Chapter II: Part 2

"Old Villars, then, being a monstrous sharp general, said to himself, 'Aha! I'll beat the long roll on Marlborough now,' and he had the astonishing impudence to call his lines 'Marlborough's _ne plus ultra_,' whatever that is; I don't know myself, but it is some sort of impudence in French."

George laughed a little to himself at Lance's notion of the old Latin phrase, but he was too much interested in the story to interrupt.

"Marshal Villars had near sixty thousand men, and such a gang of ragamuffins, Mr. Washington, you never saw. But they'd rather fight than eat; and let an old soldier tell you, sir, whenever you meet the French, don't count on licking 'em because they are half starved and half naked; I believe they fight better the worse off they are for victuals and clothes. The Duke spent two or three weeks studying their works, and when he got through with it he knew more about them than Marshal Villars himself did. The summer had come, and the streams were no longer swollen, and the Duke begun to lay his plans to trap old Villars. The first thing he did was to have a lot of earth-works thrown up at the place where he did not intend to break through the French lines. The French, of course, got wind of this, and drew all their forces away from Vitry, where the Duke really meant to break through and cross the Sanset. All the Frenchmen were fooled, and Marshal Villars the worst of all. So when, one bright morning in July, the French scouts reported that Marlborough himself, with fifty squadrons of horse, was on the march for the earth-works he had made where he did not mean to cross, old Villars was cocksure he had him. The Duke with his fifty squadrons marched a good day's march away from Vitry, the French scampering off in his direction, and concentrating their troops just where the Duke wanted them. Meanwhile every mother's son of us was in marching order--the artillery ready, the pontoons ready, everybody and everything ready. About mid-day, seeing the French had been fooled, the order was given to march, and off we put for Vitry. As soon as we reached the river we laid the pontoons, and were drawn up on the bank just waiting for the word to cross. It was then late in the evening, but we had got news that the Duke had turned around, and was making for us as fast as the horses of his squadrons could lay their hoofs to the ground. About nine o'clock we saw the dust of the advance-guard down the highway; we heard the galloping of the horses long before. The instant the Duke appeared the crossing begun, and by sunrise thirty thousand men had crossed, and had joined General Hompesch's division of ten thousand between Oise and Estrum; and now we were within Villars's lines without striking a blow. 'Twas one of the greatest marches that ever was, Mr. Washington--ten leagues between nine in the evening and ten the next morning--thirty thousand infantry, artillery, cavalry, miners, and sappers.

"Villars found out what was in the wind about midnight, and at two o'clock in the morning he turned around, and the whole French army came in pursuit of us; and if you will believe it, sir, they marched better than we did, and by eleven o'clock in the morning the beggars were as near Bouchain as we; for Bouchain was what we were after. 'Twas a strong fortress, and the key to that part of France; and if we could get it we could walk to the heart of France any day we liked.

"Old Villars wanted to bring us to fight, but the Duke was too wary for him. He sat down before Bouchain, that had a large garrison of picked men, commanded by the bravest officers in the French army, with stores, guns, and ammunition in plenty. The Duke had to make a causeway over a morass before he could get at 'em at all, and there was Villars behind us, ready to cut us to pieces, and that stubborn fortress in front. It was the hardest siege I ever knew, though it was not the longest. The people at home were clamoring for the Duke to fight Villars instead of taking Bouchain; but the Duke knew that if he could get the fortress he would have the control of three great rivers--the Scheldt, the Meuse, and the Lys--and then we could cut off any army the Grand Monarque could send against us. 'Tis a deal harder, sir, to keep men's spirits up in a siege than in a battle. The army would rather have been fighting Villars any day; but there we were, laying trenches, mounting our guns, and every day closing in on that town. The Duke was very anxious after a while to know what the condition of the town was within the bastions, and every young cornet and ensign in the army wanted to risk his skin by sneaking in and finding out. But while the Duke was turning this over in his mind it happened that the enemy sent us a flag of truce in regard to an armistice. The Duke did not want an armistice, but he wanted mightily to know how things were looking inside, so he agreed to send a flag of truce back. The French, though, are not to be easily outwitted, and they made it a condition that the officers sent with the flag be blindfolded. Three officers went in; but they had their sashes tied around their eyes, and the only thing they saw when they had been led blindfolded for a half-mile through the town and into the citadel was a very handsome room in which the commandant received them. They talked awhile, but did not come to any terms; and then the commandant very politely invited them to take some refreshment, and a regular feast was set out for them--just to make them think that provisions were plenty--and the French officers who dined with them ate scarcely anything. But they looked gaunt and hollow-eyed enough, and I warrant they fell to as soon as the English officers left. So, after all, Lord Fairfax was the one to get in."

"Was anybody with him?" asked George.

"Well, sir--the fact is, sir--I was with him."

George jumped up off the floor, and seizing Lance's hand, wrung it hard in his enthusiasm. Lance smiled one of his grim smiles.

"Young gentlemen are apt to think more of a little thing like that than it's worth," was the old soldier's commentary on this, as George again seated himself on the floor, and with eloquent and shining eyes besought Lance to tell him of his entrance into the besieged fortress.

"It was about a week after that, when one night, as I was toasting a piece of cheese on a ramrod over the fire, up comes quite a nice-looking young woman and begins to jabber to me in French. She had on a red petticoat and a blue bodice, like the peasant women in those parts wear, and a shawl around her, and a cap on her head; but she did not look like a peasant, but rather like a town milliner. She had a basket of eggs in her hand, as the people sometimes brought us to sell, though, poor things, they had very few eggs or chickens, or anything else. Now I could speak the French lingo tolerably, for I had served so many years where it was spoke, so we begun bargaining for the eggs, and she kept up a terrible chattering. At last we agreed on two pistoles for the lot, and I handed out the money, when suddenly she flew into a rage, threw the money in my face, and, what was worse, began to pelt me with sticks and stones, and even the eggs. That brought some of my comrades around, and, to my surprise, she begun to talk in a queer sort of French-English, saying I had cheated her, and a lot more stuff, and stamping on the ground, demanded to be taken to an officer. Just then two young officers happened to be passing, and they stopped to ask what the row was about. The young woman then poured forth her story, and I was in an ace of being put in the guard-house, when she whispered something to one of them, and he started as if he had been shot. Then he whispered it to the other one, and presently all three--the young woman and the two officers--begun to laugh as if they would crack their sides. This was not very pleasant for me, standing there like a post, with rage in my heart; the more so, when one of the officers, laughing still, told me it was all right, and I could go back to my cheese and ramrod, and they went off in one direction in the darkness and the young woman in another. They were hardly out of sight when back comes the young woman again. As you may think, I never wanted to clap my eyes on her again; but she slapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Lance, my man, don't you know me?' and it was--it was--"

George was so eager at this point that he crawled on all fours up to Lance and gazed breathlessly into his face.

"It was Lord Fairfax dressed up as a woman! And he says, when I had come to myself a little, for I nearly dropped dead with surprise, 'If I can fool my own men and my own brother officers, I ought to be able to fool the Frenchmen into letting me into the town.' And sure enough, Mr. Washington, that was exactly what he did."

Lance paused to get the full dramatic effect of this. It was not wasted on his young listener, for George gave a gasp of astonishment that spoke volumes, and his first words, when speech returned to him, were,

"Go on--go on quick!"

"Well, sir, Lord Fairfax told me that he had a scheme to get in the town as a woman, and I was to go with him as his servant, because I could speak the lingo; and on the frontier there they have so many accents that they couldn't tell if you were a Dutchman or an Englishman or a Russian or a Prussian; and, besides, my lord said, my French had a High-Dutch twang that couldn't be excelled. He was a week thinking it over and practising in his tent. Of course he didn't tell but one or two persons what he was after; he meant it to be as secret as possible. So when he would send for me to his tent at night every crack and cranny would be stopped, and there would be just one or two young officers putting the Earl through his paces, as it were. He was a slim, handsome young man then, and when he got a woman's wig on, and a little rouge, and was dressed in the latest fashion, with a great hoop--for he meant to represent a lady, not a peasant woman--anybody would have taken him for a pretty young lady. The hoop and the sack and all the fallals a lady would wear were of real service to him, as he could wear his uniform under them, and so, if he should be found out and arrested, he would be entitled to be treated as a prisoner of war. If he had been caught in the French lines without his uniform, he would have been strung up in short order as a spy, according to the articles of war. I kept my uniform on too, but that was a simple matter, as I was only disguised by another suit of man's clothing put on over it.

"My lord had something else under his hoop besides his uniform--a good rapier, with a Toledo blade; and his lace neck-handkerchief was fastened with a jewelled dagger that was more than a toy. He was to be Madame Geoffroy in search of her husband, who was supposed to be in the garrison, and I was to be a great, stupid, faithful Alsacian servant, and my name was to be Jacques; and my name is Peter, sir. I had no arms, only a great stick; but there was a knob in that stick, and when I pulled out that knob I had a sword.

"We used to practise of a night in the tent. My lord had merriment in him then, and officers always like a lark; and it would have made you laugh, Mr. Washington, to have seen my lord, all dressed up as a woman, pretending to cry, and holding his handkerchief to his face while he rehearsed the story he was making up to the two young officers. It was a yarn all about the supposed Madame Geoffroy's travels in search of her husband, and her delight when she heard he was one of the officers of the Bouchain garrison; and of course she would be told by somebody that there was no such officer in the garrison, and then she was to give a screech and fall over, and I was to catch her and beg her to control herself. Oh, it was as good as play-acting! Often, when I have thought of that adventure, and have remembered how my lord looked then and how he looks now--so serious and grave, and as if he never played a prank in his life--I could hardly persuade myself it was the same man. Well, Mr. Washington, after we had got it all straight, one dark August night we ran the sentries--that is, we slipped past them in the dark. They thought we were deserters, although why anybody should desert from our camp, where we had both victuals and drink in plenty, to go to Bouchain, where they had neither, nobody could make out. However, we heard the shots cracking behind us as we managed to pick our way through the morass, and truly, sir, I think we were in more danger of our lives while crossing that morass in the dark between the English and French lines than at any other time. It was terrible work, but we managed to get to a solid piece of ground, covered with underbrush, where our outfit was concealed. Luckily we had to conceal our clothes, for we were covered with black mud, and we had a time scraping it off our hands and faces. At last, though, after half an hour's hard work there in the swamp, we were dressed. We then had to steal about a mile off, through the undergrowth, to the right of the French lines. This would have been easy enough for us except for my lord's toggery, but the little rents and stains we got upon us gave the more color to the story we had to tell of a long day's travel and many mishaps on the way.

"After a while, sir, we got out on the open highway, and then we took breath and made for the French sentries. I tied a white handkerchief on to my long stick, and we marched along until we got to the first outpost; and when the sentry levelled his piece and asked us 'Who goes there?' my lord advanced and said, in a woman's voice, 'A distressed lady.' The night was dark, but the sentry could see it was a lady, and then my lord said, 'I am Madame Geoffroy, the wife of a French officer, and I desire you to bring the officer of the guard to me at once.' That sounded straight enough, so the soldier took a little whistle from his belt and whistled, and pretty quickly a smart young lieutenant stepped up.

"The supposed Madame Geoffroy had then sunk upon the ground, pretending to be almost fainting with fatigue. And after this, Mr. Washington, I will make bold to call my lord Madame Geoffroy during the whole of this adventure; for nobody thought he was anything but a woman, and sometimes I had to rub my eyes and ask if I wasn't really named Jacques, and Madame Geoffroy and her big hoop and her lost husband weren't real.

"The Frenchmen are monstrous polite, as you know, sir, and when the lieutenant saw a lady sighing and moaning on the ground he took off his hat and bowed low, and asked what he could do for her.

"'Let me see the commandant of the garrison for only one moment!' cried Madame Geoffroy, clasping her hands. 'My husband--my poor, brave husband! Oh, sir, have some pity on a distracted woman, who has travelled nearly seven hundred leagues in search of her husband.'

"'Was your husband an officer in Marshal Villars's army, madame,' asked the lieutenant, bowing again.

"'He was--and is, I hope,' said madame. 'He was one of the King's Musketeers, but was taken prisoner at Oudenarde, and on being exchanged he joined Montbrasin's regiment because it was on the frontier; and since that day, a year ago, I have been unable to find any trace of him. I have strong hopes he is living, for I have no proof that he is dead; and knowing that Colonel Montbrasin is the commandant of the garrison of Bouchain, I have made my way here, with incredible difficulty, even through the English lines.' Now this was really a very clever speech, for the King's Musketeers was a crack regiment, being the Grand Monarque's own body-guard, and no man was admitted into it unless he was of the best blood of France. So the lieutenant thought Madame Geoffroy was a great lady.

"'Madame,' said he, 'it is not in my power to promise you an interview with the commandant, but I will conduct you with pleasure to my superior officer, who commands the main entrance to the town.'

"At that madame jumped up so sprightly and started to walk so fast that I was afraid the lieutenant would suspect her. But that is just like the French, Mr. Washington. One minute they are in the dolly dumps, so that you would think they could not live, and the next they are capering about and laughing and singing as if they never had the dolly dumps in their lives. Off we set for the main gate. We walked along the intrenchments, and I kept my eyes open, and in spite of the half-darkness I saw a good many things that they would rather we hadn't seen. Their works were in a bad way, and our siege-guns had done their duty.

"Arrived at the gate-house, the young lieutenant asked for the officer in command--Captain Saussier. So Captain Saussier came out, and madame went through all her story again. The captain ogled her, and it was all I could do to keep my countenance when I saw that the captain and the lieutenant were trying to cut one another out. They made no bones at all of taking her to see the commandant, particularly as she said she did not wish to stay, except until daylight the next morning; for in a besieged town they don't want any non-combatants to eat up the provender. But although they were willing enough for her to go in, they refused to let me. She made no objection to this, which surprised me; but in a moment she fell into one of those fits we had rehearsed for the commandant's benefit, when he should tell her, as we knew he would, that he had never seen or heard of her husband. I came forward then with smelling-salts, and presently she revived. That scared the officers a little, for the bravest officer in the world would rather be out of the way when a woman begins to cry and kick and scream. As soon as they led her towards the gate she had another fit, and as good a fit as I ever saw in my life, sir. Then I came running, of course, with the smelling-salts. The captain evidently did not want her on his hands entirely as long as she was in that condition, so he said perhaps--ahem!--it might be better to take her servant along.

"'Oh, my good faithful Jacques!' cried she. 'It would be a great comfort if I could have him with me in this trying time!' So they passed me in the gates along with her.

"She never stopped chattering for a moment while she was walking through the streets with the captain, telling a long rigmarole about her travels; but she used her eyes as well as I used mine. The town was horribly knocked to pieces--houses falling down, the streets encumbered with rubbish, and several breaches made in the walls. They had managed to repair the breaches after a fashion, for the French understand fortifications better than we do; but there was no doubt, from what we saw in that walk at nine o'clock at night, that the town and fortifications had suffered terribly. And there were no women or children to be seen, which showed that they had sent them all away; for some will remain in a besieged town as long as there is anything to feed them on.

"When we reached the citadel we noticed there were not near enough cannon to defend it; so we knew that they had been forced to take the guns to place on the ramparts. At last, after going through many long passages and winding stairs, we were ushered into the commandant's presence. He was a tall, soldierly-looking man, and he received madame very politely. The captain told the story of her tremendous efforts to get there and her trouble, madame all the time sighing and weeping. But here came in a frightful thing, sir. There had been a Captain Geoffroy, an officer in Marshal Villars's army, and I felt myself turning pale when the commandant offered to let madame remain in the town twenty-four hours, until he could find out something about this Geoffroy. But madame's wit saved her.

"'Pray,' said she, clasping her hands, 'what was this M. Geoffroy like?"

"'Tall,' said the commandant, 'with a swarthy skin and black hair.'

"'Ah,' cried she, muffling her face in her handkerchief, 'it could not have been my husband. He was short, and had light hair, and had lost a part of his right ear in a duel; it disfigured him very much.'

"'Then, madame,' answered the commandant, 'I can give you no further information, for that is the only Geoffroy in the army of whom I know anything, and from your description he cannot be your husband. I will make inquiries among my officers, but I can give you but little hope.'

"Madame sighed and groaned some more, and then said she would be ready to depart in the morning at daylight, to begin her search over again. The commandant offered her a room in the citadel, warning her that it would be necessary for her to get out before daybreak, as the English began their cannonading as soon as it was light enough to see the French lines. Madame agreed tearfully to this, and the commandant offered her some supper, smiling when he told her it was not exactly the kind of fare he was used to offering ladies. But she declined--we had not the heart to eat up anything from those poor devils. So she was shown to a room, and I lay down at the door and pretended to sleep; but you may depend upon it, sir, that neither one of us slept a wink. Towards daylight the captain of the guard came to waken us, and told us it was time to leave. The commandant was up to bid madame _adieu_, as they call it in the French lingo; and after thanking him for his politeness, madame was escorted to the gate, I following her, and thence as far as the picket-line. And here, after the officer had left us, for the first time we aroused suspicion. We were walking pretty fast, and something in the supposed lady's gait made the sentry suspect us. There was another soldier, not a sentry, with him, and this fellow called after us to stop. We were near the entrance to the bog then, and we knew the way across it, particularly as there was now daylight enough to see, so the only notice we took of him was to walk a little faster. The soldier followed us clear into the underbrush, when my lord--for so I will call him now--deliberately dropped his hoop and petticoat, revealing a pair of legs that evidently belonged to the British army, and a rapier, while from the waist up he wore a woman's sack, and had a hood on his head. The apparition dazed the soldier for a moment, when my lord made at him with the rapier, and he turned and ran--giving the alarm, however. We took to our heels and gained the causeway, when the French fired a regular fusillade after us, although not a shot struck; and our own people, seeing us running towards them, thought we were escaped prisoners, and we got within our own lines without trouble. My lord had some valuable information to give the Duke, and the adventure got out in the army and made a hero of him. The French kept monstrous quiet about it; you see, sir, we had taken the commandant himself in. My lord repaid his politeness, though, by sending him a box of wine, which we knew he needed for his sick; but the commandant was the most chagrined man in the French army. They made a sortie soon after that, but it did them no good, and within a week they surrendered. The Duke granted them all the honors of war, and the garrison marched out with drums beating and colors flying. They had made a gallant defence, and had not surrendered until they were starving. That was the end of my serving with the great Duke of Marlborough, for that was his last campaign. And soon after my lord left the army. And I'll be leaving his service by the toe of his boot if I don't go to him now, so good-night, sir, and excuse me if I have kept you out of bed too long."

With this Lance disappeared.

In a few minutes George was in bed, and for the first time a sudden shock of homesickness came to him. His mother would not come to him that night and kiss his forehead, as she always did. It almost drove away the story of the siege of Bouchain; but in a little while he had lapsed into a sleep, in which dreams came of Bouchain, and the Earl dressed up as Madame Geoffroy, and his mother sitting by the fire smiling, and Betty playing on the harpsichord, and then deep oblivion and the soundest of sleep.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

HOW TO START IN LIFE.

FRUIT-GROWING--BY KIRK MUNROE.

In no other civilized country of the world is there so much fruit eaten as in the United States, consequently in no other is fruit-growing such an important and profitable industry. In proof of this, the great State of California is virtually given up to fruit-growing, and receives a greater annual revenue from its fruit trees and vines than from its gold-mines.

Any reader of this article who wishes to become a fruit-grower, and who can have the use of a few square feet of ground, or even a box filled with earth, may begin at once by planting seeds, and so starting a nursery. Of course the first thing to be considered is the locality in which the orchard or grove is to stand. If the young grower lives in one of the Northern States, he will plant apple, pear, or cherry seeds. If in one of the Middle States or on the Pacific coast, he will add to these peaches, prunes--which are only a fine variety of plum--and grapes. In the Gulf States he will substitute fig-cuttings for apples; and in Florida, southern California, southern Texas, or southern Arizona he will plant all the orange and lemon seeds he can obtain. Even if his grove never gets beyond the nursery stage he may still reap a return from his venture, besides the pleasure that it has afforded him, for in every locality there is a steady demand for young fruit trees, which thus have a cash value from the moment they are sprouted.

There is one section of the United States, not yet mentioned, in which can be grown fruits rarer and more profitable than any of those already noted. I mean "semi-tropical Florida," or that portion of the peninsula lying below latitude 28°, which is the latitude of Tampa. North of this even the orange and pomello, which latter is known also as shaddock and grape-fruit, are not safe from cold, as was shown by the freezes of 1886 and 1895, while lemons and limes, which are even more tender than oranges, may not be planted with any hope that they will yield cash returns.

South of the 28° line orange groves have thus far been safe from freezing, and with it begins the pineapple belt of Florida, that is destined to make the State even better known than have its orange groves. Below this line, too, guavas may be, and now are, grown at a profit.

Strange as it may seem to those only acquainted with northern Florida, this southern portion of the State is a very rocky country, and at first sight appears valueless for growing anything; but the rock is old coral filled with plant food, and so porous that tree roots penetrate it in every direction. From this section of the country, which includes the remarkable two-hundred-mile-long chain of islands known as the Florida Keys, the very first vegetables of the year reach Northern markets, shipments of tomatoes and egg-plants being made as early as Christmas. From here, too, comes the bulk of our pineapple supply; and here limes, guavas, and alligator pears grow with such readiness and luxuriance that they require but slight attention after once being planted.

Although this only semi-tropical portion of the United States is just now being penetrated by a railroad, its lands are already becoming very valuable for fruit-growing purposes, and command from ten to fifty dollars per acre; while to clear them in readiness for setting out fruit trees costs about forty dollars per acre more, so that the would-be grower must be prepared to spend nearly one hundred dollars per acre on his land before his orange, lemon, or lime grove, his alligator-pear, mango, or guava orchard, or his pineapple field, or "pine patch," as it is apt to be called, can be started. Then at least as much more money, and in some cases several times as much, must be expended on nursery stock, fertilizer, and labor before any returns can be expected. So, you see, fruit-growing is a business that requires capital to start it, the same as any other.

I should say that no one could hope to make fruit-growing profitable, and place it on such a footing that it would yield him an income for the rest of his life, without an investment of at least $5000. People have succeeded in making bearing groves for much less money; but they obtained their land for little or nothing, cleared it themselves, lived for years poorly housed, fed, and clad, and worked like slaves.

Even he who has the means necessary to make a grove must have enough more to support him until his trees come into bearing, or else be able to earn a living while waiting for that time to arrive. As I have already said, the fruit-grower may do this by raising vegetables between his rows of trees. By so doing he will not only gain a speedy return from his land, but his trees will be benefited by the constant working and fertilization of the soil. Better than vegetables, however, because more profitable, and directly in the line of fruit-growing, are strawberries. As I write, in January, the first strawberries are coming in, and are being readily sold at sixty cents per quart even here in Florida.

After the would-be fruit-grower has secured land and provided himself with the means for making his grove or orchard, there are a few cast-iron rules that he must learn and follow in order to insure success. The most important of these is that no fruit tree will attain a thrifty growth without constant attention and an ample provision of both food and water. Young nursery stock should be at least two years old before being transplanted, and when set out they should never be placed less than twenty feet apart. The little trees should be set in well-mellowed soil, to the exact depth that they attained in the nursery. They should be given plenty of water to start with, trimmed of all their leaves, and the earth should be packed solidly about their roots. After this be careful not to give them too much water; just enough to keep the earth about them damp is sufficient.

A year or so after being set in its permanent place, and after it has put on a healthy new growth, all nursery stock should be budded from well-known varieties of its own kind. After this the young tree must be well fed at least once in six months; it must be protected from high winds, and its delicate surface roots must be guarded against extremes of either heat or cold. Both trunks and branches must be kept clean and free from sap-sucking insects by occasional washings or sprayings, and a thick body growth must be pruned out so as to insure a free circulation of light and air, as well as to encourage a stronger growth of terminal branches, which, in all trees, are the fruit bearers.

The South, including all the Gulf States, contains vast areas of cheap lands available for fruit culture, while semi-tropical Florida, lying south of latitude 27°, offers a vast and as yet but little developed field for three fruit crops, the cultivation of which is but just begun. Most important of these, at present, is the pineapple, which can be raised in no other part of the United States, and which is grown in fields or "patches" of five, ten, or twenty acres. The fruit, or "apple," occupies the centre of a plant two or three feet high, having bayonetlike spiny leaves. It is not propagated from seed, but by slips or miniature plants that spring from the base of the apple, and which in turn will bear fruit eighteen months after being set out. These slips are worth one cent or one and a half cents each, and ten or twelve thousand of them, of which two-thirds will produce fruit, may be planted to the acre. The harvest, or cutting season, begins in April and lasts until June, so that pineapples are brought into Northern markets at a time when they are most nearly destitute of other fruits. Although the pineapple is so perishable that, for shipment by sea, it must be cut some two weeks before it is ripe, and so has come to be regarded in the North as a sour, hard, and indigestible fruit, it is when allowed to ripen in its native field, after being mellowed by weeks of a tropical sun to a golden yellow, one of the richest, sweetest, and most luscious of all fruits.

Another valuable fruit of this remote region is the guava, whose tree, about the size of a peach, has straggling branches clad in a light brown bark of satiny smoothness. One hundred and fifty trees may be set to the acre. They require but little care, and will produce fruit when five or six years old. A thrifty tree should yield at least one bushel of fruit, worth from one dollar to one dollar and a half, while two and three bushels to the tree are not unusual. The guava is yellow, smooth-skinned, and about the size of a nectarine or a very large plum. Its interior is pink, and is filled with small seeds. While most of us are familiar with the dark-colored guava paste that, packed in small wooden boxes, comes from Cuba, comparatively few have tasted the delicious, beautifully clear guava jelly or the darker and richer guava marmalades of Florida. The demand for these is rapidly increasing. Each year sees the establishment of new factories for making them, and many thousands of acres may still be set to guavas without overstocking the market.

Most interesting of all South Florida fruits, because little cultivated, almost unknown outside of the tropics, and most highly appreciated when once introduced, is the alligator or aracado pear--the _aguacate_ of Cuba. A very few alligator-pear trees are grown in sheltered spots of southern California; but South Florida, below latitude 26°, is the only section of the United States where it can be cultivated on a large scale and as a profitable crop. Here it grows as luxuriantly and with as little care as the guava, though it requires a greater depth of soil. The tree is tall, slender, and covered with a dense foliage of dark glossy green, while the ripened fruit, also green in color, is smooth-skinned and as large as a man's two fists. Inside is a great round stone or seed surrounded by a soft yellowish-green pulp, which, sprinkled with salt and eaten with a spoon, or made into a salad, is delicious beyond description. No one ever eats an alligator pear without wanting another, and the taste once acquired demands to be gratified regardless of expense. I have known fifty and even seventy-five cents apiece to be paid for these pears, and when I once asked a Broadway dealer which was the most expensive fruit in his store, he promptly answered, "Alligator pears."

I have said little concerning bananas, cocoanuts, or mangoes, all of which are raised in South Florida, because they grow better in the West Indies and Central America, where labor is much cheaper than in any part of the United States, and from which they will safely bear transportation by sea.

It is often asked by young would-be fruit-growers, "How much land ought a grove to contain, and what will be the returns?"

A safe answer is that both of these things must be governed by circumstances and conditions. As a rule, however, a thrifty five-acre grove or orchard will yield a living, one of ten acres a competence, and one containing one hundred acres wealth. This year Florida oranges are worth, on the tree, from two to four cents each; alligator pears, from five to ten cents apiece; limes, five cents; and lemons, ten cents per dozen; while pineapples will average fifty cents per dozen in the field. A twelve-year-old orange-tree properly cared for should yield one thousand oranges; alligator pears and mangoes half that number; and pineapples 600 dozen to the acre. In other words, fruit-growing ought to average a net profit of from $150 to $300 per acre, while it is not unusual for the profits to reach $500 per acre.

It must always be remembered, though, that such returns are only realized after years of patient waiting, hard labor intelligently applied, and under favorable conditions. Thus, while fruit-growing is a pleasant and safe business for persons of all ages and both sexes, and while the grove or orchard is better than a bank account as a pension for old age, it must be studied and prepared for the same as any other calling in life. For this reason I should strongly urge any young person intending to embark in it to serve at least a two years' apprenticeship, or while his nursery stock is growing, in some well-established grove of the kind that he proposes to make. Here, in addition to familiarizing himself with the routine work of the grove, he should study the chemistry of soils and fertilizers, the habits of such insects as may attack his trees, and the laws regulating the supply and demand of markets. In other words, success in fruit-growing can only be attained by following the self-same rules that lead to success in every line of business under the sun, and by the practice of industry and perseverance.

A VERY FISHY FARM.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

It was a sultry summer morning. The rays of the sun beat down with merciless power through an atmosphere which was saturated with humidity. The sea, flashing in long slanting lines of dazzling silver, melted away in the distance into a cloud of thick yellowish haze. There was no horizon-line, for this haze hung downward from the sky like a veil. It seemed to grow thicker and more dingy in appearance from hour to hour, and as it did so the atmosphere became more and more oppressive. The sunlight, which had blazed in clear white glory early in the day, became yellow and faint, but its heat did not diminish. On the contrary, it seemed to grow greater every minute. The sky had been a deep luminous blue early in the morning, but at eight o'clock great tufted white clouds, looking like gigantic masses of white cotton sailing through the air, began to rise out of the west. After a time they seemed to draw parts of the low haze upward with them, and hence, now and then, a dark shadow appeared among the expanses of white. The light breeze from the west was soft and hot, as if it had passed over a great lake of warm water.

In short, it was one of those mornings which precede an afternoon of thunder-showers and squalls. The fishing-boats were close to the beach, and the fishermen were watching the western sky closely, not wishing to be taken unawares by some sudden development of troublesome weather. Henry Hovey and his brother George voted that it was altogether too hot and stuffy to stay in the house, and they felt sure that, with so many indications of weather, their friend, the Old Sailor, would be down at the pier gazing out upon the ocean. Accordingly they set out for the pier, and there, as they had expected, they saw the experienced mariner sitting in his accustomed place. About two miles off shore there was a handsome iron bark drifting slowly along, clothed with snowy canvas to the very summits of her tall masts. Her long powerful hull was painted a light salmon tint, and was decorated with a broad lead-colored stripe marked with false port-holes. The gilded figure of a rampant unicorn could be distinguished under her bowsprit, while here and there along her deck the glitter of brass-work told that she was a highly finished craft. The Old Sailor was gazing at her intently, and, as the boys paused beside him, without turning his head or seeming to know that they were there, he suddenly said,

"An' wot kind o' wessel might that be?"

"That," answered Henry, "is an iron or steel bark."

"Werry good, too," commented the Old Sailor. "An' wot canvas are she a-carryin' of?"

"Everything that will draw with a light wind abeam," said George, "even to a main-skysail."

"Werry good, too," declared the Old Sailor. "An' w'ich way are she a-headin'?"

"A little to the eastward of south, I should say," replied Henry.

"Not so werry good. She are a-headin' putty straight fur the Saragossa Sea, but, ef her skipper aren't crazy, she won't go there; 'cos w'y, it are not no place fur no sensible pusson to go, w'ich the same I know, havin' bin there in a bark edzackly like that one; but I ain't goin' no more, leastways not ef I know I'm goin', w'ich the same the other time I didn't."

"Oh," exclaimed George, quite carried away by this unwonted flow of eloquence, "please tell us all about that?"

"But wait a moment," interposed Henry. "Where is the Saragossa Sea? I don't remember that in my geography."

"The Saragossa Sea, my son," said the Old Sailor, gravely, "are not one o' them seas wot's surrounded by land. Contrariwise, it are surrounded by water."

"A sea surrounded by water!"

"Them are it. This 'ere sea are jess a part o' the Atlantic Ocean to the east'ard o' the West Injies. It are a place w'ere the current goes around in a sort o' ring, an' the sea-weed an' decayin' wegetables an' other sich truck out o' the Gulf gits out there, an' there it stays. It ain't s'posed to be a werry good sort o' place fur sailin', an' Cap'ns allers steers clear o' 't, onless, o' course, they gits blowed into 't by a storm, an' then steerin' don't clear nothin'. Nobody don't know werry much about that there place, 'ceptin' Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, Willum Smitzer, fust mate, the crew o' the iron bark _Ham Bone_, an' this 'ere werry identical Old Sailor wot are a-talkin' to ye."

The mariner paused for a moment to collect his memories, gazed keenly at the western sky, muttered something about clewing up a "bloomin' sky-scraper," and then started thus:

"The iron bark _Ham Bone_ were a most wonderful trotter off the wind; but any other way she made so much leeway that she were mos' ginerally occipied in climbin' up hill from the place w'ere she ortn't to be to the place w'ere she ort, an' mos' ginerally not gittin' there. I shipped on to her in Liverpool as second mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a bloomin' Dutchman an' also fust mate. We wuz bound fur Jamaiky with a cargo o' plum-puddin', bottled soda, an' misfit clothes."

"Misfit clothes?"

"Yep. Ye see, the Jamaiky people is so werry Henglish that they prefers misfit clothes to any others, so them kind is allus sent there by the mother country, an' so the colony are kep' in a contented state o' mind. Waal, fur two weeks the _Ham Bone_ didn't git along much faster'n that there yaller bark out yonder. The wind blowed mos'ly up an' down the mast, an' we wuz a-wallerin' along with all our light canvas set, an' not makin' more'n fifty to sixty mile a day. Howsumever, that were better'n wot were a-cookin' fur us. One mornin' it were jess like it are now, an' Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, w'ich the same he were a Frenchman, sez he to me, sez he, 'Eet vill be some sqvalls soon, yes, eh?' An' I sez to he, sez I, 'Oui, mownseer; you're dead right.' So he orders us to clew up an' furl the royals, an' ginerally to git ready for misbehavior o' the elements. Waal, sure 'nuff, 'bout six bells in the forenoon watch it got blacker'n a coal-bunker in the nor'west, an' afore seven bells down it came a-squealin' like ten thousand guinea-pigs struck by lightnin'. We wuz under nothin' but torps'ls, but we heeled over till the water were waist-deep along the lee rail. Then we righted, an' commenced fur to go ahead at a tearin' speed, an' off to leeward like a horseshoe crab. Waal, it jess blowed one squall arter another till four o'clock in the arternoon, an' then it fell flat calm, with a great big greasy swell a-runnin' out o' the no'theast, an' the byrometer indulgin' in disgraceful low conduck. Sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney to Willum Smitzer, sez he, 'Eet vill be a bad gale, yes, eh?' An' Willum Smitzer, sez he to he, sez he, me a-hearin' of him, 'Ja woll,' w'ich are good Dutch fur 'Betcher life.' An' both on 'em was a-tellin' the truth.

"At six o'clock there were a white streak along the horizon in the no'theast, an' then the wind come, fust in little snorts, then in big puffs, an' last in a straight, howlin' gale. Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he hove the _Ham Bone_ to on the starb'rd tack, an' then the bloomin' old hooker commenced slidin' off to leeward like a tissue-paper kite, only there weren't no string to keep her from goin' furder an' furder. Cap'n Peleg Mahoney he were on deck most o' the night, an' he talked a great deal o' French, w'ich the same I are not goin' to repeat. An' Willum Smitzer, the fust mate, he talked Dutch, an' there were a reg'lar Franco-Prussian war o' words. Howsumever, it didn't kill the wind, fur that bloomin' gale blowed right on end fur putty nigh a week. An' at the end o' that time there were sich a sea runnin' as I don't perpose fur to tell ye about; cos w'y, I ain't goin' to say nothin' wot might dammidge my repitation as a puffickly truthful pusson. All I kin say are that w'en the _Ham Bone_ riz to one o' them seas we could hear the bottles o' soda fallin' over one another down in the hold, an' we had to lay flat down on the deck to keep from tumblin' off over the starn. That ain't no respectable weather fur to be out-doors in, but w'en the nearest port are more'n a capful o' degrees away, w'y, there ye are, an' there ye got to be, leastways till ye get blowed to s'm'otherwheres, an' that are wot.

"O' course the _Ham Bone_ were hove to, but, bless ye! she made seven p'ints o' leeway, an' her drift were somethin' no human bein' could carkerlate. Waal, to git som'ers near to the crest o' this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye, at the end o' a week o' drivin' to leeward the lookout forrad sings out,

"'Land ho!'

"'Land! Pah!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he. 'There ees not some land for one t'ousan' mile. Pouf!'

"'Aber ja!' yells the fust mate, Willum Smitzer, him bein' a bloomin' Dutchman; 'das ist land, nicht war?'

"The Cap'n he jumps to the lee bow, me a-follerin'. Waal, my son, ye 'ain't never seed nothin' like 't. The sea were full o' wegetables."

"Full of vegetables?" exclaimed Henry.

"Them's it. Onions an' beets an' pertaters an' queer fruits an' plants like cabbidges, only with leaves ten times as big, was a-floatin' on top o' the water. W'y, bless ye! a sea bruk over the starboard bow, bringin' one o' them there cabbidges with 't, an' it hit Willum Smitzer, an' knocked him down mos' beautiful fur to see. But that weren't the wust o' 't. Furder down to leeward we could see the waves a-breakin' in big hills o' spray on to some sort o' a beach that were dead flat. There weren't no hills nor nothin' behind it, but it looked jess like a perairie growed right out in the middle o' the sea.

"'Wot 'n 'arth are it?' sez I to the Cap'n, sez I.

"'Ze Saragossa Sea,' sez he to me, sez he.

"'An' ef we gets in, how does we get out?' sez I.

"'How I tell that?' sez he.

"An' that bein' so, there weren't no more to say. Waal, the _Ham Bone_ druv down to leeward, an' the wegetables kep' a-gettin' thicker an' thicker, an' all kinds o' sea-weeds an' other sea-garden truck were mixed up with 'em. Ef the storm hadn' bin so heavy we'd 'a' stuck fast then. But seein' as how 'twere such a powerful gale, one smashin' big sea, about sixty feet high, picks up the old _Ham Bone_, an' carries her clean away over the edge o' the aforesaid beach, an' sets her down ca-plump about half a mile inland, w'ere she bruk through the crust, an' were wedged in jess like she mought 'a' bin in the ice up north. An' then we all seed that this 'ere perairie were nothin' but a bloomin' jam o' sea-weed, land plants, dead trees, wegetables, an' truck--all worked in so tight that they made a ginuwine solid crust on top o' the sea.

"'Sacré bleau!' sez the Cap'n, w'ich are French for 'I'm giggered'; an' Willum Smitzer he jess remarked, 'Warum und wohin?' w'ich are low Dutch for 'W'ere are I at?' An' me, I didn't say nothin'; cos w'y, there weren't no use. The nex' mornin' the gale were all over, an' there we was. I went to the mast-head fur to have a look, an' away down three miles furder into the bloomin' stuff than we was I seed another ship with her upper masts gone, w'ich the same I reported to Cap'n Peleg Mahoney. With that he sez he b'lieves we could walk on the bloomin' crust, an' he sends a hand over the side to try. Walk! W'y, blow me fur pickles ef ye couldn't 'a' built a house onto it. So the Cap'n he allows as how it were our dooty fur to l'arn wot we could about that there other ship. Accordin'ly him an' me an' Willum Smitzer started off together. We got about half-way w'en we seed men comin' from the other ship to meet us. That were mos' supprisin', cos she looked so fur in we thort she must 'a' bin there fur years. W'en the men come up one on 'em sings out,

"'Wot ship are that?'