Part 4

"'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?"