CHAPTER XVII.

WHEREIN I BECOME AN OFFICER.

I suppose if I were writing a tale of invention, I could imagine no stranger happenings than those I have recorded in the last few pages of this old ledger. But as almost everything has an explanation and can be sifted down to the why and wherefore, when we keep off the subject of religion and beliefs, I can make plain in a few words the situation. If "a ship without a captain is a man without a soul," truly a ship without a compass is a man without an eye. And that was what was the matter with the topsail schooner _Yankee_, of New Bedford. Four days before I had come on board she had had an encounter with an English ship that had offered resistance. During the course of the action the binnacle of the _Yankee_ had been shot away, and the compass smashed to flinders. But the English ship had been taken, and was the _Yankee_'s seventh prize in a cruise of less than four months. Captain Gorham had manned her and sent her home. The only compass left on board the _Yankee_ was a small-boat's needle in a wooden box. But, as Plummer told me, it was all out of kilter, and as useless to steer by as a twirled sheath-knife. Now for three days after the last capture there had been such thick weather that they had not been able to get a sight of the sun, moon, or stars, and had sailed not by dead-reckoning, as the wind had blown from all quarters, but by sheer guesswork and the lead.

How it came about that Captain Gorham knew the French cockswain was simple. Although the Captain was an American born and raised, only a few years previous to the outbreak of the war he had done a little smuggling on his own account between Dunquerque and the coast of England. So what appeared at first to be most mysterious is really simple when we come to look at it.

But now to tell of what we did. It had been Captain Gorham's intention, I take it, to run into Dunquerque Harbor, but owing to the representations of Pierre Burron, who stated that he might never leave it if we did so, this idea was given up; and keeping the lead going, we took the wind on our quarter, and made off to the southward, the Captain promising to put the little Frenchman on board the first vessel hound for his country, and pay him well for his services.

While we had been coming about, I, to show my willingness, had hauled lustily on the mainsheet and pitched in with the crew, and as soon as everything was going well, Plummer and I sat down against the bowsprit and began to spin our respective yarns. Of course there was much to tell. Mine is known already, and Plummer's was but the recounting of the most unusual good luck that had ever attended the career of a cruiser in any service, I suppose.

It seems that finding the _Young Eagle_ had sailed before he expected she would be ready, Plummer had delayed a long time before he had found a berth to suit his fancy, and then he had shipped in the _Yankee_ from New Bedford. From the day of their sailing they had had fair winds and good fortune, capturing two English vessels off the American coast, laden with supplies for the English army in Canada, two more on the high seas, and three, of all places in the world but almost under the nose of the British Admiralty, at the entrance to their own private Channel. In all these encounters they had lost but two men killed and three slightly wounded.

The manning of so many prizes had reduced the crew of one hundred and twenty men to twenty-six all told. Being a fore-and-aft vessel, this was more than sufficient to run her properly, and, although it was considered foolhardiness in the forecastle, old Smiley, or Smiler, as they called Gorham, had determined to make one more attempt before he started for the States. Besides, the necessity of speaking some vessel and securing a compass had now become imperative.

"Tell me something of your skipper, Plummer," I asked. "He is of a certainty the strangest-looking man I ever met."

"Well, if you want to know the truth," Plummer answered, in a whisper, "he's as mad as the King of Bedlam--that is, to my thinking. In fact, on shore they say he is in league with the devil. But whether it is the devil or the powers above, he certainly carries a fair pinch of good luck 'twixt his thumb and his forefinger. You haven't heard him sing yet. Wait till you hear him at that. It will make the flesh crawl on your back, my lad. But, mark ye, he's a good seaman, for all of his vagaries. And he can man-handle any two of us."

The only other officer capable of navigation left on board the schooner was the third Lieutenant, Mr. Carter, who had been one of the slightly wounded, and who yet carried his right arm in a sling. As Plummer and I were talking, the Lieutenant came on deck, and ordered us to shake out the reef in the mainsail that we had taken in some time back, and set the topsail and flying jib.

The weather was clearing up and the wind going down at the same time. The sun now broke through the clouds, and by noon it was fine, clear weather. To the eastward we could see the low-lying shores of France, while to the westward the white cliffs of England shone plain to sight. A number of sail could be seen skirting the English coast, but nothing in the way of shipping could we make out on the other hand. But after we had altered our course slightly to the eastward, at three o'clock in the afternoon we made out a brown sail hugging the east shore, and evidently endeavoring to make the entrance to a small port not far from the mouth of a little bay. We could see the houses and steeples plainly.

It was evidently our intention to head off this little brown sail, and soon we saw that in this we should be successful, as the latter turned about, and started to run for it; but a point of land made her take quite an offing, and in two hours we were almost within hailing distance.

One of the 18-pound carronades was loaded, and a shot fired across the little vessel's bow. Down came the brown sail, and she lay there swinging and dipping like a wild fowl too frightened to escape. I have seen some clumsy craft in my day, but I think these vessels are the strangest-looking. She was a French lugger, only half decked over, with a great leeboard swung alongside, and had a comformation somewhat like the shape of the boat which boys whittle out with their jack-knives. There were five men in her, who appeared scared out of their wits, but their relief was great when Captain Gorham hailed them in French.

They had no compass, but agreed to set our pilot on shore, and he left us, grinning and delighted. Now we cleared away again, and left the Strait of Dover behind us, steering a course somewhat to the eastward of the middle of the English Channel.

I noticed that the armament of the _Yankee_ was very similar to that of the _Young Eagle_, except she carried one less gun on a side.

In the evening, as I was talking to some of the crew below, a cabin-boy came into the forecastle in search of me, with an order for me to repair aft at once--the Captain wished me. I was thinking of exchanging my citizen's clothes for some that Plummer had offered me, but I had not done so when the message was given me, so I hastened up. Captain Gorham was pacing up and down the little quarter-deck; he halted as he saw me approaching.

"You will dine with me this evening, Mr. Hurdiss," he said. "And if my nose does not deceive me, dinner is on the table."

I bowed and thanked him, and we went down into the little cabin. Mr. Carter was on deck, and the Captain and I sat down _vis-à-vis_. No sooner had he seated himself than he began to hum, or chant better, only without using words, beneath his breath. This he kept up even while he was feeding himself. As I was very hungry, I did not interrupt the music, and so for full five minutes not a word was said. At last Gorham pushed back a little ways from the table, and sang a few words to the same air he had been humming.

"And-now,-Mr.-Hurdiss, spin-us-your-yarn," he chanted.

So I began at once with the cruise of the _Young Eagle_ and the fight with the frigate, for I did not consider it necessary to tell of my earlier life. It was the second time that I had told the story this day, and I probably hastened it. When I came to the more exciting parts, dealing with my prison life and escape, Captain Gorham hummed a little bit louder, and this continuous accompaniment urged me to speak faster, so I covered ground in great fashion. He played an obligato to my solo, as it were piano, fortissimo, and all of it. When I had finished he arose and hushed his noise, as if he had been forced to bite the end off the tune against his will.

"Mr. Hurdiss," he said, "we need some one here aft with us, and there's a berth for you. Take it. I shall tell the men to obey your orders, as you will obey mine. You will act as third Lieutenant, sir."

Then, as if this settled matters, he began to hum again, and went up the ladder to the deck, leaving me sitting there in amazement. Here was another false position! How fate had forced such situations upon me! It seemed a long time ago that I was supposed to be a French nobleman (mark you, I was one), and I could scarce bring myself to believe that my rescue had happened only the very morning of this day. "Now," said I to myself, "if I refuse to accept this honor thrust upon me, I may do the very worst thing for myself that may happen." It behooved me to balance matters carefully, to weigh and measure possible results.

I knew enough to give the orders under ordinary circumstances for the making and taking in of sail. I could, at a pinch, have stood my trick at the wheel. I could use enough sea terms to lead one to suppose that I knew more, but I knew none of the methods used in determining a ship's position at sea. I had no inkling of how to prick a course on the chart, and what a navigator did when he squinted at the sun through a sextant I could not imagine; but yet, I reasoned, the Captain and Mr. Carter would probably do all of that that was necessary. I could get on with the men, I felt sure, and why not undertake it? Thus I convinced myself that I could become a Lieutenant. I had learned to box the compass while in prison; and thinking of this accomplishment made me smile, for surely we would have given something to have possessed one to box.

The good ten-knot breeze held in the same direction all night long. I took the midnight watch, and felt quite proud of myself as the men moved to obey my orders to ease off the sheets when I thought occasion demanded it.

Plummer appeared quite pleased at my promotion, and the other men had not appeared to take any dislike to their new officer; so I became quite tickled with the idea of my importance, and stopped my misgivings.

The next day was Sunday. I think I detected that Captain Gorham hummed psalm tunes during breakfast. Surely it was Old Hundred that he was repeating when I joined him on deck in the afternoon.

But it was no Sunday breeze, and we skipped along lively. In my opinion the _Yankee_ would have been no match for the _Young Eagle_ in sailing, but she would have shown a clean pair of heels to almost any English or French cruiser.

During the day we had passed within some miles of a number of vessels, but they had paid no attention to us, and it was not until half past five that we had anything that approached an interesting situation. We were somewhere off the island of Alderney, for the Captain knew his position to a nicety, and was steering a little to the north, "to give the Casquet Rocks a wide berth," he told me, when we made out a vessel bearing down to meet us, and carrying the wind so that if we kept on as we were we would pass near to her.

In an hour it could be seen that she was a frigate, but Captain Gorham held the same course undisturbed.

It reminded me a little of my voyage in the _Minetta_ to note the anxiety among the crew. The vessel was to windward, and had evidently been reconnoitring the French coast; but she did not show any suspicion, and we approached one another as peaceably as were we two friendly merchantmen. All at once the frigate tossed out her flag, and up went ours in answer.

Needless to say ours was the same as hers--the cross of St. George.

Mr. Carter had brought up from the cabin a canvas bag and a book, the edges of which were weighted with lead. "There she goes, sir," he said, turning to the Captain; and as he spoke a little line of streamers crept up the Britisher's mast-head. The Captain, humming carelessly, opened the book.

"Give them four, one, nine, three, seven, Mr. Carter," he said, in a singsong.

Five little flags that the Lieutenant had picked out rose on our color halyards. To this day I do not know what they meant, but it was apparently satisfactory to the frigate, for she took in her signals, and we did likewise. Plummer gave me a wink as he gathered the colors in as they fluttered to the deck.

"We caught these aboard the last prize," he said, "and just saved the book from going overboard. There's luck for you!"

I noticed that Captain Gorham's eyes were dancing as we passed by the frigate, about a quarter of a mile astern of her, but I was totally unprepared for what he did, and stood aghast at his orders.

"Stand by to cast loose and provide the long twelve!" he shrieked in his high voice.

Mr. Carter made as if to offer some remonstrance; but the men, grinning, jumped to obey. We had the windward place now, and every advantage, besides it would soon be dusk.

"Teedle, dee, dumpty, di-do," sang Captain Gorham as he sighted the long gun himself.

As soon as he had trained it to his satisfaction there was a roar, and we all bent forward to watch the shot. I gave a squeal of delight as I saw the frigate's mizzen-topsail yard break square in two and, with the sail, slam over against the stays. The Captain of that vessel must have been a most surprised individual. He yawed about and succeeded in getting taken all aback and generally mixed up.

"Show our colors!" cried Gorham, and I dare say the sight of them surprised the Englishman still more. It was full five minutes, however, before he got upon our track or fired a gun. Then two of his shot went over us, and the rest fell short; but as we sailed three points closer in the wind almost, and legged two feet for his one, he gave up after half an hour's sailing; and I wonder if he made a report of all this to their lordships!

A pitch-dark night came on. I went on watch at ten o'clock, and did a great deal of thinking while I paced the deck; but my wandering thoughts were soon called back. At eleven the lookout reported to me that he thought there was land dead ahead, as he could make out lights.

I ran forward, and sure enough I could see flashes here and there, and two or three steady points of light off our weather beam. I jumped below and called the Captain.

"Have you held the same course?" he asked.

"I think so, sir, unless the wind has changed."

"Oh, confound it, we must get a compass!" Gorham grumbled, as he ran up the ladder ahead of me.

He ascended a short ways into the weather shrouds.

"That's no shore," he cried to Mr. Carter, who had come on deck barefooted. "That's a big fleet bound out for the Indies--that's what it is. By Jupiter, we'll stop and get a compass! Port your helm!" he roared to the man at the wheel, and the booms swung out as we got before the wind.

We bore straight down upon the lights, that had now increased in number and vividness. We slackened our speed by taking in our topsails one after another, and hauling all sheets well aft. By one o'clock we were almost within speaking distance of the two rearmost ships, whose lights we could make out very plainly. As we displayed none of our own, we were probably invisible, owing to the blackness of the night. The crew had all been called on deck, and the carronades and the midship guns were loaded. And we came closer and closer, until it was only a question of time when a lookout should discern our presence.

"Get out the whale-boat, Mr. Carter," said Gorham, quietly, (he had been squinting through a night-glass). "The nearest vessel is a merchant brig! Now, Mr. Hurdiss," he added, turning to me and dropping his singsong for a moment, "see what you're made of. Take the carpenter and nine men, and board that brig. They're all asleep on her. Do it quietly, and fire no shot unless you have to. Here, take this cutlass--a slit throat stops a shout."

Almost before I knew it the whale-boat was ready, the men sitting on the thwarts with their cutlasses and pistols in their belts, and we had shoved off. I confess that I was trembling so from excitement that my breath came in short gasps, and I could not swallow for the life of me. The carpenter was sitting close to me on the gun-wale.

"Old Smiler is going to see what that other chap is made of," he said, pointing to the faint glimmer a half a mile or so down the wind.

The last instructions I had received on leaving the _Yankee_ were, if I took the vessel successfully, to douse all lights, make off to the eastward for an hour, and then crack on all sail, holding a course southwest-by-west. That would carry me, as I was told, clear of Lizard Head and out into the Atlantic, where Gorham would try to pick me up. The men, of their own accord, were taking quick short strokes, with no noise in the row-locks. And in a few minutes we were under the stern of the vessel, that I made out to be a brig, as Gorham said.

The breeze was much lighter than it had been, and we swung under the stern and backed up to her, the better to run away if necessary, and took in our oars quietly without any danger of capsizing. The man in the stern caught the chains that run down to the rudder, and whispered back, "All's well!"

I stood up, and straining my eyes, saw that within reach of a man's hand overhead was a row of four cabin windows; the middle one was open.

Thinking that it befitted my position best to be the first on board, I got to my feet, and then by standing on the shoulders of the two men on the afterthwart, I caught the combing of the window and wormed myself inside. I could see that I was in a fair-sized cabin, that a dim light came from a lantern hanging in a passageway forward; but my heart almost stood still after a tremendous thump against my ribs.

Not more than an arm's-length from me, I heard the sound of heavy breathing! I had unshipped my cutlass to make my entrance more easy, and now I drew the pistol from my belt and stood there, peering to one side, with every muscle stiff as a harp-string. The deep breathing went on without an interruption.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE USE OF TORPEDOES IN WAR.

HOW THEY ARE MADE, AND WHAT THEY DO.

BY FRANKLIN MATTHEWS.

The most dreaded implement of war in these days is the torpedo. One of these darting fishes of death, costing a little more than $3000, can almost instantly send the most powerful battle-ship, costing as much as $5,000,000, to the bottom of the sea. This shark of war has a destructive charge of guncotton in its nose. When it strikes the war-ship it destroys itself and the ship also. No ship has ever been built stout enough to withstand an attack by one of these artificial monsters of the sea. They are made to leap from the side of a vessel into the water, and after they are once released they go with the speed of an express train to the place where they are aimed to go. They propel themselves through the water, and they keep exactly at a depth which is fixed before they are fired. Nowadays they dive from the ship into the water. It is probable that soon they will be sent into the water below the surface and out of sight of the enemy. Then no captain of a ship in battle will know when to expect an attack by a torpedo, and perhaps when he fancies that he has beaten his enemy, and has the other ship at his mercy, a torpedo may be darting at him, unseen and unerring in its track, that will send him and his ship to the bottom before any one on board can save himself.

Torpedoes are of two general kinds. One is the automobile type and the other is the controllable type. The first goes its own way, that is, controls itself. The second may be steered or controlled from the place of its discharge. This country and most other countries use the automobile torpedoes, and we have two kinds of them. One is the Whitehead torpedo, and the other is the Howell. The Whitehead is practically a submarine boat, intended to destroy itself and anything else it hits after a limited run under the water. It has its own engine for propulsion, and uses compressed air as the motive power. The Howell is also intended to cause as much destruction as the Whitehead, and is also a submarine vessel. It is propelled by the rotation of a centrifugal wheel, which has been turned by machinery up to about 10,000 revolutions. As this wheel unwinds itself, so to speak, it sets the machinery of the torpedo in motion, and it goes on its errand of destruction. The Whitehead is a foreign invention, and the Howell is the invention of one of our own naval officers. This government has favored the Whitehead for the equipment of most of the ships of the navy, and for the purposes of this article we may take that as a type.

These torpedoes require as much delicacy in their manufacture as a watch. They are boats, and must be fashioned in their outlines so as to glide through the water without the slightest deviation. Any inequality of shape would send a torpedo flying off in some other direction than that in which it was intended it should go. Inside, the complex machinery must act as accurately as the machinery of a watch, or the torpedo will fail of its purpose. It would be tiresome to go into the full details of the machinery of a torpedo, and, besides, it is practically a government secret; but we may tell about the general features of these engines of war.

The Whitehead torpedo consists of several well-defined parts. The first is the head, where the guncotton is placed for explosion. This part is what is called "ogival" in shape, and is bluntly rounded. Then comes quite a long straight part. That is the chamber for the compressed air. Then there is what is called a buoyancy chamber, in which is placed the diving apparatus. Then follows the engine-room, to which the water is admitted through little slits in the torpedo. Then comes another buoyancy chamber, in which the important parts of the steering apparatus are placed, and then comes the tail with its two screws and rudders and fins.

The war-heads of the torpedoes of the largest size contain 220 pounds of guncotton. Most of this guncotton is kept in a damp condition. The rest is dry. The dry guncotton is exploded by a small charge of fulminate of mercury, and that in turn explodes the wet guncotton. About the only thing that will explode wet guncotton is dry guncotton. The war-heads of the torpedoes are so arranged that until they travel at least eighty yards from a ship the firing apparatus is locked. This saves the ship from being destroyed by its own weapon in case of accident. When the nose of the war-head strikes an object, it pushes a pin through a copper partition into the fulminate of mercury, and the explosion follows.

The torpedo's air-chamber consists of forged steel about an inch thick. It must be very strong, for it must be charged with compressed air to a pressure of 1350 pounds to the square inch. Expensive machinery is used in finishing off this part of the torpedo. The lathes, that work on the inside can produce steel shavings of the thickness of a thousandth of an inch. The long after-part of the torpedo is made of thin steel, but strongly braced so that the machinery can do its work.

We probably can best understand how these little ships are made by studying what they do. Suppose the battle-ship _Kentucky_ wants to sink an antagonist in war. The air-compressor is set at work. A large-size torpedo is swung on a rack and lowered to a tube in the side of the ship, and slid in place. A valve is attached to an opening in the torpedo, and the air is compressed into the air-chamber. By means of a measuring device the observer has fixed the exact time and direction when to discharge the torpedo so as to hit the enemy. Four ounces of powder have been inserted in the torpedo-tube back of the torpedo, and the word to fire is given.

By a simple arrangement the air-valves are closed, the machinery in the torpedo unlocked so that after it strikes the water the air will flow into the engine and start the screws going. The gauges and springs have also been so arranged that the torpedo will remain at a fixed depth. With a speed of about a mile in two minutes the 16-foot torpedo rushes through the water. If it strikes the enemy, a great naval catastrophe happens. If it misses, it is so arranged as to sink after it has spent its force, and to disappear out of the way of doing harm to shipping. If practice work is being done with the torpedo at any time, the mechanism is so arranged beforehand that when the torpedo has run its course it rises to the surface and is recovered.

How does a torpedo keep at a certain distance under water? Well, there are two bits of machinery to accomplish that. One is a pendulum. If the nose of the torpedo raises itself, the pendulum swings backward and depresses the rudders at the stern, and brings down the nose. If the torpedo begins to dive, the pendulum moves forward, and the opposite result follows. The torpedo remains at the required depth through the pressure of the water that comes into the engine-room on a rubber diaphragm, to which is attached a delicate spring. The pressure of the water and the strength of the spring offset each other when the torpedo is at the depth wanted. If the torpedo sinks or rises, the harmony between the spring and the pressure of water is disturbed and the steering-engine is affected, and the rudders moved so as to keep the weapon at a certain depth. Slight changes up or down are regulated by this machinery; but if the plunge or rise is of a serious nature, the pendulum begins to swing, and the torpedo corrects its course at once.

Another most delicate part of the torpedo's machinery is what is called a "valve group." This is a set of valves used for various purposes, the chief of which is to restrain violent action from the compressed air during changes in direction of the little craft or during its run. They have such names as the "controlling valve," the "reducing valve," the "regulating valve." The flow of air into the little three-cylinder engine must be constant and of a certain pressure. The screws at the stern of the boat must be turned at the rate of about one thousand revolutions a minute, and the control of the force that propels them must be most efficient.

Another piece of important machinery is known as the "locking gear." When a torpedo is shot into the water from a ship the pendulum may lag a little in its swing forward. This would put the rudder down and make the torpedo take a deep dive. In shallow water this might mean contact with the bottom, and of course that would never do. The locking gear prevents any action by the rudder until the torpedo has travelled about a hundred yards. By that time the craft has settled to its work, and has ceased to make any skipping motions in the water. Thus we see that the torpedo is not ready for full duty until it has gone a considerable distance from the ship. It cannot explode nor steer itself until it is darting through the water under its own power at a certain depth and at a certain speed. If it does the work expected of it, it will strike its target in probably less than one minute. It therefore does appalling destruction in almost an instant.

The reason that there are two screws at the stern is to make sure of propelling the torpedo in a straight line. One screw turns to the right, and one to the left. The tendency to go to the right or left which would occur if there were only one screw is thus equalized. The fin part of the tail also serves to keep the torpedo on a straight course. There is a great deal of variety in the machinery which is crowded into one of these torpedoes, but with that we need not concern ourselves. There is almost as much delicate machinery necessary to place the torpedoes in the water as to keep them going after they get into the water. The launching tube and air-compressors look like simple affairs, but in reality they have to be adjusted most delicately and most carefully to the torpedoes.

Great care is bestowed not only on this machinery on shipboard, but also on the torpedoes. The torpedoes are smothered with grease, and every precaution is taken to prevent rust from accumulating in any spot outside or inside. Every torpedo is tested most thoroughly before it is accepted by the government, and a careful record is kept of the performance of each in practice on the ship to which it is sent.

No one knows the full power of one of these missiles. In recent times two large war-ships, the _Aquidaban_ in the Brazilian civil war, and the _Blanco Encalada_ in the Peruvian-Chilian war, were sunk by torpedoes. Several smaller craft were sent to the bottom in the war between China and Japan. When we think of their power of destruction, and the extreme care and skill required to make them, it seems wonderful that such implements of war can be made for about $3200 each. That is the sum which the government pays for each of the 16-foot torpedoes. For those that are 11 feet 8 inches long the cost is, in round numbers, $2500 each.

TUMBLE-BUGS.

BY CHARLES G. MORTON.

Everybody has seen tumble-bugs rolling their dust-covered balls along some path or highway in the country, but few people are aware that these little insects are the lineal descendants, so to speak, of a deity--the sacred scarabæus of the Egyptians, of which we have read so much. The little fellows, in seeming indifference to their fall from high estate, are still rolling their balls as industriously as they did on the banks of the Nile in Moses's time.

The coleoptera, or beetles, form the highest division of insects. They all have six legs, and a distinctly marked head, thorax, and abdomen. The body is covered with a horny envelope, which takes the place of the skeleton in higher creatures, protecting and holding the organs in place. The beetle has also four wings, one pair over the other. The lower ones are of a parchmentlike substance, while the upper ones are horny.

Beetles are of various kinds, some of which are useful to man, and others harmful. Scavenger-beetles belong to the former class, and no one variety is more interesting than the pellet-beetle or tumble-bug.

This little fellow, of one species or another, is found all over the United States, in Europe, and in northern Africa. With us he is from half to three-quarters of an inch in length, and coal-black.

The most remarkable thing about tumble-bugs, and one which excites the curiosity of every one who observes them, is the manner in which the egg is developed into the perfect insect. This egg is laid in manure, which is mixed with a little clay, and then rolled into a ball about the size of a marble, and left to dry. For the work that is to follow, the powerful legs and jaws of the insect are well adapted. No better proof of its strength may be obtained than by putting one or two bugs under a candlestick on a table, and noticing the ease with which they move it along.

When the ball is dry, the bugs, usually two in number, commence rolling it to a suitable place of deposit, which is not, apparently, selected in advance. Whether these two bugs are the parents or not is unknown, but at any rate one places himself in the front, with his hind feet on the ground and the others on the ball, while the other goes in the rear, with his body reversed--that is, his four front legs are planted firmly on the ground, with his head bent low in the dust, while his hinder parts are raised high on the ball, which he pushes with the two remaining legs and the extremity of the body.

The duty of the bug in front seems to be either to guide the ball or to pull it forward, possibly both. Although he has the most natural position, and seems to have less to do than the other bug, he really has the harder time, for when the ball gets rolling down a slope it frequently goes over him entirely, or pushes him sprawling by the way-side. But he is soon on his feet again, and scrambling into place, makes believe he is having the jolliest time in the world.

If obstructions occur in the path, the tumble-bug is not easily discouraged. You may frighten him away, or even push him aside with your stick, but if you keep quiet for a few moments he will return to his work. If a tuft of grass or a stone intervene, he leaves his work and goes in search of help, and his comrades rarely fail to respond. If, however, after repeated efforts to move it, the bugs leave their ball in despair, it often happens that a new party comes across it and rolls it merrily to its destination. The whole community seem to take an interest in every ball, and are willing to do their utmost to help it along.

When a suitable place is found, which may be several yards from where the ball was made, one bug remains with it, while the other excavates a little hole for its reception. When the hole is about the depth of the ball, the latter is rolled in, and then both bugs get underneath, and while they are excavating and pushing the dirt one side, the ball gradually follows them downward, sinking by its own weight. This hole is sometimes two or three feet deep.

When the egg hatches, the larva, or grub, lives upon the contents of the ball until the supply of food is exhausted, when it makes its way to the surface of the ground, and there, by some unknown process, forms and places itself inside a cocoon of oval shape, and of similar composition to the ball in which it was hatched. There it silently changes into a chrysalis, and emerges a perfect insect.

Besides the little tumble-bugs that we most commonly see, there is a larger species, found in this country and in England, called the clock or door beetle, and which is alluded to by Shakespeare where Macbeth says:

"Ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal."

Shard was the old English name of the horny outer wing of the beetle.

Another old English writer quaintly commends the tumble-bug as an example of labor, temperance, prudence, justice, modesty, and contentment. It is difficult to see how he arrived at the idea of making the tumble-bug the symbol of justice; perhaps he thought a bug having so many other virtues would have that one of necessity.

A species of tumble-bug was also sacred to Thor in the old days when that god was worshipped in Gothland, or Scandinavia. When the Christian missionaries came into the land they changed the name of the bug from "Thor's bug" to "Thor-devil," in order to turn the minds of the people from its worship. The latter name still survives in Sweden, but many a peasant, with the blood of his superstitious ancestors still in his veins, will even now set the tumble-bug on his feet when he sees him sprawling on his back, and congratulate himself that he has brought luck to his undertakings.

The sacred beetle of the Egyptians was considered to symbolize the sun, the world or habitable globe, and the goddess Neith. Many explanations are offered to account for the origin of this belief, but the most plausible are the following: The beetle represented the sun because its antennæ, or feelers, diverge from the head like the rays of the sun. Then, again, its six legs have five joints each--thirty in all--equal to the number of days in a month or in a sign of the zodiac. The beetle represented the world because it rolled balls or little orbs. These balls were fabled to be rolled from sunrise till sunset, and always in the same direction as the earth.

The goddess Neith was the supreme power in governing the works of creation. The warrior, in going forth to battle, would have the sacred beetle carved or painted on ring or bracelet, to propitiate the goddess and make him victorious. The explanation offered is that as the male and female were so hard to distinguish, they were all thought to be males, and therefore of great courage.

Plutarch tells us that the Romans adopted the beetle as a sign of victory, and had it represented on the standards of their legions.

THE ACCOMMODATING ISLAND.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

It was a southeasterly morning before a rainy day. The world was a palette of low-toned grays, greens, and purples, with here and there a bright flash of golden-yellow where the sun's rays fell through a rift in the shifting clouds and touched the young grass. The sea was a greenish-gray, patterned with dark wrinkles and white scars of foam. There was yet no swell, for only a fresh breeze was blowing, and the sea had not made up. The sky was a vast tangle of gray and blue-black clouds, varying in shape from long wisps, through smokelike tufts, down to the verge of the southerly horizon, where there was a solid sheet of that hazy blue which marks the presence of rain. The clam fleet was galloping homeward with lifted sheets and bellying jibs. The fishermen were holding on till the last minute, with their light anchors down in six fathoms of water, and their green sea-skiffs dancing on the young windrows of salt spume. A Nova Scotia bark, apple-bowed, wall-sided, and square-sterned, was going out in tow of a squat and puffy tug. The bark had all her three-cornered staysails set, and two or three hands were aloft loosing the topsails, after the manner of men to whom a month more or less on a voyage is not to be considered.

The Old Sailor sat on the end of the pier and gazed at the bark. Ever and anon he bowed his head and shook with one of his hearty fits of silent laughter. Henry and George were standing on the shore opposite the pier, and they were certain that the bark had reminded their old friend of something interesting. So they walked out on the pier and sat down beside him.

"Here we are," said Henry.

"Yes, here we are," added George.

"W'ich the same bein' here," said the Old Sailor, gravely, "it are necessitous fur me to recommember somethin'." He paused for a moment, gazed at the bark, and said: "W'ich way are the wind?"

"Southeast," replied George.

"About south-s'utheast," said Henry.

"Werry good; werry good indeed," declared the Old Sailor, emphatically. "My son, w'en you grow up to be a man, w'ich the same you are a-doin' of at the rate o' twelve knots an hour, you'll be almost a good enough sailor fur to sail a cat-boat, w'ich I've knowed ossifers in the navy as couldn't do 't."

Again the Old Sailor paused and looked at the bark, and Henry was moved to say,

"Does she remind you of anything?"

"She do," answered the Old Sailor. "She reminds me o' the four-masted iron bark _Lily o' the Walley_, 'cos she don't look nothin' like her an' won't go half as fast. _Lily o' the Walley_ were the name wot were painted acrost her starn in yaller letters, but she warn't generally called that. Her skipper were a werry respectable old seafarin' gent named Tom Crawley, an' seein' as how he were part owner o' the wessel, an' allus lived aboard o' her, even w'en she were in dry dock, she were knowed as the _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. Howsumever, she 'ain't got nothin' werry partickler fur to do with this 'ere yarn wot I'm a-tellin' ye. It are enough fur me to tell ye that I shipped aboard o' her as second mate fur the v'yage from Liverpool to Melbourne. We carried a werry miscellaneous cargo o' spellin'-books, sas'prilla, and cricket bats, all bein' intended fur to keep up a proper patriotic feelin' in England's distant colony.

"Waal," continued the Old Sailor, after a sweeping glance around the horizon, "the _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ perceeded werry respectably on her way, an' Cap'n Tom Crawley sez he to me, sez he, one day, 'We're a-goin' fur to make a werry fast passidge to Melbourne.' W'ich the same I didn't say nothin', 'cos w'y, havin' bin to sea so long, I knowed ye never was in port till ye got your anchor down. Long Bill Smock, the fust mate, he were fur crackin' on sail all the time, an' byme-by the masts o' the ship were all buckled an' bent like a ole woman wot are spent her life over a wash-tub. Howsumever, that 'ain't got nothin' to do with this here yarn wot I'm a tellin' ye.

"One night, w'en we was sommers about half-way atwixt the Gold Coast an' Patagonia, it piped up from the south'ard an' east'ard, an' afore mornin' it were a-blowin' a hull gale. We shortened sail till we was hove to under a close-reefed main-torps'l, a bit o' spanker, an' a storm-jib. But, bless ye, it didn't do no good. The _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ wallered in the sea like a hippopotamus in a menagerie tank, an' ye could hear the cricket bats in the hold knockin' the heads right off the bottles o' sas'prilla. The seas run so high that one time w'en the bark pitched bows under she stood right up straight on her head like she were a circus actor. Willum Wiley, wot were at the wheel, lost his grip, an' fell caplump down past all three o' the masts, slap over the knight-heads, an' into the water. But that werry same sea came aboard o' her, an' as she riz again, h'istin' her bow an' lowerin' her starn, Willum went floatin' along the deck down the other way, till he got back to the place where he started from, grabbed the wheel, an' went right on a-steerin', as ef nothin' had ever happened to him.

"Waal, about four o'clock the next arternoon," continued the Old Sailor, "the carpenter comes an' reports eight inches o' water in the hold, an' hands was ordered fur to man the pumps. We pumped her out, but the water come in again, an' this time it commenced fur to gain on the pumps. 'It aren't no use,' sez Long Bill Smock, sez he; 'her seams is all a-openin', an' we're jess tryin' to pump the South Atlantic back into itself.' The Cap'n he allowed that we'd got to drown, 'cos w'y all the boats was stove in, except the dingy, an' that wouldn't 'a' lived two minutes in sech a sea. So there we was a-goin' to the bottom sure, an' the nearest land 700 miles away, unless ye call the bottom land, an' that were 1700 fathom down.

"Waal, the blessed old barky were a-settlin' lower an' lower in the water every minute. Old Hiram Duck, the ship's carpenter, he climbed up to the foretorps'l-yard, an' set there with his legs hangin' over, while he wiped his eyes with a piece o' oakum, an' sang, werry solemn like:

"'Oh, fare ye well, my Mary Ann; You'll nevermore see me; I'm goin' fur to wed a mermaid At the bottom o' the sea.'

"Long Bill Smock he were a-jumpin' up an' down in the waist o' the wessel, a-ringin' o' his hands an' sayin': 'Oh dear! oh dear! I'm sure the water's awful cold, an' I've got rheumatism now.' The Cap'n he didn't say a word, but jess kep' a-lookin' at the compass an' a-scratchin' his head. As fur me, I were the wust fool o' the hull lot, fur I yelled fur all hands to take to the riggin'. An' blow me fur pickles ef they didn't up an' do it. An' that are wot saved 'em, arter all. The _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ went down an' down till the next sea rolled clean over her deck, an' ef them fellers hadn't been aloft, it 'd 'a' washed 'em all overboard. But jest then we heerd a tremenjis rumblin' an' roarin' under the sea, like there was a thunder-storm on the bottom, an' the _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ stopped sinkin'."

The Old Sailor paused a moment to let the full meaning of this startling statement sink into the minds of his young hearers. He swept the horizon with his glance, and then continued:

"An' wot are more, she beginned fur to come up. There were somethin' under her a-shovin' her up. We could feel her shake an' tremble an' bump.

"'Sacred name of a poodle!' hollered Jean Bart, a French sailor, 'it are a whale!'

"Whale not'in'!' yells Jim Hall, a gentleman from the Bowery; 'she's struck a rock!'

"W'ich the same it were putty near true. 'Cos w'y, a rock had struck her. The bottom o' the sea had riz right up under her, an' pushed her right out o' the water. An' there she were, restin' comfortable atween two rocks, with a island about half a mile wide all around her, an' a ferogious surf a-breakin' onto it.

"'Breakers ahead! Breakers astarn! Geewollikins! Breakers all around!' yells Hiram Duck, from the foretorps'l-yard.

"'Lay down out o' that, ye lubber!' sez the Cap'n, sez he; 'don't ye see we're in dry dock? Get overboard an' see where the leak is.'

"So Hiram he tumbles down an' gets over the ship's side. An' as soon as he put his foot on the ground, he sez,

"'Wow; it are hot.'

"Then he looks around him, an' sets up another yaupin'.

"'Cap'n, Cap'n!' he yells, 'there's fish an' crabs an' lobsters all over the blessed island, an' every mother's son on 'em is cooked.'

"'In course they is,' sez the Cap'n, sez he, jess like he'd knowed all about it all the time; 'it were a earthquake down under the sea wot shoved this 'ere island up, an' the heat cooked them fish an' things. Stan' by to get 'em aboard there, some o' you, an' we'll have fresh fish an' lobster fur dinner.'

"Then the Cap'n he orders me fur to h'ist the ensign, w'ich the same I