim and his father, and had gathered that
they were going to pack up the beast in a box and send it off next day
by the railroad to a city, some hundreds of miles distant, where all
manner of strange creatures were kept in cages in a Zoo. So the badger
would be lodged in the hotel for one night only, and Dick reflected that
if any fun was to be got out of "the comical cuss," as he called it,
there was no time to be lost.
After a quarter of an hour's solid thinking, Dick went out into the
stable yard and dragged forth an old dog-kennel, which for a long time
had lain disused in the wood-shed. He rubbed it up a bit, plentifully
littered it with fresh straw, and then set it down right in the middle
of the yard. To the big chain he attached an old rusted iron kettle,
which he pushed back into the kennel among the straw as far as his arms
could reach. These preparations completed, Dick thrust his hands into
his trouser pockets, and set off down the main street, whistling a
tune.
At a little distance he met his most intimate chum, Billy Green, the
wheelwright's son.
"Say, Billy," said Dick, "heard the noos?"
"What noos?"
"Grizzly Jim's bin an' trapped a badger."
"Wal, that don't count for much. Ain't anythink very 'xtrord'n'ry in his
trappin' a badger, is there? Comes reg'lar in his day's work, I reckon.
Now, if it'd bin an elephant or a gi-raffe"--the speaker paused to give
full effect to his grin of sarcasm.
"Oh! bother yer elephants and yer gi-raffes," interrupted Dick, with
impatience; "I tell ye it's a real live badger."
"A live one?" asked Billy, his interest slightly stimulated.
"Yes, a live one. I see'd it shaken out of a bag. And it's up now this
very minute at father's."
"Jee-whizz!" cried Billy, all on the hop now with excitement. "Then I
s'pose they're goin' to have a badger fight?"
"A badger fight! Who're ye gettin' at?" retorted Dick, ironically.
"Why, ther'll be a badger fight with dogs, of course. Don't ye know,
Dick, that a badger, when his dander's fairly riz, can fight like a
whole sackful of wild cats? It's rare sport, badger-baitin', I can tell
ye, an' jest the real thing to try the stuff young dogs is made of."
"Better'n rats?" asked Dick, in turn growing excited at the vista of
unexpected possibilities opening out before him.
"Rats ain't in it with badgers," replied Billy, disdainfully.
"Then I 'spect Grizzly Jim's gone down town to hunt up some dogs,"
suggested Dick.
"Certain sure."
"Wal, hadn't you best come to our place right now, an' have a good look
at the critter 'fore the crowd begins to roll up?"
"I guess there's some sense in that. Let's skoot along, Dick."
So the two boys set off at a quick pace towards the hotel. And as they
walked Dick described the badger's points.
"He's got short stumpy legs, Billy, but terrible claws. Rip a dog open
like winkin'."
"And pooty sharp teeth too, I reckon?"
"I should jest say. Wouldn't like 'm try 'em in my leg."
"See you've got 'm in the old dog-kennel," remarked Billy, as they came
in sight of the stable yard.
"It's a strong chain that, you know," replied Dick, evasively. "Bruno,
the old boarhound that died, couldn't break it."
"Guess the chain'll hold the badger all right. But I can't see nothink
of 'm in that there dog-hutch. I'll want ter have 'm out, Dick, in the
open."
"You'd best take care, Billy," cried Dick, as his companion laid hold of
the chain. "Remember his claws."
"Oh! I'm not 'feard, you bet," replied Billy, loftily. "It needs
somethin' more'n a badger to skeer me. Besides, he can't scratch or bite
much through my leggin's."
"Mind, Billy," continued Dick, with an intensely anxious look on his
face. "I've warned ye. Don't ye come a hollerin' an' a blamin' me, if he
takes a bit out of yer leg."
"Poof! You keep back if ye'r fright'ned. Let me alone. I'll soon yank 'm
inter daylight." And Billy made ready to haul at the chain. "Come out o'
that, ye brute," he cried. "Yo! ho! out ye come!" And he pulled with all
his might.
There was a fine old clatter as the iron kettle came
clinkety-clink-clank on to the cobble stones; and Dick just lay down on
the ground, fairly doubled up with laughing.
"Look out, Billy," he yelled amidst his convulsions of glee, "look out.
That badger'll bite ye through yer leggin's."
For a minute Billy was speechless. He felt so sick and faint-hearted
that ordinary common-place language would have been an insult to his
feelings. "You tarnation fraud!" he at last managed to gasp, as he
glanced from the battered kettle at his feet towards his spluttering
friend.
But merriment is infectious, and the supreme ridiculousness of his
position appealed to Billy's sense of humour. So the flushed, angry look
passed by imperceptible degrees into a sickly smile, and the smile at
last became transformed into a broad grin. Then Billy sat down on the
kettle, and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.
All of a sudden Dick recovered his gravity. "Quick, Billy," he cried,
"shove the kettle back. Here's the schoolmaster comin' 'long the
street."
With a more rapid flash of understanding than he had ever shown for a
new rule in arithmetic, Billy grasped the situation, and pushed the
kettle into the kennel out of sight. The boys stood together, just as
smug and quiet as if they were setting out for Sunday-school.
"Billy," said Dick, wishful to put matters right now that the victim of
his joke had become his confederate for future operations, "I didn't
tell a lie. There's a live badger in the stable as true as I'm standin'
here. But I never said 'twas in the kennel."
Billy, however, was intent only on the business in hand. The prospect of
sport caused the personal humiliation of a minute ago to be forgotten.
There was no need, nor time, for explanations.
"Whish! Stow all that," he whispered, eagerly. "Let's meet 'm at the
gate."
The two conspirators sauntered towards the entrance to the yard, as the
schoolmaster, an elderly, grave-faced man, drew near to the stable
buildings.
"Good day, sir," said Billy, as both youngsters jerked their hands
towards their caps awkwardly, but none the less deferentially.
"Ah! how do you do, boys?" responded the teacher, coming to a halt and
bestowing a pleasant nod of recognition on his pupils. "I hope you are
enjoying your holidays?"
[Illustration: "I HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING YOUR HOLIDAYS?"]
"Yes, sir, first class," replied Dick. Then Billy boldly opened the
campaign. "Please, Mr. Brown, do you know the difference between a
mountain badger and a prairie badger?"
"I fancy I do, my lad. The one's darker than the other."
"Well, sir, Dick's father's had a live badger brought to him by Grizzly
Jim, and we don't know which kind it is." Billy skated very cleverly on
the thin ice of truth.
"Just let me have a sight of the animal," said the schoolmaster. At the
same moment he followed the direction of Dick's look, and there and then
fell unsuspectingly into the trap prepared for him. "Ah! I see you've
got him chained up in the kennel," he remarked, as he stepped into the
stable yard.
"Do badgers bite?" asked Dick, evading the issue with splendidly assumed
innocence.
"Oh! they don't show their teeth much, unless they're badgered," replied
Mr. Brown, with a laugh, thoroughly pleased with himself at having been
able to perpetrate a little joke. "Let's have him out, boys. I'll soon
tell whether he's a mountain badger or a prairie badger."
Dick and Billy hung back, apparently fearful of approaching too near to
the kennel.
"Don't be afraid, my lads," continued the master, in an encouraging way.
"He's all safe at the end of a chain. See: I'll pull him out for you.
Ya! hoop! Out you come, my fine fellow."
And the schoolmaster lugged at the chain; and clinkety-clink-clank came
the iron kettle on to the cobble stones.
No respect for either age or authority could restrain the boys from
going off into a fit of laughter. Their teacher's face was a study; its
look of blank amazement would have made a wooden totem-pole hilarious.
But they were relieved in mind, all the same, when a smile, even though
a grim one, stole over the stern, pallid features of the man who had it
in his power to make the lives of wayward boys utterly miserable.
"It's lucky for you young rascals that this is holiday time," remarked
the schoolmaster, drily. "I've got a tawse in my desk that can bite a
good deal sharper than this badger." Then, in spite of a momentary
feeling of resentment, he joined in the laugh against himself.
"Please, sir," explained Dick, partly in a spirit of penitence, but
mainly with a view to mitigate the offence, "the live badger that
Grizzly Jim brought father is in the stable right enough. It was you
yourself that went straight for the kennel."
"That's so," replied the schoolmaster, stroking his beard meditatively.
"I should have remembered the maxim of the copybooks, 'Think before you
leap.' Well, we're all liable to make mistakes, I suppose--even
parsons," he added, after a pause, and sinking his voice almost to a
whisper. He was gazing now down the street, with a far-away look in his
countenance.
The boys shot a quick glance in the same direction. A stout,
pompous-looking little man, with black coat and white collar, was in
sight.
"The parson's an erudite Doctor of Divinity," continued the
schoolmaster, speaking low, and in an absent-minded fashion. "He's had
all the advantages of a college education--a fact which he knows, and
takes care to let other people know. A man of learning is the parson,
and a great authority on natural history."
The boys did not hear, nor exactly understand, every word spoken; but
the last sentence fell clearly on their ears, and the looks they
exchanged indicated the dawning of intelligence.
"Yes; I wonder," murmured the pedagogue, reflectively, "I really wonder,
now, whether the parson could tell the difference between a mountain
badger and a prairie badger."
"By golly!" screamed Billy, in frantic excitement at the full flash of
comprehension. "Jam the kettle back into the kennel, Dick. Don't say a
word, Mr. Brown; please don't. Leave him to us."
The schoolmaster, chuckling to himself, began to examine a rose-bush
growing against the wall. Soon the parson was at the gate.
"Good evening, Mr. Brown," he called out.
"Good evening," mumbled the teacher, hardly daring to look up from the
roses.
"What have we here?" continued the clergyman, observing the unwonted
position of the kennel, and also noticing the flurried look on the boys'
faces. "What have we here?" he repeated, coming forward into the yard.
"Please, sir," began Dick, a dig in the ribs from Billy having warned
him that it was his turn to open fire. "Grizzly Jim's brought father a
real live badger."
"A badger, and a live one! Well?"
"And schoolmaster don't seem to be able to tell whether it's a mountain
badger or a prairie badger," added Dick, with a grin, adroitly bringing
the third confederate into the field of action.
"Didn't you examine the teeth, Mr. Brown?" asked the parson. "The colour
of the fur is no real test, you know."
"I can't say I've looked at its teeth," replied the teacher, with a
somewhat ghastly smile. He had not bargained for being anything more
than a passive witness of the parson's discomfiture, but here he was
now, by Dick's act of unblushing treachery, thrust into the position of
an active accomplice.
"Well, we must ascertain the animal's dentition. You see, in a mountain
badger, which is more carnivorous than the prairie variety, the canine
teeth are more fully developed." As the schoolmaster had said, the
parson was assuredly a learned man, and an authority on natural history,
to have all this information so readily at his command.
"But how are you going to look at his teeth?" asked Billy, practically.
"I reckon badgers bite."
"I'll soon show you, my boy," replied the parson, with a patronizing
smile. "He's in this kennel, is he?"
Billy's only response was a smile of satisfaction like that worn by the
cat when he spied that the door of the canary's cage had been left open.
But the clergyman did not wait for an answer, for, turning directly to
Dick, he asked the boy whether he could find him some such thing as a
piece of sacking.
"I guess I can," responded Dick, darting off like a shot towards the
stables. Within the minute he was back with an old corn-bag. The parson
was in the act of turning up his coat-sleeves, and was still discoursing
learnedly upon the carnivorous and frugivorous tastes of the different
species of the plantigrade family. The schoolmaster was listening
attentively, speaking not one word: his attitude was a deferential one,
or a guilty one, according to the observer's point of view.
"That will do first class, my boy," said the minister, taking the sack
from Dick's hands. "Now, you two lads, pull the chain gently, and I'll
get this round the badger as he emerges from the kennel. We must look
out for his claws, you know, as well as for his teeth; because the
badger, being a burrowing animal, is armed with long sharp claws, which
he also adapts to purposes of self-defence, using them with great
courage and effect when attacked. Slowly now, boys; cautious does it.
Here he comes! There you are! I have him all safe!"
And the parson, as a heap of accumulating straw began to appear at the
mouth of the kennel, pushed in the sack, and wrapped it tightly round
the black object beyond.
"Pull now again, boys; gently. That's right. Now he's out."
Then the parson paused, and looked a bit puzzled. "This badger must have
been injured, surely. He doesn't show much fight." Saying these words,
he proceeded to cautiously raise one corner of the sacking. "Whoa! now;
steady. No snapping, you brute," continued the parson, in a purring,
conciliatory voice, as he slowly lifted the bag.
The spout of the iron kettle met his dumfoundered foundered gaze!
Dick and Billy were by this time hiding behind the water-barrel,
stuffing handkerchiefs into their mouths. The schoolmaster looked down
with a gleeful grin it was impossible to repress.
"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Brown?" sputtered the parson, rising
to his feet. The flush on his face was due less to resentment than to
wounded pride.
"It just means, Mr. Blinkers, that these young scamps first fooled me,
and for the life of me I can't deny but I've enjoyed their passing the
joke on to you."
The schoolmaster laughed outright, but the parson still looked painfully
self-conscious.
"The miserable little prevaricators!" he muttered.
"No," said the teacher, "you can't call them that. The boys haven't
spoken a word that's untrue, because the badger, I believe, is actually
in the stable over there. In taking it for granted that the beast was in
this kennel, we rushed to conclusions, and have had to pay the penalty."
The mortified expression on the parson's face became somewhat softened.
He gazed in a half-rueful, half-amused way at the old iron kettle, still
partially covered by the sacking.
"To think that I was led into talking about the dentition of
that--that--infernal thing," he sighed. "Oh! it would need a layman to
express my feelings," he added, clenching his fists as if in impotent
despair, while with a feeble smile he glanced at the schoolmaster.
"Well," laughed the latter, "strong language isn't in my line any more
than yours, Mr. Blinkers, so I'm afraid I can't oblige. I fancy,
however, that if ever again anyone asks you or me the difference between
a mountain badger and a prairie badger we'll be just a trifle shy at
answering--eh, my friend?"
[Illustration: "'NO SNAPPING, YOU BRUTE,' CONTINUED THE PARSON."]
The parson laughed outright: the fit of dudgeon was finally past. And
when the two men left the stable yard arm-in-arm, the mischief-makers,
who still remained discreetly invisible, could see the backs and
shoulders of both of them fairly shaking with laughter.
Round the corner, the schoolmaster and the minister met the hotel-keeper
standing at the front door of his hostelry; and with the greatest good
humour in the world they told him the story. The joke was really too
excellent to keep; moreover, it was sure to go the round of the whole
town before the world was many hours older, so that the victims
consulted their own personal comfort best by leading off the inevitable
laugh, and so, in a measure at least, disarming ridicule.
"The whipper-snappers!" said the burly host, hardly knowing at first
whether to condole with the dignitaries of church and school or to
indulge the merriment that was bubbling up within him.
"Boys will be boys," remarked the parson, condescendingly.
"And the trick was cleverly done," added the schoolmaster,
appreciatively. He was in reality too overjoyed at his own success in
having hauled the parson into the pillory alongside of him to feel any
resentment.
"Oh! well, we do need a laugh sometimes in this dull place," replied the
hotel-keeper, allowing the broad smile hitherto repressed to suffuse his
rubicund countenance. But he kept his mirth within moderate bounds so
long as the others were in hearing. When they were gone, however, loud
and long was his laughter.
"Dick, the little cuss!" he cried, slapping his thigh. "And Billy, that
young varmint! It'll tickle his dad to death when he hears it. To fool
the schoolmaster showed a bit of pluck. But to take down the
passon--oh, lor!" And the jolly innkeeper laughed till his sides ached.
After a little time Grizzly Jim slouched into the bar, and the story was
retailed for his benefit. The old trapper laughed heartily, although in
the silent way his profession had taught him.
"Blame my skin!" he exclaimed, "if it ain't the foxiest thing in the
snarin' line I've struck for a long time. But I reckon, boss, I'll take
a hand now in this 'ere game. You fix up an excuse to git the youngsters
out of the yard for ten minutes, and I reckon I'll make 'em skin their
eyes with 'mazement next time they yank out that badger."
Jim sauntered round the front of the house, while the host went direct
to the stable yard. He found the two boys in close confabulation near
the dog-kennel; and he also quietly observed that the kettle was again
inside, so that the trap was clearly baited for the next victim that
might chance to come around.
"Halloa, Billy!" cried the hotel-keeper, apparently unobservant of the
fact that the kennel was not in its usual place, and quite ignorant of
the game that was being played; "can you help Dick eat some apples?"
"Can a duck swim?" asked the youngster, perkily, by way of reply. Every
urchin in the place was on terms of easy familiarity with mine host of
the inn.
"Then round you come, the pair of you, to the orchard." And for the next
quarter of an hour the boys' game was changed--badgers were out and
apples were in.
Meanwhile Grizzly Jim was losing no time. When he saw the coast clear,
he walked up the yard and entered the stable. There he dexterously
caught the badger by the nape of the neck; it was not a full-grown
animal, and the experienced trapper had no difficulty in handling it. He
carried it out at arm's length, the beast clawing the air vigorously but
vainly. Reaching the kennel, Jim quickly substituted the badger for the
kettle at the end of the chain. Then, when the captive had retreated to
the furthest recess of its new quarters, he carefully re-arranged the
straw litter; and, tossing the discarded kettle into the wood-shed,
sauntered away with a sardonic grin on his sun-dried countenance. He
crossed the street to the grocery store opposite, whence he could
command a view of the yard.
A few minutes later the boys, their pockets stuffed full of apples,
returned to the scene of their exploits, followed at a little distance
by the hotel-keeper. The latter wore a look of good-humoured expectancy;
for, although he did not know precisely what the trapper's plans were,
he felt sure that there was fun in near prospect. Dick was busy munching
an apple and cogitating how it would be possible to victimize his
father, when his eye caught sight of Grizzly Jim crossing the street
from the grocery store with a big box on his shoulders.
"I guess, dad, here's Jim a-comin' to take that badger away," remarked
the boy, indicating by means of the half-eaten apple in his hand the
lanky figure of the trapper.
"Most likely," answered his father, with a merry twinkle in his eye.
Billy, however, had at once seen the possibilities of this new
development, and his face lit up instantly with all the keen excitement
of a fox-terrier in the act of pouncing on a rat. "We must take a rise
out o' Grizzly Jim," he whispered eagerly to his comrade in mischief.
As for Jim, he seemed to play right into the young rascals' hands, for
the first remark he made was this: "The schoolmaster has jest bin
sayin', boys, that you've got my badger in that 'ere dog-kennel."
"Wal, and what if we have?" asked Billy, boldly.
"Oh! I'm makin' no complaint. But here's his box for the railroad, and I
think we'd best put him in it right now. P'raps you'll lend me a hand,
youngsters?"
"Right you are, Jim," cried both boys with alacrity, advancing towards
the kennel.
"Did jevver know sich luck?" asked Billy, in a whisper, nudging his
companion with his elbow.
"It's 'nough to make a feller die with laughin'," chuckled Dick, under
his breath.
"Guess, then, yer not afeared o' badgers, you boys?" drawled Jim,
setting down the box.
"Not badgers of this sort," replied Billy, with a grimace.
"So you've found out this 'un's only a babby?" continued the trapper;
"hasn't got all his teeth yet, eh, an' couldn't scratch very hard if he
tried?" As Jim spoke he picked up the slack of the chain, to the boys'
intense delight.
"I reckon the badger at the end o' that chain won't hurt us much,"
responded Billy, airily. But Dick had to turn his face away to hide the
laughter with which he was now almost bursting.
"Wal, boys, if I pull 'm out, you'll ketch 'm, will ye, an' shove 'm in
the box?"
"Right you are, Jim. You jest pull, and we'll grab."
"But p'r'aps you'd be safer to let me come an' help ye hold the
critter," added the trapper, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Help be blowed," cried Billy. "I reckon we don't need no help to manage
this 'ere outfit, eh, Dick?" And the boys laughed in each other's faces,
as they carried the box close up to the kennel, and opened the lid in
readiness.
"Right ye are, sonnies," replied Jim. "Have yer own way. But don't ye
forget I gave ye fair warnin'."
[Illustration: "BOYS AND BADGER WERE MIXED UP IN A SQUIRMING HEAP."]
"We can look after ourselves, you bet," answered Billy, impatiently.
"Jest you haul away."
"Wal, here we go," said Jim, a faint smile showing on his thin lips.
"Grip him the moment he shows his nose. Don't be frightened at the sight
of his claws."
The lads were stooping ready to grab at the old iron kettle the moment
it should make its appearance. Both were chuckling with glee. And the
best of the joke was that Grizzly Jim had brought the whole thing right
upon himself!
"Hoop, la!" cried Jim, and with a pull that would have dragged a camel
off its legs, he jerked the occupant of the kennel into the open.
In their eagerness as to who should hold aloft the spurious badger
before the astonished eyes of Grizzly Jim, the boys fairly flung
themselves upon the black object at the end of the chain.
Then there followed, oh! such a yelling and a screeching, such a
snapping and a snarling! Dick rolled over Billy, and boys and badger
were mixed up in a squirming heap.
"Shall I come and help ye hold the critter?" called out the trapper,
cheerfully.
"No, but come and help us let him go," screamed Dick.
"My sakes!" roared Billy; "he's got me by the leg."
But at this stage Grizzly Jim came to the rescue. The young badger was
quickly caught, and popped into the box, while the disconcerted and
crestfallen urchins struggled to their feet.
"Guess badgers are kind o' more savage beasties than ye reckoned on,"
remarked the trapper, with dry sarcasm.
"No wonder the schoolmaster and the passon were skeered," laughed the
hotel-keeper, who had enjoyed the whole scene from a little distance.
Then it dawned upon the youngsters how neatly the tables had been turned
on them; so, in spite of torn clothes and scratched skins, they did
their best like true sportsmen to grin and look pleasant. But it will be
some time before they try to take another rise out of Grizzly Jim.
_A Common Crystal._
By John R. Watkins.
Hard to believe, but true. The locomotive shown in the illustration
below rests and runs upon a lake of salt--a surface almost as solid as
the road-bed of a great passenger system. The engine puffs to and fro
all day long on the snow-like crust, while a score of steam-ploughs make
progress with a rattling, rasping noise, dividing the lake into long and
glittering mounds of salt, which are shovelled by busy Indians on to the
waiting cars. The sun shines with almost overwhelming power, and the
dazzling carpet of salt stretches away to the horizon, where it
disappears.
[Illustration: _From a_] LOADING A TRAIN ON A LAKE OF SALT, IN SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA. [_Photograph._]
The scene is in Salton, in far-off Southern California. Two months ago
we described a wonderful city of salt which for centuries has existed
below the surface of the earth. Here in Salton, striking sights may be
seen in the full light of day. One gets some little idea of them from
the photographs, but the general effect of this huge natural store-house
of commercial salt, its enormous crystal lake, and its massive pyramids
of white awaiting shipment, can be but partially conceived from our
pictures.
To enter into a complete description of the remarkable industry which
transfers a common crystal from a lake of brine to the working-man's
table would be beyond the limits of our magazine. It would involve a
discussion of chemical symbols and formulæ which would make the printed
page a cryptograph. Better is it, briefly, to say that much of the salt
found in the domestic salt-cellar comes from the water of the sea,
which, by evaporation, is turned from liquid into snowy powder. In
Salton Lake, which lies 280ft. below the sea level; the brine rises in
the bottom of the marsh from numerous springs in the neighbouring
foot-hills, and, quickly evaporating, leaves deposits of almost pure
salt, varying from 10in. to 20in. in thickness, and thus forming a
substantial crust. The temperature ranges from 120 to 150 degrees, and
all the labour is performed by Coahuilla Indians, who work ten hours a
day, and seem not in the least to mind the enervating heat. In fact,
these Indians are so inured to the fatiguing work that they are not
affected by the dazzling sunlight, which distresses the eyes of those
unaccustomed to it, and compels the use of coloured glasses. One of
these Indians may be seen sitting on the steam-plough shown on this
page. He is one of a tribe of large and well-developed men--peaceable,
civilized, sober, and industrious, living in comfortable houses built by
the New Liverpool Salt Works, with tables, chairs, forks, spoons, and
many of the necessary articles of domestic civilization. He guides his
plough over the long stretches of salt, running lightly at first over
the surface to remove any vestiges of desert sand blown from far away,
and then setting the blade to run 6in. deep in furrows 8ft. wide. Each
plough harvests daily over 700 tons of pure salt, which is then taken to
the mill to be ground and placed in sacks. Scores of men assist in the
harvest by loading small "dump-cars," or trollies, on portable rails,
the cargo being finally dumped on the large train or else carried direct
to the manufactory.
[Illustration: _From a_] A SALT-PLOUGH AT WORK. [_Photograph._]
The interesting history of the salt industry in California is largely
associated with the name of Plummer Brothers, who in 1864, in the person
of the late Mr. J. A. Plummer, made the first genuine attempt to produce
a first-class domestic salt. The extensive and striking premises of this
noted firm in Centreville, California, are shown in the two
illustrations on the next page. Situated as the district is close to the
bay, the industry is dependent to a certain extent upon the tides. The
early spring tides have little effect in drawing away the impurities
which the river-floods bring into the bay; but the tides of June and
July, rising as they do to a height of 6ft. or 7ft., fill the marshes
with a water fairly pure. The salt-makers have prepared for this influx
of water by making reservoirs in large clay-bottomed tracts of marsh
land, and have cleared them of weeds and grass. The water flows in and
fills the reservoirs to a depth of from 15in. to 18in., and the gates
are then closed.
[Illustration: _From a Photo. by_] TRANSPORTING SALT IN WHEEL-BARROWS.
[_Mr. C. A. Plummer._]
[Illustration: _From a Photo. by_] SALT CRYSTALLIZING PONDS. [_Mr. C. A.
Plummer._]
[Illustration: _Photo. from_] SALT-MAKING IN RAJPUTANA. [_Rev. Henry
Lansdell, D.D., Blackheath._]
Like a large family, descending in size from father to youngest son, the
six or seven evaporating ponds of a salt works appear. The large
reservoir, being the father of this series of ponds, contains the gross
amount of brine, the last two or three being called lime-ponds, owing to
the amount of gypsum, lime, etc., precipitated at this stage of
evaporation. Not to go too deeply into chemistry, it may be said that
the brine lingers in the last of these ponds until a density of 106
degrees is obtained. The surface of the liquid is now dotted by small
patches of white which accumulate into streaks of drift-salt. This
interesting development is shown in the illustration above, the streaks
of salt looking like patches of surf on the sands of the sea-shore. The
liquid is now run into crystallizing vats, where it remains until the
salt crystals have formed at the bottom. It sometimes takes two months
for a crop of salt to develop. In harvesting, the workman, donning
large, flat sandals of wood, enters the vat with a galvanized shovel,
and marks off on the surface of the salt a series of parallel lines.
This process enables the labourers to toss the lumps into uniform piles.
A strict examination is made of every shovelful, in order that
impurities may be eliminated. Our illustrations show these conical
mounds of salt, and the transfer of the salt by means of barrels to
large platforms, where the crystal product is thrown into huge pyramids,
sometimes 25ft. high. Here it remains, bleaching and solidifying for a
year. It is, indeed, a picturesque sight to see these ghost-like
pyramids grow in their might from day to day.
[Illustration: _Photo. from_]