He is here again on the back of a shadow, It 's ho for the sprite that lives on the hill! A whiff of sweet from the wood or the meadow ! He tickles the rib of a fat old toad; VOL. XXIV.-92. THE CHESAPEAKE MILL. BY WILLIAM ABBATT. If there is a naval fight in our history about probably done in the harbor of Southampton, which every school-boy ought to know,-to for her timbers were sold to one John Prior, use an expression of which historians are rather the owner of a flour-mill in the little town fond, it is the sea-fight between our man- of Wickham, near Southampton. He pulled of-war "Chesapeake" and the British "Shan- down his mill, and used the great beams of non," off Boston harbor, on the first of June, the American frigate in building a new one. 1813. It has been so often told that I will not The great deck-timbers, thirty-two feet long tell it over again except in the briefest way. and eighteen inches square, served for floorThe Chesapeake was captured, chiefly or alto- beams in the mill, and the smaller ones for gether through the mutinous conduct of part uprights, all without being cut or altered in any of her crew, who refused to work the cannon way. Of course many of them were full of the on her lower deck at all. Captain Lawrence shot fired by the Shannon in the fight, and the and Lieutenant Ludlow were killed, or, to be shot are there still. exact, the captain died of his wounds four days after the loss of his ship, and the Shannon took her prize into the harbor of Halifax, where her arrival caused the greatest rejoicing. The dying words of Lawrence, as he was carried from the deck, "Don't give up the ship!" have been familiar to our boys and girls for more than eighty years. It is these words that make the combat most memorable. They are a good motto in every trouble of life. Don't give up the ship - don't despair, lose heart, surrender, but take courage, and, like General Grant, "Fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." With the Chesapeake's entrance into Halifax harbor all trace of her disappears from our smaller histories. Some years after the war of 1812 was over, the English naval authorities decided that the Shannon was useless, and had her broken up. I think, if they had realized how much romance was in after years to attach to the story of the fight, they might have kept the old ship in repair, as Admiral Nelson's old "Victory" has been preserved. The Chesapeake was sent to England, where she must have been an object of great interest; but in 1820 she, too, was taken to pieces. This was When I learned of the strange end of the old ship, the story of which I had read as a boy with no less interest, I hope, than do the boys of to-day, I determined to secure a picture of the mill built of her timbers,-- and here it is. It is not so impressive as some other pictures in the world, for the mill is not very large. Several like it could be put inside any one of the great mills at Minneapolis, and still leave plenty of room for work; but then, it is the Chesapeake Mill (that is the name it has always gone by), and, so far as I know, this is the only picture of it ever made, and certainly the only one in America. I wanted especially a photograph of the interior, but the photographer declared the place was so dark, and so full of machinery, that it was impossible to take a satisfactory picture. I think a Yankee with a kodak, however, would try it, and I hope one will before long. As you see, the building is a squat, brick affair, without a sign of beauty about it; but it will always be of interest to patriotic Americans. Many years ago, a life of Captain Broke, the commander of the Shannon during the action, was published in England, and from it we may make an extract describing the mill: 66 Nothing ship-like or of the sea was to be seen from the outside [of the mill]. A large cigar-box made of the polished pine of the ship, and bearing the word 'Chesapeake" in brass nails, stood upon a table. The beams were marked in many places by grapeshot. The mill was merrily going, but as I stood there I remembered that on one of those planks Captain Lawrence fell, mortally wounded, Captain Broke almost so, and the first lieutenant of the Shannon and the third of the Chesapeake died. Thus pondering, I stood, and still the busy hum of the peaceful mill went on. The cigar-box spoken of has disappeared, and the present owner of the mill knows nothing of its whereabouts. The old mill is likely to stand for many years, the only visible reminder of the great sea-fight of 1813, except the tomb of the gallant Captain Lawrence in Trinity Church DRAWN BY HARRY FENN, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY THE AUTHOR. THE CHESAPEAKE MILL. yard, New York, on which are deeply cut a brief story, of the battle, and the young captain's immortal words, " DON'T GIVE UP THE SHIP!" FROM THE ISLAND OF CEYLON TO THE DRY TORTUGAS. BY H. D. SMITH, Captain in the United States Revenue Cutter Service. S a relief from the routine of life on shipboard, the writer has often rambled over miles of wild sea beach and stretches of smooth, shifting sand. There is great pleasure in listening to the deep-toned breakers, and in watching the ever-changing tints of the opaline waters. The solitude is unbroken save by the deep breathing or pulsations of old Ocean and an occasional complaining note from some sea-fowl. During such rambles an interest in shells began. The many bright-colored treasures along the beach must arouse in the hearts of the most indifferent at least a recognition of their beautiful shapes and wonderful colors. The result of my study of shells has been a collection of shells representing many parts of the globe, and the sight of some of the shells recalls a day of adventure, or such a little "yarn" as is always relished by the youthful listener. Of course my interest in shells has led me to study the science of shells - conchology- and to notice interesting items upon the subject wherever met with. The researches of the famous English cruiser "Challenger" revealed many secrets held long concealed by old Ocean; and while exploring the bed of the Atlantic for the pathway of the cable, shelled animals were obtained at a depth of 1900 fathoms, or about two miles, and specimens have been secured in 2425 fathoms, or nearly three miles. Probably the finest shells known come from the isles of the South Seas, cast up on the sloping beaches of these ever green emeralds of the ocean by the breakers of the mighty Pacific. At Cebu, in the Philippine Islands, the writer has found some of the rarest shells in his collection, and has bought shell cups and spoons made from the univalve shells. When they are cut, cleaned, and polished the interior shows a vivid orange tint mingled with a pearly coating. Strewn along the beaches of numerous South Pacific islets, all but unknown to the average navigator, is found the Pearly Nautilus, supposed by seamen to be furnished with a membrane which serves as a sail. There are four species to be seen living. Here too the beautiful Natica, a species of marine gastropod, with its glassy shell regularly streaked with yellow bars, is found in its sandy hiding-place. Here also is the beautifully polished and tinted Oliva. Fine specimens of mother-of-pearl may be found, and a perfect kaleidoscope of intermingling color greets the eye at every step. On one of the countless islands of the South Pacific, while gathering shells, not noticing that the sun had nearly set and deep shadows were creeping out from the banana and cocoa palms, I heard an unusual commotion among a combined party of monkeys and parroquets that were in a beautiful fan-palm whose branches reached to within a few feet of the feathery, tumbling surf. The search for shells would have led directly under the rustling foliage, and but for the noise made by the birds and monkeys this story about shells would probably never have been written. Coiled amid the thick leaves and vines was a big snake, I think a boa-constrictor, whose flashing eyes and great jaws came into view as I cautiously advanced. One glance was sufficient. I had no weapons, and I made a retreat to the little boat on the beach. The island was left in a hurry, and the rapidly growing darkness, coming at once after the tropical sunset, effectually shut out all objects from view. But the lesson taught by that meeting was not forgotten; and from that day, whenever indulging in a ramble on unknown ground, I have carried a gun. At Singapore the opportunities to secure shells of great variety in colors, forms, and sizes are not surpassed at any point in India. Here may be found specimens from all parts of the Malayan Archipelago, the coasts of Siam, Burma, Ceylon, and China. Mother the nautilus or spider-shell, are obtained here, and are considered curiosities. They are of all shapes and forms, resembling baskets, stars, and diamonds, but none is to be found larger than a pin's head. Just across the famous old Straits of Malacca is the sultanate of Johore. Re ceiving permission to view the little Malay country, the writer, assisted by two trained and armed shikarries, improved the opportunity to secure some shells. Engaging the shikarries was a wise precaution, as the shell district at one point borders on the confines of a dense jungle where tigers were known to lurk. There were many beautiful specimens of tree-shells as well as of "green snail," a strictly land species of short, spiral form, in color a pale, greenlemon tint, suffused with yellow. Suddenly my labors were interrupted by the elder shikarry, whose deep guttural exclamation and eyes flashing with excitement attracted my attention. "Hist, sahib!-be wary," he whispered. "Look, there is Kya! Kya!" (Tiger). I must confess this startling piece of news |