[to be continued.]
[HOW TO MANAGE AN AQUARIUM.]
BY JAMES STEELE.
It is generally supposed that it is necessary to change the water in an aquarium at least once a day; but that is not the case. The true principle on which an aquarium should be conducted is not to change the water at all, but so to aerate and refresh the original supply as to maintain it always in a pure and perfect state. There are several means by which this may be done. The healthy growth of plants is very important, and active and brisk contact with the air of the atmosphere will greatly freshen the water. Motion in the water is absolutely necessary. In large aquaria this is obtained by an arrangement of tanks into which the water is pumped, and from which it flows rapidly, circulating through the tanks where the fish live. In its passage through the air it absorbs considerable oxygen, without which no fish can live. Fish placed in water that has been boiled die in a very few minutes.
In a small aquarium the water can be refreshed by frequently drawing it up through a glass or rubber syringe, and squirting it back into the vessel from some height above it.
The first thing to be done in the formation of a fresh-water aquarium is to start your plants in proper soil at the bottom of your tank, fill the tank with water, and leave it undisturbed until the plants begin to grow and the little bubbles of oxygen are to be seen rising to the surface of the water.
Choose your plants from such as you may collect from rivers or brooks or ponds anywhere in the country. Plant them, and then cover the surface of the soil with pebbles and small bits of rock, or anything that is suitable and in keeping with the rest of your arrangements. Never put sea-shells into a fresh-water aquarium, and never put in any artificial objects. Everything should be as simple and natural as you can make it.
Now fill your tank with water poured through a siphon or funnel, being very careful not to disturb the soil or the roots of the plants. You should have some clean river sand in the bottom of your tank, and your pieces of rock should be so arranged as to form little caves and hiding-places for your fish. It will take perhaps two weeks to get your tank into a proper condition for fish to live in. Every bit of dead or decaying vegetation should be carefully removed. Keep your tank shaded from the heat of the sun, and expose it to the bright light only once in awhile.
In order to manage your aquarium properly you will require a few simple tools. A little hand-net that can be bought for a few cents, or made for even less out of a bit of wire and a small piece of mosquito-netting, is useful for catching the fish or shells without putting your hands into the water. A pair of wooden forceps, like a glove-stretcher, will be found most convenient for nipping off bits of decaying plants or for catching objects that may have accidentally fallen into the water. Glass tubes of various sizes are also useful. If you want to catch any small object in the water with the tube, place the tube in the water with your finger over the hole in the top. Until your finger is removed the tube will remain full of air. Place it over the bit of refuse or whatever it is you want to catch, remove your finger, and the water will rush in, carrying the object with it into the tube, which should then be closed at the upper end by placing your finger over it as before. A glass or hard-rubber syringe is necessary with which to aerate the water thoroughly at least once a day, and oftener if possible. Fill the syringe, hold it high above the tank, and then squirt the water back again. A long piece of India-rubber tubing which may be used as a siphon is necessary for the purpose of changing the water in the tank, when it is evident that something has gone wrong.
If a green film begins to gather on the side of the tank that is most exposed to the light, it should be cleaned away every day, and the sides of the glass polished carefully. A small piece of clean sponge tied on the end of a stick will answer the purpose very well, and, if used daily, you can keep the glass clear with very little trouble; but if the scum is neglected and left to accumulate, you will find it almost impossible to remove it from the glass even by hard scouring.
It is best to have only small fish in your aquarium, and for this reason trout are not desirable. Although very beautiful and intelligent, they grow so rapidly that they are likely to become in a short time too unwieldy for your tank. Goldfish and minnows are very good, and the common little sunfish or "pumpkin-seed" is excellent.
You must keep careful watch over the fish in your aquarium, and if any one of them appears to be sick he should be removed at once, very gently, with the hand-net, and placed in fresh water, where he will often recover. If, however, the little sufferer is doomed to die, it is better not to run the risk of his doing so among his healthy companions. It is best always to have a hospital for your sickly pets, and as soon as one of them, whether a fish or a bird or any animal, shows signs of ill health, he should be taken away from the others and placed by himself.
Certain varieties of snails live well in fresh water, and will be found useful in clearing away the green film that is almost certain to collect on the side of the glass; but you must be careful or they will devour your plants as well; and if your tank is very small it is hardly worth while to try to keep them.
Water-beetles and water-spiders also thrive well, and their habits are most interesting to watch; but water-beetles fly by night, and unless you are careful to cover your tank you are likely to discover some morning that a number of your tenants have taken French leave.
You must be careful not to overstock your aquarium, for your fish will not thrive if they are overcrowded. Remember, also, that heat and dust are fatal to your pets. The water must be kept clean and cool at all times, and all foreign matter and every particle of decaying vegetation should be removed immediately.
To manage an aquarium successfully, no matter on how small a scale, requires a good deal of care and time, but you will find it time well spent, and the pleasure and knowledge the study of your pets will give you will be an ample return for the time you spend on them.
[WHO CAN ANSWER?]
BY GRACE A. CANNON.
The question's not a new one, dear,
But one that ev'ry day
Comes to some girls and boys I know
While at their work or play.
My Nanny comes to me at morn,
And with beseeching look,
Asks me if I can tell her where
She'll find her slate or book.
And Teddy comes to me and says,
Sometimes with downcast eye,
"Mamma dear, won't you please to come
And help me find my tie?"
And Alice, too, comes with a frown
When going out for play;
"Oh dear, mamma, what did I do
With my hat yesterday?"
No hat is found out in the hall;
The book's not in its case;
No tie is found upstairs to be
In its accustomed place.
Now me the reason tell, my dear,
And quickly, if you can,
Why all these things may not be found
By Alice, Ted, or Nan?
The question's not a new one, dear,
But one that ev'ry day
Comes to some girls and boys I know
While at their work or play.
BY PAUL DU CHAILLU.
Part I.
Dear young folks of Harper's Round Table, I have been invited by my friend, the Editor, to write for you a series of stories in which I shall tell you of some of the adventures that have happened to me in the great equatorial forest which begins on the west coast at the sea-shore and stretches far to the east on both sides of the equator, adventures which I have not told in Stories of the Gorilla Country, Lost in the Jungle, Wild Life Under the Equator, My Apingi Kingdom, and The Country of the Dwarfs, five books which I wrote especially for you.
During my travels I have had so many strange adventures, I have endured so many days of hunger and starvation, I have had so many hair-breadth escapes, I have seen so many strange sights, I have met face to face so many savage and fierce men and still more savage and dangerous beasts, that I could spend days in recounting to you the adventures of my life.
Africa is a wonderful country. There are great sandy deserts, extensive ranges of mountains, immense prairies, vast tracts of brushwood, swampy lands, great rivers and lakes; but the wonder of that large continent is the great equatorial forest I discovered, and which contains so many wild animals and interesting tribes of people.
What an immense forest it is—a sea of trees, if I may use the expression! No one knows how wide it is, neither do we know its exact length.
What gigantic trees are seen in that forest! Some rival in size the great California trees. These are the giants of the forest, and they rise two or three hundred feet above the other trees, upon which they look down. They are like sentinels watching over the country. Some of these big trees are worshipped by the natives. Under the roof of the mighty branches is the thick jungle, where no man can penetrate easily. The jungle is the undergrowth of the forest. It is made up of younger trees: lianas, thorny creepers, kinds of bamboo and rattan, thorny trees, sword-grass that cuts like a razor, and aloes plant in the swampy parts. In many places the explorer cannot see a yard off from where he stands.
What beautiful butterflies and queer insects, rare birds—some with brilliant plumage—lovely and strange flowers and orchids the traveller will meet as he explores this unknown land! Though all alone in that great solitude, he will seldom feel lonely, for his mind will be occupied all the time.
HIDDEN SNAKES THE CHIEF DANGER OF THE FOREST.
There are also many disagreeable things in the forest. The most dangerous, for they are often enemies unseen, are the snakes. There are snakes that live chiefly in the water. I used to keep a sharp lookout for them when I bathed in the clear little streams which run through the woods. There are tree snakes, those who pass a great part of their time on trees and feed on squirrels, birds, and monkeys; and also land snakes—that is, snakes that never climb trees and seldom go into the water. The biggest of them is the python. Often they are coiled along the trunk of a tree waiting to spring upon a passing gazelle. But there are so many venomous snakes, it makes me shudder as I think of them with their triangular heads. What fangs they have, especially the Clotho nasicornis, a thick short snake! Its fangs for all the world look like fish bones. In color that snake can hardly be distinguished from the ground and dead leaves on which it crawls. It is of great thickness round the middle; its head is very huge and hideous, being triangular in shape, and having an erect proboscis or born rising from the tip of its nose. Besides snakes, there are centipedes, so-called because, I suppose, they have about a hundred legs. Their sting is poisonous, and in some cases fatal; those that are very dark in color are much dreaded.
Then the scorpions! you find them everywhere, even between the leaves of your books!
What narrow escapes I have had with snakes, scorpions, centipedes! I wonder sometimes that I am alive to tell of the things I have seen. I never used to lie down without looking for these creeping things. You think, naturally, that a man's life must be miserable on that account. Not at all; one gets accustomed to everything in the world. At last I did not mind it at all, I got so used to doing this every day.
There were also many kinds of flies—called by the natives the mboco, ntchoona, the eloway. The mosquitoes will often plague us. We shall meet the terrible bashikonay ants. When they spread in the forest, they attack every living animal. All flee before them—gorilla, leopard, and elephant.
In that great forest are many tribes of men; some of them wear no clothing whatever. These people worship idols, good and evil spirits; dread witchcraft, and put to death all those who they think are wizards or witches. They are constantly engaged in warfare against each other. The most fierce looking of all are the cannibal tribes. How horrid they look with their sharp-pointed teeth, which have been made so by being filed! What magnificent-looking warriors they are! What brave hunters! It was in their country that I shot my first gorilla.
The strangest people I discovered were the dwarfs or pygmies, a race of people very diminutive in size. They looked so queer, especially the white-headed old folks. None of their houses is more than three feet in height. These pygmies, like the monkeys, lived chiefly on the fruits, berries, and nuts of the forest; they never cultivated the soil. But they knew the use of fire, knew how to trap game and cook their meat.
All these tribes thought Friend Paul was a Moguizic, a supernatural being who had come from some part of the sky. Many believed that I had descended from the moon, and that I came to see the world and its inhabitants. They believed that I could do all kinds of supernatural things, and in many tribes where guns were unknown they thought I held thunder and lightning in my hands, and when I fired a gun they all fell low on the ground.
Highways of communication and roads are unknown in this great dark Africa. But there are numerous paths going in every direction, so the traveller, if the natives are willing to guide him, can go from the west coast to the east coast, and from the Cape of Good Hope to Egypt, Morocco, and Algeria, or vice versa, for every village and tribe has paths leading towards the other. Often the paths leading from one village to another are very difficult to follow, for the jungle is so rank; and often they are closed for months on account of wars among different tribes.
Such paths you have never seen—narrow, just wide enough for a man to go through the thick jungle. The branches of trees often join together. Here a big tree has fallen across the path, and you must either bend yourself to pass under it, or climb over it. If you cannot do either, then you must go around it. You have to walk over the roots of trees until your feet are sore. Sometimes then you fall in the midst of sword-grass, or under the canelike bamboos or palms, or have to walk in swamps filled with aloes. I still walk in a stooping manner, the result of my being obliged to bend constantly under branches of trees, or under fallen ones. Often a stream is your only path.
Day after day, my dear young folks, Friend Paul spent travelling in that forest without hearing the chatter of a monkey or the shrill cry of a parrot. The only noise he could hear was now and then the falling of a leaf or the gentle murmur of a little stream wending its way towards some big unknown river which he hoped some day to find.
I walked thousands and thousands of miles on foot under its shady trees. The foliage was so thick that sometimes I was several weeks without being able to see the sun, the moon, or the stars, for my eyes could not penetrate the dense and thick leaves. How glad I was when I came to a river or an open space, and could see once more the sun, the moon, and the stars! I loved the stars, for without them and the moon I could not have known where I was; they showed me the way all through my travels.
Not only had I to travel on foot, but everything I had to take with me had to be carried on the backs of men, for no beasts of burden are to be found in the big forest. There are no camels, no donkeys, no horses, no oxen; and had I taken some with me they would have died of starvation, for there were no pastures, and they could not have lived on the different leaves of the trees or of the jungle. Besides, they could not have gone through the narrow crooked path of the great forest.
Rain falls almost every night for hours, accompanied by such thunder and lightning as you have never heard or seen in our country. The claps of thunder are so terrific that often they made me jump from my bed of leaves. The lightning at times is so vivid that it pierces the foliage of the trees; and as to the heavy rain, it often falls like a solid sheet of water for hours, and this happens almost every night for nine months of the year. After the rainy season comes the dry season—cold, for sometimes the thermometer falls to 66° Fahrenheit. I felt then this low temperature very much. Not a drop of rain falls during the dry season; but far in the interior, in the mountain regions, it rains twelve months of the year, but during three months of that time no thunder is heard.
If the men are strange, the beasts roaming in that great forest are still more wonderful to behold. The huge elephant roams everywhere on its rivers and lakes, the hippopotami are numerous in the sluggish streams, and the lakes are filled with crocodiles of huge size. The great gorilla, which I discovered, is the terror of the natives, and is called by them the Giant of the Forest. The strong man of the woods wanders continually in search of fruits, berries, and nuts. When night comes he sleeps at the foot of a tree, while his wife, the female gorilla, is sleeping on its branches. The gorilla never makes a shelter or a house for himself. Those who describe them as making houses mislead you. Friend Paul killed many of these gorillas, and was the first white man who ever hunted them and saw them in their wild state.
Besides the gorilla, Friend Paul saw several other wonderful kinds of man-like apes, also the common chimpanzee, called by the natives nshiego. Then he discovered three new species or varieties of the chimpanzee family, known to the natives under the names of Nshiego-mbouve, apes with bald heads and black faces; the Nshiego-nkengo, whose faces always remain yellow; and the Kooloo-kamba. All these apes are very shy, and the hunter to approach them has to be very wary.
Dear friends, we are to travel together in that great African forest. We will carry no tents with us; we will build a new camp every day when we are on the march, and we will protect ourselves from the rain by building slanting roofs, covered with large leaves put on the top of each other as we do with shingles, slates, or tiles at home. We will protect ourselves from the wild beasts by burning all night large fires—the wild beasts are afraid of fire. These fires will protect us also from snakes and voracious ants.
When we cannot find game we will be hungry together, and, like the monkeys, we will have to eat the wild berries, nuts, and fruits of the forest. When we cannot find these we will starve together until Providence comes to our rescue. At other times, when food is very scarce and it becomes a matter of life and death, we will be obliged to eat snakes, or sometimes leopards. When we have plenty, we will eat elephants, hippopotami, crocodiles, buffalo, wild boar, antelope, gazelles, and other animals. Often we will feast on monkeys—these at certain times of the year are delicious. Then, when we get into regions where no animals are to be seen, and fruits, nuts, and berries cannot be found—then we will drink water, which will help us to keep body and soul together. At times we will lie down under some big tree, ill with fever or weak from starvation. Then we shall think of the sweet home that is so far away, and wonder if we will ever return there again.
[CAPTAIN HANK'S SUBSTITUTE.]
Captain Hank of the Life-boat Patrol Service and Jack Hawley were old friends. The Captain had been at the station near Jack's house for a number of seasons, and when Jack first met him he was such a little chap that the Captain called him "Shorty." Jack had grown, however, into a strong hearty lad, and his one ambition was to get into the life-boat service.
While they were talking one night in the station the sharp ring of the telephone bell made all hands glance up anxiously. Captain Hank strode over to the receiver.
"Hullo!—Yes, Captain Hank.—What is it? Tramp steamer ashore? Yes. How many men do you want? Hullo! Yes. Full relief? All right—send them immediately. Good-by.
"Boys, there's a tramp ashore at the lower station; want the full relief. Trot along, and get back as soon as you can. There's a nasty sea on to-night, and, with the wind right on shore, we might want you."
The men donned their oil-skins and boots, and trotted off down the beach to the lower station, some five miles below. The Captain glanced at the remaining men, enough to man the life-boat, with the man out on patrol.
"It's a fearful night out, boys," he said.
The words had hardly left his mouth when the door opened and the patrol rushed in.
"Three-master ashore on the outer bar, Captain."
Like a flash every man was on his feet and into his oil-skins. Seizing the gun-carriage, they rushed it out and down the plank runway to the beach. Jack ran along with them, and strained his eyes as the Coston signal-light lit up the raging sea and disclosed to view a large three-master lying almost on her beam ends. There was a slight phosphorescent glow where the mad seas, lashed into foam, broke about her, sweeping the decks. Even as he looked two of her masts toppled and fell with a crash. On the shrouds of the remaining one a dark group was huddled.
Jack's heart thrilled with excitement and pity. Poor fellows! their lives must be saved!
The life-saving crew were busy with the gun, and in a few minutes away went the shot carrying a delicate line out to the wreck. It fell short or the wind drove it back. Again and again they tried it, but without success. The wind seemed to carry it to one side.
"It's no use, boys, trying to rig the breeches buoy," roared the Captain; "we've got to man the life-boat, so get on your corks. I'll telephone to the lower station to see if I can get any of the boys back."
Jack longed to go in the boat, but he knew it was impossible, and, sheltered behind it, he watched the black shadow on the bar, and hoped they would be in time to save the lives out there. The wind was sweeping and screaming with violent force, and the cold spray lashed the beach with foam. Jack heard one of the men yell to his neighbor that the Captain was a long while, and, thinking he could be of help, he ran back to hurry him up.
As he entered the station a low groan greeted him. The Captain lay in the middle of the floor, motionless. He had stumbled over some rope in his hurry, and broken his arm.
"It's no use, Jack," he moaned; "I can't go out with this arm. We will need the six oars in such a sea."
Jack paused. "Captain," he said, "they will launch the boat." And catching a heavy oil-skin coat off a peg he rushed down to the beach. The men stood waiting, looking out to sea. Without saying a word he gripped the boat, and when the right breaker came he gruffly shouted, "Now, men," as he had often heard the Captain, and with a strong heave and all together they rushed the boat out into the surf and leaped aboard.
Jack seized the steering-oar, and before the next wave could swamp them they got a grip on the water and successfully mounted it. It was a remarkable launch in such a sea, and promised success for their other efforts.
They were going right into the teeth of the gale, and the crew rose to the work. It was hard work, though. The wind beat them back, tearing at their frail craft with fierce tugs, dashing the frozen spray over them in sheets. To reach the wreck Jack had to keep off the wind a little, and time and time again the boat's head would swing around, and his heart would jump as the monstrous waves threatened to swamp her.
His hands were numb with cold and his face frozen with spray. The crew bent over their oars. They knew nothing of the change of Captains, and when they heard the gruff commands, they may have wondered at the boyishness of the tones, but never dreamed who was steering the boat.
They were nearing the ship, and with admirable skill, in keeping with his efforts from the start, Jack got up in the lee of the wreck, directly under the shrouds to which the group was clinging. Slowly but surely, one by one, the men scrambled down the rigging and, when a favorable opportunity presented itself, leaped aboard.
There were five men, and as the last came aboard Jack did a neat bit of steering that even the brave crew of the life-boat noticed and cheered. They left the wreck, and with their backs to the mad wind, they bounded over the roaring waves towards the shore.
Jack kept the boat directly in front of the storm, and as they neared the surf his command rang out, "Steady!" And then a gigantic wave raised them on its crest and, with a swirl and a roar, ran them upon the beach. In a trice they ran the boat out of reach of the surf.
In the snug warmth of the station the crew started to cheer the dripping Captain in his oil-skins; but when he took off the broad-brimmed hat that hid his face and they saw Jack, they were mute. One of them rushed to their Captain's bunk, and when he saw the helpless figure of the real Captain lying there, he pointed to it and then to Jack.
Hubert Earl.
[UP IN A WATER-SPOUT.]
ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
The Old Sailor sat on the end of the pier, but he was restless and ill at ease. He looked often at the southwestern sky, where heavy blue-black clouds were massing themselves in low and writhing shapes. He shook his head solemnly, rose to his feet, and walked nervously up and down.
"This are the werry identical kind o' day it were," he muttered, "an' ef we don't see some on 'em to-day, w'y, I'm a bloomin' marine, that's wot."
"See some of what?" inquired a voice behind him; and turning, he saw the two boys.
"Waal, waal, waal!" he exclaimed; "you two infants is a-gettin' 'most as weatherwise as tree-frogs."
This exclamation was not unnatural, for the two boys were clad in long sea-boots, oil-skins, and sou'westers.
"Ye look like a pair o' sunflowers," said the Old Sailor, with admiration in his tone, "an' I reckon ye don't worry much about the rain wot are a-comin'."
"No; I guess we will not get wet," said Henry, laughing.
"But s'posin'—now mind I don't go fur to say it'll happen—but s'posin' ye was to go fur to come fur to git carried up aloft."
"What ever do you mean?" asked George.
"Look down yonder—quick!" exclaimed the Old Sailor, pointing to the southern horizon.
The boys saw an immense blue-black cloud, from which hung down a great dark cone. A similar cone, point upward, rose from the sea, and the two were joined by a slender wavering black column.
"Oh, what is it?" cried George.
"I know," exclaimed Henry. "It's a water-spout."
"It's going out to sea," ejaculated George.
"Werry good; werry good indeed," said the Old Sailor, sagely; "it sartainly are a-goin' out to sea. 'Cos w'y, it can't go on land, 'cos it are a water-spout an' not a landspout, w'ich the same there ain't none, 'ceptin' them on the sides o' houses fur rain to go down, an' them mostly leaks."
The three stood and watched the dreaded monster of the sea—a rare sight indeed near shore—until it passed out of sight.
"It are gone," said the Old Sailor, "an' it 'ain't took nothin' with 't 'ceptin' wind an' water."
"Do they ever take anything else with them?" asked George.
"W'ich the same they do," answered the Old Sailor; "an' wot they takes ain't never come back but oncet, as I knows on. I knowed we'd see some on 'em to-day; 'cos w'y, this are the kind o' day wot breeds 'em, an' it are the werry identical kind o' day wot it all happened on."
So saying, the Old Sailor sat down on the end of the pier, and the boys seated themselves beside him.
"This 'ere yarn wot I'm a goin' fur to tell ye," began the Old Sailor, "are a most ser'ous tale, an' I hopes as how 't won't go fur to give ye no nightmare. I were fust mate o' the barkentine Herrin' Bones, bound from Rio Janeiro to New York. She were a wall-sided hooker, with double to'-gallants, an' a werry disrepitable habit o' goin' to leeward."
"What was her cargo?" asked George.
"I allers tells ye wot the cargo were, my son, but this 'ere wessel didn't have no cargo; she were flyin' light, an' preehaps 'twould 'a' bin better ef she'd had more ballast aboard. Her Cap'n were Gawge W. Smoke, an' her second mate were a long-legged feller from New Orleans, named Pierre Crust, an' a werry crusty Pierre he were too. Waal, to git right down to the business part o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, I'll say that we didn't have nothin' but fair weather an' good to'-gallant breezes till we got right up atwixt St. Thomas an' Bermooda, an' then it rained an' blowed squalls an' thunder-storms fur two days an' nights all round the compass. Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he to me, sez he, 'It ain't no fittin' weather fur to be buggaluggin' round here.' An' sez I to he, sez I, 'It ain't, but here we be, an' we can't fly away,' sez I, jess like that, him bein' Cap'n an' me fust mate, an' the barkentine bein' the Herrin' Bones. But ef I'd knowed wot were a-comin', I'd never said nothin'.
"Waal, them squalls an' thunder-storms kep' a-gettin' thicker an' blacker, till byme-by the hull sky all round were jess like it were down yonder a leetle while ago. An' Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he allowed that we'd best stand by fur water-spouts. Sure 'nuff, 'twere jess about six bells in the forenoon watch o' the second day o' this 'ere cantankerous weather, w'en the lookout sung out, 'Water-spout on the weather bow!' 'Fore we had time to look at it another hand sighted one on the lee bow, an' some one else seed one on the weather-quarter. In less 'n five minutes we sighted seven on 'em to wind'ard an' six to leeward, makin' thirteen, w'ich the same that are a werry unlucky number.
"Waal, we clapped on a leetle more sail, hopin' fur to run out o' this 'ere convention o' water-spouts. But, bless ye! ye might as well 'a' tried to git away from a express train by runnin' down the track ahead o't. They was comin' down on us at a powerful gait. W'en the biggest one were about half a mile away, we could see it whirlin' round an' round like a big wheel, an' it roared like Niagarer Falls, w'ich the same ye 'ain't never seed, but ye see pictures of 'em in your geoggerfy. Pierre Crust, our second mate, he got so skeered he jess went an' hid his head under a deck bucket. Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he give orders to clew up the to'-gallants, so's to stop the vessel, hopin' that the spout'd pass ahead on us. But, bless ye! the bloomin', bleedin', blasted thing turned out of its course, an' kep' a-comin' right fur us.
"'We're bound for Davy Jones's locker,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he. 'It are a-goin' to break right on top o' us.'
"'Werry good, sir,' sez I. 'Axin' your parmission, I'll put on a life-persarver.'
"''Twon't do ye no good,' sez he. 'W'en she breaks on us she'll drive us twenty fathom down. Here it comes! Stan' by, all hands, to go under hatches.'
"Roarin' like a thunder-storm, an' loomin' over us like a iceberg turned black, the water-spout come to the barkentine. We all shut our eyes, an' held our breath, an' waited to be buried under a million tons o' water. But may I never live to see lobscouse agin ef the bloomin' thing busted at all! We felt the ship give a lurch an' a jump, an' then she started off at the rate o' thirty knots an hour.
"'Wot are it?' yelled the Cap'n.
"'The water-spout!' I yells back. 'She's picked us up!'"
The Old Sailor paused to gaze around the horizon, and the two boys gazed at one another in breathless amazement. In a moment their remarkable friend resumed his narrative.
"It weren't no sort o' pickle fur a decent old barkentine to be in, an' the Herrin' Bones knowed it, but there she were. She were a-sailin' round and round like a chicken with its head off. Her keel were in the water o' the spout, an' her masts was a-stickin' out sideways like toothpicks out o' old Bill Smorkey's mouth arter dinner. W'y, blow me fur a farmer ef I don't b'lieve she'd 'a' fell off the bloomin' thing sideways ef it hadn't bin that the wind wot the spout made a-goin' round filled the sail she had spread, an' so kep' her up.
"'Clew up the foretops'l!' hollered Pierre Crust.
"'Let it alone,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he. 'D'ye want to fall off this 'ere marine buzz-saw an' git drownded?'
"'Stop the ship; we're out o' our course,' sez Tobias Kitten, the carpenter, w'ich the same he ort to bin a tailor, 'cos w'y, he didn't know no more about a ship nor a feller wot sits cross-legged onto a table an' mends pants fur a livin'.
"'Out o' our course!' sez the Cap'n, sez he. 'I wish the bloomin' water-spout were out o't.'
"All hands was a-layin' flat on deck, with our feet agin' the lee rail—leastways it ort to bin the lee rail, 'cos it were the one wot were down, but it weren't, 'cos the wind were blowin' up, an' things was ginerally goin' back end fust, like a Chinese junk in a head-sea.
"'D'ye think she'd right herself ef we cut away the masts?' Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke sez he to me.
"'Mebbe she would,' sez I to he; 'but ef she did we'd have water on top o' us, an' then good-by.'
"'Then I'm blowed ef I know wot to do with her,' sez he to me, sez he. An' me not knowin' wot to say back, I didn't say nothin', but hung on with both hands.
"'Oh my! oh my!' sez Pierre Crust; 'we're a-goin' up this 'ere dreadful thing. Look down!'
"An', sure 'nuff, w'en I looked over the side I seed a ship away down below us on the sea, an' her Cap'n were a-lookin' at us through a telescup, he were.
"'Salt me down fur a mackerel,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, 'ef ever I thought that any ship o' mine would go fur to turn herself into a bloomin' balloon!'
"All the time we was a-sailin' round an' round the spout like it was a corkscrew worked by steam, an' we was a-goin' up an' up.
"'I wonder ef there's water 'nuff up there to float the old hooker?' sez Pierre Crust.
"'Waal,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, 'she can't go aground in the clouds, anyhow, an' there ain't no rocks either.'
"'Waal,' sez I to he, sez I, 'w'ere d'ye think she will go?'
"An' he jess looks at me fur a minute, an' then sez he, 'Preehaps you'd like to get out a chart an' figger out yer position,' sez he to me, him bein' Cap'n an' me fust mate.
"All this time the Herrin' Bones were a-sailin' around an' around the bloomin' water-spout an' goin' up an' up. Now you know, 'cos you jess seed a werry short time ago, that them water-spouts widens out at the top till they just spreads right out into the flat clouds. Waal, we all commenced fur to wonder wot'd happen to us ef the Herrin' Bones kep' on a-goin' up. Putty soon she beginned fur to lean over so that her deck weren't no safe place to stay on, an' then Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke he orders all han's fur to go b'low.
THE PRECARIOUS POSITION OF THE "HERRIN' BONES."
"'Might as well go to the clouds comf'table,' sez he. We all went b'low an' shut all the hatches. Then there weren't nothin' to do 'ceptin' fur to wait developments, as the old hen said w'en she sot down on the duck's egg. Byme-by the bark were hove over so fur that we was all a-settin' on her side, with the decks risin' up like walls on both sides of us. We could hear the ballast tumblin' over itself down in the hold, an' our stores was mixed up into the werry wust sea-salad wot any one ever seed.
"'Oh my! oh my!' sez Pierre Crust, sez he, hidin' his head in a cracker-box, 'we're a-goin' to fall out o' the clouds upside down an' be all smashed up.'
"He were a werry ostridge sort o' man, he were, 'cos he allers thort as how he were out o' danger ef he had his measly old head hid. Howsumever, we all thort putty much the same as he did, an' we weren't in no partikler humor fur to dance hornpipes about it.
"'She's a gittin' furder over!' yelled Tobias Kitten.
"An' so she were. We couldn't stay on the sides o' her any more, but had to sit down on the under sides o' the decks—wot shore-folks would call the ceilin'. An' the furniture in the cabin, bein' screwed fast, were all a-hangin' down from overhead.
"'Waal, may I be squilgeed inside an' out with a paint brush,' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he, 'ef ever I expected fur to be master o' any wessel wot were so undecent as to sail on her head.'
"'Tobias Kitten,' sez I, 'slide back the hatch an inch an' tell us what ye can see.'
"An' Tobias he laid down flat on his face, slid the hatch back, and peaked out. Then he shut it with a bang, an' turned paler'n he were afore.
"'S'help me gracious goodness!' sez he; 'yo can't see nothin' 'cept white steam.'
"Then we knowed we was up in the clouds fur sure, an' we all felt putty ser'ous; 'cos w'y, w'd never bin there afore, an' we didn't know nothin about the rules an' regulations o' livin' up there. All on a suddent there were a most fearful crash o' thunder.
"'By the great hook block!' sez Cap'n Gawge W. Smoke, sez he, 'we're in a thunder-cloud.'
"'An' mebbe w'en it begins for to rain,' sez I, 'we'll git rained down to 'arth agin.'
"'Oh my! Oh my!' hollered Pierre Crust, out o' the cracker-box. 'On our heads! Oh dear! We're all dead men, sure.'
"Waal, arter that fur half an hour it were not possible fur to carry on any werry improvin' conwersation, 'cos w'y, it were a-thunderin' an' a-lightnin' an' a-roarin' all around us, sech as no one never heerd afore. Then all on a suddent the bloomin' deck dropped right from under us, an' we was kinder floatin' around, a-grabbin' right an' left at things, all 'ceptin' Pierre Crust, an' he jess kep' his head in the cracker-box an' kicked out with his feet.
"'We're a-fallin'! We're a-fallin'!' he yelled.
"An' so we wuz. An' w'ile we wuz a-fallin' I seed the side o' the wessel come under me, an' then slide around till the floor o' the cabin were under me, an' then—boom! There were a most awful thump, an' a squash like wot ye hear w'en yo throw a stone into a mud-puddle, an' there we was."
"Where?" cried both boys.
"In the blessed Atlantic Ocean," said the Old Sailor, solemnly, "about a hundred miles this side o' Bermooda. An' Pierre Crust he pulled his head out o' the cracker-box an' bounced on deck, an' sez he:
"'Wot was all you men so scared about? Turn to, now, an' get the cloth on her, an' we'll make Sandy Hook Light-ship in two days.'
"An' so we did, too. An' w'en we got to New York we read in the papers as how the Cap'n o' the ship Beeswax had seen a cur'ous mirage of a ship sailin' round an' round a water-spout. But we never could get nobody to b'lieve as how 'twere us."
[IN THE OLD HERRICK HOUSE.]
BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.
CHAPTER III.
he first week of Valentine's stay passed rapidly. So much of his time was occupied in visits to the oculist and in seeing the sights of the city that he was not in the house during the greater part of the day.
The Misses Herrick began to fuel some degree of liking for the boy, who, though occasionally noisy, was always polite, and he and Elizabeth were soon firm friends.
She had carried out her intention of consulting him about the affairs which most interested her. She had told him of her longing for their father's return and of the letter she had written to him; she had even conducted him to the mysterious room.
Her aunts had gone out of town for the afternoon, and Miss Rice was also absent. The coast was exceptionally clear, for Marie, who had charge of the little girl, was only too ready to neglect her duties.
Elizabeth was somewhat disappointed, however, by the effect produced upon Valentine by the disclosure of the room, or rather, the lack effect. He was apparently not in the least impressed.
He looked about him, inspected the letters, took down a little clock from the mantelpiece and examined it, and then walked to the window.
"Well," said Elizabeth, who was impatiently waiting for some expression of wonder, "what do you think of it?"
"I don't see anything to make such a fuss over. Just a room, like anybody's else."
"But whose was it?"
"Don't know and don't care."
"You don't? Why, I think it is the most exciting thing I ever heard of!"
"If that isn't just like a girl! I suppose Marjorie would go wild over it too. But come along down to the garden. I haven't seen the Brady family yet, and I believe that is one of the girls down in the alley now."
"It is," said Elizabeth, joining him at the window. "It is Eva Louise. Very well, we will go down. But I do wish you would be more excited over the room."
"It takes a good deal to excite me," replied her guest. "If it were a game of football, now, or a bicycle-race, I might get excited; but just a room!"
It would be impossible to convey an idea of the lofty scorn expressed by Valentine's voice; and much disappointed and feeling somewhat crushed, Elizabeth put away the keys. Then getting her hat and warm jacket, for the fall days were growing colder, she followed Valentine to the garden, and together they went out through the back gate.
It is one of the peculiarities of Philadelphia that small streets known as "alleys" intersect the larger thoroughfares, and in many cases behind the handsomest houses are small dwellings in which live very poor families.
The Herricks' garden occupied a large amount of space, and the alley and its inhabitants were almost too far away to be noticeable; but they were there, all the same, and here Elizabeth's friends, the Brady family, lived in a manner which formed a startling contrast to her own home.
"I have thought of something," exclaimed Elizabeth, stopping short in the alley. Eva Louise, seeing them coming, had disappeared behind her own back gate. Even in so humble an abode as that of the Bradys it was only the back which opened upon the alley.
"What is it?" asked Valentine.
"It is about the Bradys," said Elizabeth, standing close to him and speaking in a low, mysterious voice that she might not be overheard from the other side of the fence. "Don't you think, Val, that it must be very hard for those girls to live in such a tiny little house and never to have a bit good time? Why, Eva Louise thinks the very nicest thing she can do is to play jack-stones on people's door-steps. Just think of it, Val, jack-stones! And she told me once that she had never been inside of any house, except those in their street that are like their own!"
"Well, what of it? We can't help it; and what is your idea?"
"But we can help it! That is just what I am going to tell you. We can invite the Bradys in to see us."
"Oh, my eye! What would Aunt Caroline say?"
Elizabeth was silent for a minute. She had not thought of that. "I don't know," she said, slowly. "I don't suppose Aunt Caroline would like it. We will have to give it up."
"No, we won't," returned Val, who was becoming bored with city life and longed for excitement of some kind. "Let's have a party to-day while the aunts are away. They would never know."
"We might; but I should tell them afterwards, of course. I really should, Val."
"Seems to me you are getting pretty particular all of a sudden. How about that room that you go to all the time on the sly?"
"That is true. I don't believe that is right. Why didn't you say so before, Val? I will tell Aunt Caroline to-night."
"I say," interrupted Valentine, "I've got a dandy idea! Let's ask the Brady family over, and take them up to that room! No one will ever know, and it would be a jolly lark. I'll open the front door, and the servants won't know, either. It will be no end of fun. You go after them now and bring them over. You see, if we had them in the other part of the house we couldn't keep them out of sight, and the servants would make a fuss."
Elizabeth looked doubtful. "I should like to," she said, "but we shall have to keep very quiet there, and not disturb the things in the room much. It really seems as if we ought to give them a good time, though, and when I explain it all to Aunt Caroline I don't believe she will mind; do you? At least, not so very much."
"Of course she won't," said Valentine, hopefully, upon whom the scheme had taken a strong hold. "Go and get them and bring them around to the front door, and I will let you in."
And without giving her time to remonstrate, Val left her and ran up the garden walk to the house.
"After all," said Elizabeth to herself, "it can't be a wrong thing to do, for it says in the Bible that when people give parties they ought to invite all kinds of queer people. I remember perfectly it says to call in the lame, the halt, and the blind. I always thought 'call in' was such a funny expression, but I am sure it says it somewhere in the Bible, and I think it was about that party. Now the Brady family are not lame or blind, but perhaps they are halt. I never knew what halt meant, and very likely they are halt. Anyhow, I mean to call them in." And suiting the action to the word, she raised her voice and called loudly: "Eva Louise! Eva Louise!"
Eva Louise had been surveying her neighbors through a hole in the fence for some time. She had even caught a word or two of the conversation, and had heard her own name mentioned, but she had not understood what it was all about. Now, seeing that Elizabeth was alone, she opened the gate.
"What do yer want?" she asked.
"Is Bella at home?"
"Guess so."
"And Tom?"
"Nope."
"Is Dick?"
"Nope."
"Isn't George?"
"Nope."
"Nor Billy?"
"Nope."
"Oh, dear me, I am so sorry! Then who is at home?"
"Me an' Bella an' the baby an' ma an', I guess, pop. He's mostly home. Pop ain't workin' now, but the boys is. What do yer want?"
"Well, I want to invite you all over to our house. I am sorry the boys are not at home." Here Elizabeth paused, somewhat embarrassed. She did not care particularly about having "ma" and "pop" Brady. The former was inclined to be cross, and there was a disagreeable odor about Mr. Brady which it was well to avoid. Elizabeth did not know just what it was, but it reminded her of that which was sometimes wafted to her from a corner saloon. Clearly it would not do to "call in" Mr. and Mrs. Brady. "Well," she said, with a sudden inspiration, "this is to be a young people's party. My brother and I are going to give it. I want to invite you and Bella to my house right away."
"To your house?" repeated the wondering Eva Louise.
"Yes. And we will go around outside to Fourth Street. Go get Bella."
So Eva Louise went into the house and informed her astonished family that she and Bella were "axed to a party over to Herrickses." Whereupon Mrs. Brady promptly seized first one and then the other of her daughters, vigorously applied a scrubbing-brush to hands and faces, set upon the tangled heads two gaudy hats with lace and flowers, pinned together the gaping rent in Bella's frock, and pronounced them ready.
"And mind yer manners," she cautioned. "Act pretty, an' mebbe the ladies'll give yer each a present. There's no knowin'."
And then they rejoined Elizabeth in the alley, where she had waited, their hearts beating high with hope.
The little group passed out of the alley and around through Spruce Street to Fourth Street. A number of people turned and looked at the oddly assorted trio walking so soberly along, Elizabeth, in her large felt hat and pretty jacket, between Eva Louise and Bella, in their tawdry finery and ragged frocks; but Elizabeth was quite unconscious of attracting attention.
Her mind was absorbed with a new question which had presented itself. She had never heard of a party where the guests were not given some kind of refreshment, and she knew of no way in which she could provide it for the present occasion.
It would not do to ask the servants for something to eat, neither would it be proper to stop and buy what was necessary at the cake-shop while her guests were with her. She must consult with Valentine.
THE ARRIVAL OF EVA LOUISE AND BELLA.
Her fellow-conspirator was watching for them, and opened the door at once.
"Everything is all right," he whispered to Elizabeth. "The cook is busy making cake, and the other girls are all chattering, and James has gone round to the stable to see the men there. There won't be anybody around to see us. We'll take them right up."
"But wait a minute, Val," returned Elizabeth; "I want to ask you something. And first I must introduce you. That is the way I have heard Aunt Caroline do sometimes. This is my brother, Mr. Valentine Herrick, Miss Eva Louise and Miss Bella Brady. Now you know each other and can talk. If I had not introduced you, you know, you would not have been able to talk at all."
Apparently the introduction did not have the desired effect of promoting conversation, for Bella put her finger in her mouth, and Eva Louise turned her back upon the company, while Val himself with difficulty repressed a laugh.
"Will you please walk into the drawing-room and sit down a minute?" said their hostess. "I must speak to my brother, if you will please excuse me."
The guests obeyed, and were presently seated upon two of great-grandfather Herrick's chairs with the high carved backs, while Julius Cæsar from the window-seat stared in astonishment.
"We must give them something to eat, Val," whispered Elizabeth, in the hall. "How shall we get it?"
"I will go buy it," returned Val, promptly. "Let's see; have you got any money?"
"Yes; I have seventy-five cents, and if that isn't enough, I have some more in my little bank."
"Oh, that is enough, with what I've got. You will have to stay in the parlor till I get back, so as to let me in," and seizing his cap, he was off.
Elizabeth rejoined her visitors in the drawing-room and tried to make a conversation. Somehow, to talk to the Brady girls had never before been so difficult. In the alley there was always so much to say. Now they sat stiffly and straight upon their chairs, and their faces looked preternaturally solemn. There was silence in the room for a few minutes, and Julius came and rubbed himself against Elizabeth's feet. This suggested a topic.
"Do you like cats?" she asked.
"Yes," said Bella.
"Nope," said Eva Louise, simultaneously.
There was another pause.
"It is a very nice day to-day."
"Yes," they both replied.
Elizabeth thought deeply for several minutes. What could she say next?
"Are you at all halt?" she asked, presently.
The Misses Brady merely stared.
"Are you at all halt?" she repeated.
"Yes, I guess so," answered Bella, who, though doubtful, thought it polite to agree.
"Oh, that is a good thing," said Elizabeth, in a relieved tone. "I did not exactly know, you know, so I thought I had better ask. I am very glad you are halt. That makes it all right. And there is my brother come back. I will go and let him in, and then we will go up to the party."
Valentine returned laden with oddly shaped packages, and the four ascended the stairs together.
"It's a dandy old feast I've got," whispered the boy; "all the things that look so good, but you never have at home. We shall need some plates, though. I'll put these bundles down at the door, and while you are getting the keys I'll run down to the dining-room for the plates."
He came back in a short time with a pile of Miss Herrick's best china, the plates which were used for the salad course when she gave a dinner; and Elizabeth having procured the keys, they entered the room. The guests were still under the spell of silence. Being invited to remove their hats, they did so and laid them on the bed. Then they gazed at the floor.
"What shall we do?" said Elizabeth to Val, in an under-tone. She had never before realized what hard work it was to give a party.
"Let's begin on the grub," suggested her brother, whose appetite was sharpened by the thought of the cake-shop dainties which could never be enjoyed at home.
This seemed to be the best thing to do under existing circumstances, and Elizabeth removed the few articles which were on the table, and Val lifted it over to the centre of the room. A towel was spread over it for a table-cloth, the plates were set thereon, and then Val opened his packages and proudly placed the contents upon the plates.
There was a half pie, presumably custard, four large cocoanut balls, four sour-balls, four huge doughnuts, four buns (generously speckled with currants), and, crowning delicacy, a paper box of vanilla ice-cream.
Valentine made another raid upon the dining-room, and returned with forks, knives, and spoons, announcing that he had barely escaped meeting James, who was on his way up the back stairs just as Val left the pantry.
The guests were then invited to draw up their chairs, which they did with an alacrity that was most encouraging.
"I wonder if 'halt' means hungry?" thought Elizabeth. "I shouldn't wonder if it did."
She politely ignored the fact that both visitors scorned the assistance of forks in eating the pie, and devoted herself to removing currants from a bun. Somehow it did not seem an appetizing feast to her, but Valentine and the Brady girls were enjoying it, and that was all that was necessary.
At last the repast was over, the final course, consisting of a sour-ball, which so protruded the cheek of each member of the party that speech was for a time impossible, and then Elizabeth wondered what they should do next.
"Suppose we play a game," suggested Val, as soon as he could speak.
"So we will," agreed Elizabeth. "What shall it be? Eva Louise, do you know any nice games?"
"Nope."
"Do you, Bella?"
"Jack-stones."
"Oh yes, jack-stones. Well, we haven't got any."
"Yes, we have, too. I brung 'em."
"Oh, did you?"
Apparently there was no help for it. Elizabeth despised jack-stones, which hurt her knuckles, and which she never could catch; but one must be polite in one's own house.
"I say, you are funny ones!" said Val, who had thoroughly enjoyed his luncheon, and had now time to grasp the situation. Elizabeth's company manners amused him extremely, and the whole thing was "no end of a lark," as he expressed it.
"Why don't you play something you don't play at home?" he asked. "Let's try 'Fish, flesh, or fowl,' or 'When I was in Spain,' or some other nice game?"
Bella said nothing, but Eva Louise at last found her voice.
"Ef we don't play jack-stones, we ain't agoin' to play nuthin'. We're agoin' home."
Bella here nudged her sister's elbow.
"We ain't agoin' home till we get our presents. Yer know what ma said."
This aside was so plainly audible to the host and hostess, that Elizabeth looked shocked, but Val roared with laughter.
"Very well," said Elizabeth; "we will play jack-stones."
But at the first throw Val, in the exuberance of his feelings, tossed them so high that one landed on the table, right in the centre of one of Miss Herrick's delicate china plates, breaking it squarely in two.
"My eye!" exclaimed the boy. "What have I done?"
"Jack-stones are a hateful game, anyhow," cried Elizabeth, whose dismay caused her to forget her manners. "I don't know what Aunt Caroline will say. It is all your fault, Eva Louise, that Val broke the plate, for you made us play jack-stones."
"'Tain't, neither," returned Eva Louise, with asperity. "No one didn't tell him to throw the jack up there. An' ef this is what yer call a party, I don't think much of it. We hev as good pie as that at home, an' we can get ice-cream o' the ice-cream man any day he comes round. I say, Bella, let us go home."
But Bella still held back. Elizabeth looked at them for a moment in silent wrath, and then her feelings found words.
"Well, I should be very glad indeed if you did go home. I think you are very rude girls. And I never knew you had ice-cream whenever you wanted it, and all those nice things."
"No more we do," interposed Bella; "leastways, I never seen it. Eva Louise was makin' that up, I guess."
"Oh, was she? Then she tells stories, does she? I don't want to have anything more to do with you. You are very, very rude girls, and I am sorry I invited you to the party. I only asked you because you were halt."
"I dun'no' what yer talkin' about," replied Eva Louise, as she put on her hat; "only I guess yer'd better not name me no names, or I'll hev yer 'rested. Halt! I ain't no halt;" and with her head held high as she proudly sniffed the air, she walked from the room. Bella still lingered.
"Don't yer give no presents at yer party?" she asked.
Elizabeth had already begun to repent of her hasty speech. She feared that she had been rude, and she felt that she must make amends.
"Wait a minute," she said, flying up the short flight of stairs which led to her own room.
Eva Louise delayed her departure, and Bella looked more hopeful. Valentine hovered in the background, wondering what was going to happen next.
Presently Elizabeth returned. In one hand she held a silver calendar which had ornamented her desk, in the other a handsomely bound book.
"These are all I can find," she said, bestowing one upon either guest. "You see, I have to give you things that are really my own, and not Aunt Caroline's or Aunt Rebecca's. Val, we will go down with them to the front door."
The little procession in silence descended the two long double flights of stairs. The front door was opened for them, and the two visitors were about to depart, one carrying the silver calendar, which flashed gayly in a ray of sunlight, the other holding the large red-covered book.
"Good-by!" they said, cheerfully, feeling mollified by the presents.
"Good-by," returned Val and Elizabeth.
And even as they spoke a carriage drew up at the door, and from it stepped Miss Herrick. She paused in astonishment, and looked at the two strange figures emerging from her own front door, and at the two frightened faces in the hall beyond.
"What does this mean?" she asked, as she swept by them into the house and the door was closed.