Chapter II: Part 2

We soon sighted the Island of Fernando Norouha which is a penal settlement for the convicts of Brazil. This island is about six miles in circumference and two thousand and twenty feet high. It had a rocky barren appearance with nothing to be seen but a few birds around it. About thirty miles from this island are the Martin Van Rocks, three hundred feet high. In the south Atlantic we sighted the group of Tristan Da Cunha Islands which had a very gloomy, foggy look. Tristan is inhabited by English people and I have been told that the women are particularly handsome there. In this region it is very chilly and damp and though the thermometer stood at fifty-five degrees it seemed much colder. At this time we began to prepare for the heavy weather of our Easting, as the run across the Indian Ocean is called. New sails were bent and everything battened down. The days were very short, the sun rising at about half past seven and setting at five o'clock. We usually made the run about forty degrees south in order to get better winds. What a dreary outlook it was! Nothing but sky and water with waves which were mountains high. The only bit of life outside of our ship's company was a number of birds of a different nature from any I had ever seen and they followed the ship day after day. Cape pigeons and albatross were in large numbers. We caught many of the latter and measured them. I remember one weighing thirty pounds and measuring fifteen feet from tip to tip of the wings. Cape hens about as large as good sized turkeys, ice birds, and many other small birds. I enjoyed feeding them and it was very funny to watch them tumble over each other in their efforts to get something to eat. Such a noise as they did make with their squabblings! Many sharks were caught and I never knew a sailor to have any compunctions about disposing of these man-eating creatures. A shark line was towed astern at different times and one day it took the combined efforts of five men to haul one in. Whales, all of ninety feet in length, stayed about the ship several days at a time. We saw many sun-fish which are a light gray in color. They have one large fin out of the water and are very hard to harpoon.

Once in a while another ship would come in view and if near enough we always spoke to one another by our flag code. This was always an interesting event. Certain sentences given in the code book would be represented by certain flags, each flag representing a letter of the alphabet. The questions usually asked were, "Where are you from?" "Where bound?" "How many days out?" and then a wish for a pleasant passage. My experience in running down the Easting has always been the same and I have made the trip a number of times. I have heard of ships running across the Indian Ocean with royals set but whenever I have been, we have had a succession of heavy gales. In thirty-six degrees fifty minutes south and Lon. twenty-nine degrees fifty-nine minutes east a heavy gale sprung up which gradually turned into a hurricane. The barometer was falling fast when I retired and at eleven o'clock it stood at 28.50. I have merely to close my eyes now and I can hear the wind as it shrieked and roared about us. We ran before those mountainous seas with but one thought and that to keep them from breaking over the ship. All hands were on deck all night, each one lashed, with the exception of those who were between decks passing out oil cases which were broken open and thrown overboard by those on deck. Fifteen hundred cases were used that night with good effect. The seas were as high but the oil prevented them from breaking over the ship. During the worst of the gale one man was washed overboard but his loss was not discovered for nearly twenty minutes, and even if it had been, nothing could have been done to save him in such tremendous seas. Clark Russell says that the grandeur and sublimity of the ocean can be best seen on a yard arm during a gale of wind, but somehow I have not been able to make those words applicable to the gales through which I have passed. Through our ninety degrees of Easting I had but little exercise. The lee side of the cabin usually found me with my books, work and numerous small articles for ready use. I think the most exercise I had during those days was when I tried to dress, as it was almost impossible to stand in one spot any length of time on account of the rolling and pitching of the ship. With a firm stand I would place myself in front of my mirror, only to gradually slide away across the room to a lounge where I would sit down, then I would climb back, and with as much speed as possible do what I could before disappearing again. In a length of time I was able to make my toilet, and when made it was not changed during the day in those latitudes.

They were certainly strenuous days, but we were well and had good appetites for the excellent meals which were served to us by our capable Chinese steward and cook. The doings and sayings of our cabin boy would fill a book, but he was trustworthy and attended faithfully to our wants. One night after I had retired, a heavy thunder storm came up which might have caused us considerable trouble had not our usual strict discipline been carried out. Having become so used to confused sounds on deck I did not realize that the ship had been struck by lightning, though I heard a sound which in my dozing condition I laid to something falling down in the bathroom. When the Captain came in to ask if I were all right I sleepily said, "Why not? I think something has fallen down." He did not tell me until morning that the ship had been struck and had caught fire aloft. By changing the course the sparks were made to fall overboard while men were sent aloft to cut away the blazing fragments. About ten minutes before the vessel was struck, a dozen men were aloft furling a sail just where the lightning struck us, and when the storm was over it seemed a special act of Providence that we still had these men with us.

I have so often been asked what could we possibly have to eat that would be appetizing for such lengthy voyages. We always carried fowl in large numbers and it was very seldom that we did not have fresh eggs enough for our table during the voyage. Potatoes, onions, and lemons we always had in abundance and they were very important items of our food. The following is one of the menus served to us on quite a stormy day as we were running across the Indian Ocean. For breakfast: baked beans, fish balls, brown bread, hot biscuits, tea and coffee. For dinner: soup, roast chicken, cold tongue, boiled potatoes, squash, and onions, English pudding, hard sauce, and coffee. For supper: warm biscuit, cold chicken, cold tongue, fried potatoes, cake and tea. In fine weather our menus were more elaborate and I never knew any one to complain of being hungry aboard ship while I was going to sea.

After eighty-seven days of such sea life I was aroused one morning to go on deck and see if I could see anything that looked like land and saw what at first seemed to me to be a small cloud in the distance about thirty miles away. As the morning wore on, the Australian coast gradually loomed up before us, the land first seen proving to be Cape Bridgewater. We sighted Cape Otway in the afternoon, the lighthouse being plainly seen in the evening, and such a beautiful evening as it was! Not a cloud in the sky! The stars shone like diamonds and the reflection on the water of the beautiful moon put a finish to the charm of a perfect night. The Southern Cross was almost directly over us, while in close proximity to the moon was the brilliant Venus. We remained on deck very late that night to enjoy our beautiful scene. During the evening a very pretty phenomenon took place when the sky became a brilliant red, like the reflection of a fire, forming an arc through which the stars could be plainly seen. It remained thus for some time, until it gradually changed into a white light, the Southern Lights or Aurora Australis as the change is called.

* * * * *

EDITORIAL

PROSPERITY IS HERE

Whatever may be the situation throughout the country, Cape Cod shows evidences of prosperity that cannot be overlooked. In fact, dull times on the Cape are a thing of the past and each year sees a steady growth, increasing land values and larger summer population.

While the Cape has not increased very fast in permanent population it has shown a remarkable advancement in wealth and prosperity. Lands that a few years ago had little value have been developed, cottages and homes have been built, agricultural interests developed and all along the line the Cape has moved steadily forward.

This year there has been a great many real estate changes, shore colonies are being opened up and builders are busy everywhere supplying the demand for more summer homes.

All signs point to the fact that the Cape is at that stage in its development where it is becoming widely and favorably known as a summer resort region. Its business facilities are increasing, the quality of its stores improving and from a more or less provincial community it is developing into a region second to none in prosperity along the New England coast.

It has been widely and extensively advertised and although it has not boomed as have some of the southern resorts its growth has been more steady and sane and it is devoid of those inflated values which are apt to be followed by a depression in so many cases. The Cape's growth has been a conservative one and therefore a permanent one.

Again we wish to warn prospective lot buyers upon the Cape not to have dealings with real estate agents of the type known as "land sharks." The reputable agents are well known and can be depended upon to give a square deal, but there are get-rich-quick men who stand ready to take advantage of the unwary and sell them sand lots among the dunes and locations among the scrub oaks, remote from habitations and worthless for any purpose. Beautiful prospectus and misleading blue prints do not afford a sufficient basis for lot buying and personal investigation is as needful here as anywhere else. Cheap land is apt to be dear at any price and unless one personally investigates what is being offered it will be well to go slow.

There are plenty of real seaside bargains left on the Cape. In the vicinity of the popular resorts land values are apt to be high, but there are numberless localities that have not yet been developed that present good possibilities and the seeker after a summer home can find such localities without much trouble and a very little money will buy land suitable for their purposes amid surroundings that are congenial, scenic and healthful.

Among the hundreds of new cottages that are being built upon the Cape this season are those ranging from the simple cottage costing only a few hundred dollars and those which are destined to be pretentious summer homes, but whether hundreds of dollars are spent or thousands all are assured pleasant, healthful environments with opportunities for rest and recreation unsurpassed.

We predict a brilliant future for our region. It is just beginning to be understood and appreciated. Its advantages are becoming known and its attractiveness understood.

* * * * *

HABITS AND THE GAME

Your habits will determine largely whether you give or take orders.

Is it your habit to shirk responsibility--to "pass the buck"--whenever possible? If so, you will never be the "boss." One man has no one to whom he can pass the buck. That person is the chief. Accept and welcome responsibility. Have the courage to face the consequences of your acts and decisions.

Develop self-confidence, not egotism. Let that confidence be founded on experience, study, common sense, and careful work.

Indulge in retrospection. Examine decisions that you have made, in an attempt to develop the faculty for reaching conclusions on tenable grounds quickly, Quick decisions expedite the processes of business and inspire confidence in one's co-workers. The man who does not know his mind cannot guide efficiently the mental or physical energies of others.

Are you careless? Do you permit to pass unquestioned points about which you are uncertain? Do you take it for granted that these things will "get by" or that they never will be noticed? Again you are shifting the burden, expecting that someone will do the work you should have done. That carelessness will militate against you to prevent your elevation to an executive position. The boss cannot be careless and hold the respect of his associates or his position.

Success comes to the one who plays the game. There is no royal road to it, or chance about it. It comes from eternally plugging at it, by study and concentration and an absence of the fear of making a mistake. A mistake is not such a frightful thing as many imagine. An honest mistake can be readily changed into a success many times. The fear of making mistakes frequently deters a weak man from going ahead where another will study well the situation, form a conclusion, and go ahead.

Your own character and habits determine whether you are a leader or a follower.

* * * * *

GET AFTER THE BILLBOARDS

If your town has not yet taken action against the billboard nuisance it is time that it did. Have a strong town by-law passed and see that it is enforced. There is no question that public sentiment is against the billboard. They should be made outlaws upon the highways. State legislation has been enacted against them, but its effectiveness has been tempered by the timidity of those charged with the enforcement of the laws to destroy the "property values" that is claimed for them. Public sentiment, rightly used, can do more than laws. Offending billboard advertisers can be shown that such advertising is injudicious and in time they will voluntarily give it up.

By law, billboards can be debarred from localities possessing unusual scenic beauty. The Mohawk Trail and Cape Ann are examples of the application of this principle. Cape Cod has just as great claims. Its scenic beauty is marred and destroyed by the glaring monstrosities that greet the traveler everywhere. Let them be removed and an irritating offense against the nerves and asthetic senses will be removed.

The only way to get rid of the billboards is to act.

* * * * *

HELP THE CAUSE

In certain ways the whole community can be helped by concerted action. The interest of the whole is the interest of all. Anything that tends to help others will help you. Just now a question of importance is the further development of Cape Cod by the establishment of terminal facilities on the Cape Cod canal. This will cost money, but it will be money well expended. If we wait for someone to do the developing for us we will have to wait a long time. The state is ready to do its share, but it wants the locality itself to do a part. A canal terminal is the one thing needful to make the canal of local advantage. We have the opportunity and we should grasp it. It is a case where local conservatism should be forgotten and every community should help bear the burden of an expense that will assist in the development of Cape Cod as a whole.

CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE

E.M. Chase

"Willie."

"What."

"Is that the way to answer your mother?"

"Yesum, I mean nomum."

"I want you to stay out in the front yard where you can watch my flower garden this afternoon. I have planted some flower seeds out there and I want you to keep the neighbors' hens way. Your father is going to put a wire netting around the garden as soon as he can get a chance."

"Why not ask the neighbors to keep their hens at home?" mildly inquired Mr. Brown.

"I have told them time and time again, but the Bakers say it must be the Jones' hens and the Joneses say it is the Bakers' hens. As a matter of fact all their hens come over, but I don't want to make a fuss, I can't afford to lose the only two neighbors I have."

"But ma, I promised Ned I'd go fishing with him."

"You had no business to promise anything of the kind, now go out there and say no more about it."

It was a warm spring day, just the right kind of weather to go fishing or rambling through the woods or playing marbles with the other boys or to do almost anything except stay in the front yard and watch neighbors' hens. Willie thought himself much abused and cast about for a means of escape. He dared not run away; he had tried that before and the memory of the results was rather painful. A shrill whistle interrupted his bitter thought and a moment later Ned came in view carrying a fishing rod, basket, and can of bait.

"Hello, Bill, ain't yer ready yet?"

"Can't go."

"Tough luck, what's the trouble?"

"I gotta stay here and keep the hens out of ma's garden."

"Why don't yer cut it, you can stay away from home until late then your ma will get worried and be so glad when you show up she won't whip yer."

"Not on your life, I did once. I never got home 'til long after dark. Mother licked me good for running away then pa whoppoped me for scaring ma, nope, I've learned my lesson."

"Gee, Bill, it's dirt mean, but I'll tell you what I will do, I'll come back and play marbles with yer if the fish don't bite good."

"I wish the old hens was in Tophet. Say, Ned, ain't got a book yer could let a feller have, have yer?"

"Sure, one of the latest. I just finished it and it's a corker. I promised Joe Hykes he could take it next but you will have time to read it this afternoon and Joe is off playin' ball."

Willie grabbed the book eagerly. It had an alluring cover, the design was worked out in bright red, brilliant yellow and poisonous green and it represented a man in the act of killing a young and presumably beautiful woman. It was of the dime novel variety entitled "Conclusive Evidence," just the thing to appeal to the imaginative Willie. Soon all thought of hens slipped from Willie's mind, his heart beat rapidly, he breathlessly followed the hero's thrilling adventures, he almost shed tears when the girl who had helped the hero outwit the villain was found mysteriously murdered. With keen interest he watched the authorities carry the hero to jail. He was first in the audience at the trial, he drew a long breath when only circumstantial evidence could be brought out, his heart sank when the villain rushed into the court room and cried out that he had conclusive evidence, his hopes went down, a sharp pain assailed him in the shoulder, he thought the villain had grabbed him, he jumped up and--in place of the court room, prisoner, judge, jury, witnesses, interested onlookers, etc., he saw his mother standing beside him and--horrors--a dozen or more hens blissfully digging in the loosened earth of the garden.

"Where did you get that book, Willie?"

"It was lent to me, ma, don't tear it ma, don't tear it, it ain't mine, ma--"

"That will do, Willie, it is not fit for you or any other boy to read, now you come in the house and go to bed."

"But ma, it is only four o'clock and I'm hungry and I won't let 'em in the garden again, ma, please can't I stay out here, ma?"

"You do as I told you without further delay."

All alone in his room, confined to his bed by the stern mandates of his mother, with everything out of doors calling him, Willie could not sleep and then when darkness fell hunger gnawed at his vitals and sleep refused to put an end to his misery. He counted to a thousand then half drifted into the land of dreams. A wicked little green imp whispered in his ear. "Conclusive Evidence," whispered it so loudly Willie awoke, then he thought, or tried to think of some plan of revenge on his heartless mother. He could think of none that would not return to himself fourfold, then he reasoned that after all it was not so much his mother's fault as the neighbors for keeping hens that would not stay at home. Perhaps the little green imp came and whispered into his ear again, I don't know, but how else account for Willie's queer actions?

He slipped quietly out of bed, paused to listen at the door of his mother's room but heard no sound. Reassured, he crept noiselessly down the back stairs into the kitchen, out through the rough room into the shed where the corn was kept. He filled the pockets with hen corn, the bright moonlight shining in through the window gave him all the light he needed, until his pajamas looked as though they had the bubonic plague. Still moving with extreme caution, he went into the kitchen again, secured a pan into which he put his corn; he then proceeded to fill the pan nearly full of water. He listened but all was quiet, so he ventured even into the pantry where his mother kept the cookie crock. He again filled his pockets, this time with cookies. His night work over he carried the pan containing the corn and water to his room, put the pan as far under the bed as possible to avoid discovery, then seated himself by the open window to enjoy his lunch. His father, who never seemed to get around to things, had not mended the screen that belonged in Willie's window so Willie sat with his head as far out of doors as the size of his body would permit and ate his cookies. He was wise enough not to leave tell-tale crumbs.

Willie slept well and soundly after his midnight adventures and in the morning appeared at the breakfast table promptly. He ate enough to make up for what he had missed the night before, then enough to last until noon time. When he finished his mother said:

"Now Willie, go out and watch the garden again, your father did not get around to putting up the netting yesterday, and mind, if I catch you reading another book you will not get off as easily as you did yesterday."

"Yesum."

Willie first made a trip to his room, then to the sewing room.

"What are you doing, Willie?" came the maternal voice.

"Nuthin', just lookin' for my cap, I'm going out now."

Once more out where he could watch the hens, Willie proceeded to unload his pockets. He brought to light some sheets of paper, a pencil, a large needle, a spool of black linen thread and all of the soaked corn he had been able to put in his pockets.

He tore the paper in strips about an inch wide and three inches long. On each slip he wrote, "Please keep us home." On the other side, "Conclusive Evidence."

He cut pieces of string, linen thread, about six inches long, some longer. With the aid of the needle he threaded a piece of corn on one end of each string, on the other end he tied one of the slips of paper. When all were finished he scattered them broadcast over and about the garden.

"Willie, come to dinner."

No Willie appeared on the scene.

"Willie, dinner is ready."

Still no sign of the lad and his mother started after him with a queer look in her eye.

Strange was the sight her eyes beheld as she came around the corner into the front yard. Hens fled before her approach but such funny looking hens; they all had more or less tags flying from their bills. They had swallowed the corn but the strings and tags were beyond their ability to masticate and they blew out defiantly in the breeze. One tag had become loosened and Mrs. Brown picked it up and read the scribbled words. While she was thinking just what she ought to do to Willie, Mrs. Baker came across the yard, bristling like a frightened porcupine.

"What have you been doing to my hens?" she demanded.

Mrs. Brown, like the efficient woman she was, saw her opportunity and rose to the occasion.

"Your hens, Mrs. Baker, why nothing. I have been in the kitchen all the morning until I just came out to call Willie to dinner. Willie has been keeping the hens out of my garden, not your hens, you know you have assured me your hens never come over here."

Thinking discretion the better part of valor Mrs. Baker suddenly remembered something that needed immediate attention and she hastened to attend to it.

Mrs. Brown watched her out of sight, smiling in appreciation of the genius she had raised, then she turned and confronted Mrs. Jones, coldly angry.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Brown, by tagging my hens until they look like a mark down sale?"

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Jones? Your hens couldn't have been over here could they? I am sure neither Willie nor I have been out of the yard."

"I smell something burning."

In spite of the fact that the Jones homestead was quite a distance and the wind in the direction to blow all odors in the opposite direction Mrs. Brown did not try to detain her. Neither did she punish Willie, in fact she gave him an extra piece of pie for dinner.

* * * * *

The Browns, Joneses and Bakers are still on the best of terms, but Mr. Brown never put the wire netting up and yet Mrs. Brown plants her garden with never a thought of neighbors' hens.

Incidentally Willie and Ned have developed into first class fishermen.

BY HEART

LILLIAN E. ANDREWS

Captain Enoch Burgess went down Mapleville's main street at a rate of speed that threatened to break all records. The tails of his linen coat stood out like the sails of a Gloucester fisherman homeward bound with a "full bin fare." He stamped up Abner Crowell's walk, and slammed the kitchen door.

Abner was weeding onions. He stared after the captain curiously. "Looks like squally weather," he commented. "I wonder what's sent Enoch on his beam ends like that."

As Abner bent with a grunt to his task, his wife came hurrying toward him, her apron strings flying like distress signals.

"Abner," she demanded excitedly, "did you ever hear of Captain Enoch's havin' fits?"

"No, I dunno's I ever did," replied Abner, twitching up an enterprising wild mustard.

"Well, he's havin' one now," insisted Mrs. Crowell. "He come trampin' in an' says, 'Git right out o' my way, Mis' Crowell,' an' now he's a pacin' up an' down his room like a caged hyeny. You leave them onions, an' go an see what under the canopy ails him. I'll stand at the foot of the stairs ready to run for help, if he should be dangerous."

Abner groaned. Reluctantly he brushed the dirt from his knees, and went into the house. Captain Enoch's heavy steps jarred the floor of his little room. Three times Abner knocked. Growing wrathful at being ignored, he applied his lips to the key-hole.

"Hey, there," he bellowed. "You gone clean crazy, Enoch? It's only me--Abner--open the door!"

Captain Enoch opened the door so suddenly Abner nearly fell over the threshold.

"I didn't hear you," apologized Captain Enoch. "I dunno's I'd heard a fog horn. I'm going loony, I guess."

Despondency suddenly overcame him. He sat down abruptly. "I'm afraid I'm love cracked," he groaned despairingly.

"Love cracked!" repeated Abner in blank astonishment. "Wall, I snum! Love cracked!"

Captain Enoch glared at him ferociously. "Stop that parrotin'," he commanded. "If you dare to grin, I'll larnbast you good an' plenty."

As Abner appeared properly subdued, he went on explanatorily.

"I've be'n callin' on M'lissy Macy reg'lar whenever I've be'n ashore for the last ten years. M'lissy makes the best doughnuts I ever e't, an' I calculated we'd be married sometime, though I ain't never mentioned it special. But when I went to call on M'lissy this afternoon, there set Tom Peters in the big rockin' chair holdin' M'lissy's yeller cat an' lookin' as cheerful as a rat in a shipload of cheese. It come over me all at once what a marryin' critter he is. The old punkin'-head's had two wives already, ain't he?"

"Three," corrected Abner. "He's be'n a widower once an' a grass widower twice. Mebbe he's gittin' lonesome again. You'll have to git up your spunk and do some courtin'. Why don't you pop the question? It hadn't orter be so awful hard after you be'n goin' to see M'lissy ten years."

"You talk like a nincompoop," snapped Captain Enoch. "I never asked a woman to marry me in my life. How be I goin' to know what to say? S'pose you tell me how you asked Mis' Crowell."

Abner's face turned as red as Captain Enoch's. "Wall, I--er--er," he stammered.

"That's about what I expected," said the captain sarcastically. "I s'pose Mis' Crowell did the askin' and you didn't dare to say 'No.'"

Abner glanced toward the door where a board had creaked faintly. "She--she didn't really ask," he remarked hastily, "but she was pretty good at understandin' what I was thinkin' about."

"If M'lissy understands, she's careful not to let me know it," said Captain Enoch sadly. "Mebbe she's afraid of being bold. Just to think of proposin' makes me feel as if somebody was pourin' cold water down the back of my neck."

Abner had a sudden flash of memory. "Why don't you learn a regular proposal that nobody can find any fault with an' say it right off like sayin' a piece?" he asked. "Pegleg Brierly used to have a book in his dunnage that had all kinds of proposals printed in it. 'Guide to Courtship and Matrimony' was the name of it. Pegleg said he didn't have any notion of fallin' in love, but if he should happen to, he didn't cal'late to be caught nappin'. He's livin' down on the back road now, and he's still an old bach. If he's kept the book, mebbe he'd sell it, or lend it to you."

The change from despair to hope brought the captain to his feet. "Abner, if you'll git me that book, I'll give you twenty-five dollars," he promised earnestly. "But mind you don't tell what you want it for."

"I won't tell anybody that don't know about it already," declared Abner with perfect truthfulness. "I'll have to be awful di-plo-mat-ic," he went on, "or Pegleg will be sure to suspect something. And I pity you an' M'lissy if he got hold of the real reason why you wanted it. Pegleg can scatter news faster than a pea dropper can drop peas."

With his clam hoe and bucket under his arm, Abner appeared at the door of Pegleg's shanty the next afternoon.

"Thought I'd dig a mess o' clams for supper," he explained casually, "an' seeing's I was passin', I dropped in. Some time since you an' me crossed the line on the old Almeda, ain't it?"

"A matter of twenty year," agreed Pegleg.

"Them was great days," reminiscenced Abner. "Do you remember how we used to read your 'Guide to Courtship and Matrimony'? I was thinkin' about it only yesterday."

Pegleg grinned. "I paid fifty cents for that book," he remarked. "An' I ain't never had any real use for it. I've got it now in my old dunnage bag."

"I'd kind o' like to see it, if it's handy," suggested Abner. "The tide's risin', but I guess I've got a few minutes to spare."

Pegleg disappeared into the shanty and returned after some time with a dog-eared volume, minus a portion of its pages, and with the edges of the remainder strangely scalloped.

"Th' pesky rats has be'n chewin' it," he complained loudly. "They've clean e't up the first chapter."

Abner drew a secret breath of relief. The "How to Propose" chapter was not the first one. Eagerly he turned the battered volume over.

"If you 'll sell it, I'd like to have it," he remarked carelessly. "Half of the pages is e't up, so I s'pose you'll sell it for half price."

"Make it thirty-five cents an' you can have it," bargained Pegleg. "The rats ain't gnawed into the readin' so awful bad, only in the first chapter."

"Wall, thirty-five then, as you're an old shipmate," conceded Abner.

Pegleg looked at him shrewdly, as he laid down three dimes and a nickel.

"I didn't know but mebbe you was buyin' it for Captain Burgess," he hazarded. "He's boardin' to your house, an' folks say he's courtin' M'lissy Macy."

"Folks is always sayin' things," responded Abner. "Mebbe Enoch might know a 'Guide to Courtship and Matrimony' from a last year's pill almanac, if somebody showed him."

Once around the corner of the beach from Pegleg's shanty, Abner danced a hornpipe, shocking a flock of gulls.

"Thirty-five cents from twenty-five dollars leaves twenty-four dollars and sixty-five cents," he calculated swiftly. "And I'll get a mess of clams beside. The papers will be mentionin' me as a financier pretty soon."

"Did Pegleg suspect anything?" was Captain Enoch's first question when Abner returned in triumph.

"Oh, he suspected," replied Abner jubilantly. "He wouldn't be Pegleg if he didn't. But I didn't help him any, and he looked dreadful disappointed. You can eat your chowder in peace, if you ain't so love sick you've lost your appetite."

"It ain't hurt my appetite a mite," retorted the Captain. "And I ain't goin' to let it. Let's see that book. I want to find out how much I've be'n cheated."

With trembling fingers Captain Enoch turned to the chapter of proposals. "'How to Propose to a Fat Lady,'" he read. "Humph! M'lissy ain't fat. 'How to Propose to a Lady of Dignity and Refinement. 'That sounds more like it. But the big words are thicker than a school of mummychogs."

"Read it out loud," urged Abner.

Captain Enoch put a long forefinger on the first line and cleared his throat.

"'Dear and esteemed lady,'" he began, "'it is with deep respect that I venture to introduce the subject of matrimony in your presence. You are my ideal of womanhood and your smile is more precious to me than the Kohinoor.' What's the Kohinoor?" he asked, pausing.

"Skip it," suggested Abner. "I ain't no 'cyclopedia. Go on."

"'It is with painful trep-trep-trepidation that I bring my suit before you.'"

Captain Enoch paused again. "'Suit?'" he repeated. "I don't see how that fits in. What's a suit got to do with a proposal?"

"Mebbe it's a hint that you might want your clo's mended after you was married," decided Abner. "Anyway, it sounds all right the way it's wrote. Stop a stoppin'. You never'll git it read, if you don't keep goin'."

Thus adjured the captain proceeded. "'Oh, dear one, beloved lady of my dreams, my own--' There's a blank place. It says under it, 'name of lady.'"

"Wall, say M'lissy," interjected Abner.

Captain Enoch's bronzed countenance was the color of a tomato on a tin can, but he went on valiantly, "'My own M'lissy, come to my arms, and fill my measure of happiness to overflowing by promising to become my wife, and I will shield and protect you from all the storms of life.' It ends like an advertisement for umbrellas," he complained.

"It don't do no such thing," contended Abner vigorously. "It's a real high-toned proposal and any woman ought to be satisfied with it. The man that wrote that must have known an awful lot about women. Now you go ahead and learn that proposal and there you be all ready for the parson."

"Yes, 'there I be,'" mimicked the captain ungratefully. "It would take a college professor to say them words fast, and I'm only a plain sailor man."

But in spite of his sarcasm the captain attacked his self-appointed task with the grim determination that had made him respected in every port wherever the big deep water tramp, of which he was the proud master, had dropped her huge mudhook.

The steamer was laid up at Boston, having a splendid collection of tropical barnacles scraped from her stout hull. If it had not been for the barnacles, the captain would not have been ashore.

For a week the captain studied strenuously, hardly allowing himself time to sleep. Abner offered to assist him at rehearsals and every afternoon he drilled Captain Enoch diligently. He was a firm disciplinarian and insisted upon his pupil's being letter perfect. Book in hand, he corrected the captain vigorously.

"It's 'es-teemed lady'" he admonished the captain. "You said 'steamed.' M'lissy ain't cooked. An' you stutter yet when you come to that word right after painful. Can't you say it plainer?"

"'Trep-trep-trepidation,'" stammered the captain again. "Say it yourself," he dared Abner. "I'll bet you can't do no better."

"I ain't tryin' to say it," Abner reminded him with dignity. "If I was I'd make it out someway. I wouldn't be beat by any word ever put in a dictionary. You're doin' better," he complimented the captain, after the sixth recital. "Mebbe you'll git it after awhile."

But when Captain Enoch felt that his monitor was most needed and had begun to look hopefully forward to a one hundred per cent rehearsal, Abner took a sudden notion to go sword fishing.

"The time to go sword fishin' is when sword fish are due," he insisted with Solomonic wisdom. "I'm going to be off Nantucket shoals by daybreak to-morrow."

"But how be I goin' to git along without you to boost me on that proposal?" demanded the captain. "If you had any feelin' at all, you wouldn't leave me just when I need you most."

Abner considered the situation for some moments.

"I got it," he declared joyfully. "Buy a phonygraft an' some blank records an' keep sayin' that proposal just the same as you do to me. You can hear yourself poppin' as plain as you can hear a bell buoy ring-in'. It takes me to plan things," he added with becoming pride.

Captain Enoch went to Boston and visited his vessel, as he told Mrs. Crowell when he returned. Also, he visited the "phonygraft man," a circumstance he failed to relate.

When Mapleville's express agent delivered at the Crowell home a large bundle addressed to Captain Enoch Burgess, the captain smuggled it surreptitiously upstairs, closed the windows of his room and stuffed the key hole with a wad of paper.

It was some hours before he succeeded in mastering the various adjustments of the phonograph, and ventured to hear himself "pop." Listening with critical intentness, he discovered that two sentences were missing. Grimly he tried again. The word that had been so long his stumbling block suddenly showed its vindictiveness once more.

"'It is with painful trep-trep-' darn it!" repeated the phonograph with startling distinctness.

Wrathfully the captain snatched the record and hurled it under the bed. A number of others soon kept it company. The next day the captain went to Boston again. This time even the phonograph dealer was astonished at the number of blank records Captain Enoch demanded.

With reckless abandon the captain proceeded to use the new supply of records. Dripping with perspiration from the heat of his closely-shut room and from his strenuous mental exertion, he finally came to the last one, and word by word and sentence by sentence heard himself make an absolutely correct and flawless proposal to Miss Macy.

Solemnly the captain wiped his brow. "I declare I wish Abner could hear it," he remarked proudly. "There ain't a single mistake, big words an' all. It ought to please M'lissy, if anything will."

At the thought of Melissa Captain Enoch's honest heart began to beat faster. He threw open his window with all the eagerness of a lover, and looked over toward Melissa's old-fashioned house with its comfortable veranda and wide chimney.

His bronzed face turned suddenly white and he gripped the window sill with all the strength of his powerful hands. Two men were turning in at Melissa's gate. The short fat man was Thomas Peters, the tall thin one the village clergyman. To Captain Enoch the fact that Peters and the minister were calling upon Melissa together could mean but one thing. Hours and years of the captain's life seemed to pass, as he watched the two men go slowly up Melissa's gravel walk. When the door closed behind them, he turned about, dazed and trembling. He was breathing hard like a man at the end of a race. Half an hour later he had packed his bag and paid his board bill, leaving Mrs. Crowell in a state of bewilderment and curiosity that was sufficient to disturb her peace of mind for many a day.

From Boston the tramp had wallowed her way around the Horn to San Francisco and back again as far as Rio Janiero when Captain Enoch received his first mail from home. A travel-stained letter, bearing Abner Crowell's cramped handwriting, threw the captain into a sudden panic.

"I don't know whether to open it, or not," he debated nervously. "I want to know what's in it, an' I'm scared to find out. I'm a good mind to throw it overboard and forget I ever got it."

Curiosity finally overcame his dread. The letter was encouragingly brief.

"'Dere Enoch,'" he read. "'I'd like to know what you blowed up an' went off the way you did for. Abner Crowell." "P.S. Mrs. Crowell sends her respecks, and Miss Melissa Macy her regards, if you want 'em. A.C." "P.S. Number two. All you need, Enoch Burgess, is about ten inches more on your ears. A.C.'"

"'Miss Melissa Macy,'" repeated Captain Enoch. "He would have said Mrs. Peters, if she was married."

The captain leaped to his feet and rushed on deck. A boat was just leaving the steamer's side, the mate sitting placidly under an awning.

"Hey, wait," roared the captain wildly. "I'm goin' to git our clearance papers," he shouted, as the astonished mate ordered the boat back. "I ain't goin' to hang around here waitin' for a lazy planter to git a cargo of coffee aboard. I don't care if there ain't any more coffee in the world; folks can drink tea. I'm goin' home as quick as steam can take me."

Lights were beginning to shine in the homes of Mapleville when the captain came to the end of his long journey. A shining path stretched temptingly from Melissa's windows to the gate and the captain followed it eagerly.

Back of the crimson geraniums and the canary's cage he could see Melissa sitting at a low table. The yellow cat occupied the big rocker. It was all so pleasant and home-like a lump rose in the captain's throat. He decided to steal quietly in and surprise Melissa. But at the door he stopped as suddenly as if he had been shot. A deep bass voice was uttering words that sounded strangely familiar.

"'Dear and esteemed lady,'" he heard. Cautiously he tip-toed across the hall. A phonograph was on the table in front of Melissa. As he bent forward the proposal "to a dignified and refined lady" came to an end. Tenderly Melissa put both arms about the shining horn of the phonograph and kissed it!

The sight was too much for the captain. With one bound, he cleared the threshold and entered the cosy sitting room.

"M'lissy Macy," he declared boldly, "I ain't goin' to have you wastin' kisses on an old phonograph when I'm right here. Where'd you find that record, M'lissy?" he asked at last.

Melissa blushed delightfully. "Mis' Crowell heard you and told me you was practisin' how to propose and, after you went away, I went and got every single one of them records," confessed Melissa. "I've played 'em over and over, even the 'darn it!' one. I know that proposal by heart."

"So do I," responded Captain Enoch grimly, as he salvaged another kiss. "I've be'n a reg'lar old putty-head," he admitted with unsparing honesty, "but if you'll promise to teach me, I'd like to learn a whole lot more by heart."

"I'll do my best," promised Melissa mischievously.

BY TELEPHONE

E.M. CHASE

Time--Very recently.

Place--A flat in Back Bay.

"Bessie Lane, where in the world did you drop from?"

"The station just now and I'm famished."

"I haven't a thing for lunch but you take off your wraps while I attend to things."

"There, I've ordered a delicious lunch and it will be here in fifteen or twenty minutes. What a handy thing a telephone is."

"Oh, yes, very handy indeed."

"Why the sarcasm, my dear Bessie?"

"You seem to forget that I live in the country."

"But not out of reach of 'phones, Bessie."

"No, but we are on a sixteen-party line with eighteen other subscribers. Not long ago I went to the dentist and had a tooth treated. The next morning I awoke with a toothache. About the middle of the forenoon, nine-thirty to be exact, I thought I would call up the dentist to find out if the treatment ought to make my tooth ache. I gave the bell a vigorous ring--"

"Why should you ring a bell to telephone?"

"My dear citified Annie, we do not run our universe by electricity as you do in the city, and it is our only means of attracting 'central.' I rang the bell, put the receiver to my ear and heard, 'I am using the line.'

"I mumbled an apology, waited a few minutes and tried again. It is unpleasant to have the bell ring in your ear, so out of courtesy to the other subscribers I gently lifted off the receiver, put it to my ear and heard, 'That cottage by the shore will suit--'

"Fifteen minutes later I tried again and please remember my tooth was paining all the time. I listened, the line was quiet, I called central and asked 'One nine ring two four please.'

"'That line is busy.'

"Well, I thanked my lucky stars that I have a good supply of patience. After five minutes I tried again. I listened to see if the line was busy and heard, 'Killed by an automobile, all mangled to pieces.' Too horror stricken to realize I was listening to conversation not intended for my ears I listened on. The details fairly made my blood run cold and the unknown speaker had the most tragic voice I ever heard. She continued, 'It was terrible, I almost fainted, it was one of my best roosters, too!'

"Just then a neighbor brought in my mail and I spent a few minutes reading letters and looking over the morning Post but the persistent tooth reminded me and I tried again. Wonder of wonders I got the dentist's office and asked if the dentist was there. 'No, he is not here just now but he will be back in a few minutes, shall I tell him to call you?'

"'If you will, please, this is--'

"'I knew your voice instantly, Bessie, and I'll tell him.'

"I waited and waited, then waited some more, then I tried again. 'Get off the line, somebody else wants a chance to use it. You there, Jim?'

"I was almost in despair. When I was sure my snappy friend had had time enough to transact all the affairs of the Nation I made another attempt but I listened once more, rather than butt in again, listened and heard, 'Just the sweetest shade of green, you know--' Trials of Job, I was getting out of patience, to put it mildly. I gave the crank a vicious turn but the same party was still talking, she said sweetly, 'I guess someone wants the line.' I assured her I did, it was a case of life and death. 'Someone dead, oh dear, is it any one I know?'

"Thoroughly exasperated I called central and demanded, 'one nine ring two four.'

"'Line busy.'

"I made up my mind never to use a 'phone again, or try to when my own number rang. I grabbed the receiver off the hook and thought my trial was over, for of course I knew it was the dentist at last. 'Is this you, Bessie? Did you know Jennie Knowles has broken her ankle?'

"'No, I didn't, and I don't care if she has broken her neck, I want the line.'

"Of course my rudeness lost me a friend for a while, until I saw her and made ample apologies, but I made my last attempt and was connected with the dentist. I told him about the toothache; it took some time as I had to explain three times that I was using the line but I did it. 'Does it ache very badly? Can't you stand it until to-morrow? Then the treatment will desensitize it sufficiently and I can work on it without hurting you at all.'

"'Oh, no, it doesn't ache at all, I called you up to hear your voice, certainly I can stand it, I've stood much worse trials.' I slammed up the receiver, looked at the clock and it was two-fifteen. Too late to attend the lecture in the library so I went out and called on Alice, yes, indeed, I repeat, telephones are very handy and save lots of time."

"Here is our lunch, we're in the city now, come on, Bessie."

FALMOUTH INNER HARBOR

Twelve years ago on May 11, 1910, the H.W. Miller, the first two-masted schooner came into the harbor, then known as Deacon's Pond, now Falmouth Inner Harbor. Other smaller vessels had been in, but this was the first which marked the commercial use of the basin.

A harbor in this place had been talked about for several years, but the first legal action was taken in the February town meeting of 1906, when a committee of five men: Geo. W. Jones, Charles S. Burgess, Asa L. Pattee, Nathan S. Ellis and Charles A. Robinson were appointed to look into the matter and carry out the wishes of the town.

Joseph Walsh was our representative in Boston, and presided at the meeting, acting as moderator.

Heman A. Harding, then senator from the Cape district, acted as legal adviser for the State.

There were many meetings of the committee and interested citizens, and among the latter A.W. Goodness, A.B. Clough and W.E.A. Clough were untiring in their efforts and were largely responsible for the success of the project.

On January 20, 1907, the Harbor and Land Commissioners called for a hearing "for building jetties and dredging to make a boat harbor at Deacon's Pond, Falmouth."

The first plan was drawn by Frank W. Hodgdon in September, 1907.

The first appropriation made for the cost was $25,000 from the State and $10,000 from the Town.

The lower part of the land dredged was purchased on July 13, 1804, from Abram and Lois Bowerman by Watson Jenkins, Joseph Mayhew, Stephen Davis, Consider Hatch and Joseph Davis, Jr., and used as a site for salt works by the whole or part of them. On August 1, 1805, the same Abram and Lois Bowerman deeded additional land to Joseph Davis, Jr., and on June 17, 1816, the same parties sold more land to Nymphas Davis, the son of Joseph, Jr.

As Joseph Davis, Sr., the father of Joseph, Jr., was then a deacon in the Congregational church, the name was gradually changed from the old name of "Bowerman's Pond" to "the deacon's pond" and it finally became Deacon's Pond. Later, when the name did not locate the harbor sufficiently, it was officially changed to "Falmouth Inner Harbor."

There were formerly two outlets from the pond into Vineyard Sound, and some of the old deeds refer to the East and West rivers. There was also a ditch across the marsh, probably through the land now owned by Edward Gallagher.

In 1870-1 the land about the pond and also "Great Hill" was sold by George H. Davis, the son of Nymphas Davis, to the Falmouth Land and Wharf Company, and remained in its possession several years, later becoming the property of G. Edward Smith, the president of the company.