Read Ebook: Lords of the Stratosphere by Burks Arthur J

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 548 lines and 26752 words, and 11 pages

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MAY 26, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

THE CRUISE OF A COMMERCE-DESTROYER.

BY YATES STIRLING, JUN.

Like a picture in a kinetoscope, all this has changed. Every man on board has awakened from his lethargy. All hands are alert and gazing at the horizon to the eastward. What is the cause of this sudden awakening? Two words from the lookout in the foretop: "Sail ho!" Yes, broad on the port-bow can be seen a low line of black smoke that to any but a sailor's eye would appear to be a cloud on the distant horizon. Scarcely a quarter of an hour, and with all speed the cruiser is cutting the sea in the direction of the fast-approaching smoke.

Eager young officers have ascended into the tops to be the first to make out the character of the stranger. In the foretop are two midshipmen, still in their teens, class-mates at the Naval Academy, and stanch friends. Scarcely a thought has one the other does not share. With that reckless ambition that is one of the attributes of youth they are both longing for excitement. Their dreams of battle and glory have toppled like a castle of cards.

Once only, while coming out of a neutral port, she had to run the gauntlet of two of the enemy's cruisers, but with her superior speed two hours sufficed to put the enemy hull-down astern, with but slight damage to the commerce-destroyer. Her orders were, on the outbreak of the war "to capture or destroy the enemy's commerce wherever met; refuse battle," and this order had been faithfully carried out. All hands had grown rich in prize-money; fresh provisions were obtained in abundance.

Coal was the problem. It had been attempted to coal at sea from captured vessels, but this mode could not be relied upon to replenish the bunkers of a ship with such a tremendous expenditure. So a certain amount of risk had to be run in coaling in neutral ports.

The stranger has drawn near, and is soon made out to be a merchantman, an ocean liner, one of the greyhounds that had plied between New York and Harborport before the outbreak of hostilities. Large volumes of black smoke from her immense smoke-pipes show she has scented danger, and is making all speed to escape.

The young officers in the foretop are thrilled with excitement as their glass shows them the character of the stranger. The younger is a boy of eighteen, his light hair and blue eyes betokening his Saxon ancestry. He is clad in a neat-fitting blue uniform, and his cap set jauntily on the back of his head revealed a mass of light curly locks. With his eyes fairly sparkling, he bears a striking contrast to his companion. Dark and sullen, with lowering eyes and heavy forehead, the other showed not by a single sign that he realizes that in a short time the first and long-cherished battle of his life will be enacted.

The younger lad has dreamed of battles both in his sleep and his waking moments, in which he has cut his way with his sword to honor and distinction. He has oftentimes pictured his friends, his mother, and his sweetheart reading of his heroic deeds in the daily papers of his home, and now it seems to his youthful mind his dreams are to be fulfilled.

The other lad is not a dreamer. Morose, almost cynical, he never gives himself up to such reveries. To him everything appears in a less gilded light. He knows that if the stranger has not superior speed, his services and his companion's will soon be needed on the deck below.

The two ships are now within battle range, and the thunder of their heavy ordnance breaks the stillness of the ocean.

Shells go speeding through the unarmored sides of the ships, their explosions making terrific havoc among their unprotected crews. The picture before the midshipman's eyes is now a reality. Tirelessly the two lads work; their guns are next to each other. As they give their commands in sharp decisive voices, the contrast seems less striking. A shell comes in the gun-port and strikes down the captain of the younger lad's gun; the lock-string falls from his lifeless hand. Gently laying the dead man aside, he takes the lanyard.

Slowly they draw away from their pursuers. The light-house is close on the port beam. The heavy guns there are directed against three dark hulls to the eastward. They are the baffled enemy.

There is a story told of an Irishman who went out in the woods to shoot a bear. It was winter-time, and the Irishman wanted a fur coat very badly. When he finally sighted his bear he cried out, "Ah, there is my fur overcoat!" The bear was very hungry, and when he saw the hunter, he cried out, "Ah, there is my meal!" Well, the hunter fired his rifle and the bear jumped behind the tree. Now, the amusing part of the story is, that the hunter fired his rifle and didn't hit the bear; still he got the fur of the bear for an overcoat because the bear ate the hunter. Which of the two was the better satisfied is still in doubt.

PRACTICAL GOLF.

BY W. G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN.

The question of style is a ghost that will not down. There are those who say that form is the all-important point, and that if you get the swing right all the rest will follow. And there are others who as stoutly affirm that the only thing to do is to thump away at the ball, and trust to nature and the laws of mechanics. Now it is certainly true that style by itself will never drive a ball, and it may be laid down as an axiom that whenever the mind is intent upon some point of how to strike rather than upon the actual business of hitting, a miss more or less palpable is sure to follow. But it is just as true that hands or feet or body may be in such a position that a fair stroke is utterly impossible, and this is surely not golf. Evidently truth lies between the two extremes.

The detection and cure of specific faults are difficult tasks on paper, for very often different causes may produce what is apparently the same effect, and it is obvious that the particular remedy depends upon the specific disease.

For example, the ball has a great tendency to go off to the right of the line instead of straight. Now the reason may be that the player is putting a cut on the ball by drawing in his arms , or he may have the face of the club turned back , or he may be hitting off the heel of the club and at the same time putting a "slice" on the ball. Evidently the same corrective will not answer in every case. For "slicing" proper it will be well to attend to the precept of "slow back," so that the body muscles may be used, and the arms allowed to go freely out both in the up swing and in the "follow on." Perhaps the right foot is too far advanced, and a change in position may encourage the loins and shoulders to get in the work. Try drawing the right foot back in proportion to the amount of "skid." Laying the face back is the result of a wrong grip. The left hand may be too far under, and the right hand may be holding too loosely. Look up the instructions for the proper grip. "Heeling," or hitting off the heel, is due to poor aim. Stand up and hit more carefully.

"Pulling" or "hooking," which sends the ball off to the left of the proper line, is not so common a fault. Generally it is the result of having the club face turned in, and this in turn comes of "pressing," or trying to strike too hard and without the proper swing. Give up the idea that you are hitting at a baseball, and guard against stooping forward.

When a ball is "topped" or hit above the centre it is nearly always due to carelessness, or overdue concentration on some point of style. If your swing is too straight up and down, and you are drawing in your arms across the line of fire, a "top" is pretty sure to follow. Let your arms go out so that the curve of your swing may be longer, or rather flatter, and try to look at the side of your ball, and not straight down upon it. If you are looking persistently at the top of your ball, and your "eye is in," the club head must perforce obey its instructions. It is not only the ball but the side of the ball that you want to hit. Another reason why players "top" is because they are afraid of the ground and of breaking their clubs. Now, as a matter of fact, an honest "sclaff" or scrape does no harm either to the club or to the flight of the ball, except perhaps when the ground is frozen, and the game cannot properly be played at all. Therefore get down to the ball always.

In the approach stroke "slicing" is the most troublesome fault to mend. It is a great help in the shorter shots to keep the right arm rubbing lightly against the body, for the sake of its support, and, indeed, without some such aid steadiness is impossible. And keep the left wrist taut.

It is to be noted that no distinction has been made in these articles between the girl's game and that of her brother's, and, indeed, none is necessary. The same instructions apply, and virtually the same results should follow. The girl may not be able to drive so far, but there is no reason why she should not hold her own in approaching and putting, and a sensible costume will obviously be of advantage.

Left-handed players must of course make the necessary correction in the instructions, but if possible they should try to play in the ordinary style. It is a curious fact that, unlike tennis, billiards, or baseball, first-class golf is seldom acquired by left-handers.

Finally, don't think the game too easy, and so play carelessly, and, on the other hand, don't get discouraged and give it up as too difficult. In the words of an old-time hero of the green, "It's dogged as does it."

CATCHING SHAD FOR MARKET.

BY J. PARMLY PARET.

Hooks and lines are about as useless in shad-fishing as nets would be if eels were wanted. Not one of those long rows of shad you see in the markets was caught with a hook. They were all foolish enough to swim straight into nets spread out to trap them, and they hadn't sense enough to swim out again. So when you see Mr. Shaddie served up before you for your breakfast, you may remember that it is because he has more bones than brains that you have a chance to eat him. Mr. Shaddie inherits two fatal features--his lack of brains and the breadth of his shoulders. One gets him tangled up in fish-nets, and the other prevents his getting out again. Were it not for this, shad would be as scarce in the market as terrapin.

Just as soon as the last ice has left the rivers the shad-fishermen begin to prepare for the fishing season. They must make the most of the few weeks while it lasts, so they never fail to have all their nets ready as soon as the shad begin to "run"--as they call it when the fish commence to swim up the rivers.

There are two ways of catching shad--by small nets set on poles, and with "seine" nets. Most of the fish we see in the markets are taken in the small nets, as the poles are always used in the rivers where the current runs too fast for the "seines." These poles are simply long saplings, like telegraph poles, with their lower ends sharpened so as to stick up in the muddy bottom. The fishermen pick out some part of the river where their nets are not likely to be torn and broken up by passing boats, and then drive down their poles in long rows.

These poles are generally "planted" in water forty or fifty feet deep, so it is not easy to drive them into the bottom so far under the water. Pontoon boats, built by joining two scows or row-boats together, are anchored at the place selected for the row, and the sharpened ends of the long saplings are pushed into the ground. A crossbar is fastened to one of the poles, high out of water, and the fishermen jump up and down on this until the sapling is driven down firmly into the mud. There are anywhere from twenty to forty of these poles in a row, and they are placed about thirty feet from each other.

At the first sign of the fish the nets are set out on these poles. These shad-nets are like enormous fly-traps, open at one end. The meshes are large enough to let the shad put their foolish heads in the nooses, but not big enough to let their shoulders through. The top and bottom of each net are fastened to two long ropes, and the ends of these ropes are tied to wooden rings like barrel hoops, slid over the poles, and sunk down under the surface of the water by weights. So the open end of each net is stretched between two poles, and the meshes belly out with the swift current like a big bag. All along the row these nets are fixed by the fishermen soon after the tide has turned, and then they go ashore to wait for the next tide.

Along comes Mr. Stupid Shaddie, swimming rapidly with the current. Suddenly he runs against the net, and before he knows what has happened his head is thrust through one of the openings in its meshes. Mr. Shaddie foolishly tries to push through the barrier, and soon finds his gills tangled up with the thin cords that hold him. He has not sense enough to turn around when he first finds himself in the net and swim out again the way he came in. The door is still open, but he hates to swim against the tide, so he goes on trying to push ahead until he is hopelessly caught in the net, and the more he struggles the tighter he is held. Mr. Shaddie's brothers, too, are equally stupid. They follow his silly example, and soon there are a number of them struggling in each net.

The fishermen in the mean time have waited patiently on shore. Just before the tide turns again they row out to their nets and haul them up. If they waited too long, Mr. Shaddie and his foolish friends would get out, for the turn of the tide would swing the net in the opposite direction and soon release the struggling fish. The long fishing-boat is manned by four men, and they row out to the nets. The boat is tied at each end to one of the poles, and the "haul" begins. Long notched sticks or boat-hooks are thrust down under the water beside the poles, and the net-ropes pulled up to the surface.

Slowly and cautiously the fishermen, two at each end, pull in the ropes that hold the net. They soon reach the mouth of the bag, and pulling this over the edge of the boat, they quickly haul up the rest of the meshes; for it is then too late for any of the fish to get away. As the net comes up to the surface, Mr. Shaddie and his companions seem too stupid or too much dazed to struggle. When they are jerked out of the water, however, and into the boat, they hop around excitedly for a few minutes, but it is then too late to escape. The fishermen throw their catch into the bottom of the boat, and cast the net back into the water. Then they push along to the next poles, and repeat the same work with the next net.

Down the long row they go, the boat's bottom gradually filling up with the big shad. Sometimes a net will have only one or two in it, while fifteen or twenty are occasionally caught in a single net when the season is at its height. A good haul will often yield three hundred shad, and the fishermen hurry ashore to pack them off to the markets. But shad are not the only fish they get in the nets. Catfish are often pulled up with shad, as well as many other varieties. Some of them are taken ashore and cooked, and others are thrown back into the water.

Then, too, there are the "blackfish," as the fishermen jokingly call the pieces of drift-wood that get tangled up in the meshes. Sometimes these are so heavy as to tear open the nets, and then the shad escape with the "blackfish." Careless captains of passing boats often tear them, too, and oclishers has withheld the facts, not because of their strangeness but because of the effect they might have on the public sanity. In Nepal, for example, the column of light rested for a moment on an ancient temple, and when the light vanished the temple also had vanished, with everybody in it at the time for worship! Rumor had it that some of the worshipers were later found and identified. They appear to have been scattered over half of Nepal--and every last one was smashed almost to a pulp, as though the body had been dropped from an enormous height."

A concerted gasp raced around the assemblage. Then silence again, while the pale-faced Hadley went on with his unbelievable story.

"Were crushed animals later found in the jungle?" asked Jeter quietly.

Hadley turned his somber eyes on the questioner. Every white face, every fearful eye, also turned toward Jeter.

And Hadley nodded.

"It's too much to be coincidence," he said. "The crushed and broken bodies in Nepal and India--of course they aren't so far apart but that natives in either place might have heard the story from the other--but I am inclined to believe in the inner truth of the stories in each case."

Hadley turned to the two scientists. There were other scientists present, but the fact that Jeter and Eyer, who were so soon to follow Kress into the stratosphere--and eternity?--held the places of honor near the desk of the spokesman, was significant.

"What do you gentlemen think?" asked Hadley quietly.

"There is undoubtedly some connection between the two happenings," said Jeter. "I think Eyer and myself will be able to make some report on the matter soon. We will, take off for the stratosphere day after to-morrow."

"Then you think the same thing I do?" said Hadley. "If that is so, can't you start to-morrow? God knows what may happen if we delay longer--though what two of you can do against something which appears to blanket the earth, and strikes from the heavens, I don't know. And yet, the fate of your country may be in your hands."

"We realize that," said Jeter, while Eyer nodded.

Hadley opened his mouth to make some other observation, then closed it again, tightly, as a horrible thing happened.

The conference was being held on the tenth floor of the Hadley building. And just as Hadley started to speak the whole building began to shake, to tremble as with the ague. Jeter turned his eyes on the others, to see their faces blurred by the vibration of the entire building.

Swiftly then he looked toward the windows of the big room.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet