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Ebook has 83 lines and 5398 words, and 2 pages

Produced by: Annie McGuire

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

A CARGO OF BURNING COAL.

BY AN OLD SHIPMASTER.

The reader may think that while coal must be a dirty cargo it is in other respects an innocent one; but there is no shipmaster who does not dread a long voyage with this kind of freight, for many a fine vessel has been lost owing to the coal taking fire through spontaneous combustion; therefore the greatest care is exercised in carrying it, and whenever the weather will permit, the hatches are opened in order to give the gases in the hold an opportunity to escape. The regular coal-carriers are fitted with ventilators set in different parts of the deck, and the holds of the vessels are kept pure and wholesome by turning the gaping mouths of a number of the huge funnels so that the wind will pour into and down them to the interior of the ship, and keep up a circulation by escaping through other ventilators that are turned in a contrary direction.

After reaching about the parallel of twenty degrees south we got a stress of weather for over a week, in which several of our sails were blown away and a number of our light spars were wrecked. All our live-stock of pigs and chickens were drowned, owing to the flooding of our decks, for we sat very low in the water.

On the day that we ran into pleasant weather again we started to take off the hatches, when a gassy, choking smell poured out of the opening. The cargo was on fire. There was only one thing to do--to replace the hatches, bore holes through them, and pump streams of water into the hold, endeavoring to drown the fire before it gained additional headway. All hands were called to the task, and for twenty-four hours we worked for our lives, the crew being divided into relief gangs so that the deck-pumps might be kept constantly going.

There were two boats, the Captain commanding one and the chief mate the other. Each had been provided with a chart and compass, and, in addition to these instruments, the two officers had carried away their sextants in order to navigate by the sun and stars. Into each boat had been stowed food and water, which it was calculated would last about ten days by putting all hands on short allowance; but it was hoped that before the provisions were consumed we would either be picked up by a passing vessel or successful in sailing to Rio Janeiro, distant from us something less than six hundred miles. The Captain's boat being the larger of the two carried the second mate, steward, cook, and eight seamen, while the mate's boat held the carpenter and four seamen--myself included among the latter.

The boats laid alongside of one another while the Captain and mate decided upon the course to be steered; then we separated, made sail to the southeast breeze that had set in, and stretched away into the northwest, the Captain's boat in the lead. The wind gathered strength from the southeast, giving us a following breeze for the port toward which we were steering, and both boats made good weather of the moderate sea then running, sweeping along at the rate of five knots to the hour.

All that afternoon the boats kept within sight of one another, and when night fell not over a quarter of a mile divided us. With the first flush of dawn we swept the expanse of waters, but nothing was to be seen. We were alone. Every little while during the day that followed we would scan the horizon, hoping to lift the long-boat's sail into view; but in vain. We never saw her again, or heard tidings of the twelve brave souls from whom we had parted only a few hours before. That she never reached port is certain; but what her ultimate fate proved, no one knows.

It blew up a gale of wind that afternoon, and I heard the mate say that the storm experienced during the week that was past had recurved, and that we would get it worse than ever on its back track. To prevent the boat from foundering, we unstepped the mast, made a span to it by securing a length of rope to each end, and to the middle of this bridle we bent the boat's painter. Then we dropped this sea-anchor over the bows, and rode to it, the strain upon the painter keeping the head of the boat to the seas that rolled down on us.

When night settled upon the deep it shut out one of the wildest sights of ocean-lashed waters that I had ever seen; but the darkness only intensified the terror, for in the blackness we would feel the frail boat swung with dizzy velocity up and up and up on some mountainous sea, as though she was never going to stop; then, while the great seething crest was roaring in a thousand diabolical voices about us, she would drop down, down, down with a motion that was like falling through space.

It might have been the middle of the night when, worn out from the labor of bailing without intermission for many hours, I threw myself down in the bows of the boat, and locking my arms around one of the thwarts to keep from being pitched about, I fell into an exhausted sleep. I don't know how long I slept, but I was brought to my senses by a sea bursting into the boat, and I found my legs wedged under the seat as I sat half suffocated on the flooring with the water up to my armpits. Looking aft, I could see by the phosporescent glow of the breaking seas that no shapes of men were visible against the background of sky. My companions were gone.

The gunwale of the boat was within a few inches of the water, and it needed only the spume of another wave falling in the boat to sink her. There was no time for indulging in grief over the loss of my shipmates--there was time only for work, and very little for that, if I was to save my life. Tearing off my cap, I used it as a bailer and worked desperately.

At last another morning came, and with it the gale broke; but I allowed the boat to remain hove to during that day and following night, so as to give the seas a chance to go down.

The second morning dawned clear and beautiful, with the ocean subsided into long even swells, and the wind settled down again to the regular trades. Most of the provisions had been ruined by the sea that had filled the boat, but I found two water-tight tins filled with pilot-bread that promised to supply my needs for some time to come. The fresh water in the boat-breakers had kept sweet owing to the bungs being in place.

I was at once sensible that there was some water in the hold by the peculiar motion of the vessel as she rose and fell to the seas that underran her; but at the same time it was apparent that there could not be anything like a dangerous quantity, otherwise the plane of the deck would have floated much closer to the surface of the sea. Without regarding the nationality of the name, it was clear to me that the vessel was either a Portuguese or Italian trader by the rainbow character of her paint-work, the slovenliness of the rigging, that was yet almost intact upon the fore, and, in spite of the drenching that she had received, the unmistakable evidences of dirt everywhere. There were no boats left, but whether they had been crushed in the wreck of the masts or had received the crew of the barkentine--for such I saw had been her rig--I could not tell.

Entering the cabin, I overhauled the four state-rooms it contained, finding in three of them nothing but such odds and ends as are peculiar to sailors' chests, and in the fourth room, which had been used as a pantry, quite an assortment of boxes and barrels of provisions, although there was proof that some of them had been broken into and rummaged quite recently.

A sailor is never idle long after laying out his work. First I emptied my boat of its water-breakers and provisions, then let it tow astern. Next I got an axe out of the boatswain's locker and chopped away the rigging that held the broken spars to the bark, then when the vessel was clear I squared the topsail-yard by the braces, ran aloft, cast off the gaskets that held the sail, descended to the deck, where I sheeted home the topsail as well as possible, and carried the halyards through a leading block to the capstan, on which I hove away until I had lifted the yard as high as my strength allowed. Next I ran up the jib, sheeted it down, and raced aft to the wheel. I put the tiller up, and the old bucket at once answered her helm. When I got her fairly before the wind I lashed the wheel, and seeing that she would steer herself, with only a little watching, I got to work at the pumps.

The next morning I again set my topsail, and scudded away to leeward while I finished clearing the bark of water.

I shook my head and said, thumping my own breast, "No speakee Portuguese; me American!"

At this he yelled, accompanying his words with such a tremendous smiting of his poor ribs that I thought he would beat them in.

"Me speakee Americano! Me Capitano! Me Capitano this sheep! How you come? me say!"

I held up my hand as a sign to the frantic, jabbering monkeys to keep silence, then I explained partly by broken English and the rest by signs how I had found the bark deserted, had pumped her out, and was trying to reach the coast of South America in her. I ended by telling the Captain that I was glad to see him, and to give him back his vessel.

"You take dees. Me love brave Americano sailor who save me sheep."

CARRIER-PIGEONS.

BY ANNE HELME.

Great care is taken with the pigeons. Their pedigree is kept and they are all named. Then, too, a mark is stamped on their under wings, so there shall be no mistake, and by this means they have often been recovered and sent home when they have lost their bearings or have been stolen. The man whose duty it is to attend to them takes a personal interest in each and every bird.

At night, when they come home, he looks to see that all are there, and to prevent any strangers from mixing with his own particular flock. Pigeons are very homelike in their tastes, and rarely does a day pass that several strange birds do not join them. They are fed chiefly on cracked corn, but they require more water than food--and water is absolutely necessary to their health and happiness. The amount they consume is almost incredible--more than double that of other birds.

Their home instinct, which is, of course, their distinguishing characteristic, is very marvellous. So strongly developed is it that it is impossible to keep the older birds away, and the gift of a pair of old birds is a very thankless one, as they will inevitably fly home the moment they are liberated, although they may be carried miles and miles away, and in a covered basket. The birds chosen to carry the messages from the yachts or steamers are sent down the Bay for several days, so that they may prove how swiftly they can fly back, and each day are liberated, and a record kept of the time they make in getting back to the office.

When a newspaper tug starts down the bay for the yacht-races which are taking place just now, one of the principal articles taken aboard is the big basket filled with carrier-pigeons, and each bird has a brass band on its foot. At different times during the race messages are written on the thinnest of paper and made into small parcels. These are attached to the band, and the birds thrown up into the air. A pair are usually sent off together, as they fly better, it is thought, in that way.

For a moment they wheel about apparently dazed, poise themselves for perhaps a second, and then fly straight for home.

On one of these races from half an hour to thirty-five minutes was the longest time taken from the moment they were thrown into the air until they arrived at their destination, and the messages were taken from their feet. It was a beautiful sight, and a wondrous one, to see these birds arrive. Curiously enough, in some instances they brought back with them strange pigeons who had joined them on the trip, evidently much interested to know the outcome of the yacht-race. The strange birds did not stay at the cote after nightfall, and apparently felt themselves quite out of place with pigeons of such intelligence.

The results were beyond the most sanguine hopes, for within a shorter time than had been deemed possible they had all, almost without exception, returned to their pigeon-houses.

It would not mean a great addition, either in money or care, to have these birds on every ship that left the port, and certainly great good might be done and endless anxiety saved in many instances, if intelligence as to a disabled ship's whereabouts could reach her owners.

In order to make carrier-pigeons at home in any place they must be taken there very young. Even birds six weeks old will make their way back to the nest, the instant they are liberated, as distance is as nothing to them. One pair sent out to Wilmington, Delaware, were kept shut up for six weeks, fed and watered with the utmost care and regularity. The seventh week they were set free, and at once disappeared. Their owner telegraphed to their old home, and received an answer that the birds had arrived there before his telegram was received.

One pair of the pigeons, which were named Annie Rooney and McGinty, were given to a boy of eleven who lives in New York city. They were very young when they were given to him, and he determined to train them so that they would always make their home at his house. For six weeks he kept them in his room in a mocking-bird cage, and was very careful about the food and water. In the day-time he put the cage outside the window, and when it rained covered it with a cloth, for pigeons, while they use a great deal of water both to bathe in and to drink, do not like to be out in the rain.

When six weeks were passed he opened the cage door and fastened it so that the birds could go out. At first they were contented to poke their heads out of the open door, but finally, after a great deal of conversation , out they flew. They seemed hardly to know the use of their wings at first, and circled around in a dazed way, alighting on the top of a neighboring roof, where they apparently had again a great deal to say to each other. For twenty minutes they talked, then seemed to have made up their minds to try a long flight, for with one graceful swoop into the air, off they flew. Hours went by, and they did not return, and when it was nearly dark all hope was abandoned; but suddenly there was a whir of wings, and Annie Rooney came home. McGinty still was absent. Annie Rooney perched herself on her roost, every feather rumpled up most disconsolately, while the boy who owned them went to bed very low in his mind. At daylight next morning he was awakened by such a cooing as he had never heard before. Rushing to the window, there he saw McGinty, in the wildest excitement, and with his head almost buried in the little dish which held the drinking water.

From that day the cage was left outside, and the door taken off, so that the birds might come and go as they chose.

Then, alas! began their troubles. So pleased were they with their little journey into the world that they at once set out to explore the houses near by, and every day a note was sent in from some neighbor to the effect: "Extremely sorry, but your pigeons fly into my bedroom and knock down all the ornaments." "Your birds insist upon walking up and down under my bed, making most unearthly sounds; I am afraid of birds and cannot stand having them in my house." "Again your birds have flown into my windows, and are in the children's doll-house. They refuse to come out, and make such a hideous noise as to alarm the children."

These three notes were only samples of others, and after a family conclave it was decided the pigeons must be sent away. Summer was coming on, and it was finally concluded the country was the best place for them.

Their owner took them in a covered basket to a farm on Long Island, where they were put into a pigeon-house, and provided with water and food. The next day they were apparently happy, so with many regrets they were told good-by, and the boy returned to town.

It was a long journey--some hours--and it was rather a sad-faced youth who mounted the steps and told his mother he had left his birds in the country. It was then six o'clock in the evening. At ten minutes past six there was a great fluttering of wings, and lo and behold, Annie Rooney and McGinty had returned, and prouder and happier pigeons never were seen.

ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.

"Really," said Tommy at last, "I never saw such a greedy thing as you in all my life."

"I can't help it," answered the Gopher, complacently; "the eating question is a most important one, and I'm afraid they'll all get up and say dinner is over before I've had half enough."

"It seems to me that you have had more than enough. And, besides, I have an aunt who says one should always arise from the table hungry."

"Never you mind that Ant," said the Gopher. "Ants don't count. They are so little they can't hold anything, anyhow. As for getting up from the table hungry, that is something I cannot understand. I always sit down hungry: and it would never do to be hungry at both ends of the meal, now would it?"

On reflection Tommy did not think it would, and as he had been more than half inclined at the outset toward the Gopher's view of the case, they soon agreed on this point. Then the little animal said,

"Thtsnawflyfnnyunsnt?"

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