Various - Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891

V >> Various >> Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891

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There can be no doubt that the number of royal exiles will increase with
the passing years. The trend is all one way. Monarchies are giving way
to republics all over the world, and once the people have the power in
their own hands they will not relinquish it. Revolutions, however,
nowadays are peaceful, and kings may thank their stars that they are no
longer in danger of losing their heads along with their crowns.

A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Nature has made no marked division between the new year and the old, and
there is practically no difference in weather between the last week in
December and the first week in January. Perhaps it would be more logical
to have the year begin with the vernal equinox, but practically it makes
no difference at all. The year begins on the first day of January in all
Christian nations except Russia and her dependencies, and it is not
likely that any change will be made in future.

Yet, although there is no natural division, custom has made one that we
cannot help but notice. In the business and financial world the end of
the old year marks a distinct epoch, and the first of January is the
beginning of new accounts and new books. There is a general brushing up,
so to speak, and a number of new rules enacted, even if they are never
enforced.

There seems to be no reason why there should not be a moral brushing up,
as well as a business one. On the first of January, why should not every
one take an account of stock? Why not foot up all the good and bad done
in the old year, and find out on which side the balance lies? If bad, it
is a subject for correction; if good, it is a matter for congratulation.

It is not necessary for one to make the footings public, any more than a
business man takes the outside world into his confidence, but a perusal
may do a wonderful amount of good. Indeed, it is the only way by which
one can learn to avoid a repetition of the errors of the old year.

The first of the new year is called "happy" doubtless on account of the
good resolutions which inevitably spring from a contemplation of the
past. It is the one day in the year when every right-minded person at
least tries to do good, and it is an axiom that to be good is to be
happy.

Another reason springs from the time-honored custom of calling and
renewing old acquaintances, and thus reviving many happy memories.

Let no boy or girl be laughed out of making good resolutions on New
Year's Day. To make a resolution and keep it for a single day is better
than to make none at all, and it renders each successive resolution
easier to make and keep. But good resolutions may be kept, and then,
indeed, the new year will be a happy one.

Resolve, then, on New Year's Day to be something better and nobler than
you have been in the old year, to correct some fault or develop some
virtue; resolve to make some one's life brighter, or to do good in some
way, however humble, and you will find your reward in a happiness equal
if not superior to that which you have bestowed.

ICEBERGS.

by J.V. HAY.

It may sound strangely to the average reader to say that icebergs are
more numerous in warm weather, but such is the fact. Of course they are
formed in winter, but it takes the summer sun to set them adrift and
send them floating on the ocean, a grand sight to look at but a fearful
menace to vessels.

Icebergs are born every day in every month, but most of them remain in
or near their native waters for a long time before they escape and
wander to the great lanes of travel between here and Europe.

The bergs seen last summer are from two to ten years old--that is, they
have had an existence individually for years, though the ice from which
they are formed is much older, some of it possibly having been frozen
first a thousand years ago.

Icebergs are born of glaciers, and four out of five of the floating
bergs on the Atlantic come from Greenland. A glacier is a river of solid
water confined in the depressions running down the mountain sides.

Soft and powdery snow falls upon the summits, and though some is
evaporated, the yearly fall is greater than the yearly loss, and so the
excess is pushed down the slope into the valleys which possibly at the
time are covered with green and have afforded pasture lands for cattle.

The snow gathers in the high valleys and every day undergoes some degree
of the change which finally transforms it into ice. Slowly, very slowly,
in some cases only a foot every year, this frozen river flows downward.
Nothing can stop it, nothing can even check it.

The process is the same in Switzerland and Greenland, only in
Switzerland the glacier melts when it reaches the lower valley and feeds
rivers; in Greenland the glacier slides into the ocean, breaks off and
becomes an iceberg and floats away.

One of the incidents of an ordinary Alaskan cruise along the coast is to
see the glaciers break off and fall into the water. They are far more
beautiful than the finest of the glaciers of Switzerland, and in size
they are so great that the largest Alpine glacier would make only a
fair-sized nose, if it could be taken bodily and placed upon the face of
one of the Alaskan giants.

At Glacier Bay icebergs are being born all the while. Muir Glacier, the
largest that dips into the bay, presents a front of 5000 feet. It is 700
feet thick, five-sevenths of it being under water. It extends back for
miles and miles.

Each day the central part moves 70 feet into the sea, the discharge
every twenty-four hours being 140,000,000 cubic feet of clear ice. As
this great quantity cracks into pieces from the glacier, the bergs of
the North Pacific begin their life. The separation from the larger mass
and the plunge into the sea cause terrific noises.

The interior of Greenland is a solid mass of ice. In fact, some people
think that at about the central part of Greenland there is a high
mountain, around whose sides there has grown through the centuries an
enormous glacier, sending down in every direction branch glaciers that
extend to the coast. It is known that the only part of the land which is
not covered completely by ice is a narrow belt around the shore.

Crossing this belt at hundreds of places are the glaciers. Some are only
a few hundred feet wide and 50 feet thick, while others are several
miles wide and measure 1500 feet from surface to bottom.

All of these ice streams are making their way to the sea, and as their
ends are forced out into the water by the pressure behind, they are
broken off and set adrift as bergs.

Ensign Hugh Rodman, of the United States navy, in his report on the
"ice and ice movements in the North Atlantic Ocean," explains many
interesting things about ice and bergs.

Once the glacier extends into deep water, pieces are broken off by their
buoyancy, aided possibly by the currents and the brittleness of the ice.

The size of the pieces set adrift varies greatly, but a berg from 60 to
100 feet to the top of its walls, whose spires or pinnacles may reach
from 200 to 250 feet in height and from 300 to 500 yards in length, is
considered an average size berg in the Arctic. These measurements apply
to the part above the water, which is about one-eighth or one-ninth of
the whole mass.

Many authors give the depth under water as being from eight to nine
times the height above. This is incorrect, and measurements above and
below water should be referred to mass and not to height.

It is even possible to have a berg as high out of water as it is deep
below the surface, for if we imagine a large, solid lump, of any regular
shape, which has a very small, sharp, high pinnacle in the centre, the
height above water can easily be equal to the depth below. An authentic
case on record is that of a berg grounded in the Strait of Belle Isle,
in sixteen fathoms of water, that had a thin spire about one hundred
feet in height.

Each glacier in Greenland, so far as any estimate has been made, is the
parent each year of from ten to one hundred icebergs. When these bergs
have plunged into the Arctic Sea, they are picked up by the Arctic
current and begin their journey to the North Atlantic. But there are
thousands of them afloat; they crowd and rub against each other and
frequently they break into smaller masses.

Many go aground in the Arctic basin; others get to the shores of
Labrador, where from one end to the other they continually ground and
float. Some disappear there, while others get safely past and reach the
Grand Banks.

According to Ensign Rodman, the ice of bergs, although very hard, is at
the same time extremely brittle. A blow of an axe will at times split
them, and the report of a gun, by concussion, will accomplish the same
end.

They are more apt to break up in warm weather than in cold, and whalers
and sealers note this before landing on them when an anchor is to be
planted or fresh water to be obtained.

On the coast of Labrador, in July and August, when it is packed with
bergs, the noise of rupture is often deafening, and those experienced in
ice give them a wide berth.

When they are frozen the temperature is very low, so that when their
surface is exposed to a thawing temperature the tension of the exterior
and interior is very different, making them not unlike a Prince Rupert's
drop.

Then, too, during the day, the water made by melting finds its way into
the crevices, freezes, and hence expands, and, acting like a wedge,
forces the berg into fragments.

Much of the ice encountered at sea is discolored, and often full of dirt
and gravel, while not infrequently stones are found imbedded in it.

Along the shores of Labrador, where there is a large rise and fall in
the tide, ice is brought into contact with the bottom, and mud and
sea-weed are frozen in with it, while at times landslides precipitate
large quantities of dirt and stones on its surface.

As the ice leaves the coast and comes to the southward, it brings these
burdens with it, which are deposited on the ocean bottom when the ice
melts. As this melting occurs to a great extent over the Grand Banks, it
would seem that the deposit from the field ice would be greater than
that from bergs.

It is hard to understand why bergs should have foreign substances frozen
into them, as they are formed from snow deposited on the frozen surfaces
in the interior of Greenland, and hence their thickness is added to from
their upper surface.

It is possible that in their journey south in the Arctic current they
accumulate more or less foreign matter by having it ground into their
bottoms; but this does not seem probable, as it is hard to force gravel
into ice and give it a permanent hold, while mud accumulated in this way
would soon be washed out.

Then, too, the largest bergs find their way around the edges of the
Banks, and do not cross, on account of their draught, for only an
average-size berg crosses the Banks.

"1891."

by Rev. PHILIP B. STRONG.

Dear "1890" is no more!
The year has gone like years before.
With feelings foreign, sure, to none,
I write an "1891."

What lofty vows, what high resolves,
The wakened soul to-day revolves!
Will they endure, as now begun,
Through all of "1891?"

Oh, may more kindly words be said
Than in the twelve-month that has fled;
Far better, braver deeds be done
Than then in "1891."

What hath this year of loss or gain?
Who knoweth? What of boon or bane?
Life's thread may bright or dark be spun,
Ah, shrouded "1891!"

But faith is strong though sight is dim;
We gladly leave the days with Him,
And, trusting, wait the sands to run
Of hopeful "1891."

[_This Story began in No. 4._]

Schooner Sailing and Beach Combing;

or,

LEE HOLLAND'S ADVENTURES.

by EDWARD SHIPPEN, M.D.,

Author of "Cast Away in the Ice," "The
Yacht Grapeshot," "Tiger Island and
Elsewhere," "Jack Peters' Adventures
in Africa," etc., etc.

CHAPTER VI.

Lee now began to feel hungry and tired, so he let the boat drift while
he sat down and ate the lunch which the old woman had provided with such
very different intentions; and after that was finished, he fell sound
asleep in the stern-sheets, only to be awakened by the chill of the
dawn. Sitting up, he saw that the Sound was covered by a dense mist, and
all around him were flocks of wild ducks, settled upon the water, but
which flew off as soon as he moved.

While he sat looking at the sky, growing brighter in the east, and
trying to make up his mind in what direction Plymouth lay, he heard the
dip of a paddle, and then he saw coming up through the mist a dug-out
canoe, in which sat a venerable-looking old negro.

[Illustration:
"I'VE RUN AWAY FROM A SCHOONER ABOVE HERE,
AND I WANT TO GET TO PLYMOUTH."]

"Hillo!" said Lee.

The old fellow started as if he had been shot and peered about until he
saw the boat.

"Hillo, sah! hillo!" he answered, and then paddled nearer. "Now I can't
say as I rightly knows you, sah; an' I knows most everybody round here.
Duck-shootin' maybe? Is you one o' de Talbots?"

"No; I'm not duck-shooting, and I'm not one of the Talbots."

"What you doin' out here in de cold mornin', den, boy? Dat boat come
from some wessel, I see. An' dear knows it would be quare if you _was_ a
Talbot, an' I didn't know you. I belonged to old man Talbot onst."

"No, no, old man! I tell you I'm no Talbot. I've run away from a
schooner above here, and I want to get to Plymouth."

"Laws a massy! Why, I runned away myself, afore de wah. Was fo' year in
de Dismal Swamp, an' had a good time dere, too, honey. We had plenty o'
possum an' chickens an' corn-meal toted by colored folks we knowed, an'
put whar we could find it. An' we had sweet potatoes, an' simlins, an'
water-millions, an' berries, an' grapes, an' wild plums, an' wild hogs,
an' fish. Don't know as ever I'd 'a come out ef it hadn't 'a be'n de wah
freed de slaves, an' I wanted to see de ole place."

By this time the old negro was alongside, and took out a cob-pipe,
filled it, struck a light, and settled himself for a good talk, first
telling Lee that he was going fishing, at which he made his living.

Before he could begin talking again, Lee asked him in what direction he
ought to go to reach Plymouth.

"Why, honey, I'se a-goin' right dat way. My place for fishin' lays right
in dat direction. You come along o' me."

And with that the old fellow made fast his canoe to the schooner's boat,
and got in with Lee, taking one of the oars, so that they gave way
together.

After pulling for some time, the old man sounded.

"Now here I is," he then said, "in my place for fishin'. Now you see de
sun is scoffin' de fog, don't you? Well, you jus' keep de sun right in
your eyes, an' pull away, an' in less dan two hours you'll be in
Plymouth, for de tide is fa'r for you. I wish you well, honey! I done
run away onst myself, but I believe I tole you about dat. Take some o'
dis corn pone, and a piece o' dis cold bacon; you must want sumfin' in
your stumic. So-long!"

"Can't you give me a drink of water?" said Lee. "I want that more than
anything to eat."

"Yes, 'deed I kin!"

And then the old fellow rummaged in his canoe and brought out a black
jug, stoppered with a corn-cob, pulled the latter out, wiped the mouth
of the jug with his sleeve, and presented it to Lee, who took a good
drink, thanked his black friend, and then settled down at the oars for a
long pull.

Belts of fog and mist continued to lie upon the water, and after a time,
and having taken several breathing spells, he was shut in by one of
them, when he began to hear, carried over the water from a distance, the
creaking of blocks and tinkling of iron, and the cries of drivers
shouting at mules or horses, and other noises of a seaport.

Then the fog suddenly lifted, and he saw, quite a distance above him,
the wharves and some houses and vessels, mostly big, three-masted
schooners, loading lumber and tar and turpentine, just as he had been
told by old Jake.

Then, for the first time, it occurred to Lee that if he appeared there
alone, in possession of a ship's boat, he might be looked upon with
suspicion and might have hard work to explain how he came there, and
even might be held until he could clear the matter up.

So, rather than be suspected and detained, he determined to make his
appearance by land, instead of by water, and ran the boat on shore, some
way below the town.

Jumping out, he was about to give her a shove out into the stream, when
he reflected that the tide was still flood and an empty boat would be
sure to be seen and secured and his sudden appearance connected with her
in some way; so he hauled her under a clump of bushes, made her well
fast and walked up a marshy cattle-path toward the town.

In about twenty minutes he came out close to a wharf, where the work of
the day was in full blast. A large schooner lay there, with "Traveler,
of Boston," on her broad stern. She was taking, as a deck-load, some
large, squared timbers, and just then had a big one hung by chains from
a patent crane, which stood upon the dock.

A number of negroes were at work lowering it down, when suddenly
something cracked and the most of them let go the winch.

The great timber must have come down on the deck with damaging effect if
Lee, who had often seen such cranes used before, had not jumped to the
safety-break, at the risk of being killed by the whirling winch-handles,
and brought the beam to a stand before it could do any damage.

"Well done, my lad!" shouted a stout, bronzed man, from the vessel. "You
just stay there and work those other three timbers down on deck, and
I'll pay you for it. I'm short handed. But, stop; maybe you belong to
some of these other vessels? No? Well, I'll be as good as my word. My
mate's sick with this confounded North Carolina fever, and the
second-mate's got some kind of 'fantods,' too, and is laid up, and I
want to get away to-day."

"Send me out a drink of water and a piece of hard tack, sir, and I'll
stop here till the timbers are on board."

"Steward," called the captain, "there's a boy out there on the dock; I
want you to take him something to eat and drink. He's the one at the
break. Now, bear a hand and sling another one."

While they were slinging it Lee managed to eat something, and in an hour
the whole were safely on deck and securely chocked. Then the captain saw
Lee still on the dock and beckoned him on board.

"Now, here's a half-dollar for you, my lad. Do you belong about these
parts? Don't look as if you did. But, no matter; I s'pose you've run
away from some vessel. Now, I'm bound to Havana with this load of
lumber, and I'll ship you, if you like."

"I would rather ship in some vessel going north, sir."

"Well, maybe you can and maybe you can't. I'm going to haul out, right
away. Go, or not go? What do you say?"

"Are you going home from Havana, captain?"

"I can't say. I will, if I get a charter. But, being short handed, I'd
like to have a good, active, stout lad, like you, and will give you
ordinary seamen's wages. Haven't been much to sea, have you?"

"No, sir; but I'm not a bad schooner sailor, and can reef and steer."

"Well, I don't want any shilly-shally! Say yes or no. I have my
clearance, and here comes the tug to take me down the Sound."

"Well, yes, then."

And so it came about that Lee found himself, within half an hour, bound
down for Hatteras Inlet and thence for Havana, when he had only started
from home to go halibut fishing!

CHAPTER VII.

In a day or two after the vessel got to sea the mates got better and
went to duty, and the skipper seemed to take a pleasure in abusing and
worrying them, although it was evident from their appearance that they
had suffered severely from the swamp fever, and had not been shamming,
as the captain intimated.

In fact, the latter turned out to be a regular sea-tyrant, and Lee soon
found that life under him would be intolerable.

The crew were a mixed lot, mostly Norwegians and Dagos, whom the captain
had shipped at low wages. Some of them hardly understood a word of
English; and before the week was out the captain almost killed a poor
Portuguese by striking him with a belaying-pin because he misunderstood
an order while at the wheel.

That night the second-mate talked to Lee during his watch, and asked him
how he came to ship.

Lee told him his story.

"Well, my lad, my advice to you is to run away as soon as we reach
Havana. The captain is also part owner, and he will never pay you any
wages, if by any chance he can avoid it, while he is likely to do you
harm if you cross him."

"Why do you stop on board?" asked Lee.

"Because he owes me several months' wages, and I cannot afford to lose
it. But you mind what I tell you, and get away the first chance."

Among the crew of the Traveler, Lee had found a Cuban lad of about his
own age, named Diego, whom Captain Bristol had inveigled into shipping
as a cabin-boy, on a previous voyage to Havana.

He had been five or six months on board the vessel, and began to speak
English pretty fluently, but in a broken way, and with many sailor
expressions.

One evening, at sea, he came up to Lee and said:

"My name is Diego. What is your name?"

Lee told him.

[Illustration:
DIEGO AND LEE LOOKED AT EACH EACH OTHER
AS MUCH AS TO SAY, "WHY WOULDN'T WE DO?"]

"I came from Havana. Where did you come from?"

Lee related his story in a few words.

"Just the same with me," said Diego, when he had finished. "I've got no
father, no mother; but I'll not stop here. The captain treats me like a
slave. When we get to Havana, we go ashore, eh?"

Lee had for some time thought he had better get out of the Traveler, if
he could only see his way to do so. But he said:

"Where would we go, and what would we do, Diego? I have to get a living,
and would only have to look for another vessel to take me home, and that
might not be so easy to get."

Diego smiled knowingly.

"You see, I've got an aunt, and she lives at Regla," he said. "She's a
good old woman, but very poor. We can sleep in her house, though, till
we find something to do."

Lee did not promise, although Diego returned to the subject several
times. But on the morning that the vessel entered Havana the captain
gave him a violent blow with his fist, because he was not quick enough
in bringing him his spyglass from the cabin, and this determined Lee
finally, and he went forward and told Diego he was ready to go at the
first chance.

"All right," replied the Cuban; "I'll keep my eyes open and mouth shut."

It was a lovely morning as Lee stood forward and entered the first
foreign port in which he had ever been, glancing up at the frowning
Morro Castle at the entrance, close to which all vessels must pass, and
seeing the great guns pointing at them from the embrasures in the old
walls, the quaint turrets or sentry-boxes, painted in red and yellow,
with the sentinels pacing up and down, with polished muskets and
bayonets, and dressed in uniforms of white linen.

Then opened the view of the great harbor within, filled with shipping,
and the town beyond, with houses having no chimneys and painted in white
and red, and green and pink, with nodding palms and other tropical
foliage growing--all strange enough to a lad who had been all his life
north of Cape Cod.

When they had been boarded by the health officer and the custom house
officials, the Traveler came to anchor, and for a time all were busy in
furling sails and cleaning up the decks, while the captain took a boat
and went off to see his consignees.

All day they lay quiet, as the captain did not return and there were no
orders to begin to discharge, but toward evening a bumboat came off,
with fresh bread, fruits and other things to sell to the crew.

In the bumboat was a boy of about Diego's age, whom he recognized as an
old acquaintance and playmate, and who seemed very much surprised at
seeing him on board the American vessel.

Diego went down and had a whispered talk with him, which resulted in his
beckoning to Lee to come down. The second-mate was in charge of the
deck, and if he saw them go he took no notice.

Lee had no clothes to take, as he had only two shirts--one flannel and
one woven undershirt, which he had up to this time worn in turn, while
he washed the other--and both were becoming well worn out.

In view of a chance of running away, he had put them both on, in spite
of the heat of the day.

Diego's friend pushed them into a little cubby-hole under the half-deck
of the bumboat, saying in Spanish, which Diego translated to Lee:

"Lie there, lads, and we'll put you on shore at Regla all right."

The place was hot and stuffy and there was hardly room to turn round,
but they were so anxious to get away that they lay perfectly still for
at least an hour.

Then the bumboat shoved off to return to the shore, and in fifteen
minutes Lee stood upon foreign soil for the first time. Forlorn and
strange enough he felt, too, and if it had not been for Diego, would
have felt almost inclined to go back to the Traveler and her tyrant of a
captain.

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