NOTHING in a ship becomes so closely identified with her throughout her whole career as the ship's bell. Officers and crew come and go; masts, decks, engines, and boilers become old, and are replaced by new ones; but from the day that she first glides into the water the same ship's bell remains always a part of her, marking her progress all over the world, and finally going down with her to a lonely grave at the bottom of the sea, or surviving her as a cherished souvenir of her existence and achievements. On a man-of-war the bell is usually inscribed with her name and the date of her launching; and as it is probable that it may some day become a memento of a glorious history, the bell is often the subject of special care in casting or selection. Sometimes the hundreds of workmen who have built the great ship contribute each a silver coin to be melted and molded into a bell which shall be the token of their love for the object of their creation and their interest in her future career. Often the people of the city or State after which a man-of-war is named may present to her a magnificent bell appropriately ornamented and inscribed with words of good-will and good wishes. Such a bell is usually presented with ceremony after the ship goes into commission.

Ships' bells in general are made of bronze, like other bells. The addition of silver in their composition gives them a peculiarly clear and musical tone. They are placed in such a position on the upper deck that they may be heard from one end of the ship to the other; and are usually near the mainmast or at the break of the forecastle. One peculiarity exists in a ship's bell which is necessary on account of her motion at sea. The tongue is hung so that it can swing in only one direction. If it were the bell would be continually ringing as the ship rolled and pitched. The direction in which the tongue can swing is another impor

tant point. If it were athwartships the bell would ring at every heavy roll of the ship; and if it were fore and aft the bell would ring at every deep pitch; so the direction in which the tongue can swing is nearly half-way around between these two.

The ship's bell is the regulator of all her daily routine. It rings out to her officers and crew that the time has come for them to do certain things. It tells when it is time to make the ship tidy for inspection, and when it is time to go to drills; it tells the navigator when to take his sights, and the watch-officers when to go on watch; it tells the portion of the crew below decks when to come on deck, and those on deck when they may go below to rest or sleep. It is struck by hand whenever the ship's clock marks the hour or half-hour; but it is struck in a peculiar way.

On board ship the twenty-four hours of the day are divided up into periods of four hours each, called watches. Beginning at eight o'clock in the evening, the four hours from then till midnight make the first watch; the four from midnight until four o'clock in the morning make the mid-watch; the four from four until eight o'clock in the morning make the morning watch; the four from eight o'clock in the morning until noon make the forenoon watch; the four from noon until four o'clock in the afternoon make the afternoon watch; and the four from then till eight in the evening make the dog-watches.

The crew of a ship is usually divided into two parts, also called watches; and at sea one watch is on deck and on duty for four hours while the other is below, resting or sleeping. At the end of four hours they exchange places. They are named for distinction the starboard watch and the port watch. When not at sea all hands are on deck, and each watch does the work during the day on its own side of the

ship, except a few special men who stand in watches as at sea.

You can easily see that, since there are six watch periods in a day and two watches of men, the same men would have the same period of watch every day. This is prevented by dividing the watch from four in the afternoon to eight into two equal parts called the first dog-watch and the second dog-watch. That makes an odd number of watches in each day, and changes the rotation for the men.

The day being divided into watches, the strokes of the bell tell off the hours and halfhours of the watches. Thus at the end of the first half-hour of the watch the bell is struck once, at the end of the full hour twice, at the end of the next half-hour three times, and so on until at the end of the fourth hour it is struck eight times. Then it begins over again for the next watch. You will notice that all the odd numbers of strokes are on half-hours, and all the even numbers on the hours. If you ask a sailorman on board what time it is, he will not tell you in hours and minutes, but in bells. Thus if he says, "It has gone seven bells, sir," you will be pretty sure to know what portion of the day it is in, and can tell at once whether he means half-past eleven, half-past three, or halfpast seven. The bells are struck from one to eight through the dog-watches, the same as in any other watch.

On a war-ship the bell is struck by the messenger-boy of the officer on watch. He takes the clapper in his hand and makes the strokes in groups of two, struck quickly, with a slight pause between, and the odd bell, if it is a halfhour, is struck last. Thus five bells are struck ting-ting, ting-ting, ting; six bells, ting-ting, tingting, ting-ting; and so forth.

Only once a year do they strike more than eight bells on board ship, and that is at midnight on New Year's Eve. When twelve o'clock is announced that night the officer of the watch calls out, "Strike eight bells!" then, "Strike eight more for the new year!" Sixteen bells then ring out in loud vibration, arousing every soul by their unusual number, and announcing to everybody, from the captain down to the ship's cook, that the old year is gone and they have entered upon a new year.

THE BELL IS STRUCK BY THE MESSENGER-BOY OF THE
OFFICER ON WATCH."

under way may hear, and keep clear of her. On a man-of-war three strokes each time are given, the odd stroke being made first in order to make the ringing different from the third half-hour of the watch. Thus the fog-bell of a war-vessel rings out ting, ting-ting every two or three minutes while the fog lasts. Merchant vessels simply ring the bell rapidly five or six times, then stop, then ring the same way again after a few minutes' pause; but on board of a man-of-war this would mean "Fire!" and would bring her whole crew rushing on deck, leading out hose, grabbing buckets, and starting pumps. This fire-signal is rung on our naval vessels at least once a week for drill,

and all the officers and men have regular stations at hose and pumps, to which they go as fast as they can, and start streams of water flowing just as if there were a real fire. In these drills officers' servants usually form a line with buckets to take water from a deck-pump and throw it on the fire. Of course when there is no real fire the streams from the hose are pointed over the side, and the buckets are passed along and emptied overboard.

On a certain man-of-war on the Pacific station a few years ago the officers had Chinese servants; and although they could scarcely speak a word of English, they were quick to learn what was shown to them, and soon did like clockwork the fire-drill with buckets. One day there was a real fire. Volumes of smoke poured up from the fore hold, and it took several streams of water nearly an hour to put out the flames. When the fire was under control some one thought of the Chinamen; and behold! there they were, ranged in line and in plain sight of the smoking hatchway, rapidly passing their buckets along, but emptying them over the ship's side as they had been taught to do!

On Sundays when divine service is held on board a man-of-war the bell is tolled slowly,

one tap at a time, before the service begins, to let the officers and men know that it is churchtime. During the service a long white pennant on which is a blue cross is kept flying over the ship's flag. The bell is also tolled in the same way during burials at sea.

Other bells which give information to those who navigate ships at sea are the fog-bells of lighthouses. Nearly every lighthouse has its fog-bell, so that when the coast is hidden by fog in the daytime, or the rays of the lighthouse lamp are shrouded by fog at night, the great bell is set going by clockwork to ring out a warning to passing vessels and make them keep clear. Some lighthouses have a big steam fog-horn instead of a fog-bell. When one of our men-of-war passes near a lighthouse in the daytime, its keeper strikes the fog-bell three times as a salute, and the man-of-war returns it by blowing three whistles.

At the entrance to harbors there is often a buoy with a bell on top which rings incessantly with every lurch as the buoy is rocked by the waves, so that in a fog or in the darkness of the night vessels can find it by the sound, and then know that they are at the mouth of the channel which leads to a safe anchorage.

Bells thus play an important part at sea.

It happened in the Isle of Wight, far back in the days of the Crimean War, and it is a true story, for I have heard my mother tell it many times.

The Little Girl was only three years old; in fact she was celebrating her third birthday. Her mother was with her, and her brother, a beautiful five-year-old, in a holland blouse. The picture of the children, as they looked all those long years ago, hangs in the home of the writer's parents, so that it is easy for her to describe their appearance. They were slender children, with blue eyes, pink cheeks, and bright curls.

On that August day in the far past the Little Girl's curls were snooded with a blue ribbon and crowned with a wreath of blue speedwells and forget-me-nots, because it was her birthday, and because the young mother thought the flowers matched her eyes. She wore a blue frock and a pinafore of fine white lawn.

The birthday feast was spread on the top of a low haystack in the barn-yard of the farmhouse in which the children and their parents were spending the summer. There was a birthday cake and other goodies-"Isle o' Wight doughnuts," of course, and "Isle o' Wight junket." You have never tasted junket as these islanders make it. It is a glorified clabber, covered an inch deep with thick, yellow cream, and scattered with " Hundreds and Thousands." These wonderful little red and blue pellets, so tiny that you cannot count them, do not grow on this side of the ocean, but on the other side they were the sweet delight of the children of the long ago.

The snowy table-cloth was strewn with wild flowers, because the feast took place in the Island of Flowers. A blue awning protected the heads of the revelers from the old-fashioned August sun; and beyond the green of the rab

bit-warren and the rush-grown common they could see the rolling downs and the white cliffs and the blue and shining sea.

There was only one drawback to the children's enjoyment, and that was a flock of geese that jabbered and stretched their long necks at them. The children did not like geese. They had run away from them, hand in hand, too often-running for their lives, as they almost believed in those days. However, their mother was with them this time; and, after all, though the neck of a goose is terribly long, it cannot quite reach to the top of a stack.

Suddenly there appeared in the barn-yard a tall man with flowing black hair. He wore a black sombrero, and a blue cloak with a velvet collar. His eyes were certainly of the near-sighted kind, but they were dark and lustrous, and his clean-shaven, beautiful mouth was curved with one of the sweetest of smiles.

The mother of the children had never seen the poet before, although her husband had met him; but she knew Alfred Tennyson at once. A voice gruff but not unattractive accosted her thus:

"Pray who are you? And how did you get up there?"

"I am G- B—'s wife, and these are our children. We climbed up here, and we are having a feast because it is our little girl's third birthday."

He laughed and said, "Hold up the child that I may see her."

The proud young mother obeyed, and then he stretched out his arms and cried, "Drop her down! Don't be afraid! Mrs. Tennyson and the babies are in the carriage. She can't get out, so come down and see her."

So the Little Girl was dropped into the poet's arms, and he said: