TORTOISE-SHELLS.
BY A. V. S. ANTHONY.
It was a bright winter morning, and the air outside was frosty and still. A young maid sat in her cozy chamber dressing her golden-brown curls, and as she drew her comb through them she heard a sharp crackling sound that caused her to put on her "thinking-cap," as was her habit when anything out of the common occurred, for she liked to reason out matters in her own quiet way. In her studies she had not as yet reached any allusion to that subtile power known as electricity, so she concluded that the sound must have come from the comb, which she thought was possibly made from the shell of a snapping-turtle. Having settled the affair comfortably in her mind, she finished her toilet hastily, that she might lose no time in announcing her discovery to the family at the breakfast table.
It was the fortunate lot of the head of the family to have been wrecked on a coral reef. I say fortunate, because "All's well that ends well," and inside the reef was a small island, on which he, the head of the family, had the rare experience of witnessing the catching of turtles and the removal of their shells by some native fishermen.
Stories of shipwrecked mariners have been so often told that the incidents of mine need not be repeated here. If, as the Irishman said, the tale of the lost could be told, it would be quite new and interesting; but mine was the very ordinary and commonplace.
After the morning meal was over I told the little maid about it, as I briefly tell you here.
I was on my way to Central America, and had almost reached my journey's end when our ship was wrecked. We struck the reef about nine o'clock at night. It was a very dark and thick night, and the waves dashed over us as we huddled together on the quarter-deck while waiting for daylight to determine in which direction lay possible safety. When the sun rose the next morning we saw approaching us a canoe containing four Indians, with whose assistance we got over the dangerous rocks, and were soon on the island, which was about ten miles distant from the mainland.
It was a beautiful morning, and after the Indians had made us some hot coffee and tortillas (an unleavened corn-cake, baked on hot stones), they went off with the Captain and crew to the wreck, to see if anything could be saved from it, while I lay under the cocoanut-trees enjoying the soft tropical air and congratulating myself on my escape.
When the Captain returned, he determined that he had been driven about twenty-five miles out of his course by a strong current that sets up northward along the eastern coast of Yucatan, for which he had not made proper allowance.
Day was the period of rest for the Indians, and as we all needed sleep, we closed our eyes on the lovely yellow light of the Caribbean Sea, and stretched ourselves under the shelter of the thatched hut.
Towards sunset the Indians awakened us, and gave us another meal of coffee and tortillas, with chile—an uncommonly hot little green pepper. The night promised to be fine, and the Indians predicted a good catch of turtles, as the egg-laying season was nearing its close. So, after an hour or two of chatting, we went down to the edge of the beach, and hid ourselves among the tall salt grasses that lined the shore above high-water mark, where we lay quietly watching the moon rising in its mysterious way out of the sea. Not a sound was heard, save the soft murmuring of the waves as they washed over the reef about half a mile away. We were as still as mice, as the Indians had cautioned us against talking, for the turtles were shy, and very quick to take alarm. After a long wait one of the men touched my arm, and pointed to some dark objects that were slowly crawling out of the water, which was as quiet as a mill-pond. Those dark objects were five big turtles that had come ashore to lay their eggs, which are from two to three inches in length, and sometimes as many as two hundred in number.
WATCHING THE TURTLES COMING OUT OF THE WATER.
This turtle has a small squat head covered with plates of shell, and has a jaw like the beak of a hawk. It has four limbs, or flippers—the hindermost being quite long and winglike—which are armed with a couple of strong nails, with which it digs holes in the sand when it comes ashore to lay its eggs, and it is very fierce at such times if disturbed. When the eggs are laid and carefully covered, Mrs. Turtle waddles off to the water, and gives no further thought of her two hundred or more children which she has left behind.
In the course of time the hot sun hatches out the little chelonians, who burst their shells, and digging their way out of the sand, toddle town the beach to the sea to begin their careers.
Their food consists of sea-weed, crabs, and fishes, and when they grow to be about two hundred pounds in weight, and their shells become valuable, it behooves them to keep their "weather eyes" open for dark-skinned men when their maternal instincts prompt them to ramble on shelving beaches by the light of the moon.
When the turtles were well up on the shore, the natives rushed out with stout poles, and after a sharp tussle succeeded in turning them over on their backs—no easy task, as they were nearly four feet long, and weighed several hundred pounds.
Once on their backs they were helpless, as they were unable to regain their natural position. Long after midnight we added another to our catch, and then went to rest, leaving the turtles on the beach.
In the morning the natives rolled them over, and after fastening their flippers to stakes driven into the beach, built a light fire on their backs, which caused the plates to curl at the edges, under which a knife was passed and the plates removed, leaving underneath a solid body of bony substance, which is the real protecting shield.
The fire seemed to cause the turtles much pain, as they moaned in quite a human way, but the work was soon over, and on being released, the poor things crawled down the beach and disappeared into the sea. The natives are very careful not to fatally injure them, as they are not very numerous in these waters, and would soon be exterminated if indiscriminately slaughtered, and this is the only variety—the hawksbill, Erectmochelys imbricata, the zoologists call them—that yields the tortoise-shell of commerce. I was told that a second shell soon formed, but it grew as one solid mass, and had no commercial value.
There are thirteen of these plates, and the centre one, on a full-grown specimen, is oftentimes fully fifteen inches long, weighing over half a pound, and ranging from an eighth to a quarter of an inch in thickness.
The finest shell comes from the Eastern Archipelago, around the Celebes, and along the coast of New Guinea, and its value depends on its mottled color; that having a warm transparent yellow tone, with rich brown spots, is the most sought after, and brings the highest price. It is a horny substance, much harder, more brittle, and less fibrous than ordinary horn, and it is very tender, and should not be exposed to severe cold.
In preparing the plates for manufacturing purposes, they are first carefully scraped and washed, the rough edges filed off, and then treated to a bath of boiling water, after which they are subjected to pressure to flatten them. Great care must be used to avoid overheating them, as an excess of heat destroys the transparent and translucent portions, and turns them into a muddy, opaque mass, and thus impairs the market value, so only the most skilful workmen are intrusted with the finer grades, as long practice enables them to work the material at a moderately low temperature.
The shell has an extremely peculiar quality, and with the proper degree of heat can be fashioned into any desired form, which it retains on cooling. All the chips, scraps, and filings that come from working the shells are carefully saved, as they can be softened and pressed into moulds of various shapes.
When thickness is desired, two surfaces are roughened by rasping, and the pieces are then plunged into boiling water, which liquefies the superficial film, and transforms it into a sort of gluey paste, and when the two pieces are pressed together—sometimes between hot irons—a solid mass is obtained, without loss of the valuable qualities so much esteemed. Many cheap compositions and a large amount of stained horn are on the market, which are sold to the unwary as real tortoise-shell, but the fraud is easily detected.
The old Romans held the shell in high favor, and used it very freely to veneer furniture, etc.; and the modern French and German craftsmen decorate their buhl cabinets with it in connection with gold, silver, and copper. To-day it is made into many articles of jewelry, chains, sleeve-buttons, lorgnettes, combs, and other toilet articles. To-morrow it may be out of fashion, and be laid away with camel's-hair shawls.
[CAPTAIN JACK'S CHRISTMAS GIFT.]
It was just in the holiday season when Bob and Tommie were delighted to receive a visit from their old friend Captain Hawkins from the sea-shore.
"Just thought I'd run up to town for a few minutes," he said, as if it were necessary for him to explain his presence in town. "You see, I've got a few nevews an' several thousand gran'children what likes to hear from me about Christmas-time, so I goes about Bemberton-by-the-Sea, and all I can find in the shops down thereabouts is the same old things they've had for the last forty year."
"My! Captain Hawkins," said Bob. "Forty years? Are your nephews and grandchildren as old as that?"
"Well, pretty nearly," said the Captain, with an uneasy laugh. "Pretty nearly; and when you get to be forty you get kind of tired o' tin pails and wooden spades and little red jumpin'-jacks an' doll babbies and lemon drops. You boys don't understand that, but wait till you get to be forty year old, and see if I ain't tellin' you the solemnest kind o' truth."
"I guess you're right," said Bob. "I gave my daddy a fine old Jack-in-the-box once, and he laughed like everything at first; but he didn't play with it much, and finally it came back to me again. Pop's pretty nearly forty."
"Yes, an' I guess he laughed like sixty when he saw that Bob-in-a-box."
"Jack-in-a-box," said Bob, with a smile.
"All the same," retorted the old Captain. "Jack-in-a-box, Tommie-in-a-box, or Bob-in-a-box! I never could see why they took the trouble to specify, and if I'd ever have had any children o' my own the Jack-in-a-box would ha' been named after 'em."
"But, Captain, you were just speaking of your grandchildren," said Tommie. "How can you have any grandchildren if you haven't had any children?"
"Oh, that's easy," replied the Captain. "I've adopted 'em. Whenever I see boy or a girl that strikes me as being grand I adopt 'em and call 'em my grandchildren. I guess I've got most a million of 'em scattered round."
"And you've come up to get a million Christmas presents for 'em?" cried Bob, in ecstasy.
"Yep—only there ain't more'n ten of 'em," said the Captain, "that expects anything. I'm goin' to spend ten cents apiece on 'em, but first I've got to get the other eight."
Bob looked at Tommie and Tommie looked at Bob. They were really puzzled to think what the Captain could mean.
"The other eight?" asked Bob.
"Yes," said Hawkins. "You boys ain't the only grandchildren I've got. I love you, but you ain't the only ones I love. There's at least eight more. And what do you suppose I'm goin' to give you all for Christmas?"
The boys gave it up.
"Well," said the Captain, in a whisper, "as I was a-comin' up Broadway a-lookin' into the windows, all of a sudden I see a hoss-car goin' along without a hoss, and I says goodness gracious that's funny. A hoss-car without a hoss, an' what was queerest of all, no trolley! Boys, it scaret me. Me who was never scaret before was scaret then. So I says to a policeman, 'Great scott! Mr. Constable, say, what makes that car go so fast?' 'It's the cable,' says he. My goodness thinks I, I'm sorry for the man that has to pull it, but I jumps aboard one of 'em, pays my five cents, and I have the finest sail from Forty-second Street to the Battery you ever see. No wind, no steam, nothin' in sight to move you, but movin' just the same, just as if you was on a sled slidin' down a hill. It was fine. Goin' around by Fourteenth Street you got lurched like as if you was at sea, an' then with a clear track and no squalls we just bounded down past Canal and Wall streets to Bowlin' Green, and back as slick as anything. And I says to myself, Cap'n Hawkins you've struck it. Don't give the boys no pails, no Jims-in-the-boxes, no spades, no nothin', but get the whole ten of 'em together and give 'em a ride on the cable-car whether you're sorry for the feller that pulls the rope or not. So I'm goin' back to Bemberton for the other eight, and when you boys are free I want you to join us for a sail from Central Park down and back, eh?"