Chapter XVIII: A Cruise on My Own Account (1)

As I stood there, not knowing what to do, I saw the fingers of a man come over the edge of the cabin window; then a face appeared, and, seeing who it was, I leaned forward and laid hold of the carpenter by the back of his shirt to help him. He murmured something inarticulate, and I saw the reason why he could not get in through the window. He had his cutlass in his teeth, and I had to relieve him of it and do some powerful hauling before I had him inside lying on his back on the cabin deck. I closed my hand over his mouth, and bending my head close to his, whispered: "Hush for your life! There's a sleeping man within touch of us!"

But now the hilt of another cutlass appeared at the window. I took it, and enjoining silence on those below in the boat, the carpenter and I hauled in another man. We must have made some noise, but the deep breathing went on undisturbed until every man jack of us had come in through that window. But it was no place to hold a consultation. With my finger to my lips, I stepped to the passageway, took down the lantern from its hook, and came back with it. The sleeper was snoring, and we saw that he was in a bunk behind a half-closed curtain. And now the reason for his sound rest was apparent; as we pulled aside the cloth, ready to jump on him if he made a sound, we smelt the strong odor of rum, and perceived that the man had clasped in his arms a big black bottle, much in the way a child in a cradle might fall asleep with a doll.

"You can't wake _him_," said the carpenter, who was called "Chips" by the crew, and if I had not stopped him, I think he would have tweaked the sleeper's nose.

"One of you stay down here and guard him," I said. "Mr. Chips, you and those three men close the forward hatch. I and these five men will take care of the man at the wheel and the watch. Now, steady! Make no noise!"

They followed me out to the little passageway that led to the foot of the ladder, and I went up it softly. I saw but two moving figures on deck--a man forward leaning with both elbows on the rail, and aft, the binnacle light reflecting on the face of an old sailor with a growth of long white whiskers; his eyes were half closed, and his fingers were grasped tightly around the spokes. Followed by the three men I had detailed, I jumped up on deck. The old seaman at the wheel made no outcry, for danger was probably the last thing he had in his mind. (He took us for some of the crew, I found out afterwards.) When he looked at the pistol that I pointed at his head, however, his jaw dropped, and without a word his legs gave way and he sat down backwards on the deck.

In the mean time the carpenter had clapped a pistol to the head of the man leaning over the rail, two others found sleeping on the forward deck were held quiet in the same manner, and I heard the slam of the hatch with satisfaction.

I had command of the brig, without a word having been spoken above a breath.

I say I had command of the brig right enough, but there was to be a little trouble, after all, which came near to putting me out of the game altogether; but of that later.

In obedience to the plan, the side lights had been extinguished, the yards swung about, the helm put down, and we were steering northeast by east according to the compass.

I was standing by the man at the wheel, trembling with the agitation of pent self-congratulation. I would have given a great deal to have relieved my feelings by a cheer.

"Who are you? Pirates?" said a shaking voice at my side. I looked around. There stood the old sailor with his knees half bent, as if they refused to straighten.

"We're Yankee privateersmen," I said, grinning at him.

"Much the same thing," he muttered--"pirates! What are you going to do with us?"

"Treat you kindly, if you make no noise," I answered, rather amused than otherwise.

This appeared to relieve the old man greatly. The carpenter now came aft.

"I've bucked and gagged the men I found on deck," he said. "You don't want to heave them overboard, do you?" he added, chuckling.

"No!" I answered, quickly.

I had no time to find out whether the man was joking or not in asking this, for a flash of red fire tore out against the darkness less than a mile astern of us. Then a crash reached our ears. Some more flashes and reports in criss-cross, and then a burst of flame so bright that I could make out the outlines of a vessel from her lower yards to the water!

"By the great sharks, Mr. Hurdiss," cried the carpenter, "old Smiler has run afoul of a frigate, and no less! That's the end of him."

As we learned afterwards, that broadside was the end of poor Captain Gorham, and the tight little Yankee also. But we soon had affairs of our own to look after, and I myself had my hands full.

The report of the first shot had caused something of a commotion below. I heard the sound of a cry and an oath, and rushing to the head of the companion ladder, I was almost knocked down by a great man who came up it on the jump. He was bleeding from a gash the full length of his face, but I recognized him as the one who had been asleep in the berth below.

"Demons! Devils!" he shrieked, and avoiding my grasp, he jumped for the side, and went overboard head first, with a wild, unearthly scream.

I knew that a struggle must have taken place in the cabin, and calling the carpenter to follow me, I jumped down the steps, and here is where the unexpected happened. The lantern I had left there had been extinguished. All was pitch dark, but I could hear a faint groaning to the right. I felt along the passageway with my hand, and as I extended it I touched something that moved. At the same moment my wrist was caught in a tight grasp and a hand fumbled up my chest as if reaching for my throat.

"Who are you?" said a voice, in unmistakable English accents.

For reply I laid hold of the reaching hand, and thus the strange man and I stood there close together. I could not reach my pistol, or I would have shot him dead.

"Who are you?" he repeated, hoarsely.

I said nothing, but endeavored to wrench my hand free. The man, at this, began to shout.

"Ho, Captain Richmond, mutiny!" he cried, and threw his whole weight upon me, as if to bear me down. "Ho, Richmond! You drunken fool, the men have risen!" he roared again.

I had wrestled with many of my fellow-prisoners at Stapleton, but I had never been against such a man as this heretofore. I almost felt my ribs go as he grasped me, but I got my hip against him, and we came down together, completely blocking up the passageway. I fumbled for my pistol, but could not reach it, and taking me off my guard, the man shifted his grasp to my throat. I tried to evade it, but it was too late. I caught him by both wrists, and for a second managed to keep his thumbs from choking me.

"Get a light! A light!" I cried.

I had got my knee wedged in the pit of the man's stomach, and was pushing him with all my might, but even with this and the aid of my hands I could not break away. Gradually my breath stopped, lights flashed and danced before my eyes. I could feel my chest heaving as if my heart would come out of my body; then it seemed to me I heard an explosion far above me, and I knew no more.

When I drifted back to the sense of knowing that I was alive, it took me some minutes to gather the strings of my mind and haul in my ideas. At first I could not have told who I was, and for a long time my whereabouts were a puzzle to me. It might be the first question of any one to whom I should tell this to ask why I did not speak, and thus find out the condition of affairs. But let me assure you I was doing my best to form words and sentences, and the only result was a whistling, wheezing sound in my throat. My voice was gone! At last I found strength to raise my hand, and I felt that I was in a box of some kind, and this puzzled me still more until I heard voices talking to one side of me, and I recognized Chips, the carpenter, saying:

"It was a quick funeral, Dugan. And how is the young gentleman?"

Then the whole situation came back to me clearly, and I knew where I was and all about it. I put out my other hand this time, pulled aside the curtains, and it was as I supposed; they had placed me in one of the cabin-bunks; it was the very one, by-the-way, in which the drunken Captain had been sleeping.

"Well, sir," said the carpenter, "so you've come back to join us? It isn't every one who's been so near the great gate and returned."

I tried to answer something, and it must have been an odd sight to have seen me sitting there dizzy and swaying, working my mouth without a sound forth-coming. Something was choking me. At last I made a motion; they understood that I wished a drink of water, and Dugan went to fetch it for me. It pained me much to swallow or to move my head; I can truly sympathize with any man who has been hanged.

They had put something in the drink, however, that made me feel a bit stronger, and I motioned for Chips to come close to me.

"Have we come about?" I whispered.

"Yes, Captain," he replied, nodding his head and smiling encouragement, the way one addresses an invalid. "We came about some time ago, and are now holding a course southwest-by-south-half-south. Is that right, sir?"

I nodded. All I knew was that if we held this course long enough we would fetch up somewhere on the coast of the United States.

But the man's addressing me as "Captain" pleased me. Yes, surely, I was the prize-master of the brig, and the men looked to me to manage her. But I did not even know her name as yet, and there were many things that I wished to find out. So, taking Chips's arm, I made a sign telling him that I wished to go on deck.

The cabin had been lighted by the lantern hanging above our heads. As we went down the passageway I saw that another light was coming from a small door that opened into a little closetlike space which contained two bunks. A horn lantern was suspended from the deck beam, and a man with his head bound up in a bloody cloth was in the lower bunk.

"It's Fisher, the man we left guarding the drunken skipper," said Chips. "He was struck on the head with a bottle."

We were at the foot of the ladder, and I saw that it was from this place that the man with whom I had had the struggle had emerged. It was right here where I was standing that we had been fighting, and it was there we lay. I looked down and saw that the passageway had been lately slushed out, for a sopping squilgee had been tossed in the corner.

"Where is he?" I asked.

The carpenter shrugged his shoulders. I understood with a shudder, and did not repeat the question. What was the use?

By the motion of the vessel I knew that the wind must be light, and glancing up as I came to the top of the ladder, I saw that the carpenter was well up in his business, and that in him I had an able lieutenant.

The brig had every stitch of canvas set, and despite the fact that she was very old-fashioned and bluff in the bows, we were making good headway, and rolling out two rippling waves that seethed and tumbled on either side of us.

It would soon be dawn. The sky was growing light in the east, and the glow was spreading every minute, so that I judged it must be in the neighborhood of four o'clock in the morning. I sat down on the edge of the cabin sky-light and rested my elbows on my knees; and in that attitude I gave thanks that my life had been spared, and prayed that strength would be given to me to meet any danger that might come before me.

The dawning of a day is a very beautiful and holy thing to watch, especially at sea, with the red edge of the sun creeping slowly up against the horizon, and the expanding sense that one feels in his soul at the world's awakening. Had I a gifted pen, I should love to describe the sight I have seen so often--the growing of color in the water, from black to gray, from gray to green and blue; the red-tipped clouds, and all--but I shall not attempt it; I should fail. Even this day I noticed the beauty of it, but I began to worry about my throat (I was in great pain again), and wondered whether the pressure of the man's fingers had destroyed my larynx. But if I had lost power of speech, I knew that the carpenter would carry out my intentions, and that he probably could give the orders in much better fashion than I could. So it was not necessary for me to borrow trouble, although I hated to think of whispering for the rest of my existence.

Suddenly I thought of the prisoners penned in the forecastle, and I approached the carpenter, who was chatting with the man at the wheel, and asked him about them--whether he had held converse with them, and how many were they. He informed me that there were eight fore-mast hands and the second and third mates cooped up below, and that the only way they could get out was through the forward hatch, which he had nailed down. I walked to the bow with him, and saw that he had cut a square hole in the middle of the hatch cover big enough to admit air and to permit of talking with those below. He leaned his face over the hole and shouted:

"Below there, ye Johnny Bulls! How fares it?"

The reply was a chorus of cursing. But at last one man succeeded in hushing the others, and I could hear his words distinctly. He spoke with a strong Scotch burr.

"Who are ye? Where are ye takin' us?" he asked.

"We're Yankees," answered Chips, "and you know that right well. We're taking you for a trip to the land of liberty. If you behave yourselves, and stop your low talk and your blaspheming, you'll have your breakfast soon. We're Christians."

There was no further conversation, and at this instant I was seized with a hemorrhage from my throat, and the carpenter insisted upon my turning in in the cabin, which I was not loath to do, as moving about seemed to start the blood in my throat. I went below, and lay there all the morning, suffering not a little. They brought me food, but I was unable to swallow it; but when I fell asleep at last, I was awakened in a few minutes, it seemed to me, by Chips touching me on the shoulder.

"It's near meridian, Captain Hurdiss," he said. "Hadn't you better take a squint at the sun? The wind is getting up a bit too, sir," he said, "and the glass has fallen."

I endeavored to get my feet, but the motion started the trouble in my throat, and I fell back, weakly.

"Never mind; you'd better keep to your bunk," the carpenter said. "To-morrow you'll be up and about, I'll warrant. I'll leave this bottle for you, sir."

I detected an anxious look in his face as he handed me a glass of water and spirits. Again I fell asleep, and awoke some time late in the afternoon, feeling much better.

The brig had a great motion on her, and every plank and timber was groaning and creaking. I took a sip out of the bottle, which was wedged in the corner of the bunk, and although it scalded and burned me, it seemed to give me strength, and I crawled out, and stumbling to the foot of the ladder, made my way up on deck. The sky had grown black and angry. We were on the starboard tack under reefed topsails, and everything was wet with flying spray. The _Duchess of Sutherland_, for that was the brig's name, belonged to an era of shipbuilding when they believed that every breeze must blow over a vessel's stern, I should think. The way she kept falling off was a caution. She appeared to go as fast sideways as she did ahead, and such a pounding and thumping as she made of it I have never seen equalled. Most of the crew were on deck, and one of them, a fine seaman named Caldwell, saw me standing holding on to the hatch combing. He came up, touching his forehead in salute.

"She's a bug of a ship, Captain Hurdiss," he said.

I nodded, and glanced up at the aged time-seamed masts.

"It won't pay to carry much more sail, sir," the man said, as if in suggestion.

I beckoned him to put his head close to mine, and gave an order to take in the foresail, for it was holding us back more than helping us. The man bawled out the order, and jumped with the rest to obey it. I felt so weak that once more I sought the cabin. I took a glance at the barometer as I went by, and saw that it was still falling; that we were in for a hard blow or a storm I did not doubt.

But the rolling and tumbling increased, and the groaning and complaining of the timbers led me to believe that the old craft was working like a basket, which was exactly what she was doing. Suddenly she gave a lurch so hard and sharp to port that I was almost spilled out of the berth, and fear giving me strength, I crawled up on deck on all fours. The man at the wheel was doing his best to bring the brig's head up in the wind, the jib had blown out and was tearing into streamers, the men in the forecastle were working away at something, and I heard a wail from the prisoners below.

It looked as if we were bound to capsize, but at this moment the topsail blew out of the bolts and we righted. But the storm was upon us; the tops of the seas blew off and scudded along the surface like drifting snow; there was a fiendish howling in the rigging. I motioned with my hand for the helmsman to swing her off. He understood, and soon we were before it, scudding under bare poles toward the north. But even then the _Duchess_ made bad weather of it, yawing and plunging badly. Dugan, whom I had appointed second mate, came up to me.

"It's safer to run, Captain," he said, shouting in my ear. "Go below, sir; Chips and I will keep the deck."

As I could be of no use, I took his advice, and crawled into the bunk again, trying to assure myself that all was well. It had grown very dark, although it was but seven o'clock, and I had lain there but a half-hour or so, when the carpenter came rushing in. Even in the dim light I could see the terror in his blanched face.

"Heaven help us, Captain!" he said. "I've just sounded the well, sir, and there's three feet of water in the hold!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

* * * * *

IT CEASED PUBLICATION.

The editor of a petty newspaper in France was extremely sad. He sat in his office with bowed head and troubled brow. Long had he fought against Adversity's strides, but at last they had overtaken him, and now, with no money to bring out the future issue, his only alternative was to cease publishing. The once paying circulation had dwindled to a mere nothing, and the wielder of the blue pencil and scissors racked his brains for an honorable excuse for quitting. It took hours, and at last he jumped up.

"Jacques," he called to his printer, "we will get out one more issue, and that will be the last. I will devote every page of it to the festivities occasioned by the visit of the Czar of Russia, and on the head of the sheet put in large display type this line:

"In commemoration of his illustrious Majesty the Czar of Russia, this paper, always an exponent of the nation's welfare, will cease publication."

THE INAUGURATION OF A PRESIDENT.

BY A. MAURICE LOW.

Once in every four years Washington witnesses a sight the parallel of which is only to be seen in the great court pageants of monarchical Europe. The inauguration of a President is always made a great ceremony; it is accompanied with such a display, the stage settings for this performance are so gorgeous, and so unlike anything else we are accustomed to in other cities, that one must go to Washington to see a ceremonial so impressive in the lesson it conveys and so interesting from the personages who are the central figures. There are often seen larger parades than those which march down historic Pennsylvania Avenue on the morning of the 4th of March, but none which so truly represents the greatness of the Union and draws from every corner of the country. On the 4th of March the President and the President-elect drive from the White House to the Capitol and back, and in the evening there is a grand ball. This sounds simple enough, but for months before that day hundreds of the leading citizens of Washington, and scores of men in other places, have been working many hours a day to perfect the details, and on their labors depends whether the great occasion shall be a success or spoiled by an awkward mishap. So soon as the election is over, the chairman of the National Committee of the successful candidate appoints a prominent citizen of Washington to be chairman of the inaugural committee, and he in turn appoints the other members of the committee. These men are the principal bankers, merchants, lawyers, newspaper men, and other public-spirited citizens, without regard to party, as the inauguration is a national affair, and all men are ready to show their respect to the President. Everything relating to the inauguration is left to these committees. The first thing they have to do is to raise a guarantee fund for the necessary expenses--the decoration of the ballroom, the music, and such other things. This year the committee fixed the amount at $60,000, all of which has been contributed by private persons. With the exception of providing the room in which the ball is held and building a stand or two, the government defrays none of the expenses, the entire cost being met by private contributions.

The committees have to decide what organizations and troops shall be in the parade and the places they are to occupy; they superintend the decoration of Pennsylvania Avenue, the main thoroughfare of Washington, leading from the White House to the Capitol; the erection of stands from which the thousands of people who come to the city to take part in the pageant may witness it; arranging for accommodations for the strangers, and the selection of the grand-marshal of the procession. This last is a very important matter. Necessarily the marshal must be a military man who has been used to the handling of large bodies of men, as on that day he commands an army larger than that of the regular force of the United States, and it requires great military skill and cool judgment to make of the parade a success, instead of a failure, as it would be in the hands of an incompetent man. General Horace Porter, who has a distinguished military record, will lead the hosts this year.

It is the custom for the President-elect to arrive in Washington a few days before the inauguration. Rooms are engaged for him at one of the hotels. Shortly after his arrival he drives to the White House and pays his respects to the man whose successor he is so soon to be. When Mr. Cleveland paid his first visit to the White House Mr. Arthur was President. Mr. Cleveland was then a bachelor, and his late political rival escorted him over the house, and recommended to him his sleeping-room as being the quietest and most comfortable in the mansion. Later in the same day the President returns the call, the visits in both cases being very short, and official rather than social. While the President-elect is waiting to be sworn into office his time is generally very fully occupied in receiving public men, many of whom he meets for the first time, and sometimes in completing his cabinet. It has happened on more than one occasion that after the President-elect reached Washington he finally made up his mind as to a particular member of the cabinet.

At last comes the great day. The city is thronged with strangers. All Washington has been hoping for months that the sky will be blue and the air balmy, which is often but not always the case. There have been inaugurations when the weather was so warm overcoats were superfluous; at other times rain has fallen in torrents, snow has been piled up on the sidewalks, and men who escorted the President to the Capitol have had their ears and fingers badly frost-bitten. But whether fine or gloomy, from an early hour the capital of the nation takes on an air of unwonted activity. Orderlies and aides in gay uniforms are seen dashing in all directions, bands march up one street and down another, companies and regiments wend their way to their appointed positions, thousands of sight-seers pack the sidewalks, fill the stands and the windows on the line of the procession. Four years ago, when Mr. Cleveland was inaugurated for the second time, the weather was so cold that many of the men in the parade were frost-bitten, and several deaths resulted from the exposure. The night before it snowed heavily, which early the following morning turned into slush, and later in the day froze. But despite the forbidding weather the usual numbers were on the streets to see the new President, and men and women sat for hours on exposed stands rather than give up their places after having paid for them. Four years before that, when General Harrison was inducted into office the rain fell with pitiless fury, and yet under a sea of umbrellas people stood on the east front of the Capitol, and heard the new President deliver his first official pronouncement to the country. Many paid for their curiosity with their lives.

Whether the sun shines, or it rains in torrents, or the snow covers everything in its poetical but moist mantle, the President and the President-elect must ride to the Capitol in an open carriage. That is a penalty greatness has to pay to popular custom, and it has often been wondered at that the drive has not been fatal to one or both of the men. Nearly all the time during what is often a most unpleasant drive the new President has his hat off, bowing his acknowledgments to the applause which is never silent for one moment. It roars and rolls like a great salvo of artillery, in its intensity at times drowning even the music of the bands, and there are scores of them, all playing at the same time. Attended by a committee of Congress, regular infantry and artillery, thousands of militia from various States, and an even greater number of civic organizations, the President and President-elect drive in an open carriage, drawn by four horses, to the Capitol. Here everybody prominent in official life awaits them. In the Senate-chamber are the Senators, members of the House of Representatives, the Chief Justice and the associate justices of the Supreme Court of the United States, the members of the diplomatic corps, and the members of the cabinet.

The Vice-President precedes the President-elect to the Senate, and will have taken the oath of office while Major McKinley is _en route_. As soon as Mr. Hobart has been sworn in, he and the other personages who have been in the Senate-chamber proceed to the platform erected on the east front of the Capitol, and to which the President-elect has been escorted. Here, confronting an immense assemblage, the oath is administered by the Chief Justice, and then, by this simple ceremony Major McKinley having become President, and Mr. Cleveland being an "ex," the new President reads his inaugural address. When that is finished, Major McKinley is once more escorted to his carriage and driven to a reviewing-stand erected in front of the White House, where for several hours he has to salute and be saluted by the thousands as they sweep past him. It is usually late in the afternoon before the new President is able to leave the stand and enjoy a short rest before once more taking part in one of the features of the inauguration day. It is worthy of note how quickly the transformation is effected from the great power of the President to the private life of the citizen. When the ex-President leaves the White House in the morning to drive with his successor to the Capitol, it is seldom that he re-enters his former residence. Some Presidents have been known to drive direct from the Capitol to the railroad station and start on their journey home; while General Arthur remained in Washington for some days after Mr. Cleveland's inauguration, but as the guest of ex-Secretary of State Frelinghuysen, John Adams was so exasperated by the election of his successor, that he refused to accompany him to the Capitol, and left Washington early on the morning of the fourth. Curiously enough, his son was equally as discourteous, and so was President Johnson. But with the administering of the oath to the new President, the man who five minutes before was the Chief Magistrate of the nation has become merely a private citizen. There is no courtesy shown to the man who has been. He drives to the station or to his friend's house unattended, without escort, without any one anxious to see him. When Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland leave Washington early in March it will be just as any other persons do.

There has been little change in the general details of inaugurations from the time of George Washington to the present. Jefferson, according to tradition, rode to the Capitol on horseback, tied his steed to a paling, and took the oath in a very democratic fashion. But if history is to be believed, Jefferson rode because the fine new coach he ordered for the occasion was not finished in time, and had it been finished, six horses would have drawn the chariot. When Jackson returned to the White House after the ceremony at the Capitol, the doors were thrown wide open and punch served to every one. The scene that followed is almost indescribable. Furniture was smashed, carpets destroyed, and the dresses of women ruined in the mad rush to drink the President's punch, and that, I believe, was the last time the attempt was made to keep open house on the 4th of March. President Arthur was twice inaugurated. Immediately on receipt of a telegram announcing the death of General Garfield, he sent for one of the New York judges and took the oath, his son and only one other person being present. The scene was very pathetic. Later he publicly took the oath in the Capitol, Chief-Justice Waite administering it. At one time it was thought that only the Chief Justice of the United States could swear in the President. But this is a mistake. The oath taken before a notary public or any other person competent to administer it is legal. On the death of Mr. Lincoln, Andrew Johnson took the oath privately in his room. After Mr. Lincoln's family left the White House, he entered it without any ceremony.

It has been the custom for a ball to be held on the evening of the 4th of March. Of late years this ball has taken place in the hall of the Pension Building, a great court 280 feet long and 130 feet wide. From the floor to the roof-tree is 150 feet. This spacious room is elaborately decorated, and two great stands are erected on which are placed bands, one for dance music and the other for promenade. The floor is generally too crowded for dancing. At the last ball it is estimated that 12,000 persons were in attendance, but in corners here and there some of the younger people manage to find space enough for a few turns. The President is not expected to dance. He makes a circuit of the hall, and then retires to a room set apart for him, where he holds a reception. It is usually midnight before he leaves, and his first day as President of the United States comes to an end. After the President leaves, the room is less crowded, and dancing is more generally indulged in. Any one can attend the ball who cares to buy a ticket, the money derived from this source going to reimburse the subscribers to the guarantee fund.

WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

To be glad that some one we love was born,
And began his life on a certain day,
In the time of the sun and the tasselled corn,
In the time of the blossom, the time of May,
Or perhaps, when the feathery snow-flake flies,
And the world lies white under winter skies.

All that is nothing, 'tis one we know,
One who is with us in our class,
School days and home days, to and fro,
We smile and chat, and we meet and pass;
But here is our chief! Our hero! One
Who lived and died, and was done with earth
Long before our time! Washington,
And we keep with gladness his day of birth!

The cannons rock, and the banners wave,
The soldiers march, and the proud drums roll,
For knightly and gallant, true and brave,
Fame wrote his name on her faceless scroll,
Never to wane, that stately fame
Forever dear to a grateful State,
From age to age that immortal name
Shall a joyful people celebrate.

A WINTER'S MORNING IN THE YELLOW SEA.

AN INCIDENT OF THE CHINO-JAPANESE WAR.

BY AN AMERICAN NAVAL OFFICER.

There exists no more disagreeable place for a winter's anchorage than the so-called harbor of Che-foo, China, just north of the Shan-tung Promontory, in the Yellow Sea. During the winter of 1895-6 a powerful fleet of some twenty war-vessels, representing the flags of seven nationalities, was there gathered together. The Chino-Japanese war was then in progress, and the active operations of the Japanese, in the investment of Wei-hai-wei, had been going on for some time. From Wei-hai-wei, Che-foo was distant about thirty-five miles, and this latter port, having been one of those originally opened by treaty, had acquired importance as a commercial centre for the north of China. In the immediate vicinity of this place, and for miles in the interior, were scattered hundreds of missionaries of different sects and nationalities, the Americans forming a large majority.

To guard the interests of foreigners in general, and incidentally to take advantage of such lessons as were to be learned from the war then in progress, the several nations had assembled in the East as many vessels as should best serve the interests involved.

Probably a combination of finer war-vessels, representing all types, has seldom been seen than the international fleet of that winter. An agreement had been entered into by the commanders-in-chief representing Great Britain, Russia, France, Germany, and the United States, for the protection of citizens. The best of feeling existed among the officers and men, and all hands were keenly alert for such service that might be required.

The trials of that winter were numerous; the weather was inclement, provisions were scarce, and recreation!--there was none. Gale followed gale with great frequency. Storm-tossed, the vessels rode at their moorings with steam up, rigging and decks covered with snow, sides and pipes covered with ice. Communication with the shore, except by signal, was shut off for days at a time, and with these conditions obtaining, the life on shipboard was not all that could be desired. The ice made out from shore for nearly two miles, and some attempts to land proved disastrous to the boats, with corresponding discomforts for the crews.

Occasionally the monotony for those on the _Charleston_ and _Yorktown_ was varied by being sent on hazardous trips to rescue missionaries, or to watch the operations of the belligerents off Wei-hai-wei. For those on the flag-ship, however, there was no such good fortune. We held the end of the cable, directing the movements of the vessels of the squadron, informing the Department of the progress of events, and keeping a watchful eye over the small body of troops that had been landed to prevent anticipated disorders among the Chinese, being also prepared to throw ashore at any moment a large body of re-enforcements.

Watching had become wearisome, and many were the longings for the end to come that a temporary respite might be ours. The doom of Wei-hai-wei was sealed. Count Oyama with his perfectly appointed army, manoeuvred with a master's hand, had captured the forts on the east and west sides; the sledge-hammer blows struck by the ships of Admiral Ito had resulted in mortal wounds, so that all that remained of the once magnificent stronghold of Wei-hai-wei were the islands of Leu-kung, behind which the remnant of the once vaunted Chinese fleet had sought refuge, and Channel Island, with its still powerfully offensive battery.

The Chinese battle-ships _Ting-Yuen_ and _Chen-Yuen_ remained sullenly defiant--a menace to the Japanese. It was not, therefore, the policy of Admiral Ito to bring his lighter vessels within too close quarters of solid fortifications and ironclads. The Chinese could not escape; why, then, risk the lighter ships when a little patient waiting would produce the desired result? The dashing torpedo-boat attacks of the Japanese on the nights of February 4th and 5th had brought havoc and destruction to the Chinese fleet, sinking four of their ships, and giving the much-overwrought nerves of the Celestials a bad shaking up.

Information came to the American commander-in-chief that it was probably the intention of Admiral Ito to finish the work on February 7th.

In that latitude at that season of the year day is late in breaking, but the date in question proved to be an ideal winter's day. Not even a gentle breeze was blowing; the air was clear, crisp, and cold, with the thermometer at 6° Fah., while the bay showed no movement of the closely packed cakes of floating ice.

The harbor of Che-foo is such in name only; it consists of a small indentation in the coast, with two small islands, on one of which is the light-house, about four miles from shore; to the northward the anchorage is limited by a narrow neck of land that rises to a bluff, the latter facing the sea. Beyond the bluff and outside the harbor limits is a half-moon bay, which on this occasion was filled with ice extending out about two miles, and closely packed by the recent gales.

Shortly after eight o'clock on the morning of February 7th, from the direction of Wei-hai-wei came the reverberations of heavy cannonading, and the decks of the vessels at the Che-foo anchorage were soon peopled with officers and men impatiently awaiting developments.

Within an hour unusual activity was observed among the Chinese soldiers in the fort of Che-foo, and it was noted that the heavy Krupp guns had been given extreme elevation.

Far to the southward appeared a speck on the water, and with glasses it was soon made out to be a torpedo-boat under full steam coming toward the port of Che-foo. It was seen that the boat was trimmed by the stern, all the crew being on deck aft, the better to immerse the screw. From the stream of smoke that piled from the pipe it was evident that the little craft was being urged to its utmost speed. Owing to the fact that the torpedo-boats of both belligerents were painted a neutral color, it was not easy to decide upon the nationality of the stranger, for naturally no flag was displayed. Following at a distance of about half a mile came a second boat, but as no firing was going on, it was concluded they were friends. The mystery was soon explained by the appearance, further out at sea, of two Japanese cruisers--the _Yoshino_, the speediest and handsomest ship of their navy, and the _Tachachiho_, the prototype of our _Charleston_. It could be seen that they were in pursuit of the two torpedo-boats. Their sharp prows were cutting the water like knives, and through the glass the officers and crew could be observed anxiously watching the chase.

There is something in a race, be it great or small, that stirs the blood of every man, and when the race is one for life and liberty the interest becomes more intense, particularly if the observer's safety is not involved.

The scene was one never to be forgotten. The day was all that could be desired for speeding a torpedo-boat; not a ripple to mar progress; outside the islands the sea was clear of ice, while the cold crisp air was most favorable for the draught.

With the approach of the vessels grew the excitement of the observers; the cold was forgotten, gloves and coats were thrown aside, and officers and men mounted the icy rigging the better to view the chase. Those that were fortunate enough to possess glasses reported incidents that could not be seen by the less fortunate. Admiral and staff, officers and men, elbowed one another, forgetful of all but the excitement of the moment. Each little gain or loss was carefully noted, and brought forth breathless remarks from the interested spectators. Some of the crew, more sharp-sighted than the others, reported the progress of the race, and as the cruisers closed more and more upon the torpedo-boats the excitement grew intense. "Now the big ones gaining!" "No, the little one's holding her own!" etc. Gruff observations of this sort were heard on every side.

The little torpedo-boats were game, and fought on manfully, one might say, foot by foot.

From the pipes of pursuer and pursued poured forth columns of smoke that trailed behind like dense black streamers, seemingly to portend the tragedy that was to follow; while, as if by contrast, the water parted by the rapidly speeding vessels broke in waves that glistened and scintillated in the sunlight in spectacular magnificence.

It was estimated that the _Yoshino_ was making nineteen knots and over, and it was evident that a heavy forced draught was being carried. The first torpedo-boat was holding its own, or doing a trifle better, but the second and smaller of the two was slowly but surely losing distance.

One was strangely reminded of the coursing of hares by large and powerful hounds, only in this case the lives of human beings were involved, and the chances for the torpedo-boats, if caught, were about equal to those of the hares under like conditions. Whatever may have been the unofficial sympathies of the on-lookers in regard to the war then going on, it seemed to be the universal wish that "the little fellows" might escape.

For a moment, off the harbor, the course of the leading boat deviated, as if to take refuge behind the shipping. That moment was the signal for unusual activity for the vessels at anchor; capstans were started and preparations made for a hurried departure, for had the Chinese boats entered they would have been followed by the cruisers, and it would have required lively work on the part of the neutrals to get out of range.

The Chinese Lieutenant who commanded the torpedo-boat evidently concluded not to be a disturbing element to the fleet at anchor; the course was renewed, and, rounding the bluff, an attempt was made to reach the shore by ramming the ice. The floe was found to be too heavy for the light craft, so, skirting the edge of the ice, the boat stranded in shoal water; the occupants made a hurried exit and took to the woods. The second boat likewise tried the ice, but finding that no impression could be made thereon, sought to escape, as its principal had done, by skirting the pack until shoal water could be reached. But there was no time; the _Yoshino_ was too close, and that powerful vessel ploughed through the ice at a tremendous rate of speed. When the nearest point to the runaway was reached, we heard the ugly quick bark of the _Yoshino_'s three-pounders, and the race was over. With a mighty roar the safety-valves of the big cruiser were lifted, and for security the vessel headed seaward. There was no time to lower boats; the water was intensely cold, and it was never learned that any of the crew of the riddled boat escaped. The guns of the _Yoshino_ sang the only requiem over the watery graves of those that went down with their ship.

The stranded boat was hauled off the next day by boats from the _Tachachiho_, and was taken to the Japanese navy-yard at Yekesuka. Several months later this trophy of the war was shown to the writer by a Japanese naval officer, the latter little suspecting that his visitor had witnessed the interesting episode of its capture on that eventful winter's morning in the Yellow Sea.

The great development of various kinds of athletics within recent years has been to the detriment of certain kinds of sport that men and boys ten years ago or more used to devote more time to. Nowadays there are so many who wish to go into athletics that the popular games are those in which the greatest number of contestants may take part. It is probably for this reason that we see so much attention given to track athletics, even as a winter in-door sport, to the subordination of almost all other games.

Before these events became popular American men and boys, as English men and boys had done for years before them, especially those who lived in the country, used to devote more of their time to the simpler branches of sport, one of which is wrestling. But as only two men may take part in one wrestling bout, while the rest must stand around and look on, this sport has more or less fallen from popularity. Nevertheless, like boxing, it is one of the best kinds of exercises, and will do more toward building up a strong constitution and developing a deep chest, broad shoulders, and strong arms, than any other kind of exercise.

Wrestling is one of the oldest sports of the world, and doubtless came into being as early as foot-racing. It is probably because of its age, simplicity of equipment, and natural use of strength that it has failed to receive the consideration given to other and more elaborate games of skill. Fortunately, however, there has always been a number of enthusiasts the world over who have kept awake the interest in wrestling, and by their enthusiasm have steadily advanced its standard of skill.

It is very probable that if wrestling had required intricate machinery for its expansion and a broad outlay of paraphernalia it would long since have become as generally popular as those games which hold places of favor to-day. In America there are three distinctive styles of wrestling--Catch-as-catch-can, Græco-Roman, and Collar-and-elbow. There seems to be no doubt that catch-as-catch-can is the style that has to-day reached the highest development. It certainly is second to none as a means of exercise, and is superior to most as a means of defence.

In the first place, it is the most natural style of wrestling and of using one's strength, because it allows of any hold, and the contestants are at liberty to exercise all means at their power, as the name indicates, to bring down the opponent--methods that a man must adopt when the struggle is in earnest. Abroad, I believe, no hold lower than the waist is permitted, but here in amateur contests one may catch wherever he can, the only restrictions being what are technically known as the full nelson and the strangle hold. To the average man who has taken up the sport of wrestling, the idea of developing his body has been the first, the idea of using his skill for personal defence is naturally secondary. But, as a matter of fact, wrestling is one of the best of the defensive arts, and has proved serviceable in a number of critical occasions.

In cases of emergency, speaking now of self-defence, a number of holds which would not be considered proper in sport may very well be used to protect one against an attack. And especially if a knowledge of wrestling is added to a slight familiarity with boxing, the combination of the two arts makes a man a very formidable opponent. It should always be remembered by those who go into the development of these athletic arts that whenever it becomes necessary to use them in self-defence the style will be found to be very different on the highway from what it is in the gymnasium.

No matter how good a boxer a man may be, if it ever becomes necessary for him to defend himself with his fists, the boxing will soon degenerate into a rough-and-tumble fight; and here is where the science of wrestling becomes most important. But all this is merely incidental to the benefits of exercise to be derived from the sport, and I have only mentioned these possibilities to show that there is an advantage to be gained beyond the mere increase of muscle and agility.

As an exercise, as a tissue-making, blood-stirring sport, there is nothing in-doors to equal wrestling. It stretches every muscle, it expands the chest, strengthens the legs and arms, and gives coolness, determination, and quickness. The qualities necessary in football, those qualities which make the game such an excellent developer of the human body, are the same essentials to the successful wrestler. Furthermore, there is no game of skill to which the adage that "practice makes perfect" may more justly be applied than to wrestling.

Any one who has not had practical experience in the matter can have no idea of the immense advantage that trained skill has over mere brute strength. Of course one cannot expect any man or boy, be he ever so skilful, to put on his back an opponent weighing a hundred pounds more than himself, yet it is surprising to see what weight and strength may be defeated by skill and quickness. To become an expert, one ought to begin to learn the elements of wrestling at an early age, say at sixteen or seventeen, and it is important to have a well-trained, careful instructor.

Wrestling is by no means an easy game, and a great deal of harm may be done to growing boys if their work is not supervised by a teacher who combines with his technical instruction an intelligent appreciation of his pupil's physique. On the other hand, no exercise, when carefully conducted, is better calculated to build up and fill out a frail physical structure. It is not well, after one has learned the rudiments of this sport, to wrestle always with the same man, for this will surely limit the novice's range of action.