on the torpedoes. The torpedoes are smothered with grease, and every
precaution is taken to prevent rust from accumulating in any spot
outside or inside. Every torpedo is tested most thoroughly before it is
accepted by the government, and a careful record is kept of the
performance of each in practice on the ship to which it is sent.
No one knows the full power of one of these missiles. In recent times
two large war-ships, the _Aquidaban_ in the Brazilian civil war, and the
_Blanco Encalada_ in the Peruvian-Chilian war, were sunk by torpedoes.
Several smaller craft were sent to the bottom in the war between China
and Japan. When we think of their power of destruction, and the extreme
care and skill required to make them, it seems wonderful that such
implements of war can be made for about $3200 each. That is the sum
which the government pays for each of the 16-foot torpedoes. For those
that are 11 feet 8 inches long the cost is, in round numbers, $2500
each.
TUMBLE-BUGS.
BY CHARLES G. MORTON.
Everybody has seen tumble-bugs rolling their dust-covered balls along
some path or highway in the country, but few people are aware that these
little insects are the lineal descendants, so to speak, of a deity--the
sacred scarabæus of the Egyptians, of which we have read so much. The
little fellows, in seeming indifference to their fall from high estate,
are still rolling their balls as industriously as they did on the banks
of the Nile in Moses's time.
The coleoptera, or beetles, form the highest division of insects. They
all have six legs, and a distinctly marked head, thorax, and abdomen.
The body is covered with a horny envelope, which takes the place of the
skeleton in higher creatures, protecting and holding the organs in
place. The beetle has also four wings, one pair over the other. The
lower ones are of a parchmentlike substance, while the upper ones are
horny.
Beetles are of various kinds, some of which are useful to man, and
others harmful. Scavenger-beetles belong to the former class, and no one
variety is more interesting than the pellet-beetle or tumble-bug.
This little fellow, of one species or another, is found all over the
United States, in Europe, and in northern Africa. With us he is from
half to three-quarters of an inch in length, and coal-black.
The most remarkable thing about tumble-bugs, and one which excites the
curiosity of every one who observes them, is the manner in which the egg
is developed into the perfect insect. This egg is laid in manure, which
is mixed with a little clay, and then rolled into a ball about the size
of a marble, and left to dry. For the work that is to follow, the
powerful legs and jaws of the insect are well adapted. No better proof
of its strength may be obtained than by putting one or two bugs under a
candlestick on a table, and noticing the ease with which they move it
along.
When the ball is dry, the bugs, usually two in number, commence rolling
it to a suitable place of deposit, which is not, apparently, selected in
advance. Whether these two bugs are the parents or not is unknown, but
at any rate one places himself in the front, with his hind feet on the
ground and the others on the ball, while the other goes in the rear,
with his body reversed--that is, his four front legs are planted firmly
on the ground, with his head bent low in the dust, while his hinder
parts are raised high on the ball, which he pushes with the two
remaining legs and the extremity of the body.
The duty of the bug in front seems to be either to guide the ball or to
pull it forward, possibly both. Although he has the most natural
position, and seems to have less to do than the other bug, he really has
the harder time, for when the ball gets rolling down a slope it
frequently goes over him entirely, or pushes him sprawling by the
way-side. But he is soon on his feet again, and scrambling into place,
makes believe he is having the jolliest time in the world.
If obstructions occur in the path, the tumble-bug is not easily
discouraged. You may frighten him away, or even push him aside with your
stick, but if you keep quiet for a few moments he will return to his
work. If a tuft of grass or a stone intervene, he leaves his work and
goes in search of help, and his comrades rarely fail to respond. If,
however, after repeated efforts to move it, the bugs leave their ball in
despair, it often happens that a new party comes across it and rolls it
merrily to its destination. The whole community seem to take an interest
in every ball, and are willing to do their utmost to help it along.
When a suitable place is found, which may be several yards from where
the ball was made, one bug remains with it, while the other excavates a
little hole for its reception. When the hole is about the depth of the
ball, the latter is rolled in, and then both bugs get underneath, and
while they are excavating and pushing the dirt one side, the ball
gradually follows them downward, sinking by its own weight. This hole is
sometimes two or three feet deep.
When the egg hatches, the larva, or grub, lives upon the contents of the
ball until the supply of food is exhausted, when it makes its way to the
surface of the ground, and there, by some unknown process, forms and
places itself inside a cocoon of oval shape, and of similar composition
to the ball in which it was hatched. There it silently changes into a
chrysalis, and emerges a perfect insect.
Besides the little tumble-bugs that we most commonly see, there is a
larger species, found in this country and in England, called the clock
or door beetle, and which is alluded to by Shakespeare where Macbeth
says:
"Ere to black Hecate's summons
The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums,
Hath rung night's yawning peal."
Shard was the old English name of the horny outer wing of the beetle.
Another old English writer quaintly commends the tumble-bug as an
example of labor, temperance, prudence, justice, modesty, and
contentment. It is difficult to see how he arrived at the idea of making
the tumble-bug the symbol of justice; perhaps he thought a bug having so
many other virtues would have that one of necessity.
A species of tumble-bug was also sacred to Thor in the old days when
that god was worshipped in Gothland, or Scandinavia. When the Christian
missionaries came into the land they changed the name of the bug from
"Thor's bug" to "Thor-devil," in order to turn the minds of the people
from its worship. The latter name still survives in Sweden, but many a
peasant, with the blood of his superstitious ancestors still in his
veins, will even now set the tumble-bug on his feet when he sees him
sprawling on his back, and congratulate himself that he has brought luck
to his undertakings.
The sacred beetle of the Egyptians was considered to symbolize the sun,
the world or habitable globe, and the goddess Neith. Many explanations
are offered to account for the origin of this belief, but the most
plausible are the following: The beetle represented the sun because its
antennæ, or feelers, diverge from the head like the rays of the sun.
Then, again, its six legs have five joints each--thirty in all--equal to
the number of days in a month or in a sign of the zodiac. The beetle
represented the world because it rolled balls or little orbs. These
balls were fabled to be rolled from sunrise till sunset, and always in
the same direction as the earth.
The goddess Neith was the supreme power in governing the works of
creation. The warrior, in going forth to battle, would have the sacred
beetle carved or painted on ring or bracelet, to propitiate the goddess
and make him victorious. The explanation offered is that as the male and
female were so hard to distinguish, they were all thought to be males,
and therefore of great courage.
Plutarch tells us that the Romans adopted the beetle as a sign of
victory, and had it represented on the standards of their legions.
THE ACCOMMODATING ISLAND.
ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
It was a southeasterly morning before a rainy day. The world was a
palette of low-toned grays, greens, and purples, with here and there a
bright flash of golden-yellow where the sun's rays fell through a rift
in the shifting clouds and touched the young grass. The sea was a
greenish-gray, patterned with dark wrinkles and white scars of foam.
There was yet no swell, for only a fresh breeze was blowing, and the sea
had not made up. The sky was a vast tangle of gray and blue-black
clouds, varying in shape from long wisps, through smokelike tufts, down
to the verge of the southerly horizon, where there was a solid sheet of
that hazy blue which marks the presence of rain. The clam fleet was
galloping homeward with lifted sheets and bellying jibs. The fishermen
were holding on till the last minute, with their light anchors down in
six fathoms of water, and their green sea-skiffs dancing on the young
windrows of salt spume. A Nova Scotia bark, apple-bowed, wall-sided, and
square-sterned, was going out in tow of a squat and puffy tug. The bark
had all her three-cornered staysails set, and two or three hands were
aloft loosing the topsails, after the manner of men to whom a month more
or less on a voyage is not to be considered.
The Old Sailor sat on the end of the pier and gazed at the bark. Ever
and anon he bowed his head and shook with one of his hearty fits of
silent laughter. Henry and George were standing on the shore opposite
the pier, and they were certain that the bark had reminded their old
friend of something interesting. So they walked out on the pier and sat
down beside him.
"Here we are," said Henry.
"Yes, here we are," added George.
"W'ich the same bein' here," said the Old Sailor, gravely, "it are
necessitous fur me to recommember somethin'." He paused for a moment,
gazed at the bark, and said: "W'ich way are the wind?"
"Southeast," replied George.
"About south-s'utheast," said Henry.
"Werry good; werry good indeed," declared the Old Sailor, emphatically.
"My son, w'en you grow up to be a man, w'ich the same you are a-doin' of
at the rate o' twelve knots an hour, you'll be almost a good enough
sailor fur to sail a cat-boat, w'ich I've knowed ossifers in the navy as
couldn't do 't."
Again the Old Sailor paused and looked at the bark, and Henry was moved
to say,
"Does she remind you of anything?"
"She do," answered the Old Sailor. "She reminds me o' the four-masted
iron bark _Lily o' the Walley_, 'cos she don't look nothin' like her an'
won't go half as fast. _Lily o' the Walley_ were the name wot were
painted acrost her starn in yaller letters, but she warn't generally
called that. Her skipper were a werry respectable old seafarin' gent
named Tom Crawley, an' seein' as how he were part owner o' the wessel,
an' allus lived aboard o' her, even w'en she were in dry dock, she were
knowed as the _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. Howsumever, she 'ain't got nothin'
werry partickler fur to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye. It
are enough fur me to tell ye that I shipped aboard o' her as second mate
fur the v'yage from Liverpool to Melbourne. We carried a werry
miscellaneous cargo o' spellin'-books, sas'prilla, and cricket bats, all
bein' intended fur to keep up a proper patriotic feelin' in England's
distant colony.
"Waal," continued the Old Sailor, after a sweeping glance around the
horizon, "the _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ perceeded werry respectably on her
way, an' Cap'n Tom Crawley sez he to me, sez he, one day, 'We're a-goin'
fur to make a werry fast passidge to Melbourne.' W'ich the same I didn't
say nothin', 'cos w'y, havin' bin to sea so long, I knowed ye never was
in port till ye got your anchor down. Long Bill Smock, the fust mate, he
were fur crackin' on sail all the time, an' byme-by the masts o' the
ship were all buckled an' bent like a ole woman wot are spent her life
over a wash-tub. Howsumever, that 'ain't got nothin' to do with this
here yarn wot I'm a tellin' ye.
"One night, w'en we was sommers about half-way atwixt the Gold Coast an'
Patagonia, it piped up from the south'ard an' east'ard, an' afore
mornin' it were a-blowin' a hull gale. We shortened sail till we was
hove to under a close-reefed main-torps'l, a bit o' spanker, an' a
storm-jib. But, bless ye, it didn't do no good. The _Uncle Tom's Cabin_
wallered in the sea like a hippopotamus in a menagerie tank, an' ye
could hear the cricket bats in the hold knockin' the heads right off the
bottles o' sas'prilla. The seas run so high that one time w'en the bark
pitched bows under she stood right up straight on her head like she were
a circus actor. Willum Wiley, wot were at the wheel, lost his grip, an'
fell caplump down past all three o' the masts, slap over the
knight-heads, an' into the water. But that werry same sea came aboard o'
her, an' as she riz again, h'istin' her bow an' lowerin' her starn,
Willum went floatin' along the deck down the other way, till he got back
to the place where he started from, grabbed the wheel, an' went right on
a-steerin', as ef nothin' had ever happened to him.
"Waal, about four o'clock the next arternoon," continued the Old Sailor,
"the carpenter comes an' reports eight inches o' water in the hold, an'
hands was ordered fur to man the pumps. We pumped her out, but the water
come in again, an' this time it commenced fur to gain on the pumps. 'It
aren't no use,' sez Long Bill Smock, sez he; 'her seams is all
a-openin', an' we're jess tryin' to pump the South Atlantic back into
itself.' The Cap'n he allowed that we'd got to drown, 'cos w'y all the
boats was stove in, except the dingy, an' that wouldn't 'a' lived two
minutes in sech a sea. So there we was a-goin' to the bottom sure, an'
the nearest land 700 miles away, unless ye call the bottom land, an'
that were 1700 fathom down.
[Illustration: HIRAM DUCK SAT ON THE FORETORPS'L-YARD AND WEPT.]
"Waal, the blessed old barky were a-settlin' lower an' lower in the
water every minute. Old Hiram Duck, the ship's carpenter, he climbed up
to the foretorps'l-yard, an' set there with his legs hangin' over, while
he wiped his eyes with a piece o' oakum, an' sang, werry solemn like:
"'Oh, fare ye well, my Mary Ann;
You'll nevermore see me;
I'm goin' fur to wed a mermaid
At the bottom o' the sea.'
"Long Bill Smock he were a-jumpin' up an' down in the waist o' the
wessel, a-ringin' o' his hands an' sayin': 'Oh dear! oh dear! I'm sure
the water's awful cold, an' I've got rheumatism now.' The Cap'n he
didn't say a word, but jess kep' a-lookin' at the compass an'
a-scratchin' his head. As fur me, I were the wust fool o' the hull lot,
fur I yelled fur all hands to take to the riggin'. An' blow me fur
pickles ef they didn't up an' do it. An' that are wot saved 'em, arter
all. The _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ went down an' down till the next sea rolled
clean over her deck, an' ef them fellers hadn't been aloft, it 'd 'a'
washed 'em all overboard. But jest then we heerd a tremenjis rumblin'
an' roarin' under the sea, like there was a thunder-storm on the bottom,
an' the _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ stopped sinkin'."
The Old Sailor paused a moment to let the full meaning of this startling
statement sink into the minds of his young hearers. He swept the horizon
with his glance, and then continued:
"An' wot are more, she beginned fur to come up. There were somethin'
under her a-shovin' her up. We could feel her shake an' tremble an'
bump.
"'Sacred name of a poodle!' hollered Jean Bart, a French sailor, 'it are
a whale!'
"Whale not'in'!' yells Jim Hall, a gentleman from the Bowery; 'she's
struck a rock!'
"W'ich the same it were putty near true. 'Cos w'y, a rock had struck
her. The bottom o' the sea had riz right up under her, an' pushed her
right out o' the water. An' there she were, restin' comfortable atween
two rocks, with a island about half a mile wide all around her, an' a
ferogious surf a-breakin' onto it.
"'Breakers ahead! Breakers astarn! Geewollikins! Breakers all around!'
yells Hiram Duck, from the foretorps'l-yard.
"'Lay down out o' that, ye lubber!' sez the Cap'n, sez he; 'don't ye see
we're in dry dock? Get overboard an' see where the leak is.'
"So Hiram he tumbles down an' gets over the ship's side. An' as soon as
he put his foot on the ground, he sez,
"'Wow; it are hot.'
"Then he looks around him, an' sets up another yaupin'.
"'Cap'n, Cap'n!' he yells, 'there's fish an' crabs an' lobsters all over
the blessed island, an' every mother's son on 'em is cooked.'
"'In course they is,' sez the Cap'n, sez he, jess like he'd knowed all
about it all the time; 'it were a earthquake down under the sea wot
shoved this 'ere island up, an' the heat cooked them fish an' things.
Stan' by to get 'em aboard there, some o' you, an' we'll have fresh fish
an' lobster fur dinner.'
"Then the Cap'n he orders me fur to h'ist the ensign, w'ich the same I
did. An' then the Cap'n sez he: 'I take possession o' this 'ere island
in the name o' the United States o' Ameriky, an' I christens of it
Crawley Island. Everybody give three cheers!'
"An' we give the cheers, an' then stood by fur to h'ist crabs an'
lobsters aboard. Werry good. Hiram Duck he gits over the side, an' found
the leaks easy enough; 'cos w'y, where the water were a-runnin' in when
we was in the sea it were a-runnin' out all right now. Howsumever, it
didn't seem to be no partiklar good fur to calk up the leaks, 'cos we
was hung up on them rocks putty nigh a quarter o' a mile from the water,
an' there weren't no way fur to git the bark afloat. But Cap'n Tom
Crawley he sez, sez he: 'Git the water out o' her and calk up the leaks
fust. Then we'll see ef we can't contrive some contraption fur gittin'
her afloat.' Hiram Duck, bein' ship's carpenter, perposed as how we
should take her masts out o' her, an' make rollers out o' 'em fur to run
her down to the water. But the Cap'n sez he, 'You 'ain't told us how to
h'ist her out from atwixt these 'ere rocks yet.' So Hiram he shet up
like a clam wot'd bin stepped on.
"Waal, we was hung up there onto that island about two weeks, durin'
w'ich time we got all the damidge done by the gale properly repaired.
Havin' done so, the Cap'n he gives us a day off fur rest. About three
o'clock in the arternoon o' that werry same day, all on a suddent we
heered a tremenjis rumblin' an' roarin' under the island.
"'All aboard, quick!' yells the Cap'n.
"We all tumbled aboard the barky, an' none too soon. No sooner'd we done
it than that there bloomin' island jest up an' sank right out from under
the wessel, an' there we was afloat agin tight an' sound, an' with a
fair wind. An' Cap'n Tom Crawley sez he to me, sez he, 'Ef ye was to
live a hundred year that wouldn't happen to ye agin.' An' sez I to he,
sez I, 'Cap'n Tom Crawley, I ain't sure it would ef I was to live 200
year.' An' so we dropped the subjeck."
[Illustration: INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT]
[Illustration: Robertson. Kellogg. Parker. Harper.
THE HOTCHKISS SCHOOL GOLFERS.]
The golf course at the Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, is somewhat more
extended than that at Lawrenceville, described in these columns last
week. A glance at the map on the next page will show that it is also
somewhat more complicated. The first hole, however, is a comparatively
easy one for a good player, although the inexperienced golfer will find
the swamp and the brook somewhat unpleasant obstacles.
The second hole has only one hazard--a brook near the teeing-ground,
which ought to be cleared easily on the drive, since it is on a
considerably lower level. The third hole requires a sure drive on
account of the zigzag wooden fence which runs along almost parallel with
the course on the left, and frequently proves an unpleasant hazard for
the novice. The fourth hole is on the top of a knoll, and a drive that
is either too hard or too short will drop the ball in a bad position.
[Illustration: THE HOTCHKISS SCHOOL GOLF COURSE.]
Between the fourth and fifth holes rises a large rock, but this is not
so bad an obstacle as might be supposed, and may be driven over by any
one with a little experience at the game. On the sixth hole there is a
deep ditch or excavation which was made by the removal of some sand, and
the ball that drops into this pit will cause the player to spend a
considerable number of strokes to get it out. The putting green for this
hole is on the top of a rocky mountain, and is very hard of approach,
for when a ball hits a rocky side of the elevation it bounds back to a
good distance.
The seventh hole is an easy one, the only obstacle being a good-sized
mound with a small ditch back of it. The most difficult hole on the
whole course, however, is the eighth. One of the principal dangers is
that of going over the fence to the left, and there is also the chance
of going over the fence which lies to the right, as the hole itself lies
in a small lane between the two, and consequently considerable skill is
necessary to place the ball in the proper position.
The last hole is by no means an easy one, either, inasmuch as there are
a fence at the start, a brook just this side of the green, and a swamp
on the further side. There has been a great deal of interest displayed
in golf at Hotchkiss during the past year, and a large number of the
students have taken up the game with energy. Some good scores have been
made over the course, and doubtless next spring there will be a
tournament to settle the championship of the school.
Athletics seem to be taking a new lease of life in Chicago, and the
high-school sportsmen are developing an unusually clean and healthy
spirit, the greatest evidence of which is their determination to
overcome all the obstacles that lie in their way, and to try to do the
best they can with such advantages as they have. The schoolboys made an
application to the authorities of the University of Chicago for the use
of the college gymnasium, but as this has been refused, a number of the
schools have had to look elsewhere for training quarters.
The Englewood athletes have announced philosophically that they will do
as they did two years ago--that is, they will train out in the street if
they cannot get any other place. This is made necessary because
Englewood has no gymnasium or any room in the school that can be used as
such. Hyde Park High-School has, without exception, the best school
gymnasium in the West, and will therefore probably not feel the
deprivation of being forbidden the university gymnasium so much as will
some of the other schools.
The Hyde Park gymnasium is not by any means large, but it is well
equipped and has an excellent running track. South Division H.-S. will
have to follow Englewood's heroic example by resorting to the public
streets for training quarters, and mighty lively training quarters will
they have, for two of the streets bounding the block on which the school
is located have street railways running through them, and tracks are
about to be laid through the street on which the school-house faces. The
pupils of the school have gotten up a petition, which has been sent to
the High-School Board, begging that a new school-house, more favorably
located, and with greater conveniences (including a gymnasium, of
course) be provided for them.
In regard to the facilities that the high-school boys of Chicago have
for athletics, it is to be noted that a great many students who have
gone out from the South Division H.-S. to other schools have won
distinction on the teams of the latter, whereas the South Division teams
very seldom achieve any success in athletics. The general opinion,
consequently, is that, owing to the lack of facilities and advantages
offered to the students of South Division, the teams which represent
the school are not nearly so good as they might be under other
circumstances.
What prompted the high-schools to petition the authorities of the
university for the use of the gymnasium this year was that last year the
schoolboys were allowed to train there between the hours of two and four
in the afternoon, and a large number of young athletes from Hyde Park,
Englewood, South Division, Chicago Manual, and even from Lake View, took
advantage of the opportunity of working there, and as a result the
athletic teams the next spring were all of an unusually high standard.