SSIattsmoulh Journal
C 4V. SHEKMAIi, Publisher.
PLATTSaiOUTH. i i NEBRASKA.
AFTER SCHOOL
When school is out and tasks are dona
Not faster speeds the west-ward sun
Thro butumn skies than to my side
With eagerness all overtrird.
Impatiently, my little one.
Yet does my longing quicker run
To meet its own and wait upon
Her safe return thro' pathways wide
When school la out. x
Waiting for her ah: lore hath spun
The while so strong a web may none
Its faithful fiber e'er divide.
So plainly caught, all else denied.
To feel her kiss were bliss well won
When school Is out.
George E Bowea. in Chicago Icter Ocean.
r
v
HE young' duke
of Hardimont
was at Aix in
Savoy, to whose
waters he had
brought his
famous race
horse Perichole,
which had
derby. Be had
r
taken cold
at the
finished his breakfast, when, glanc
ing carelessly at a paper, he read the
news of the disaster of Reicbshoffen.
He emptied his glass of Chartreuse,
placed his napkin on the restaurant
table, ordered his valet to pack his
trunks, took, two hours later, the ex
press for Paris, ran to the recruiting
bureau and enlisted in a regiment of
the line.
Though from his nineteenth to his
twenty-fifth year he had led the enervating-
existence of a wealthy idler,
though his finer instincts had been
dulled in racing stables and the
"boudoirs of chanteuses d'operettes. at
such a time as this he could not for
get, that Enguerrand de Hardimont
had died of the pest at Tunis while in
the performance of his duty, that Jean
de Hardimont had commanded the
Grande companies under Du Guesclin,
and that Francois-Henri de Hardimont
had been killed while charging at
Fontenoy with the Maison Rouge; and
the young duke, in learning that a
T 1 1 J 1 1 . . V TT V.
UBIUC liuta L?tru lust viio xactuwia,
upon French territory, felt the blood
rush to his face as if he had received a
How.
That is why in the first days of
November, 1ST0, returned to Paris
with his regiment, which was a part
of the Corps de Vinney, Henri de Har
dimont, member of the Jockey club,
who was a fusileer of tho main guard
before the redoubt of the Hautes
Bruveres, a position fortified in haste
which protected the cannon of the fort
of Bicetre.
The place was sinister: a road,
deep-scarred with muddy ruts, trav
ersed the leprous fields of the environs.
Beside it an abandoned wine shop,
among whose arbors the soldiers had
established their posts.
There had been fighting there a few
lays before; some of the tree-trunks
along the road had been cut in two by
balls, and all bore upon their bark the
white cicatrices of the shot. As for
the house, its aspect made one shudder;
the roof had been shattered by a shell,
and the walls, the color of wine dregs,
seemed to have been painted with
blood.
At the door of the wine shop the
young duke stood motionless, his gun
slung upon his back, his kepi drawn
down over his eyes, his benumbed
hands in the pockets of his red trou
sers, shivering under his sheepskin.
He abandoned himself to somber rev
erie, this soldier of the defeat, and
gazed with heartsick eye at the line of
hills, lost in the mist, from whence ;
each moment, with a detonation, j
burst a flake of smoke from a Krupp
cannon. Suddenly he felt that he was
hungry.
He knelt and drew from his knap
sack, placed near him against the
wall, a piece of soldier's bread; then,
as he had lost his knife, he tore it
ivith his teeth, and ate slowly.
But. after some mouthfuls, he had
enough; the bread was bard and bit
ter. There would be none fresh until
the next day"s distribution, if it miht
please the administration. It was
sometimes very hard this trade of
war and his mind reverted to what
he used to call his hygienic breakfasts,
when the next day after a supper a lit
tle too heavy he would seat himself
by a window on the ground floor of tho
Cafe Anglais, and be served with
Mon Dieul the least of things a cut
let, some eggs mixed with asparagus
tips; and the butler, knowing his
taste, would bring and pour out from
its basket a fine old bottle of Leoville.
The deuce! Those were happy days,
and he could never accustom himself
to the bread of misery.
And, in a moment of impatience, the
young duke threw the rest of his loaf
into the mud.
At the same time another soldier, a
lignard, issued from the cabaret; he j
stooped, picked up the bread, moved
away a few steps, wiped it witn nis
sleeve, and commenced to devour It
greedily.
Henri do Hardimont was already
ashamed of his action, and watched
pityingly the poor devil who gave
proof of so good an appetite, no was
a tall, thin young fellow, loosely built,
with feverish eyes and x. hospital
beard, and so lean that h?s shoulder
blades stuck sharply out beneath bis
well-worn uniform.
"You are very hungry, comrade?"
said De Hardimont, approaching the
soldier.
"As you se" he replied, his raoutfc
full- V
"Excuse me, then. If I had known
it would have given you pleasure I
would not have thrown away my
bread."
"No harm done," responded the sol
dier; "I am not so particular."
"No matter." said the gentleman,
"what I did was wrong, and 1 re
proach myself for it- But I do not
wish you to carry away a bad opinion
of me, and as I have some old cognac
in my canteen, parbleau! we are going
to drink the drop together."
The man had finished eating. The
duke and he took a draught of the
brandy; the acquaintance was made.
"And you call yourself?" demanded
the lignard.
'"Hardimont," responded the duke,
suppressing his title. '"And you?"
"Jean-Victor. They have just put me
back in the company. I come from
the hospital, I was wounded at
Chatillon. Ah! one fares well in the
ambulance and at the infirmary they
give j-ou good horse soup. But I had
only a scratch. The major signed my
discharge, and. so much the worse, I
must begin to die of hunger again.
Because, you may believe me or not,
comrade, but, such as you see me, I
have been starving all my life."
The word was frightful, said to a
voluptuary, who had surprised himself
a moment before in regretting the
cuisine of the Cafe Anglais, and Duke
de Hardimont regarded nis compan
ion with astonishment, almost amaze.
The soldier's dirty face wore a sad
smile, which showed his white, wolf
like teeth the teeth of famine and
as if he understood a confidence was
expected of him:
"Tener!" said he, ceasing brusquely
to use the familiar "thee" and "thou"
in speaking to his comrade, doubtless
guessing him to be a rich and happy
man "Tenez, let us walk a little
along1 the road to warm our feet, and
I will tell you some things which,
without, doubt, you have never heard
before. I am called Jean-Victor, sim
ply Jean-Victor, because I was a
foundling, and my only pleasant recol
lection is the time of my childhood at
the hospital. In the dormitory there
the clothes on our little bed were so
white; we played in a garden under
great trees, and there was a good sis
ter, quite young, pale as a candle
she died of consumption whom I
preferred, and near whom I loved bet
ter to walk than to play with the other
children, because she would draw me
to her and place upon my forehead her
thin, feverish hand. But after I was
twelve years old nothing but misery.
The administration apprenticed me to
a chair-mender in the Faubourg St.
Jacques. That is not a trade, you
know; impossible to gain one's living
by it, as a proof of which, the master
coal J engage as apprentices only the
poor little fellows who came from the
Jeuiies-Aveugles. It was there that I
commenced to suffer from hunger.
The master and his wife two old Li
mousins, who were murdered for
their money were terrible misers, and
the loaf from which they cut
us a little bit at each meal remained
under lock and key the rest of the
time. You should have seen the
woman each evening at supper, with
her blacK bonnet, sighing at each
glance into the soup dish when she
served us. The two other apprentices
the 'Jeunes-Aveugles were leis un
happy; they were not given more than
I, but they did not see that wicked
woman's look of reproach when she
would hand me my plate. Unfortu
nately, I had a good appetite. Was it
my fault? I served three years' ap
prenticeship, and all that time I suf
fered from continual and excessive
hunger. Three years! One learns the
trade in a month; but the administra
tion cannot know everything, and they
are triad to get rid of the children.
Ah! you were astonished to see me
pick the bread out of the mud? It was
habit. I have picked up many crusts
in the street, and when they were too
dry 1 would let them soak all night in
my basin. There were some God-sends,
too. I must tell you alL There were
the bits of bread nibbled at one end.
that the boys drew from their baskets
and threw upon the sidewalk when re
turning home from school. I made it
a point to prowl about there when on
errands. And then, when my appren
ticeship was finished it was a trade,
as I told you. that could not support a
man oh! I have followed others. I
"I HATE BEES STAKYING AIX ITT LIFE.
have the heart to work. I have helped
masons. I have been a porter, furniture
polisher I don't remember what else.
Bah! one day there would be no work,
another I would lose my place. In
brief, I have never had enough to eat.
I have had such fits of hunger in pass
ing the bake shops! Happily for me,
in those moments I would remember
the good sister at the asylum, who
me so often to be honest, and I
would seem to feel again upon my
forehead h.r little burning hand.
Finally, at eighteen. I enlisted. You
know as wt.ll as I that tne soldier has
just barely enough to eat. Now it is
almost laughable here are the siege
and the famine; you see that I did not
lie to lie just now when I said that 1
tad been starving, always!"
The young duke had a good heart,
and In. listening to this terrible tale,
told by a man like him, by a soldier
whose uniform made him his equal, he
fe)t deeply touched. It was fortunate
lor" hi reputation for sang froid that
f r3
the evening wind dried in his eyes two
tears which dimmed them.
"Jean-Victor," eaid he, "if we both
survive this terrible war, we will see
each other again, and 1 hope to be use
ful to you. But, at the moment, as
there is no baker here at the outposts,
and as my ration of bread is twice too
much for my small appetite it is
agreed, is it not? we will divide like
good comrades."
It was warm and hearty, the hand
clasp that the two men exchanged;
then, as the ,ight was falling, and
tbey were harassed by the enemy's
pickets and sharpshooters, they re
entered the hall of the cabaret, where
a dozen snoring soldiers were lying on
the straw, threw themselves down side
by side and slept profoundly.
Toward midnight Jean-Victor awoke,
being hungry, probably. The wind
had swept away the clouds, and a ray
of moonlight, entering the cabaret by
the hole in the roof, rested upon the
blonde, handsome head of the young
duke, sleeping like an Endymion. Still
touched by the kindness of his com
rade, Jean-Victor was regarding him
with naive admiration when the ser
geant of the platoon opened the door
and called the five men who should go
to relieve the advanced sentinels. The
duke was of the number, but he did
not awake at the call of his name.
"Hardimont!" repeated the ofScer.
"If youconsent, sergeant." said Jean
Victor, rising, '"I will stand his watch.
He sleeps so well, and be is my com
rade." "As you wish."
And when the five men departed the
snoring recommenced. J
But a half hour later some shots, j
quick and close at hand, rang out on 1
the night air. In an instant every one '
was on foot; the soldiers ran out of the
cabaret, marching cautiously, guns in
hand, gazing far down the road lit by
the cold white moon.
"W hat time is it?" asked the duke.
"I was of the guard to-night."
Some one answered him:
"Jean-Victor went in your place."
At this moment they saw down the
road a soldier running toward them.
"Well?" they asked, when he stopped,
breathless.
"The Prussians are attacking. They
drove us back on the redoubt."
"And your comrades?"
"They are coming all except poor
Jean-Victor."
"What?" cried the duke.
"Killed stiff, with a ball in the head.
He did not say Ouf. "
One night last winter, toward one
o'clock in the morning, Dukede Hardi
mont issued from his club with his
neighbor. Count de Saulnes; he had
lost some hundreds of louis, and felt a
slight headache.
'If you like, Andre," sa'd he to his
companion, "we will return on foot I
need to take the air."
"As you please, dear friend, though
the walking may not be very good."
They sent home their coupes, turned
CLEANING IT CAREFULLY WITH HIS COST
LT HAXDKEKCUIEF.
up the collars of their overcoats and
descended toward the Madeleine. Sud
denly the toe of the duke's foot
touched an object and sent it rolling
along the pavement; it was a great
crust of bread, all soiled with mud.
Then, to his stnpefaction, M. de
Saulnes saw Duke de Hardimont
pick up the piece of bread, clean it
carefully with his costly handkerchief,
and place it upon a boulevard bench
in the light of a gas lamp, well in evi
dence. "What are you doing there?" said
the count, bursting into laughter;
"are you insane?"
"It is in' memory of a poor fellow
who died for me," responded the duke,
whose voice trembled slightly. "Do
not langh, my dear count, or you will
disoblige me." Once a Week.
A Thrl-tT Wife.
"My wife," remarked a gentleman
the other morning, "is one of the
thriftiest women living."
"In what respect?" asked her part
ner. "This way. She was giving m a
tremendous scolding the other night
for forgetting something, and I bet
her a dollar she couldn't keep still for
half an hour."
"And she did, and earned the dollar
easily?"
"She did; she did."
"And you had peace cheap?"
I didn't; I didn't. She grabb?d a
pencil and a pile of- paper, and I'll be
blamed if she didn't fire language at
me that would have made the hair
curl on a campaign editorial." De
troit Free Press.
Worth the Money. Struggling
Dramatist "I can't see how Little witt
managed to get such a high price for
that trashy play of his. They say that
Miss Footlights paid him ten thou
sand dollars." First Nighter "I pre
sume you know that she is in love
with her leading man." "Yes." "Well,
Littlewitt's play has twenty-five kisses
in it." N. Y. Weekly.
Little Johnnie "When Miss Nex
door got married her mother thwew an
old slipper after her. What was that
for?" Little Ethel "Oh. they always
do thatt That means that her mamma
isn't never going to spank her any
more."
Say thou thy say and I will do my
deed Tennyson.
8b $
PERSONAL. AND LITEM ARY.
M auras Jokai, the great novelist ol
Hungary, recently attempted, in a fit oi
melancholy, to kill himself. He used
a charcoal fire. His servants burst
open the door of his room when the
fumes had almost suffocated him.
George Sand, in the recollections of
her early days, states that more than
once she meditated suicide. To the
close of her life she never saw a preci
pice or a body of water without a mo
mentary impulse to self-destruction.
Bishop Henry C. Potter, who has
just returned from Europe, thinks that
a tour abroad is the best cure for what
is called the "big head." Each reader
can make up his own list of those upon
whom he would like to urge the treat
ment. Benvenuto Cellini tells in his mem
oirs of his hallucinations. On one oc
casion he visited the Coliseum, which
he found lighted with a great globe of
fire and filled with demons, who con
versed with him as long as they could
induce him to stay.
Kaiser Wilhelm has not kept still
during the past year. A calculation
has lately been made showing that he
was in Berlin or F vtsdam ICO days, and
traveling the oter VM. Altogether
the emperor traveled by land and wa
ter IS, 750 miles in one year.
Dr. Elliott Coues. who has nearly
completed his new edition of "Pike's
Expeditions," recently returned from a
canoe trip of over one hundred miles to
the sources of the Mississippi. He re
ports the making of many important
and interesting discoveries.
Mohamed was an epileptic. He
would remain unconscious for hours
when one of the paroxysms came on,
and, when revived, would give an ac
count of the marvelous visions that he
beheld while his body was lying mo
tionless and ap-parently dead.
"The God Who Reigns on High,"
was written by Thomas Olivers, after a
visit to a Jewish synagogue. He had
been greatly impressed while there
with a particular melody sung, and.
after coming away, determined to write
a hymn to suit it. This grand lyric
was the result.
Japan has four field marshals. The
ablest is Count Yamagata, who has
routed the oChinese in the Ping
Yang campaign. He is the only one oJ
the four not of princely birth. Like
Von Moltke, he is a silent man. He is
of humble origin. His influence and
popularity in the army are great. He
is about forty-seven and is European
trained. So are most of his subordi
nate officers.
On one occasion George Lewes, the
husband of "George Eliot," whom he
called Polly, had arranged to take a
ramble in the country with Herbert
Spencer and the late Dr. Youmans,
but instead of him appeared the fol
lowing note: "My Dear Philosopher:
Polly is ill, and as husbands are indi
visible (and for that reason probably
no matter), I am sorry to say that I
shall not have a leg or cerebellum at
your service. Faithfully yours, G. H
Lewes."
HUMOROUS.
Teacher (in geography class)
"Tommy, what is the easiest way to
get to the Pacific coast?" Tommy
"Git a pass." Chicago Tribune.
At School. Ella "Did you know.
Lizzie, that we are in half-mourning?"
Lizzie "Xo! Is anyone half-dead in
your house?" Fliegende Blatter.
Caller "Wonder if I can see your
mother, little boy? Is she engaged?"'
Little Boy "Engaged? Whatcher giv
in" us? She's married." Boston Tran
script.
"How to raise cream" heads an
article in an exchange. The best wav
we know is to plant milk, or you can
raise scream by dropping a at la a
sewing society. Credit Lost,
"Money or your lie," was asked of
Pat suddenly by a highwayman. "Be
gorra the money about uie is all spint,
and the insurance company has got my
life, so bang away and good luck to
ycz.
"Have you an acquaintance with
Blank?" "Blank? O. yes. We come
down in the same electric car every
morning. In this way we are thrown
together a great deal. Elmira Ga
zette. "When er man ain' got 'nough
character ter be impo'htant no uddah
way." remarked Uncle Ebcn, "he does
i!c bes' he kin ter 'tract 'tention ter his
Eo'f by bein er nuisance." Washington
Star.
"So you let the prisoner off on his
word for a couple of days, did you?"
asked the captain. "I did," answered
the lieutenant. "And do you think he
will come back on it or go back on it?"
Indianapolis Journal.
"When a man's wife tells a fanny
story I'd like to know how he's going
to know when she's got to the point."
"Easy enough. The point's the part
she tells half an hour after she's fin
ished the story." Chicago Record.
Maud "They ought not to allow
marriages between cousins." Marie
"Why not?" Maud "Uecause if you
marry your cousin, your own children
are scarcely related to you. They are
only your second cousins." Harlem
Life.
Sure of His Safety. Teddy "I
don't care if he did whip your big
brother; I bet he couldn't whip me!"
Freddy Ho! Could, too! He's big
ger' n you !" Teddy "I don't care if he
is bigger'n me; I can beat him runnin'. "
Kate Field's Washington.
"Ilinglish teacher" (bald-headed).
"Now. Tomray.mention some hobject
"Jiat is material but hinvisible." Tom
my "The hair, sir." Teacher "No,
the hair is visible in the bine distance."
Tommy "Hi doant mean the hair o'
the hatinosphere, sir; hi means the
'air of your 'cad!"
"Can yon suggest any reason why
t I should priit your poem?" said the
' overbearing editor. The dismal youth
looked thoughtful, and men replied:
j "Yon know I always inclose a stamp
j for the return of rejected manuscript,"
I "Yes." "Well, if you print it, you can
keep the st-amp. Washington Star.
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
A TRUE FAIRY TALE.
Do yon know of the house
Where ginger-snaps grow?
Where tarts for ns children
March out in a row?
Where wishing is having.
Where isn't It grand:
Just up In the garret
Is real fairy-land?
Where youngsters can caper
And romp and halloo.
For they always do right.
Whatever they do?
Ton don't know the house?
Then oh deary me.
rm sorry for you!
Why, it's grandma's, you see.
Youth's Companion,
THE TOILET OF BIRDS.
Boms lake Nice Clean Water, Others Pre
fer Dast for Bathing.
The feathered tribes have many pe
culiar ways and fancies about the de
tails of their toilets. Some birds use
water only, some water and dust, while
others prefer dust and no water. Birds
are not only exceedingly nice in their
choice of bath water, but also very
particular about the quality of their
"toilet-dust"
Wild ducks, though feeding by salt
water, prefer to bathe in fresh-water
pools, and will fly long distances inland
to running brooks and ponds, where
they preen and dress their feathers in
the early hours of the morning. Spar
rows bathe often, both in water and in
dust. They are not as particular about
the quality of the water as about the
quality of the dust. They prefer clean
water, but I have seen them take a dip
in shallow pools that were quite
mudd .
The city sparrow must take a water
bath where he can get it in the streets
or on the tops of houses but he is
most careful in his choice of his dust
bath. Road dust, the driest and finest
possible, suits him best. I have noticed
the city sparrow taking his dust-bath
in the street, and invariably he chooses
a place where the dust is like powder.
Partridges prefer dry loam. They like
to scratch out the soil from under the
grass and fill their feathers with cool
earth. Most birds are fond of ashes.
Some early morning take a walk across
a field that has been burned over, and
6ee the number of winged creatures
that rise suddenly from the ash-heaps.
A darting form, a small cloud of ashes
and the bathers disappear. N. Y.
Home.
THE DOG OF MONTARGIS.
IIow the JSohle Animal Avenged the
Death of Ills Blaster.
This brave dog lived in France, way
back in the middle ages. Unfortun
ately we do not know his name, so he
is always called the dog of Montargis.
He was very fond of his master, who
was named Aubri de Montdidier. The
dog followed his master everywhere,
and people never saw one without the
other.
One day when Montdidier was walk
ing in a lonely wood near Paris, called
the forest of Bondi, he was attacked
and murdered by a man named Ma
caire. The murderer buried the body
under a great tree. He thought no
one had seen him and that he was
quite safe, but he was mistaken. The
faithful deg appeared and took up his
station by his master's grave under the
tree. There he remained day and night,
g-uarding his body.
He never left the spot, except to go
after something to eat. He usually
went in to Paris to the house of his
master's most intimate friend, where
he was well known, and after he had
eaten what was given him he returned
immediately to the grave and resumed
his watch. Montdidier's friend began
to think the conduct of the dog very
singular, and one day he followed him.
The dog led him through the forest till
they came to the grave under the tree
There he began to scratch away the
earth and leaves. The man helped
him. and you may imagine how
shocked he was when they laid
the body of his missing friend,
dog now seemed to feel that he
bare
The
had
given the responsibility of caring for
his master's body over to the friend.
He attached himself to him and went
to Paris and lived in his house.
It was not long before Macairc's ac
tions led people to suspect him of being
the murderer. Whenever the dog met
him he growled, his hair bristled up,
and it was all people could do to keep
him from tearing the man to pieces.
They finally sentenced Macaire to fight
a duel with the dog, after the custom
of that time.
The fi-jht was to be in a large amphi
theater at Ste. Notre Dame, in Paris,
and an immense crowd was there to
see the man and the dog tear each
other to pieces. Macaire was not al
lowed any weapons except a stick and
a shield, while the dog had a trb into
which he could retire when he was
weary.
The dog was let loose and rushed at
the man. At last his chance to avenge
THE FATHFUZ. 1KG.
his master's death had come, and he
was determined to make the most of it.
The man's guilty conscience did not
prevent him from fighting desperately,
and he defended himself wclL Again
Mid again the brave dog rushed at him
only to be beatcii back by the club,
and the shield always came between
bin and the man's throat, which he
tried hard to reach. The struggle was
long and hard, but the dog conquered.
The man, worn out with fatigue, finally
confesd liis guilt before all the peo
Dl. N. Y World
A HERO AT EIGHTEEN.
England's Famous Iloy Captain Tell How
He Saved a Ship.
The pages of the sea have given ns
no finer tale for many a day than that
of the boy captain and the Clyde sail
ing1 ship Trafalgar. It is a story that
might have been written by Robert
Louis Stevenson or Clark Russell, or by
both together.
It hardly need be said that the boy
captain, as we have cot to call him, is
Mr. William Shotten, the son of a
sailor, Capt- Stephen Shotten, and a
member of a Sunderland family.
Among the lanes of Gloucestershire,
where Capt. Stephen Shotten now has
his home, I had a chat with tho boy
captain one fine afternoon recently.
He is a modest, charming lad of
eighteen, as natural as sailor should
be, yet capable at a pinch, I should
think, of holding1 his own in the most
difficult circumstances.
"Since I came hack to the old coun
try I have been having a holiday," he
told mc, "but I shall be off to sea again
THE BOT CAPTAIN.
by and by." lie might have added that
he now carries his certificate as a
junior officer, and the fates look as if
they mean to make him a f uil-blown
skipper before he gets a beard.
"You might tell me, so I may ask one
or two questions on them, the main
facts of your skippership of the Trafal
gar. "Briefiy they are these: We were
sailing from Batavia for Melbourne La
ballast. Capt. Edward died of Java
fever while we were lying In Batavia.
We left two men ill in hospital and two
had deserted, so we sailed with a crew,
all told, of twenty-three hands. Mr.
Roberts, who had been first mate, was
now in command; we had got a new
first mate, Mr. Norwood; a seaman
from the fo'c's'le had been made second
mate, and I was ranked third mate."
"And so you put out on October 29
last, I think, for Melbourne?"
"Yes, taking the fever with us, I'm
sorry to say. I had been ill of it my
self, and suffered a two-hours' attack
almost every day until we reached Mel
bourne. But 1 was spared, although,
while the attacks were on I really
don't think I should have cared how it
went with me. WeU, first an able sea
man died, then Mr. Roberts and the
carpenter, then Mr. Norwood and then,
the cook. A desolating business it
was, and sadly demoralized the crew,
especially as they were left with my
self an apprentice just out of hi3 time,
a boy as the only one on board who
could navigate."
"But didn't the prospect appear m
tremendous-looking one to you?"
"Really, I can't say that I ever
thought of that; perhaps because I had
not time; perhaps because wnue Mr.
Roberts and Mr. Norwood were lying'
ill I had already been navigating the
ship. You Bee, the third mate, with
whom I took watch and watch about
from the time we lost the other officers,
could not navigate; but, frankly, I
hadn't any fear about being able to
take the Trafalgar to Melbourne, and
I told the men so. They wanted to
make for the nearest port in Australia,
but I set my face against that, because
it would have involved great expense
to the owners. Besides, as I argued
with them, if I could navigate the
ship to the nearest port in Australia, I
could navigate her to Melbourne."
"I believe they didn't work with yon
just as heartily as they might have
done."
"As I have said, the deaths on board
and the position we were left in made
the men see things very blackly. It
was from that fact that any difficulties
I had with them arose, not from a de
sire, I'm certain, to cause difficulties.
Anybody wbo knows what sailors are
will easily understand their fidgetiness
and the troubles they made as a result
of it. If I had been in the fo'c's'le and
seen a lad taking the bearings day
after day on the quarter deck, and had
I known that he was the only frail
guide on the trackless sea why, I
think I might myself have been a triSe
uneasy. All the men could have done
would have been to take a given direc
tion the direction of the Australian
continent and bear up for it. Either
that or have trusted to being picked
up by a passing ship. In the first
case, they must run her aground on the
first land they touched. It might have
lecn a barren coast, hundreds of miles
from civilization. Whatever happened
to them, she must have been lost. As
to being picked up by another ship
weU, tho comment on that is that we
didn't see one on the whole voyage,"
"Naturally, only those on board the
Trafalgar could really recognize all
that was meant in your skippership?
"We had a good bit of rough weather
when we got into Australian latitudes;
had sails blown away and so on; but
got to Melbourne all right in time for
Christmas on December 17. Immediate
ly they got foot on shore the men forgot
all their troubles and couldn't say too
kind things to me, as, indeed, it has
been also with other people since.
The whole affair was, no doubt,
strange and may never occur again
anyhow, in my experience. Perhaps it
was not without its risks, bat if I had
set to doubting about the result we
might not have gxt through as we did,
you know." London Letter.
Cansht Nothing Ert a Spanldng.
A Georgia boy, thought to be lost,
was found on the banks of a river,
where he had been steadily fishin? foa
three days.
vV