Telegram Herald

SNOOKS A-RAMBLING

HE IS A CASTAWAY ON AN ISLAND.

His Vessel Goes Ashore and the Crew Has to Wade to Land at 9 O'Clock in the Morning—He Digs a Cave.

On Board the Rambler, Oct. 1, 1887.

I just got a chance to put my letter to you on board the steamer Lawrence so I will start a new one. We had a hard time of it running into Charlevoix harbor last night. The fog was so thick we could not see a boat length. For hour after hour we could hear the orders on deck, such as "How is she heading?" "Sou'west by west." "Let her fall off a little. Steady, old her there." "Aye. Aye." "Bring her up." "Down with her! Jam her down hard." Blank-it-all, she began to smell the bank then. "Steady as you are." "Steady it is." At last we spied the Charlevoix light, close aboard and soon put in and tied to the dock where we had a rousing good supper and fried eggs, hot coffee and mashed potatoes.

We were disappointed in getting Capt. Cook after all for sailing master, as he was obliged to sail his own vessel, the "Birdie," which was unexpectedly ordered to Ludington. She put in here the same evening we did. This morning we came out of harbor dead before the wind, in wake of the "Fleet Wing" half a mile head. In eight hours we had passed her and left her nearly hull down. Fisherman's Island was on our port bow at 11:30 a. m., and Captain Holmes pointed out the shoal where the Champlain grounded and burned last Spring, losing twenty-two lives. At 2:15 we were abreast of Grand Traverse Bay and after a good dinner enjoyed a smoke and chat on deck.

Oct. 2.—Last night we had a full moon all the evening on our port bow and I never saw more beautiful effects of moonlight. The water looked like sparkling jewels being dashed from side to side by some invisible hand. It was too nice to leave so none of us turned in, but sat on deck smoking our cigars and telling yarns, while the jolly Rambler bounded over the waves with a "bone in her teeth," as the sailors call the line of white foam at the cutwater. "I can understand now what is meant by the music of the waves," said Professor Black, as he puffed out a ring of smoke.

"Yes," remarked Capt. Holmes, "for instance we might get a 'high C' before morning."

"That's so, but if we don't the waves will 'B flat,'" said Skinner.

"His, ha, ha," laughed the Captain, "Come, Soliman, get there, it's your play."

"No; Capt., I can't do it. I can't 'C sharp' enough to tell how the weather will 'B'" said I, as calmly as if my entire reputation was not at stake.

Pretty good; come, Professor, your turn." cried the Captain gaily.

"Oh, dear! I can't raise you, I think I will have to pass for 'A flat,' boys."

"Good again, now I will give you a musical conundrum that I composed last night," said I.

"Why are tunes sung to a maiden upon the kitchen stoop, so dear, more sure to win than if you breathe a loving sigh into her ear?"

"That is too much for me," said Capt. Holmes, "I pass, you have raised me out" said Skinner. "I can't see your blind" said the Professor. "Well then, I will tell you. It is because a sigh never beat stoop airs." "By the great horn spoon!" cried Skinner, as he tumbled off his camp stool.

"...Does your hat fit you this morning Soliman," inquired Capt. H. concernedly. "I move that this conundrum be spread upon the records of this expedition" said Prof. Black. Motion carried.

After lots of fun and joking we at last turned in and was rocked to sleep by the "rollers," to be awakened every ten minutes by noises on deck.

The latter part of last night was pretty rough, after all, and all night the tramp of feet on deck as Tom Tasbeels rushed forward to reef the foresail or get in the jib, or pull down the topsails and one thing and another, kept me awake pretty near all night. Tom wears No. 11 boots, with hobnails in 'em, and makes a terrible racket on deck.

I am not stuck on writing when the ship is rolling as it is now, and I don't know whether you can read this or not.

We have been beating up all day against head winds, and make slow progress. As I write this there is every prospect of a gale, and Cap. says we will "have a night of it." He is going to make the Manitou harbor if possible and "let go his hook." I don't know whether he means a fish-hook or not. Skinner says sailors never say "anchor." A regular thoroughbred always says "hook" for anchor.

On Some Confounded Island, Oct. 3—

Well, it's come at last. I've expected it all the time, and now I've got it. We are shipwrecked on an unknown island. How I can ever mail this letter to you is more than I know, but I will "keep up the log" and trust to luck. I write this on the cover to the fore hatch, which we are using for a table. The wind, rain and fog last night made a night long to be remembered on Lake Michigan. We ran on under bare sticks last night until the Captain completely lost his reckoning and also his plumb bob overboard. Skinner also lost his supper. After dashing about in the rain and fog about four hours we spied land close aboard on our starboard bow and let go our right bower. That was no good, so we played our left. This held us for a while and we sort of turned in with our clothes on, leaving Tom as anchor watch. About 2 a. m. we were all routed out by the cry of "On deck! On deck! We are going ashore!" Great snakes. I never was so kerflumuxed in my life. After tumbling over each other two or three times and after I had stuck my foot through the Professor's hat, we got on deck.

Sure enough, we were dragging our mud hooks and going ashore fast. The wind was blowing a hurricane, and the breakers went by us like race horses. In two minutes we struck and began to pound. We got our grip sacks out where they could be got at, and prepared to jump, but in the mean time Cap and Tom let out the anchor chains which allowed our bow to swing round to the shore throwing the vessel on her beam ends among the breakers.

Out we jammed and waded ashore, only getting our feet wet and saving ourselves and baggage.

I will draw this letter to a close now and seal it up, as it is long enough, but I shall start another at once so as to give our further adventures on this island. We have got a house fixed up and a cave dug in the bank already, so we are quite comfortable. Yours completely shipwrecked,

SOLOMAN SNELLSHANK.