Mrs. Phoebe A. Hearst 
 
 W!THDRAV/M 
 
BANCROFT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 o- 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES r 
 
LITTLE 
 PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY HIGGINS 
 
 With a foreword by 
 Samuel Travers Clover 
 
 Illustrated by 
 RALPH MOCINE 
 
 GRAPHIC PUB. CO. 
 Los Angeles, Cal. 
 
 1911 
 
THIS memorial edition is 
 limited to one hundred copies 
 and is printed for private 
 distribution. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
E RAR 
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 When I was invited by the mother of 
 Harry Higgins to examine the manuscript 
 writings of her talented son with a view to 
 preparing them for publication in pamph- 
 let form, I had little conception at the time 
 of the genuine pleasure that awaited me. 
 That the son was unusually gifted in various 
 ways I had reason to believe, but of his 
 literary propensities I knew nothing. Con- 
 sequently, the inspection of the bundle of 
 sketches and poems, printed and unprinted, 
 entrusted to me, was approached with dif- 
 fidence, but a brief reading quickly dissi- 
 pated that feeling and it was with undeni- 
 able zest that I continued what proved to 
 be a delightful task. 
 
 Keen observation and delicate humor, 
 character sketching of a subtle quality, des- 
 criptive powers of a high order, fine imag- 
 ery, poetic feeling, mingled with rare repres- 
 sion, together with a literary style that sur- 
 prised while it charmed, were unfolded to 
 my view, impelling an admiration that was 
 spontaneous, and arousing a regret that so 
 talented a mind was allied with so weak a 
 bodily frame. That the physical limitations 
 of Harry Higgins must have been a source 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of much inward grief to the young man can- 
 not be doubted, yet nowhere in his literary 
 work do I find the slightest trace of irri- 
 tation, of repining, of fretfulness or of pes- 
 simism because of his chronic sickness. To 
 the contrary, evidence of a good-natured, 
 cheery spirit is apparent throughout, even 
 his own ailments forming a subject for jest- 
 ing, as witness his fanciful schedule of 
 the bodily discomforts of a hypochondriac, 
 which he summed up in a bit of verse en- 
 titled "Megrims." 
 
 Never is he found with a plaint on his 
 pen's tip. He sang the gospel of cheerful 
 living, of courage, of good humor, of kind- 
 ness. That he wrote as he lived may be 
 gathered from the following incident told 
 me by his surviving elder brother, and after- 
 ward, with added detail, by his mother. 
 Following a long spell of illness in which 
 the presence of a trained nurse was con- 
 stantly required, Harry, one evening, after 
 a severe attack of coughing, burst a main 
 artery. Calling his nurse she quickly saw 
 that it was a case demanding prompt sur- 
 gical attention. They chanced to be alone 
 in the house. For a moment the nurse lost 
 her poise and began to turn white as she 
 
 vi 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 realized the imminent danger. Harry, with 
 his ringers firmly gripping the artery, im- 
 mediately rallied her, remarking with a 
 smile, "See here, you're not going to faint 
 and leave me alone in this fix, are you?" It 
 had the desired effect, and recovering her- 
 self quickly the nurse hurriedly summoned 
 the doctor, her patient bravely retaining 
 his hold of the artery, to relinquish which 
 meant certain death. Courageous in all 
 things affecting himself and reflecting the 
 same spirit in his writings the note of optim- 
 ism is ever present. 
 
 How dearly he loved dumb animals may 
 be gathered by reading the charming des- 
 cription of his two marmoset pets, Moody 
 and Sankey, which tiny monkeys he brought 
 back with him from the Barbados to cheer 
 his lonely hours for many a day thereafter. 
 His delightfully-told story of Nebuchadnez- 
 zar, the antique mule of erratic disposition, 
 reveals to a nicety the whimsical quirk of 
 his alert mind, together with a keen appre- 
 ciation of the vagabondish, irresponsible 
 brute nature occasionally to be met. To all 
 dogs he was friendly and one in particular 
 was his constant companion. Read his story 
 of "Our Happy Family" and realize how 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 closely his sympathy lay with the smaller 
 creatures of the animal world. 
 
 But it is in his alluring narrative of his 
 journey to the West Indian islands, a 
 graphic and poetic revelation of the beauties 
 of these favored spots in the Caribbean sea, 
 that Harry's active mind found its freest 
 scope. Nothing of interest seems to have 
 escaped his roving, yet observant eye. 
 Whether in character drawings, anecdote- 
 telling, dwelling on the many moods of na- 
 ture at sea or on shore, bits of humorous 
 description, or swift changes to deep pathos 
 as seen in his all too brief story of the 
 mother's sacrifice to follow her leprous son 
 to a living death his love for humanity is 
 uppermost, his unfailing geniality of dispo- 
 sition ever dominant, his gentle humor con- 
 stantly lubricating the asperities of the most 
 trying situations. 
 
 For breezy naturalness, combined with 
 splendid descriptive powers and the disclos- 
 ing of a mint of information concerning the 
 subject, his capital article entitled "The Fly- 
 ing Fish Fleet" is a gem of well-written 
 English, That a youngster of his all too 
 feeble frame should have dared essay the 
 discomfort and even peril of an adventure of 
 
 viii 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 this nature, but proves the truth of my 
 previous assertion in regard to Harry's cour- 
 age. He wanted to know at first hand of 
 the experiences to be gained in an outing 
 with the fleet and he did not hesitate at the 
 cost. As a result, for one of the most 
 spirited, accurate and informing articles it 
 has been my good fortune to come across in 
 a wide circle of reading, I can thank the 
 young author whose virile words require so 
 little editing at my hands. Read his artless 
 story of "How I Broke Up the Side Show" 
 and chuckle, as I have done, over the un- 
 conscious humor of the small boy so deftly 
 conveyed by the narrator of the incident. 
 As for "Biddy McClane's Revenge," it is a 
 railroad classic that is no less interesting 
 because it is a leaf from true history. Biddy 
 and her pig's fate and the owner's unex- 
 pected reward, when on revenge bent, form 
 a chapter in the annals of a small town in 
 Central Illinois, where Harry's family once 
 lived. 
 
 Note the delicacy of touch in the poem, 
 "Her Reminder." Just three short stanzas, 
 but' the result is a perfect picture. His 
 love for the sea, for the mysteries of nature, 
 is graphically exhibited in the breezy poem, 
 
 ix 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 redolent of the tang of the salty air, bearing 
 the refrain "When the Wind Blows Through 
 the Rigging." Only one in close attune 
 with the ocean's moods and tenses could 
 have given us that marine etching. Of a 
 deeper note is his beautiful tribute to the 
 Isle of Martinique, a tragic spot visited be- 
 fore the volcanic besom of destruction 
 swept St. Pierre out of existence. The final 
 stanza, added by the poet's mother, subtly 
 suggests the source of Harry's literary 
 gifts. 
 
 Purposely, I have included in this me- 
 morial volume a few examples of verse in 
 lighter vein, as denoting the playfully 
 humorous bent of the author. "Our Fire" 
 is a worthy complement of Miss Mitford's 
 prose sketches of "Our Village," while its 
 handling is not unmindful of Thackeray in 
 a relaxed mood. "The Hayseed" is a serio- 
 comic tragedy in miniature. As for the "Me- 
 grims," it is, as I have previously stated, 
 a parody on the poet's own ills of the body, 
 in which he is to be seen poking fun at his 
 poor health. Not literary are these three 
 instances chosen, nor did their author con- 
 ceive them to be; they simply reflect a 
 phase of his temperament and because of 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the human qualities they contain they are 
 given space in this collection. 
 
 It is interesting to note that nearly all 
 the literary work to be credited to Harry 
 Higgins was done when he was between 
 twenty and twenty-five. Before he was in 
 his twenties he was addicted to scribbling, 
 but nothing of a serious nature emanated 
 from his pen, or at least survived, that I 
 have found. His constant illness in the last 
 two years of his life of suffering forbade 
 the solace that he found in writing, so that 
 a period of six years may be said to have 
 constituted his literary activity. Had he been 
 endowed with a physique to match his in- 
 tellect the world of belle lettres would cer- 
 tainly have been richer for his contributions. 
 He was a faithful student of French and 
 German which languages he mastered on 
 his sick bed, until he was able to read and 
 speak them with ease and fluency. His 
 friend, the late Dr. H. W. Thomas of Chi- 
 cago, remarked of Harry, that, while a hope- 
 less invalid, his face and features were per- 
 fect and strangely interesting. "The growth 
 of the body," wrote the noted divine, "was 
 partially arrested, but this restrained energy 
 seemed to go to the mind; for the whole 
 
 xi 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 mental life was unusually large for a child, 
 and had in early youth reached the re- 
 flective period that generally comes, if at 
 all, in the later years. Not being able to 
 take any regular course of study, and being 
 so intensely interested along the lines of 
 his own thinking, the boy Harry, was per- 
 mitted largely to find and have his own 
 way in his own world and life. 
 
 "It was in these years of opening child- 
 hood and youth," continues the doctor, "that 
 I knew Harry so well and loved him not 
 alone the love of sympathy because of 
 his afflictions; but the love of a nature so 
 tender and beautiful and of a life so young 
 out of the world of thought and principles. 
 His mind then went to the fields of philoso- 
 phy and literature ; or rather, was philosoph- 
 ic and literary in its tastes and methods ; 
 for he had not created a field by reading 
 the thoughts of others, but was trying to 
 find his own way, and when he reached the 
 years of early manhood he was quite a 
 young philosopher. He was, with all his 
 sufferings, the most cheerful member of 
 the family, and o/ten said to his mother, 
 'You must not fear death; it brings its own 
 anaesthetic." I remember once when he was 
 
 xii 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 very sick and seemed near the last, he ask- 
 ed me if I thought it was necessary to be 
 baptised. The question was direct, and with 
 such a mind, called for more than the 'yes' 
 or 'no' of the religion of authority: it must 
 appeal to the understanding, and I said: 
 'With the Catholic church, baptism is es- 
 sential, but the Christ did not baptise any, 
 and Paul thanked the Lord that he had bap- 
 tised but few. Religion is more than an 
 outer form; it is an inner state of being.' 
 He thought a few minutes and said 'I am 
 satisfied.' Having reached the reality he 
 was at rest. 
 
 "At another time, after a long talk, going 
 out, I said to his mother, 'Your son has 
 lived more than fifty years in less than 
 half that time.' This beautiful life, so 
 strangely limited by its near environments, 
 found its way out into the larger world of 
 helping others in the struggle and battle 
 for existence and success. His charities 
 were many and liberal; it was part of his 
 own suffering life to help others." 
 
 I am glad to be able to add this tribute 
 from one who knew Harry so well. It was 
 fitting that from so sympathetic a teacher 
 should have come the final words that were 
 
 xiii 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 uttered over Harry's mute form. Of the 
 efforts of his father, since deceased, to ac- 
 quaint the good doctor of the flight of Har- 
 ry's spirit, reference to the newspaper ac- 
 count contained in the appendix to this lit- 
 tle volume, will tell. Dr. Thomas has allud- 
 ed to the philosophical bent of Harry's 
 mind. It was not a profound philosophy that 
 he embraced, but rather a human philoso- 
 phy, touching on the less complex phases of 
 existence, and because of this trend I have 
 concluded, with his mother's acquiescence, 
 to christen these modest but attractive chil- 
 dren of Harry's fertile brain, "Little Philo- 
 sophies," and to all lovers of the humanities, 
 and especially to those who were privileged 
 to know the gifted author, I commend these 
 charming prose sketches, and all too few 
 poetic gems, knowing they will be as great- 
 ly edified, as I have been, by the reading. 
 
 S. T. C. 
 Los Angeles, April, 1911. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Foreword 
 
 Bound for the Barbados -. 
 
 When the Wind Blows Through the Rigging 
 
 The Flying Fish Fleet 
 
 Isle of Martinique 
 
 Moody and Sankey: Two Marmosets 
 
 The Reminder 
 
 Our Happy Family 
 
 How I Broke Up a Sideshow .... 
 
 Nebuchadnezzar 
 
 Biddy McClane's Revenge . 
 Plot for a Story: A Fragment . 
 In Lighter Vein: 
 
 Megrims 
 
 The Hayseed 
 
 Our Fire 
 
 Appendix 
 
Hound fir the Barbados 
 
 WE are bound for Barbados, to the land 
 of perpetual summer, but there is 
 nothing suggestive of summer in our pres- 
 ent surroundings. We hurry up the ice cov- 
 ered gang-plank to the steamer's side eager 
 to gain the warm shelter of the cabin. The 
 few passengers on board who have friends 
 on the wharf to bid them bon voyage ener- 
 getically brave the icy wind which sweeps 
 across the steamer's bow and stamp their 
 feet and wave their arms in a vain endeavor 
 to keep warm and appear cheerful, while 
 their friends on the wharf shiver and shake 
 and inwardly mutter maledictions at the 
 tardy departure of the vessel. At last the 
 captain hurries up the gang-plank, the bell 
 rings sharply out from the depths of the 
 engine room, the screw beginning to revolve 
 sends masses of broken ice swirling to- 
 ward the rear and the huge steamer, gath- 
 ering momentum, plows her way through 
 the drift and slush of New York harbor. 
 
 17 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 The first duty of a voyageur is to become 
 acquainted with everyone else, for there is 
 nothing which so adds to the comfort of a 
 voyage as the joining of the whole ship's 
 company into one huge social family, dwell- 
 ing under their own roof tree, as it were. 
 Filled with this benevolent intention, Mr. 
 A. and myself betook ourselves to the inte- 
 rior of the cabin, but, alas for our hopes! 
 everyone was sitting around, looking as 
 solemn as an owl; feeling a little homesick, 
 perhaps, or more likely troubled with fore- 
 bodings of sea-sickness. The gentle swell 
 of the Atlantic was already perceptible and 
 several countenances were beginning to 
 assume an uncomfortable expression. The 
 leader of our party was cross and crabbed 
 he complained of the cold. I tried to cheer 
 him up by saying we would soon be in a 
 warmer climate, where he could wear his 
 linen tennis suit and duster. He said aft- 
 erward that this remark of mine threw him 
 into a congestive chill, but I attributed it 
 to mal de mer. We assisted him to his 
 stateroom and returned feeling much de- 
 pressed. 
 
 This was a most dismal commencement 
 of the voyage and, our spirits beginning to 
 
 18 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 sink, we put on our coats, defied the wind 
 and sallied forth to the bow to be rid of 
 our melancholy comrades. The view of a 
 great steamer from this point is very at- 
 tractive her lines sweep toward the rear 
 in graceful perspective the huge bulk rises 
 and falls as each succeeding wave breaks 
 into foam under the bow the tapering spars 
 dip first on one side and then on the other 
 until every timber groans and creaks un- 
 der the enormous tension. On the bridge 
 running across the forward part of the ves- 
 sel eight feet above the deck, stand two men 
 who keep a sharp lookout for derelicts (as 
 floating wrecks are called) and other ves- 
 sels. Below, in the pilot house, are the two 
 wheelmen whose sole duty it is to keep 
 the vessel on her course by the true, uner- 
 ring needle of the compass. Still farther 
 back towers the huge stack through which 
 rolls the smoke of three hundred tons of 
 coal a day. Up from the hold below come 
 the rattle and clang of the furnace doors as 
 the firemen shovel in the stimulus which 
 propels the vessel. A hot place is the stoke- 
 hole the dull red of the fires is reflected 
 from the blackened, perspiring faces of the 
 stokers. Once in a while a poor fellow faints 
 
 19 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 from the heat and is dragged out to get a 
 breath of fresh air. A rough and hard life 
 is the stokers', and of sailors generally; 
 working and toiling during an entire voy- 
 age, they squander their wages in a single 
 night ashore and are forced to return to 
 their ship in the morning to keep from starv- 
 ing. 
 
 The engine room is farther back and 
 through the inside cabin windows one may 
 catch a glimpse of turning shafts and flying 
 bars, of engineers and oilmen whose duty it 
 is to watch this mammoth but delicate piece 
 of mechanism. Day in and and day out, 
 for weeks at a time, the huge screw cease- 
 lessly revolves and its dull thud is the first 
 sound one hears on waking, and the mo- 
 notonous lullaby of one's rest at night. The 
 quartermaster is around at all times of the 
 day and night with his crew of men, trim- 
 ming the sails as the wind shifts and exam- 
 ining every rope and spar. Rows of huge 
 pipes fitted with funnel-shaped mouths, sup- 
 ply the ship with good fresh air, while 
 shrouds and rigging rise above the whole in 
 an intricate network. In case of fire or 
 other accidents the entire crew works like 
 an automaton; each man has a certain duty 
 
 20 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 to perform and knows just how to do it; 
 in fact, "order and obedience" is the sail- 
 or's motto, and nowhere is it lived up to 
 so strictly as on board an ocean greyhound. 
 
 As we stood on the bow I remarked to 
 A. that it was very exhilarating to go bound- 
 ing upon the crest of a wave and as the ves- 
 sel sank into the trough to be left standing 
 almost in mid-air. A. said it was a little 
 too much so for him and that he believed he 
 would retire to the seclusion of his state- 
 room to cast up his accounts, or something, 
 I could not catch just what. I judged from 
 the far away look in his eye that if a bal- 
 ance was struck old Neptune would be 
 credited with it. 
 
 I like a candid man, one who will truth- 
 fully say when he gets sick : 
 
 I hate your hoary face, gruff sea; 
 
 'Twere vile hypocrisy in me 
 
 To say I loved thee, if I do 
 
 May I be d rowned in the deep blue. 
 
 I did not see A. again for two days and a 
 half and then I could truthfully ask with 
 Shakespeare, "Be thou the spirit of health 
 or goblin damned, where is thy substance?" 
 
 That evening at dinner I became acquaint- 
 ed with several fellow passengers who 
 
 21 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 seemed very pleasant, in fact it has never 
 been my good fortune to meet with a more 
 agreeable company of people than was on 
 board the Alliance. In any considerable 
 number of people one always finds certain 
 types of humanity for instance, there is al- 
 ways a fat man and a lean man, the tall man 
 and the short man, and very rarely the 
 chuckling man. By a chuckling man I mean 
 an individual built on the Abraham Lincoln 
 plain, tall, gaunt and loose jointed; a man 
 who begins to laugh in the center of his 
 stomach and as the various parts and or- 
 gans catch the infection, quivers and shakes 
 until his whole anatomy is in a perfect con- 
 vulsion of merriment. Such an individual 
 was well represented on board in the per- 
 son of a traveler named Fairwater. Mr. 
 Fairwater was the possessor of another ac- 
 complishment which gave me uneasiness- 
 he could eat with his knife in a most re- 
 markable and dexterous manner; not with 
 a dull, nickleplated American knife, but an 
 English steel knife, sharpened every day to 
 an edge warranted to cut the toughest beef- 
 steak in existence. He could balance a piece 
 of vegetable on the end of this instrument 
 and with the utmost celerity and precision 
 
 22 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 deposit it at the base of his tongue. At first 
 this performance caused me some appre- 
 hension, but at length I became possessed of 
 a morbid desire (like Mark Twain on the 
 pyramid of Cheops) that Fairwater -would 
 do himself harm. 
 
 Seated directly opposite me was Major 
 Sellers. Born an American, the major had 
 early emigrated to the Brazilian states, 
 where he had undergone hardships and pri- 
 vations enough to supply six ordinary men. 
 Being a bluff, good-natured, jolly old fel- 
 low his company was very agreeable and he 
 was generally the center of a merry group. 
 
 On the major's right sat Miss Gush 
 everyone knows Miss Gush. Miss Gush is 
 the ethereal person who writes poetry by 
 moonlight, does her curls up in papers by 
 lamplight, and sleeps mostly during the light 
 of day. A person who thinks everything is 
 most terribly terrible, awfully awful or 
 grandly grand. I have always noticed that 
 extremists of this type who pretend to be 
 above all things worldly and whose artistic 
 souls must be satisfied by huge draughts of 
 nature, pay especial attention to the neces- 
 sities of life, particularly their appetites. The 
 remainder of the table was occupied by the 
 
 23 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 captain and purser, Mr. and Mrs. Brown of 
 St. Louis, our party from New York, a 
 Frenchman who spoke very little English, 
 three Spaniards who did nothing but abuse 
 their valets, a beardless youth seeking his 
 fortune in South America, and a dyspeptic 
 looking Yankee from Connecticut. The lat- 
 ter was in the baking powder business, 
 which perhaps accounted for his bilious 
 appearance. I shall always remember this 
 person as one of an army of cranks who are 
 haunted by the microbe theory. He drank 
 boiled water, carried a small filter with him, 
 insisted on putting chloride of lime into 
 every washstand, advocated the use of wo- 
 ven-wire pillows and gave lectures on dif- 
 ferent species of bacilli, from bacteria to 
 trichinae until the whole ship's company 
 avoided him as a pestilence. 
 . ."Yes," said the major to the beardless 
 youth as he helped himself to the butter, 
 "take the advice of an old battle-scarred 
 veteran and go back on the first boat why, 
 young man, yellow fever will welcome you 
 on the wharf at Santos, smallpox lurks be- 
 hind every street corner, while the air is 
 full of malaria and typhoid." 
 
 Here the Connecticut man shuddered. 
 
 24 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 "If you persist," continued the major, 
 "your folks will receive a box of clothing 
 about next May, and poor Charley will be 
 only a tender memory." 
 
 "Beg pardon," interrupted Miss Gush, 
 "but do you think, really and truly, we shall 
 have a storm tonight, Mr. Fairwater?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Fairwater, deftly deposit- 
 ing a piece of cheese at the back of his 
 mouth, "I think we shall ; you see we shall 
 soon be midway between Cape Hatteras and 
 Bermuda, the stormiest spot on the Atlan- 
 tic ocean, and when the warm, moist air 
 of the gulf stream meets that of the cold 
 Labrador current there is likely to be trou- 
 ble in Uncle Neptune's realm." 
 
 "This is one of the deepest parts of the 
 Atlantic," remarked one of our party, "and 
 the waves sometimes attain an enormous 
 size. I made one voyage when the seas car- 
 ried away the lifeboats, smashed the railings 
 and skylight, ripped off the copper sheath- 
 ing, flooded the cabins and buffeted the ves- 
 sel so badly that it became necessary to 
 throw overboard two thousand dollars' 
 worth of lime juice and a quantity of fish oil 
 to relieve the strain." 
 
 25 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 How grand is Nature in her sterner moments, 
 How terrible when rousted to fury, 
 Perceive those billows fit exponents, 
 Of power so potent and enduring. 
 
 recited Miss Gush. 
 
 "Did Mademoiselle zat beauteous poetry 
 compose?" gallantly inquired Jacques Bon- 
 homme. 
 
 Miss Gush cast down her eyes and sim- 
 pered, from which we concluded that she 
 meant yes. 
 
 "I know I shall be nearly dead with sea- 
 sickness," said Mrs. Brown. 
 
 "That's the way with you ladies," laughed 
 the captain, "you are afraid of dying before 
 you get sick, and are afraid you won't die 
 after you do get sick." 
 
 We all laughed except Fairwater, who 
 first trembled, then quivered, and finally 
 shook until the very dishes rattled on the 
 table. 
 
 I have often timed Fairwater, and I find 
 that it generally takes from a minute to a 
 minute and a half for him to get under good 
 headway. 
 
 When we rose from the table the wind 
 was blowing from a gale southwest and the 
 vessel was beginning to plunge in a man- 
 
 26 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ner quite alarming to the timorous ones. A 
 storm at sea is both an interesting and 
 grand experience to undergo. Who has 
 not felt a thrill of excitement while reading 
 the vivid descriptions of a storm in the 
 pages of Marryat and Cooper? Who has 
 not seen the men aloft on the trucks or shud- 
 dered at the dangerous footing of the reef- 
 ers? One can almost hear the hoarse bawl- 
 ings of the mate and the hiss of rushing wa- 
 ters, the creaking of timbers and the whis- 
 tling of the wind through the shrouds and 
 rigging. It seems as if one were standing 
 with the captain at the wheel and watching 
 the monstrous billows as they boarded the 
 vessel and swept in a foamy torrent over 
 the deck. While such geniuses as Victor 
 Hugo, Marryat, Cooper and Russell can 
 portray nature so well, nature herself is 
 far more sublime and awe-inspiring, and one 
 must actually witness such a combat of the 
 elements before appreciating the grandeur 
 of the scene. But there is always a large 
 majority of the ship's passengers who are 
 not in fit condition to be awe-inspired by 
 anything. It is essential that a person be 
 proof against seasickness in order to glow 
 with the fire of enthusiasm. 
 
 27 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 When one finds a beautiful spot in the 
 mountains or by the sea and the chords of 
 wonder and admiration vibrate at the touch 
 of nature it makes one feel disgusted to 
 look up and see "Take Dr. Barter's Little 
 Liver Pills Before Breakfast." It is exact- 
 ly that way with seasickness ; it takes away 
 all the poetry of your being. 
 
 Two hours after dinner, when the last 
 seasick wretch had sought his bunk, I was 
 fast asleep in my berth, dreaming of the 
 land of flowers and sunshine, of cocoanut 
 groves and banana orchards when crash! 
 bang ! smash ! came a noise to my ears like 
 the result of an earthquake in a crockery 
 store, piercing shrieks arose from the wom- 
 en, visions in white flitted past my door; 
 all was confusion. 
 
 Mr. Brown, in an abbreviated costume, 
 hurried down to investigate matters. He 
 found that, owing to the terrible plunging 
 of the vessel, the huge ice chest, which was 
 filled with apollinaris water and other wa- 
 ters not quite so innocent, had broken loose 
 from its moorings and was careening around 
 the saloon in a truly hilarious manner as if 
 it felt the influence of the aforementioned 
 liquids on its interior. It was finally cap- 
 
 28 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 tured and fastened securely and we all went 
 to bed again, but not for long; fate was 
 against us, for suddenly another crash was 
 heard, once more the shrieks rang out and 
 once more Mr. Brown investigated. This 
 time it was the marble center table which 
 had broken from its moorings and it was 
 rolling around the room, accompanied by 
 the piano and several chairs. To cap the 
 climax the wind suddenly shifted and the 
 salt spray began to leak through into every 
 stateroom on the windward side of the ves- 
 sel. There was soon an inch of water 
 washing to and fro on the floor and trunks 
 and clothing had to be hastily placed in the 
 berths while the occupants thereof sat up 
 and watched the night change slowly into 
 day. During the storm the jib and top- 
 mast were swept away and every thing 
 portable swept from the deck. The gale con- 
 tinued with unabated fury all of the follow- 
 ing day, when it ceased. We retired that 
 evening with the comforting assurance that 
 our troubles were over, and that, hence- 
 forth, we would sail on a calm and peace- 
 ful sea. 
 
 To wake up and find a warm, sunny day, 
 to see the crew putting up awnings as 
 
 29 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 if for a Fourth of July excursion, to open 
 your window and feel the balmy breath of 
 a summer's day fan your cheek, to don light 
 clothing and linen trousers, is a great change 
 from a damp, chilly atmosphere and winter 
 garments twelve hours before. Yet we had 
 traveled from winter to summer in half a 
 day, from the climate of January to that of 
 June ; we had exchanged the frigid air of the 
 Labrador current for the moisture laden at- 
 mosphere of the gulf stream and were now 
 plowing our way through a part of the ocean 
 unrivalled for its beauty the world over. 
 The gulf stream, that mighty ocean stream, 
 equal in bulk to three thousand Mississippi 
 rivers, flowing winter and summer uninter- 
 rupted, on its course from the Straits of 
 Florida to Spitzenbergen and carrying with 
 it the tropical heat which gives to England 
 and Iceland their temperate climate. 
 
 Bermuda lies just south of this "steam 
 pipe of the ocean," as Lieutenant Maury 
 calls it, and to this position is due its sa- 
 lubrious climate. 
 
 One by one the passengers appeared on 
 deck, wan and haggard, but jubilant and 
 happy, execrating the storm, but rejoicing 
 in the change and capable of eating a good 
 
 30 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 breakfast, something hitherto quite impos- 
 sible. Mr. Fairwater put in an appearance, 
 or rather the shadow of one. Mr. A. came 
 on deck looking like Banquo's ghost. Miss 
 Gush was there with an emaciated smile. 
 Mr. Brown reported himself a little dis- 
 abled but still in the ring, while it actually 
 seemed good to hear Mr. Alum discussing 
 yellow fever microbes with the captain. 
 We were a jolly crowd as we descended to 
 breakfast and Major Sellers got to telling 
 about a friend of his who went to sea and 
 became so sick that he offered the captain 
 a thousand dollars to put him ashore. "Can't 
 do it, sir," said the captain, whereupon the 
 man went away again, but soon returned 
 and offered two thousand dollars. This of- 
 fer was also refused and he went away 
 again, but returned in an hour and said, 
 "Captain, here is three thousand dollars, it's 
 every cent I've got in the world, now take 
 it and please throw me overboard." This 
 story so tickled the table steward that he 
 capsized a bowl of mutton broth down 
 Fairwater's back just as the latter was 
 bursting into merriment which, of course, 
 checked his hilarity to an extent. 
 
 Just then the purser stuck his head 
 
 31 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 through the skylight and cried, "There she 
 blows ! whales ! there she blows on the star- 
 board side." 
 
 Of course, everyone made a wild, undigni- 
 fied rush for the deck to catch a glimpse 
 of the great cetaceans. Yes, there they were, 
 three huge fellows of the green variety, 
 spouting and blowing in the easy swell, not 
 a quarter of a mile away. At intervals jets 
 of spray were forced from their blow-holes 
 into the air, rising to a distance of twenty 
 feet or more and falling in a silvery shower 
 on their broad, shining backs. Upon a near- 
 er approach they took alarm and throwing 
 their gigantic tails into the air went to the 
 bottom to be seen no more. 
 
 The beardless youth asked the captain 
 if he had ever seen a whale's egg. The cap- 
 tain said yes that he had run into a whole 
 nestful off the island of Antigua and had 
 to put on all steam to escape the angry 
 mother, who chased him for three hours. 
 
 Major Sellers said that reminded him of 
 the little Sunday school boy who asked his 
 teacher if Jonah's whale was fitted up 
 inside with upper and lower berths and if it 
 had a buffet and a porter. 
 
 After breakfast Mr. Brown announced 
 
 32 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 that he was going to fish for gulls from the 
 steamer's stern. The large gray gulls which 
 had followed us continuously from New 
 York, had suddenly disappeared and their 
 places were taken by a new variety of a 
 beautiful black and white color. There are 
 two ways of catching seagulls, one by the 
 ordinary hook and line, the other by means 
 of a line, to the end of which are fastened 
 a number of strong silk threads, in which 
 the bird becomes entangled and is drawn on 
 board. Mr. Brown caught two gulls and a 
 Mother Carey's chicken, but soon gave them 
 their liberty again. 
 
 Sailors are very superstitious about the 
 Mother Carey's chickens or stormy petrel 
 and believe their presence foretells a storm. 
 They will not permit them to be harmed if 
 they can possibly prevent it, believing that 
 to kill one brings bad luck to all on board. 
 The natural history of this curious little 
 bird is very meager, for its nest is never 
 found and it is never seen on shore, neither 
 is it ever seen alight on the water, al- 
 though it is constantly darting from wave 
 to wave, wheeling and turning like a swal- 
 low, which it much resembles. Sailors gen- 
 erally believe that it deposits its eggs on 
 
 33 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the floating gulfweed and when the young 
 chicks hatch out, takes them away on its 
 back and flies away, hence its name, "moth- 
 er carries chickens." 
 
 Life on board the Alliance now became 
 a succession of enjoyable days; everyone 
 developed such a prodigious appetite that 
 the steward was forced to introduce an ex- 
 tra meal just before bedtime. The men folk 
 usually collected under the awnings and 
 talked and smoked the hours away, while 
 the women occasionally joined them in a 
 game of quoits or assisted in an impromptu 
 concert. 
 
 Early every morning, just as old Sol was 
 rising from his watery bed in the east, 
 the men donned their pajamas and hastened 
 to the bow, where they enjoyed the novel 
 sensation of having a stream of salt water 
 played on their bodies from the ship's hose. 
 Sometimes a tarpaulin was caught up by the 
 four corners, filled with water and used as 
 a natatorium by the aquatic members of our 
 company. Just think, my icebound northern 
 readers, of these men disporting themselves 
 in the water, puffing and blowing like a 
 school of porpoises, with the blue sky above 
 them and the bluer water beneath; if such 
 
 34 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 a picture does not create in your heart a de- 
 sire for similar pleasures then your sensibil- 
 ities are blunted and your imagination dead. 
 
 Sleeping on deck is another novel luxury 
 equally appreciated by the invalid and the 
 robust. 
 
 When the quietness of the night settles 
 upon the steamer, and only the monotonous 
 throbbing and beating of the engines is 
 heard, one may comfortably recline in a 
 steamer chair and watch the stars as they 
 rise and dip to the vessel's motion, the tow- 
 ering masts and network of rigging as they 
 majestically wave to and fro, sharply out- 
 lined against the starlit background. One 
 notes the fleecy clouds crossing the moon's 
 bright surface and the imagination is filled 
 with pleasant thoughts and fancies. The 
 tired senses are lulled to rest and the voy- 
 ager sleeps "rocked in the cradle of the 
 deep," in fact as well as in fancy. 
 
 But imagine, my friend, that you have 
 slept in this delightful manner, enjoyed your 
 early morning dip in the tarpaulin, eaten 
 an appetizing breakfast and stand ready to 
 follow whithersoever I shall lead you. Come 
 with me to the vessel's bow; let us look 
 down into the deep, blue water and I will 
 
 35 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 show you one of the prettiest little creatures 
 in nature's vast aquarium. I mean the fly- 
 ing-fish. See them as they rise from the 
 water in a silvery shower as the vessel ap- 
 proaches; one, two, a dozen, a thousand 
 leaping from wave to wave; like flashes of 
 light they go, their trembling wings glitter- 
 ing in the sunshine, more like gilded hum- 
 ming birds they seem than creatures of the 
 finny tribe. Their flight is from twenty to 
 a thousand feet in length, and they seldom 
 rise higher than thirty feet into the air. 
 
 The pretty little flying-fish leads a sorry 
 life; he seems to be the natural prey of 
 everything. Pursued by sharks and dolphins 
 in his watery home, he soars into the air, 
 only to fall a victim to the hungry gull. But 
 let us look more closely and we shall per- 
 ceive, scarcely twenty feet in advance of 
 the vessel, one of those enemies of the fly- 
 ing-fish, the dolphin. Watch him as his 
 lithe body cleaves the water with hardly a 
 perceptible motion of the tail ; straight on 
 he goes, never varying from his course. Re- 
 turn here in an hour or even a day and you 
 will find him in the same position as be- 
 fore. Sometimes he darts away after a fish 
 with the rapidity of lightning, only to re- 
 
 36 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 turn with equal rapidity and resume his 
 former place. As the shark is called the bull- 
 dog of the sea, so can the dolphin be char- 
 acterized as its hound. Lithe and active in 
 all his movements, he seems the personifi- 
 cation of grace and power. 
 
 The Alliance is now plowing her way 
 through vast areas of yellow gulf weed, for 
 we have reached the extreme edge of the 
 stagnant pond of ocean called the "Sargasso 
 Sea." The beautiful yellow of the weed cre- 
 ates a marked contrast to the indigo blue of 
 the water, but although the difference in 
 colors is so sharply drawn yet they harmon- 
 ize most perfectly. Nature, no matter how 
 lavish and varied in her coloring, ever 
 dresses with exquisite taste. These patches 
 of weed are the homes of countless numbers 
 of cuttle fish, zoophytes, mollusks, etc., while 
 little crabs can be seen darting in all direc- 
 tions as the vessel approaches. 
 
 But let us join our fellow-voyagers and 
 with them enjoy the unrivalled beauty of 
 this our last day on the open ocean, for in 
 a few hours we shall discern the blue cliffs 
 of St. Thomas, rising from the Caribbean 
 sea, and thereafter our course lies between 
 rocky headlands and cane-covered hills of 
 the Caribbee group of islands. 
 37 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 We find Major Sellers on the hurricane 
 deck, surrounded as usual by an animated 
 group who are laughing and talking about 
 nothing in particular. 
 
 "I wonder if monkeys are for sale in St. 
 Thomas," said Fairwater, "because if they 
 are I want to get one for my little nephew." 
 
 "Monkey!" ejaculated Brown, "I believe 
 I'll buy one, too." 
 
 "I see you are all coming down with the 
 monkey fever," laughed the major, "and I 
 want to warn you before the disease gets 
 thoroughly into the system, to let monkeys 
 alone." 
 
 "Why?" asked the bilious looking man 
 from Connecticut. 
 
 "Well, I'll relate my experience," an- 
 swered the major, "and then you can always 
 judge for yourselves." 
 
 "Proceed," said Brown, "we are all at- 
 tention." 
 
 "Several years ago, "began the major, 
 "when I was younger and had less experi- 
 ence, I was making a voyage through the 
 islands on the steamer Caribbee. I became 
 acquainted with several very pleasant gen- 
 tlemen, who, like myself, were bound for 
 
 38 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 New York, and we all anticipated an agree- 
 able voyage. In an evil hour the ship land- 
 ed at St. Kitt's, where monkeys are as plenti- 
 ful as grasshoppers were in Kansas, and a 
 bumboat came alongside with a full cargo. 
 There were monkeys of all sizes, colors and 
 ages; monkeys with ring tails, monkeys 
 with straight tails, and monkeys with no 
 tails at all. When we left that island eight 
 of our party had monkeys, and, gentlemen, 
 I regret to say, I was one of the eight. My 
 monkey was of a sorrel color and had a mel- 
 ancholy countenance and a ring tail. He 
 was also bald-headed, which made him look 
 religious, but I found, to my cost, that he 
 was full of satan. I tied him in my state- 
 room, and when I came back from dinner he 
 had thrown my best boots overboard 
 through the porthole, torn my nightshirt 
 into strips and was smashing up a box of 
 cigars which he had found in my valise. I 
 was seized with a fierce desire to kick him, 
 but he looked so innocent and child-like that 
 I restrained myself. 
 
 I subsequently regretted that I hadn't, 
 for he got loose and dropped his basketful 
 of excelsior through the skylight right down 
 on the dining room table. I pursued him 
 
 39 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 all over the vessel and it finally cost me two 
 dollars to hire a sailor to bring him down 
 from the mast-head. During the last day of 
 our voyage we brought our monkeys on 
 deck, preparatory to boxing them up for 
 shipment. It being quite chilly they im- 
 mediately rushed together to keep warm 
 and there was soon a chattering ball of mon- 
 keys tangled into an intricate knot with 
 eight excited gentlemen pulling at as many 
 different chains. It was highly amusing to 
 the spectators, I can assure you. I gave his 
 bald-headed highness to my sister's little 
 boy, and she didn't speak to me for more 
 than six months, and I don't blame her. " 
 
 There was a prolonged silence after the 
 major's narrative was finished, and then Mr. 
 Brown said, "Well, all the monkeys that I 
 buy after this will be stuffed ones." And 
 we echoed his sentiments. 
 
 While we sit laughing and talking, the 
 hours fly by, the sun, sinking lower and 
 lower, changes from gold to orange and 
 from orange to red until it enlarges into a 
 huge ball of fire, almost ready to quench its 
 flames in the distant sea. 
 
 Suddenly, the cry of land is heard and im- 
 mediately everyone is aroused to activity 
 
 40 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 and becomes eager to catch a glimpse of 
 terra firma, for when one has been sailing 
 many days on the ocean, surrounded by a 
 vast, unlimited waste of heaving water, 
 with nothing to break the monotonous hor- 
 izon, not even the smoke of a steamer or 
 the sail of a ship, the first sight of land is 
 an event not to be passed by with contempt. 
 Turning our glasses in the direction indi- 
 cated, the chain of mountains forming the 
 eastern end of Porto Rico is faintly visible. 
 The distant peaks seem only a misty purple 
 cloud lying on the bosom of the water, but 
 as the sun suddenly sinks behind their sum- 
 mits a golden band of light bounds for an 
 instant their towering crests until our lin- 
 gering gaze is closed by night. In an hour 
 the black outlines of St. Thomas loom up 
 dead ahead and just as soon as the moon is 
 rising over the bluffs, which gird its harbor, 
 our anchor sinks with a splash to the bot- 
 tom, leaving us eagerly awaiting the com- 
 ing morn. 
 
 St. Thomas is a picturesque little city, sit- 
 uated on the bight of a beautiful bay, al- 
 most surrounded by mountains. Its houses 
 painted white, almost without an excep- 
 tion, stand sharply outlined against the dark 
 
 41 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 green foliage of the mountain side. Being 
 a great commercial center, ships of every 
 nationality float in its harbor and when at 
 night the myriads of twinkling lights from 
 the vessels send their rays dancing across 
 the water and luna lends her softening light 
 to the scene ; when nothing is heard but the 
 sullen booming of the surf on the break- 
 water, or the occasional chime of bells from 
 a distant ship, one wonders if a prettier 
 picture can be found the world over. St. 
 Thomas belongs to Denmark, and the Unit- 
 ed States coquetted with the Danish gov- 
 ernment for some time with the object of 
 buying the island for a coaling station. For 
 such a purpose it presents many facilities 
 and is almost impregnable from a naval 
 bombardment, but at certain seasons of the 
 year it is hot and unhealthy, owing to de- 
 ficient drainage, and the encircling moun- 
 tains. In fact, Kingsley says that "it is a 
 veritable Dutch oven for cooking fever in, 
 with as veritable a dripping pan to catch the 
 poison when concocted in the tideless basin 
 below the town." 
 
 There are several large coal docks at St. 
 Thomas where men-of-war, merchant ves- 
 sels, and tramps can take on a fresh supply 
 
 42 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of fuel on their voyage to and from New 
 York and South American ports. The coal- 
 ing is done entirely by women, strong, bare- 
 footed, loud voiced wenches they are, too, 
 dressed in a single garment of calico reach- 
 ing to their knees, with perhaps a bandana 
 tied carelessly around the head. To and fro 
 they go, singing, shouting and uttering lan- 
 guage too foul for pen to write or tongue to 
 repeat. Imagine a number of these women 
 in close Indian file, each with a huge bas- 
 ket of coal poised on her head, walking to- 
 ward the ship imagine a similar line issu- 
 ing from it with empty baskets, and so on, 
 in endless rotation, which can only be likened 
 to the ceaseless circling of the cups on an 
 elevator belt, and you will have a fair pic- 
 ture of the scene. Frequently, a buxom lady 
 of color, comelier than her sisters, will step 
 out of the line and begin an uncouth dance 
 for the edification of the passengers, whom 
 she asks to "please fling a copper, massa." 
 Christmas, New Year's and Easter are 
 great fete days with these people, and at 
 such times rum flows as freely as water, in 
 fact, more freely, for year before last rum 
 sold for ten cents a gallon and water fifteen 
 condition of things to delight the heart 
 
 43 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of the veriest old soaker in Christendom. 
 When a steamer warps up to the dock on 
 a dark Christmas night, the passengers im- 
 agine they are on the threshold of Pluto's 
 dark abode, and that all his imps have come 
 to give them welcome. For at such a time 
 a drunken, reeling crowd of brutes (I can- 
 not call them human beings) swarm under 
 the flickering light of the large flambeaux 
 of coal; fighting, cursing, lying in all condi- 
 tions of drunkenness and debauchery, their 
 condition appeals to heaven. Here is the 
 missing link in the mighty chain of evolu- 
 tion; these are the humanized apes of 
 Charles Darwin; the relations of the gorilla 
 at the London Zoo. 
 
 The next morning, while I stand watch- 
 ing a wool-pulling pugilistic encounter be- 
 tween two of these Amazon chimpanzees, 
 an idea suddenly strikes my mind which 
 causes me to hurry to my stateroom and be- 
 gin fumbling in my trunk for an article pre- 
 viously provided for this very occasion. 
 When I return to the deck with a hook about 
 seven inches long with a foot of stout chain 
 attached to it, there is blood on the moon, 
 and the party of men, one and all, know 
 that a sharking bee is imminent. If you 
 
 44 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 want to rejuvenate a lot of old grandfathers, 
 take them to St. Thomas and start a shark 
 hunt, and you will have them acting like a 
 pack of school boys in less than five min- 
 utes. Brown hurried below to borrow a 
 strong rope of the boatswain, .Fairwater 
 dragged his six feet three away in search of 
 a piece of plank to act as a cork, while Mr. 
 A. undertook to provide several pounds of 
 salt pork as bait. Finally, all was in readi- 
 ness and away went rope, hook, plank and 
 bait over the vessel's side into the water, 
 while the men took positions along the line, 
 ready to haul in anything from a shark to a 
 salamander. 
 
 How we watched that plank as it floated 
 away from the vessel's side. Major Sellers, 
 as he slowly paid out the line, said that it 
 made him feel just as if he were in a dent- 
 ist's chair waiting for a tooth to be drawn. 
 Five minutes, ten, a quarter of an hour; en- 
 thusiasm began to wane. Bets were freely 
 offered that there wasn't a shark within ten 
 miles of St. Thomas. Mr. Brown sang a 
 song, ending with "the shark he laughed as 
 he spat out the cue and said for a heathen 
 Chinee, you'll do." But, suddenly, a dark 
 triangular fin cuts the water and glides swift- 
 
 45 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ly toward the spot where the bait is swirl- 
 ing and eddying in the easy tide. Down 
 goes bait, hook and all, while his sharkship 
 starts complacently away in search of more 
 tidbits. The line tightens, strains, and there 
 is a prodigious splash accompanied by a jerk 
 which fairly makes our arms crack in their 
 sockets and we realize that the fight is on. 
 
 By this time everybody on board is eager- 
 ly watching the sport and we of the line 
 know that it is now or never, and that we 
 must knuckle down to business if we desire 
 the laurel wreath of victory to encircle our 
 curling locks (that is, those of us who are 
 not bald-headed). 
 
 "Give her more slack," shouts the major, 
 as the rope buzzes through our hands, car- 
 rying with it pieces of cuticle of various 
 sizes and dimensions. 
 
 "Snub her! snub her!" yells Alum, danc- 
 ing around in wild excitement, the perspira- 
 tion streaming from his face. 
 
 "Now for a long, strong pull, and alto- 
 gether, she's going to run," shouts Fairwa- 
 ter, bracing himself for a great effort, but 
 she doesn't run, she turns and comes swing- 
 ing back with a celerity that sends every 
 mother's son of us off his feet onto the deck. 
 
 46 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Fairwater's feet strike the Frenchman in the 
 back with the catapultic force of a roan 
 mule's heels. Mr. Alum receives a black 
 eye from an unknown elbow, while the stout 
 man deposits his two hundred and fifty 
 pounds squarely on Brown's stiff hat. But 
 then we don't mind such little trifles, "light 
 as air" (but of course I don't classify the 
 stout man as a trifle by a large majority). 
 
 The shark continues to rush back and 
 forth, raising the water into billows and 
 lashing them into foam with his tail, but 
 we notice that his efforts are growing weak- 
 er and our courage increases accordingly. 
 We pull and haul with renewed vigor and 
 slowly, but surely, the monster begins to 
 give ground; foot by foot the rope comes 
 in while Mr. A. stands ready to put a bullet 
 in his brain at the first opportunity. Turn- 
 ing and rolling, striking out vigorously now 
 and then in a last dash for liberty, our cap- 
 tive is gradually hauled alongside, his eyes 
 glittering with a baleful glare, his huge jaws 
 grinding viciously against the iron chain ; no 
 wonder he is called the scourge of the sea. 
 
 Mr. A. seizes a favorable moment, the 
 bullet drives home, a titanic convulsion fol- 
 lows, the water is hurled in all directions, 
 
 47 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the waves swirl and eddy under the power- 
 ful blows; but nature is at last exhausted, 
 a calm succeeds the storm and, as the shark 
 rises to the surface, turning his glistening 
 belly toward the sky in token of surrender, 
 a crowd of perspiring men stand on the Al- 
 liance's deck, and, as they wipe their stream- 
 ing faces, congratulate each other on the 
 result of their first shark hunt. The shark 
 was of the white or man-eater variety and 
 measured seventeen feet, nine inches from 
 the tip of his tail to the bony projecting 
 snout. I tried to hire a darky to tow the 
 carcass ashore and cut out the jaws for 
 mounting as a curiosity, but he said it would 
 take three months properly to cure them, so 
 I had to abandon the plan. However, there 
 are plenty to be purchased in St. Kitt's al- 
 ready prepared and I shall buy one there. 
 Every man who helped catch that shark will 
 probably buy one also and eventually the 
 St. Thomas shark will be transformed into 
 quintiplets, for of course every owner of a 
 shark's jaw will brag about how he caught 
 the shark that wore it, after an exciting 
 struggle in St. Thomas harbor. This re- 
 calls to remembrance the man who didn't 
 believe in the New Testament, because all 
 the apostles were fishermen. 
 48 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 St. Thomas being a free port of entry, 
 many articles can be purchased for about 
 one-quarter the price paid in the states. 
 Light clothing, wines, cigars and bay rum 
 are particularly cheap, while sufficient mo- 
 lasses rum, or kill-devil, as it is called, can 
 be had for a quarter, to stampede a whole 
 reservation of western Indians. We are not 
 sorry when our anchor is lifted from its 
 muddy bed and the Alliance steams out 
 between the rocky shoals which guard the 
 entrance to the harbor. 
 
 Once more we are bowling along over 
 the sea, through the balmy morning air 
 which breathes anticipation of a lovely day. 
 The eye continues to be charmed by the 
 sapphire blue of the water which vies with 
 the sky in richness of hue. Long lines of 
 distant mountains lift their cloud capped 
 summits to the sky ; some near at hand, their 
 purple masses outlined against the horizon; 
 others more distant, blending their misty 
 forms with the sea and sky. 
 
 We are now on the waters over which 
 Columbus sailed on his second voyage, four 
 hundred years ago, when only the savage 
 Carib plied his canoe from shore to shore 
 
 49 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 and was sole lord and owner of these sum- 
 mer islands. The fate of the Caribs is a 
 sad one and deserves commiseration; what 
 if they were cannibals and savages; they 
 greeted Columbus with kindness and show- 
 ered food and presents upon his followers, 
 only to be repaid with enslavement and 
 death. Aroused to revolt by torture and 
 misery, they poured forth their blood on the 
 land of their fathers and retreated from is- 
 land to island fighting in fierce opposition 
 against the encroachment of the greedy 
 Spaniard until but a mere remnant remains 
 of a once numerous and powerful nation. 
 The great navigator was the first to enslave 
 these people in order to recoup his dimin- 
 ished finances and hence a blot will always 
 stain the history of an otherwise honored 
 name. 
 
 The famous pirate Blackbeard haunted 
 these waters for many years and short was 
 the shrift and quick the fate of any unfortu- 
 nates who fell into his hands. Walking the 
 plank, shooting his victims from the cannon 
 mouth or dragging them astern as bait for 
 shark were common amusements for this 
 bloody terror of the "Spanish Main." Black- 
 beard is supposed to have buried countless 
 
 50 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 treasures on numerous islands and they are 
 vigorously sought for but without success. 
 
 Mark Twain says that when he was a 
 child he used to wonder, if he was a good 
 boy and said his prayers every night and 
 went to Sunday school regularly, if God 
 would permit him to be a pirate on the Mis- 
 sissippi river when he grew old enough. My 
 mind, too, used to be agitated by similar 
 desires, but the one absorbing ambition of 
 my life was to be a bold, bad buccaneer and, 
 like Blackbeard, "sail the Spanish Main 
 when the wind piped free'o." He was al- 
 ways pictured in the penny horribles as a 
 man of medium height, and with a long 
 black beard, fierce mustachios, and piercing 
 black eyes. His photograph shows him 
 wearing four pistols, two cutlasses, two 
 dirks and a knife. The only meritorious fea- 
 ture of his life was his perseverance in ex- 
 terminating the murderous Spaniard whose 
 track is traced in innocent blood over all this 
 fair country. 
 
 "O, Christianity, what crimes have been 
 committed in thy name," when thousands 
 of human beings have been treacherously 
 massacred under sanction of the church, be- 
 cause, forsooth, they were pagans. Colonel 
 
 51 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Bob Ingersoll once said that it was exceed- 
 ingly unfortunate that this country was dis- 
 covered under the auspices of Spain. The 
 Spaniards came to America and destroyed 
 two civilizations better than their own, and 
 that they were natural robbers, buccaneers, 
 and scrupled not at murdering thousands for 
 gold. 
 
 The next morning we are awakened by 
 a perfect babel of voices alongside and hurry 
 on deck to find ourselves quietly riding at 
 anchor in the beautiful roadstead of St. 
 Kitt's with lofty Mt. Misery lifting his head 
 among the clouds for his early morning 
 bath. In this moisture laden air everything 
 seems to be clothed by kindly nature with 
 a mantle of green; green of every shade, 
 from the bright hue of the cane to the dark 
 olive of the coffee plant. Nestling at the 
 foot of the mountains, the morning sun glis- 
 tening on its snowy houses and painted 
 roofs, lies the village of Basse Terre. Groves 
 of cocoanut trees and tapering aloes are dis- 
 tinguished amid the tropical profusion of 
 trees and plants, while the smoke from the 
 sugar mills, rises in bluish wreaths on the 
 mountain side. 
 
 We step to the vessel's side and look 
 
 52 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 down into the water; it is as clear as crys- 
 tal and one can readily see to a depth of 
 thirty or forty feet. Myriads of bright col- 
 ored fishes are swimming about, the sun- 
 light glittering from their silvery sides; oc- 
 casionally, there is a sudden scattering as 
 the dark body of a shark passes through 
 their midst one can see the ferocious mon- 
 ster as plainly as if he were floating in air. 
 At a distance a bonito suddenly breaks wa- 
 ter and goes skipping across the surface of 
 the bay with a pelican in hot pursuit. 
 
 On the other side of the vessel is a crowd 
 of bumboat men and women, shouting, fight- 
 ing, quarreling and jostling each other in a 
 manner that would put to shame a delega- 
 tion of proverbial Niagara Falls hackmen. 
 Fruit-vendors, basket-makers, washerwom- 
 en, longshoremen, fishermen, produce-huck- 
 sters and sellers of shells, geographical spec- 
 imens, monkeys and parrots mingle promis- 
 cuously, the gaudy headgear and bright cal- 
 ico dresses of the women making a scene 
 which can only be described as variegated, 
 like an assortment of garden flowers. The 
 flotilla of boats rise and fall on the easy 
 swell, each man trying to secure as advan- 
 tageous a position as possible for his little 
 
 53 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 craft in which are tempting arrays of fruit 
 and flowers, such as cocoanuts, sugar cane, 
 pineapples, mangoes, sour-sops, roses, lilies, 
 orchids, and so forth. It would tax the ca- 
 pacity of a phonographer to record the med- 
 ley of sounds that are hurled at us as we 
 step to the vessel's side. Amid the general 
 clamor such phrases are heard as "Massa's 
 gwine ashore in de White Swan" (the White 
 Swan, be it understood, is anything but 
 white, and would have been better named 
 the Black Swan). 
 
 "Go 'way man, massa doan want your 
 boat, he gwine take de Champagne Char- 
 lie." 
 
 "De Abraham Linkum right heah, sah," 
 yells an ancient looking colored man, appeal- 
 ing to our patriotism. 
 
 "Nice fruit! Get your fruit." 
 
 "Ga way, niggah ! Massa doan want fruit ; 
 he want dis nice little monkey heah." 
 
 "Get outen de way wile I takes dis lubly 
 green parrot to marster." 
 
 "I break you black head, niggah." 
 
 "Dis basket for two shillins and a penny 
 for de baby," shouts a big fat aunty, fran- 
 tically waving a bamboo basket in one hand 
 and a chubby black baby in the other. 
 
 54 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 (Whether she meant to sell the baby for a 
 penny or demanded a penny as a gift to the 
 baby, was never clearly understood.) 
 
 Fairwater and Brown fought shy of mon- 
 keys, but Mr. Alum was inveigled into buy- 
 ing a parrot which made his life miserable 
 by screaming and chattering until it choked 
 to death trying to swallow a brass collar 
 button. 
 
 Miss Gush purchased two little love-birds 
 or parroquets and the French gentleman se- 
 cured a dyspeptic-looking ape, but one of 
 the love-birds got away and the ape caught 
 and ate the other, so all that remains of our 
 menagerie after all is the ape, and he doesn't 
 look robust. 
 
 After luncheon Major Sellers suggested 
 a drive around the island, so we all embarked 
 in the "White Swan," and went ashore. As 
 we pulled away from the Alliance, the men 
 began to keep time to their oars with the 
 song of 
 
 Darkey sing and pull away'o, 
 Darkey sing and pull away'o, 
 Darkey sing and pull away'o, 
 Darkey sing and pull away'o, 
 
 During our trip across, our captain of 
 the White Swan a garrulous old fellow 
 
 55 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 with a skin as black as ebony, told us all the 
 news, from the state of the weather to the 
 queen's health, and among other things that 
 his name was Felix McGinnis. 
 
 "I told him I was glad to learn that we 
 were of the same nationality, as I was Irish 
 myself. The old man seemed half inclined 
 to think that I was poking fun at him, and 
 made a remark to that effect, but Major 
 Sellers came to my rescue. 
 
 "Why, Captain McGinnis," said the in- 
 genuous major, "O'Thello, the dusky hero 
 of Shakespeare's muse, was an Irishman, as 
 you can see by his name; you must eradi- 
 cate this erroneous and superfluous ambigui- 
 ty from your protoplasmical cranial anato- 
 my instantanteously." 
 
 Felix slowly scratched his head, as if par- 
 tially convinced and said, "Dat idea come 
 to me before, sah, but I couldn't edjackly 
 made it predicate." 
 
 Our arrival at the wharf was witnessed 
 by a battalion of hucksters and children 
 (the latter generally being in undress uni- 
 form). They crowded around us and com- 
 mented freely and audibly on our appear- 
 ance, as if seemingly oblivious of our pres- 
 ence. This unmannerly habit is common 
 
 56 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 in all the islands, being due to good-natured 
 curiosity rather than viciousness. Some of 
 the remarks that reached our ears were not 
 only laughable, but a little embarrassing as 
 well. 
 
 "Look at dat lady wid de red bunnit, speck 
 she pay a heap for it." 
 
 "Dat man mighty tall for dat little wom- 
 an." 
 
 "See dat fat genleman; Lawdy, how he 
 a sweaten." 
 
 "What the mattah wid dat man's laigs, 
 pear like he can't walk good?" and so forth 
 all along our route to the carriages. 
 
 Leaving the rabble behind we were soon 
 bowling along through the narrow streets 
 of Basse Terre, catching now and then a 
 glimpse of a dramshop or the sailor's so- 
 called paradise, where night turns into day 
 and day into night a hell hole covered with 
 the somber mantle of darkness, the favorite 
 garb of sin. 
 
 As we pass the suburban residences the 
 graceful bamboo and nodding aloe beckon 
 to us over the walls as if to invite our fur- 
 ther inspection of their beauties, but so 
 many strange and novel sights, such a pro- 
 fusion of flora greets our eyes that we are 
 
 57 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 kept constantly bobbing about from side to 
 side as a new flower or fruit attracts our at- 
 tention. Gradually ascending the mountain- 
 side time passes unheeded and we are not 
 aware of our position until a sudden turn 
 in the road brings us into view of such a 
 scene of tropic loveliness as seldom greets 
 the eye of man. Spread out before us were 
 forest-covered hills as green with creeping 
 plant and tangled vine as only torrid sun 
 and moisture can color them. A row of 
 stately cocoanut trees lined the place where 
 sloping hill and sparkling wave of ocean 
 met. Blue peaks of distant islands lay all 
 around, some near, some breaking the mo- 
 notony of a waste of waters. Two lofty 
 mountains towered above us, one piled up- 
 on the other as Ossa upon Pelion, which 
 position suggested to Columbus the name 
 he bestowed upon the island, St. Christo- 
 pher, bearing the Infant Christ. 
 
 On the leeward side of St. Kitt's is Brim- 
 stone Hill, a great boulder or rock several 
 hundreds of feet high, and often called the 
 Gibraltar of America, owing to its impreg- 
 nable position. Once strongly fortified, it 
 is now abandoned and its deserted case- 
 ments have been appropriated by battalions 
 
 58 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of monkeys that probably make a much 
 more orderly and moral garrison than the 
 former occupants. 
 
 This monkey fortress differs very little 
 from one under human domination if, in- 
 deed, one can make the distinction "human" 
 between monkey and man. They have their 
 foraging parties and their pickets, their gen- 
 erals and captains. Discipline is strictly en- 
 forced, affairs of the state are lengthily dis- 
 cussed; in fact if Prof. Garner were here he 
 could probably interpret a weighty debate 
 relative to the "banana bill," or a measure 
 appropriating five-hundred wall-eyed cocoa- 
 nut trees for a monkey insane asylum. In 
 the early morning hours, if one will hide in 
 a cane-field or thicket, he will witness the 
 sally of a foraging party in its descent on 
 the outlying plantations, in search of the 
 succulent banana and other toothsome fruits. 
 Suddenly, from over a stone casement will 
 appear the leader of the party, a venerable 
 patriarch with a head wrinkled like a wal- 
 nut and wearing an Oscar Wilde cast of 
 countenance. After looking carefully about 
 as if satisfied with the tranquil aspect of 
 things he will lazily scratch a fiea from his 
 ear with his left hind leg and, wrapping the 
 
 59 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 end of his tail around a rusty spike, lower 
 himself hand over hand, down a twisted 
 vine, followed by the whole monkey cohort. 
 Kokomo, the commander in chief and presi- 
 dent of the monkey republic, is a grizzled 
 veteran of great knowledge and experience. 
 He has been wounded in every part of his 
 body by enraged planters but still lives to 
 lend his advice to younger and rasher heads. 
 
 But I fear that in pursuing this subject 
 of anthropoid history, I am consuming val- 
 uable time, for every one desires to learn 
 about the lazaretto or leper hospital. 
 
 Let us follow our winding road a little 
 farther down the coast and we shall come 
 to a house of dismal aspect girded by a high 
 stone wall, inclosing ten or fifteen acres. 
 The silence of death rests here and people 
 in passing grow solemn as if in the presence 
 of death. Even the plant-life seems stunted 
 and the uniform luxuriant vegetation of the 
 tropics recedes from the place as if con- 
 trolled by influences akin to those which agi- 
 tate the human breast. They who enter in 
 come not out, immured within these walls, 
 cut off from friends, torn from those beloved, 
 what burden of sorrow untold must rest up- 
 on the breast. What grief that, like a can- 
 
 60 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ker, groweth at the heart ! Appreciate, those 
 who can, the fearful suffering of Terzah and 
 her mother so vividly portrayed in Ben-hur, 
 isolated for life, enrapt in the darkness of 
 the grave. Would that the illusion of Christ 
 were true, that he might tear aside the bonds 
 of these poor wretches as he is made to 
 do in the creation of Gen. Lew Wallace. 
 
 Let chronology be deranged and time put 
 back six months that the reader may hear 
 a story as related to us by a priest of the 
 Catholic church, as we all sat in our carri- 
 ages over-looking the place where the events 
 of his story had taken place. The father's 
 tale related to one of those pathetic inci- 
 dents so common the wide world over where 
 maternal love sacrifices a mother's all on the 
 altar of her children. The narrative was 
 widely fraught with mournful remem- 
 brances, and the father's voice was sad and 
 low. 
 
 In one of the rural districts of St. Kitt's, 
 near the spot where old Mt. Misery rears 
 his jagged summit toward the sky, a little 
 cabin, as if conscious of its insignificance, 
 lies snugly tucked away under a protecting 
 ledge of one of those green hills, which rise 
 so proudly from the bosom of the sea. Vines 
 
 61 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of gorgeous flora drop their tendrils from 
 the ledge above, while others clamber up 
 the rough board walls to greet and twine 
 about their comrades. Trees of various 
 fruitages stand close about the place, while 
 the towering cocoanut keeps sentinel with- 
 out and the banana reaches its broad leaves 
 across the roof to gossip with the whisper- 
 ing aloe. In the shady bower, beneath this 
 maze of vegetation, one can hear the music 
 of a mountain rill, as it leaps from ledge to 
 ledge, on its way to join the sea below. Birds 
 of brilliant plumage of varied hue pass 
 through the checkered sunlight beneath the 
 trees, while the little chameleon of many col- 
 ors peeps saucily out from leafy covert or 
 mossy banks. In such a climate nature 
 seems to sleep, the senses are lulled, the very 
 air is full of soporific influences, the active 
 energy of the north gives place to an inde- 
 finable sense of rest and life moves along 
 like a placid river with scarcely a ripple to 
 disturb the quiet of its surface. Within 
 this peaceful cottage there dwelt a widow 
 and her only child, a son of eighteen. The 
 blood of four races flowed through their 
 veins. The French mingling with the Span- 
 ish, the English dyed by the deep, red blood 
 
 62 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of the ancient Carib. A certain refinement 
 imparted by the father, kept them aloof from 
 their coarser neighbors, and only knit more 
 strongly the bond between mother and son. 
 Living in such simple seclusion and in a 
 climate where nature is so bountiful, their 
 wants were few and easily supplied. The 
 lad fished and dove for bits of coral and 
 curious shells. The mother watched the 
 house and busied herself about those little 
 domestic duties so necessary to a cheerful 
 home. 
 
 One day, at the commencement of that sea- 
 son when the rain descends in torrents, and 
 sun and moisture conspire to force the won- 
 derful growth so unfamiliar north, the boy 
 noticed a small white patch faintly outlined 
 against the dusky background of his arm. 
 Time passed, the patch grew larger, a vague, 
 uncertain dread possessed his mind ; he often 
 gazed lovingly at his mother, caressing her 
 less frequently, and often musing for hours 
 at a time, when alone with his melancholy 
 thoughts. Then came a day of suffering 
 such as the little cabin had never witnessed. 
 The visit of the health inspector, his discov- 
 ery of the boy's condition ; the truth burst- 
 ing upon the bewildered senses of the 
 mother. What a sound for sympathetic 
 63 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ears, to hear that mother cry out as she 
 flung herself on her son's neck: "My son, 
 my only child, my baby, a leper!" 
 
 The physician tried to soothe the grief- 
 stricken parent, telling her how necessary 
 it was to the welfare of the community that 
 her son should be isolated, telling her how 
 easy it was to contract the disease by acci- 
 dentally introducing offensive scales into a 
 slight cut or wound. As the doctor's last 
 words reached her ear and their meaning 
 became plain, a sudden light broke over her 
 countenance, then her features hardened 
 with a determination that bore the sem- 
 blance of resignation. She became more 
 cheerful at once and eagerly begged that 
 Francois might be allowed to rest within 
 the cottage one more day. That night, as 
 the moon feebly strove to penetrate the tan- 
 gled thicket before the house and the trees 
 sent grotesque shadows dancing across the 
 sward, the mother arose and walked softly 
 to where her son lay tossing on his couch, 
 mindful even in sleep of his dismal fate and 
 the separation of tomorrow. She stooped 
 and kissed his fevered brow, touched the 
 polluted arm with unshrinking hand, a knife 
 flashed dimly in the moonlight, as the mother 
 
 64 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 gashed herself. Then she stole softly to 
 her chamber and fell on her knees, praying 
 for forgiveness and for Francois and her- 
 self that they should be together. 
 
 Time passed and Francois had been sev- 
 eral months inside the huge stone walls 
 which enclose so hideous an ulcer amid such 
 surrounding loveliness. The ponderous iron 
 gate had closed behind, burying him from 
 the world. The mother remained in the little 
 cabin waiting patiently, hoping, praying that 
 she might be permitted to join Francois. 
 One morning her hopes were realized. A 
 faint spot appeared on her arm; she cried 
 aloud for joy, and kissed the place in her 
 happiness, thankful that at last she, too, was 
 a leper. Down the winding road one morn- 
 ing came the mother, her face aglow with 
 expectation. No thought of self, of friends, 
 of freedom, disturbed the calmness of her 
 soul. Her son, her child, was the one ab- 
 sorbing subject of her mind. She reached 
 the place, the heavy gate swung back, a 
 hideous muffled figure bade her enter. 
 
 "Where is Francois, where is my son?" she 
 was heard to cry. The answer came in sep- 
 ulchral tones from the loathsome warden, 
 "Francois died two days ago and is buried." 
 
 65 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 The gate swung heavily on its hinges, the 
 bolt sank into place; further we may not 
 enter. 
 
 "Let us drive on," said Brown, "the air 
 is stifling," and we drove on. 
 
 We left St. Kitt's that evening and 
 steamed regretfully away on our course to 
 Martinique. The sun was just setting as 
 we lifted anchor. 
 
 With disc-like battle target red, 
 He rushes to his fiery bed, 
 Dyes the wild wave with bloody light, 
 Then sinks at once and all is night. 
 
 And so it is for there is no twilight in 
 the tropics after the sun sets there is a 
 period of intense darkness during which, 
 "Silently, one by one in the infinite mea- 
 dows of heaven, blossom the lovely stars ; 
 the forget-me-nots of the angels." Then 
 comes the moon the glorious moon of the 
 tropics, not the northern moon or any re- 
 lation to it, but a big round ball of melting 
 light which floods mountain and sea with its 
 softened brilliance and sends the stars back 
 to their places with diminished luster. 
 
 As our party grouped themselves on the 
 steamer's deck that evening and lazily re- 
 clined in their steamer chairs nothing 
 
 66 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 seemed wanting to perfect the night or add 
 to the beauty of a scene as weird, lovely and 
 enchanting as nature can make it. The la- 
 dies watched the silver-tipped clouds rest- 
 ing against the tall summit of Nevis, watch- 
 ed the changing shadows on its river sides 
 and grew sentimental. The gentlemen gazed 
 silently at the smoke curling upward from 
 their cigars traced the broad shadows of 
 the mountain spread darkly out across the 
 bay noticed the moonlight sparkling like 
 a thousand jewels on the rippling water and 
 grew religious. 
 
 Some prefer to worship in a house built 
 by the hand of man, others worship nature. 
 
 In that cathedral boundless as our wonder, 
 Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon 
 supply, 
 
 Its choir the wind and waves, its organ, thunder, 
 Its dome, the sky. 
 
 There are any number of people whose 
 eyes will fill with tears at the sight of a 
 dried bone said to have formerly belonged 
 to the anatomy of a saint this is called 
 piety. There are others whose emotions 
 will overmaster them at the foot of Niaga- 
 ra's mighty cataract and who look no fur- 
 ther for a deity this is designated as infi- 
 
 67 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 delity. Presently one of our party steals 
 away and soon the soft prelude to that beau- 
 tiful song, "Evening Hymn To The Vir- 
 gin," is heard floating up from the salon 
 below. We are just in the mood to appre- 
 ciate both the music and words: 
 
 Ave sanctissima we lift our souls to thee, 
 Ora pro nobis 'tis nightfall on the sea, 
 
 Watch us while shadows lie, 
 
 Far o'er the waters spread, 
 
 Hear the heart's lonely sigh, 
 
 Thine too hath bled. 
 Thou, that hast looked on death, 
 Aid us when death is nigh, 
 
 Whisper of heaven's faith, 
 
 Sweet mother, sweet mother, hear, 
 Ora pro nobis the waves shall rock our sleep, 
 Ora mater, ora star of the deep. 
 
 It is growing late as the last sweet strains 
 die away and the ladies retire to their sev- 
 eral state-rooms. I hunt an easy chair be- 
 tween the stout gentleman and the major 
 and make a remark to the latter relative to 
 the beauty of the night. Alas, I am greet- 
 ed by an unmistakable snore! I turn to my 
 left for consolation shade of morpheus ! he 
 too is en concert. I give up in despair, 
 throw my head back in the chair, take a last 
 look at the moon's meek face and join the 
 chorus. So we slept. 
 
 68 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Old Sol got up early the next morning, 
 shook the sea-water from his face and sent 
 his rays across the top of Dominica directly 
 into our faces. The air came from the is- 
 land laden with the fragrant odor of tropi- 
 cal fruits and flowers. 
 
 "Gentlemen, this is glorious," said the ma- 
 jor, rubbing his eyes. "There we went to 
 sleep last night listening to sweet sounds, 
 caressed by the balmy air, and rocked in 
 old ocean's lap ; this morning the sun smiles 
 upon us, we drink in the healthful ozone 
 and (at this juncture a flying fish arose 
 from the sea and flew directly into the ma- 
 jor's lap) here," continued he, "is food to 
 our hand." 
 
 "Let us go below," quoth Brown, "and 
 make our early morning observations 
 through the ship's glasses," and we staid not 
 on the order of our going. 
 
 Martinique is the most healthful of all the 
 Caribbee Islands, its vegetation is greener, 
 its mountains more imposing, its cliffs more 
 jagged and its streams fall in glittering cas- 
 cades down the mountain sides. Martinique 
 is celebrated as the birth-place of the Em- 
 press Josephine, whose praises have been 
 sung by innumerable historians. Martinique 
 
 69 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 is noted for its beautiful botanical garden or 
 Jardin des Plantes, its chocolate and its ven- 
 omous serpent, the fer de lance. If one 
 wishes to visit a strange, delightful place, 
 a place associated with many romantic me- 
 moirs, a place of indolent enjoyment apart 
 from the world let him come to Martinique. 
 Here he will have his black coffee brought 
 to his bed-side at seven, he will breakfast 
 at nine, bathe in the fountaine chaud at 
 eleven, luncheon at two, take his siesta at 
 three and dine when the hours strike eight 
 what a truly delightful schedule of time 
 for one who is not in vigorous pursuit of 
 the almighty dollar. But to our party these 
 pleasures are as yet in perspective for the 
 Alliance has just anchored and we are be- 
 ing rowed to shore as fast as the strokes 
 of four black fellows will propel us. The 
 fates kindly deliver me from any further 
 acquaintance with crowds on the wharves 
 of West Indies Islands. It is bad enough 
 at St. Kitt's where English is spoken, but 
 to be surrounded by a babbling crowd of 
 French negroes who launch their unintel- 
 ligible polyglot into your face is infinitely 
 worse. We finally escape with our lives 
 and are driven to the Hotel des Raines. 
 
 70 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 St. Pierre, the principal city of Marti- 
 nique, lies at the bend of a broad bay backed 
 by tall mountains. Most of the streets run 
 at right angles to the shore line and grad- 
 ually ascend the mountain side as they re- 
 treat from the water. Down each street 
 rushes a sparkling stream of water fresh 
 from the mountains a stream acting as 
 water pipe, sewer pipe, wash-tub, bath-tub 
 and a host of other conveniences peculiar 
 to Martiniquans. The dusky matrons of 
 St. Pierre do their washing in the middle of 
 the street before their own vine and fig 
 tree while the little pickaninnies paddle in 
 the stream with the geese and learn to swim 
 about as soon as they can walk. The Mar- 
 tinique blanchieuse has a peculiar way of 
 doing business ; she takes a shirt, spreads 
 it out on a flat rock in the stream and, seat- 
 ing herself before it, proceeds to maul the 
 life out of it with a wooden club. This may 
 be an effectual way of cleaning it, but it 
 is hard on the shirt; in fact, all the owner 
 ever gets back of his shirt is the bosom and 
 a few broken buttons. These mountain 
 streams are one of the most unique features 
 of St. Pierre and rank it among the cleanest 
 cities of the world. One is refreshed by 
 
 71 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the very sound of their waters rippling mer- 
 rily down to the sea while the delightful 
 coolness imparted by the mountain temper- 
 ature, creates a longing to climb the hill 
 side and take a dip in a secluded pool amid 
 tropical vegetation. 
 
 St. Pierre is a typical French village trans- 
 ported to Martinique and it loses nothing 
 by the change in location. The silks, laces, 
 perfumes and wines of France are found 
 in its shops nothing but French is spoken 
 on the streets, while the people are imbued 
 with those polite manners so charming to 
 the senses of a foreigner. 
 
 Many years ago when sugar was king 
 and when to own a plantation was to have a 
 fortune, St. Pierre was the abode of wealth 
 and luxury. The planters often had as many 
 as a thousand slaves whose labor enabled 
 their masters to live a life of the most in- 
 dolent pleasure. All that has passed; cane- 
 sugar has come into competition with beet- 
 sugar, the slaves are free, the plantations 
 heavily mortgaged and the growth of cane 
 unprofitable. 
 
 About the most striking building in St. 
 Pierre is the Catholic cathedral. Seen from 
 the water it presents a beautiful sight with 
 
 72 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the sun reflected from its many spires and 
 towers. When the chimes ring out and are 
 echoed back from the cliffs the effect is very 
 pleasant to the ear, especially if one is out 
 on the bay. The people of Martinique are 
 good catholics, for in no other religion can 
 the negro find the pomp and pageantry 
 which so gratifies his love of display as in 
 the ceremonials of Catholicism. One is im- 
 pressed by the numerous shrines and images 
 of the virgin placed in sheltered nooks and 
 grottos by the wayside. All passers-by, from 
 the ancient negroes tottering to market 
 with a bunch of plantains, to the fisher boys 
 making their rounds, will pause before these 
 sacred shrines and reverently murmur a 
 prayer. 
 
 When the tourist tires of wandering 
 through the narrow streets and becomes 
 wearied of eating fruit and bon-bons of 
 freshly made chocolate let him inquire his 
 way to the Jardin des Plantes and spend an 
 hour of enjoyment amid its arbors of palms 
 and aloes. Here are to be found shining 
 lakes and splashing fountains shaded by 
 trees of endless variety. Cocoanut, date, 
 sago, cabbage, and groo-groo palms are on 
 all sides, while amid their branches are 
 
 73 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 thrust those of the mahogany, rosewood, 
 nutmeg, clove, banana and orange. Aquatic 
 plants in great profusion spread their broad 
 leaves on the bosom of the lake the glori- 
 ous Victoria regia side by side with the 
 Egyptian lotus, while both are surrounded 
 by a perfect galaxy of lilies. 
 
 Perhaps the eye may rest upon a mam- 
 moth ceiba and following the gigantic trunk 
 skyward until the mighty coronal is reached, 
 is feasted by the sight of an aerial garden 
 nearly a hundred feet above ground. Clothed 
 with vines, swarming with vegetable para- 
 sites, covered with orchids of fastastic forms, 
 one sees a forest within a single tree an 
 aviary of brilliant birds a home for count- 
 less insects. A tall and stately mile tree 
 stands near this giant and its graceful 
 branches seem to glean protection from their 
 towering neighbor. Before lowering the 
 eyes to prosaic earth again one may slightly 
 turn and behold the form of Montague Pe- 
 lee rearing his head four thousand feet amid 
 the clouds. 
 
 Turning into the garden the morning after 
 our arrival I squared myself on a settee and 
 began to breathe in the piquant odor of the 
 spice trees. 
 
 74 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 "If monsieur desire, it gives me much of 
 pleasure to bring monsieur a lemonade ga- 
 zense." 
 
 I turn quickly and behold a lad of ten 
 gazing expectantly into my face. The only 
 clothing in his possession consists of a hat 
 minus the crown and a tolerably well pre- 
 served vest several sizes too large for him. 
 
 "Le limonade est delightful I can assure 
 monsieur; does it please monsieur for to 
 partake?" 
 
 I nod my head and his little black legs 
 carry him quickly away, whither I know 
 not. His ebony form soon re-appears, how- 
 ever, bearing a tray nicely poised on his 
 woolly head. 
 
 "Would monsieur have a biscuit? Was 
 there sufficient of ice for monsieur?" 
 
 I indicate my entire satisfaction with the 
 refreshment, which is a drink manufactured 
 in St. Pierre and made of fresh limes, sugar- 
 cane juice, and carbonic acid water. 
 
 "Did monsieur wish to buy a monkey, a 
 parrot or a snake skin?" 
 
 "No !" 
 
 "Well, then, monsieur would surely de- 
 sire to see him stand on his head on the back 
 of the settee." 
 
 75 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 I glance quickly around to see if any one 
 is near, for I do not like the idea of figuring 
 in a ridiculous tableau whereof the princi- 
 pal feature is a boy standing on his head on 
 the back of a settee with nothing on but a 
 vest. However, all is clear and I signal to 
 go ahead, but Jean's vest slips down over 
 his head, he loses his balance and a perfect 
 landslide of arms, legs and vest settles plump 
 into the tray. 
 
 A loud laugh follows and looking around 
 I see Major Sellers and Brown doubled up 
 on a neighboring settee in convulsions of 
 mirth. I settle with Jean for two francs 
 and it costs me two more to propitiate 
 Brown and the major. 
 
 Luncheon before pleasure, refreshment 
 previous to exertion; man can no more en- 
 joy the beauties of nature on an empty 
 stomach than he can be cheerful and happy 
 with a boil on the back of his neck such 
 were the sentiments of our party as we sat 
 smoking, in front of the hotel, after having 
 lunched a la francais in a manner to satisfy 
 the most fastidious disciple of Epicurus. 
 Jean was there and asked les messieurs kind- 
 ly to permit him to conduct them up the 
 mountain side to le fountaine chaud where 
 messieurs could bathe. 
 76 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Jean was better clad than in the morning, 
 for, in addition to his voluminous vest and 
 crownless hat, his feet were incased in what, 
 by a polite stretch of the imagination, might 
 be called shoes. Each shoe gaped at the toe 
 like the mouth of a Mississippi catfish, while 
 Jean's mouth, probably in sympathy with 
 his shoes, gaped also, disclosing a cavity of 
 uncertain depth filled with the whitest of 
 teeth. 
 
 "As for me," said the major, "I am in 
 favor of following Jean and taking a dip 
 in the famous fountain." 
 
 "It will be far more interesting to visit 
 the hospital and examine the cases of ele- 
 phant leg and jaws," suggested Mr. Alum, 
 the microbe man. 
 
 A ballot was taken which clearly sup- 
 ported the major and relegated Mr. Alum 
 and his morbid proposal to the background 
 by a decided majority. Exactly half an 
 hour later we were on our way up the moun- 
 tain, under the leadership of our coffee-col- 
 ored conductor. As we passed an image of 
 the Virgin, embowered by a profusion of 
 vines and blossoms, Jean reverently mum- 
 bled a prayer. 
 
 77 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 "For whom do you pray, Jean?" I asked. 
 
 "I solicit the good mother that I may be 
 able to kill the large red monkey which de- 
 scends every night and plucks the fruit in 
 grandmere's yard," was the sober answer. 
 
 When you slip into the clear cool water 
 of le fountaine chaud your impression is 
 that you are floating in translucent oil. The 
 waters caress and soothe, their buoyancy 
 supports you, every ailment and pain de- 
 parts and, as you lie on your back and gaze 
 at the trees and clouds, you wonder if Ponce 
 de Leon in all his vagaries ever imagined 
 anything like this. There is a certain vir- 
 tue in the water which renders the skin as 
 soft as velvet, and seems to pluck rheuma- 
 tism out by the roots. There is plenty of 
 fun and frolic this afternoon among these 
 old gentlemen, but then it only needs the 
 right time and place to bring out the humor 
 in a man whether he be sixteen or sixty. 
 
 We are almost ready to depart when there 
 is a sudden yell, the element is upheaved 
 and the attenuated form of Fairwater 
 emerges precipitately from the water with 
 a crab clinging to his big toe. That settles 
 it; we all scramble out and are soon roll- 
 
 78 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ing along toward the hotel to prepare for 
 dinner. 
 
 The Empress Josephine was born in the 
 little village of Forte de France, situated 
 twelve miles from St. Pierre. The cabin 
 where she first saw the light still stands, 
 in spite of numerous earthquakes which 
 have left it in a somewhat dilapidated con- 
 dition. On account of a fire which destroyed 
 the country mansion of Monsieur de la Pa- 
 gerie, he and his family were forced to seek 
 shelter in this lowly cabin and here Jose- 
 phine was born. 
 
 We were extremely fortunate in making 
 the acquaintance of a fellow-traveler then 
 residing on the island of Trinidad, whose 
 father had lived at Fort de France in the 
 time of Josephine. Monsieur Grandsaull 
 was perfectly familiar with the history of 
 the empress and to his entertaining anec- 
 dotes and reminiscences, our party owes one 
 of its most enjoyable days. 
 
 Seated in the bateau, which was to con- 
 vey us to Fort de France, I gave myself 
 up to the enjoyments of the hour and set- 
 tled comfortably back in the shade cast by 
 the mainsail ready to listen to a poem by 
 Miss Gush, a dissertation on microbes by 
 
 79 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Alum or more preferably the descriptive 
 chat of Monsieur Grandsaull. 
 
 Sailing along this stretch of shore was 
 truly delightful. At times the boat would 
 pass beetling crags rising almost perpendic- 
 ularly from the water; then the cliffs would 
 suddenly slope, disclosing a pebbly beach 
 lined with orchards of cocoa and palm trees. 
 Occasionally, could be seen an image of the 
 Virgin, placed in a sheltered nook far up 
 the mountain, or perhaps the chime of a 
 parish bell would echo lazily across the 
 water from a sleepy hamlet. 
 
 "Let me call your attention," said Mon- 
 sieur Grandsaull, "to that massive rock ris- 
 ing abruptly from the water directly ahead 
 of us. That is Diamond Rock, four-hundred 
 feet high and a half-mile in circumference. 
 In 1804 Admiral Hood of the British Navy 
 by almost superhuman exertions succeeded 
 in getting five cannon to its top by means 
 of hawsers. The following morning his 
 ships were discovered and driven away, but 
 not before the gallant admiral had stationed 
 on the summit a garrison of one hundred 
 and twenty men provisioned for four 
 months. 
 
 "During the following war this rock, which 
 
 80 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 became known as his majesty's ship Dia- 
 mond Rock, proved a source of the utmost 
 annoyance to the French, who struggled in 
 vain to dislodge their foes. By the treaty, 
 which closed the war, the English relin- 
 quished Martinique and retired from their 
 point of vantage, thus ending one of the 
 most daring exploits known to West Indies 
 history." 
 
 Having sailed up the broad bay, we ap- 
 proached the Trois Islands, landed and be- 
 gan our pilgrimage to the shrine of one 
 whose extravagant life would not seem to 
 justify the unlimited praise bestowed upon 
 her by enthusiastic historians. 
 
 There is ground for the belief that Mon- 
 sieur Talleyrand was right in his aspersions 
 of her character, but the public demands 
 unstinted praise for its idols, and historians 
 must conform to public opinion or sink into 
 oblivion. 
 
 Jacob Abbot, in his life of the empress, 
 was sadly confused as to dates and other 
 items, for he solemnly states that Jose- 
 phine's mother died shortly after the little 
 child was born, showing conclusively that 
 he had never visited Fort de France or seen 
 the tombstone in the church-yard. We vis- 
 
 81 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ited the marble statue of the empress which 
 stands in the public square, and then were 
 driven to the little cabin clothed in vines 
 and surrounded by waving palms. The 
 humble church was next visited where Jo- 
 sephine and her mother came to worship. 
 
 "In this church," said Monsieur Grand- 
 saull, as we stood gazing curiously at the 
 burning candles the virgin and holy basins, 
 "in this pew my father first learned his 
 prayers at the feet of Madame de la Pagerie 
 who taught her little daughter at the same 
 time." 
 
 This was too much for Miss Gush. Her 
 poetical soul was moved, her higher emo- 
 tions were touched and she wept copiously, 
 sighed deeply and talked affectedly. I had 
 been feeling a little impressed myself, but 
 my sensations were swept away by disgust 
 and I went outside, bought a piece of sugar- 
 cane for a cent and irreverently covered the 
 pontifical vestibule with its splinters. 
 
 We returned to St. Pierre that evening 
 by moonlight and to say we enjoyed the 
 night would but feebly express our appre- 
 ciation of the time and place. The memory 
 of Monsieur Grandsaull was replete with 
 legends and memories of slavery days and 
 
 82 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 we received the full benefit of his thoughts. 
 
 Next morning we were to sail for Bar- 
 bados and I arose early to pass a brief hour 
 on the streets of St. Pierre. 
 
 Almost every one will remember an ac- 
 count in the papers of the terrible hurri- 
 cane which devastated Martinique in 1891, 
 in which so many lives were lost and so 
 much property destroyed. My walk led me 
 through a part of the city which had re- 
 ceived the full violence of the wind. The 
 majority of the houses were badly shaken, 
 with roofs gone and walls badly battered, 
 while many were in ruins. Trees of all 
 kinds were broken and twisted, while heavy 
 pieces of wreckage, strewn about, gave evi- 
 dence of the power of the gale. Fully forty 
 vessels of various sizes and countries were 
 blown ashore and their bones, bleaching on 
 the beach, presented an almost human and 
 rather melancholy spectacle. In a few 
 months their old scars will be covered with 
 a mass of vegetation and the hurried decay 
 of the tropics will have concealed all traces 
 of a storm in which perished six hundred 
 people. 
 
 Passing one of les petit magazines my at- 
 tention was attracted by snake skins dis- 
 
 83 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 played in the window. They were those of 
 the fer de lance, the deadly serpent of Mar- 
 tinique. These venomous creatures are 
 found only on the islands of Martinique and 
 St. Lucia, a peculiarity for which the peo- 
 ple of the other islands are very thankful. 
 Hundreds of negroes are destroyed annual- 
 ly by the pests, for they rather seek than 
 avoid man, and one takes his life in his 
 hands while going through a cane-field or 
 jungle. Frederick A. Ober, whom I had the 
 pleasure of meeting at Martinique, describes 
 an encounter with the fer de lance in his 
 delightful book "Camps In The Caribbees." 
 Mr. Ober's book should be well thumbed 
 by all tourists intending West Indies travel, 
 for it is without doubt the best description 
 of the Caribbee Islands yet written. Think- 
 ing to examine more closely these little rep- 
 tiles, I entered the shop and was glad I did 
 for the proprietress was a typical Marti- 
 nique belle. Her rounded figure was load- 
 ed with gold and silver ornaments of every 
 description and pattern. Like Tarpeia, she 
 was crushed under a weight of jewels. 
 
 Martinique women of color have ideas of 
 the fashions, peculiarly their own. They 
 must have a hand-painted bandana, general- 
 
 84 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ly yellow, and their jewelry must be of the 
 purest metal; they would scorn brass or 
 plated ware. Besides this the dress must be 
 caught up at the side, disclosing -a well 
 trimmed ankle, au natural, while one arm 
 and shoulder are exposed, Grecian style. A 
 West Indies woman always walks graceful- 
 ly and straight, for she generally goes bare- 
 footed, as nature intended her to do, and her 
 head carries whatever burden she has, be 
 it a bushel of yams or a bunch of tooth- 
 picks. 
 
 "What did Monsieur desire ce matin, 
 would it be un sachet ou un mouchier de 
 lin?" 
 
 Giving her to understand that it was only 
 her bright eyes that had lured me, I seated 
 myself and awaited the effect of my "bit 
 o' blarney." A dusky blush overspread her 
 face and thereafter I received the most as- 
 siduous attention. Fact, when I arose to 
 go, many curious articles were in my pos- 
 session bits of pink coral, worth their 
 weight in gold, shells, pieces of lace, and 
 above all, a curious little bracelet of Hindu 
 workmanship which I unclasped from her 
 wrist, for a consideration. 
 
 The whistles of the Alliance now began 
 85 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 to sound and with an "au revoir," I hur- 
 riedly departed for the hotel to prepare for 
 embarking. All were in readiness so we 
 drove to the wharf and were soon leaving 
 that loveliest of all the lovely islands which, 
 in the words of Froude, "lie like a string of 
 jewels round the neck of the beautiful Car- 
 ibbean." As the glistening spires of St. 
 Pierre melted in the distance I hoped that 
 this would not be my last visit to Marti- 
 nique, and that one day I should return to 
 pass a few weeks of restful enjoyment in 
 this quaint old West Indian town. 
 
 The people of Martinique have a super- 
 stition that if the traveler once sets foot on 
 the shores of their island no matter where 
 he may go thereafter or in what clime he 
 may be he will return and end his days in 
 what they rightly term "the earthly para- 
 dise." May the fates so ordain with me. 
 
 But let us turn the other way while ex- 
 pectation banishes regret, for we are bound 
 straight across the broad Atlantic toward 
 the shores of Africa, not that we shall ever 
 reach those shores, for right in our way lies 
 that charming little spot of land known as 
 Barbados and irreverently dubbed the "pan- 
 cake island." 
 
 86 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Bardados, being a coral island, is very low 
 and, to quote one of the officers, "you can't 
 see it till you're most aboard of it." That 
 afternoon, as we stood on the vessel's bow, 
 a bright ribbon of green suddenly appeared 
 on the horizon. It widened and brightened 
 until it seemed almost to leap from its bed 
 in the amethyst sea to give us a welcome 
 greeting. Stately palms and other trees be- 
 gan to separate themselves from their emer- 
 ald setting until the whole island rested be- 
 fore us, presenting a view to ravish the 
 heart of Robinson Crusoe or Bernardin de 
 St. Pierre. As the Alliance swept gracefully 
 around, seeking her anchorage in the local 
 roadstead, our eyes were busy with a hun- 
 dred objects of interest. Little houses, built 
 of dazzling white coral, dotted the undulat- 
 ing fields of cane, looking like pearls in an 
 emerald setting. Lofty cocoanuts flung 
 their coronals out from the shore as if pro- 
 tecting the white waves of surf rushing tu- 
 multuously toward their feet. 
 
 Coming out to meet us from the wharf, 
 were scores of bum-boat, fruit boats and 
 canoes containing diving boys. Occasional- 
 ly, in their mad rush for first place, a boat 
 would capsize, leaving its owner flounder- 
 
 87 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ing in the water amid the jeers of his com- 
 rades. He would soon dive below, however, 
 and, righting his boat with a dexterous 
 movement, eagerly take up the pursuit. To 
 right and left were vessels of all nationali- 
 ties Chinese junks with high peak and bow, 
 laden with rice, Norwegian, Swedish and 
 American lumber vessels, schooners and 
 sloops from Demarara and Trinidad, and 
 British tramp steamers loading with sugar, 
 while conspicuous among the others floated 
 several men of war with spotless sails and 
 shining brass-work. 
 
 As I gazed around I could not help liken- 
 ing this little island to a hive of bees, so 
 thick were the cabins on its hills; in fact 
 Barbados is the most densely inhabited spot 
 of land on earth. Only twenty-one by four- 
 teen miles, it supports a population of one- 
 hundred and ninety thousand, which is more 
 for its area than any particular spot in China. 
 Lying about one hundred and fifty miles 
 northeast of the Orinoco River, and to wind- 
 ward of all the other islands, the trade winds 
 sweep over its coralline shores, bringing 
 health and coolness in its wake. With a 
 temperature that never goes above eighty- 
 six degrees or below seventy-seven, sum- 
 
 88 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 mer or winter, night or day, Barbados bold- 
 ly claims the most even temperature in the 
 world, and if any one is curious enough to 
 examine a common school globe he will find 
 that the isothermal lines for summer and 
 winter meet in its vicinity. The name Bar- 
 bados comes from the Portuguese who dis- 
 covered the island and is evidently a corrup- 
 tion of Las Barbados, the bearded, from the 
 fact that so many of its trees have long mat- 
 ted roots hanging from their branches. 
 
 But lest this bit of prolixity should tire 
 you let us walk to the other side of the ves- 
 sel where Major Sellers and his satellites 
 are amusing themselves by tossing coins in- 
 to the water for the diving boys. Shades of 
 Thetus and the water nymphs, what a ri- 
 diculous spectacle ! For we are just in time 
 to see two dozen black legs waving franti- 
 cally in the air while a dozen woolly heads 
 go down in a wild, indiscriminate scramble 
 for a well-thrown penny. Up they come, 
 eyes wide open, every feature and motion 
 plainly seen in the crystalline water. With 
 a careless flip of the head, to free the eyes 
 from water, first one, then another black 
 boy rises to the surface, eagerly solicitous 
 for coppers. Amid a general scuffle and up- 
 
 89 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 roarious merriment, they stand treading 
 water, keenly on the alert, black eyes snap- 
 ping, and legs and arms going like a turtle's 
 flippers. 
 
 "Now," said the major, "every boy be 
 ready and when I give the word, down you 
 go, dive under the vessel's keel and the first 
 one up on the other side gets a sixpence." 
 
 Instantly, there is a prodigious splash- 
 ing as each boy raises himself from the 
 water and plunges beneath. Down! down! 
 they go, squirming and wriggling, their bod- 
 ies assuming a vivid green color until they 
 disappear under the vessel nearly thirty-five 
 feet below. We hurriedly rush to the other 
 side and are just in time to see a slender 
 little darkey mounting to the surface with a 
 dozen others in hot pursuit. With a pro- 
 longed snort and a deep inspiration, the vic- 
 tor breaks water, deftly catches his silver, 
 throws himself on his back and lies like 
 a log, his eyes glistening triumphantly at 
 his less fortunate companions. Then begins 
 an exhibition of expert swimming, such as 
 is never witnessed outside the tropics. One 
 little fellow, with a preternaturally big head, 
 would dive to the bottom and, lying on his 
 back amid the white coral, go through all 
 
 90 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 sorts of grotesque movements until Fair- 
 water shook like a jelly tart in an earth- 
 quake. Others would have diving and swim- 
 ming matches or righted their frail canoes 
 with great dexterity. Guiltless of clothing, 
 these diving boys pass the majority of their 
 time in the water, swimming from ship to 
 ship in search of coppers, regardless of 
 sharks or barracudas. If a hawser becomes 
 entangled in the screw a diver is sent below 
 with a sharp knife and, presto! it is cut. 
 If an anchor becomes fouled at the bottom, 
 down goes a diver and clears it. It is even 
 asserted that they will take a hammer and 
 nails and patch up the copper sheating on a 
 ship's bottom. 
 
 But now for the shore. I see a chubby 
 looking darkey beckoning to me as if in- 
 viting my perusal of his boat, which is dig- 
 nified by the title of "Queen Victoria." 
 Never having been in her august presence 
 before, I am somewhat abashed, but sum- 
 moning courage I gather my impedimenta, 
 descend the landing stage and am soon 
 speeding away toward Bridgetown. After 
 her majesty's custom officials examine my 
 gripsack to learn if there are any gatling 
 guns, Habana cigars or Kentucky bourbon 
 
 91 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 concealed therein, they politely inform me 
 that I am at liberty, so I engage a cab and 
 am soon on my way to the Marine Hotel, 
 two miles east of town. 
 
 The first drive through any West Indies 
 town, after a sea journey, is truly delightful, 
 but a drive through the shady streets of 
 Barbados in similar circumstances is an ex- 
 perience not to be forgotten. The salty 
 smelling breezes of the ocean give place to 
 an atmosphere laden with the fragrance of 
 bananas, oranges, limes, lemons, and a mul- 
 titude of flowers, while one can detect the 
 aromatic odor of spices blending with the 
 rest. The loneliness of the deep is ex- 
 changed for noises of a tropical garden teem- 
 ing with bird and insect life, alive with the 
 rustle of palm leaf and the shrill whistling 
 of the mile tree. 
 
 Perhaps in your drive along the white 
 coral roads you may pass beneath the arch 
 of a double row of cabbage palms, with 
 bunchy heads poised high above. Anon a 
 banana leaf brushes against the carriage side 
 and you catch a glimpse of the golden fruit 
 hiding beneath its broad, green covering. 
 Suddenly a cocoanut tree towers for sixty 
 feet above your head and you see its bunches 
 
 92 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of fruit ranging in size from the little mon- 
 key heads, no larger than eggs, to the huge 
 article of commerce, as large as a pail. At 
 every turn one is greeted by trees of mahog- 
 any, rosewood and ironwood, while the pois- 
 onous machineel and the gnarled, bearded 
 banyan stand side by side. Look at that 
 flowering maple with the white lily twin- 
 ing around its trunk a dozen humming 
 birds are there taking their last sip of nectar 
 before the night. From those aloes bend- 
 ing in the breeze to your right comes the 
 high falsetto of a parrot, saying, "Won't 
 you stop? Won't you stop?" You decline 
 the invitation and continue along the road 
 past Lord Nelson's statue, across the grassy 
 plaza, past the red brick barracks circling 
 in and out among the trees. The dull boom- 
 ing of the surf is constantly in your ears, 
 and once you catch a glimpse of its white 
 froth beneath a dense green arch of bread 
 and fruit trees. An almond tree drops a 
 beautiful pink blossom in your lap as you 
 brush past, and you roll up to the hotel steps 
 with the delightful knowledge that you are 
 going to enjoy yourself. 
 
 Next morning my slumbers are disturbed 
 by a continued chattering without. Walk- 
 
 93 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ing to the window I discover the cause of 
 the disturbance in the shape of three mon- 
 keys sitting astride of three boxes, perched 
 on as many poles, each monkey being at- 
 tached to his box by a chain. The familiar 
 childish rhyme, 
 
 Monkey, monkey, bottle of beer, 
 How many monkeys are there here? 
 
 One, two, three 
 
 Out goes he. 
 
 occurs to me. I throw each monkey a ba- 
 nana, which tokens of propitiation they seize 
 and devour greedily. 
 
 While watching their little wrinkled heads 
 wag with contentment, it never occurs to 
 me that I am to be the victim of a man's 
 resentment through one of them. There 
 are supreme moments in a man's life when 
 events are approaching which are to cause 
 him much trouble. How was I to know that 
 Mr. Pomeroy, the genial proprietor of the 
 Marine Hotel, would take such a dislike to 
 me as to present me with that ring-tailed 
 specimen of anthropoid imbecility attached 
 to the farthest pole. Now that I am home 
 and all is over, I can give the main details 
 of the case with a tolerable degree of calm- 
 ness. 
 
 94 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Ju-ju (for that was his name) far eclipsed 
 the performances of Major Sellers' animal, 
 as the subjoined itemized account will show : 
 
 To crockery broken in stateroom on voy- 
 age $ 2.25 
 
 To anxiety, distress of mind and mental 
 
 excitement 1,000.00 
 
 To lady's shawl torn in pieces on voyage. 12.00 
 To damage to room flooded in Astor 
 House, New York, by monkey turning 
 
 on water faucet 10.00 
 
 To biting a sailor's hand on board 1.00 
 
 To chains, cages and so forth 5.25 
 
 To porters, baggagemen and others 4.50 
 
 Total $1,035.00 
 
 Not having any man in view against 
 whom I held an inveterate animosity, I 
 turned Ju-ju over to the Lincoln Park com- 
 missioners in Chicago. In visiting the park 
 if any one should so desire, let him enter 
 the monkey headquarters and ask for Ju-ju, 
 but keep clear of the cage and take no liber- 
 ties, for you know his character. 
 
 But not to digress too far or anticipate 
 subsequent events, let us descend to the 
 dining hall and see what new or curious 
 dishes are to be found on a West Indian 
 bill of fare. Glancing at the carte we call 
 for "cassava cakes" made of the much read 
 
 95 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of cassava root whose fibers are only purged 
 of their poisonous qualities by much beat- 
 ing and rinsing. Made into a thin, brittle 
 pancake, as white as snow, they lie before 
 one in tempting array as if inviting further 
 inspection of their merits. 
 
 From the dish containing various tropical 
 products, you select an egg-shaped fruit of 
 a dingy purple, known as the avocado pear, 
 alligator pear or midshipman's butter. The 
 alligator pear is more of a vegetable than a 
 fruit and its pasty interior has neither taste 
 nor sweetness to one unaccustomed to its 
 use. Persistent trials of its virtues, how- 
 ever, create a liking for it. It is eaten with 
 salt and pepper. The bread fruit looks like 
 a huge osage orange and is baked whole, 
 like a potato. It has a flavor resembling both 
 the potato and bread. There are several 
 kinds of yams, the commonest variety be- 
 ing the big black yam, which grows to enor- 
 mous size and tastes not unlike the Ir- 
 ish potato. You will also find a dish called 
 koo-koo, made of guinea corn and a variety 
 of beans, while arrow root frequently is 
 made into cakes and puddings. 
 
 Let us not forget to taste the flying-fish; 
 the juicy, dainty little flying-fish; the fish 
 
 96 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 whereof Mrs. Brown remarked : "I feel like 
 a criminal every time I eat one." If I felt 
 the same way my conscience would be 
 haunted by a perfect nightmare of ghostly 
 flying-fish carcasses. 
 
 The next item on the menu revives the 
 remembrance of Mayne Reid's and Kings- 
 ton's juvenile stories. It is baked iguana 
 lizard that warty sluggish creature so often 
 described as being caught by a slip-noose 
 while listening to the whistling of its cap- 
 tor. To one who has eaten oysters, frog 
 legs, bear meat and "possum," the savory 
 flesh of this animal seems very palatable, 
 regardless of the fact that it comes from a 
 lizard, five feet in length. While dealing 
 with these so-called epicurean horribles let 
 me state that one can get a monkey ragout 
 by asking for it, but of course this is a se- 
 cret, between you and me. Also, that the 
 people in several of the islands seek dili- 
 gently in the groo-groo palm for a big white 
 grub, which, being fried to a delicate brown, 
 they place before you as one of their choic- 
 est dainties. They are very fine eating 
 so I am told. In the island of St. Vincent, 
 I was treated to a nice stew of whale's 
 meat, which, owing to its low price of three 
 
 97 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 cents a pound, forms a staple article of diet 
 with the natives. I cannot say that I like 
 it. I am content to let the whale swallow 
 Jonah, but not to reverse the process. 
 
 To close this chapter of gastronomic pe- 
 culiarities, let me mention the pepper-pot. 
 The pepper-pot is an earthenware jar placed 
 upon the sideboard of every well regulated 
 West Indian house containing a mixture 
 which you are free to sample at all times 
 of the day. Near of kin to the tamale and 
 distantly related to the bologna sausage, it 
 possesses the qualities of both united in an 
 harmonious manner. After each repast the 
 cold scraps of meat are taken from the plat- 
 ter and thrown into the pepper-pot, no mat- 
 ter what manner of flesh, fish or fowl they 
 may be. At intervals, a few red-peppers, a 
 sprinkle of cassareipe and other ingredients 
 are added. The jar is never emptied or 
 washed from one year's end to another, its 
 contents being perfectly preserved by the 
 peppers and cassareipe. When you som- 
 mon courage enough to investigate its mys- 
 teries, you seize a long fork and make a wild, 
 reckless dive into its interior. Perhaps you 
 may appear at the surface with a duck's leg, 
 a bit of bacon, or a piece of lizard, which 
 
 98 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 you hastily swallow. Following this excit- 
 ing episode a little Angostura bitters will 
 be necessary to take the taste out of your 
 mouth, which action is perfectly proper and 
 excusable. 
 
 After breakfast it is customary to take 
 a walk before the sun's rays becomes too 
 powerful; so if you will don your white 
 suit, white shoes, white panama hat, and 
 take your white umbrella with a green lin- 
 ing, we will saunter along down this lane 
 of manchineel trees to the beach. A half- 
 dozen little darkies follow us dressed in 
 every variety of costume, from a pair of 
 slippers to a paper collar. Two or three beg- 
 gars are met who solicit alms, in fact one 
 is constantly beset by beggars in Barbados, 
 until he rises in his wrath and drives them 
 away. We get rid of our entire following 
 by the judicious distribution of a few half- 
 pence and continue along the road. 
 
 The streets and country roads of Barba- 
 dos are models of what streets and roads 
 should be. Mudless, dustless and clean; 
 they are cut out of the solid coral rock 
 and intersect the land in every direction 
 like ribbons of spotless white on an ever- 
 green background. 
 
 99 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Presently we encounter sheep but alas, 
 we should never recognize them as the big 
 balls of wool so common in the states. 
 Their fluffy coats have almost dropped off, 
 only a bunch of wool remaining here and 
 there to show what might have been their 
 former beauty. Poor, scrawny woollers, 
 mangy ewes, the tropical heat has played 
 you a sore trick, and thus you stand shorn 
 of your majesty, fit only for mutton. Truly, 
 "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." 
 
 Here a man approaches with a huge bas- 
 ket of fish on his head. We stop him and 
 gaze curiously at his morning's catch. Fish 
 of all kinds lie neatly arranged in his bas- 
 ket, covered with broad green leaves. The 
 leaves are removed and our eyes at once 
 dazzled by the brilliant colors they reflect. 
 Red, yellow, blue, green, and purple fish, 
 striped and spotted with variegated colors. 
 The bream, snapper, grooper, dolphin, co- 
 valle, barber mullet, chub, jack-fish, barra- 
 cuda, and Spanish mackerel are there, while 
 lobsters of uncouth form, sea eggs and sea 
 cats lie in the bottom of the basket. We 
 present the fish vender with a pourboire, 
 and cut across a small savannah under grape 
 and gooseberry trees to the beach. 
 
 100 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Grape and gooseberry trees! Who ever 
 heard of grapes and gooseberries growing 
 on trees? Nevertheless, it is the truth, or 
 close to it, and if you will hurl that old piece 
 of sugar cane up into the tree we may knock 
 off a few. The missile is thrown and several 
 round bodies come rattling down which not 
 only look and taste like a grape but have 
 seeds like a grape, so we are satisfied, 
 though it is hard to think of an upright, 
 symmetrical tree, four feet in circumference, 
 as bearing grapes. 
 
 Out across the water the fishing fleet is 
 just visible with its scores of tiny sails skim- 
 ming hither and thither on the swells, busy 
 with line and net. In a few hours they will 
 return and venders will carry the fish all 
 over the island, selling them at four and 
 sometimes fifty for a cent. 
 
 Along the beach, where we are now walk- 
 ing, the surf has just retired leaving the 
 white coral packed smooth and hard. Jag- 
 ged masses of rock coral interrupt our pro- 
 gress at every step while bits of brain coral, 
 branch, glove and coronation coral lie 
 strewn about in great profusion. Shells of 
 rare form and color are ofttimes found here 
 but the most perfect specimens are out un- 
 
 101 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 der water where they will have to be sought 
 for by divers. 
 
 Many bright little shells of various colors 
 can be picked up, however, and if you wish 
 it, the natives will fashion them into brooch- 
 es, earrings, necklaces and other jewelry, 
 which they are so skillful in making. 
 
 Animal life is very numerous along the 
 beach and one is continually interested by 
 the creatures encountered. There is the 
 water rat that skurries up the cocoanut tree 
 to his nest. He has a fashion of eating a 
 hole in a green cocoanut and getting inside, 
 from which point of advantage he peeps 
 saucily out as if calling attention to his big 
 green cradle. Perhaps he shares his bunk 
 with a green lizard or two while the land 
 crab is likely any moment to amble up the 
 tree and jump his claim. There is another 
 variety of crab which carries its eyes on 
 the ends of a pair of long hair-like feelers; 
 there it waives frantically upon your ap- 
 proach until you are very close when it 
 rapidly digs a hole in the sand and vanishes, 
 with the exception of its eyes which peer 
 through the sand like two beads. 
 
 Often, a little, brown, weasel-like animal 
 will dart across the sand in pursuit of a 
 
 102 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 water rat or a kangaroo mouse. This creat- 
 ure is the mongoose, famous as a snake and 
 vermin destroyer. The mongoose was in- 
 troduced into Barbados from India to kill 
 the vermin, but it was soon found that not 
 only were the mice and rats disappearing, 
 but the chickens, ducks and turkeys along 
 with them, so the government has abolish- 
 ed the laws against their destruction. Oc- 
 casionally, one finds a sea cat (a species of 
 cuttle fish) lying concealed among the rocks 
 ready to attach its powerful suckers to the 
 leg of an unwary bather. Luminous fish 
 light up the surf at night, while sea eggs, 
 sea beetles, spider crabs, sea squirts and a 
 host of queer and curious animals present 
 an ever interesting spectacle to the observer. 
 Presently we detect the odor of boiling 
 syrup on the air and finding ourselves in 
 the vicinity of a sugar mill, we determine 
 to visit it. The cane in Barbados is pres- 
 sed by wind power, and as we emerge from 
 a clump of bamboos we behold the four huge 
 arms of the mill whirling and groaning in 
 the trade wind in a manner suggestive of 
 Don Quixote's demons. The mill proper 
 consists of a circular stone structure resem- 
 bling the old Newport mill. The long arms 
 
 103 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 turn a central shaft connecting with a cog 
 below which in turn revolves the huge rol- 
 lers. Between these the cane is thrust, the 
 juice running through a pipe into the boil- 
 ing house, where it is received by the first 
 of a series of seven pans. Into the first pan 
 a quantity of lime is thrown which precip- 
 itates all dirt and other impurities. The 
 liquor then passes from pan to pan until 
 it is reduced to a thick syrup when it is 
 taken out and placed in huge wooden vats 
 to cool and crystalize. After being perfectly 
 cooled the sugar is shoveled into hogsheads 
 which are placed over shallow pans into 
 which the drippings of molasses falls. The 
 sugar in the hogshead is called raw sugar 
 and is shipped to the states where it is re- 
 fined. The molasses, if it is nice and clean, 
 is also sent to America, but if it be dirty and 
 full of flies it is distilled into rum "sans 
 ceremonie." Life about a sugar mill is ex- 
 ceedingly jolly and approaches nearly the 
 colored man's idea of enjoyment in Para- 
 dise. Here he can work in gangs while the 
 nature of his labor allows him time to chaff 
 and joke with his comrades. 
 
 At intervals through the day a small black 
 cloud will be seen approaching which always 
 
 104 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 presages a puff of wind then the entire 
 force of men and women seize the huge rud- 
 der and with rhythmical chant turn the 
 windmill out of the wind. Such an operation 
 was taking place as we reached the mill 
 and we respectfully listened to this song 
 with its ceaseless refrain: 
 
 One, two, three, four, five, six seben, 
 Pans full ob sugah! Pans full ob sugah! 
 Better be good if you wan to go to Heben. 
 One, two, three, four, five, six, seben, 
 Pans full ob sugar! Pans full of sugah! 
 
 During this forced cessation of labor, the 
 men engaged in wrestling and other sports, 
 while the women indulged in that small 
 gossip so dear to the female hearts, whether 
 black or white. Then, too, the concentrated 
 essence of sweetness is constantly on tap, 
 in the shape of molasses and other sacchar- 
 ines. These are taken in broken doses all 
 day, while the consumption of cane is sim- 
 ply enormous. 
 
 One would be astonished at the amount 
 of sugar a man, who has been trained up to 
 the business, can absorb at one sitting. It 
 was a favorite pastime with me, while in 
 Barbados, to test this capacity for sugar. 
 Whenever a beggar asked me for money to 
 
 105 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 purchase eatables I would conduct him to 
 the sugar mill and proceed to experiment. 
 The greatest success I experienced was 
 with a deceptive looking, fat little man, 
 dressed in a pair of pre-historic overalls, 
 with coffee sack trimmings. He drank a 
 quart of molasses, ate a generous slice of 
 pan sugar, and departed chewing a cent's 
 worth of cane. I admired him so much that 
 I called him back and gave him three cents 
 in English money and good advice. 
 
 While we were in the vicinity of this 
 sugar mill, which, during my stay in Bar- 
 bados, became a favorite resort of mine, 
 let me conduct you across the cane field 
 and introduce you to a friend. His name 
 is Jack and he is generally found sitting 
 on the branch of a liquorice tree before his 
 owner's home. 
 
 One day in my rambles I was passing 
 this tree and stooped to pick up one of its 
 long, black pods, when suddenly a shrill 
 voice rang out above me, "Master, Master! 
 Some one's a stealin', stealin', stealin'." Be- 
 ing thus detected in the act of theft, I glanc- 
 ed hastily up and behald a large, brilliantly 
 colored macaw wagging his head in a most 
 accusing manner. My innocent expression 
 
 106 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 must have impressed him, however, for he 
 said " howdy," and scrambled down the 
 tree. Having thoroughly inspected my per- 
 son he commanded me to "scratch," and 
 held out his big, red head which I began to 
 ruffle. It is needless to say that Jack and 
 I became great cronies and passed many an 
 hour beneath the liquorice tree. 
 
 Another friend of mine is a green parrot 
 belonging to a woman on Bay street. I do 
 not wish to be considered one of those 
 
 Brethren of our joyful choir; 
 Twang! O, twang the tuneful lyre, 
 
 as one of our western poets puts it. I am 
 not a falsifier and truth compels me to give 
 the facts concerning the green parrot in 
 question. One day the parrot's mistress 
 became involved in a quarrel with a woman 
 who peddled potatoes, in which several 
 complimentary remarks were passed. After 
 that day, whenever the parrot espied the 
 woman, he would derisively yell, "potatoes, 
 rotten potatoes!" 
 
 Finally, the woman became so angry that 
 she entered the yard with avowed purpose 
 of demolishing "old polly." Her actions 
 were interrupted, however, by the appear- 
 
 107 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ance of the mistress, who, in turn, became 
 the object of her wrath. She poured forth 
 such a flood of Barbardian billingsgate with 
 such distinctness and energy that every 
 word and sentence was strongly impressed 
 on frightened Polly's mind. The woman 
 was arrested and the case called before the 
 judge on the following day. There were 
 no witnesses of the scene except Polly who 
 did most awfully swear as you shall see. 
 
 Poll was brought into court and the wo- 
 man ordered to advance toward the cage, 
 when such a torrent of blood-curdling pro- 
 fanity issued from Polly's throat that the 
 air fairly grew sulphurous. The tones and 
 words were in exact imitation of the wo- 
 man's and the judge immediately fined her. 
 A court-room habitue told me that the 
 judge, jury and spectators were so convulsed 
 with laughter that the glass chandelier was 
 shattered by the vibrations, but this may 
 be taken "cum grano." 
 
 Society in Barbados is necessarily Eng- 
 lish and one is taken into upper tendom im- 
 mediately, if his credentials and appearance 
 be sufficiently reassuring. A more hospit- 
 able and generous people than the Barbados 
 would be difficult to find when one becomes 
 
 108 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 acquainted with them. To be sure the fash- 
 ions are a month in arriving and one cannot 
 procure the exact cut on his clothes that a 
 Bond street tailor can furnish, but good, 
 English cloth is plenty good and a tailor- 
 made suit can be had for twelve dollars that 
 would cost fifty in New York. 
 
 Wages are excessively low in Barbados, 
 common field hands receiving fifteen cents 
 a day, domestic the same, skilled mechanics 
 fifty cents and other in like proportion. For 
 this reason, coupled with the low priced 
 English materials, one can save enough 
 money in the purchase of clothing, shoes, 
 hats, etc., to pay his passage to and from 
 New York. 
 
 Officers of the garrison are favorites and 
 when several men-of-war are in the harbor 
 parties, balls and wine suppers follow each 
 other in rapid succession. 
 
 When a man arrives in the tropics a feel- 
 ing of lassitude at once steals over him, he 
 becomes languid and feels the need of stim- 
 ulants. If he is in the habit of drinking, his 
 ordinary amount is speedily doubled and 
 trebled. This increased allowance in such 
 a climate soon tells on his system, he takes 
 typhoid, brain or yellow fever, and if he re- 
 
 109 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 covers, goes home execrating the West In- 
 dian climate. It is thus with many of our 
 naval officers who rather overdo the drink- 
 ing business at most of their points of stop- 
 page. 
 
 Every day twenty or thirty common sea- 
 men are permitted to go ashore from a man- 
 of-war, and it is safe to say that an hour af- 
 terward every mother's son of them is hope- 
 lessly, hilariously full of three-penny kill- 
 devil. They hire carriages and drive the 
 horses to death; they get donkeys and race 
 up and down the streets; they whoop and 
 yell, defy the police, engage in brawls and 
 paint the town a rich carmine generally. 
 One who has witnessed such a scene is prone 
 to think that the late Chilean difficulty might 
 have been, if not actually, provoked by a 
 similar occurrence. 
 
 Horse racing is the sport par excellence 
 in Barbados, and at the spring meeting the 
 savannah is thronged with a good natured 
 crowd of happy darkeys. Bets are freely 
 made, from the poor man's penny to the rich 
 man's pound, while the unlimited guzzling 
 of rum precipitates numerous wool pulling 
 matches. Ginger beer, cocoanut cake and 
 comfit venders with gay turbans, display 
 
 110 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 their wares among the crowd, while tropical 
 fruit, rich and rare, is piled in shining heaps 
 upon the fruit stalls. 
 
 Polo playing on horse back is another 
 sport much affected by Barbadians and a 
 good game is greatly enjoyed by the color- 
 ed population, especially if there are two or 
 three accidents to give zest to the entertain- 
 ment. The boys in Barbados are experts 
 at kite flying and it is doubtful if even the 
 Chinese can surpass them in the art. Man- 
 kites and animal-kites are easily made and 
 flown, while "singing angels," "roaring 
 bulls," and other kites which make a noise, 
 fill the air with their booming. In the sea- 
 son kites of all shapes, sizes and colors dot 
 the sky night kites with lanterns dangling 
 from their tails, dragons with flaming crests, 
 kites with edged glass attached to them in 
 such a manner that the owner can cut the 
 strings of a rival by expert manipulation. 
 The boys are also skillful in making blow- 
 guns of bamboo tops, cane-fiddles, small fire- 
 works and other toys. 
 
 Christmas day is the holiday of all holi- 
 days in Bunshire (as Barbados is jocularly 
 nicknamed) and weeks before the great 
 event the people begin saving their slender 
 
 111 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 earnings for a grand display. Stores of gin- 
 ger beer, sorrel, cocoanut cakes, red, white 
 and blue comfits and a host of other indi- 
 gestibles are made ready, while new clothes 
 are purchased and the small boy is busy in 
 the preparation of divers bombs, serpents 
 and other combustibles. 
 
 Christmas day is ushered in by a noise 
 and turmoil similar to that which announces 
 our Fourth of July. Every one treats every 
 one else; sorrel and rum flow like water, 
 blood ditto; the poor man indulges in a 
 piece of pork for dinner (a rare treat), and 
 a merry carnival of sport and pleasure en- 
 dures the live-long day. Groups of cali- 
 thumpians in grotesque attire, on stilts, on 
 donkeys, in chariots, parade the streets, 
 while bands of nerve-destroying musicians 
 keep up their infernal racket from morn till 
 night. Swarms of little darkies in various 
 stages of deshabille, hover around the hotel 
 piazzas eager to engage in single stick 
 matches, scrambles, greased hog chases, 
 donkey races, goat races, fool races, or any 
 kind of a race for prizes consisting of cigar 
 stubs, half pence, fruit, and so forth. 
 
 But let us go down to the fruit market 
 near Trafalgar square en voiture and take 
 
 112 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 a peep at an interesting sight. We choose 
 our time on Christmas eve, after dark, else 
 we should be pelted with showers of roses, 
 lilies and spice blooms. Our driver picks 
 his way carefully along through narrow 
 streets, past gardens brilliant with paper 
 lanterns and flambeaux, past groups of mer- 
 ry, happy, singing people, until we reach the 
 market. We dismount and enter the open 
 square lined and crossed by rows of stalls. 
 Buffoons, jesters, calithumpians, musicians, 
 stilt-walkers, sailors, all are mingled in a 
 noisy , clattering throng. The flickering 
 light from innumerable lanterns and flam- 
 beaux is reflected from the black or swarthy 
 faces around us. The seven colors of the 
 rainbow vie with each other in profusion in 
 the gay headgear and fanciful calico of les 
 belles Barbadian, while a wealth of beaten 
 silver jewelry ornaments their dusky arms. 
 But the fruit, the luscious tropical fruit! 
 Let us promenade before the stalls and view 
 it in all its variety and abundance. Look 
 at that great heap of sour-sops, huge shin- 
 ing balls of green, filled to the bursting point 
 with juicy white pulp how my mouth wa- 
 ters at the thought. Buy one of those jelly 
 cocoanuts, take it home, dip its pearly blanc- 
 
 113 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 mange from the shell with a spoon, close 
 your eyes, taste and be happy. Slice open 
 that brown sappodillo, partake of the lus- 
 cious paw-paw, fill your pockets with man- 
 goes, water lemons, guavas we are in the 
 garden of Hesperides. Let me place in your 
 basket maumee apples, star apples, custard 
 apples, sugar apples, red and yellow bana- 
 nas, fig bananas, plantains, oranges, tan- 
 gerines, mandarins, limes, lemons, water co- 
 coanuts, cashews, white and red grapefruit, 
 shaddocks, grapes, prickly pears, tumbor- 
 iur loquats all can be purchased for an 
 English shilling. 
 
 If you are surfeited with fruit, we will re- 
 turn to the hotel, for it is almost one o'clock 
 and the market will soon break up in a gen- 
 eral melee, in which fruit, flowers and vege- 
 tables will hurtle through the air; cocoa- 
 nuts will collide with you and you with sour- 
 sop, until such a mass of frugivorous matter 
 will kaleidoscope before the eyes of the spec- 
 tator that he will imagine himself a popu- 
 list orator on a tour through Georgia. 
 
 Life at the Marine hotel is very enjoyable. 
 The building is built on coral rock and is 
 in the form of a U, with long wings and 
 wide, breezy halls, especially constructed for 
 
 114 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the free circulation of the trade winds. The 
 rooms are large and airy, with huge win- 
 dows of lattice work which cannot be closed, 
 in fact there is no necessity for closing them 
 in this hospitable clime. To be sure the 
 birds are a little inquisitive and have a habit 
 of flying in at the window and helping them- 
 selves to fruit, etc., while little green lizards 
 are likely to scramble around the walls of 
 your chamber in search of flies and mosqui- 
 tos, but no one minds these West Indian 
 peculiarities. At rare intervals a centipede 
 may drop from the ceiling on your bed or a 
 tarantula sidle along the floor, or perhaps 
 a mammoth cockroach will endeavor to 
 carry away the tallow candle in your room. 
 However, none of these incidents happened 
 to me and I have them only by hearsay. 
 
 The humming birds of Barbados are num- 
 erous and one can count a dozen on any 
 single flowering tree or shrub, of all sizes 
 and colors. They are the most impudent 
 and pugnacious little creatures in existence. 
 Often, they will alight on one's hat, or the 
 end of one's cane and boldly flirt their little 
 tails as much as to say, "See, me ! Am I not 
 pretty?" 
 
 One of the most enjoyable of Barbadian 
 
 115 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 enjoyments is the early morning surf bath- 
 ing. Just as "Old Sol" has risen above the 
 cocoanut groves in the east, one dons his 
 pajamas, seizes a crash towel and hurries 
 down to the beach. .The air is warm and 
 balmy, the water tepid, and never a shake 
 or shiver discomforts the bather, though he 
 be in the water for hours. Out over the cor- 
 al sands, through the clear water, treading 
 lightly amid curious shells and corals, div- 
 ing under foam-crested billows, riding up 
 and down on the easy swells no wonder the 
 swimmer loves his bath. 
 
 Another occupation fraught with pleasure 
 is simply to sit on the hotel piazzas and 
 watch the people pass. Here will come an 
 old "aunty" waddling along with a bushel 
 of yams; another follows with live ducks, 
 chickens or turkeys ; another with fruit ; all 
 placed on trays and all poised on the head 
 with arms dangling free at the sides.. Even 
 milk, bread, fish, ginger beer are peddled in 
 this manner. While we are looking porters 
 pushing hand carts, donkey drivers, grooms, 
 beggars, sailors, street vendors, fakirs, and 
 children will pass, all busy with their var- 
 ious occupations. Perhaps a country girl 
 will pass with white or yellow shoes, and 
 
 116 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 green, red or blue stockings as her fancy 
 desires. When she has reached the city 
 outskirts she will sit down by the wayside 
 and take them off, after which she will place 
 them on her head and resume her way, con- 
 scious that her appearance in town has been 
 "comme il faut," while her shoe leather has 
 been saved where there are no eyes to see. 
 From the Marine Hotel one can make a 
 delightful excursion to Bathsheba, on the 
 windward side of the island. Here a com- 
 fortable little hostelry is perched upon rag- 
 ged cliffs jutting out over the water. One 
 is carried up the pathway in a sedan chair 
 and as the two black carriers wind in and 
 out among the rocks a pretty picture is 
 spread out before the view. On one side 
 are fields of livid green cane, coffee planta- 
 tions, meadows and groves of fruit; on the 
 other side the amethyst sea melts away in 
 the distance, while gigantic waves of surf 
 roar and thunder at your feet. The wind 
 here blows with powerful force, ever steady, 
 ever constant, day and night, month after 
 month, until the trees are all turned in one 
 direction as if fleeing from its influence. At 
 night one is sung to sleep by lullaby of wind 
 and ocean; the low droning of the wind 
 
 117 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 mingles with the dull thud of the billows 
 as they rush tumultuously against the rock 
 wall. 
 
 Another delightful trip is to the coral gar- 
 dens on the reefs surrounding the island. 
 Gardens? you question. Yes, gardens of 
 flowers coral flowers; posies as delicate as 
 the lily and rose ; bouquets of blushing pink, 
 of dazzling white, of blood red. 
 
 Procure a small boat and dance out over 
 the swells to the sea garden. Gaze down 
 into the depths through your water glass 
 and tell what you see on the white sandy 
 bottom. Corals, you answer -lumpy, con- 
 voluted brain coral, shallow pan coral, huge 
 sticks of branch coral, coronation and rock 
 coral, all mingled in a thousand fantastic 
 forms and all reflecting a thousand lights 
 and shadows from the prismatic water. Per- 
 haps you will see a piece of delicate pink 
 coral, more precious than gold, or discover 
 bleeding tooth shells used as money by the 
 Kanakas. Pink and yellow sea fans wave 
 majestically to and fro in the ground swell; 
 slimy creatures with rare shell houses thrust 
 their tenacles through the ooze; crabs of 
 various forms and colors scuttle about the 
 rocks; gold and silver fish swim fearlessly 
 
 118 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 beneath you, while the huge shark is likely 
 at any moment to meet your gaze with his 
 baleful eye. 
 
 If you have a diving boy in the boat send 
 him below to gather a few of these curios 
 for you. Down he goes with a splash, head 
 first, swimming like a great green frog. 
 Now he is on the bottom and stoops to gath- 
 er your specimens, then up he comes, eyes 
 wide open, floating in air. 
 
 "Dot bery easy," he remarks, shaking the 
 brine from his woolly pate, "but I get bery 
 much frightened toder day." 
 
 "How was that?" you interrogate. 
 
 "Buccra man die wid de yellow fever on 
 board de Demerara schooner in de harbor 
 cant bury him on shore cause ketch de 
 fever sew im up in sail cloth tie cannon 
 to his feet sail outen de harbor 'bout tree 
 mile toss im overboard. Two, tree, five 
 day pass me go divin' out on de reef go 
 down after big conch shell look up an' 
 see white ghost standin' up behin' big branch 
 coral wavin' back and forth arms swing- 
 in' body comin toward me on the tide. Me 
 much scared eyes stick out swaller heap 
 water get to surface pretty soon go way 
 soon no like buccra man ghost." 
 
 119 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 This white coral bed seems no unfit mauso- 
 leum for men. I would rather be buried 
 among those white monuments than under 
 the damp dark earth. 
 
 Ariel sings to the Prince in Shakespeare's 
 "Tempest:" 
 
 Full fathoms five, thy father lies; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made. 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes. 
 
 Nothing of his that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 
 Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell, 
 
 Ding dong. 
 Hark, now I hear them ding dong bell. 
 
 The moon is rising on our last night in 
 Barbados. We saunter out on the piazza 
 as is our wont. The band is playing over 
 on the savannah and the soft strains come 
 to us through groves of almond and mahog- 
 any trees. Bats of all sizes are darting about 
 in their nightly wanderings, from the com- 
 mon bat to the great vampire or blood suck- 
 er. We raise our eyes to the great "South- 
 ern Cross" it is ablaze with glory we 
 think of the lines : 
 
 Blue dome besprent with diamond dust, 
 Bright gleams the path by angels trod 
 
 Mid countless jewels rich incrust 
 Outshines the monogram of God. 
 
 120 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 It is a regretful leave taking. We hate 
 to leave the Major. Brown has become 
 our friend; the microbe man has so ingra- 
 tiated himself into our confidence that we 
 have promised to drink boiled water and 
 sleep on wire pillows, while even Miss Gush 
 has become an object of compassion. To 
 be sure the last words to me were something 
 about "the pellucid, softening, ethereal rays 
 of luna on mountain, sea or dell," but I for- 
 gave them I felt that way myself. 
 
 Seated on the vessel's deck I sorrowfully 
 mused every plunge of the prow, every 
 turn of the wheel was carrying me to a cli- 
 mate where "nature continually frowns for 
 half the year and smiles the other." 
 
 The land where I had experienced the 
 greatest pleasure in many years was sink- 
 ing below the horizon. 
 
 121 
 
WhentfieWmdBlows 
 
 I love the ocean in its moods and tenses, 
 
 The laughter of the waves; their sweet cadences 
 
 Lull the soul to rest and charm the senses, 
 
 When the wind blows through the rigging. 
 
 I love to watch the colors come and go 
 
 On mountain wave and crest of dazzling snow; 
 
 The red-tinged cloud banks in a sunset glow, 
 
 When the wind blows through the rigging. 
 
 \ 
 
 I love to hear the melancholy droning 
 Through shroud and stay; the wind's sweet plain- 
 tive moaning, 
 
 And sudden angry hiss of breaking combing, 
 When the wind blows through the rigging. 
 
 I love to catch the glimmer of the moon, 
 Through inky clouds on curling wave of spume, 
 The phosphorescent glow amidst the gloom, 
 When the wind blows through the rigging. 
 
 I love to see St. Elmo's flame on high, 
 Or leap from mast to mast across the sky; 
 The evanescent rainbow fade and die, 
 
 When the wind blows through the rigging. 
 
 I love at evening's close to sink to sleep, 
 As lengthening shadows o'er the ocean creep, 
 Rocked in the cradle of the mighty deep, 
 
 When the wind blows through the rigging. 
 
 123 
 
FAR to the south, where the gentle 
 northeast trades course over the heated 
 Water, lies the coral island of Barbados. 
 It stands boldly to the eastward of all the 
 Caribbean Islands, and is distant only a few 
 hours' sailing from Martinique, St. Lucia, 
 St. Vincent, Bequia and the Spanish main. 
 
 In certain seasons of the year drift car- 
 ried out to sea by the powerful current of 
 the Orinoco reaches this island and occa- 
 sionally the remains of huge alligators, liz- 
 ards and poisonous serpents, whose habitat 
 is Venezuela, are cast upon the shore. 
 
 The geological formation of Barbados is 
 most interesting, it having in an ancient pe- 
 riod consisted of a solitary submerged vol- 
 canic peak. The coral insects constructed 
 a broad terrace entirely around this peak, 
 and then came a gigantic convulsion of na- 
 ture which upheaved the whole mass to a 
 height of sixty feet. Again the coral polyps 
 builded; another terrace grew, and again 
 
 125 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 the mass was raised. But this was not the 
 end, for another terrace was formed and 
 upheaved, and at the present time a fourth 
 is in progress of construction by the same 
 diligent little creatures. Upon approaching 
 the island the spectator at once observes 
 the symmetrical order of these terraces, 
 though they are now much eroded and their 
 lines distorted by the throes of nature. 
 
 Barbados is the most beautiful of all the 
 West Indies, and has one of the most equa- 
 ble climates in the world. To these hygienic 
 virtues has been ascribed its popularity as 
 a place of recuperation for the fever suf- 
 ferers of less favored localities. It has al- 
 ways been a British colonial possession and 
 two English regiments are stationed here. 
 Being the most densely inhabited pastoral 
 spot of land in the world, every acre of its 
 surface is cultivated to the highest possible 
 extent to support its immense population. 
 Verdant fields of cane wave over its undu- 
 lating terraces immense patches of yams, 
 eddoes and cassava flourish in its beautiful 
 valley, while narrow roads of white coral 
 lead to quaint old colonial mansions almost 
 hidden among stately groves of mahogany 
 and royal palm trees. 
 
 126 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Its freedom from serpents and noxious 
 insects, its perfect drainage and strict sani- 
 tary laws, its cool, balmy breezes and re- 
 freshing showers, make it a place of quiet, 
 healthful rest to the invalid fleeing from the 
 rigors of a northern winter ; while its wealth 
 of curious shells and beautiful corals, its 
 strange fruits and flowers, its brilliant birds 
 and queer animals, its busy plantation life 
 and interesting character studies, are a 
 never-failing source of entertainment to 
 northern visitors. 
 
 In the surrounding waters of this delight- 
 ful region the flying-fish makes his home, 
 the dolphin disports himself and huge sea 
 birds sail majestically over the water, prey- 
 ing on both. Out on the coral reefs which 
 guard the shore thunders the majestic surge 
 of the constant trades, sending its milk- 
 white spray across the mussel beds to lave 
 the feet of the towering cocoanuts fringing 
 the beach. The vicious barracuda, the sharp- 
 toothed mackerel and the lumbering shark 
 lurk among the coral caverns near shore, 
 white schools of bonitos, sinnets and jacks 
 play in the open water over the shallows. 
 
 The flying-fish loves deep water and is 
 found throughout the length and breadth of 
 
 127 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 tropical seas. He is fond of feeding near the 
 gulf weed of the sargassos, and deposits his 
 stringy, glutinous spawn on its yellow 
 branches. Vessels bound from New York 
 to the Caribbee Islands upon reaching the 
 "horse latitudes" sometimes encounter vast 
 quantities of drifting weed, strung out into 
 long ribbon-like patches, about an eighth 
 of a mile apart. Among this golden weed, 
 with its delicate leaves and globular seeds, 
 exists a curious family of cuttle fish, crabs, 
 mollusks and small fishes. Upon these the 
 flying-fish preys and they in turn devour its 
 spawn. Every plunge of the steamer as 
 she plows through the blue tropical waters 
 frightens dozens of flying-fish into the air, 
 where they scatter in all directions, with 
 the sunlight glistening on their gauzy 
 wings. 
 
 The flying fish of the Atlantic attains 
 a length of nearly one foot, and a breadth 
 between wing tips of eleven inches. He has 
 a round, compact body, about an inch in 
 diameter near the pectoral fins or wings. 
 There is also an auxiliary pair of ventral 
 fins or wings, not nearly so large as the 
 pectoral pair. The wings are formed by a 
 thin, transparent membrane stretched over 
 
 128 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 a delicate, bony framework, and are either 
 black, white, or mottled with both. The 
 upper half of the entire fish is a metallic 
 blue in color, while the lower portion is a 
 nacreous white. Black, prominent eyes, a 
 small, prehensile mouth, forked tail, dorsal 
 and anal fins, complete the picture of one of 
 the most interesting little fishes in all na- 
 ture's vast aquarium. 
 
 In flight he darts from the water to a 
 height of twenty feet, and goes scudding 
 away before the wind, beating the air rap- 
 idly with both wings and tail. He sails 
 straight away for one thousand feet, or even 
 more, occasionally touching the crest of a 
 wave, and seeming to gain a new impetus 
 by the contact. 
 
 . . The flying fish fleet of Barbados is the 
 largest in the West Indies, and during the 
 fishing season between December and June 
 it takes an immense number of these fish, 
 which furnish a cheap and abundant food 
 supply for the Barbadians. 
 
 The boats are ungainly open craft, crude- 
 ly built, with naked ribs of mahogany 
 planked with yellow pine. Rigged with leg- 
 of-mutton mainsail and large, flat jib, they 
 are fairly good sailers, and are managed 
 
 129 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 with no little skill and dexterity, notwith- 
 standing their makeshift equipment of 
 burnt out ropes, patched sails and unwieldy 
 ballast. Every boat carries one or more 
 heavy lines for large fish, small flying-fish 
 hooks, a shark hook, and two nets of half- 
 inch mesh stretched over a round bamboo 
 hoop three feet in diameter. 
 
 Down to the beach in the early dawn come 
 the fishermen from their dilapidated huts 
 amid the cane and cocoanut clumps. Great, 
 brawny fellows they are, as they stand 
 ready to plunge into the boiling surf through 
 which they must swim to reach their boats. 
 Out over the reef through the intricate chan- 
 nel glides the boat. The red glint of the 
 morning sun tinges its sails, the northeast 
 trades fill the bellying canvas, and soon 
 scores of boats are pulling out into blue wa- 
 ter from behind every palm-fringed bay and 
 protecting headland. The trolling line is 
 now trailed out astern, and its swivel-rigged 
 hoop, spitted with a shining fish, goes spin- 
 ning around as an attraction for kingfish, 
 gunnet, barracuda or Spanish mackerel. 
 
 The boat moves swiftly out over the sub- 
 merged coral gardens, past the redfish shal- 
 lows where live the snapper, blackjack, 
 
 130 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 covalle, velvets and ningnings, old men, old 
 wives, drummer-boys, chubs, pudding-fish, 
 queen mullets, hinds, congerees, whip-rays, 
 niggerheads, butterfish, soap-fish, rainbows, 
 cooks, barbers' grunts, inkfish, horse-eyes, 
 parrot-fish and dozens of other interesting 
 fishes most wonderfully made and brilliantly 
 colored. 
 
 At times a hawk-bill tortoise or a green 
 turtle is seen lying asleep on the surface of 
 the water. Then the skipper runs silently 
 alongside, and before the unwieldy monster 
 can dive beneath the wave his flipper is fast 
 in the slipnoose and he is hauled aboard. 
 
 The shore birds and lazy, croaking peli- 
 cans are left astern; the red-roofed houses, 
 the green hills and valleys, the whirling 
 windmills, are all merged in a hazy hand oi 
 emerald on the horizon, while our crew be- 
 gins to search the water for drift, weed 
 seeds, sea birds and other signs of fish. 
 
 A group of whales are feeding under our 
 lee, and the deep roar of their blowing 
 reaches us over the heaving water. The 
 little calves are sportively inclined and 
 broach repeatedly into the air, while the old 
 bull and his cows sound the bottom for in- 
 sect life on the deep sea banks. Barbados 
 
 131 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 has a whaling station, and many of these 
 mammals are taken every winter and re- 
 solved into oil, whalebone and fertilizers. 
 The flesh both of the whale and shark is eat- 
 en fresh and in a cured state by all the West 
 Indian Islanders. 
 
 We are now approaching the flying-fish 
 ground, and a few black and white Mother 
 Carey's chickens suddenly descend upon us 
 and dart to our outstretched hands for bits 
 of food. A bos'un bird makes an ineffectual 
 attempt to carry oft 7 our spinning fish astern, 
 while a "break" of flying fish scatter in all 
 directions as we plow through a long line 
 of ocean weed. The command to lower 
 away is sung out by the skipper, the tiller 
 is jammed hard down, and as the boat comes 
 to the wind the halyards are run, stays cast 
 off, jibboom inrigged, mast unstepped, and 
 we lie rolling broadside on in the huge reg- 
 ular swells. 
 
 Stale fish are now macerated and the 
 "mash" hung over the side in a sieve-like 
 basket. As the boat is drifting to leeward 
 this "scent" goes out to windward, produc- 
 ing a calm or "slick" in which flying-fish 
 begin to gather in increasing numbers. 
 
 Two or three dart to the boat, then shoot 
 
 132 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 away again at its slightest plunge, only to 
 return with others and begin a closer in- 
 spection. They come nearer and nearer in 
 growing numbers, until at last, as if decid- 
 ing that this ungainly monster rolling on 
 the deep is their natural protector, they nes- 
 tle up to its sides and swim in droves around 
 it. The fish are now "good" and ready to 
 be dipped." This is done at bow and stern 
 by the net men, who scoop them gently into 
 the boat two or three at a time. Hold a 
 small bit of fish over the side and a dozen 
 will immediately hover about your hand, 
 swimming over and under your fingers in 
 their eagerness to gain the tidbit. 
 
 Flying-fish are divided according to size 
 into pinfish, weely-whistles, youngsters and 
 patriarchs. Only the latter come to the boat, 
 and are classed as spawn and milt fish. 
 Guineamen are large species of flying-fish, 
 three or four times heavier than the patri- 
 archs, and cannot be lured into the net. They 
 are very gamy when taken on the line and 
 generally break into flight over the boat. 
 The bewildered angler then finds that he 
 has hooked a fish, but is playing a bird. 
 
 The fish now swarm around the boat like 
 chickens, and more than two thousand are 
 
 133 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 lying in a glistening heap on the ballast. 
 
 An abandoned whale carcass is drifting 
 up to us from leeward, sending out a broad 
 slick or band of oil in all directions. A mul- 
 titude of Mother Carey's chickens are hov- 
 ering over its exposed surface, while a vi- 
 cious throng of barracudas and sharks tear 
 at the blubber underneath. As our boat 
 drifts by the carcass these scavengers of the 
 ocean make an attack on our school of fly- 
 ing-fish, sending them panic stricken into 
 the air in all directions. Sharks thus gorged 
 to repletion with whale blubber do not take 
 the hook; but the fishermen are so imbued 
 with the spirit of vengeance that they maim 
 and injure them with the utmost ferocity. 
 They lure them to the side of the boat by 
 means of a flying-fish attached to a string, 
 and thrust their keen blades up to the hilt 
 in their sides, dyeing the water for yards 
 around with a crimson flood. The savage 
 brutes, excited by their own blood, tear each 
 other in fury, but at last retire, leaving us 
 to pursue our way in peace. 
 
 Occasionally, the fishermen are seriously 
 annoyed by a fleet of Portuguese men-o'- 
 war. These curious, gelatinous animals look 
 like pinkish, transparent balloons floating 
 
 134 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 on the surface of the water. Long, purple 
 streamers trail behind them, and amid this 
 "rigging," as the sailors call it, live a num- 
 ber of sailorfish or men-o'-warsmen, who ac- 
 company the man-o'-war on all its cruises. 
 When the man-o'-war is cast ashore its crew 
 of sailorfish become perfectly frantic and 
 perish of starvation, unless shipped by an- 
 other man-o'-war. 
 
 Woe to the fisherman who in the process 
 of dipping comes in contact with these 
 streamers or rigging. They seem to pro- 
 duce an almost instantaneous paralysis of 
 the nervous ganglia by their contact. The 
 muscles strain involuntarily, the parts 
 touched burn intensely, the sufferer screams 
 with agony, and it is several hours before 
 he finds relief. 
 
 The flying-fish fisherman's dinner depends 
 on his success as a netter, otherwise a dry 
 crust or two is his sole refreshment. As the 
 sun approaches the meridian a fire is started 
 on the iron ballast in the bottom of the boat, 
 a black pot slung amidships, and soon a fine 
 chowder of flying-fish, yams, garlic and red 
 peppers is sending its savory odor out over 
 the water. How the skipper enjoys this 
 part of the day as he sits in the stern, smok- 
 
 135 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ing a short black pipe. The netmen are 
 bringing in the fish at every dip; the verti- 
 cal sun is pouring his torrid rays down on 
 their naked bodies. Their perspiring, oily 
 limbs gleam like polished ebony as they 
 sway back and forth over their work. Fleecy 
 cumulus clouds float overhead and are mir- 
 rored in the seas beneath. Nothing dis- 
 turbs the silence of this noonday calm but 
 the splash of the boat as she rides the 
 swell, or the harsh croak of seabirds as they 
 circle in the air. 
 
 But a contrast is soon forthcoming to this 
 picture of the skipper's masterly inactivity 
 and environment of his surroundings, for 
 his trained eye has discovered two cobblers 
 bearing down from windward. Now cobblers 
 are huge sea birds, and by their actions in- 
 dicate the presence of dolphin. If their 
 flight be lofty and circling, they are said to 
 be "searching," but if they sail close to the 
 water and dart repeatedly to its surface, 
 dolphins are near at hand. The cobbler 
 dashes at the exposed back of the dolphin 
 when he appears at the surface and gnashes 
 out pieces of flesh, which he devours. 
 
 A sight like this rouses the crew into im- 
 mediate activity, for a "cloud" of dolphin 
 
 136 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 is encountered only once of twice in an en- 
 tire season. Anxious glances are cast to 
 windward at the approaching cobblers. The 
 boat is cleared for action. Each man is 
 assigned his station by the skipper, and all 
 stand with quickened pulses eager for the 
 fray. 
 
 The shark is the bull dog of the sea, but 
 the dolphin is its hound. He is long and 
 narrow, with blunt head, brilliant eyes, pow- 
 erful tail and a leathery skin dotted with 
 blue. He weighs from twenty to forty 
 pounds, and can change color like a chamel- 
 eon. Lithe and powerful, he scours the 
 sea, the very personification of grace and 
 activity. The frantic flying-fish darts into 
 the air and skims like a flash light for a 
 thousand feet, but the dolphin follows swift- 
 ly beneath like a dark shadow and rends his 
 exhausted prey as it sinks on the crested 
 wave. 
 
 The excitement is now at fever heat, the 
 flying-fish begin to run wild, dark shadowy 
 forms are seen to windward and the fisher- 
 man mumbles his "obeah" to give him luck; 
 for on his success depend many necessities 
 for wife and child, tobacco, rum and feast- 
 day money. Suddenly our flying-fish break 
 
 137 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 from the water in a silvery shower. The 
 cobblers and seagulls pursue them in air, 
 the dolphins surround them beneath the 
 wave. At the first taste of blood the dol- 
 phins have turned into a bright orange yel- 
 low and are now said to be in their "biting 
 colors." 
 
 Both ends of the big line are worked 
 with all possible celerity. The bait scarcely 
 touches the water ere a dolphin strikes and 
 is drawn aboard while the rest crowd 
 around the boat in a dense pack as if eager 
 for the hook. The dolphins in the boat keep 
 up a ceaseless hammering with their tails, 
 battering everything breakable into a shape- 
 less mass and bruising the fishermen se- 
 verely. They present a beautiful sight in 
 their dying moments, changing color rapid- 
 ly from blue to purple, orange and yellow; 
 while overhead a noisy flock of sea birds 
 look down on the scene and mingle their 
 cries in the general hubbub. More than fifty 
 dolphins are taken in ten minutes, when 
 suddenly they become frightened and van- 
 ish, to be seen no more, leaving a panting, 
 exhausted crew covered with blood from 
 head to foot, but supremely happy. 
 
 There are other moments of happiness 
 
 138 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 to the flying-fish fisherman, but none that 
 he enjoys so much as when catching dol- 
 phin. Very rarely he meets with a "sea 
 navy," or large congregations of all kinds 
 of large fishes, including blackjack, king- 
 fish, gunnet, barracuda, dolphin, shark, por- 
 poise, bonita, bullfish and albacore. For 
 what reason these fishes assemble in such 
 vast numbers is not known. They crowd 
 together closely and churn the water into 
 foam for an eighth of a mile in all directions. 
 When a sea navy is "hailed" the fisherman 
 endeavors to get his boat into the pack and 
 then he can fill it, for at such times the fish 
 are ravenous. A large albacore will weigh 
 three hundred pounds, and it takes the en- 
 tire crew to handle him. After an hour's 
 hard playing he is drawn alongside, and if 
 there are no sharks around the best diver on 
 the boat goes overboard and puts a sling 
 around its tail, thus assuring its capture. In 
 a sea navy sharks often throng around the 
 boat and nip off half of each fish as it is 
 being drawn aboard. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon the 
 boats begin to make sail for home, and hun- 
 dreds of sails are soon seen dotting the wa- 
 ter in all directions. 
 
 139 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 There exists great rivalry among them as 
 to which shall put their fish ashore first, and 
 many a victorious boat comes surging up to 
 the wharf under sweeps, with dripping can- 
 vas and exhausted crew. 
 
 A ragged, unkempt crowd of women 
 quickly transfer the catch to round baskets 
 and start off in all directions through 
 Bridgetown, with their burdens poised on 
 their turbaned heads. Many of these women 
 will trot off at a swinging gait, carrying a 
 burden of one hundred pounds, and travers- 
 ing a distance of fifteen miles or more be- 
 fore their last fish is sold and the last cry 
 sounded of "F-e-e-sh he-e-e-r." 
 
 The Barbadian fisherman is very super- 
 stitious. All his goings and comings are 
 governed by signs; all his ventures con- 
 trolled by traditions brought from darkest 
 Africa in old slavery days. He strictly ob- 
 serves all sacred days of whatever creed. 
 His imagination pictures "duppies" walking 
 upon the water and weird figures waving in 
 the sky, which augur good or evil to his 
 welfare. Strange sounds come to him over 
 the water, and the waves eddy and swirl 
 under the influence of submarine monsters. 
 His real perils, however, are many, and the 
 
 140 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 woman often waits in vain for his home- 
 coming. The hurricanes of the summer sea- 
 son destroy many boats and engulf their 
 crews. Waterspouts rise suddenly out of 
 the sea and rend in fragments his frail craft. 
 
 He is obliged to pick his homeward 
 with the greatest nicety and precision, past 
 hidden reefs, through intricate channels, in 
 all kinds of weather, by day and by night. 
 Sometimes in the gloom of midnight he 
 pilots his way through the home channel, 
 guided only by the noise of the surf break- 
 ing against the reef on either side. Should 
 he mistake the way by a few feet huge com- 
 bers grasp his boat and hurl it with relent- 
 less force against the jagged coral. 
 
 But though his perils be many, and his 
 hardships great, he loves his calling and 
 enjoys his triumph with hook and net. Like 
 all sailors, he drinks more grog than is good 
 for him, and smokes an excessive quantity 
 of vile tobacco. He is wont to gather at 
 the wharf after the sun has gone to rest, 
 and spin his yarn and dance a reel with the 
 rest of his mates,, Under the benign sky of 
 the tropics, in a land of perpetual summer, 
 he pursues his way, improvident, careless, 
 
 141 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 untrammeled, save by the cares of a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 One who has sailed these blue waters 
 with him day by day during the tropical 
 winter will store up in his memory many 
 exciting experiences with shark and dol- 
 phin; innumerable pictures of mountain- 
 ous waves, breaking surf and intricate chan- 
 nels. 
 
 He will recall the beautiful garden be- 
 neath the water where he peered into hid- 
 den caverns, with their wealth of curious 
 shells, sponges and coral. 
 
 As he sits before the fireside of his north- 
 ern home and the snow and sleet beat 
 against the window, he will remember with 
 pleasure the days spent with his friends, the 
 flying-fish fishermen on the surface of the 
 beautiful Caribbean. 
 
 142 
 
In tropic lands, 'neath skies of richest blue, 
 Where crested wave gives back the mirrored hue, 
 The Caribbean islets tower on high 
 And bathe their peaks in fleecy cumuli. 
 
 The gentle trades course o'er the billowy deep, 
 And swathe with cooling breath their hour of 
 
 sleep ; 
 
 The fragrant lime and lowly jasmine bloom, 
 Yielding the air their tribute of perfume; 
 
 Where stately groves and palm trees fringe the 
 
 shore, 
 
 And lose their whispering in the ceaseless roar 
 Of breaking surf on dazzling coral strand, 
 Here curious shells are buried in the sand. 
 
 Oh! lovely Martinique, thou beauteous isle, 
 On thee sweet nature cast her sunniest smile. 
 Arabia's shores nor fair Hesperides 
 Can boast thy foliage, bending in the breeze. 
 
 Thou art an emerald set in turquoise sea, 
 And deck the breast of beauteous Caribbee; 
 Which, swelling gently round thee, holds thee 
 
 dear, 
 As queen of all fair islands, far and near. 
 
 The cloud compelling Pele soars on high, 
 Rearing her serrate head in proud defy, 
 Gathering the raindrops into silvery rills 
 Which wander singing down the verdured hills. 
 
 143 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 O, Josephine! thy memories clung, perchance, 
 To this thy birthplace, fairest isle of France! 
 And longing filled thy troubled heart to hear 
 Once more the silvery chimes from St. Pierre. 
 
 Once more in sunny path and quiet glade, 
 By limpid pools, 'neath cool, refreshing shade, 
 To wander forth, and thread the tropic maze 
 Fastening the lovely view in one long gaze. 
 
 [Following the destruction of Martinique, Mrs. 
 Hiram Higgins, Harry's mother, added this clos- 
 ing stanza.] 
 
 O, Martinique, proud Pelee sealed thy doom 
 Hast plunged thee in the darkest, deepest gloom. 
 And can'st thou ever hope again to be 
 The queen of all fair islands of the sea? 
 The children thou hast left in deep despair 
 Will never see again thy face so fair; 
 Where singing brooks coursed down thy mountain 
 
 side 
 The burning lava found a place to hide. 
 
 144 
 
TV TEBUCHADNEZZAR or old Neb, as 
 1 1 everyone called him, was a meek- 
 eyed, loud-voiced mule. His external ap- 
 pearance, to one uncultured in the science 
 of mule character would lead to the belief 
 that the animal before him, was of a very 
 decorous and peaceful temperament. His 
 color, a grayish brown, together with the 
 long, narrow head, and a certain subdued 
 way of casting down his eyes, fostered this 
 idea and gave him quite a thoughtful ap- 
 pearance. And then his ears those weath- 
 er-cocks of every changing mood in his dis- 
 position not a movement but meant vol- 
 umes. If Neb's ears were forward, all was 
 serene, if straight up he was hungry, while 
 a backward trend was succeeded by an os- 
 sified condition for an indefinite period. 
 But as Uncle Moses Johnson said, and Un- 
 cle Mose was an authority on mules, Neb's 
 appearance was deceitful. 
 
 The mule had become the property of 
 
 145 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Uncle Mose through my father, who being 
 unable either to work or sell him, did the 
 next best thing and gave him away. 
 
 This transfer of property did not seem 
 to please Neb, for the very next day he 
 backed Uncle Mose and a cotton bale down 
 a ten-foot embankment, into a deep slough 
 where they were found struggling in inde- 
 scribable confusion by the next team which 
 passed. 
 
 Uncle Mose had been a slave of my fath- 
 er's before the war, and after peace was de- 
 clared had insisted on staying with the fam- 
 ily, saying in his quaint way, "Ma'se Jeems 
 and me done growed up togedder. Nebber 
 cotch dis niggah leaben dis heah fambly 
 foh shuah." 
 
 A little cabin near the big house was the 
 old man's home, and here he lived, doing 
 such odd jobs as suited his declining years. 
 Gourd vines and jessamine clothed the lit- 
 tle place, while the mocking bird trilled 
 forth his melody from the big magnolias 
 which lined the lane in front. 
 
 Goober peas, yams, grass nuts and water- 
 melons grew in the little garden at the side 
 of the house, and a huge scuppernong vine 
 formed a snug arbor near the lane. To this 
 
 146 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 cool retreat on a summer day Uncle Mose 
 and I would betake ourselves, and many 
 a juicy melon here met its fate, while old 
 Neb craned his head over the fence near by 
 for an occasional bite. 
 
 Uncle Mose, Nebuchadnezzar and myself 
 were inseparable companions, and I loved 
 them both with all the ardour that fourteen 
 years can give. The long winter evenings 
 were all passed in the little cabin, and many 
 a pan of goobers were roasted over the hot 
 coals in the big black fireplace, while Uncle 
 Mose told thrilling tales of ghosts and wild 
 beasts. 
 
 One day in the fall I sauntered down to 
 the cabin as usual. The mule and his mas- 
 ter were both there, the former, with a very 
 dejected look, was hanging his long head 
 over the fence, while the latter was busily 
 stirring a huge pot of lye hominy. 
 
 I sat down on the chopping block and 
 awaited developments. Pretty soon Uncle 
 Mose looked up very solemnly and said: 
 
 "Dat's de cussedess mule dat evah was 
 bawn on dis heah plantation." 
 
 "Why, what is the matter?" I asked. 
 
 "Ise gwine gib dat mule away," continued 
 the old man. He done eat up all Miss Sal- 
 
 147 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ly's custard pies dat was out on de maple 
 stump coolin', and I clar to gracious Ise 
 gwine to sell dat mule 'fore sun down." 
 
 I was not much alarmed at the threat, for 
 I knew by experience that it would not be 
 carried out, so I said calmly, "He certainly 
 is a bad mule, but you said once that he 
 wasn't nearly so bad as Jim Smith's, now, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, sah! Yes, sah! Buddy and I says 
 so yit. Why dat mule is a kerwolloper! 
 Shoo! Why dey has to put de harness on 
 him wid a hick'ry pole, an' I clar if dey 
 don't have ter git a new pole ebbery time. 
 Fac' ! kase Ise seed um, and dey named him 
 Kerlamity, kase he kicked so many niggahs 
 right squar in two. Why, massa! Jim 
 Smith's driver, Rufus, nebber do know 
 when he gwine ter die, dat mule so cantank- 
 erous.' 
 
 "Didn't they even try to break him of 
 kicking?" I asked. 
 
 "Dey kain't, Buddy, it's no use. Now if 
 dat Rufus ud go out in de fiel at midnight, 
 like I done tole him, and pick a right smart 
 heap of hemlock balls, and say to hisself, 
 'Mule fodder charm me! Mule fodder 
 charm me!' and den go home and feed dem 
 
 148 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 balls to dat ar mule why, Buddy, dat 
 mule'd follow dat man, tame as a chicken." 
 
 "Perhaps that is the reason Neb followed 
 you down town last Easter Sunday, and 
 got into so much trouble." 
 
 Now, any allusion to Easter Sunday al- 
 ways worried Uncle Mose, for it was on this 
 particular day that Neb had broken through 
 all rules and regulations, which a respecta- 
 ble mule ought to follow. 
 
 How it happened that the pasture bars 
 were down that morning, nobody knows, 
 but certain it was that they were down, 
 and as surely did old Nebuchadnezzar avail 
 himself of the opportunity to gain a short 
 period of freedom. 
 
 He walked slowly down the lane, nib- 
 bling at a fresh bit of grass now and then, 
 and slapping his lean flanks with his short, 
 stumpy tail. At last the main road was 
 reached one way led into the country; the 
 other toward town. Here Neb paused, and 
 took a leisurely survey of his surroundings. 
 
 It was a balmy spring morning ; peace 
 and contentment were in the air; the trees 
 had already put forth their tender green 
 leaves; the fields were ploughed and sown; 
 wild flowers bloomed at the foot of every 
 
 149 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 hedge; the low monotonous hum of bees 
 came from the peach and apple blossoms 
 across the way; while the faint echo of 
 the opening hymn was borne across the 
 odor-laden air from the little brown church 
 half a mile away. 
 
 Whether it was that old Neb had an ear 
 for music, or whether it was out of pure 
 cussedness, I am not prepared to state, but 
 after gazing for a moment at the tempting, 
 green-bordered country road he slowly be- 
 took himself toward the little brown church 
 and the sweet echo. 
 
 Now, not far from the little brown church, 
 in a little brown house dwelt Miss Gallic 
 Sparks; the place was a model of neatness 
 and order, for Miss Gallic, being very prim 
 herself, liked everything prim around her. 
 
 A red-brick wall led straight up to the 
 front door; there was a little tree on this 
 side, an exact counterpart of one on the 
 other side; there was a little flower bed 
 here; ditto over there; while in the house 
 things were arranged with such mathemat- 
 ical accuracy that it fairly made one dizzy 
 to contemplate them. Even the old family 
 clock had been afraid to lose a minute in ten 
 
 150 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 years, so awed was it by Miss Callie's rec- 
 tangular mind. 
 
 Easter morning dawned bright and clear 
 for Miss Gallic, and after the chickens had 
 been fed, the dishes washed and the old fam- 
 ily clock wound, she betook herself up- 
 stairs to prepare for church, and to see if 
 her new Easter bonnet was safe where she 
 had put it the night before. 
 
 Yes, there it was with its purple violets 
 and dark green leaves a tempting bit of 
 millinery indeed; anyone would be a little 
 vain over such a work of art. So it was 
 with great satisfaction that Miss Gallic 
 started out half an hour later, and began 
 her walk to church. 
 
 There was a large congregation already 
 seated, and people were still coming in by 
 twos and threes when the old cracked bell 
 began its melancholy call for belated sin- 
 ners. 
 
 This was Miss Callie's time for arriving, 
 and here she came, preceded by old Deacon 
 Sharp, whose duty it was to show her into 
 her pew, although she had sat in it for 
 twelve years, and knew the way to it far 
 better than the deacon. It was right by 
 the window, well up in front, and by rais- 
 
 151 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 ing one's head a little, a fine view of Kene- 
 saw Mountain presented itself. In fact, it 
 was a very snug little place in which to 
 dream away the dull part of a Sunday ser- 
 mon. So thought Miss Gallic as she set- 
 tled into her retreat, and began to inspect 
 her neighbor's Easter bonnets. 
 
 The opening hymn had been sung, and 
 the minister had proceeded to fifthly or 
 sixthly. The congregation was fast settling 
 into the period of dreamy attention, which 
 the middle of a dull sermon is prone to in- 
 spire. 
 
 Deacon Sharp had fallen asleep, and the 
 playful antics of a blue-bottle fly on his up- 
 turned visage was affording infinite amuse- 
 ment to the small boys in the seat behind. 
 At this period a surprising interruption oc- 
 curred. 
 
 A huge head was thrust suddenly in at 
 Miss Callie's window ; a huge mouth opened, 
 descended and with a snap closed on that 
 dainty Easter bonnet, with its dark green 
 leaves and purple violets. 
 
 With a shriek Miss Gallic made an un- 
 availing snatch at her property, then fainted 
 dead away, while old Neb continued calmly 
 
 152 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 to masticate the remnants of the bonnet be- 
 fore the whole congregation. 
 
 Such confusion! Such commotion! Dea- 
 con Sharp awakened and yelled fire ; the 
 minister knocked the water pitcher off the 
 stand in his excitement; women shrieked; 
 men, I regret to say, used strong language. 
 Pandemonium reigned supreme. 
 
 When at last old Neb had been driven off, 
 and order partially restored, the congrega- 
 tion settled slowly into its seats to hear 
 the pastor's closing remarks. 
 
 He said that he had always endeavored 
 to curb his temper, and to preserve a kindly 
 spirit toward all creatures, whether of the 
 human or brute creation; but he suggested 
 that a deputation of church members be or- 
 dered to call upon that mule, and inflict cap- 
 ital punishment on him. 
 
 The closing hymn was then announced, 
 but the organist was found to be in such a 
 state of mental excitement that it had to 
 be dispensed with, and the congregation 
 scattered slowly to its respective homes, to 
 think over the unusual occurrences of the 
 day. 
 
 153 
 
tf owl Broke URthe Sideshow 
 
 WHEN I was a small boy living in the 
 country town of Galva, a mammoth, 
 glittering menagerie, hippodrome, circus 
 and aquarium combined was billed to arrive 
 on a certain day and give one of its world- 
 famous, unrivalled oriental exhibitions. 
 
 In due course of time it appeared on the 
 village green and I rose early in the morn- 
 ing for the express purpose of carrying wa- 
 ter to the elephants, in case divine provi- 
 dence should grant me this great boor. 
 
 After many journeys to the town pump 
 the elephant refused to absorb any more 
 water and I was permitted to enter the sa- 
 cred presence of the fat lady, the mammoth 
 boa constrictor and the wild man from Bor- 
 neo, in the side show. Zip was the wild 
 man's name and a more bespangled, be- 
 whiskered, idiotic looking creature I never 
 saw. The lecturer went on to describe Zip 
 as a most ferocious and bloodthirsty crea- 
 ture. He enumerated as one of Zip's weak- 
 
 155 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 nesses an inordinate fondness for fresh, live 
 frogs. 
 
 He said that Zip would walk ahead of 
 the show as it passed through the country 
 and in rainy weather pick up dozens of big 
 frogs in wayside puddles. These he would 
 devour instanter with great gusto. 
 
 He explained that this satisfied Zip's long- 
 ing for human flesh and kept him gentle 
 and kind, further remarking that as it had 
 been dry weather for a month no frogs had 
 been forthcoming and, consequently, Zip 
 was in a highly ferocious state and had to 
 be chained at night for fear he would eat 
 the living skeleton or the fat lady. 
 
 This produced a deep impression on my 
 mind and I went home, only to meditate on 
 Zip and his craving for frogs. The more I 
 thought, the more dejected I became, that 
 Zip should be deprived of his favorite re- 
 freshment. 
 
 Early in the morning I hurried down to 
 the creek and after a prodigious wading in 
 the soft mud I captured a dozen frogs and 
 confined them securely in an old tomato 
 can. 
 
 As soon as the circus opened its doors, 
 in a high state of excitement I entered the 
 
 156 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 side show and secured a good position in 
 front of the crowd and directly facing Zip. 
 
 The lecturer at last reached the point of 
 telling the story of Zip's intense love for 
 frogs. 
 
 Instantly, at the conclusion, I thrust for- 
 ward the opened can under Zip's nose and 
 out hopped the collection, all over the plat- 
 form. Zip fell backward off his chair and 
 his face betrayed the extreme disgust he 
 felt, while the lecturer's expression and lan- 
 guage I forbear to depict. 
 
 The show came to a dead stop. The lec- 
 turer explained that Zip had eaten two 
 quarts of decayed oysters the night before 
 and had no appetite for frogs. 
 
 I had "busted" the phenomenon, but the 
 entire circus company hugely enjoyed the 
 story and, as the elephant keeper smuggled 
 me under the canvas at the night perform- 
 ance, it served to lessen my deep humilia- 
 tion. 
 
 157 
 
Ouel&pptj F 
 
 T I 'HERE are many so-called happy fami- 
 1. lies in museums and side shows, but 
 usually the animals are overfed or drugged 
 to render them sluggish and inert. Let me 
 tell you a true story of a real, happy family, 
 raised at Galva, Illinois. 
 
 One evening, my mother received a shock 
 upon discovering a young rat quietly sleep- 
 ing in the bed with her youngest child. 
 
 Being so small he was easily caught and 
 placed in a wash tub which had been sug- 
 gested for that purpose. 
 
 My mother was opposed to the idea of 
 killing the rat herself, so she sent for the 
 family cat, a large black one, and at that 
 time the fond mother of two young kittens. 
 
 Placing her in the tub mother awaited de- 
 velopments. Imagine her surprise when 
 pussy, instead of pouncing upon the little 
 creature and killing it, as expected, began 
 quietly to stroke down its fur with her 
 tongue. Nor did the rat seem to be at all 
 
 159 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 afraid of his foster mother, and upon her 
 lying down, promptly curled himself up by 
 her side and began to nurse with all the vig- 
 or of a young kitten, while pussy purred 
 and blinked in perfect contentment. 
 
 Greatly wondering at such unnatural con- 
 duct, my mother carried the tub downstairs 
 and after making a snug bed of flannel for 
 the ill-assorted pair, retired for the night. 
 
 Meanwhile, puss was not idle, for the 
 morning light disclosed not only the adopted 
 baby but his two little foster brothers, the 
 kittens all curled up together and fast 
 asleep. 
 
 Marvel of marvels ! What is it that tabby 
 is just bringing in at the door? Sure as 
 you live another little rat, and a lively lit- 
 tle fellow, too, as he proves by kicking out 
 vigorously with his little pink legs. 
 
 He, too, is deposited with the fast in- 
 creasing family, and again does pussy go 
 out. Evidently, her family is not large 
 enough, for two more little rats are added 
 to it before she stops. 
 
 Our happy family now became a promi- 
 nent feature of the village and was visited 
 by many people who were anxious to see so 
 strange a sight. 
 
 160 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 The rats grew rapidly and were soon 
 great, sleek fellows, almost as large as the 
 kittens, whom they abused in the most un- 
 brotherly fashion. 
 
 Old Tabby was very partial to her adopt- 
 ed children, and would cuff the kittens 
 soundly whenever any disputes arose. The 
 kittens were now weaned, and strange to 
 say, pussy was constantly bringing in rats 
 and mice for their food. 
 
 Sometimes, my mother would let the 
 whole family out to play around the room, 
 but on these occasions puss was very so- 
 licitous about them and would soon catch 
 them by the back of the neck, and carry 
 them away, one by one, until all were safe 
 in their box. The rats would run all over 
 her and it seemed an unfailing source of 
 delight for them to play with her tail. They 
 would gnaw poor tabby's claws until they 
 bled and the kittens were whipped into an 
 abject state of subjection by their active 
 brothers. 
 
 Whenever the rats wanted a drink they 
 would perch on top of pussy's head and, 
 leaning over, absorb the saliva from the 
 corners of her mouth. 
 
 So many people came to see the happy 
 
 161 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 family that my mother was compelled to 
 put them out in the yard to avoid the nui- 
 sance. One night, alas, unruly neighbor- 
 ing cats found them and after a heroic 
 fight with tabby, carried her adopted chil- 
 dren off, to our great regret. 
 
 162 
 
DURING a winter's sojourn on the island 
 of Barbados, I was one day traversing 
 the narrow streets of Bridgetown when I saw 
 a sunburned Norwegian sailor approaching, 
 bearing a chattering little marmoset on his 
 arm. 
 
 The little creature was attached by a 
 string around its middle to the man's wrist 
 and was evidently in great terror of its bur- 
 ly captor. 
 
 As we brushed past each other the mar- 
 moset suddenly sprang to my shoulder and 
 from thence ran with great rapidity down 
 my arm and into my pocket, where it stren- 
 uously resisted every effort to drag it forth. 
 
 Concluding that Providence had present- 
 ed me with an interesting little pet, I hasti- 
 ly bargained with the sailor and for the con- 
 sideration of four English shillings, was al- 
 lowed to pursue my way with my hand 
 clasped gently around the warm little ball 
 in my pocket. 
 
 163 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 I soon learned that my pet was known to 
 the scientific world as Jacchus Vulgaris and 
 to the French people as the Ouistiti, while 
 in England and America it is called the 
 marmoset or squirrel monkey. 
 
 Native Barbadians nickname it "Sankey 
 Winkey," so I decided to shorten it to San- 
 key. 
 
 A few days afterward I purchased a mate 
 for Sankey on board a schooner just ar- 
 rived from Demerara and with recollections 
 of the famous revivalists I called him 
 Moody. 
 
 My little evangelists, as my friends face- 
 tiously dubbed them, were very near of a 
 size, being about seven inches long, with 
 bushy tails nearly a foot in length. 
 
 Their fur was of a dark-brown color, 
 sparsely sprinkled with gray and with par- 
 allel rings of black running across the back 
 and down the tail. 
 
 Grotesque white side-burn whiskers hid 
 their little black ears, while eyes of the pret- 
 tiest hazel, black pug noses and sharp white 
 teeth formed a countenance resembling that 
 of a veritable "jack in the box." 
 
 Both together weighed about a pound and 
 I could conveniently carry them in my 
 
 164 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 coat pocket, where their comical little faces 
 would pop out and in so quickly that stran- 
 gers would declare that I had a toy in my 
 pocket and was pressing a spring. 
 
 Sankey and Moody always slept in a ci- 
 gar box, warmly lined with wool, and when 
 it began to grow dark they would become 
 very anxious to retire. 
 
 If I did not immediately bring their box 
 they would chatter and scold at me with 
 such expressions of alarm and anxiety de- 
 picted on their wrinkled little visages that 
 I would hasten to tuck them in just to en- 
 joy their squeaks of contentment and de- 
 light as they cuddled together in the most 
 loving manner. 
 
 In the morning I would be awakened by 
 the shrillest of whistles ending with an im- 
 ploring little note which plainly said "Please 
 let me out !" 
 
 Upon being liberated they would begin a 
 play spell about the room ; chasing each 
 other under and over the chairs ; scampering 
 across bureau and bed ; leaping from picture 
 to picture or hanging from the curtain 
 cords. 
 
 If the morning were a little cold they 
 would soon become chilly and crawl into 
 
 165 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 bed with me, where they would continue 
 their frolic under the covers, giving me sun- 
 dry little bites now and then to remind me 
 that breakfast should be ready. 
 
 Fruit of all kinds they dearly loved 
 the banana being a favorite, although the 
 sour-sop, mango, sappodilla and custard ap- 
 ple of the tropics were highly esteemed. 
 
 Moody and Sankey looked upon cake and 
 milk, ice cream, candy and honey as great 
 dainties, but the delicacy par excellence was 
 a juicy, fat grashopper or pinch-bug. They 
 always regarded the latter with great cau- 
 tion, seemed to know instinctively the dam- 
 ger of its formidable pincers. 
 
 When one was captured, brought in and 
 placed upon the floor, Sankey would dance 
 around it, inspecting it carefully and with 
 much animation. 
 
 His little eyes would snap and his slen- 
 der red tongue dart in and out, while his 
 whole countenance expressed anticipation 
 of a feast yet to be gained by quickness and 
 stratagem. 
 
 Suddenly seeing his chance he would dart 
 in sidewise at the bug, and before it had time 
 to turn, bite off both pincers, after which he 
 would sit on his little haunches with the 
 
 166 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 bug in his hands and contentedly munch his 
 well-earned dinner. 
 
 Sankey was always compelled to bite off 
 the pincers on Moody's bugs, for Moody 
 was bitten in his babyhood days by a huge 
 beetle, which seemed to take away his ar- 
 dor for the pursuit of large game. 
 
 The marmoset is a delicate little creature 
 and rarely survives the cold, damp climate 
 of our eastern states longer than a few 
 months. Great numbers of them die of con- 
 sumption and pneumonia while coming to 
 this country on the steamers. 
 
 Owing to great care, my pets fortunately 
 preserved their good health until I reached 
 Chicago, when they begin to grow sluggish 
 and inactive. 
 
 Being in delicate health myself, my father 
 jocularly decided that the two marmosets 
 and the other monkey (meaning me) should 
 be bundled off to California for the winter. 
 
 So to California we went, where the warm 
 sunshine and pure air did as much for mon- 
 keys as for man. 
 
 Every morning their box would be placed 
 upon the piazza and while I sat reading 
 they would run all over the house, fcom 
 chimney to cellar, leaping from house to 
 
 167 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 tree and from branch to branch, scrambling 
 in and out among the vines; playing hide 
 and seek amid the roses, or robbing the poor 
 birds of their eggs, which they devoured 
 with great zest. 
 
 If a huge hawk or turkey buzzard hap- 
 pened to come sailing by high up in the air, 
 they would run hastily to their box with 
 cries of fear, nor would they venture forth 
 again for a long time. 
 
 The hawk, owl and snake are their great- 
 est enemies amid the jungles of the Amazon 
 river and though marmosets may be born 
 and raised in captivity they instinctively 
 dread these creatures. 
 
 One day Sankey strayed over to a tall 
 eucalyptus tree forty or fifty rods distant, 
 and a red cow happening to come walking 
 up the lane so frightened him with her bel- 
 lowing that he ran across the field to a 
 dense thicket, where after three days of 
 searching I gave him up as lost. 
 
 Poor little Moody was inconsolable and 
 became so affected by his bereavement that 
 he refused all food. 
 
 He would sit for hours in the same posi- 
 tion, uttering his plaintive little call, which 
 
 168 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 he was accustomed to use in summoning 
 Sankey. 
 
 Upon the seventh day of Sankey's ab- 
 sence I learned from a neighbor that a 
 strange variety of squirrel had been caught 
 at a distant farm house. 
 
 I at once visited the place, and to my 
 inexpressible delight found Sankey; and a 
 very woebegone looking little monkey he 
 was, too, I can assure you. 
 
 Adequately to describe the meeting be- 
 tween my pets is too great a task for my 
 pen; suffice it to say that Moody gave one 
 little cry of joy and folded Sankey in his 
 arms, while Sankey hugged Moody and 
 kissed his little black nose in the exuber- 
 ance of his glee. 
 
 For the remainder of the day these two 
 little comrades continued to caress and fon- 
 dle each other, uttering sharp, pathetic cries 
 of joy until our colored cook, who witnessed 
 the meeting, was forced to shed tears to see 
 (as she said) "two creatures love each other 
 so." 
 
 Sankey was the athlete of the two and al- 
 ways comported himself in a dignified man- 
 ner, while Moody was the comical clown 
 and was constantly wrinkling his little face 
 into the most grotesque expressions. 
 169 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Sankey could leap six feet on a level or 
 drop a distance of ten feet from one branch 
 to another, while Moody would hang by his 
 toes on a twig or turn somersaults along 
 the piazza railing. 
 
 At times Moody would catch Sankey by 
 the tail and swing back and forth with great 
 enjoyment, but he usually paid for his fa- 
 miliarity by getting his ears soundly boxed. 
 - One of the most highly valued members 
 of our household was a gray African parrot 
 named Polly, who never became reconciled 
 to my new pets. 
 
 Upon their arrival she hopped across the 
 floor and inspected them curiously, exclaim- 
 ing "Great Scott!" and "Go 'way!" trying 
 at the same time to frighten them by snap- 
 ping her beak. 
 
 Contrary to my expectations, Sankey and 
 Moody seemed perfectly able to protect 
 themselves from Polly's rather vicious at- 
 tacks by slapping her head and pulling her 
 tail, this effectively subduing her malicious 
 tendencies. 
 
 They would steal any choice tidbit which 
 might be given her and dance around in 
 great glee while Polly sat helplessly on 
 
 170 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 her perch and uttered the direst threat she 
 knew, viz.: "I'll put you in the closet!" 
 
 Moody and Sankey disliked to take a bath 
 and whenever they were bathed Polly was 
 amply revenged for all her persecutions. 
 
 She would sit back on her perch and laugh 
 immoderately at their protesting cries, 
 shouting "Oh, my!" "Hurrah for the Demo- 
 crats!" "I'll throw water on you!" making 
 at the same time a noise like bubbling wa- 
 ter. Occasionally I would put Polly in the 
 tub after bathing the monkeys and while 
 I was sprinkling her she seemed to glean 
 much satisfaction by using the most pro- 
 fane words in her vocabulary, while Moody 
 and Sankey sat near by dressing their fur 
 and watching the operation with vast en- 
 joyment. 
 
 Sankey was very cleanly and washed his 
 face and stroked his whiskers every day, 
 but Moody was more slovenly and neglect- 
 ed his toilet. 
 
 Sankey would endure this as long as pos- 
 sible, then he would capture Moody, forcibly 
 dress his whiskers, look over his fur and 
 smooth his tail, much to Moody's disgust. 
 
 Both Moody and Sankey were very fond 
 of a mirror and would stand before one for 
 
 171 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 hours, looking at their reflections. 
 
 They seemed never to understand the 
 mysteries of the glass and became lonesome 
 if I removed it. 
 
 I am glad that I cannot tell my readers 
 how these little monkeys met their death, 
 for they are with me on the piazza as I sit 
 writing. 
 
 Sankey is hunting for spiders up on the 
 water-spout and Moody is trying with all 
 his might to drag forth a gumdrop from my 
 vest pocket. 
 
 Pasadena, Cal. 
 
 172 
 
Reminder, 
 
 In the garden picking cherries, 
 Both together; 
 
 Azure sky and balmy breezes- 
 April weather. 
 
 "Maiden with the lips of red, 
 May I beg a kiss?" I said; 
 
 But she shook her curly head: 
 "Oh, never!" 
 
 "Were I a robin redbreast bold, 
 
 In the tree, 
 I'd beg a cherry from those lips, 
 
 Of thee." 
 
 But she answered with a pout, 
 "You don't know what you're about- 
 Robins steal!" 
 
 173 
 
BIDDY M'CLANE lived all alone in an 
 old tumble-down house on the out- 
 skirts of the little village of Alva. Her hus- 
 band, Michael, had been killed many years 
 before while working as a section hand, and 
 having no relatives or children Biddy had 
 to get along as best she could. 
 
 But then there was the cow such a 
 homely cow and the truck patch and the 
 hogs; not much, to be sure, but enough to 
 delight old Biddy and solace her for Mich- 
 ael's loss. 
 
 What if old Brindle was ugly, with her 
 bent horns and amputated tail; and the 
 truck patch was small, and the hogs only 
 four in number ! So long as Biddy had these 
 to comfort her she was happy. Some said 
 Biddy was unneighborly, others that she 
 was dirty and slovenly, while even the 
 small boys were prone to tease her by 
 throwing stones at old Brindle and the 
 hogs. 
 
 175 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Mrs. McClane took great pride in her 
 hogs, and had named the largest and fat- 
 test one "Phelim" in honor of her brother 
 in the "ould" country. The other three were 
 called "Paddy," "Felix" and "Timothy," af- 
 ter three deceased cousins. 
 
 There was one exception among the boys 
 who threw stones, a freckled-faced, red- 
 headed little fellow named Teddy Flana- 
 gan. Mrs. McClane was very fond of Ted- 
 dy, for it was he who had brought old Brin- 
 dle's tail home when she had inadvertently 
 switched it into Mr. Smith's fodder cutter. 
 To be sure, the tail was not worth much 
 after it had been cut off, but it showed a 
 thoughtful disposition in Teddy, and Mrs. 
 McClane appreciated it. 
 
 Teddy always hunted up old Brindle and 
 the hogs if they didn't come home at night, 
 and it was he who weeded out the truck 
 patch and hoed the cabbages. Therefore, 
 it was not strange to see Teddy enter Mrs. 
 McClane's lopsided gate one morning and 
 betake himself around the house to where 
 she was churning. 
 
 "The top o' th' mornin' to ye, Teddy, me 
 bye," said Biddy, stopping the churn. "Have 
 ye seen Phelim this mornin'?" 
 
 176 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 "No, mum, but I seed Paddy, Felix and 
 Timothy goin' down by Mrs. McGroggins' 
 as I were comin' over." 
 
 "It's Phelim that niver came home last 
 noight wid th' others, and it's worryin' Oi 
 am fur fear the poor pig is strayed or sto- 
 len." And Biddy's face grew redder with 
 the thought. "Ye must be off to onct, Ted- 
 dy, but wait till Oi get ye some cookies to 
 lighten yer heart on th' way." And Biddy 
 waddled into the house, returning with a 
 handful of cookies which Teddy carried 
 away with him on his search for Phelim. 
 
 First of all, he went over to the old race- 
 course where there was a muddy pool of 
 water, but Phelim was not there, nor could 
 he be found thereabouts. Teddy thought 
 he knew all Phelim's haunts, but a visit to 
 all of them revealed no trace of the missing 
 hog. Finally, the boy sauntered over to 
 the track and took the road leading down 
 the big grade along by the railroad. He 
 was almost ready to give up in despair 
 when he met Farmer Johnson coming up 
 the hill with a load of corn. 
 
 "Have ye seen Phelim this mornin', Mis- 
 ter Johnson?" cried Teddy, as soon as he 
 was near enough to be heard plainly. 
 
 177 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 "Who's Phelim, my boy?" questioned the 
 farmer. 
 
 "Why, McClane's pig, to be sure, an' he 
 got lost an' Oi'm huntin' him." 
 
 "I don't know anything about Phelim, 
 but there's a dead hog half a mile down 
 there on the crossing; run over by the ex- 
 press, I guess." 
 
 Teddy's heart sank and his eyes filled with 
 tears, as Farmer Johnson slowly moved on 
 up the hill. 
 
 What would Mrs. McClane do now if 
 Phelim was dead? She had intended to 
 send him to the county fair, where he was 
 sure to take the prize, and she and Teddy 
 were to have gone and seen the blue ribbon 
 tied on his neck, but now there was to be 
 no fair, no ginger-bread, pink lemonade, or 
 horse racing. These were the thoughts that 
 revolved under Teddy's shock of red hair 
 as he walked slowly toward the crossing. 
 
 Yes, there was Phelim, or all that was 
 left of him, stretched out just as the fast ex- 
 press had left him the evening before. After 
 Teddy had cried a bit, he borrowed a neigh- 
 bor's hand-cart and sorrowfully wheeled the 
 mortal remains of Phelim home. 
 
 Biddy was soon apprised of Phelim's un- 
 
 178 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 timely end, and the cart was trundled 
 around into the back yard, where many 
 tears were shed over his death. Her grief 
 was changed to wrath, however, when she 
 learned that it was the fast express which 
 had caused Phelim's undoing. 
 
 "Ochone, poor bye ! the same train as 
 kilt poor Mike! Not contint wid killin' me 
 husband, to take the bread and sup out o' 
 me mouth, but Oi'll be aven wid the com- 
 pany, Teddy, me son, and they'll have a 
 hard time wid Biddy McClane, if she is a 
 poor lone widdy." 
 
 These lamentations and denunciations 
 were interrupted by the appearance of Mr. 
 Burgison. Mr. Burgison was engaged in 
 the melancholy occupation of buying de- 
 ceased pigs, which he used for purposes of 
 soap. After the usual greeting, he delicate- 
 ly hinted at his errand, but much to his sur- 
 prise was met with a blunt refusal to sell. 
 
 "It's no use, Mr. Burgison, Oi've me own 
 use for Phelim, bad luck to them as kilt 
 him, but it's meself that'll be aven wid th' 
 coomp'ny or me name is not Biddy Mc- 
 Clane. 
 
 "The company will do what's right by 
 179 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 you," insinuated Mr. Burgison; "so you 
 might as well let me have him." 
 
 "O'ho, not they ! not they ! Not a cint did 
 Oi get for the killin' of poor Mike, and 'twill 
 be th' same wid Phelim, Oi'm thinkinV 
 
 That evening Mrs. McClane and Teddy 
 got out the big iron kettle which was used 
 for making soft soap, and in a short time 
 it was hanging over a blazing hot fire in the 
 back yard. Biddy's revenge had fairly be- 
 gun. Till late into the night did these two 
 work, Teddy bringing fresh fuel, and Bid- 
 dy stirring the sputtering contents of the 
 cauldron. No wonder the neighbors thought 
 that "Old Lady" McClane must be up to 
 her uncanny tricks again. 
 
 When at last the first grey streaks of 
 dawn began to appear in the east, Teddy, 
 under Biddy's directions, carefully loaded 
 two great pails of simmering lard on the 
 hand-cart and pushed off down toward the 
 crossing, closely followed by Biddy carry- 
 ing her best mop on her shoulder and vow- 
 ing vengeance on the company. 
 
 Engineer John Conley of the fast express 
 was a little late that morning as he pulled 
 into the village of Alva, and after he had re- 
 ceived the signal, and was running well out 
 
 180 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 of the village he opened the engine a notch 
 or two, "just to meet the grade at Dug- 
 gan's," as he expressed it. 
 
 "I never did like this stretch of road," he 
 remarked to his fireman, as he glanced 
 ahead; "in fact, none of the boys do." "Ye 
 see," he continued, "after ye've climbed 
 Duggan's and begin to run down on the 
 other side, nothin' on arth would stop ye 
 short of the curve at Old Sugar Loaf, and 
 if a piece of rock from that cliff would fall 
 on th' track, well, jest give me a snap o' th' 
 finger fur all the chances I've got here." 
 
 "Seems to me," said the fireman, "them 
 tracks looks mighty shiney ahead," and as 
 he spoke there was a sudden whirr of wheels 
 and the huge drivers spun helplessly around. 
 The heavy train gradually came to a stop, 
 nearly at the top of the grade, and passen- 
 gers and trainmen began to look out to see 
 what was the matter. 
 
 "Well, I'll be switched !" cried John Con- 
 ley, as he leaped from the cab. "See here, 
 Jim, if the tracks ain't greased fur half a 
 mile, and good lard oil at that," he added, as 
 he put his finger on the rail. 
 
 "Well! if I had the feller here that put 
 on that stuff I'd " He stopped as his 
 
 181 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 glance rested on two figures coming down 
 the grade. One was a fat old woman, mov- 
 ing along at a surprisingly rapid rate; the 
 other a freckled-faced, red-headed little boy 
 closely following her. 
 
 "Oi greased th' tracks," panted Biddy as 
 soon as she had fairly reached the spot. 
 "And to think it were out o' spite to th' 
 coompany! Oi greased th' tracks an' th' 
 saints be praised! Tell 'em, Teddy," and 
 Biddy sank down out of breath with her ex- 
 ertions. 
 
 "It was this way, sor," cried Teddy ex- 
 citedly. "Me an' Mrs. McClane mopped th' 
 tracks an' hurried up over th' hill an' down 
 the' grade so as not to get caught, an' when 
 we got to Sugar Loaf there was a big pile of 
 rock on th' track, an' " He said no more, 
 for trainmen and passengers with one im- 
 pulse started for the spot. 
 
 Half an hour later, when they returned 
 and the story was known, John Conley said 
 as he thought of his wife and babies : "Thank 
 God, old lady, and passengers, all, that Bid- 
 dy tried to get even with the company." 
 
 One evening, a week later, Mrs. McClane 
 was attending to her household duties and 
 Teddy was sitting on the gatepost, eating 
 
 182 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 cookies, when the local agent of the rail- 
 road walked down the road and into the 
 house where he presented to Mrs. McClane 
 and Teddy a check for five hundred dollars. 
 There were horse racing, prizes and pink 
 lemonade at the county fair that year, and 
 among the crowds which surged around 
 the Punch and Judy, the side shows, and 
 the performing bear, were a fat old woman 
 and a red-headed boy. 
 
 183 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 PLOT FOR A STORY (A Fragment) 
 St. Paul's rocks, the summit of extinct 
 volcanic peak. The open top leading to in- 
 ternal world or country inhabited by curious 
 beings having lights in their foreheads, etc. 
 The hero is wrecked on St. Paul's rocks and 
 happens across opening. He daringly de- 
 cends and discovers odd inhabitants. He 
 finds the heroine, who has been cast away 
 with her father and whom they hold captive 
 on account of the old man's medicinal lore. 
 N. B. Put your imagination to work. 
 
 184 
 
I'm a hypochondriac, 
 
 With a bad pain in the back, 
 
 My heart and liver are all sluffed away; 
 With rheumatics I am doubled, 
 By lumbago I am troubled, 
 
 And a hundred ether tortures of decay. 
 
 O, dear, what horrid feeling 
 
 Is that now through me stealing! 
 
 What with fever and the ague, 
 What with shiver and with shake, 
 And the medicine you take, 
 
 It seems as if the devil loves to plague yoj. 
 
 With neuralgia 2nd the mumps, 
 I am always in the dumps; 
 
 Hay fever keeps rne sneezing day and n'ght. 
 Mustard plasters by the score 
 Have kept me raw and sore, 
 
 And I've had to take the Keeley cure ai 
 Dwight. 
 
 I have a case of boils, 
 And I rub myself with oils, 
 
 I daily take my hot and cold ablutions; 
 I read with eager zest 
 All the cures that stand the test, 
 
 And ponder long on chemical solutions. 
 I'll have to stop, I fear, 
 To syringe out my ear, 
 
 And it's time to take my antibilious pill; 
 Then cod liver oil I'll gulp, 
 And my nerve-reviving pulp 
 
 O, it's awful when you feel so dreadful ill. 
 185 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 THE HAYSEED 
 
 I'm just a simple countryman, with only average 
 
 brains 
 
 The little town of Podunk is my station; 
 I'm deacon in the Baptist church, and drive to 
 
 meet the trains 
 In case a stranger needs accommodation. 
 
 I visited this town last week the first time and 
 
 the last 
 
 (You'll never catch me back again, I swear) ; 
 They buncoed me, they called me jay, and as a 
 
 final blast 
 They told me I had hayseed in my hair. 
 
 186 
 
Just as Aurora was gilding the dawn 
 I arose from my bed with a start, 
 
 For the presence of smoke 
 
 Caused me almost to choke 
 And tingled my eyes with its smart. 
 
 The hallway was filled with spirits in white, 
 And garments were flowing and few; 
 
 While infantile squeaks, 
 
 And feminine shrieks, 
 Made a terrible hullaballoo. 
 
 Mrs. Brooking retained her presence of mind 
 And hurried to turn on the faucet; 
 
 Miss Wagoner, bless her, 
 
 Proceeded to dress her, 
 As I can attest, for I saw it. 
 
 Mrs. Woolsey sent up an appeal to the sky, 
 Mrs. Harmon soon glided upstairs, 
 
 Where she donned a new gown, 
 
 Threw the other one down, 
 For sundry and divers repairs. 
 
 In pajamas attired Phillips dashed to the street- 
 The neighbors all thought he was crazy 
 
 Mr. Higgins in white 
 
 Was a beautiful sight 
 Sure the ladies all say he's a daisy! 
 
 187 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 Poor Annie was wringing her hands in dismay, 
 When the hosecart arrived on the spot, 
 
 And in her great need 
 
 Talked wholly in Swede, 
 Which of course helped the firemen a lot! 
 
 And what was the cause of this fear-kindling fire. 
 Which produced such confusion and fright? 
 
 Why, the lightning's quick bolt, 
 
 Gave the gas pipe a jolt, 
 Fused the iron, loosed the gas and started a light. 
 
 188 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 It seems fitting in this memorial volume 
 to reprint from a Chicago newspaper an 
 account of the efforts made to reach Dr. 
 H. W. Thomas, off on a vacation, to return 
 home to conduct the funeral services over 
 the body of his young friend, Harry Hig- 
 gins, who died in Chicago, August 16, 1897, 
 at the comparatively early age of 28. Dr. 
 Thomas was the pastor of the People's 
 Church in Chicago, and an intimate friend 
 of the Higgins family, especialy fond of 
 Harry. His summer home was at Spring 
 Green, Wis., a flag station about 25 miles 
 from Madison, the cottage where Dr. 
 Thomas was staying being four or five miles 
 from the station with no easy means of com- 
 munication. Reports the Chicago Herald of 
 August 16: 
 
 "Mr. Higgins, the father of Harry, first 
 wired him yesterday morning, asking him to 
 come to Chicago, and Dr. Thomas replied 
 that he would flag an express which passed 
 Spring Green about 2 o'clock yesterday af- 
 ternoon. 
 
 "Soon another telegram announced that 
 the attempt to stop the express had been a 
 
 189 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 failure, and there were no other trains sched- 
 uled to pass through Spring Green that 
 would bring him to Chicago in time. Af- 
 ter much difficulty Mr. Higgins got hold of 
 officials of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. 
 Paul Railroad and arranged to have them 
 send a special train for the clergyman. Be- 
 fore this was done, however, it was found 
 that a freight train could be run through 
 a little ahead of schedule time and take Dr. 
 Thomas to Madison, where he could get a 
 train for Chicago about 3 a. m. and arrive in 
 Chicago at 7 this morning. 
 
 "Meanwhile, telegrams had been passing 
 between Spring Green and Mr. Higgins, and 
 the doctor had promised to get to Chicago 
 if it were within the range of possibility, so 
 when the final telegram was sent telling 
 him that the freight would pass Spring 
 Green about 11 o'clock last night there was 
 uncertainty regarding the clergyman's 
 whereabouts, and the use of a special train, 
 even as a last resort, was made impossible. 
 
 " 'I am confident he will be here,' said Mr. 
 Higgins last night. 'He has been an inti- 
 mate friend of my family for eighteen years, 
 and he was especially fond of Harry. I 
 know he is as anxious to get here as I am 
 
 190 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 to have him. He and my son have been the 
 best of friends, despite the disparity in their 
 ages for the doctor is 50 and Harry was 
 barely 28 every since Harry was quite a 
 little fellow, and Harry was remarkably 
 fond of him. This fact, apart from the re- 
 gard we all have for Dr. Thomas, makes 
 me especially anxious to have him conduct 
 these last services. I am so worried by the 
 non-receipt of an answer to my last tele- 
 gram that if it would do any good I would 
 send a special even at this late hour. The 
 doctor's last telegram stated that he had fail- 
 ed to stop the express, and that he did not 
 see how he could get here. 
 
 " 'But I know he is not sitting idly re- 
 gretting the state of affairs all this time and 
 I am inclined to think that he has either 
 failed to get the telegram containing the 
 information about the freight that will take 
 him to Madison, or has started to drive the 
 twenty-five miles there, or else his answer 
 has been delayed. The telegraph service 
 has been wretched. Of course, it is Sunday 
 and the operator is not expected to be on 
 duty all day. But in spite of the silence, 
 which I confess worries me, I have every 
 confidence in the strength of Dr. Thomas' 
 
 191 
 
LITTLE PHILOSOPHIES 
 
 attachment for my poor son and I am sure 
 he will be here tomorrow morning. We 
 could not bear to have any other clergyman 
 officiate, and Dr. Thomas knows it. He has 
 been more than a friend to all of us, and I 
 am sure he appreciates how much we all 
 want him and he will come on time, I am 
 confident.' 
 
 "Harry Higgins died Saturday morning 
 and the funeral is set for this morning at 
 10 o'clock from the residence, 1733 Michi- 
 gan avenue. The interment will be in 
 Graceland. Mr. Higgins was born Sept 22, 
 1869. He has always been delicate and has 
 traveled and sought in every way to main- 
 tain his health, which has long been failing. 
 His mind was unusually active, and he pos- 
 sessed great natural ability in mechanical 
 engineering, being a draughtsman of skill. 
 If he had been endowed with health his 
 friends believe he would have become fam- 
 ous in a pursuit in which, following it only 
 for pleasure, he showed marvellous profi- 
 ciency." 
 
 [It is gratifying to state that Dr. Thomas 
 arrived in time to conduct the services. 
 S. T. C.] 
 
 192