Chapter IV (1)

Charlie won the first game at draughts, and they had just begun a second when the skipper suddenly appeared at the galley door. His face was flushed, and there was a wild look in his eyes.

'The galley is not the place for playing draughts,' he said, and with his hand swept the pieces off the board.

Charlie and Ping Wang made no remark. It was plain to them that he had paid that visit for the sole purpose of bullying them, and they were wondering what his next complaint would be.

'I want a mug of tea,' he said, seeing that the kettle was not boiling.

Charlie put the kettle on the fire at once.

'That's the result of playing draughts when you ought to be at work,' the skipper growled. 'I always want some tea at this time.'

'In future it shall be ready, sir,' Charles replied, calmly.

'Future--eh?--I want it now. What's that Chinee doing here?'

'I thought you noticed that Ping Wang was playing draughts with me.'

'You're not paid to think. I do that for all the crew.'

Then the skipper turned his attention to prying into the pots and pans, to see if he could discover anything which would give him an opportunity to find fault. To his evident annoyance he did not succeed in discovering anything, for Charlie had done his work thoroughly, and the cooking utensils looked much cleaner than when he entered on his duties.

In a few minutes the tea was ready, and as soon as the skipper tasted it he made a grimace, and exclaimed, 'Beastly wash!--Do you hear?' he exclaimed, finding that Charlie did not speak. 'It's wash!'

'It is made in exactly the same way as the other tea you have had during the day,' Charlie declared.

'Then I must have drunk wash before. But I won't drink this. Here, Chinee, you drink it.'

'Me no want any, skipper,' Ping Wang answered.

'Don't want it, eh? What does that matter? Drink it at once.'

Ping Wang shook his head, and the skipper immediately flung the contents of his mug full in the Chinaman's face. The tea was very hot, and with a cry of pain Ping Wang ran at his tormentor. Stepping backwards quickly, to avoid him, the skipper stumbled over the weather-board at the entrance to the galley, and fell heavily on to the deck.

The mate, who had been pacing the deck, ran to pick him up. 'What's the matter, skipper?' he asked.

'That Chinee has knocked me down,' the skipper declared.

'He did nothing of the kind,' Charlie declared, and related to the mate exactly what happened.

'You'd better get an hour or two's sleep before we haul,' the mate said to the skipper, and, taking his arm, led him away.

'I think we had better turn in also,' Ping Wang said, and Charlie at once went forward with him.

The other men were already asleep. The ventilators were all closed, and the foc's'le was so close and stuffy that Charlie thought, at first, that he would have to go on deck again. But, being very tired, he determined to stay where he was, and clambered into his bunk. He slept soundly, in spite of the bad air, until Ping Wang aroused him. It was a quarter to eleven, and the men were donning their oilskins, with a view to hauling.

'You had better put the kettle on,' Ping Wang said to Charlie; 'all hands will want tea before they turn in again.'

Charlie, wearing his oilskins, went to the galley at once. As he passed along the deck he shivered, for a breeze had sprung up, and the air struck cold, after the stuffiness of the foc's'le.

(_Continued on page 226._)

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON'S HEAD GARDENER.

'We must not forget the gardener,' says a visitor, describing Walmer Castle at the time when Wellington was Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. This gardener, a fine-looking, elderly man, was at the battle of Waterloo, and when his regiment was disbanded, the Duke offered him the post of head gardener at Walmer Castle.

The good fellow objected, for, to use his own words, he 'did not then know a moss rose from a cabbage,' but the Duke was determined, and, as a soldier, the man could but obey orders. 'But now,' he said to the visitor, 'I get on pretty well.'

'And like it?' he was next asked.

'Oh, yes.'

'But suppose war were to break out--would you be a soldier again?'

'Why, that must depend on the Duke: if he said I must go, of course I must.'

'How did you manage when you first came here?'

'Why, as well as I could. It was rather awkward.'

'Perhaps you studied hard--read a good deal?'

'No, I didn't read at all.'

'You looked about you, then?'

'Yes, I did that.'

'And now you get on very well?'

'Why, yes; but I am plagued sometimes: the names of the flowers puzzle me sadly.'

'And what does the Duke say to that?'

'Oh, I have him there,' said the soldier gardener, 'for he doesn't know them himself!'

The visitor also stated that the garden abounded in flowers--not rare ones, but rich and luxuriant, with a well-kept lawn, in the midst of which was a lime-tree, which the Duke always declared to be the finest he had ever seen.

The experiment of turning a soldier into a head gardener seems to have been quite successful.

TWO MEDALS.

A little English schoolboy was sauntering along the quay, looking rather bored. It was a picturesque scene--this port of the Black Sea--with the varied craft in the harbour, and the varied nationalities represented by the groups of men who chattered and gesticulated, or lounged and slept in the sunshine.

But what, he thought, were the summer holidays without cricket? Of course, it was jolly to be with his people again, but Dick did wish they lived in England. The boys at school had envied him because his journey home would take him through the unrestful Balkan territory, and he might have all manner of adventures. It was very hard that there had been none, though the train after his had been held up, and had not got through without some fighting.

He reached the end of the stone pier, where half-a-dozen men were leaning over a low parapet.

'What is your pleasure, little Milord?' one asked him. This was their nickname for the boy, who had been a favourite with them since he had learnt to order them about in their own tongue when not much more than a baby.

'My pleasure is a cricket match,' he answered, 'and as far as I can see it is a pleasure I shall have to do without.'

'Would not little Milord like to fish?' asked another. 'See, one already is trying his luck,' and he pointed to a boy about Dick's age sitting on the parapet with his line in the water below.

'A foolish place to try, with the current running as strong as it does round the end of the pier,' Dick said. 'He is not likely to get a bite there.'

Even as he spoke the boy jumped up suddenly and turned round. No one saw exactly how it happened, but he missed his balance, and with a scream fell into the water.

For a minute Dick waited. He was such a little chap, and of course one of those big men would jump in after the boy. But no! they stood staring at each other with terrified faces, and never moved.

Then over the wall went Dick into the water beneath. The boy had risen, and he struck out for him, reaching him easily enough, for the current carried him. It was getting back which was difficult.

The men at the pier-head ran about and shouted in a frantic way. 'A boat!' shouted one. 'A rope!' called another; while a third wrung his hands and moaned, 'They are lost! they are lost!'

And Dick battled and battled against the current with the dead weight of the boy hindering him from making any perceptible way. It never even occurred to him that by letting his burden go he might at any rate save himself. And his English pluck came to his help. He wouldn't be beaten. He just _had_ to get to land somehow, and he must not let himself think of anything else. The men, too, had at last found a rope and were flinging it to him. If only he could get near it! Once it was just within his grasp, but he was beaten back again. Then, with a final tremendous effort, he struck out again and reached it, and held on like grim death, though the singing in his ears and his struggling, panting breath warned him his strength was nearly exhausted. By this time, however, a boat was nearing them, and soon the boys were on land, though the lad Dick had saved was with difficulty brought back to consciousness.

Dick himself was rather white and limp, but otherwise not much the worse for his adventure.

'Why didn't one of you go in after him? I gave you a chance,' he said to the men.

'The water was too cold,' muttered one.

'Too deep!' said another.

'Too dangerous!' growled a third.

And the small schoolboy shrugged his shoulders and went home, to be made a great fuss over by his mother and sisters, which he thought absurd; but he liked the quiet look of pleasure his father gave him when he came in after hearing the news in the town, though he only said, 'Good business, my son!'

And although he is very shy of showing them, I think Dick is rather proud of his two medals: one of the country where the courageous act was performed, and that other of dull bronze which the Royal Humane Society presents to England's brave sons and daughters.

Dick thought it took far more courage to walk up and receive this medal amidst the cheers of the boys and their gay company on Prize-day, than it did to jump in to the rescue of the boy in the Black Sea.

ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.

True Anecdotes.

I.--INSTEAD OF A HAND.

The wonderful contrivances by which animals manage to do beautiful work without tools, to walk without feet, to fly without wings, to talk without a voice, and to make their wants known not only to each other but to their human friends, without understanding or speaking human words, would fill a large book. No creature boasts of a hand like our own; even that of the monkey, though his fingers resemble man's, has a thumb which is nearly useless. The American spider-monkeys prefer to use their long tails as hands, plucking fruits with the tips and carrying them to their mouths. The elephant uses his nose as a hand (for his trunk is nothing else but a long nose), and with this makeshift hand he can pick up either a heavy cannon or a sixpence from the ground. The horse uses his tail as a hand to drive off flies which he cannot otherwise reach. On board ship a hen was once seen to use her neck as a hand. She and the other fowls used to quarrel over the laying-boxes, and though the nests looked all alike to a human eye, this hen coveted one special box, and would lay nowhere else. One day her master took the china nest-egg out of the box and put it into another one, to see what she would do. He watched her through the chink of a door, and saw her hunt till she found the egg, curl her neck round it like a big finger, lift it thus, and carry it back to the old box, where she sat on it in triumph.

Stories of rats who have been seen to carry off eggs, embracing them by their tails, are common enough, and everybody has watched animals of different kinds using their mouths to carry things from place to place. Not only lions, tigers, wolves, and bears carry their young in this way, but rabbits, squirrels, mice, and many other creatures. The mother-whale tucks her little one under her huge fin, using it as a hand and arm in one; in time of danger she carries him off thus at the risk of her own life from under the very harpoons of the whalers.

All young animals have an instinct which prompts them to run to their parents for protection when frightened, trusting not only in the older and wiser heads, but in the faithful hearts which have never failed them. Though sheep, cattle, deer, and such-like, have no notion of using their jaws as hands, or of lifting their little ones, many of the young will use their limbs to cling to those who are stronger and swifter than themselves. The four-footed elders will perish rather than desert the youngsters, and will, if possible, contrive to beat a retreat, helping along the weaker ones as best they can.

A very touching story of the devotion of deer to their fawns comes from America. While two men were riding along a creek in California, they saw, some distance ahead, a doe and her fawn drinking from the river. The bank was very steep, and the river deep at that point. When the deer saw the hunters they were startled, and in trying to turn, the little one lost its balance and fell into the creek. The water was running very swiftly, and of course the fawn was carried down-stream. At this the poor mother seemed to lose all fear of the men, and ran wildly along the bank, trying to reach her little one with her head, but in vain. She next ran forward for a short distance, plunged in, steadied herself by planting her feet firmly among some rocks, and waited. Presently the fawn was washed against her, and, as it was being swept by, caught hold of its mother, stretching out its forelegs and clasping her neck, much as a little child uses his arms in clinging to his nurse. The doe then carefully stepped ashore with her precious burden. She lay down beside the baby deer, and, although the hunters were not thirty yards away, she licked and fondled the little thing till it rose to run, when she too sprang up, and the pair trotted off unharmed to the woods.

Many birds use their wings as arms and hands when flight will not serve their turn. A partridge was seen to hustle and drive her little troop of chicks into the shelter of a rabbit-hole with her wings, out of the way of a hawk whose shadow had fallen on the grass at their side. Here she kept them prisoners till all was safe.

The lesson to be drawn from such stories is that even wild, untaught creatures do not use their limbs in a senseless way as parts of a machine, without thinking, but are able to turn them to a variety of uses in times of difficulty. We shall, of course, find that tame animals such as the horse, dog, and cat act more wisely in such ways than their wild relations. The dog, for instance, turns his rough idea of using his mouth for carrying food or young ones, to fetching and carrying for his own benefit or his master's. A handsome brown spaniel lately noticed that his mistress, in carrying a bowl of water, upset some of the contents on the floor. Off dashed Master Jack, intent on 'making himself generally useful,' and quickly returned with the house flannel from the kitchen. This he laid beside the pool, with an intelligent, uplifted look which said, 'There! wipe it up.' Did not this sensible fellow's mouth become a splendid makeshift hand, and his glance an excellent speech?

EDITH CARRINGTON.

THE PITCHER-PLANT.

The leaves and flowers of plants often grow into very strange shapes. The flowers of various kinds of orchids are very remarkable for the peculiar forms which they take. Some of them have a great resemblance to bees, flies, or butterflies, and this resemblance is at times so great that we wonder whether it is only an accidental likeness, or whether it serves some useful purpose. One of the oddest shapes which any plant takes, however, is that of the leaves of the pitcher-plant; and in this case naturalists, who have studied the plant carefully, are able to show us that the strange shape of the leaf really serves a purpose.

The pitcher-plants are most abundant in the islands of Borneo, Java, and Sumatra, and in the Malay Peninsula. Though not so plentiful elsewhere, they are also found in Ceylon, Madagascar, the Moluccas, and one or two other places. The plant is a kind of creeping or climbing shrub which runs along the ground, or climbs up other shrubs and short trees. It seems to thrive best upon the mountaintops, and the summits of the mountains of Borneo are often gaily decked with it.

There are thirty or forty different kinds of pitcher-plants, varying in size a great deal. But the strange thing about all of them is that the ends of their leaves are shaped like pitchers, or perhaps it would describe them better if we said they were like jugs with lids. It is from this peculiarity that the plant takes its name. The leaf is the shape of any ordinary leaf until it reaches its point, where it is drawn out into a long stalk or tendril, at the end of which is the jug or pitcher, which, you must remember, is formed out of the leaf itself. Each plant has its own shape of jug, and the jugs vary in size a good deal. Some are long and slender; others are broad and shallow. Some are tiny jugs only an inch deep, while others are perhaps twenty inches deep. Their colour is green, but the mouth of the jug and the under side of the lid, which is always open, are spotted with red or purple, somewhat like a flower.

Not only do these strange leaves look like jugs, but they are also used as jugs. Each of them contains a little supply of water, varying with the size of the jug from a few drops in the smallest, to as much as two quarts in the largest of them. Thirsty travellers have sometimes quenched their thirst from these natural jugs, when no other water was to be found. Though the water itself is palatable, it is a little warm, and it is always full of insects.

If any one were to watch one of these jugs of the pitcher-plant for some time attentively, he would soon find that it served as a trap for flies and insects. One by one the little creatures alight upon the outside of the jug, and creep into the open mouth, and few or none of them ever return. They slip into the water at the bottom of the jug and are drowned.

If we examine a jug carefully, in order to learn why the insects enter it, and how it is that they cannot get out again, we shall be surprised at the clever way in which the trap is made. The mouth of the jug has a thick ring round it, which makes it firm, and keeps it always open. The lid stands over this mouth, and seems to be always raised a good deal, so that insects and flies may enter freely; but it covers the mouth in such a way as to prevent anything from falling accidentally into the jug from above. The underside of the lid and the mouth of the jug are often gaily coloured, so as to attract insects, as brightly-coloured flowers do. Some of the jugs even make a little honey, which, forming just inside the mouth, attracts insects by its scent. Within the jug, just below the mouth, there is a row of stiff hooks, which have their points turned inwards towards the bottom of the jug. Below the spikes the sides of the jug are so smooth and slippery that few insects could stand on them.

It is easy to see how the trap works. Insects are attracted to the pitcher by the bright colours of the lid or the scent of the honey. They creep into the mouth, and crawl between the hooks, whose sharp points are set the other way, and they step upon the smooth and slippery inside of the jug. In another instant they have slipped into the water at the bottom of the jug. Do what they will, they cannot climb up the slippery sides of the pitcher, or pass the row of sharp hooks, whose points are turned against them. They are caught.

Now all this is very strange and wonderful, and it makes us wish to know why Providence has given the plant this clever machinery. We cannot help asking ourselves why the pitcher-plant entraps these insects. I am afraid that you would hardly be able to answer this question for yourself, however carefully you might watch a pitcher-plant. Indeed, it is only a few years since clever men, making careful experiments, were able to find out the real truth. The fluid at the bottom of the pitcher _digests_ those insects, and the pitcher-plant feeds upon them. Just as the juices of our stomach dissolve meat, so that it may pass into the blood and nourish us, so the fluid in the jug of the pitcher-plant dissolves the flesh of the insects which fall into it, and makes that flesh fit to nourish the plant. This strange plant lives, in part at least, upon flesh; and all the clever mechanism of its jug is used simply to get a meal.

ONE AND ONE MAKE TWO.

As through the busy world you go,
Remember this is true,
That though one seems a little thing,
Yet one and one make two.

The task one could not do alone,
Is done with help from you,
For though you are a little one,
Yet one and one make two.

The thread that's rolled the reel around,
That baby's hands can break,
When with it other threads are bound,
The strongest rope doth make.

The rope thrown by some helping hand,
And drawn the waters through,
May bring a drowning man to land:--
So one and one make two.

The minutes grow into the hours,
The hours into the day,
The days to weeks, to months, to years,
And thus time flies away.

And deeds of good by children done,
Though small they seem to you,
May grow into a mighty sum,
For one and one make two.

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

VI.--THE GIANT AND ITS ADVENTURES.

Two hundred needlewomen were busy for a month making the 'Giant's' coat. It contained twenty thousand yards of white silk, of double thickness, at six shillings a yard, and when finished measured ninety yards round and sixty yards in height. When it was filled it held 6098 cubic yards of gas. M. Nadar, its master, introduced it to the people of Paris in the hope that the money they would pay to see it would enable him to carry out his experiments with flying machines. On October 4th, 1863, the Giant was ready to make its first voyage in the clouds, and nearly five hundred thousand people assembled to see it start.

It was like a cottage made of wicker-work, and mounted on small wheels. In two of the four walls there was a door with two small windows each side of it, and inside there was a little world of wonders. The 'cottage' was only fifteen feet long, twelve wide, and eight high; but it was divided up so carefully by thin partitions that there was room for a small printing-office, a photographic department, a refreshment-room, a compartment for the captain's bed and passengers' luggage, and another at the opposite end, with three beds in it. Outside all this, but inside the walls of wicker-work, was an inflated rubber lining, so as to prevent it from sinking if, by any mischance, the 'Giant' should fall into the sea. Thus, according to circumstances, the building could be either the car of a balloon, a ship at sea, or a caravan being drawn by horses upon the wheels already mentioned along a country road. From the inside a narrow stairway led on to the roof, or deck.

When all was ready, M. Nadar, leaning from the deck, gave the word. The ropes were let go, and the Giant rose solemnly towards the sky. Fifteen voyagers waved their hats and handkerchiefs over the bulwarks, returning the greetings of the crowd till carried beyond sight and hearing.

Though the launch was a success, the poor Giant had been served very badly by some careless persons, all unknown to those on board. The pilot, a clever aeronaut, named Godard, was a little surprised that very soon after leaving the ground he had to begin throwing out ballast, to stop them from sinking. This went on for some hours, and when darkness had fallen, and all the world had disappeared, it became clear that the balloon must descend. They had attained a height of many thousand feet. It was nearly nine o'clock, and supper on deck was over, when Godard, finding that the descent was becoming too rapid, called out, 'Hold to the ropes!'

Every passenger seized some portion of the ropes, so that the shock of contact with the earth might be somewhat lessened. Down came the Giant, a great deal more swiftly than it had risen; and the last bags of ballast were emptied over the side with little effect. The blow was tremendous, and the wonder is that the passengers escaped with their lives. An inquiry was held, and the Giant itself was proved blameless. The valves for allowing the escape of gas had never been properly closed! Thus, from the very moment when they left Paris, the gas was pouring out at the top; and it was only through the enormous quantity used that they succeeded in rising at all.

A fortnight later M. Nadar was ready to sail again. This time the Giant had nine passengers, who were destined to make an eventful voyage. Anchor was weighed in the evening, and very soon, at a great height, all eyes were turned to watch the beautiful sunset. As the shadows of night gathered round them, however, more than one traveller looked anxiously at the gigantic ball above. Supposing anything should go wrong with it! It looked such a tremendous distance down to the earth.

When day dawned again at last, after a night during which no one had closed his eyes, they found themselves hanging over the fens of Holland, many miles from Paris. Fearing that the wind might carry them out to sea, they agreed to descend. But, on reaching the lower air, the huge balloon was caught in what proved to be almost a hurricane. It drove them towards the ground at a long angle, until, like a falling kite, the Giant struck the earth head foremost, dragging the car behind it at a terrible speed. The travellers hung on for dear life. Again and again the car struck, and rebounded thirty or forty feet into the air. With the first blow the valve-rope was jerked beyond reach, so that it became impossible to let the gas escape.

Mile after mile they tore through the country, crashing into trees, and scattering herds of cattle right and left. All the anchor-ropes, dropped one after the other, had been snapped like thread, the last catching in the roof of a cottage, and tearing it open before giving way. Then, to the horror of the passengers, a railway-train appeared a short distance ahead, spinning along at great speed. A collision seemed inevitable; but with one united effort they shouted to the driver. He heard them, and reversed his engine, and the next moment they whirled by, dragging telegraph wires and poles after them. And now a hero came to their rescue. Jules Godard, the pilot's brother, after many fruitless attempts, climbed into the network and secured the valve-rope. The gas was now slowly discharged, and before the bag was empty the passengers had either jumped or been jolted from the car, bruised and shaken, but happily without loss of life.

After making such a wonderful name for itself, the Giant took a short sea voyage on board a real ship, and crossed the Channel to England, and, blown out with harmless air, hung under the great glass dome of the Crystal Palace for visitors to admire. After this it made only one or two more journeys to the clouds, and ended its career as a poor captive balloon in the gardens of Cremorne.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(_Continued from page 219._)

Much to his relief, Charlie found that the galley fire had not gone out.

'I kept it going, cook,' a grimy young trimmer declared. 'It would have gone out long ago if I hadn't looked after it. And I've filled the kettle for you. Got a bit of grub to give me?'

Charlie took out a chunk of bread, dabbed a spoonful of marmalade on top of it, and gave it to the lad.

'Any time you want anything done, I'll do it,' the trimmer declared, and departed.

As there was nothing to detain Charlie in the galley he went forward to assist in hauling. The skipper was on the bridge; the mate was working the donkey-engine, which was fast drawing in the long wire ropes attached to the net, and the deck hands stood at the starboard-side gunwale, watching for the net to appear. An electric light was hung up at the bridge, so that the men could see to do the work they had in hand. For a moment or two Charlie stood at the foot of the bridge, waiting for the skipper or the mate to tell him what to do.

'Stand here,' Ping Wang said, quietly, but loud enough for him to hear.

Charlie nodded his head and took up his position about three feet away from the Chinaman. Soon the net appeared above water, and the men, bending over the gunwale, grasped it with their hands, and, tugging all together, pulled it slowly but surely upwards.

'Where are the fish?' Charlie asked, surprised at seeing none in the part of the net at which they had been tugging.

'For'ard,' Ping Wang answered, and as he spoke the donkey-engine started panting and puffing, and the part of the net to which the Chinaman had pointed was now raised high above the gunwale. It resembled a huge cooking-net which had been lifted out of a gigantic pan. It was crowded with fish, and as it was pulled in and suspended over the pound made on the deck, the very small fish, mostly dead, fell through. Others, with wide-opened mouths, were caught in the meshes. A fisherman now stepped under the dripping net, untied it at the bottom, and sprang quickly aside as the catch of fish fell with a thud into the pound.

'What a mixture!' Charlie exclaimed as he gazed at the fish jumping, wriggling, and sliding about in the pound. 'What are they?'

'Cod, plaice, haddock, and turbot,' Ping Wang replied, but he only named a few of them. The catch included also ling, sole, whiting, dab, gurnet, oysters, crabs, whelks, cat-fish, star-fish, and a large amount of ocean scrapings.

Charlie stood watching the struggling mass, deeply interested, but Ping Wang whispered to him, 'Come away, or you'll have the skipper at you. We are going to shoot now.'

Charlie bestirred himself at once, and assisted in shooting the gear. When that had been done without a hitch, the work of sorting, cleaning, and packing the fish was begun. Three men stepped into the pound, trampling on the fish until they had made a clear space for their feet.

'Give a hand there, cook!' the skipper shouted, and Charlie stepped into the pound. He had not the heart to tread on the still living fish as the others were doing, and in his anxiety to avoid hurting them, he slipped and fell against the gunwale, his sou'-wester falling overboard. The other men stopped work at once, and looked at him in a by no means friendly way. The skipper abused him loudly and fiercely.

'It was my own sou'-wester,' Charlie declared, unable to understand why the skipper should be so excited over the loss.

'Then why don't you jump overboard and save it? We will fish you up next time we haul.'

The men laughed heartily at this grim joke.

'Take the skipper's advice, mate,' one of them said. 'I want some new boots badly.'

'It is thought a bad omen if a fisherman's sou'-wester is blown overboard,' Ping Wang explained in a whisper, whereupon Charlie laughed loudly at the superstitious idea.

'Stop that row,' the skipper shouted, 'and start cleaning the fish.'

Charlie took out his clasp-knife, and seized a plaice.

'Don't cut that,' Ping Wang warned him. 'Put the plaice in the box just as they are.'

Charlie hesitated, for the fish was not yet dead, and he did not like the idea of packing it away while it was alive.

'Here, stow it away,' a fisherman growled, and snatching it out of his hand flopped it in the box and smacked a dead fish on top of it.

The plaice were the only ones which had not to be cut open. As each fish was cleaned it was tossed into another pound, and when the whole of the catch, with the exception of the plaice, oysters, whelks, and the useless fish, were in this, the hose was turned on to the silvery mass.

When the fish had been thoroughly cleansed with water, they were packed away in boxes, which were at once stowed away in the hold between layers of ice.

Charlie was not required to assist in the work in the hold, and therefore he hurried to the bucket, on which was painted 'All hands,' and indulged in a wash. He was fortunate in being first, for fresh water is not plentiful on a trawler, and one bucketful has to suffice for the whole crew.

From the bucket, Charlie went to the galley and made the tea. Every one, from the skipper to the ship's boy, had a mugful; some had two. The North Sea fishermen are inveterate tea-drinkers.

Having drunk their tea, the men threw off their oilies and turned in again with all their clothes on.

'It isn't worth while undressing,' Ping Wang said to Charlie. 'In about three hours' time we shall have to turn out again. If you don't undress you will have a little longer time to sleep.'

Charlie did not undress, and consequently he was ready to start work at once when the time came. He put on a peaked cap in place of his lost sou'-wester.

'Don't forget the tea, cook,' one of them said to Charlie as he climbed up on deck. 'Let's have it before we start hauling.'

Thanks to the trimmer the kettle was boiling, and Charlie was therefore able to bring the men mugs of hot tea in less than five minutes from turning out.

'Cook is one of the right sort, after all,' one of the fishermen declared as he returned his empty mug to Charlie, and the others assented by nods and grunts. But before long Charlie was again in hot water. As he was assisting to haul in the net he sneezed loudly. In a moment one of the fishermen placed his big, dirty hand over his mouth and effectually prevented him from sneezing on the net again.

The skipper, looking down from the bridge, broke into loud abuse.

'What harm is there in sneezing?' Charlie answered, angrily.

'None of your back answers, or I'll clap you in irons.'

'If you do, you'll have to pay for it dearly when we get back to Grimsby. I insist upon knowing what harm I have done.'

'It is thought very unlucky to sneeze on a trawl,' the mate explained quietly, anxious to save Charlie from any further bullying. 'It is supposed to bring bad luck to the trawler. Now, grab hold of the net.'

Charlie again tugged at the net, and, when the catch was emptied into the pound, it was found that it was an exceedingly small one.

'That comes of having you aboard!' the skipper declared, pointing at Charlie.

'I don't see how my sneezing could have affected this catch,' Charlie answered, 'considering that it was almost on board when I sneezed.'

'But how about your sou'-wester last night? That was what ruined this catch, and your sneezing will spoil the next one.'

Charlie laughed openly at this prediction, but it was rather unfortunate for him that, when the next haul was made, it was found that the catch was still smaller than the previous one.

'I told you so!' the skipper declared, white with rage.

'It is a coincidence,' Charlie replied, calmly. 'If I sneeze on the net now you will probably have a fine catch next time.'

'No back answers. Don't you try to teach me anything. Get away to the galley at once, and be careful what you do.'

Charlie returned to the galley, hardly knowing whether to be angry or amused. It was very galling to have to submit to the abuse of an ignorant, blustering fellow like the skipper, but, at the same time, he could not take the man's superstition seriously.

'I would not have believed, unless I had seen the skipper, that it was possible for there to be such a superstitious Briton living at the end of the nineteenth century,' Charlie said to the mate, about half an hour later.

'Oh, there are many like him in the North Sea,' the mate answered, 'and all the arguing in the world won't convince them of their foolishness. After a time you will not find his ignorance and superstition amusing. However, what I want to say to you is this: the men in the foc's'le declare that the grub isn't well cooked, and that you haven't given them plum duff yet. You must let them have it to-morrow.'

'I will,' Charlie declared, as if plum duff were the easiest thing in the world to make.

When the mate left him, Charlie took out the bow-legged cook's written instructions to see what ingredients were necessary. His idea was to make and boil the pudding that evening, so that, if it turned out a failure, he would have time to make another one. If it proved to be a success, he would be able to warm it up on the following morning. But, just as he began to read the recipe, he noticed that the fire had burnt low and needed instant attention. In his anxiety to prevent it from going out, he put down the flimsy little book and began shovelling coals on the fire. While he was doing that a gust of wind swept through the galley, and carried the recipe-book out through the porthole and into the sea.

Charlie, gazing out at it, saw it float for a moment or two, and then lost sight of it.

'Well,' he muttered, ruefully, 'I don't know how I am going to make plum duff now!'

(_Continued on page 238._)

THE TRUMPET AND THE DRUM.

Said the Trumpet to the Drum:
'Less noise, good fellow! come!
For nobody can hear
My voice, when you are near.'

'Boom! boom!' the Drum replied,
'The fault is on _your_ side;
You blow with such a sound
That _my_ poor voice is drowned.'

And after that, all day
They blew and boomed away,
In contest so absurd
That _neither_ could be heard.

Now, when you want to speak,
O children, never seek
To drown in noisy tone
All voices but your own;
But learn to shun in life
The Drum and Trumpet's strife.

JIM'S SHOWER-BATH.

The kitchen was very hot, and Aunt Christy, the old black cook, was very busy. With her sleeves rolled up above her elbows, and her cap all awry, she bustled about, hurrying the slow movements of the girls who were her helpers, and scolding the four little dusky children whenever they got in her way. She declared that they were all as full of mischief as they could be, and that there was not a pin to choose between them. But if one of the four _did_ happen to be worse than the others, that one was certainly Jim.

Jim was nearly seven; his young mind was full of eager questions; he wanted to know the reason of everything, and it was really because he was so curious and prying that Aunt Christy thought him worse than the rest.

On that morning he poked about the kitchen, opening baskets and peering into dishes, until his eyes fell upon a large bright pail, which was set upon a stand too high for him to reach.

'That's a new pail. Why's Aunt Christy got a new pail? Wonder what's in it? I will see.'

So said Jim to himself; and when he found that, even by standing on tiptoe, he could not reach, the little rascal trotted off for his three-legged stool, mounted on that, put his chubby arms as far as they would stretch round the pail. A three-legged stool, however, is but a treacherous support, and this Jim found to his cost. As he stood there, it slipped from under his bare feet, and the pail, which was full of warm water and vegetables, suddenly overturned.

Poor Jim got a terrible drenching; it was lucky for him that the water was not very hot, or he would have been sadly scalded. As it was, a big turnip hit him on the head, and the handle of the pail hurt him. Wet and bruised he crept away, a sadder and a wiser boy, inwardly resolved to have nothing more to do with things which did not concern him.

C. J. BLAKE.

WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

VII.--THE CLIFF-DWELLERS OF NORTH AMERICA.

If you take a map of North America, and trace the line of the Rocky Mountains downwards, you come to the State of Colorado, with New Mexico and Arizona lying below; and if you tried to explore this country you would find yourself in a perfect network of mountains. In Colorado there are magnificent snow-peaks, with richly wooded valleys lying between them, whilst in New Mexico and Arizona the land is much more bare, mountain ridges, often covered with stones and pebbles, dividing flat table-lands of great extent.

Common to all three States are wonderful gorges, or splits in the cliffs, of immense depth. Sometimes from below one can hardly see the sky between the precipices; at other times the gorge may open out into quite a broad valley; but, whether narrow or wide, we may be quite sure that wherever there is a canyon (as these rock-splits are called in Western America) there will be a river running down it.

One of these rivers, named the Colorado, travels for more than three hundred miles along a channel of its own cutting, never less than a mile below the level of the surrounding country. If we remember that we take from fifteen to twenty minutes to walk a mile, and then fancy that mile standing on end like a pole, we may get some idea of what the cliffs are like in these canyons.

The currents of the mountain rivers, like those of all waters flowing from high lands, are very strong and swift; and when the snows are melting, or after heavy rainfalls, the force of the stream is enormous. The result is that the channel is worn deeper and deeper, whilst the cliffs at the side are eaten away in places. The hardest rocks remain in jagged points and ledges, and the softer parts are in time washed away, leaving caverns of all shapes and sizes.

The kind of people who lived in this country of highlands and canyons were tribes of American Indians, whose food was chiefly found in hunting, and whose main interests lay in making war upon their neighbours. Some tribes were strong, and others weak, so that by degrees the powerful folk drove away the less warlike people from the rich hunting-grounds and wooded country into the barren rocks. Now, if these hunted tribes were to exist at all, it was clear they must find some means of protecting themselves; thus it may have happened that scrambling up the cliffs one day to avoid their foes, some fugitive Indian came into one of the dwelling-places hollowed out in bygone ages by the river which roared below. What joyful news he would carry home to his friends when he ventured to go back to them! Shelter from rain, and snow, and wind! Homes easily defended from marauding foes! What a new life of ease for the persecuted people! One by one families would climb the cliffs, until at last a great population looked down from their eyries in certain gorges of Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona, where only eagles or mountain-goats might be supposed to dwell.

The table-lands above the ravines were, as a rule, fairly fertile, and the Indians were able to grow maize, or Indian corn. When they were obliged to give up the roving life of hunters, animal food must have become a scarce luxury.

Being an industrious race, they were not long content to live in the rugged caverns as nature made them, but with wonderful labour built walls, floors, and roofs, to make their homes more comfortable, and to keep out the icy winds which howled up the canyons. The marvel is how they reached their homes, which are often at great heights; and one shudders to think of how many stray babies, clambering children, and nervous folk of all ages, must have stumbled and fallen over the rocky platforms to certain death. Every drop of water, every bit of fuel, and all food of every kind, must have been carried up those awful precipices, usually on ladders placed from ledge to ledge, and drawn up after the climber. That any people should choose such dwelling-places shows how unsafe life down in the plains must have been, and later on we will try to see how far the Cave Indians contrived to secure peace and comfort in their cliff houses.

HELENA HEATH.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

10.--OBLIQUE PUZZLE.

Each word is one letter shorter than the one before. The initials, read downwards, give the name of a South American city.

1. The highest degree of respect. 2. Bitter hatred. 3. A common and useful covering for the floor. 4. A model of excellence. 5. A woman's name. 6. A sharp instrument. 7. A curved structure. 8. Congealed water. 9. An adverb. 10. A vowel.

C. J. B.

11.--CHARADE.

My first is thick and dark; my second is connected with the sea; my whole is an acid concrete salt, or some one keen and irritable.

C. J. B.

[_Answers on page 263._]

ANSWER TO PUZZLE ON PAGE 195.

9.--1. Wellington.
2. Marlborough.
3. Nelson.
4. Blake.
5. Shakespeare.
6. Tennyson.
7. Scott.
8. Dickens.
9. Elizabeth.
10. Victoria.

ANSWER TO 'WHAT AM I?' ON PAGE 214.

Dun-dee.

DECEIVING THE HORSE.

An omnibus, in the course of its journey, had to be taken up a long and toilsome hill. Frequently passengers, out of pity for the poor horse, would get out at the bottom and walk up a part of the way, so as to lighten its load. In time, the sagacious beast got to expect this, and would sometimes stop of its own accord, as if to let them descend from the vehicle.

One day, a gentleman, travelling up the hill for the first time in this conveyance, was much annoyed by the conductor frequently opening the door, even when no one wanted to get out, and banging it close again.

He inquired of the man what he meant by such conduct, when it was explained that it was done to deceive the horse, which, each time the door was banged, thought another passenger had alighted, and pulled away with more will in consequence.

H. B. S.

THE TEETH OF HYENAS.

Hyenas have stronger jaws than any other animals in the world. They have a large tooth at each side of the upper jaw, which bites against the keen edge of a tooth like it on the lower jaw, thus forming a pair of shears sharp enough to cut paper and strong enough to crack the thigh-bone of an ox.

Hyenas live entirely on meat. A lion, on the contrary, eats a large quantity of fresh grass when it can get it, and in captivity will lap milk from a pan with as much greediness as an ordinary pussy.

THE GATE-KEEPER OF RAMBOUILLET.

It is difficult for Englishmen to realise the intense devotion which Napoleon the First inspired in the hearts of his French soldiers. Ambitious and utterly careless of human life as he undoubtedly was, these men overlooked all this in their admiration for the victorious General.

As a rule, Napoleon certainly behaved as the Father of his soldiers, and seemed to feel both with them and for them. Here is an account of the way he cheered an old 'Sapeur' whom he find lying in the ward of a military hospital.

'How now, my friend?' said the Emperor, halting at the soldier's bedside. 'You are one of my Sapeurs, I see! I thought that regiment prided itself on never being ill?'

'I am not ill, your Majesty!' said the soldier, proudly, as he saluted his chief; 'but the doctor wants me to have my leg cut off, and I do not wish it.'

'Why not?' asked Napoleon. 'Are you, who have faced death so often, afraid of an operation of a few minutes?'

'Afraid, Sire!' said the man, with a quiet smile. 'Fear is not a disease that attacks Sapeurs, as your Majesty knows; but if I change my leg of flesh for a wooden stump, I shall never be able to return to the regiment, and I would rather be buried entire than bit by bit.'

'Where were you wounded?' asked the Emperor.

'At Wagram, Sire.'

'Have you received your medal?'

'No, Sire,' said the soldier, eagerly. 'I was in the ambulance when you distributed the medals.'

'Suppose I were to give you the medal now?' said Napoleon, looking fixedly at the soldier.

'Oh, Sire!' said the man, almost leaping up in his delight. 'I should be quite well then, I know.'

'Well, then, I give it you,' said the Emperor: 'but on one condition: you must let the surgeon cut off that leg.'

'Just as you order me, Sire; if you wish my head cut off I am ready! Only I can never serve you again, if I have a leg off.'

'How do you know that, you foolish fellow?' replied the Emperor, smiling. 'Make haste and get well, and I appoint you gate-keeper of my castle of Rambouillet.'

The soldier said no more. His heart was too full of joy and gratitude, for that was indeed a post of honour.

Some months later the Castle of Rambouillet had a new gate-keeper, an old wooden-legged sergeant of Sapeurs, wearing the coveted medal on his well-brushed uniform!

X.

THE CASHMERE STAG.

India is rich in animals of the deer kind. To name only a few, there are the Sambur, the beautiful Axis Deer, the small, but fierce, Hog Deer, the Rusa Deer, the Bahrainga Deer, and the noble Cashmere Deer. The habits of these animals are exceedingly varied. Some live upon the hills, while others frequent the low lands and the jungles, and are never seen upon the higher ground. Several of the species are nocturnal, and are so rarely seen in the daytime that any one might think they were scarce animals, although they are really very common.

The Cashmere Stag or Deer is one of those which live on the high lands, upon the slopes of the mountains of Cashmere, Nepal, and the countries to the north-west of India. It prefers forests and well-wooded country, in which it finds shelter and seclusion. It rarely descends to the lower and more open country, and it is in fact so retiring and alert that it is seldom met with. By day it hides itself in the woods, but in the early morning it is tempted forth to drink at the lakes and pools which lie upon the skirts of the forest. It changes its pasture-grounds with the seasons, climbing the mountains in summer, probably to enjoy the cool, fresh air of the upper regions, and returning to lower ground in winter in search of food.