shock of homesickness came to him. His mother would not come to him that
night and kiss his forehead, as she always did. It almost drove away the
story of the siege of Bouchain; but in a little while he had lapsed into
a sleep, in which dreams came of Bouchain, and the Earl dressed up as
Madame Geoffroy, and his mother sitting by the fire smiling, and Betty
playing on the harpsichord, and then deep oblivion and the soundest of
sleep.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
HOW TO START IN LIFE.
FRUIT-GROWING--BY KIRK MUNROE.
In no other civilized country of the world is there so much fruit eaten
as in the United States, consequently in no other is fruit-growing such
an important and profitable industry. In proof of this, the great State
of California is virtually given up to fruit-growing, and receives a
greater annual revenue from its fruit trees and vines than from its
gold-mines.
[Illustration: PACKING ORANGES IN CALIFORNIA.]
Any reader of this article who wishes to become a fruit-grower, and who
can have the use of a few square feet of ground, or even a box filled
with earth, may begin at once by planting seeds, and so starting a
nursery. Of course the first thing to be considered is the locality in
which the orchard or grove is to stand. If the young grower lives in one
of the Northern States, he will plant apple, pear, or cherry seeds. If
in one of the Middle States or on the Pacific coast, he will add to
these peaches, prunes--which are only a fine variety of plum--and
grapes. In the Gulf States he will substitute fig-cuttings for apples;
and in Florida, southern California, southern Texas, or southern Arizona
he will plant all the orange and lemon seeds he can obtain. Even if his
grove never gets beyond the nursery stage he may still reap a return
from his venture, besides the pleasure that it has afforded him, for in
every locality there is a steady demand for young fruit trees, which
thus have a cash value from the moment they are sprouted.
There is one section of the United States, not yet mentioned, in which
can be grown fruits rarer and more profitable than any of those already
noted. I mean "semi-tropical Florida," or that portion of the peninsula
lying below latitude 28°, which is the latitude of Tampa. North of this
even the orange and pomello, which latter is known also as shaddock and
grape-fruit, are not safe from cold, as was shown by the freezes of
1886 and 1895, while lemons and limes, which are even more tender than
oranges, may not be planted with any hope that they will yield cash
returns.
South of the 28° line orange groves have thus far been safe from
freezing, and with it begins the pineapple belt of Florida, that is
destined to make the State even better known than have its orange
groves. Below this line, too, guavas may be, and now are, grown at a
profit.
Strange as it may seem to those only acquainted with northern Florida,
this southern portion of the State is a very rocky country, and at first
sight appears valueless for growing anything; but the rock is old coral
filled with plant food, and so porous that tree roots penetrate it in
every direction. From this section of the country, which includes the
remarkable two-hundred-mile-long chain of islands known as the Florida
Keys, the very first vegetables of the year reach Northern markets,
shipments of tomatoes and egg-plants being made as early as Christmas.
From here, too, comes the bulk of our pineapple supply; and here limes,
guavas, and alligator pears grow with such readiness and luxuriance that
they require but slight attention after once being planted.
Although this only semi-tropical portion of the United States is just
now being penetrated by a railroad, its lands are already becoming very
valuable for fruit-growing purposes, and command from ten to fifty
dollars per acre; while to clear them in readiness for setting out fruit
trees costs about forty dollars per acre more, so that the would-be
grower must be prepared to spend nearly one hundred dollars per acre on
his land before his orange, lemon, or lime grove, his alligator-pear,
mango, or guava orchard, or his pineapple field, or "pine patch," as it
is apt to be called, can be started. Then at least as much more money,
and in some cases several times as much, must be expended on nursery
stock, fertilizer, and labor before any returns can be expected. So, you
see, fruit-growing is a business that requires capital to start it, the
same as any other.
I should say that no one could hope to make fruit-growing profitable,
and place it on such a footing that it would yield him an income for the
rest of his life, without an investment of at least $5000. People have
succeeded in making bearing groves for much less money; but they
obtained their land for little or nothing, cleared it themselves, lived
for years poorly housed, fed, and clad, and worked like slaves.
Even he who has the means necessary to make a grove must have enough
more to support him until his trees come into bearing, or else be able
to earn a living while waiting for that time to arrive. As I have
already said, the fruit-grower may do this by raising vegetables between
his rows of trees. By so doing he will not only gain a speedy return
from his land, but his trees will be benefited by the constant working
and fertilization of the soil. Better than vegetables, however, because
more profitable, and directly in the line of fruit-growing, are
strawberries. As I write, in January, the first strawberries are coming
in, and are being readily sold at sixty cents per quart even here in
Florida.
[Illustration: A PRUNE-TREE FARM.]
After the would-be fruit-grower has secured land and provided himself
with the means for making his grove or orchard, there are a few
cast-iron rules that he must learn and follow in order to insure
success. The most important of these is that no fruit tree will attain a
thrifty growth without constant attention and an ample provision of both
food and water. Young nursery stock should be at least two years old
before being transplanted, and when set out they should never be placed
less than twenty feet apart. The little trees should be set in
well-mellowed soil, to the exact depth that they attained in the
nursery. They should be given plenty of water to start with, trimmed of
all their leaves, and the earth should be packed solidly about their
roots. After this be careful not to give them too much water; just
enough to keep the earth about them damp is sufficient.
A year or so after being set in its permanent place, and after it has
put on a healthy new growth, all nursery stock should be budded from
well-known varieties of its own kind. After this the young tree must be
well fed at least once in six months; it must be protected from high
winds, and its delicate surface roots must be guarded against extremes
of either heat or cold. Both trunks and branches must be kept clean and
free from sap-sucking insects by occasional washings or sprayings, and a
thick body growth must be pruned out so as to insure a free circulation
of light and air, as well as to encourage a stronger growth of terminal
branches, which, in all trees, are the fruit bearers.
The South, including all the Gulf States, contains vast areas of cheap
lands available for fruit culture, while semi-tropical Florida, lying
south of latitude 27°, offers a vast and as yet but little developed
field for three fruit crops, the cultivation of which is but just begun.
Most important of these, at present, is the pineapple, which can be
raised in no other part of the United States, and which is grown in
fields or "patches" of five, ten, or twenty acres. The fruit, or
"apple," occupies the centre of a plant two or three feet high, having
bayonetlike spiny leaves. It is not propagated from seed, but by slips
or miniature plants that spring from the base of the apple, and which in
turn will bear fruit eighteen months after being set out. These slips
are worth one cent or one and a half cents each, and ten or twelve
thousand of them, of which two-thirds will produce fruit, may be planted
to the acre. The harvest, or cutting season, begins in April and lasts
until June, so that pineapples are brought into Northern markets at a
time when they are most nearly destitute of other fruits. Although the
pineapple is so perishable that, for shipment by sea, it must be cut
some two weeks before it is ripe, and so has come to be regarded in the
North as a sour, hard, and indigestible fruit, it is when allowed to
ripen in its native field, after being mellowed by weeks of a tropical
sun to a golden yellow, one of the richest, sweetest, and most luscious
of all fruits.
Another valuable fruit of this remote region is the guava, whose tree,
about the size of a peach, has straggling branches clad in a light brown
bark of satiny smoothness. One hundred and fifty trees may be set to the
acre. They require but little care, and will produce fruit when five or
six years old. A thrifty tree should yield at least one bushel of fruit,
worth from one dollar to one dollar and a half, while two and three
bushels to the tree are not unusual. The guava is yellow,
smooth-skinned, and about the size of a nectarine or a very large plum.
Its interior is pink, and is filled with small seeds. While most of us
are familiar with the dark-colored guava paste that, packed in small
wooden boxes, comes from Cuba, comparatively few have tasted the
delicious, beautifully clear guava jelly or the darker and richer guava
marmalades of Florida. The demand for these is rapidly increasing. Each
year sees the establishment of new factories for making them, and many
thousands of acres may still be set to guavas without overstocking the
market.
Most interesting of all South Florida fruits, because little cultivated,
almost unknown outside of the tropics, and most highly appreciated when
once introduced, is the alligator or aracado pear--the _aguacate_ of
Cuba. A very few alligator-pear trees are grown in sheltered spots of
southern California; but South Florida, below latitude 26°, is the only
section of the United States where it can be cultivated on a large scale
and as a profitable crop. Here it grows as luxuriantly and with as
little care as the guava, though it requires a greater depth of soil.
The tree is tall, slender, and covered with a dense foliage of dark
glossy green, while the ripened fruit, also green in color, is
smooth-skinned and as large as a man's two fists. Inside is a great
round stone or seed surrounded by a soft yellowish-green pulp, which,
sprinkled with salt and eaten with a spoon, or made into a salad, is
delicious beyond description. No one ever eats an alligator pear without
wanting another, and the taste once acquired demands to be gratified
regardless of expense. I have known fifty and even seventy-five cents
apiece to be paid for these pears, and when I once asked a Broadway
dealer which was the most expensive fruit in his store, he promptly
answered, "Alligator pears."
I have said little concerning bananas, cocoanuts, or mangoes, all of
which are raised in South Florida, because they grow better in the West
Indies and Central America, where labor is much cheaper than in any part
of the United States, and from which they will safely bear
transportation by sea.
It is often asked by young would-be fruit-growers, "How much land ought
a grove to contain, and what will be the returns?"
A safe answer is that both of these things must be governed by
circumstances and conditions. As a rule, however, a thrifty five-acre
grove or orchard will yield a living, one of ten acres a competence, and
one containing one hundred acres wealth. This year Florida oranges are
worth, on the tree, from two to four cents each; alligator pears, from
five to ten cents apiece; limes, five cents; and lemons, ten cents per
dozen; while pineapples will average fifty cents per dozen in the field.
A twelve-year-old orange-tree properly cared for should yield one
thousand oranges; alligator pears and mangoes half that number; and
pineapples 600 dozen to the acre. In other words, fruit-growing ought to
average a net profit of from $150 to $300 per acre, while it is not
unusual for the profits to reach $500 per acre.
It must always be remembered, though, that such returns are only
realized after years of patient waiting, hard labor intelligently
applied, and under favorable conditions. Thus, while fruit-growing is a
pleasant and safe business for persons of all ages and both sexes, and
while the grove or orchard is better than a bank account as a pension
for old age, it must be studied and prepared for the same as any other
calling in life. For this reason I should strongly urge any young person
intending to embark in it to serve at least a two years' apprenticeship,
or while his nursery stock is growing, in some well-established grove of
the kind that he proposes to make. Here, in addition to familiarizing
himself with the routine work of the grove, he should study the
chemistry of soils and fertilizers, the habits of such insects as may
attack his trees, and the laws regulating the supply and demand of
markets. In other words, success in fruit-growing can only be attained
by following the self-same rules that lead to success in every line of
business under the sun, and by the practice of industry and
perseverance.
A VERY FISHY FARM.
ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
It was a sultry summer morning. The rays of the sun beat down with
merciless power through an atmosphere which was saturated with humidity.
The sea, flashing in long slanting lines of dazzling silver, melted away
in the distance into a cloud of thick yellowish haze. There was no
horizon-line, for this haze hung downward from the sky like a veil. It
seemed to grow thicker and more dingy in appearance from hour to hour,
and as it did so the atmosphere became more and more oppressive. The
sunlight, which had blazed in clear white glory early in the day, became
yellow and faint, but its heat did not diminish. On the contrary, it
seemed to grow greater every minute. The sky had been a deep luminous
blue early in the morning, but at eight o'clock great tufted white
clouds, looking like gigantic masses of white cotton sailing through the
air, began to rise out of the west. After a time they seemed to draw
parts of the low haze upward with them, and hence, now and then, a dark
shadow appeared among the expanses of white. The light breeze from the
west was soft and hot, as if it had passed over a great lake of warm
water.
In short, it was one of those mornings which precede an afternoon of
thunder-showers and squalls. The fishing-boats were close to the beach,
and the fishermen were watching the western sky closely, not wishing to
be taken unawares by some sudden development of troublesome weather.
Henry Hovey and his brother George voted that it was altogether too hot
and stuffy to stay in the house, and they felt sure that, with so many
indications of weather, their friend, the Old Sailor, would be down at
the pier gazing out upon the ocean. Accordingly they set out for the
pier, and there, as they had expected, they saw the experienced mariner
sitting in his accustomed place. About two miles off shore there was a
handsome iron bark drifting slowly along, clothed with snowy canvas to
the very summits of her tall masts. Her long powerful hull was painted a
light salmon tint, and was decorated with a broad lead-colored stripe
marked with false port-holes. The gilded figure of a rampant unicorn
could be distinguished under her bowsprit, while here and there along
her deck the glitter of brass-work told that she was a highly finished
craft. The Old Sailor was gazing at her intently, and, as the boys
paused beside him, without turning his head or seeming to know that they
were there, he suddenly said,
"An' wot kind o' wessel might that be?"
"That," answered Henry, "is an iron or steel bark."
"Werry good, too," commented the Old Sailor. "An' wot canvas are she
a-carryin' of?"
"Everything that will draw with a light wind abeam," said George, "even
to a main-skysail."
"Werry good, too," declared the Old Sailor. "An' w'ich way are she
a-headin'?"
"A little to the eastward of south, I should say," replied Henry.
"Not so werry good. She are a-headin' putty straight fur the Saragossa
Sea, but, ef her skipper aren't crazy, she won't go there; 'cos w'y, it
are not no place fur no sensible pusson to go, w'ich the same I know,
havin' bin there in a bark edzackly like that one; but I ain't goin' no
more, leastways not ef I know I'm goin', w'ich the same the other time I
didn't."
"Oh," exclaimed George, quite carried away by this unwonted flow of
eloquence, "please tell us all about that?"
"But wait a moment," interposed Henry. "Where is the Saragossa Sea? I
don't remember that in my geography."
"The Saragossa Sea, my son," said the Old Sailor, gravely, "are not one
o' them seas wot's surrounded by land. Contrariwise, it are surrounded
by water."
"A sea surrounded by water!"
"Them are it. This 'ere sea are jess a part o' the Atlantic Ocean to the
east'ard o' the West Injies. It are a place w'ere the current goes
around in a sort o' ring, an' the sea-weed an' decayin' wegetables an'
other sich truck out o' the Gulf gits out there, an' there it stays. It
ain't s'posed to be a werry good sort o' place fur sailin', an' Cap'ns
allers steers clear o' 't, onless, o' course, they gits blowed into 't
by a storm, an' then steerin' don't clear nothin'. Nobody don't know
werry much about that there place, 'ceptin' Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, Willum
Smitzer, fust mate, the crew o' the iron bark _Ham Bone_, an' this 'ere
werry identical Old Sailor wot are a-talkin' to ye."
The mariner paused for a moment to collect his memories, gazed keenly at
the western sky, muttered something about clewing up a "bloomin'
sky-scraper," and then started thus:
"The iron bark _Ham Bone_ were a most wonderful trotter off the wind;
but any other way she made so much leeway that she were mos' ginerally
occipied in climbin' up hill from the place w'ere she ortn't to be to
the place w'ere she ort, an' mos' ginerally not gittin' there. I shipped
on to her in Liverpool as second mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a
bloomin' Dutchman an' also fust mate. We wuz bound fur Jamaiky with a
cargo o' plum-puddin', bottled soda, an' misfit clothes."
"Misfit clothes?"
"Yep. Ye see, the Jamaiky people is so werry Henglish that they prefers
misfit clothes to any others, so them kind is allus sent there by the
mother country, an' so the colony are kep' in a contented state o' mind.
Waal, fur two weeks the _Ham Bone_ didn't git along much faster'n that
there yaller bark out yonder. The wind blowed mos'ly up an' down the
mast, an' we wuz a-wallerin' along with all our light canvas set, an'
not makin' more'n fifty to sixty mile a day. Howsumever, that were
better'n wot were a-cookin' fur us. One mornin' it were jess like it are
now, an' Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, w'ich the same he were a Frenchman, sez he
to me, sez he, 'Eet vill be some sqvalls soon, yes, eh?' An' I sez to
he, sez I, 'Oui, mownseer; you're dead right.' So he orders us to clew
up an' furl the royals, an' ginerally to git ready for misbehavior o'
the elements. Waal, sure 'nuff, 'bout six bells in the forenoon watch it
got blacker'n a coal-bunker in the nor'west, an' afore seven bells down
it came a-squealin' like ten thousand guinea-pigs struck by lightnin'.
We wuz under nothin' but torps'ls, but we heeled over till the water
were waist-deep along the lee rail. Then we righted, an' commenced fur
to go ahead at a tearin' speed, an' off to leeward like a horseshoe
crab. Waal, it jess blowed one squall arter another till four o'clock in
the arternoon, an' then it fell flat calm, with a great big greasy swell
a-runnin' out o' the no'theast, an' the byrometer indulgin' in
disgraceful low conduck. Sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney to Willum Smitzer, sez
he, 'Eet vill be a bad gale, yes, eh?' An' Willum Smitzer, sez he to he,
sez he, me a-hearin' of him, 'Ja woll,' w'ich are good Dutch fur
'Betcher life.' An' both on 'em was a-tellin' the truth.
"At six o'clock there were a white streak along the horizon in the
no'theast, an' then the wind come, fust in little snorts, then in big
puffs, an' last in a straight, howlin' gale. Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he hove
the _Ham Bone_ to on the starb'rd tack, an' then the bloomin' old hooker
commenced slidin' off to leeward like a tissue-paper kite, only there
weren't no string to keep her from goin' furder an' furder. Cap'n Peleg
Mahoney he were on deck most o' the night, an' he talked a great deal o'
French, w'ich the same I are not goin' to repeat. An' Willum Smitzer,
the fust mate, he talked Dutch, an' there were a reg'lar Franco-Prussian
war o' words. Howsumever, it didn't kill the wind, fur that bloomin'
gale blowed right on end fur putty nigh a week. An' at the end o' that
time there were sich a sea runnin' as I don't perpose fur to tell ye
about; cos w'y, I ain't goin' to say nothin' wot might dammidge my
repitation as a puffickly truthful pusson. All I kin say are that w'en
the _Ham Bone_ riz to one o' them seas we could hear the bottles o' soda
fallin' over one another down in the hold, an' we had to lay flat down
on the deck to keep from tumblin' off over the starn. That ain't no
respectable weather fur to be out-doors in, but w'en the nearest port
are more'n a capful o' degrees away, w'y, there ye are, an' there ye got
to be, leastways till ye get blowed to s'm'otherwheres, an' that are
wot.
"O' course the _Ham Bone_ were hove to, but, bless ye! she made seven
p'ints o' leeway, an' her drift were somethin' no human bein' could
carkerlate. Waal, to git som'ers near to the crest o' this 'ere yarn wot
I'm a-tellin' ye, at the end o' a week o' drivin' to leeward the lookout
forrad sings out,
"'Land ho!'
"'Land! Pah!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he. 'There ees not some land
for one t'ousan' mile. Pouf!'
"'Aber ja!' yells the fust mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a bloomin'
Dutchman; 'das ist land, nicht war?'
"The Cap'n he jumps to the lee bow, me a-follerin'. Waal, my son, ye
'ain't never seed nothin' like 't. The sea were full o' wegetables."
"Full of vegetables?" exclaimed Henry.
"Them's it. Onions an' beets an' pertaters an' queer fruits an' plants
like cabbidges, only with leaves ten times as big, was a-floatin' on top
o' the water. W'y, bless ye! a sea bruk over the starboard bow, bringin'
one o' them there cabbidges with 't, an' it hit Willum Smitzer, an'
knocked him down mos' beautiful fur to see. But that weren't the wust o'
't. Furder down to leeward we could see the waves a-breakin' in big
hills o' spray on to some sort o' a beach that were dead flat. There
weren't no hills nor nothin' behind it, but it looked jess like a
perairie growed right out in the middle o' the sea.
"'Wot 'n 'arth are it?' sez I to the Cap'n, sez I.
"'Ze Saragossa Sea,' sez he to me, sez he.
"'An' ef we gets in, how does we get out?' sez I.
"'How I tell that?' sez he.
"An' that bein' so, there weren't no more to say. Waal, the _Ham Bone_
druv down to leeward, an' the wegetables kep' a-gettin' thicker an'
thicker, an' all kinds o' sea-weeds an' other sea-garden truck were
mixed up with 'em. Ef the storm hadn' bin so heavy we'd 'a' stuck fast
then. But seein' as how 'twere such a powerful gale, one smashin' big
sea, about sixty feet high, picks up the old _Ham Bone_, an' carries her
clean away over the edge o' the aforesaid beach, an' sets her down
ca-plump about half a mile inland, w'ere she bruk through the crust, an'
were wedged in jess like she mought 'a' bin in the ice up north. An'
then we all seed that this 'ere perairie were nothin' but a bloomin' jam
o' sea-weed, land plants, dead trees, wegetables, an' truck--all worked
in so tight that they made a ginuwine solid crust on top o' the sea.