Chatterbox, 1906 Part 126

While searching volcanic sand, Mr. Mantell came upon an immense egg-sh.e.l.l, for which he said that his hat would hardly have been large enough to serve as cup. But the size of a bird does not always indicate what that of the egg is, so this may not have been one laid by a dinornis. Thus, the Apteryx, or Kiwi, of New Zealand, a curious, almost wingless bird, lays an egg which is about a quarter of its own weight.

Madagascar, in the past centuries, had also its big bird, which has been named Oepyornis, but only fragments of its bones have been obtained, and a few eggs, mostly broken. It is reckoned, however, that, the average egg of the Oepyornis must have been a foot long, and about two feet round, six times as big as that of the ostrich. There was a fine bird, yet not equal to these giants, named the Great Auk, which used to be found at the North of Scotland, and elsewhere. It was a good swimmer and diver, but has vanished.

CROWDED OUT.

A family of mice, consisting of father, mother, and three sons, living in a large log-house, near the sh.o.r.e of a great American river, went to sleep one night without a thought of what was going to happen before the morning. Angry words and bitter spirits, I am sorry to say, were uppermost with them. Jealousy, Covetousness, Spite: these three evil spirits stirred up the brothers, and the grey-whiskered parents, although they said little, remembered that they too had often, in bygone days, entertained the same three evil spirits, and thereby set a very poor example to their children.

So, jabbering, biting, clawing, they fell asleep this night--squeaking, scratching, and snarling forth their wicked feelings even in their dreams.

What an awakening was theirs! Four or five square inches of half-decayed flooring-board was their sole home. The keen air blew about them from all quarters: the morning sky hung dull grey above their heads, and surrounding them everywhere was the river--cold, rushing, and troubled.

Yes, the floods had come, and the log-home of the mice, like many another, was now a dismantled wreck--floating, a plank here, a log there; and upon their bit of soddened plank huddled the unfortunate family.

Where were now the three evil spirits? Not on the poor little raft: there was no room for them. Jealousy? why, there was not a pin to choose between the refugees, and they knew it: there was nothing to be jealous about. They had no room even for their tails, which, almost unheeded, were soaking in the water behind them, and getting nibbled now and then by the little fishes. No, there was no room for jealousy.

Covetousness, too, was crowded out. There was nothing to covet; they had divided that bit of boarding up so equally that if the father mouse had tried to take a survey of the other side of the river he must have upset his second son in turning about. All were cold, all were wet, all miserable, starving, and despairing! No room for Covetousness? I should say not. And the spirit of Spite, the ugliest, most hateful of them all, was banished with the rest. It was the only good this trial could do to these poor mice--to bring them face to face with their wicked feelings, and by their common sorrow teach them their need of and dependence on each other. There was no gleaming of little white teeth, no biting, no clawing, any longer!

So the day wore on, till evening, cold, grey, and dark, was spreading over the troubled waters. Fortunately, they were drifted by the flood very near the sh.o.r.e, where it jutted out into the river, and at last, very, very miserable, and weak, and hungry, one by one the five suffering but penitent mice sought and found a shelter for the night in a hollow tree, the bottom of which was full of dry leaves, and as warm as an oven.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "No room for Jealousy."]

They found a delightful old farmhouse the next day, and, living in one of the sweet-scented hayricks for a time, until they could find out about the kitchen and the cook, this now happy and loving family learnt to think gratefully of that otherwise dreadful day when, adrift on the river floods, they had bidden good-bye for ever to Jealousy, Covetousness, and Spite.

MARVELS OF MAN'S MAKING.

XI.--A COLORADO RAILWAY.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

They called it the 'baby road,' when the first rails were laid near Denver City, the capital of Colorado, in the spring of 1871; and every one agreed it was a brave baby that could start upon such a wild journey. Over the lonely, snow-topped mountains, through the gloomiest gorges the route would lie. Here the whistle of the engine would be answered by the cry of the condor, or deep in the lonely pine forest would startle some ambling grizzly bear. It was in the days when the settler was still subject to attacks by marauding Indians, and civilisation had only a slight foothold among the savage byways of Colorado.

The 'baby road' was started under the guidance of a party of wealthy men from Philadelphia, and the first steps were quite easy. Denver City lies on flat ground at the foot of a long range of majestic mountains. Along the side of these the line was laid, past Pike's Peak, which rises from the plain to a height of fourteen thousand one hundred and forty-seven feet, and on to the city of Pueblo. Here the road turns westward, along the side of the Arkansas River, and a few minutes later disappears into the shadows of a mighty gorge through which the river flows. And here the troubles of the engineer began. From the sides of the stream the granite walls of the canon, or gorge, rise perpendicularly for three thousand feet. Nearly the whole of the s.p.a.ce between the base of these cliffs is taken up by the river itself, though for several miles a sufficiently wide ledge was found to lay the rails upon, just out of reach of the roaring torrent of water. But, by-and-by, a point was gained where the 'ledge' suddenly ended, and for some hundreds of yards the River Arkansas took up the whole s.p.a.ce.

Then the engineer had to think. First, it seemed advisable to use gunpowder and blow away the face of the cliff until sufficient s.p.a.ce was made to carry the railway. But the gorge is so narrow, and the rock is so hard that the plan did not seem a good one. Finally it was decided to build the railway along a hanging bridge. And this bridge is surely one of the most curious ever erected. From the cliff-face on either side, iron girders spring at an upward slant, like an inverted V, and from the point at which they meet, steel rods descend. These are securely fastened to the river-side of the bridge. The other side of the bridge is built into the cliff-face. Thus it is neither a suspension bridge nor an arch bridge, but is sustained by the strength of the overhead girders. To make this structure, the workmen, with their tools, had to be swung in cages against the cliffs, and it was no easy task, in such a confined s.p.a.ce, to manoeuvre the girders into their proper positions.

One of the princ.i.p.al desires of those who were laying this railway, was to get it done quickly. There were wealthy mining regions to be reached by it over the high mountains, and to reach them quickly meant prosperity. Improvements could come afterwards. Consequently it would never do to make tunnels if they could be avoided, even if great distances had to be travelled. In England, tunnels do not count for very much because our mountains are not large, but in Colorado a tunnel would be a serious thing, particularly for a 'baby road.' When the walls of the deep and gloomy canon at last widened out into the broad valley, the engineers found themselves faced by the still vaster wall of snow-capped mountains. As it was impossible to go through them they would have to be climbed. The only way to do this was to go up them in a zig-zag--backwards and forwards. Miles and miles are often traversed to make only a little progress, and if after looking out of one window you cross the carriage to look out at the other, you must not be surprised to find yourself quite close to some place you remember pa.s.sing half an hour ago. But you are higher up the mountain, and by-and-by a point is reached at which the trees have ceased to grow. The patient engine has dragged its train into the snowy region, too high and cold for spruce or fir to live in, and a little later the line begins to descend on the other side. The laying of this zig-zag railway was far more difficult than it looks, for great skill had to be exercised in choosing the proper places for the curves, and managing the road so that no parts of it were too steep. On one such railway in America the train travels more than four miles between two places only one mile and a quarter apart in a direct line.

Our 'baby road,' in crossing the mountain just described, climbed to a height of nine thousand three hundred and forty feet--at that time the highest point ever reached by a railway; and the first train pa.s.sed over it on 16th June, 1877. Among these mountains, in certain places, where, in winter, avalanches of snow are likely to occur, long sheds like tunnels are strongly built over the railway. So terrible are these avalanches at times that the wind they cause in rushing down the mountain-side has been strong enough alone to uproot the forest trees.

The sheds are so built as to form no resistance to the sliding ma.s.s, which pa.s.ses easily over their sloping roofs till they are like tunnels cut through a mountain of snow. Their walls are formed of pine-logs laid on one another in the form of hollow squares, the s.p.a.ce being filled with ballast and small stones.

But our railway has pa.s.sed the top and is plunging down to the mining district of San Juan, there to pa.s.s through more of those deep canons.

No other railway, perhaps, can claim to traverse such a variety of scenes; but mountain and canon did not delay it half as much as disputes with another pioneer company that claimed the path it wished to take.

Some ten years after it had started from Denver City, however, these disputes came to an end, and the difficult road was pursued right and left. It is hard to say if it will ever cease to grow in length, since the merchants are ever finding fresh markets of fruit and minerals for the engineers to take the iron road to. But since the spring day in 1871, when it first started from Denver City, it has grown in width as well, for the narrow road which was laid down at first for the sake of saving time, has been replaced with metals the same distance apart as those on other American railways.

MR. AND MRS. BROWN'S JOURNEY IN THE FAMILY COACH.

The following is a story written for the 'Family Coach,' a game in which the players sit round the room, whilst some one reads (or tells) a story, in which the names of the different parts of a coach frequently occur. The players each take a name, at the mention of which the owner of it rises and turns round, on penalty of a forfeit. Each time the _Family Coach_ is mentioned all the players change places. The following are names which might be given to the several players: John Brown--Coachman--Cushions--Rugs--Step--Horses--Whip--Dog--Windows--Seats --Wheels--Curtains--Door--Lamp--Box.

Whilst sitting by the fire one night _John Brown_ said to his wife, 'My dear, I think we'll go and see your sister, Mrs. Fife; We'll travel by the famous _coach_ owned by the good John Brown, There's not a better _coach_ and man in any market town.'

The morn was bright and frosty, and there the _Family Coach_ Stood ready in the stable-yard of the fine old inn, the 'Roach.'

The _coachman_ was arranging his _cushions_ and his _rugs_, And pa.s.sengers were giving their friends their parting hugs.

'Now fare ye well,' 'good-bye to you,' and 'may you be safe to-day;'

'Oh, accidents,' the _coachman_ said, 'are never in our way.

The _step_ is very easy, not high at all,' he said, 'And you'll find the _cushions_ quite as soft as any feather bed.

The _horses_ are good, fast ones, they never need the _whip_, But the _whip_, of course, I always take in case of any slip.

My good _dog_, Bruno, always comes, so I hope you'll not object, My pa.s.sengers in danger he would pluckily protect.

The _windows_ are so very large, they make it cheerful too; So you may view the country, which to some may be quite new.

Come, take your _seats_, this _Family Coach_ it can no longer wait, Or else at night,' the _coachman_ said, 'we shall be very late.'

The _whip_ he cracked, the _wheels_ went round, so very, very fast, The people at each other some anxious glances cast.

The _coachman_ said his _horses_ were the steadiest in town; 'I'm sure I don't agree with him,' cried frightened _Mrs. Brown_.

'Take care, my dear, or I am sure you will jolt off your _seat_: 'Indeed, I'm sure I shall be glad when we your sister meet.'

The _dog_ by this was far behind, but now there was a hill, Up which the _coachman's horses_ walked, and at the top stood still.

''Twas down this hill,' the _coachman_ said, 'that Benson's got smashed up, When his _dog_--Bruno's mother--was but a little pup.'

And so they travelled on again through village and through town, But all around the country now looked white instead of brown; For snow was falling thickly, and the _rugs_ about their feet Did not feel half as warm and snug as when they took their _seat_; The _step_ outside was covered o'er with snow some inches thick, The hedges, they were covered, too, you scarce could see a stick.

'This _Family Coach_ was said to be the warmest in the town; My dear, I don't agree again,' said angry _Mrs. Brown_.

'Let's draw these _curtains_, for my _seat_ is in a horrid draught;'

At which the other pa.s.sengers looked up, and then they laughed.

'There's very little light comes through these _windows_ now,' they said; 'And if these _curtains_ are drawn round, we might all be in bed.'

'I never go to sleep until I've had a supper good, And among my fellow-pa.s.sengers I don't see one who would.

I'm much afraid we shan't get one, at any rate to-night; The _wheels_ scarce go, this _Family Coach_ is in a pretty plight!

Let's put the _dog_ inside with us, he is so cold, poor chap; And he may sleep upon this _rug_--if you object, my lap.'

The _coachman's whip_ was broken quite, he urged the _horses_ so, But all this was of no avail, the _horses_ could not go.

'The snow has drifted high,' the _coachman_ opened the _door_, and said, 'I do believe the _horses_ are very nearly dead.

I never knew this happen to my _Family Coach_ before, And if I'd known I would have brought two good, strong _horses_ more.

The _horse_ that is the least done up is jolly little "Clown,"

And by your leave, if you'll stay here, I'll ride off to the town; In two good hours I will come back with four good _horses_ more, And long before the morning comes you'll find your own friends' door,'

They shouted out as in one voice, 'And, _coachman_, if you please, Do bring us something back to eat, if only bread and cheese!'

'All right!' the _coachman_ said; 'and here's my _lamp_, for it is dark, Although the little light it gives is not more than a spark.

If you, good sirs, would take my place, and mind these _horses_ three, The ladies on the _cushions_ quite warm and snug might be.

This _Family Coach_contains a _box_, and in it you will see A poker and some other things, and they might useful be.'

With this the _coachman_ said 'Good-bye,' and mounted on the 'Clown.'

He left the _Family Coach_ to reach Braintree--a market town.

A hunt was made, the _box_ was found just underneath the _seat_, The ladies lay on _cushions_ with _rugs_ wrapt round their feet.

'I'll take this good strong poker,' said brave old _Mr. Brown_, 'And if a robber comes to me I just will knock him down!

Look sharp! here's some one coming! Oh, dear! what shall I do?

I would jump into the _Family Coach_ if the _door_ would but undo.

Oh, if I could but get in safe!' cried out poor _Mr. Brown_; 'I'm sure I always will again stay in my little town.