Chapter XXXII: The Enthusiast (2)

‘But surely, Walter, the mere matter of locking up the strong-room cannot occupy grandfather from six o’clock until even ten, much, less until midnight.’

‘That’s the mystery,’ said the young man thoughtfully.

Rachel clasped her hands and turned her pale face towards Walter. ‘What you tell me, makes me very anxious,’ said she. ‘Indeed, I know not why, but I begin to be seriously alarmed. What can all this mean?’

‘What, indeed? That’s the mystery,’ repeated the young man, in a still more meditative tone.

‘Then again, Walter, I cannot understand why grandfather leaves home for the counting-house, as he tells me, at five o’clock in the morning. Can that be necessary?’

‘Oh, no, no! The hours are from nine till six,’ cried Walter. ‘But at what hour Silas Monk arrives, no one knows, or ever did know. We always find him seated at his desk in the morning when we come, just as we leave him there when we go in the evening.—Do you know, Rachel,’ added Walter, ‘if I was ignorant of the fact that he had his home and this little housekeeper, I should be disposed to agree with the fellows at the office who declare Silas Monk haunts the counting-house all night long.’

Rachel started. These words, uttered by the young man half in jest, brought thoughts into the girl’s head which had never entered there before.

‘Good-bye, Rachel,’ said Walter. ‘Armytage and Company will be wondering what has become of me.’

The lovers went together to the front-door, where Walter hastily took his leave. He looked back, however, more than once, as he went down the street, and saw Rachel standing on the doorstep watching him. So, when he reached the corner, he waved his hand to her, and then plunged into the busy thoroughfare.

SEALS AND SEAL-HUNTING IN SHETLAND.

BY A SHETLANDER.

IN TWO PARTS.—PART I.

There are but two species of seal permanently resident on our coasts—the Common Seal (_Phoca vitulina_) and the Great Seal (_Phoca barbata_). The Greenland seal has occasionally been seen in Shetland, and even shot; but these were only stragglers, not improbably floated far southward on small icebergs or floes of ice from the Arctic regions. The two species named, the common and the great seal, are very much alike in appearance, and not easily distinguished by a casual observer; but a Shetlander who has frequent, if not constant, opportunities of seeing them, is never at a loss to recognise them. In many respects, especially in their habits, they are distinguished by well-marked characteristics. The common seal is called in Shetland _Tang-fish_—that is, shore or bay seal; and the great seal is vernacularly the _Haff-fish_, or ocean seal. The male and female of both species are distinguished by the prefix ‘Bull’ and ‘She’—_Bull-fish_, _She-fish_.

The common seal is gregarious, and appears to be polygamous. In herds of from ten to a hundred they frequent the small uninhabited islands, holms, and skerries, where the tideways are strong, but the ocean swell not great; and they do not seem to stray far from such favourite haunts, resting for several hours each day from the commencement of the ebb-tide on small outlying rocks, or stony beaches on the lee-side of the little islets, but almost always in such a position as to command a pretty extensive view, in case of surprise. Their food consists chiefly of piltocks and sillocks—vernacular for the young of the saithe or of the coal-fish—small cod, flounders, and crustacea. In June, they bring forth their young, never more than one at a birth, and in the same season, on the low flat rocks close to the sea, and immediately lead them to the water, where they seem at once perfectly at home, disporting themselves amongst the waves with ease and grace equal to their seniors. For some time previous to this, the sexes separate into different herds; and during the two succeeding months in which they suckle their young, the females affect a somewhat solitary life. After that, they again become indiscriminately gregarious. The adult common seal sometimes attains the size of six feet, measured from the point of the nose to the end of the tail. It is obviously a mistake to measure to the end of the hind flippers, as is sometimes done. The males are considerably larger than the females, but I have never seen one exceeding six feet.

On the other hand, the haff-fish grows sometimes to eight or nine feet, and such venerable ocean patriarchs will weigh from six to seven hundredweight. This species is much less numerous than the tang-fish. They appear to be monogamous, and are not gregarious, being commonly met with in pairs. They frequent the wildest and most exposed of the outlying rocks and skerries along the coast where there is free and immediate access to the ocean, and are very seldom seen in the bays or amongst the islands, which are the haunts of their less robust congeners. They seem to luxuriate in the roughest sea, and delight to sport in the broken water and foam at the foot of steep rocks and precipices when the waves are dashing against them. They bring forth their young in caves, open to the sea—called in Shetland _hellyers_. These hellyers are natural tunnels in the lofty precipices, running or winding inwards, sometimes two hundred yards, into darkness, and generally terminating in a stony or pebbly beach. Some of these hellyers can be entered by a small boat, but only when the sea is perfectly smooth; others are too narrow for such a mode of access; and the openings to others are entirely under water.

It is in these wild and for the most part safe retreats that the female haff-fish, about the end of September or beginning of October, brings forth her young; and here she nurses it for about six weeks, all the time carefully and affectionately attended by her lord and master. Not till the baby haff-fish is nearly two months old does it take to the water. If thrown in at an earlier age, it is as awkward as a pup or kitten in similar circumstances, and does not seem to have the power of diving. In these respects, the two species differ markedly. Nor is the haff-fish so often seen basking on the rocks; and when he does take a rest on shore, he does not appear to mind what is the state of the tide or wind. But probably his usual and favourite resting and sleeping place is his hellyer, where he will feel secure from intrusion. His principal food is cod, ling, saithe, halibut, and conger-eel. Both species are exceedingly voracious, but can endure a very long abstinence. A tame one we once had never tasted food for three weeks before he died. They always feed in the water, never on land, tearing large pieces off their fishy prey, and swallowing it without almost any mastication. They do not migrate, but remain in the vicinity of their breeding-places throughout the year. Formerly, seals’ flesh used to be eaten by the natives of Shetland, but not now. I have eaten a part of a seal’s heart, and found it by no means unpalatable. It was offered to me as a special delicacy by an old gentleman who could not have been induced to taste a crab or lobster. By-the-bye, why is it Shetlanders won’t eat these delicious crustacea? I once put the question to an old fisherman, and his reply was: ‘They’re unkirsn—they eat the human,’ meaning the dead bodies of sailors and fishermen. (Unkirsn is the vernacular for unclean, in the sense of being unfit for food.)

I believe seals’ flesh is still sometimes salted and eaten by the Faroese and Icelanders; but if one may judge from the very strong coal-tarry smell of the carcass, it cannot be particularly savoury. It is different, however, with whale-flesh, that of the bottlenose at least. Shetlanders don’t eat it; but the Faroese do, and esteem it highly. I remember, many years ago, being in Thorshavn shortly after a shoal of about twelve hundred bottlenoses had been driven ashore, and the houses of the little town were all covered with long festoons of whale-flesh hung up to dry and harden in the sun. The natives call it _grind_, and regard it as excellent, palatable, and nutritious food. I ate some of it. It looked and tasted very much like good coarse-grained beef, and had no unpleasant, fishy, or blubbery flavour.

Seal-hunting is splendid sport—superior, I confidently affirm, to every other species of sport in this country at least, not excepting deer-stalking and fox-hunting. The game is a noble animal, large, powerful, exceedingly sagacious, intensely keen of sight and hearing, suspicious, shy, and wary. You have to seek him amid the wildest and grandest scenery, where you will sometimes encounter danger of various kinds. To be a successful seal-hunter you must be acquainted with the habits of the animal. You must be cool and cautious, yet prompt and fertile in expedients, a good stalker, a good boatman, and a good cragsman; and you must be at once a quick and a steady shot. It is not enough to strike a seal; you must shoot him with a bullet through the brain, and thus kill him instantly, or you will in all probability never see him again. He may be lying basking on a rock within forty yards of you; you may put a bullet through his body; he plunges into the sea and disappears. But a seal’s head is not a large object at any considerable distance; and if he is swimming, you have probably only a part of his head in view. If you are in a boat, your stance is more or less unsteady, however smooth the sea may be. Then, however close he may be to you, it is needless to fire, if, as is usually the case, he is looking at you; for he is quite as expert as most of the diving sea-birds in ‘diving on the fire,’ or rather throwing his head to a side with a sudden spring and splash. Further, if you kill him in the water, the chances are at least equal that he instantly sinks, fathoms deep, amongst great rocks covered with seaweed, where dredging is out of the question; and other expedients that may be tried, equally, in nine cases out of ten, fail. At other times, however, a seal shot in the water will float like a buoy. It is not very clear why one seal should float and another sink. It is certainly not referable to the condition of the animal. Fat seals sink as readily as lean ones; and lean seals float as readily as fat ones. Probably they float or sink according as their lungs are or are not inflated with air at the moment they receive their death-wound.

Besides a thoroughly trustworthy weapon, the seal-hunter requires to provide himself with a ‘waterglass,’ a ‘clam,’ and a stout rod twelve to twenty feet long, with a ling-hook firmly lashed to the end of it, making a sort of gaff. These are for use in the event of a seal sinking. The waterglass is simply a box or tub with a pane of glass for its bottom. Placed on the surface of the water, it obviates the disturbing effect of the ripple. Looking through it with a great-coat or piece of cloth thrown over the head after the manner of photographers, you can see down as far as sixty feet if the water is pretty clear; and even to a hundred feet or thereby if it is very clear. The ‘clam’ is an enormous species of forceps, with jaws of from two to three feet width when open. Two stout lines are attached—one for lowering the clam with open jaws; the other for closing the blades over a dead seal that, by help of the waterglass, has been discovered lying at the bottom, and hauling him to the surface. Many a seal is secured in this way, which, but for these simple appliances, would inevitably be lost. The long-handled gaff is used for raising a seal that may have sunk in very shallow water where the rod can reach him, and sometimes is found very useful when he is just beginning to sink, if you have shot him from your boat. For a few seconds after being shot, he usually floats. Instantly, you pull up to him, but find him sinking slowly—only as yet, however, a foot or two beneath the surface. You at once and easily gaff him, and then he is safe enough.

The largest haff-fish I ever shot I lost from not having a seal-gaff in the boat. I was not seal-hunting, but shooting sea-fowl along the lofty precipices on the east side of Burrafirth, in the island of Unst. Suddenly a big haff-fish bobbed up close to the boat, but instantly disappeared with a tremendous splash. Seals are very inquisitive animals; and as he had not had time to gratify his curiosity, I thought it very likely he might show face again. We always carried two or three bullets in our pocket, to be prepared for such chances. One of these I quickly wrapped round in paper and rammed home above the shot, with which my fowling-piece—a long, single-barrelled American duck-gun—was charged. Again selkie broke the surface of the water, this time at a more respectful distance, but still within easy range. After taking a good look at the boat, and at me doubtless, who just then covered him with the sights, he turned fairly round and gave a contemptuous sniff of his nose skywards, preparatory to making off. Fatal and unusual hardihood; it cost him his life, for just then I pulled the trigger, and sent the bullet through his head. I was in the bows of the boat. ‘Pull men, pull hard!’ I shouted. As we came up to him, I saw he was beginning to sink. A rod there was in the boat, but it had no hook at the end. I seized it, and stretching forward, got it under him, and raised him close to the surface. I tried to keep him up, but he slipped and slipped several times, and at last sank. I could have secured him easily enough, had there been a hook on the end of the rod. The water was very deep, and not clear; and although I spent that evening and the next day searching for him with the usual appliances, I was unsuccessful. All these conditions, contingencies, and uncertainties make the sport of seal-hunting surpassingly exciting and captivating.

OVER-EDUCATING CHILDREN.

A singular question has arisen within the last few months in reference to the education of young children in our public and National Schools, and that is the somewhat startling query: Is not the present system of ‘cramming’ very young children not only inexpedient, but dangerous to brain and life, in trying to force too much ‘book-learning’ into small minds ill fitted for its reception? Many thoughtful people have of late given much attention to this interesting question; but the whole subject has at last been forced upon the notice of the public in a manner as tragic as it was unexpected. Two young children have lately suffered miserable deaths in consequence of overwork, in other words, over-education. One of these children, in the delirium of brain-fever, continually cried out, with every expression of pain and distress: ‘I can’t do it—I can’t do it!’ alluding, of course, to the difficult sum or long lesson which had been given her; and so the poor little overtaxed brain gave way, fever set in, and death speedily put an end to her sufferings.

Now this is very sad, and surely need not, and ought not, to be even possible. To put a higher and better class of education than was meted out to our forefathers within the reach of all, is one of the grandest systems of the present enlightened age—a system to which no sane person could possibly object. But even this blessing may be overdone, through the indiscreet zeal of teachers, until it becomes a curse, instead of what it really ought to be, a blessing. The body of man, acted on by the unerring laws of Nature, plainly rebels against all overdosing, whether it be in food, drink, exercise, heat or cold, and clearly indicates a limit—‘Thus far, and no farther.’ So it is with the brain. Children are not all constituted alike, and it is certain that all should not be treated in the same manner in the training either of their bodies or their minds. One boy will develop great muscular strength, and distinguish himself in athletic games and gymnasium practice. But will it be pretended because A and B can do this to their advantage, that C and D, who do _not_ possess the physical requisites, should also be compelled to go through the same course? What must be the consequence? An utter breakdown. So is it with the mental organisation; a point which seems to be the last thing that many teachers take the trouble to study, or even to think of. All the children who attend the school—to use a homely but truthful saying—must be ‘tarred with the same brush,’ no matter what their capacity or ability. The weak sensitive mind, lacking both ready intelligence and quick perception, is to be ‘crammed’ and overdosed with learning for the reception of which it is unfitted; whilst no allowance is made for want of ability. And all this in obedience to the Revised Code of the Education Department, the principles of which have been denounced as not seldom producing more evil than good, and serving only to degrade the higher aims of true education. The consequences of this system, when it is overdone, are that the mind gives way, and brain-fever and death are the painful results. As far as the public have heard as yet, only two deaths of children have been recorded as having been produced by over-pressure of the brain in schools; but it is not improbable that if two have occurred in this way, that these are by no means all. It is also possible that a child may sicken and die from this overwork without its parents at all suspecting the real cause.

The question is now fairly before the public; and a large and influential meeting was held on the 27th of March last in Exeter Hall, under the presidency of the Earl of Shaftesbury, ‘to protest against the existing over-pressure in elementary schools.’ The most remarkable resolution was moved by Dr Forbes Winslow, a gentleman who, from his great professional experience, was well able to give a fair opinion on a question of brain-work and brain-pressure. This resolution was to the effect: ‘That, in the opinion of this meeting, a serious amount of over-pressure, injurious to the health and education of the people, exists in the public elementary schools of the country, and demands the continued and serious attention of Her Majesty’s government.’ The resolution then goes on to condemn the Revised Code, adding, that ‘if the recent changes even alleviate, they will not remove, this over-pressure.’

Other resolutions passed at this meeting also referred to the excessive brain-pressure exercised in schools, and deprecated the Code generally, especially the inelastic conditions under which the Education grant is administered, the excessive demands of the Code itself, and the defects of inspection. The system of ‘classification’ was also severely condemned by one speaker, who added these remarkable words: ‘Ingenious cruelty could not have provided a more ruinous system than that of payment by results. All the children were ground upon the same grindstone, without reference to their capacity; and accordingly as they were ground up or ground down to the very same level, so was the percentage of public money handed over.’ It was also insisted that teachers should classify according to ability, and not merely according to age; a wise and salutary suggestion, which, if carried out, would undoubtedly save much useless over brain-work, for it would follow that, where a child was found to be of a low order of intellect, cramming and over-pressure would be futile, and therefore not attempted, as being simply loss of time. But where children are placed according to age only in one particular class, it follows that all constituting that class—dull or bright—are to be crammed exactly alike, whether they can bear it or not, and the consequence must be that whilst the intelligent advance rapidly, the stupid break down entirely. Such a system, added to the principle of payment by results, can be productive of nothing but disaster.

The question has recently been before both Houses of Parliament; but Mr Stanley Leighton unfortunately lost his motion by a majority of forty-nine. His motion was to the effect, that children under seven should not be presented for examination—that greater liberty should be given to teachers to classify according to abilities and acquirements, and not age only—and that a large share of the grant should depend on attendance, and a smaller upon individual examinations. Mr Leighton concluded by saying that ‘the existing over-pressure was killing not only children, but teachers as well.’

As this important subject has at length been fairly ventilated, it will probably not be allowed to drop until something has been attempted to modify and re-arrange much that now exists in the objectionable Revised Code. Nothing, however, will accomplish this much-desired result but agitation and pressure in the right quarters, and public opinion must make itself both heard and felt.

GAS COOKING-STOVES.

BY AN ANALYTICAL CHEMIST.

A short time ago, it was feared that the electric light would quickly and entirely supersede gas as an illuminating agent; and whether it eventually did so or not, there was no doubt that in the future it would prove a formidable rival. Those who were most interested in gas, foreseeing the inevitable change, whilst improving the positions they occupied so prominently and so long, sought new fields for the application of gas, in which they might hold their own, and probably more than their own, against the conquering rival. The application of gas to cooking purposes was one of the results, and, as experience has since proved, was a very useful and beneficial one. The writer has had a gas cooking-stove for some time in his possession, and offers, therefore, for the benefit of others the results of personal experience.

The gas-flame used in gas cooking-stoves differs essentially from the ordinary gas-flame used for lighting purposes. It is necessary to bear this in mind, for some persons object to gas-cooking because they are only acquainted with gas in the form used for illumination, in which it is capable of giving off so much soot and other objectionable products of combustion. In the gas cooking-flame the combustion is more perfect, and consequently the temperature is very much higher, so that by this simple change an extraordinary saving of gas is effected, while the objectionable products before mentioned are almost entirely eliminated. To effect this change, all that is necessary is to mix the gas with a sufficient quantity of air before it reaches the flame, and to subdivide the flame itself. This mixture of gas and air has been for a long period in use for heating purposes in the laboratory of the chemist under the form of the Bunsen burner, and also in the blowpipe, and is almost indispensable to him.

The advantages which gas possesses over coal and peat for cooking purposes may be summed up as follow: (1) It is always ready, and can be turned on and off in a moment; (2) It is very clean, deposits no soot if properly lighted; (3) The heat can be regulated to the requirements of the occasion; (4) It requires no attention; (5) It is cheap and economical; (6) It preserves the flavour of meat; and (7) It saves time and labour.

Any person who considers the amount of labour and time expended in connection with ordinary fires—the comparative difficulty of lighting them—the frequent attention necessary to maintain them, and the waste of fuel when not in use—the amount of soot they discharge about the compartment, and deposit, more particularly in open stoves, on the utensils used in cooking—the absence of any means by which the heat can be properly regulated—cannot fail to be convinced that coal for cooking purposes has a great rival in gas. That gas is economical cannot for a moment be disputed, even when the question of labour is not included. Of course the comparison will vary in different localities; but wherever the price of gas is in proportion to the price of coal—that is to say, wherever no exceptionally high price is charged for the cost of manufacturing gas—the cost of cooking by the latter will compare favourably with that of coal. A few figures taken from actual trial will make this clear. A ton of Wallsend coals in London costs twenty-six shillings, and will feed a small kitchen stove for two months; making the charge thirteen shillings a month. To this must be added one shilling a month for firewood, which costs in London three shillings and sixpence per hundred bundles. This amounts to fourteen shillings a month. The cost of gas for doing the same amount of cooking amounts, at three shillings per thousand cubic feet, to, say, fourpence a day, or ten shillings a month; to which eightpence a month for rent of gas-stove has to be added. This amounts to ten shillings and eightpence; making the saving per month upwards of three shillings. Where stoves can be had for hire from the Gas Companies—and they can now be had from most Companies—hiring is cheaper than purchase. Moreover, the Company keep them in repair without extra cost.

The advantages of gas are felt chiefly in summer, when coal-fires are not only not required for heating purposes, but when kept lighted all day, are positively objectionable; and to the workers in the kitchen almost intolerable. The atmosphere of a kitchen where gas is used at this season contrasts strongly in temperature with that of one in which coal is burned. When coal-fires are kept up only for the preparation of each meal, the cost of relighting is somewhat considerable.

There are many objections offered to the use of gas for cooking. It is very commonly said that an offensive smell is imparted to the victuals cooked by gas—that gas is really more costly in the end—and that the statements made by gas and gas-stove manufacturers in respect to working cost are lower than can be obtained in practice. If the stove be a good one, the victuals are generally better cooked than by the ordinary method; there is no objectionable smell, and no objectionable taste. The flavour of meat roasted or baked in a good stove is superior, because it can be done quickly, and is not allowed to toughen, as frequently happens before a low kitchen fire. That gas is not more costly than coals is proved by the figures given above.

We will conclude by saying a few words about stoves. It should be seen that means are provided for supplying a sufficient quantity of air for admixture with the gas before it reaches the flame. The air is admitted through a number of holes or slits opening into the tube through which the gas passes, and in rushing forward under pressure the gas draws the air with it into the flame. To realise a maximum amount of heat out of a given quantity of gas, it is necessary to add to it a definite proportion of air. When the gas rushes rapidly towards the flame, a greater quantity of air is drawn in through the orifices provided for that purpose than when the gas passes more slowly. This to a certain extent regulates the supply of air; but it sometimes happens that too much or too little air is admitted. A small quantity of gas passing through the pipe cannot exercise the force necessary to create a partial vacuum into which the air would be drawn, and as a consequence, the heat derived from the flame is far below what might be expected—in short, it ceases wholly or partially to be a blue flame, and becomes a luminous and comparatively cold, or perhaps a smoky one. The other provision is made for the proper control of the supply of air; and since an excess is the lesser of the two evils, it is wiser to adopt the precaution of having holes or slits in the pipe large enough to admit a sufficient quantity of air. The larger the oven or roaster, the more convenient it will be. This oven should be provided with movable ‘grids’ or trays, and should have one metal tray for the reflection of heat, by which the tops of pies, &c., may be browned; and also with a ventilator, to allow the gases to escape. A gas-stove with a small oven, or with one divided into a number of parts without the means of being enlarged, will be found very inconvenient if it is required to roast a large joint.

A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY.

Fair creature of a few short sunny hours,
Sweet guileless fay,
Whence flittest thou, from what bright world of flowers,
This summer day?

What quiet Eden of melodious song,
What wild retreat,
Desertest thou for this impatient throng,
This crowded street?

Why didst thou quit thy comrades of the grove
And meadows green?
What Fate untoward urges thee to rove
Through this strange scene?

Have nectared roses lost their power to gain
Thy fond caress?
Do woodbine blooms, with lofty scorn, disdain
Thy loveliness?

Oh, hie thee to the fragrant country air
And liberty!
The city is the home of toil and care—
No place for thee!

EDWIN C. SMALES.

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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

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_All Rights Reserved._

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[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text.

Page 357: boycoted to boycotted—“picketed and boycotted”.]