[to be continued.]
A MILITARY BICYCLE CORPS' OUTING.
WATCHING THE EVENING POT BOIL.
The bicycle corps of a military academy near Chicago recently made a journey on wheels from that city to Springfield and back again, camping at night wherever darkness overtook them, foraging among the neighboring farm-houses for their subsistence, and conducting themselves on the whole as if they were actually in the field on active service. A guard was posted as soon as camp was pitched in the evening, and sentries kept watch throughout the night, keeping away all intruders, and seeing to it that none of the cadets ran the lines to visit a near-by village, or to milk some unprotected cow in a neighboring farm-yard. The boys did their own cooking, which at times was marvellous to look upon, and fearful to digest; but they all lived through the experience, and got back to the school in the best of health and condition. A week was occupied in making the trip, and the experience and general knowledge of bicycling which the cadets acquired in that time was such as they doubtless could never have obtained in any other way. There were seventeen in the party, including the Major commanding, who was one of the instructors at the academy, and each wheelman carried about thirty pounds of baggage, consisting of a change of under-clothing, a blanket, a shelter tent, arms, and cooking utensils. The incidents of the journey were many, and the element of adventure was not lacking.
Of course there were a number of accidents to the machines, one of the most serious occurring about the fourth or fifth day out when about eighty miles from Springfield. It was a creeping tire, and no amount of cement or tire-tape could be made to stop it. A total of eight valves was torn off in that one day, which, with the delay caused by punctures from thorn-hedges, cost a great loss of time. When within ten miles of Springfield, with a heavy thunder-storm coming up behind them, the tires of two wheels got badly punctured, and a halt had to be called. It was thought that repairs could be quickly effected, but this proved not to be the case, and the main body was thereupon ordered to push on, while the disabled riders were left to complete their patching, with orders to catch up as soon as possible. But night and the storm came on rapidly, and under these unfavorable circumstances the cadets were unable to locate the punctures. They therefore determined to camp for the night, and having found shelter behind a hay-stack, they put up their shelter tents over their wheels and slept comfortably in the storm all night. The next morning repairs were effected, and by fast riding the stragglers overtook their companions.
The foraging was a source of about as much fun to the boys as the cooking. The first evening of the trip the foragers brought back to camp among other things a bag of oatmeal. A special order was given to the guard that night to notify the three-o'clock detail to put the oatmeal on the fire to cook slowly at 3.30 a.m. The guard obeyed his instructions as far as they went, but, not being a cook, and having received no further orders, he did not look at the oatmeal again, with the result that this particular breakfast dish was not much of a success. But sleeping in the open air sharpens the appetite, and burnt as it was, the oatmeal was entirely consumed. On another occasion—this time it was for luncheon—foragers were, as usual, detailed to supply the commissariat. All who had been sent out returned to camp within a reasonable time, except two, and it was soon deemed expedient by the Major to send a corporal's guard in search of these. The guard remaining absent very much longer than seemed necessary, the Major himself mounted his wheel and started to gather in the delinquents. He found them, corporal's guard and all, comfortably seated behind a hay-stack eating pork and beans and cold chicken, and drinking fragrant hot coffee from a generous earthen pot. The farmers all along the route were most generous to the bicyclists. In a number of cases they absolutely refused to accept any pay for provisions furnished. At a place near Bloomington the country people were notably hospitable. One man brought to the camp seven dozen eggs, another six spring chickens, and another a pail of milk, while one thoughtful mother sent all the pies she had in the house. Then the good natives sat around on the grass and watched the boys cook and eat.
A QUIET CAMP BY THE WAY.
Wherever it was possible to do so, camp was pitched near water. One of the prettiest spots found was on the shore of the Kankakee River, near Wilmington, where the corps brought up late one afternoon after a hot and dusty ride. Tents were never before so quickly raised, and a minute later the quiet stream was being churned into foam by the swimmers. At Lincoln the camp was on State property, and the boys had the use of the National Guard's swimming pool. But this was not the only courtesy they received at the hands of the militia. At this same Camp Lincoln the Adjutant-General's department had provided good-sized tents for the bicyclists, with extra blankets, and a cooking-stove, on which hot coffee was steaming when the corps arrived. Further on in the run the same hospitality was shown. At Streator a good-natured merchant distributed free soda-water checks to all, and as many as each wanted. One lady invited the cadets into her house and gave them cake and lemonade, and had all the girls of the neighborhood in to serve it. The notes of the "Assembly Call" were mighty unwelcome sounds that afternoon.
But besides the fun and the exercise and healthfulness of the journey, a good deal of useful information was absorbed. On the run out from Chicago the road followed the line of the new drainage canal, giving all a good opportunity to witness the blasting and the working of the giant machine shovels. At Springfield the corps visited the Legislature, then in session, and the home of President Lincoln. They were also received by the Governor. At Joliet they were taken through the penitentiary, and among other souvenirs of the place, each one carried away a piece of striped cloth from the tailor shops. These pieces did important duty later in the journey, most of them returning to Chicago in the form of patches to the well worn uniforms.
On the whole the trip proved most successful, and there is not much those boys don't know to-day about the handling of bicycles.
THE BICYCLE CORPS AT DRESS PARADE.
A PILOT'S STORY.
For a number of years I have been a traveller on the North River ferry-boats running between New York and Jersey City. One of the pleasures of these short trips has been in my interest and admiration for the skilful way in which such huge, unwieldy boats are handled by their pilots. The tides in the river are at times very strong, and especially so near the ferry slips. To prevent mishaps it requires the most careful manœuvring, as a small error of judgment might send the heavily laden boat crashing into the bulkheads. Such an accident would endanger the lives of the people on board.
When the heavy gong sounds, and the rumble of the paddle-wheels stops, and the boat glides silently over the water, it is then that the pilot and his engineer are on the alert—one with his hand on the wheel, moving it this way and that, and the other with his hand on the lever bar, ready to back water or go ahead, according to his signals.
I remember a story that a pilot told me, of which he was the hero. He did not tell it boastingly, but in a simple, quiet way, and not before a great deal of persuasion was brought to bear upon him. We were standing at the time on the lower deck of a ferry-boat belonging to the line upon which he was then employed. Pointing to a grimy young bootblack who was industriously polishing away, he said: "At one time I polished boots the same as that youngster is doing there. I loved the boats and the crowds, but more especially I loved to watch the pilot and the engineer at work. To see the latter polishing and oiling his machinery as carefully as a mother would dress a baby was my chief enjoyment. I dare say I knew every part of the engine as well as he did, or at least I thought so, and many a shine I let pass simply to see him work the boat in and out of the slip. This curiosity, or rather interest, on my part stood me in good stead at one time, as you will see. We were unusually crowded on the trip when my stroke of good luck took place, both gangways running past the engine-room being choked up with horses and wagons.
"Most of the drivers had gone forward, and I sat in my usual place on the ledge at the engine-room door alone. Bang! the first bell sounded to reduce her to half speed, and I glanced around to watch the engineer shut off steam. He was sitting facing the engine in his arm-chair, his chin in his hand, and his arm resting on the side of the chair. I was surprised to see that he made no move, and, thinking he was asleep, I ran in to shake him. By this time the pilot evidently thought something was wrong, and the big bell sounded twice, meaning, as you probably know, to stop the engine. I could not make the engineer move, and, without hesitating, I stepped across to the engine, and grasping the wheel, I shut off the steam and disconnected the eccentrics.
"Of course the engine stopped, and the pilot, thinking everything was all right, commenced to send down his signals. I was a little frightened—more at the idea of my working the big engine than at making any mistakes, for I knew exactly what to do. Well, we had some trouble making the slip, and I had to back her out. I can tell you, working that lever bar was no easy job. Then came the sharp tinkle for full speed, and shortly I had her well out into the river. Then came the bells to stop her, and again to reverse and go ahead under half speed.
"By that time I was very tired, but no longer nervous, and when we again neared the slip and the welcome bell to stop the engine sounded, I was very glad. The double signal to back water came, and I pushed the lever bar up and down twice before I got my last signal to stop. When I heard the rattle of the chains as they tied her in the slip I was worn out, and it seems to me I must have fainted, for when I came to it was in the presence of the pilot and some of the officers of the line. They told me the engineer had died of heart-disease; and in recognition of my services they placed me at school and gratified my ambition to become a pilot, as you see."
Hubert Earl.