MATT AND NATT’S VENTURE.
BY WM. PENDLETON CHIPMAN,
AUTHOR OF “THE MILL BOY OF THE GENESEE,”
“THE YOUNG LINEMEN,” ETC.
CHAPTER I.
MATT HIRES OUT.
It was a raw, cold day in early April. Since morning, the clouds had been gathering, and they now hung, dark and heavy, over both land and sea. The wind, too, which had been steadily increasing for hours in violence, now blew little short of a gale. It evidently was going to be a terrible night, and that night was nearly at hand.
No one realized this more than the boy who, with a small bundle in one hand and a stout staff in the other, was walking rapidly along the road that runs, for the greater part of the way, in sight of Long Island Sound, from New Haven to New London.
He was a youth that would have attracted attention anywhere. Tall for his age, which could not have been far from eighteen years, he was also of good proportions, and walked with an ease and stride which suggested reserved strength and muscular development; but it was the boy’s face that was most noticeable. Frank, open, of singular beauty in feature and outline, there was also upon it unmistakable evidences of intelligence, resoluteness and honesty of purpose. A close observer might also have detected traces of suffering or of sorrow—possibly of some great burden hard to bear.
The boy was none too warmly clad for the chilly air and piercing wind, and now and then drew his light overcoat about him, as though even his rapid walking did not make him entirely comfortable.
He, moreover, looked eagerly ahead, like one who was watching for some signs of his destination. Reaching at length the foot of a long hill, he drew a sigh of relief, and said, aloud:
“I must be near the place now. They said it was at the top of the first long hill I came to, and this must be it.”
As he spoke, he quickened his pace to a run and soon reached the summit, quite out of breath, but with a genial warmth in his body that he had not experienced for some hours.
Pausing now a moment to catch his breath, he looked about him. Dim as was the light of the fast-falling evening, he could not help giving an exclamation of delight at the view he beheld.
To the west of him he saw the twinkling lights of several villages, through which he had already passed. To the north, there was a vast stretch of land, shrouded in darkness. To the south was the Sound, its tossing waves capped with white, its islands like so many gems on the bosom of the angry waters.
“It must be a beautiful place to live in, and I hope to find a home here,” he remarked, as he resumed his journey.
A few rods farther he reached a farmhouse
and turned up to its nearest door. As he was about to knock, a man came from the barn-yard, a little distance away, and accosted him.
“Good-evening!”
“Good-evening!” responded the boy. Then he asked, “Is this Mr. Noman?”
“No, I’m Mr. Goodenough,” answered the man, pleasantly. “Noman lives on the adjoining farm. You will have to turn into the next gateway and go down the lane, as his house stands some distance from the road.”
“I was told,” explained the boy, “that he wished to hire help, and I hoped to get work there. Could you tell me what the prospect is?”
The man had now reached the boy’s side, and was looking him over with evident curiosity.
“Well,” he replied, slowly. “I think he wants a young fellow for the coming season, and hadn’t hired any one the last I knew. But I think you must be a stranger in these parts?”
“Yes,” the youth answered, briefly.
And then, thanking the man for his information, he turned away.
“I thought so,” Mr. Goodenough called after him, “else you wouldn’t want to go there to work.”
The boy scarcely gave heed to the remark at the time; but it was not long before he learned, by hard experience, the meaning of it.
A quarter of a mile up the road he reached a gate, and, passing through it, hastened down the narrow lane till he came to a long, low, dilapidated house; but in the darkness, which had by this time fallen, he was not able to form any definite idea of his surroundings.
A feeble light issued from a back window, and, guided by that, he found the rear door of the building.
To his knock there was a chorus of responses. Dogs barked, children screamed, and above the din a gruff voice shouted, “Come in!”
A little disconcerted by the unusual sounds, the boy, instead of obeying the invitation, knocked again.
Then there was a heavy step across the floor, the door swung open with a jerk, and a tall, raw-boned man, shaggy-bearded and shock haired, stood on the threshold.
“THEN CAME A SUDDEN BREAKER, ROLLING OUTWARD, THAT LIFTED THE CART AND OXEN FROM THE ROAD-BED AND SWEPT THEM OUT INTO THE SOUND.”
Eying the boy a moment in surprise, he asked, somewhat surlily:
“What do ye want, youngster?”
“Are you Mr. Noman?” the boy asked.
“Yes; what of it?” he answered, sharply.
“I was told you wanted help, and I have called to see about it,” explained the boy.
“Come in, then!” said Mr. Noman.
And his tones were wonderfully modified.
The boy now obeyed, and found himself in a large room, evidently the kitchen and living-room all in one. There was no carpet on the floor, and a stove, a table and a half-dozen chairs constituted its furniture.
Three large dogs lay before the fire, growling sullenly. A woman and four small children
were seated at the table. An empty chair and an unemptied plate showed that Mr. Noman had been eating when he was called to the door.
There was food enough upon the table, but its disorderly arrangement, and the haphazard way in which each child was helping itself, caused the boy to give an involuntary shudder, as his host invited him to sit down “an’ take a bite, while they talked over business together.”
Mr. Noman evidently meant to give his caller a flattering impression of his hospitality, for he heaped the boy’s plate with cold pork, brown bread and vegetables, and even called on his wife to get some of that “apple sass” for the young stranger.
The boy was hungry, and the food was, after all, wholesome, and he stowed away a quantity that surprised himself, if not his host.
When supper was eaten, Mr. Noman pushed back his chair and abruptly asked his guest:
“Who air ye?”
“Matt Rives,” promptly replied the boy.
“That’s a kinder cur’us name, now, ain’t it?” questioned Mr. Noman. “I dunno any Riveses round here. Where be ye from?”
“I came from New York State,” replied Matt, with the air of one who had studied his answer, but it seemed for some reason to be very satisfactory to his questioner.
“Any parents?” next inquired Mr. Noman.
“No, sir—nor brothers nor sisters. I’ve no one but myself to look out for.”
“I guess ye ain’t used to farm work, be ye?” now inquired Mr. Noman, doubtingly, and looking at Matt’s hands, which were as white and soft as a lady’s.
“No, sir; but I’m willing to learn,” assured Matt.
“Of course ye can’t expect much in the way of wages,” remarked Mr. Noman, cautiously.
“No, not until I can do my full share of work,” replied Matt, indifferently.
A light gleamed for a moment in Mr. Noman’s eyes.
“I might give ye ten dollars a month an’ board, beginnin’ the fust of next month, ye to work round for yer board till then,” he ventured.
“Very well,” responded the boy; and immediately after he added, “I’ve walked a good ways to-day, and if you don’t mind I’ll go to my room.”
“Perhaps we’d better draw up a paper of agreement an’ both of us sign it,” suggested Mr. Noman, rubbing his hands vigorously together, as though well pleased with himself and everybody else.
“All right, if that is your custom,” said Matt. “Draw up the paper to suit you, and I’ll sign it.”
After considerable effort, Mr. Noman produced the following document:
“On this 10th day of April, Matt Rives, a miner of New York State, agres to work for me, Thomas Noman. He’s to begin work May fust, an’ work 6 munths at 10 dollers an’ bord. He’s too work till May fust for his bord. If he quits work ’fore his time is up he’s to have no pay. To this we agre.
“Thomas Noman, on his part.”
Matt read the paper, and could scarcely suppress a smile as he signed his name under Mr. Noman’s, and, in imitation of him, added the words “on his part” after the signature.
He knew, however much importance Mr. Noman might attach to it, that as a legal document it had no special force. He simply set down the whole act as one of the whims of his eccentric employer, and gave no more thought to the matter. But it was destined to serve that gentleman’s purpose, nevertheless, until taken forcibly from him.
Mr. Noman now showed Matt up to a back room on the second floor, and, telling him that he would call him early in the morning, bade him good-night.
The room Matt had entered was bare and cold; a single chair, a narrow bedstead, a rude rack on the wall to hang his garments upon, were all it contained.
Yet it was evidently with some satisfaction that he opened his bundle, hung up the few clothes it held and prepared for bed.
As he drew the quilts over him, he murmured:
“I don’t think I ever had more uncomfortable quarters in my life, and the outlook for the next six months at least is far from encouraging. Still, I would not go back to what I have left behind for anything.”
He was tired. The rain that was now falling heavily upon the roof just over his head acted as a sedative and lulled him to sleep. But his was not an unbroken rest, for at times he tossed to and fro and muttered strange, disconnected sentences. One was:
“I know it was not he. I will pay it back to the last cent.”
After that the troubled sleeper must have had pleasanter dreams, for a smile played about his lips, and he murmured:
“It is all right now; I’ve a home at last.”
From these, however, he was rudely awakened by a gruff call:
“Matt, Matt! git up an’ come out to the barn.”
Sleepy, bewildered, he arose and groped about in the darkness for his clothing. By the time he was dressed a full consciousness of his situation had come back to him, and, with a stout heart, Matt went out to begin what was to him equally new duties and a new life.
CHAPTER II.
A LITTLE UNPLEASANTNESS.
It was still dark and the rain fell in torrents as Matt opened the kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Noman, who was making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her husband.
He noticed the kitchen timepiece as he passed through the room and saw it was not yet four o’clock. Early rising was evidently one of the things to be expected in his new home.
Reaching the barn, Matt found Mr. Noman engaged in feeding a dozen or more gaunt and ill-kept cows, which seized the musty hay thrown down to them with an avidity that suggested on their part a scarcity of rations.
The same untidiness that marked the house was to be seen about the barn also, which, if anything, was in a more dilapidated condition than the former.
“Good morning, Mr. Noman. What can I do to help you?” asked Matt, pleasantly, as soon as he entered the barn.
“Hum! I don’t suppose ye can milk?” was the rather ungracious response.
“No, sir; but I’m willing to learn,” replied Matt, good-naturedly.
“Well, I’ll see about that after awhile. I s’pose ye might as well begin now as any time. But fust git up on that mow an’ throw down more hay. These pesky critters eat more’n their necks is wuth,” said Mr. Noman, kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the forkful of hay he was carrying by her.
Matt obeyed with alacrity; and, when that job was finished, it was followed by others, including the milking, wherein the boy proved an apt scholar, until nearly six o’clock, when Mrs. Noman’s shrill voice summoned them to breakfast.
That meal, possibly on account of Matt’s want of the good appetite he had had the night before, seemed to him greatly inferior to his supper. The coffee was bitter and sweetened with molasses, the johnny-cakes were burnt, and the meat and vegetables cold.
He did his best to eat heartily of the unsavory food, however—partly that he might not seem to his employer over-fastidious in taste, and partly because the morning’s work had taught him that he would need all the strength he could obtain ere his day’s task was over. Stormy though it was, he felt sure Mr. Noman would find enough for him to do.
In fact, long before the first of May came, Matt realized fully the force of the words Mr. Goodenough shouted after him the night he stopped there to inquire the way to Mr. Noman’s.
Had he really known his employer and family, he certainly would not have been over-anxious to hire out to him for the season, for the dilapidated condition of the buildings, and the untidiness and disorder that marked everything about the place, were not, after all, the worst features with which Matt had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard, grasping tyrant, while his wife was a termagant, scolding and fault-finding incessantly from morning until night. There was not an animal on the place that escaped the abuse of the master, and not even the master himself eluded the tirades of the mistress.
Matt, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus frequently doing twice over what a boy of his age should have been expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Noman and his wife. He soon found this impossible, and so contented himself with doing what he felt to be right, and cheerfully bore the scoldings that speedily became an hourly occurrence.
It was indeed astonishing with what good-nature Matt accepted the work and the hard words put upon him. Mr. Noman attributed it to the paper he had asked him to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought that Matt’s fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile.
He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the boy was worth twice what he had agreed to pay him—“only I ain’t paid him nothin’ as yit,” he added, with a knowing look, which his wife seemed to understand, for she replied:
“Now yer up to another of yer capers, Tom Noman. There never was a man on the earth meaner’n ye air!”
But Mr. Goodenough, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account for the boy’s willingness to endure what he knew he must be suffering, and finally his curiosity
got the better of him; for, meeting Matt one day as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses and said:
“Matt, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I ever saw?”
“No; is that so?” replied Matt, with a laugh. “What makes you think so?”
“Well,” remarked Mr. Goodenough, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking down into the smiling countenance before him, “I have lived here beside Tom Noman and his wife for a dozen years, and know them well enough to be sure that an angel couldn’t long stand their fault-finding, and yet you have actually been there six weeks, and are still as cheerful as a lark on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you explain to me how you manage to stand it?”
While he was speaking a far-away look had come into Matt’s eyes, and a shudder shook his robust frame, as though he saw something very disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:
“Mr. Goodenough, there are some things in this world harder to bear than either work or unkind treatment, and I prefer even to live with Tom Noman’s family rather than to go back to the life I have left behind me.”
With these words, Matt started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr. Goodenough to resume his way more mystified than ever.
On the first day of June, Matt asked Mr. Noman for the previous month’s pay.
They were at work in the cornfield, and the boy’s request took his employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.
“Me pay ye now!” he exclaimed. “What air ye thinkin’ of?”
Then, as though another idea had come to his mind, he said, persuasively:
“Ye don’t need no money, an’ ’twill be better to have yer pay all in a lump. Jest think how much it’ll be—sixty dollars! an’ all yer own.”
“But I have a special use for the money,” persisted Matt; “and, as I have earned it, I should think you might give it to me.”
He spoke all the more emphatically because he knew that Mr. Noman had quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he chose to do so.
For reply, Mr. Noman put his hand into his pocket, and, taking out his wallet, opened it. From it he drew the paper of agreement that Matt and he had signed. He slowly spelled it out, and, when he had finished, asked:
“Does this here paper say anythin’ about my payin’ ye every month?”
“No, sir,” Matt reluctantly admitted.
“But it does say, if ye quit yer work ’fore yer time is up, ye air to have no pay, don’t it?” inquired the man, significantly.
“Yes, sir,” Matt replied, now realizing how mean and contemptible his employer was, and what had been his real object in drawing up that paper.
“Well, how can I know ye air goin’ to stay with me yer hull time till it’s up?” he asked, with a show of triumph in his tones.
“Do you mean to say you don’t intend to pay me anything until November?” asked Matt, indignantly.
“That’s the agreement,” answered Mr. Noman, coolly, returning the paper to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. “If ye’ll keep yer part I’ll keep mine.”
He then picked up his hoe and resumed his work.
For the first time since he came to the farm Matt felt an impulse to leave his employer. It was with great difficulty, indeed, that he refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did not, and went resolutely on with his work.
Fortunate for him was it—though he did not know it then—that he did so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe trials stood between him and their consummation.
That night, at as early an hour as possible, Matt sought his little room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket he drew a long wallet, and from that, a postal card. Addressing it with a pencil to “A. H. Dinsmore, 1143 Washington Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y.,” he wrote rapidly and in small characters on the reverse side, without giving place or date, the following words:
“Dear Sir: My promise to send you some money every month until the total amount due you was paid, I cannot keep for this reason: Through a misunderstanding with my employer, I am not to have my pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At that time you may expect a remittance from me.
“Truly yours,
“M. R.”
It was several days later, however, before Matt had an opportunity to go to the neighboring village. When he did so, he took care not to drop the postal into the post office, but handed it directly to a mail agent on a passing train.
His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently, he did not care that the Mr. Dinsmore to whom he had written
should know his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary; for, before the summer months had run by, he was to meet Mr. Dinsmore under circumstances most trying to himself.
CHAPTER III.
SWEPT OUT TO SEA.
Mr. Noman’s farm was a large one, and ran clear down to the shore, terminating there in a singular formation of sand and rocks, known throughout that region as “The Camel Humps.” A small cove lay west of the formation, while the main waters of the sound stretched out to their widest extent from the south and east. The only point, therefore, where the “humps” touched the mainland was at the north, and even this point of contact was so narrow as simply to furnish a roadway down upon the “humps” themselves.
Of these “humps”—for there were, as their name suggested, but two—the northern one was much the smaller, embracing perhaps an acre of rough soil, covered with a stunted grass, and dotted here and there with red cedars. The southern one, on the other hand, covered also with a scanty vegetation and scattered trees, broadened out so as nearly to land-lock the cove behind it, and cause its waters to rush in or out, according to the tide, through an exceedingly contracted passage at its extreme southwestern end, popularly known as “the sluiceway.”
The point of contact of the southern with the northern hump, like the northern hump with the mainland, was also very narrow, and to its narrowness was added another feature—it was so low, or, in more technical language, it was so nearly on a level with the high-water mark, that when there happened to be a strong wind from any eastern quarter, the waters of the sound, on the incoming tide, would rush with great force over the slight barrier and mingle with the waters of the cove, making an island, for the time, of the larger and more southern hump.
Three-quarters of a mile off shore, and a little to the northeast of these humps, was an island of an irregular shape and a few acres in extent, bearing the name of Sheep Island. The name had belonged to it since colonial days, but the reason therefor was unknown, unless at that early period some enterprising farmer had used the island as pasture ground for animals of that kind, which gave the island its title.
This island had in later years, however, a more illustrious inhabitant. A gentleman of considerable means, tired of society, or for some reason at enmity with it, crossed over from the main shore, erected a small house, dug a well, set out trees, planted a garden and built a wharf—in fact, set up thereon a complete habitation. But not long did he endure his self-imposed solitude. Scarcely were his arrangements completed when an unfortunate accident caused his death, and the island and its improvements were left to be the home of the sea-fowls or the temporary abode of some passing fisherman.
This extended description has been given because it is essential that the reader should form a definite idea of the island and its relation to the “Camel Humps;” for on and about them no small portion of our young hero’s summer was destined to be spent.
During the fall and winter months previous to Matt’s coming to the farm, owing to the repeated storms, there had been landed on the “humps” immense quantities of seaweed, so highly prized by the farmer as a fertilizer. Mr. Noman had contented himself, however, with simply gathering it into a huge pile on the summit of the southern hump, above high-water mark, intending to remove it to the barnyard in the spring. Thus it fell to Matt’s lot to cart from the heap to the yard as the weed was needed, and the first week in June found him engaged in this work.
It was a cloudy and threatening day. The wind was from the southeast, and blew with a freshness that promised a severe storm before night.
Perhaps it was on this account that Mr. Noman had directed the boy to engage in this particular work. He was himself obliged to be away on business, and this was a job at which Matt could work alone, and the weather was hardly propitious for any other undertaking. So, immediately after breakfast, Matt yoked the oxen to the cart and started for his first load.
“There ain’t over four loads more down there, an’ if ye work spry ye can git it all up by night!” Mr. Noman shouted after him, as he drove off.
The distance from the barn to the “humps” was such that, with the roughness of the way, one load for each half-day had usually been regarded as a sufficient task for the slow-walking oxen.
But Matt knew he had an early start, and he determined to do his best to bring all the weed home that day. He therefore quickened the pace of the animals, and before nine o’clock had made his first return to the yard.
Unloading with haste, he immediately started back for his second load. When he crossed from the north to the south hump,
he noticed the incoming tide was nearly across the roadway, but thought little of it.
On examining the heap of seaweed, he became convinced that by loading heavily he could carry what remained at two loads.
He therefore pitched away until in his judgment half of the heap was upon the cart. It made a big load, but the oxen were stout, and, bending their necks to the yoke, they, at Matt’s command, started slowly off.
As he approached the narrow roadway, he noticed the tide had gained rapidly and was now sweeping over it with considerable force and depth.
Jumping upon the tongue of the cart, he urged his oxen through the tossing waves. To his consternation, the water came well up around the patient animals’ backs, and had he not quickly scrambled to the top of his load he would have been thoroughly drenched.
The cattle, however, raised their noses high as possible and plunged bravely through the flood, soon emerging on the other side with their load unharmed.
The rest of the journey home was made without difficulty, and Matt at dinner time had the satisfaction of knowing that two thirds of his appointed work was already accomplished.
Mr. Noman had not yet returned, and, hurrying through dinner, Matt hastened off for his third and last load, hoping to get back to the yard with it before his employer came. But hardly had he started when it began to rain, and as he passed down upon the first hump the wind, having shifted a point or two, was blowing with a velocity that made it difficult for the oxen to stand before it.
Slowly, however, the passage across the first hump was made, and Matt approached the narrow roadway leading to the other, then he stopped the team in sheer amazement.
In front of him was a strip of surging water of uncertain depth, and he instinctively felt that there was a grave risk in attempting to push through to the other side. But he was anxious to secure his load. He had passed through safely enough before, and he resolved to attempt the crossing now, counting on nothing worse than a drenching.
This was a grave mistake, and Matt would have realized it, had he only stopped to think that there was quite a difference between his situation now and when he had made his successful crossing before dinner. Then he had a loaded cart, the wind and tide were both in his favor, and the water had not reached either its present depths or expanse. Now his cart was empty—a significant and important fact, the wind was blowing with greater force and directly against him, while the tide—as he would have seen had he watched it closely—had turned, and was rushing back from the cove and out into the open sound with a strength almost irresistible.
But, unmindful of these things, Matt bade his oxen go on, and, though they at first shrunk from entering the angry waters, he forced them onward, and at last they began the passage.
For a rod they went steadily on, though the waves dashed over their backs and into the cart, wetting Matt to the knees. Then came a sudden breaker, rolling outward, that lifted the cart and oxen from the road-bed and swept them out into the sound.
The moment Matt realized that the cart was afloat and the oxen swimming for their lives, his impulse was not to save himself, but the unfortunate animals that, through his rashness, had been brought into danger.
Springing, therefore, between them, he caught hold of the yoke with one hand, and with the other wrenched out the iron pin that fastened it to the tongue, and thus freed them from the cart. In the effort, however, he lost his hold upon the yoke, and the next minute found himself left alone, struggling with the angry billows.
He was now forced to look out for himself and could not watch the fate of the oxen, even had he had an inclination to do so, indeed with his water-soaked clothing, which greatly impeded his efforts, there was already a serious question whether he would be able to reach the shore, good swimmer though he was.
With a strength born from the very sense of the danger that overwhelmed him, he turned his face toward the fast receding shore, and swam manfully for it.
For a time he seemed to be gaining, but the tide was too strong for him and his strength was soon exhausted. Slowly he felt himself sinking. Already the waves were dashing over his head.
He made one desperate effort to regain the surface, then there was a faint consciousness of being caught by a huge wave and hurled against some hard object, and all was blank.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
—The average duration of lives in the United States is 41.8 years for storekeepers 43.6 years for teamsters, 44.6 years for seamen, 47.3 years for mechanics, 48.4 years for merchants, 52.6 years for lawyers, and 64.2 years for farmers.
[ TALES OF BIG FISHES.]
The whip ray, sea bat or devil fish, as it is variously named, is fairly plentiful in Galveston Bay, so the appearance of four of these sea monsters at one time the other day did not excite any special remark. But they were seen by three boys, all under sixteen, and they determined to get one and sell it. So one of the boys borrowed a Winchester rifle while the other two got a rowboat and a harpoon, and out they went after their prey. The boys rowed around awhile, and soon saw one of the fishes, and pulled up within forty or fifty feet. One of the boys fired a shot into the ray, which immediately breached, scooting fully twenty feet out and ahead, like a flying fish. Two more shots were fired, and, after beating the water furiously, it died. Then a harpoon was thrown into the creature, and it was towed to the wharf, where it was slung and hoisted out with a windlass. This fish measured fourteen feet from wing tip to wing tip.
Another fish tale from the Gulf of Mexico relates to the adventures of five sailors who were running a small schooner down the coast off Corpus Christi. The vessel was gliding along smoothly when the monotony of the voyage was broken by a six foot tarpon leaping upon the deck from the water. The big fish at once began making things interesting on the boat, and for a time it looked as if the crew would have to jump overboard to escape being knocked lifeless. They finally regained control of their nerve, however, and decided to have it out with the fish, so one of them seized an axe and the others hand-spikes and at the tarpon they went. The struggle was long and fierce, and one of the sailors was knocked overboard by coming in contact with the tarpon’s tail. A rope was thrown him and he was pulled back on deck. At last the fish succumbed to the repeated blows of the axe and hand spikes and lay along the deck as dead as a mackerel.
When the steamer Dumois came into Boston recently, she brought as a passenger a man named John Calder, who came on board under peculiar circumstances. He was a Jamaica fisherman, and unwittingly hooked a sword-fish. Mr. Calder didn’t want that kind of a fish, but it would not let go, and, as he did not want to lose a long and valuable line by cutting himself away, both man and fish held on until forty miles at sea. At this juncture the steamer came along, the fish was captured, and the plucky fisherman sold the big catch to the marketmen.
“The prettiest battle I ever witnessed was between a young Cuban and two sharks,” said an American sea captain. “We had reached Havana and were lying half a mile from the docks, awaiting the signal to go on. Several fruit peddlers had boarded us, among them a swarthy, bare legged young fellow who looked like a pirate. The purser was standing by the rail, holding his five year old son in his arms, watching a couple of monster sharks that were hanging about the vessel, when the child slipped from his grasp and fell into the water. The father plunged overboard and seized him, and the sharks at once made to the pair. The bare-legged young buccaneer dropped the fruit-basket and went over the rail like a flash. As the first shark turned on its back, the invariable prelude to biting, the Cuban rose, and with a long, keen knife fairly disemboweled it. The other was not to be disposed of so easily though. The purser and his child had been pulled on deck, and the combatants had a fair field. The Cuban dived, but the shark did not wait for him to come up and changed his location. Finally the shark advanced straight upon his antagonist, his ugly fin cutting through the water like a knife, turned quickly upon his back, and the huge jaws came together with a vicious snap, but the Cuban was not between them. He had sunk just in time to avoid the shark, and, as the latter passed, shot the steel into it. The old sea wolf made the water boil, and strove desperately to strike his antagonist with his tail but the latter kept well amidships and literally cut him in pieces.”
As one of the Peninsular and Oriental steamers was steaming up the Red Sea, the lookout forward called the attention of the officer of the watch to the fact that a huge shark was jammed in between the bobstay-shackle and the stem. Investigation showed that the monster, which was over thirty feet long, was almost cut in two. The stem had struck him just below the gills, and, while his head protruded on the starboard side, his body had slewed in under the port bow. The sharp iron stem had cut into the creature to the depth of a foot, and all efforts to get it clear were unavailing. The captain at last ordered the vessel full speed astern, and that sent the man eater adrift. The accepted theory was that the shark had been asleep on the surface of the sea when struck by the swiftly-moving steamer.
[ Puzzledom.]
No. 663
Original contributions solicited from all. Puzzles containing obsolete words will be received. Write contributions on one side of the paper and apart from all communications. Address ‘Puzzle Editor,’ Golden Days, Philadelphia, Pa.
ANSWERS TO LAST WEEK’S PUZZLES
| No. 1. | Tied, diet, tide |
| No. 2. |
C A L A M U S A V E R I L L L E G A L L Y A R A M E A N M I L E A G E U L L A G E S S L Y N E S S |
| No. 3. | Eve r |
| No. 4. |
A B A A B J U R E S A U G U R Y R U M O R E R O T I C S Y R I N G E C G E |
| No. 5. | Beta, bet, be, bate, bat, at. |
| No. 6. |
S I S N E T G E N E R A T E S E M I N A L R E C O R D D E N T S |
| No. 7. | F-all |
| No. 8. |
P A D P I L E D P I C A M A R A L A L I T E D E M I S E D D A T E R R E D |
| No. 9. | O we go |
| No. 10. |
S P A S P E C T R E A C T I O N T I N T S R O T A T E E N S T A M P E M P |
| No. 11. | Edmund Dantes |
| No. 12. |
R C A R C A M E L R A M B L E R R E L A T E D L E T T E R S R E E N A C T D R A G O O N S C O R N E D T O N E D N E D D |
NEW PUZZLES
| No. 1. Charade Whate’er my one has brought to light It never was a whole, To think of it brings down my pride And cuts me to the soul. My principles will not allow That I am “obs.” should two Three any word that Webster calls Not just exactly new. For those of course who patronize Antediluvian lore ’Tis easy quite to build completes And such like by the score. |
| New York city | Lucrezius Borgers |
No. 2. Square
1. Pain in the ear. 2. Town of France. 3. A body reflecting light brightly. 4. A purchaser. 5. A sharp, shrill, harsh sound. 6. P.O. Ontario N.Y. 7. Placed in regular form before a court.
| Brooklyn N.Y. | Moonshine |
| No. 3. Double Word Enigma In “pine-clad hill,” In “harvest home,” In “cider mill,” In “star-lit dome.” Indulged and spoiled in tender years He grew a wicked youth He early learned to curse and steal And never spoke the truth. He did not love his books. He said, “Catch me sitting on a stool The livelong day! I’d rather be A dunce than go to school.” Instead of going to school, he’d hide His books and run away, With other bad boys like himself, Into the fields to play. Or take his gun into the woods The harmless birds to shoot, Or climb the farmer’s orchard trees, And steal and eat their fruit. On Sundays, when he should have gone To Sunday school or church, He’d take his fishing rod and go To fish for trout and perch. One day while fishing all alone Down by the river side, He tripped, and with a headlong plunge Fell in the river wide. In vain he cried aloud for help, No one was near to save, The waters closed above his head— He found a watery grave. Now let this bad boy’s fate teach us Complete is wicked in God’s sight And let us all henceforth resolve To try and do what’s right! |
| Charleston, S.C. | Osceola |
No. 4. Right Star
1. A letter. 2. A pronoun. 3. A spectre. 4. Quadrupeds of the genus Equus. 5. Defensive arms. 6. Unsweet (Obs.). 7. Startles (Obs.). 8. A bone. 9. A letter.
| Pontiac, Ill. | Can’t Tell |
| No. 5. Syncopation A one arose between some bees— Indeed of them ’twas very wicked— They fluttered in about the trees, Among the grass and in the thicket Some thoughtless bees within the hive A scheme upon the drones were working, To make them labor they did strive But “drones” were only made for shirking The queen now on the scene appeared, A fine her coming quickly making For she among them all was feared— Their hearts were filled with fear and quaking Said she “A ’drone’ can never toil, A ’sinecure’ is his position He lives on those who till the soil, Like any other politician.” |
| New York city | Jejune |
No. 6. Half Square
1. Clairvoyance. 2. Computation. 3. Parts of a flower consisting of the stalk and the anther (Bot.) 4. Buffoons. 5. A hard amorphous mineral. 6. Open thefts (Rare.) 7. Belonging to it. 8. To see (Obs. Word Supp.) 9. A letter.
| Rochester N.Y. | Theo Logy |
| No. 7. Charade An old man sat in his easy chair, The firsts of his life almost done How thankful am I, in this world of care, That my course is nearly run. My second is waiting to greet me In mansions so bright—far away In the glorious house I shall soon be, Where all is eternal day. This would have been a hard total From its cares I hope soon to be free With me I think all things will be well When the Son in His glory I see. |
| Iowa City, Iowa | Tanganika |
No. 8. Octagon
1. To destroy. 2. A venomous reptile inhabiting the East Indies. 3. The bleak. 4. Little wheels. 5. Comely. 6. A friend. 7. An Arabian prince, military commander and governor of a conquered province. 8. Drives together (Obs.).
| Louisville, Ky. | X Actly |
| No. 9. Beheadment Palm tree boughs are lacing Through which the moonlight steals, And bathes the spot like silver Where India’s daughter kneels Her white robes round her falling Her hair as black as night Has its coil of richest rubies Like a crown of crimson light. A lamp on the shining water It is a simple test, Does he prime live, her lover— Lone star on the river’s breast? See it nears the turning Now it’s rocking to and fro In a splash, like liquid silver, Then it flickers and grows low. India’s white-robed maiden Clasps her hands so tight Her face grows pale with anguish, Fine brighter grows the light, Then on through the lily masses, Like a spark amid the blue, Floating safely onward— Floating slowly from her view |
| Philadelphia, Pa. | Snowball |
No. 10. Newark Icosahedron
1. A small cask. 2. A genus of climbing shrubs. 3. A kind of cover for the finger. 4. Exemption from oblivion. 5. To dye. 6. Images. 7. A genus of acanthopterygious fishes. 8. A house whose walls are composed of logs. 9. General figure. 10. To stir. 11. One who mingles. 12. A surgeon’s instrument for scraping bones. 13. To plow.
| Newark, N.J. | Jo Hooty |
| No. 11. Numerical Edith, dear, do you not recall How we stood long years ago 2, 1, the bridge, one cold, bleak all Looking at the pool below? How we watched the dry leaves sailing, 2, 3, 4, 8 its cold breast While the breeze was softly wailing, As it bore them to their rest? How you wondered, were they happy Now their life was 2, 8, 4 last? How can they 6 and 7 happy When their summer life is past? Ah! the years have fallen round me Since we stood beside the stream And I have shown the hopes that found me Then to earth were but a dream. Oh, were you and I together On that bridge, once 5, 2, 8, 4 I would give a different answer, Than I did in days of yore I would tell of summers fading— How the sun must set at night And of all the thick mists shading, Sun and summer from the sight I would tell of that deep yearning Springing from the fading years For a sun that has no turning— For a life that has no tears Yes! those little leaves that we recall, Drifting on the streamlet’s breast They were glad, that bleak and chill all— They were glad for they had rest. |
| Charleston, W. Va. | R E Flect |
Answers will appear in our next issue solvers in six weeks.
SOLVERS.
Puzzles in Puzzledom No. 657. were correctly solved by Madora Carl, Hello Ian, Ran-de Ran, Night Owls, Lowell, Weesle, Charles Goodwin, Crovit, Willie Wimple, Romulus, Night, Windsor Boy, Osceola, Flora Nightingale, Addie Shun, Jejune, Stanna, Carrie Wolmer, Mary McK., Lucrezius Borgers, Claude Hopper, Katie O’Neill, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, John Watson, Dovey, Fleur de Lis, Rosalind, Little Nell, Spider, C. Saw, Legs, Joe-de Joe, Flare, Dorio, Marcellus, Maxwell, Louise M. Danforth, Cora Denham, Woggins & Co., Herbie O., Brig, War Horse, Essie E., B. Gonia, Mary Roland, Theresa, Mary Pollard, Uncas, Duchess, Olive, Coupay, May De Hosmer, Al Derman, Meandhim, Beta, Tanganika and Arcanum, V. I. Olin, Lib Bee and A. L. Vin.
Complete List—Madora.
[ EASY METHODS OF]
Making Slides for the Magic Lantern,
BY JOHN BOYD.
The new three-wick and four-wick magic lanterns which are now made are so good, and give so much better results than the old oil lanterns, that they are coming largely into use, and for ordinary purposes they do remarkably well. The better class of them stands comparison even with the oxy-hydrogen light, although of course they are excelled by it. They are so easily manipulated that many boys now possess them and work them with good effect. The more expensive ones are fitted with first-class lenses, and can be used also with the oxy-hydrogen light.
Two years ago my boys became the happy owners of one, and many a pleasant evening has been passed since, looking at photographs and pictures by its aid.
It has been used with good effect, even in large rooms, to show diagrams, to illustrate lectures and to exhibit pictures to the Sunday-school children.
No sooner had the lantern been obtained, however, than a demand arose for pictures to show with it. In most large towns they can be hired from the opticians, but they cost at least twenty-five cents a dozen per night and, apart from the expense, it is not always convenient to get them; then to purchase them is more than most boys can afford, as the commonest, full-sized chromolithographed slides cost from two and a half to three dollars a dozen, while hand-painted pictures or photographs vary from three to ten dollars a dozen.
Accordingly we determined to try if we could not make slides for ourselves, and, as our efforts were crowned with a fair measure of success, I think it will interest the boy-readers of Golden Days, many of whom, I feel sure, own lanterns, to hear what systems we found to be the best and easiest. I shall confine myself to those pictures that can be made entirely by hand, and accordingly will leave photographs out altogether.
Bought hand-painted slides are usually first photographed on to the glass from a large outline drawing, and then colored; but so few boys have the means of making their slides in this manner that it will be best to pass this system by, especially as I shall describe a method of making the sketch which answers as well, and is much easier.
At the very outset, we were met with a difficulty that we feared would be insurmountable, and that was that it was almost impossible to make a neat, fine-lined sketch with a brush and paint on plain, smooth glass; and, even when this last had been managed, the coloring process often washed out the outlines and made unsightly smudges, and, as every little line, spot or smear shows with painful distinctness when magnified on the sheet, we soon saw that amateur work on these lines would never do. Fortunately I remembered a process, which I once saw used by a microscopist, to make diagrams for the lantern to illustrate his lectures, which answered admirably.
This was simply to draw, with a very hard lead pencil, on ground glass, then to cover the ground surface with varnish, which rendered the glass perfectly transparent.
I tried this plan, and got such good results from it that I can strongly recommend it. By following out the instructions and hints I shall give, any boy can readily and rapidly make a large series of excellent pictures for his lantern, which will answer his purpose quite as well as the most expensive bought slides.
This system has four great advantages: 1. Pictures can easily be traced on the ground glass, and to those who, like myself, would find it difficult to invent their own pictures, or to copy them, this counts for a great deal. 2. The outline can be made very fine, but still very distinct. 3. The paint will not take on the lead-marks; this renders it much easier to prevent the color going over the edge of an outline. 4. It is also very much easier to paint on the slightly rough surface of the ground glass.
There should be no difficulty in procuring this glass at any glazier’s. It need not be plate glass; ordinary ground glass will do, care being taken to select that with a sufficiently fine and smooth surface, and not too thick.
I have found water colors for lantern slides the best for painting with. They are very much easier to use than the oil colors, and are quite as transparent. Ordinary paints will not do, as some of them come out perfectly opaque, but a box of the special paints can be procured for a dollar. A camel’s-hair
brush, however, is of no use; you must have a stiff sable brush. One No. 3 or No. 4 will be a handy size, and will answer for all purposes, even for the finest lines.
In selecting subjects, use those where the outlines are clear and of a size adapted to the usual sort of slides, which are invariably made now three and a quarter inches square.
First rub a dozen ground glasses perfectly clean with a wash-leather that has been washed in water in which a little soda has been dissolved, to make it quite free from grease. During this cleaning process, the surface of the glass can be sufficiently moistened by breathing on it.
Trace the entire series of outlines on the ground glasses with an H. H. H. pencil, making the lines even lighter than the original, for it will be found most convenient to have a number of slides, say a dozen, in process at one time. Brush off any loose fragments of black lead, taking care that they do not mark the glass.
You are now ready to proceed with the coloring, but, as you will wish to be sure as you go on that you are keeping them sufficiently transparent, it will be found to be a great help if you can always see through them, even while painting them.
FIG. 1
You had better, therefore, make an inclined stand, and this can easily be done, the only tools really required being a knife, a brad-awl and a screw-driver. Procure one piece of wood 14 inches by 6 inches, one piece of wood 12 inches by 6 inches, one piece of wood 14 inches by 12 inches, all ? inch or ¼ inch thick.
Divide the first piece along the dotted line A to B, by cutting right through it with the point of your knife. These two pieces will make the sides of your stand. The piece 14 inches by 12 inches will make the bottom.
Cut two laths 14 inches long, ½ inch wide, out of wood ¼ inch thick, and tack them along the upper inner edges of the two sides a quarter of an inch below the top. These will form two ledges. Now fasten the piece 12 inches by 6 inches to rest on these ledges, which will serve to support the hand. The upper portion remaining must be filled up by a piece of strong, clear glass, 14 inches by 8 inches, which will rest on the ledge at each side, and need not be fastened in, as it will sometimes have to be removed to be cleaned.
Fasten all the parts together with screws, so that you can take it to pieces and pack it away flat when not in use. Those screws with a ring at the end instead of a head, such as are used to fasten into the backs of picture frames to hang them by, are the handiest, as they can be put in with the fingers, and cost hardly any more than ordinary screws.
This stand will be large enough to hold six slides at once, and enables the light to shine right through them. A sheet of white paper should be placed underneath to throw the light up.
Should the light be too strong it can easily be modified by spreading a sheet of thin, white tissue-paper between the glass and the slides.
Of course daylight is best to work by, but I find you can get on very nicely with an ordinary oil lamp, if placed at a convenient distance from the stand.
An ordinary paintbox will contain twelve colors—namely, two blues, neutral, crimson, brown, yellow, scarlet, burnt sienna, orange, two greens and black, all but the last being quite transparent. These will be found sufficient for ordinary work, as they can be greatly varied by judicious mixing.
First of all the skies should be painted in on all twelve slides. As long as you do not go over the outlines, great care need not be taken about laying the color on evenly.
Now cut off a small piece of clean washleather, which has an even, smooth surface. Let the color become nearly dry, then proceed to dab it all over with the washleather, held on the end of the finger, breathing on the slide when necessary, in order to keep it sufficiently moist.
This process must be continued carefully until the whole painted surface is perfectly even and shows no mark of the brush, and only sufficient paint must be left on to give a blue tint.
You must always remember that if too darkly painted the pictures will be too opaque. Clouds can be put in nicely also with the bit of washleather, but extra work of this sort is hardly worth while.
Then proceed to tint the other portions of the pictures with suitable colors, doing one color at a time right through the set of slides, but after applying each color, immediately
dab with the washleather, to render the color even and light.
You will find that by keeping to one color at a time you will get along much quicker, and will also make the pictures more uniform.
When you have completely tinted all the pictures and “dabbed” all the colored portions, you may then go over them all again and shade them up where required with rather stronger colors, taking care, however, not to overdo this.
You will find for faces yellow, with a very slight addition of crimson, answers the best. It may not look all right on the slide, but it will when thrown on the sheet.
You will need to consider the effect of the various colors, as some show much more strongly than others. The next process is to varnish the glasses to render them transparent.
With most color boxes for painting magic lantern slides a bottle of varnish for this purpose is supplied, which answers fairly well. It has to be painted on, after the slides are thoroughly dry, with a large camel’s-hair brush.
Lay one coat on by drawing the brush right across from one side to the other, taking care that the lines of varnish so deposited slightly over-lap one another. When this coat of varnish is perfectly dry and hard, another and sometimes even a third coat must be applied, and it is best to lay it on at right angles to the previous coat, so that all the surface is sure to be covered.
Make each coat as thin as possible, and to facilitate this keep the brush soft by occasionally applying a little turpentine to it. This, however, is a slow and tantalizing process of varnishing, and there is an easier and better one. Procure a bottle of Canada balsam in benzole. It is used for mounting microscopic objects in, and can be got from any optician’s. It should be quite fluid. Get a large wide-mouthed bottle and pour the balsam and benzole into it. Then add to it as much again pure benzole. It should now be nearly as fluid as water. This is your varnish. Apply it just as a photographer coats his glass plate with collodion. That is done in this manner. Take hold of the slide by one corner and pour on to it a sufficient quantity of the balsam and benzole to cover it.
You may need to encourage it to flow by slightly tilting the slide, and sometimes it may even be needful to take a clean quill toothpick and direct it into some corners that otherwise would be missed. Then pour back all the superfluous varnish into the bottle from one corner of the slide; the varnish remaining will rapidly harden, as the benzole evaporates quickly, and the hardening may be hastened by applying a little heat, but while hardening the slides should be protected from dust.
FIG. 2.
I make mine perfectly hard by baking them on a thin iron plate fixed a few inches above a small spirit lamp, but you need to take care not to make the slides too hot, or they may crack. I can easily varnish and harden a dozen slides in less than an hour.
A thin plate of iron, such as is used for an oven plate, can be arranged on blocks of wood, a sufficient height over the spirit lamp. One coat of this varnish is usually sufficient to render the slides perfectly transparent, but a second coat can be applied as soon as the first is hard if necessary.
The slides are now finished, but the varnished surface will easily scratch, and must be protected by a piece of clean glass. Between the glasses a thin paper mount should be laid, which may be a circle, an oval, or a square, according to which is most suitable to the pictures, and then the two glasses must be fastened together by narrow slips of paper gummed round the edge. These mounts, and slips of paper ready gummed, can be procured from any optician, and will save labor, especially in fixing up the edges.
Before you join the glasses together insert at the right hand top corner a number, so that by looking at this number you can readily arrange the pictures in their proper sequence, and also tell which is the right side up when putting them into the lantern carrier.
Sometimes you may wish to copy some
other slides, but owing to their having the covering glasses on you cannot trace them readily direct on to your ground glasses.
This difficulty is overcome by using tracing paper, making the lines with a fine crow-quill and ink. Then you can easily trace from these copies through the ground glass. We also made some very good sets of shadow pictures by cutting out suitable sketches in paper from the comic and other illustrated journals, and mounting them between two sheets of glass. These answered admirably, and when carefully cut out, no one would believe, when thrown on the sheet, that they had not been painted.
We also made some sets of tracings on plain glass, of sketches in black and white. Of course ink would not do, as a fine line could not be drawn with it, and it was too transparent, but we found that, by using black water color, in which a drop or two of thin gum had been mixed, it was quite easy to draw upon plain glass with a fine pen, and then the solid parts could be filled in with a sable brush.
Comic sets copied from the illustrated papers were very easily made, and came out exceedingly well on the sheet and afforded great amusement. This system, and the cutting out in paper, is very simple, and of course takes much less time than the colored and varnished drawings on roughened glass.
[ THE AKHOOND OF SWAT.]
BY J. H. S.
A number of years ago there came over the cable an announcement that the Akhoond of Swat had died, and immediately there was an outburst of merriment in the newspapers. No one could tell who or what he was, many believed him to be a myth, and for a long time the Akhoond was a standing joke among paragraph writers all over the world.
But the Akhoond was a real personage and no joke, and it is only recently that we have found out what a really great man he was.
Swat itself is a considerable province of Afghanistan, bordering on India, and just southwest of the Pamirs. The Akhoond was not, however, its civil ruler. At any rate, he was not nominally so. The title Akhoond merely means “teacher,” and he was, primarily, a religious teacher and nothing more.
He lived in the town of Saidu, and he reached manhood and began to teach the people more than half a century ago, when Dost Mohammed was Ameer of Cabul.
An intense fanatic and a mystic, he exerted a marvelous sway over the people of Swat, who like all the Afghan tribes, are nervous, imaginative, and given to mysticism. So he became not only their spiritual prophet, but their military leader as well.
He led the hosts of Islam against the Sikhs, in the days when Dost Mohammed planned to conquer all India, and many are the stories told of his prowess.
Nor did he fight alone against the Indians, but in 1863 he led the Afghans in their battle with the British at Umbeyla, and made himself the most feared man in all the Afghan empire.
When not busy in the wars, the Akhoond was always to be found at Saidu. From sunrise to sunset he sat in his mosque, reproving the erring, comforting the mourners, encouraging the faithful, and cursing the obstinate unbelievers.
Disputes of every sort were brought to him for settlement. Troubles of all kinds were brought to him to be made right. Hundreds of miracles were performed by him every day. The sick were made well in an instant.
A man would come, lamenting that his horse was lost, and would find it the next moment at the door of the mosque. A carpenter was bewailing that a beam was three feet too short for the needed purpose, and in a twinkling it grew to exactly the length required.
A visitor in the city wished to return speedily to his home in Constantinople, thousands of miles away. He was bade to close his eyes, and the next moment opened them in his home.
To tell the people of Swat that these things were not so, would have been equivalent to telling them that light was darkness. No wonder, then, that the Akhoond was a power in the land, and that Ameer after Ameer sought his assistance.
Shere Ali was the last. When he began his last struggle with the British, he begged the Akhoond to lead his armies as of old. But death stepped in, and the Akhoond passed into history.
Yet still his virtues abide. The mosque in which he taught is the holiest place in all Swat, and miracles are daily wrought there. The Akhoond’s son does not succeed him as a teacher, but he inherits the worldly possessions of the Akhoond, and these are enough to make him the richest man in all Swat.