CHAPTER XXXVI.

IN A NORTHWEST LOGGING CAMP.

The next day being Sunday, the camp lay abed so late that when Alaric awoke from his long night of dreamless sleep the sun was more than an hour high, and streaming full into the open doorway of Buck Raulet's shack. For nearly a minute the boy lay motionless, striving to recall what had happened and where he was. Then, as it all came to him, and he realized that he had escaped from the mountain, with its terrors, its cold, and its hunger, and had reached a place of safety, good-will, and plenty, he heaved a deep sigh of content. His sigh was echoed by another close beside him, and then Bonny's voice said:

"I'm so glad you are awake, Rick, for I want you to tell me all about it. I've been trying to puzzle it out for myself, but can't be really sure whether I know anything about last night or only dreamed it all. Didn't somebody give us something to eat?"

"I should say they did!" rejoined Alaric. "And not only something to eat, but one of the finest suppers I ever sat down to. Don't you remember the baked beans, and the apple pie, and-- Oh no, I forgot; you weren't there; and, by-the-way, how do you feel this morning?"

"Fine as a fiddle," replied Bonny, briskly; "and all ready for those baked beans and pie; for somehow I don't seem to remember having anything so good as those."

"I don't believe you did," laughed Alaric, springing from the bunk as he spoke; "for I'm afraid they only gave you gruel and soup, or tea and toast."

"Then no wonder I'm hungry," said Bonny, indignantly, as he too began to dress, "and no wonder I want beans and things. But, I say, Rick, what a tough-looking specimen you are, anyway!"

"I hope I'm not so tough-looking as you," retorted the other, "for you'd scare a scarecrow."

Then the boys scanned each other's appearance with dismay. How could they ever venture outside and among people in the tattered, soiled, and fluttering garments which were their sole possessions in the way of clothing? Even their boots had worn away, until there was little left of them but the uppers. Their hats had been lost during their flight through the forest, their hair was long and unkempt, while their coats and trousers were so rent and torn that the wonder was how they ever held together. As they realized how utterly disreputable they did look, both boys began to laugh; for they were too light-hearted that morning to remain long cast down over trifles like personal appearance. At this sound of merriment Buck Raulet's good-humored face, covered with lather, appeared in the doorway, and at sight of the ragged lads he too joined in their laughter.

"You are tramps, that's a fact!" he cried. "Toughest kind, too; such as I'd never dared take in if I'd seen you by a good light. Never mind, though," he added, consolingly; "looks are mighty easy altered, and after breakfast we'll fix you up in such style that you won't recognize yourselves."

Bonny had baked beans and pie that morning as well as Alaric, for the fare at that logger's mess-table, bountiful as it was, never varied. After breakfast the boys found their first chance to take a good look at the camp, which consisted of nearly twenty buildings, set in the form of a square beside the skid-road, in a clearing filled with tall stumps of giant firs and mammoth cedars. The two largest buildings were the combined mess-hall and kitchen and the sleeping-quarters, containing tiers of bunks, one for each man employed. Then came the store, which held a small stock of clothing, boots, tobacco, pipes, knives, and other miscellaneous articles. All the others were little single-room shacks, built in leisure moments by such of the men as preferred having something in the shape of a home to sleeping in the public dormitory.

These tiny dwellings were constructed of sweet-smelling cedar boards, split from splendid great logs, absolutely straight-grained and free from knots. Walls, roof, floor, and rude furniture were all made of the same beautiful wood. Some of the shacks had stone chimneys roughly plastered with clay, others boasted small porches, and one or two had both. Buck Raulet's had the largest porch of any, with the added adornment of climbing vines. This porch also contained seats, and was considered very elegant; but every one knew that the head "faller" was engaged to be married to a girl "back East," and said that was the reason he had built so fine a house. Having little else to amuse them, the men who put up these shacks labored over them with as much pleasure as so many boys with their cubby-houses.

Many of the men were anxious to hear a more detailed account of our lads' recent adventures, but Buck Raulet said:

"Call round this afternoon. We've got something else on hand just now."

When they returned to his picturesque little dwelling the big man led the way inside, closed the door, and said: "Now, lads, sit down and let's talk business. What do you propose to do next?"

"I don't think we know," responded Alaric.

"Do you want to go to Tacoma or Seattle?"

"I don't know why we should. We haven't any friends in either place, nor any money to live on while we look for work."

"None at all?"

"Not one cent. There's a month's wages due us from the Frenchman who hired us to go up the mountain, but I suppose he has left this part of the country long ago."

"I suppose he has; and you certainly are playing to such hard luck that I don't see as you can do any better than stay right here. If you are willing to work at whatever offers, I shouldn't wonder if the boss could find something for you to do. At any rate, he might give you a chance to earn a suit of clothes, and feed you while you were doing it."

"I think we'd be only too glad to stay here and work," replied Alaric--"wouldn't we, Bonny?"

"Yes, I think we would, only I hope we can earn some money. I've worked without wages so long now that it is growing very monotonous."

"Well, I'll tell you what," said Raulet: "you two stay right here, while I go over and see the boss."

A few minutes later the big man returned with beaming face, and announced that Mr. Linton had consented to take them both on trial, and had promised to find something for them to do in the morning. Moreover, they were to go down to the store at once, pick out the things they needed, and have them charged to their account.

All this Buck Raulet told them; but he did not add that he had been obliged to pledge his own wages for whatever bill they should run up at the store, in case they should fail to work it out. The big-hearted "faller" was willing to do this, for he had taken a great fancy to the lads, and especially to Alaric. "That chap may be poor," he said, "and I reckon he is; but he's honest--so are they both, for that matter; and when a boy is honest, he can't help showing it in his face." These preliminaries being happily settled, he said, "Now let's get right down to business; and the first thing to be done is to let me cut your hair before you buy any hats."

The boys agreeing that this was necessary, the operation was performed with neatness and despatch; for the big "faller" was equally expert at cutting hair or trees.

Then they went to the store, where Alaric and Bonny selected complete outfits of coarse but serviceable clothing, including hats and boots, to the amount of fifteen dollars each.

"Now for a scrub," suggested Raulet; "and I reckon I need one as much as you do." With this he led his _protégés_ to a quiet pool in the creek just back of the camp.

When at noon the boys presented themselves at the mess-room, so magical was the transformation effected by shears, soap, and water, and their new clothing, that not a man in the place recognized them, and they had to be reintroduced to the whole jovial crowd, greatly to Buck Raulet's delight. By a very natural mistake, he introduced Alaric, whom he had only heard called "Rick," as Mr. Richard Dale, and the boy did not find an opportunity for correcting the error just then.

Later in the day, however, when most of the camp population were gathered in front of Raulet's shack listening with great interest to the lads' account of their recent experiences, one of them addressed him as "Richard," whereupon he explained that his name was not Richard, but Alaric.

"Alaric?" quoth Buck Raulet; "that's a queer name, and one I never heard before. It's a strong-sounding name too, and one that just fits such a hearty, active young fellow as you. I should pick out an Alaric every time for the kind of a chap to come tumbling down a mountain-side where no one had ever been before. But where did your folks find the name, son?"

"I'll tell you," replied Alaric, flushing with pleasure at hearing that said of him; "but first I want to say that it was Bonny Brooks who showed me how to come down the mountain, and but for him I should certainly have perished up there in the snow."

"Hold on!" cried Bonny. "Gentlemen, I assure you that but for Rick Dale I should have had the perishing contract all in my own hands."

"I expect you are a well-mated team," laughed Raulet, "and I am willing to admit that for whatever comes tumbling down a mountain there couldn't be a better name than Bonny Brooks. But now let's have the yarn."

So Alaric told them all he could remember of the mighty Visigoth who invaded Italy at the head of his barbarian host, became master of the world by conquering Rome when the eternal city was at the height of its magnificence, and whose tomb was built in the bed of a river temporarily turned aside for the purpose.

The rough audience grouped about him listened to the tale of a long-ago hero with flattering interest, and when it was ended declared it to be a rattling good yarn, at the same time begging for more of the same kind. Alaric's head was crammed with such stories, for he had always delighted in them, and now he was only too glad of an opportunity to repay in some measure the kindly hospitality of the camp. So for an hour or more he related legends of Old World history, and still older mythology, all of which were as new to his hearers as though now told for the first time. Finally he paused, covered with confusion at finding Mr. and Mrs. Linton standing among his auditors, and waiting for a chance to invite him and Bonny to tea.

From that time forth Alaric's position as story-teller was established, and there was rarely an evening during his stay in the camp, where books were almost unknown, that he was not called upon to entertain an interested group gathered about its after-supper open-air fire.

Mr. Linton questioned the boys closely as to their capacity for work while they were at tea with him, and finally said: "I think I can find places for both of you, if you are willing to work for one dollar a day. You, Brooks, I shall let tend store and help me with my accounts until your arm gets stronger, while I think I shall place your friend in charge of one of the hump-durgins."

"What is that, sir?" asked Alaric.

"What's what?"

"A hump-durgin."

"Oh! Don't you know? Well, you'll find out to-morrow."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

BLIND-MAN'S-BUFF AT SEA.

PROBLEMS OF NAVIGATING IN THICK WEATHER.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

"What do you think about the weather?"

That was the question which Captain Jason Argo asked his first officer as they stood on the bridge together. The great black hull of the steamer _Golden Fleece_, driven by the powerful quadruple-expansion engines, was cleaving its way westward at a flying gait of nineteen knots an hour. There was a thundering hill of foam under her bows, and a massive cloud of oily brown smoke went rushing sternward from her two big funnels. She had encountered only one bit of fresh weather since leaving Queenstown, for it was hardly time yet for heavy gales. But now the sky had become overcast with a thin haze of clouds, which obscured the sun completely.

"I'm afraid," answered the first officer, "that we're in for a settled spell of cloudy weather and fog."

"And I'm morally certain that you're right," said the Captain, with a serious face, as he thought of what was before him.

When the celestial bodies--the sun, moon, and stars--cannot be seen, then begins grave trouble for the navigator. As long as these are visible, by observing their altitudes above the horizon with the sextant--an instrument designed for that purpose--and by some simple astronomical calculations, he can ascertain the latitude and longitude of his ship, and thus know just where he is and which way to steer in order to reach his port. But the moment he loses the heavenly bodies he must feel his way into port by "dead reckoning," which consists of measuring the actual distance sailed by means of the log-line, and of ascertaining the direction by the compass. It is a method subject to errors of many kinds, caused by incorrect registering of the log, by deviation of the compass, and by currents. It is like trying to walk through a room in the dark by counting the number of your steps. So it was not remarkable that Captain Jason Argo looked grave.

"At noon to-day we made our position 47° west longitude and 46° 30' north latitude," said the Captain, reflectively.

"Yes, sir," answered the first officer.

"As we are steering, that should have made us seventy-five miles from the easterly edge of the Newfoundland Banks."

"To a dot, sir."

"And it is now three o'clock. What does the patent log show?"

"It is registering nineteen and three-quarter knots an hour."

The patent log is an instrument for recording the distance sailed by the ship. It consists of a dial on the outside of a case, inside of which are wheels to turn the hands. Attached to the machinery is a long line, at the end of which is a rotator shaped somewhat like a ship's propeller. This rotator drags through the sea, and makes a certain number of revolutions every mile, twisting the line, and thus turning the hands on the dial, where the number of knots is marked.

"It's a new log, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir; I received it at Queenstown."

"Good. What is its percentage of error?"

"Two per cent."

Patent logs usually overrate the distance run, and the percentage of error has to be ascertained.

"It's running fully two per cent. now, I fancy," said the Captain, stepping to the speaking-tube that ran to the engine-room and calling for the chief engineer.

"Hello, Mr. Bargot! How many revolutions are you making a minute?"

A jumble of figures returned through the tube.

"And that's nineteen knots, isn't it?" said the Captain. "Good."

The speed of vessels can be tolerably well calculated from the number of revolutions of the screw.

"Now," said the Captain, turning to the third officer, who was also on the bridge, "what was the last record of the chip log?"

"Twenty knots, sir."

"Common log is not much good at high speeds," commented the Captain.

The common log consists of a triangular wooden float, a line marked with knots at equal distances apart, and a reel. The float is thrown overboard, and the line allowed to run off the reel for a certain number of seconds. The proportions of the distances between knots are such that the number of them run off in the given time is the number of miles an hour which the vessel is making.

"We shall be safe in saying that we are doing an even nineteen knots," said the Captain. "We ought to strike the easterly edge of the Newfoundland Banks a little before four o'clock, in longitude 48° 30' west and latitude 45° 40' north, and we ought to get a sounding there of fifty-four to fifty-eight fathoms. Mr. Parker, you will get the sounding-machine ready to take a cast at five minutes of four o'clock."

"Ay, ay, sir," answered the third officer.

The sounding-machine consists of a heavy lead on the end of a very long piano-wire wound round a cylinder. With this a sounding can be taken while a vessel is going ahead at the rate of twelve or fifteen knots, while with an old-fashioned deep-sea lead line it is necessary to stop. An indicator on the side of the sounding-machine shows how many fathoms of wire are out, and there is a crank for winding it in.

At five minutes of four the third officer took the sounding, and reported a depth of fifty-five fathoms.

"Good," said the Captain, who was now in his room consulting the chart. "So far we know exactly where we are. We shall keep our present course. You will take another sounding at seven o'clock, when we should be fifty-seven miles west sou'west of this, and you should get thirty-three fathoms. How's the weather?"

"Looks like fog before morning, sir."

"Hum!" muttered Captain Jason Argo, through his clinched teeth, "I shall hold our present course at least till we clear the Banks. It's 150 miles across, as we are going, and I wish soundings taken every two hours till we are across, which will be in eight hours. You will pass the word to call me when the last sounding is to be taken."

The third officer returned to the deck. At seven o'clock he made the sounding, as directed, and got a depth of thirty-two fathoms, which tallied closely enough with the Captain's calculations to show that they were correct. Steadily the _Golden Fleece_ ploughed her way westward across the comparatively shallow waters of the Grand Banks, and at midnight, the Captain having been called, the last cast of the lead showed eighty fathoms.

"Good," said the Captain, turning his face against the damp rush of the heavy mist; "we shall run into 1500 fathoms now, and into the northerly limit of the Gulf Stream. On the whole, I think we'd better give our course an eighth more southing, and hold it at that till noon. Keep a bright lookout ahead, and keep your weather eye on the sky. If it breaks away, look sharp, and get the deviation from the first star that shows. I think we're in for a lot of thick weather."

The Captain went below and turned in, "all standing." All through the dreary night his sleep was broken by the hoarse blasts of the fog-siren and the half-hourly cries of the lookouts. He wondered whether the current of the Gulf Stream was setting true, or had perhaps been deflected by some now dead wind of which he could not possibly know anything. He had a sailor's dread of an unknown current. If he had been on soundings the trusty lead would have told him where he was, but no machine could plumb the depths now under the _Golden Fleece_'s keel. At six o'clock the Captain went on the bridge again. The fog had disappeared, but the sky was still overcast.

"Hum!" he muttered; "it's enough to make a man give up the sea and go to farming."

Toward half past nine there were signs that the clouds were about to break, and the officers on the bridge made ready to "shoot the sun," as taking an observation is called, at the first opportunity. Presently there was a rift of blue sky, and in a few minutes the gorgeous sun broke through. The officers made their observation, but as they were still uncertain of their latitude, they could do nothing with it. At noon they were able to ascertain the latitude, and then they figured out the ship's position.

"How does our dead reckoning compare with our position by observation?" asked Captain Jason Argo.

"By dead reckoning we have made a run of 456 miles in the twenty-four hours," answered the first officer, "and our noon position was latitude 43° 34' north, longitude 54° west. By observation our position is latitude 43° 30' north, longitude 53° 54' west."

"Excellent," exclaimed the Captain; "that's close work, and shows that my current allowance was about as near right as possible. Now I wish to hit the easterly edge of George's Bank, which is in longitude 66° west, in latitude 41° 20' north. When we make that point, I'll show you my reason for doing that."

The Captain now gave out the course as south 76° west, true, and the distance to the point indicated as 540 miles. The course had to be corrected for variation and deviation of the compass before it could be given to the man at the wheel, and the greatest care was exercised in making the calculations.

"If we keep going at nineteen knots," said the Captain, "we'll strike that eastern edge in twenty-eight hours and three-quarters, or at a quarter of five to-morrow afternoon. Whether the weather is clear or thick, at that hour I want a sounding. We ought to get about fifty-five fathoms."

The _Golden Fleece_ continued her westerly flight, but the weather did not remain clear. Before noon the following day it had clouded over, and had begun to blow briskly from the northeast.

"Now," said the Captain to himself, "I shall have that much discussed southerly and westerly current to look out for."

But among the passengers the Captain appeared to be so easy in his mind that they thought he had very little to think about. Yet he ordered the sounding to be made at 4.30, and had the ship slowed down to half speed. No bottom was got at 300 fathoms; but fifteen minutes later the lead struck at fifty-eight fathoms. The course was now altered two degrees more to the westward.

"I steer now," said the Captain, "for longitude 68° west, latitude 41° north. That is the westerly edge of the southern extremity of this bank, and there we should get thirty fathoms. The distance is 240 miles, and as we are now doing about twenty knots an hour, we ought to be there in twelve hours, or at 4.45 in the morning."

Not a star peeped out in the course of the night, and the Captain, running wholly by dead reckoning, was an anxious man. Toward morning he had the lead hove every half-hour, and his wisdom was shown by the result of the soundings, which proved that the _Golden Fleece_ had over-run her reckoning by eight miles--quite enough to cause disaster if near land, or dangerous shoals. The latter was the case, for the Nautucket Shoals were not far away. The weather continued to be thick and "dirty," and Captain Jason Argo was constantly on the alert. There were dangerous shallows ahead of him and uncertain currents under him, and he knew that it was his duty to get the _Golden Fleece_ to port as quickly as possible. But no amount of speed would atone for running the vessel on the Long Island or New Jersey shore, now hourly drawing nearer behind the impenetrable mist. Speed was reduced to fifteen knots, and the lead was hove every hour.

"I am steering now," said the Captain, "to cross the meridian of 70° west in latitude 40° 40' north. But to do that I must pass about six miles south of the South Shoal Light-ship, which is in latitude 40° 46' north, and longitude 69° 56' west. I don't need to see that vessel or hear her fog signal, because the soundings south of her will give me my latitude to a minute, and my longitude almost as well."

"Yes, sir," said the first officer, who had heard something like this before.

"All the same," said the Captain, "I'm not in love with this business of running in with the land in thick weather, and when we are half a dozen miles this side of that light-ship I want the lead down every fifteen minutes."

"Ay, ay, sir."

The navigation of the ship now became a business requiring the utmost caution. Owing to the invisibility of the heavenly bodies it was impossible to ascertain the precise amount of error in the compass. The treacherous Nantucket Shoals, with their changeful currents, were close at hand. The Captain had his chart spread before him, and on it he was tracing the course of the ship as shown by the soundings. She would run twelve miles, and the chart would show that she ought then to be in thirty-four fathoms. The sounding-machine would give the depth. If it was less than thirty-four fathoms, she was north of her apparent course; if more, she was south. She was literally feeling her way. It was nearly 6 P.M., and a fine misty rain narrowed the horizon down to a small circle of two miles in diameter. The _Golden Fleece_ was slowed down to eight knots, and soundings were taken every fifteen minutes. Suddenly the dull blast of a steam-whistle was heard far off the starboard bow. The first officer hastily drew out his watch and counted the seconds. Nearly half a minute passed, and then came another blast, three times as long as the first.

"The light-ship," said the first officer.

"Yes," said the Captain, who had mounted the bridge at the first sound. "We are fully two miles further north than I thought; too much current allowance, I guess. However, I shall now steer to pass eight miles due south of Shinnecock Light, at a point 40° 43' north and 72° 30' west. The course is west, true, and the distance 113 miles; but we must make some allowance for current--not much, though, with this wind. It's ebb-tide, and it will hardly be likely now to set toward the beach, as it often does."

The Captain made some more calculations, and then gave out the compass course. The speed of the ship was increased to twelve knots, and the deep-sea sounding-machine was used once an hour all night. At four o'clock in the morning the rain had ceased, and another dense fog had set in. The soundings indicated that a point about eight or nine miles due south of Shinnecock Light had been reached. The Captain now gave out the course as west, and the distance as sixty-two miles; but he was very uncertain as to the deviation of the compass, so he ordered speed reduced to ten knots, while the lead was to be cast every half-hour. A fresh northeasterly wind sprang up, raising a choppy sea, and transforming the fog into a driving mist. The soundings ran very irregularly, the lead showing 18, 17-1/2, 20, 22, and 19 fathoms without any apparent guidance. The Captain walked the bridge anxiously. The soundings began to run 18, 17-1/2, 17, 17, 16-1/2, 16, 15, 14, 13-1/2, 13, 14, and 13 fathoms.

"Too far to the south, as sure as I live!" muttered the Captain. "How did we do it? But we're sure to make one of the holes." And then he added aloud, "Slow down to six knots."

Suddenly the officer at the sounding-machine away aft sung out, "Twenty-one fathoms, sir!"

"Right slap into the twenty-one-fathom hole, and heading straight for Monmouth Beach, as I live!" growled Captain Jason Argo, and he sharply ordered the helmsman, "Hard a port! Hard over!"

The _Golden Fleece_ swung her black prow northward through the fog, and when it pointed due north by compass the Captain told the helmsman to keep it so.

"We'll be up with the Sandy Hook Light-ship soon," he said; "we fell about seven miles to the south of it. Keep the lead going. That's my motto--log, lead, and lookout in thick weather. If we hadn't kept up our soundings we'd have gone on the Jersey shore. Get the port anchor ready."

A little over an hour later the lookout forward reported the Sandy Hook Light-ship close to the starboard bow.

"Hard a starboard!" said the Captain; and as the ship swung round and the light-ship faded away into the mist again, he ordered the vessel to be stopped and let go the anchor. The fog-whistle ceased to blow, and the bell took its place as a warning. The Captain went down off the bridge, and made his appearance at the luncheon-table.

"Captain Argo," said an impatient old lady, "I'd like to know why we are anchored here in a fog out in the middle of the ocean. I've paid to be taken to New York, and I don't wish to stop here."

"My dear madam," replied the Captain, "up on the coast of Maine the steamboat captains run in fogs from point to point among the islands by timing their craft and then listening for the echo of the whistle from the rocks. And there was once a schooner captain who went from Cape Ann to Quarantine in New York Bay in a fog without seeing a single thing, steering from one whistling-buoy or fog-horn to another. Now I'm only a plain sea navigator, and having brought my ship safely from the other side of the Grand Banks to this side of Sandy Hook Light-ship with only one observation, feeling my way the rest of the time with the lead, I'm satisfied now to come to anchor, wait till the fog lifts, and then let a pilot see whether he can get me up the Lower Bay in clear weather without running me aground."

THE SLAMBANGAREE.

(_In Two Parts._)

BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK.