Puzzledom.

On Board of the Sea Eagle OR, THE Adventures of a Homeless Boy.

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masthead

[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1892, by James Elverson, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.]

Off Shore,

OR

MATT AND NATT’S VENTURE.

BY WM. PENDLETON CHIPMAN,

AUTHOR OF “THE MILL BOY OF THE GENESEE,”
“THE YOUNG LINEMEN,” ETC.

CHAPTER I.
MATT HIRES OUT.

It was a raw, cold day in early April. Since morning, the clouds had been gathering, and they now hung, dark and heavy, over both land and sea. The wind, too, which had been steadily increasing for hours in violence, now blew little short of a gale. It evidently was going to be a terrible night, and that night was nearly at hand.

No one realized this more than the boy who, with a small bundle in one hand and a stout staff in the other, was walking rapidly along the road that runs, for the greater part of the way, in sight of Long Island Sound, from New Haven to New London.

He was a youth that would have attracted attention anywhere. Tall for his age, which could not have been far from eighteen years, he was also of good proportions, and walked with an ease and stride which suggested reserved strength and muscular development; but it was the boy’s face that was most noticeable. Frank, open, of singular beauty in feature and outline, there was also upon it unmistakable evidences of intelligence, resoluteness and honesty of purpose. A close observer might also have detected traces of suffering or of sorrow—possibly of some great burden hard to bear.

The boy was none too warmly clad for the chilly air and piercing wind, and now and then drew his light overcoat about him, as though even his rapid walking did not make him entirely comfortable.

He, moreover, looked eagerly ahead, like one who was watching for some signs of his destination. Reaching at length the foot of a long hill, he drew a sigh of relief, and said, aloud:

“I must be near the place now. They said it was at the top of the first long hill I came to, and this must be it.”

As he spoke, he quickened his pace to a run and soon reached the summit, quite out of breath, but with a genial warmth in his body that he had not experienced for some hours.

Pausing now a moment to catch his breath, he looked about him. Dim as was the light of the fast-falling evening, he could not help giving an exclamation of delight at the view he beheld.

To the west of him he saw the twinkling lights of several villages, through which he had already passed. To the north, there was a vast stretch of land, shrouded in darkness. To the south was the Sound, its tossing waves capped with white, its islands like so many gems on the bosom of the angry waters.

“It must be a beautiful place to live in, and I hope to find a home here,” he remarked, as he resumed his journey.

A few rods farther he reached a farmhouse and turned up to its nearest door. As he was about to knock, a man came from the barn-yard, a little distance away, and accosted him.

“Good-evening!”

“Good-evening!” responded the boy. Then he asked, “Is this Mr. Noman?”

“No, I’m Mr. Goodenough,” answered the man, pleasantly. “Noman lives on the adjoining farm. You will have to turn into the next gateway and go down the lane, as his house stands some distance from the road.”

“I was told,” explained the boy, “that he wished to hire help, and I hoped to get work there. Could you tell me what the prospect is?”

The man had now reached the boy’s side, and was looking him over with evident curiosity.

“Well,” he replied, slowly. “I think he wants a young fellow for the coming season, and hadn’t hired any one the last I knew. But I think you must be a stranger in these parts?”

“Yes,” the youth answered, briefly.

And then, thanking the man for his information, he turned away.

“I thought so,” Mr. Goodenough called after him, “else you wouldn’t want to go there to work.”

The boy scarcely gave heed to the remark at the time; but it was not long before he learned, by hard experience, the meaning of it.

A quarter of a mile up the road he reached a gate, and, passing through it, hastened down the narrow lane till he came to a long, low, dilapidated house; but in the darkness, which had by this time fallen, he was not able to form any definite idea of his surroundings.

A feeble light issued from a back window, and, guided by that, he found the rear door of the building.

To his knock there was a chorus of responses. Dogs barked, children screamed, and above the din a gruff voice shouted, “Come in!”

A little disconcerted by the unusual sounds, the boy, instead of obeying the invitation, knocked again.

Then there was a heavy step across the floor, the door swung open with a jerk, and a tall, raw-boned man, shaggy-bearded and shock haired, stood on the threshold.

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“THEN CAME A SUDDEN BREAKER, ROLLING OUTWARD, THAT LIFTED THE CART AND OXEN FROM THE ROAD-BED AND SWEPT THEM OUT INTO THE SOUND.”

Eying the boy a moment in surprise, he asked, somewhat surlily:

“What do ye want, youngster?”

“Are you Mr. Noman?” the boy asked.

“Yes; what of it?” he answered, sharply.

“I was told you wanted help, and I have called to see about it,” explained the boy.

“Come in, then!” said Mr. Noman.

And his tones were wonderfully modified.

The boy now obeyed, and found himself in a large room, evidently the kitchen and living-room all in one. There was no carpet on the floor, and a stove, a table and a half-dozen chairs constituted its furniture.

Three large dogs lay before the fire, growling sullenly. A woman and four small children were seated at the table. An empty chair and an unemptied plate showed that Mr. Noman had been eating when he was called to the door.

There was food enough upon the table, but its disorderly arrangement, and the haphazard way in which each child was helping itself, caused the boy to give an involuntary shudder, as his host invited him to sit down “an’ take a bite, while they talked over business together.”

Mr. Noman evidently meant to give his caller a flattering impression of his hospitality, for he heaped the boy’s plate with cold pork, brown bread and vegetables, and even called on his wife to get some of that “apple sass” for the young stranger.

The boy was hungry, and the food was, after all, wholesome, and he stowed away a quantity that surprised himself, if not his host.

When supper was eaten, Mr. Noman pushed back his chair and abruptly asked his guest:

“Who air ye?”

“Matt Rives,” promptly replied the boy.

“That’s a kinder cur’us name, now, ain’t it?” questioned Mr. Noman. “I dunno any Riveses round here. Where be ye from?”

“I came from New York State,” replied Matt, with the air of one who had studied his answer, but it seemed for some reason to be very satisfactory to his questioner.

“Any parents?” next inquired Mr. Noman.

“No, sir—nor brothers nor sisters. I’ve no one but myself to look out for.”

“I guess ye ain’t used to farm work, be ye?” now inquired Mr. Noman, doubtingly, and looking at Matt’s hands, which were as white and soft as a lady’s.

“No, sir; but I’m willing to learn,” assured Matt.

“Of course ye can’t expect much in the way of wages,” remarked Mr. Noman, cautiously.

“No, not until I can do my full share of work,” replied Matt, indifferently.

A light gleamed for a moment in Mr. Noman’s eyes.

“I might give ye ten dollars a month an’ board, beginnin’ the fust of next month, ye to work round for yer board till then,” he ventured.

“Very well,” responded the boy; and immediately after he added, “I’ve walked a good ways to-day, and if you don’t mind I’ll go to my room.”

“Perhaps we’d better draw up a paper of agreement an’ both of us sign it,” suggested Mr. Noman, rubbing his hands vigorously together, as though well pleased with himself and everybody else.

“All right, if that is your custom,” said Matt. “Draw up the paper to suit you, and I’ll sign it.”

After considerable effort, Mr. Noman produced the following document:

“On this 10th day of April, Matt Rives, a miner of New York State, agres to work for me, Thomas Noman. He’s to begin work May fust, an’ work 6 munths at 10 dollers an’ bord. He’s too work till May fust for his bord. If he quits work ’fore his time is up he’s to have no pay. To this we agre.

“Thomas Noman, on his part.”

Matt read the paper, and could scarcely suppress a smile as he signed his name under Mr. Noman’s, and, in imitation of him, added the words “on his part” after the signature.

He knew, however much importance Mr. Noman might attach to it, that as a legal document it had no special force. He simply set down the whole act as one of the whims of his eccentric employer, and gave no more thought to the matter. But it was destined to serve that gentleman’s purpose, nevertheless, until taken forcibly from him.

Mr. Noman now showed Matt up to a back room on the second floor, and, telling him that he would call him early in the morning, bade him good-night.

The room Matt had entered was bare and cold; a single chair, a narrow bedstead, a rude rack on the wall to hang his garments upon, were all it contained.

Yet it was evidently with some satisfaction that he opened his bundle, hung up the few clothes it held and prepared for bed.

As he drew the quilts over him, he murmured:

“I don’t think I ever had more uncomfortable quarters in my life, and the outlook for the next six months at least is far from encouraging. Still, I would not go back to what I have left behind for anything.”

He was tired. The rain that was now falling heavily upon the roof just over his head acted as a sedative and lulled him to sleep. But his was not an unbroken rest, for at times he tossed to and fro and muttered strange, disconnected sentences. One was:

“I know it was not he. I will pay it back to the last cent.”

After that the troubled sleeper must have had pleasanter dreams, for a smile played about his lips, and he murmured:

“It is all right now; I’ve a home at last.”

From these, however, he was rudely awakened by a gruff call:

“Matt, Matt! git up an’ come out to the barn.”

Sleepy, bewildered, he arose and groped about in the darkness for his clothing. By the time he was dressed a full consciousness of his situation had come back to him, and, with a stout heart, Matt went out to begin what was to him equally new duties and a new life.

CHAPTER II.
A LITTLE UNPLEASANTNESS.

It was still dark and the rain fell in torrents as Matt opened the kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Noman, who was making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her husband.

He noticed the kitchen timepiece as he passed through the room and saw it was not yet four o’clock. Early rising was evidently one of the things to be expected in his new home.

Reaching the barn, Matt found Mr. Noman engaged in feeding a dozen or more gaunt and ill-kept cows, which seized the musty hay thrown down to them with an avidity that suggested on their part a scarcity of rations.

The same untidiness that marked the house was to be seen about the barn also, which, if anything, was in a more dilapidated condition than the former.

“Good morning, Mr. Noman. What can I do to help you?” asked Matt, pleasantly, as soon as he entered the barn.

“Hum! I don’t suppose ye can milk?” was the rather ungracious response.

“No, sir; but I’m willing to learn,” replied Matt, good-naturedly.

“Well, I’ll see about that after awhile. I s’pose ye might as well begin now as any time. But fust git up on that mow an’ throw down more hay. These pesky critters eat more’n their necks is wuth,” said Mr. Noman, kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the forkful of hay he was carrying by her.

Matt obeyed with alacrity; and, when that job was finished, it was followed by others, including the milking, wherein the boy proved an apt scholar, until nearly six o’clock, when Mrs. Noman’s shrill voice summoned them to breakfast.

That meal, possibly on account of Matt’s want of the good appetite he had had the night before, seemed to him greatly inferior to his supper. The coffee was bitter and sweetened with molasses, the johnny-cakes were burnt, and the meat and vegetables cold.

He did his best to eat heartily of the unsavory food, however—partly that he might not seem to his employer over-fastidious in taste, and partly because the morning’s work had taught him that he would need all the strength he could obtain ere his day’s task was over. Stormy though it was, he felt sure Mr. Noman would find enough for him to do.

In fact, long before the first of May came, Matt realized fully the force of the words Mr. Goodenough shouted after him the night he stopped there to inquire the way to Mr. Noman’s.

Had he really known his employer and family, he certainly would not have been over-anxious to hire out to him for the season, for the dilapidated condition of the buildings, and the untidiness and disorder that marked everything about the place, were not, after all, the worst features with which Matt had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard, grasping tyrant, while his wife was a termagant, scolding and fault-finding incessantly from morning until night. There was not an animal on the place that escaped the abuse of the master, and not even the master himself eluded the tirades of the mistress.

Matt, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus frequently doing twice over what a boy of his age should have been expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Noman and his wife. He soon found this impossible, and so contented himself with doing what he felt to be right, and cheerfully bore the scoldings that speedily became an hourly occurrence.

It was indeed astonishing with what good-nature Matt accepted the work and the hard words put upon him. Mr. Noman attributed it to the paper he had asked him to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought that Matt’s fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile.

He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the boy was worth twice what he had agreed to pay him—“only I ain’t paid him nothin’ as yit,” he added, with a knowing look, which his wife seemed to understand, for she replied:

“Now yer up to another of yer capers, Tom Noman. There never was a man on the earth meaner’n ye air!”

But Mr. Goodenough, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account for the boy’s willingness to endure what he knew he must be suffering, and finally his curiosity got the better of him; for, meeting Matt one day as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses and said:

“Matt, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I ever saw?”

“No; is that so?” replied Matt, with a laugh. “What makes you think so?”

“Well,” remarked Mr. Goodenough, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking down into the smiling countenance before him, “I have lived here beside Tom Noman and his wife for a dozen years, and know them well enough to be sure that an angel couldn’t long stand their fault-finding, and yet you have actually been there six weeks, and are still as cheerful as a lark on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you explain to me how you manage to stand it?”

While he was speaking a far-away look had come into Matt’s eyes, and a shudder shook his robust frame, as though he saw something very disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:

“Mr. Goodenough, there are some things in this world harder to bear than either work or unkind treatment, and I prefer even to live with Tom Noman’s family rather than to go back to the life I have left behind me.”

With these words, Matt started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr. Goodenough to resume his way more mystified than ever.

On the first day of June, Matt asked Mr. Noman for the previous month’s pay.

They were at work in the cornfield, and the boy’s request took his employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.

“Me pay ye now!” he exclaimed. “What air ye thinkin’ of?”

Then, as though another idea had come to his mind, he said, persuasively:

“Ye don’t need no money, an’ ’twill be better to have yer pay all in a lump. Jest think how much it’ll be—sixty dollars! an’ all yer own.”

“But I have a special use for the money,” persisted Matt; “and, as I have earned it, I should think you might give it to me.”

He spoke all the more emphatically because he knew that Mr. Noman had quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he chose to do so.

For reply, Mr. Noman put his hand into his pocket, and, taking out his wallet, opened it. From it he drew the paper of agreement that Matt and he had signed. He slowly spelled it out, and, when he had finished, asked:

“Does this here paper say anythin’ about my payin’ ye every month?”

“No, sir,” Matt reluctantly admitted.

“But it does say, if ye quit yer work ’fore yer time is up, ye air to have no pay, don’t it?” inquired the man, significantly.

“Yes, sir,” Matt replied, now realizing how mean and contemptible his employer was, and what had been his real object in drawing up that paper.

“Well, how can I know ye air goin’ to stay with me yer hull time till it’s up?” he asked, with a show of triumph in his tones.

“Do you mean to say you don’t intend to pay me anything until November?” asked Matt, indignantly.

“That’s the agreement,” answered Mr. Noman, coolly, returning the paper to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. “If ye’ll keep yer part I’ll keep mine.”

He then picked up his hoe and resumed his work.

For the first time since he came to the farm Matt felt an impulse to leave his employer. It was with great difficulty, indeed, that he refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did not, and went resolutely on with his work.

Fortunate for him was it—though he did not know it then—that he did so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe trials stood between him and their consummation.

That night, at as early an hour as possible, Matt sought his little room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket he drew a long wallet, and from that, a postal card. Addressing it with a pencil to “A. H. Dinsmore, 1143 Washington Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y.,” he wrote rapidly and in small characters on the reverse side, without giving place or date, the following words:

“Dear Sir: My promise to send you some money every month until the total amount due you was paid, I cannot keep for this reason: Through a misunderstanding with my employer, I am not to have my pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At that time you may expect a remittance from me.

“Truly yours,

“M. R.”

It was several days later, however, before Matt had an opportunity to go to the neighboring village. When he did so, he took care not to drop the postal into the post office, but handed it directly to a mail agent on a passing train.

His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently, he did not care that the Mr. Dinsmore to whom he had written should know his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary; for, before the summer months had run by, he was to meet Mr. Dinsmore under circumstances most trying to himself.

CHAPTER III.
SWEPT OUT TO SEA.

Mr. Noman’s farm was a large one, and ran clear down to the shore, terminating there in a singular formation of sand and rocks, known throughout that region as “The Camel Humps.” A small cove lay west of the formation, while the main waters of the sound stretched out to their widest extent from the south and east. The only point, therefore, where the “humps” touched the mainland was at the north, and even this point of contact was so narrow as simply to furnish a roadway down upon the “humps” themselves.

Of these “humps”—for there were, as their name suggested, but two—the northern one was much the smaller, embracing perhaps an acre of rough soil, covered with a stunted grass, and dotted here and there with red cedars. The southern one, on the other hand, covered also with a scanty vegetation and scattered trees, broadened out so as nearly to land-lock the cove behind it, and cause its waters to rush in or out, according to the tide, through an exceedingly contracted passage at its extreme southwestern end, popularly known as “the sluiceway.”

The point of contact of the southern with the northern hump, like the northern hump with the mainland, was also very narrow, and to its narrowness was added another feature—it was so low, or, in more technical language, it was so nearly on a level with the high-water mark, that when there happened to be a strong wind from any eastern quarter, the waters of the sound, on the incoming tide, would rush with great force over the slight barrier and mingle with the waters of the cove, making an island, for the time, of the larger and more southern hump.

Three-quarters of a mile off shore, and a little to the northeast of these humps, was an island of an irregular shape and a few acres in extent, bearing the name of Sheep Island. The name had belonged to it since colonial days, but the reason therefor was unknown, unless at that early period some enterprising farmer had used the island as pasture ground for animals of that kind, which gave the island its title.

This island had in later years, however, a more illustrious inhabitant. A gentleman of considerable means, tired of society, or for some reason at enmity with it, crossed over from the main shore, erected a small house, dug a well, set out trees, planted a garden and built a wharf—in fact, set up thereon a complete habitation. But not long did he endure his self-imposed solitude. Scarcely were his arrangements completed when an unfortunate accident caused his death, and the island and its improvements were left to be the home of the sea-fowls or the temporary abode of some passing fisherman.

This extended description has been given because it is essential that the reader should form a definite idea of the island and its relation to the “Camel Humps;” for on and about them no small portion of our young hero’s summer was destined to be spent.

During the fall and winter months previous to Matt’s coming to the farm, owing to the repeated storms, there had been landed on the “humps” immense quantities of seaweed, so highly prized by the farmer as a fertilizer. Mr. Noman had contented himself, however, with simply gathering it into a huge pile on the summit of the southern hump, above high-water mark, intending to remove it to the barnyard in the spring. Thus it fell to Matt’s lot to cart from the heap to the yard as the weed was needed, and the first week in June found him engaged in this work.

It was a cloudy and threatening day. The wind was from the southeast, and blew with a freshness that promised a severe storm before night.

Perhaps it was on this account that Mr. Noman had directed the boy to engage in this particular work. He was himself obliged to be away on business, and this was a job at which Matt could work alone, and the weather was hardly propitious for any other undertaking. So, immediately after breakfast, Matt yoked the oxen to the cart and started for his first load.

“There ain’t over four loads more down there, an’ if ye work spry ye can git it all up by night!” Mr. Noman shouted after him, as he drove off.

The distance from the barn to the “humps” was such that, with the roughness of the way, one load for each half-day had usually been regarded as a sufficient task for the slow-walking oxen.

But Matt knew he had an early start, and he determined to do his best to bring all the weed home that day. He therefore quickened the pace of the animals, and before nine o’clock had made his first return to the yard.

Unloading with haste, he immediately started back for his second load. When he crossed from the north to the south hump, he noticed the incoming tide was nearly across the roadway, but thought little of it.

On examining the heap of seaweed, he became convinced that by loading heavily he could carry what remained at two loads.

He therefore pitched away until in his judgment half of the heap was upon the cart. It made a big load, but the oxen were stout, and, bending their necks to the yoke, they, at Matt’s command, started slowly off.

As he approached the narrow roadway, he noticed the tide had gained rapidly and was now sweeping over it with considerable force and depth.

Jumping upon the tongue of the cart, he urged his oxen through the tossing waves. To his consternation, the water came well up around the patient animals’ backs, and had he not quickly scrambled to the top of his load he would have been thoroughly drenched.

The cattle, however, raised their noses high as possible and plunged bravely through the flood, soon emerging on the other side with their load unharmed.

The rest of the journey home was made without difficulty, and Matt at dinner time had the satisfaction of knowing that two thirds of his appointed work was already accomplished.

Mr. Noman had not yet returned, and, hurrying through dinner, Matt hastened off for his third and last load, hoping to get back to the yard with it before his employer came. But hardly had he started when it began to rain, and as he passed down upon the first hump the wind, having shifted a point or two, was blowing with a velocity that made it difficult for the oxen to stand before it.

Slowly, however, the passage across the first hump was made, and Matt approached the narrow roadway leading to the other, then he stopped the team in sheer amazement.

In front of him was a strip of surging water of uncertain depth, and he instinctively felt that there was a grave risk in attempting to push through to the other side. But he was anxious to secure his load. He had passed through safely enough before, and he resolved to attempt the crossing now, counting on nothing worse than a drenching.

This was a grave mistake, and Matt would have realized it, had he only stopped to think that there was quite a difference between his situation now and when he had made his successful crossing before dinner. Then he had a loaded cart, the wind and tide were both in his favor, and the water had not reached either its present depths or expanse. Now his cart was empty—a significant and important fact, the wind was blowing with greater force and directly against him, while the tide—as he would have seen had he watched it closely—had turned, and was rushing back from the cove and out into the open sound with a strength almost irresistible.

But, unmindful of these things, Matt bade his oxen go on, and, though they at first shrunk from entering the angry waters, he forced them onward, and at last they began the passage.

For a rod they went steadily on, though the waves dashed over their backs and into the cart, wetting Matt to the knees. Then came a sudden breaker, rolling outward, that lifted the cart and oxen from the road-bed and swept them out into the sound.

The moment Matt realized that the cart was afloat and the oxen swimming for their lives, his impulse was not to save himself, but the unfortunate animals that, through his rashness, had been brought into danger.

Springing, therefore, between them, he caught hold of the yoke with one hand, and with the other wrenched out the iron pin that fastened it to the tongue, and thus freed them from the cart. In the effort, however, he lost his hold upon the yoke, and the next minute found himself left alone, struggling with the angry billows.

He was now forced to look out for himself and could not watch the fate of the oxen, even had he had an inclination to do so, indeed with his water-soaked clothing, which greatly impeded his efforts, there was already a serious question whether he would be able to reach the shore, good swimmer though he was.

With a strength born from the very sense of the danger that overwhelmed him, he turned his face toward the fast receding shore, and swam manfully for it.

For a time he seemed to be gaining, but the tide was too strong for him and his strength was soon exhausted. Slowly he felt himself sinking. Already the waves were dashing over his head.

He made one desperate effort to regain the surface, then there was a faint consciousness of being caught by a huge wave and hurled against some hard object, and all was blank.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

—The average duration of lives in the United States is 41.8 years for storekeepers 43.6 years for teamsters, 44.6 years for seamen, 47.3 years for mechanics, 48.4 years for merchants, 52.6 years for lawyers, and 64.2 years for farmers.

TALES OF BIG FISHES.

The whip ray, sea bat or devil fish, as it is variously named, is fairly plentiful in Galveston Bay, so the appearance of four of these sea monsters at one time the other day did not excite any special remark. But they were seen by three boys, all under sixteen, and they determined to get one and sell it. So one of the boys borrowed a Winchester rifle while the other two got a rowboat and a harpoon, and out they went after their prey. The boys rowed around awhile, and soon saw one of the fishes, and pulled up within forty or fifty feet. One of the boys fired a shot into the ray, which immediately breached, scooting fully twenty feet out and ahead, like a flying fish. Two more shots were fired, and, after beating the water furiously, it died. Then a harpoon was thrown into the creature, and it was towed to the wharf, where it was slung and hoisted out with a windlass. This fish measured fourteen feet from wing tip to wing tip.

Another fish tale from the Gulf of Mexico relates to the adventures of five sailors who were running a small schooner down the coast off Corpus Christi. The vessel was gliding along smoothly when the monotony of the voyage was broken by a six foot tarpon leaping upon the deck from the water. The big fish at once began making things interesting on the boat, and for a time it looked as if the crew would have to jump overboard to escape being knocked lifeless. They finally regained control of their nerve, however, and decided to have it out with the fish, so one of them seized an axe and the others hand-spikes and at the tarpon they went. The struggle was long and fierce, and one of the sailors was knocked overboard by coming in contact with the tarpon’s tail. A rope was thrown him and he was pulled back on deck. At last the fish succumbed to the repeated blows of the axe and hand spikes and lay along the deck as dead as a mackerel.

When the steamer Dumois came into Boston recently, she brought as a passenger a man named John Calder, who came on board under peculiar circumstances. He was a Jamaica fisherman, and unwittingly hooked a sword-fish. Mr. Calder didn’t want that kind of a fish, but it would not let go, and, as he did not want to lose a long and valuable line by cutting himself away, both man and fish held on until forty miles at sea. At this juncture the steamer came along, the fish was captured, and the plucky fisherman sold the big catch to the marketmen.

“The prettiest battle I ever witnessed was between a young Cuban and two sharks,” said an American sea captain. “We had reached Havana and were lying half a mile from the docks, awaiting the signal to go on. Several fruit peddlers had boarded us, among them a swarthy, bare legged young fellow who looked like a pirate. The purser was standing by the rail, holding his five year old son in his arms, watching a couple of monster sharks that were hanging about the vessel, when the child slipped from his grasp and fell into the water. The father plunged overboard and seized him, and the sharks at once made to the pair. The bare-legged young buccaneer dropped the fruit-basket and went over the rail like a flash. As the first shark turned on its back, the invariable prelude to biting, the Cuban rose, and with a long, keen knife fairly disemboweled it. The other was not to be disposed of so easily though. The purser and his child had been pulled on deck, and the combatants had a fair field. The Cuban dived, but the shark did not wait for him to come up and changed his location. Finally the shark advanced straight upon his antagonist, his ugly fin cutting through the water like a knife, turned quickly upon his back, and the huge jaws came together with a vicious snap, but the Cuban was not between them. He had sunk just in time to avoid the shark, and, as the latter passed, shot the steel into it. The old sea wolf made the water boil, and strove desperately to strike his antagonist with his tail but the latter kept well amidships and literally cut him in pieces.”

As one of the Peninsular and Oriental steamers was steaming up the Red Sea, the lookout forward called the attention of the officer of the watch to the fact that a huge shark was jammed in between the bobstay-shackle and the stem. Investigation showed that the monster, which was over thirty feet long, was almost cut in two. The stem had struck him just below the gills, and, while his head protruded on the starboard side, his body had slewed in under the port bow. The sharp iron stem had cut into the creature to the depth of a foot, and all efforts to get it clear were unavailing. The captain at last ordered the vessel full speed astern, and that sent the man eater adrift. The accepted theory was that the shark had been asleep on the surface of the sea when struck by the swiftly-moving steamer.