The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 13, 1896, Page 25

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1896. 25 Lost His Birthday The Liine on Earth Where the Day Begins Mystery of a Tour of the World Go- ing Either Way On the 24th of March, 1890, George Fran- cis Train, on his flight around the world— the fastest tour on recora—crossed the 180th meridian of longitude. That is tosay, it was the 24th of March, at9 o’clock in the morning, when the old remodeled Cunarder approached the line of the 180th degree. When she had pass:d over—a matter of a few seconds—the date became 9 o’clock of the morning of the 25th of March. Now the 24th of March happens to be Train’s birthday. The fact that by the coincidence of his ship crossing the dividing line between the day and o-morrow, or the day and yester- day, as the case may be, upon the outset of his great journey, thereby blotting rom the calendar his own birthday,created a great impression upon his mind. Train, among other things, claims thaj he is going to live indefinitely—several hundred years at least, and the loss of his birthday was full of sugeestion to him. ‘There goes my birthday,” he said. “I will never have another. I have no use or birthdays, nor for time, which was made for slaves. What a strange life is mine.” The idea pleased him immensely. But this story is not about George Francis Train, but about tbe 180th de- gree of longitude, which is ome of the most interesting things that travelers encounter the world over. It lives out in the Pacific, just west of us some miles, and the traveler arriving at it and passing over it would not be con- scious of the fact were it not that the cap- tain, who has been looking at the sun through his instraments, announces that it is now Sunday where a moment ago it was Saturday—the preparations for a jinks must be changed into preparations for a religious service. It was upon this incident of the cross- ing of the 180th degree of longitude that Jules Verne’s interesting story, ““Around the World in Eighty Days,” was based. Phileas Fogg, however, traveled eastwara around the world and thereby gained a day, whereas George Francis Train travel- g westward lost one—and Train, not- withstanding, made the journey in sixty- five days. This change of the date in mid-ocean forms an interesting subject of discussion in the cabin and smoking-room of every trans-Pacific ship, and usually the more discussion it gets the more it puzzles the To reach the climax to which he wrote his story, Mr. ero dark concerning it. mind—just how it happens. Verne, however, had to keep his entirely in the Probably that fact suggested the name of the hero—Fogg. It certainly must have suggested his character, that of a taciturn, uncompanionable Englishman, who kept to his cabin. Fogg crossed the dividing line between the calendar days without being aware of it, arrived in S8an Francisco, crossed the American continent, arrived in New York and fussed about the metropotis two days in search of a steamer to carry him across the Atlantic, arrived in Eng- land and went to London without having discovered that the day of the week and the day of the month had changed; that when he thought it was Sunday, it was really Saturday; on theday he reckoned as Monday, all the rest of the world was going to church. But that is not this story either, that was Mr. Verne’s story. Few people have paused to think of the necessity of a line being drawn on the earth that shall distinctly mark the aivi- sion between the calendar days. To every- body everywhere else the day begins when the sun rises in the east, and closes when it goes down. On the east side of this mystic line in the Pacific it is this morn- ing Bunday. Step across it and this morn- ing is Monday, the same hour of the clock exactly. Does a person travelinz round the worla actually gain or lose aday? They do, of course, for a good calendar will not lie. Butwhy? This is the question that puz- zles the people on shipboard, to whom only it is really brought home. The writer put it to a professor of the Harvard University and he was by no means at ease in explaining it. Were a man to travel over the earth’s surface from east to west as rapidly as the earth revolves, starting at high noon, the sun would remain immediately overhead, to him, for the twenty-four hours. There would have been no sunrise or sunset for bhim that day. So far as the registry of the sun was concerned, he would have been still enjoying the noon hour, while all other men on the earth were returning to their afternoon labors, going to their homes after the labors of the day, going to the theater in the evening, retiring to bed and to sleep, rising in the morning and beginning the next day’s labors and again going to lunch at noon. During the course of his lofk noon hour the calendar had done its work, however. This illustrates how the loss of a day may be best realized, perhaps. z Let this traveler start at noon on this same journey and go as slowly as he will—100 years in making the circuit—he will have by these slow degrees filched from the calendarone full day and no more. He will have seen the sun rise and set not so many times by one as the man who has remained stationary upon the earth’s surface. He is not aware of the fact, however, but there is a place in his journey where he is brought to a realiza- tion by a sudden adjustment; the long score is evened up in an instant, and he is set right in his dates with the people on the other side of the world who have re- meined contentedly at home. When the traveler was moving from the east to the west with the same rapidity with which the earth revolved he was simply negativ- ing its motion, allowing its surface to pass under his feet, moving as fast in one direc- tion as it moved in another. When he turns and moves with the same rate of speed 1n the opposite direc- tion to which it moves it will take him to be used for advertising purposes. He to say the least, but a surprise came to day be had it finished. just as long to cover the distance back to his starting point, but his relation to the sun, which counts off the periods of time, will be remarkably altered. He will enter the shadow of the earth in half the time that he would if he remained and allowed the ordinary revolution of the big globe to carry him out of sight of the san, He will pass through the shadow of the earth in bhalf the time that he would if he remained still and will emerge into the sunlight again with what had been the under side of the earta to him when he started. That is to say, he will have seen a day and a night (noon to noon) while the earth made only half its revolution and he was only half way round. He will arrive at his starting point at noon of the second day, according to his own experience, having passed twice through the shadow of the earth—night— while the folks at home had done so but once. He will have gained a day upon them and upon the calendar but that the 180th degree of longitude has been called in to set him straight. That is theex- planation of the gainingof a day in travel- ing the world round from west to east—the way the world itself is going; and it mat- ters not how long the traveler employs in the journey, he sees the sun riseand set once oftener than the man who stays at home, aithough there is no jolting of the heavens to announce it. Is it clear now? Imagine then a train of cars twenty-four miles long on a circular track, the iast car being just in front of the engine—that is, the train makmg a circle. The train starts to move ata rate of speed that will bring the engine back to the starting point at the same time next day. A man on the rear end starts to walk to the engine and a man on the en- gine starts to walk to the rear end. They walk at a rate of speed that will bring them to their destination at the same time the train stops. They pass each other exactly in the middle of the train and at noon the next day the man from the engine has arrived on the last vlatform and the man from tke last plat- form mounts the engine, and if they don’t feel too tired they may reach over and shake hands. They have both, so faras walking is concerned, traveled exactly the same distance, but in fact one has traveled forty miles while the other has not trav- eled at all. | The man who started from the rear end of the car has been carried the entire dis- tance covered by the train and has walked the entire length of the train—he has passed the starting point twice. The man who started from the engine to walk to the rear end of the train has remained stationary with regard to his surround- ings. Walking as busily as he does he sees through “the car windows Lour by ; hour the same trees and signpost that marked the point at which he started. This itlustrates the same principle as that of the travelers going round the world at the same speed as the world revolves. One has lost, the other has gained, jhe day. Now let the train move 365 or any number of times round the circle while the two men are making their journey, the one from rear to front, the other from front to rear. Coffins in | Golors and Bright Blossoms The Funeral NoVeltg; Introduced by a Liocal Under- taker | There can he little doubt that the old ideas of funerals are changing. The | solemn black is not looked upon as being | In a Den of Snakes Vicious Rattlers Surrounded the Hunter Thrilling Adventure of a Sportsman in Mendocino Gounty The most thrilling snake story that has come from Mendocino County in a long time was the adventure of E. Herzinger sooner done than there was another and then another, and rattlesnakes were heard on all sides. In a few seconds the gir was filled with a sickening odor, and on all sides the ter- rible sounds could be heard. He wasin a serpents’ den. Ed shot as many rattlers as he could see, and was then surprised to see snakes of several other kinas coming at him from all sides. They snapped at him and stuck out their horrid tongues, and their fiery eyes flashed with wicked- ness. Shooting ‘was out of the question, so grabbing his rifle by the barrel Ed used it as a club and began to battle for his life. Several snakes struck his boots, but he crushed them under foot, at the same time swinging his rifle right and left and de- stroying every venemous reptile he touched. It seemed to Ed as if the battle would never end, for as fast as he killed one snake there was another in its place. It was only a few seconas, of course, but it seemed years to him before he began to feel that he was master of the situation. He was almost exhausted and bathed in perspiration, but when he saw the snakes thinnine out it gave him new life to strike vigorous blows. There was one big bull snake that had managed to keep on the outside of the circle of fighters, who when he saw his comrades all killed tried to escape. He was not very barmfal, but Ed went atter him and chased him several feet before ending his career. Silence hovered over the hole where the of Ukiah. It befell him about two weeks ago, und even now a feeling of horror comes over him every time he thinks about it. It seems that Ed was out deer hunting in the range of mountains about fifteen miles east of the town. He had camped all night and got up bright and early in the hope of finding one of the fleet-footed creatures to shoot at. But it was disap- pointment after disappointment, and he kept following his dogs until nearly noon, at which time he wasin one of the wildest parts of California and in a spot entirely unknown to himsell. He made up his mind to go back to camp, but was so tired from the long, hard trip that he decided to first rest a while. He lay down in the coolest-looking spot he could find in that torrid country, and as necessary toa burial ceremony as it once was. That this is the case can be shown by the fact thal Undertaker Metzler on Washington street has produced a novelty in coffins and rinds a ready sale for them. In fact the demand is greater than the supply, for he makes them all himself and | sells them as fast as he makes them. Only a few weeks ago Metzler hit on the idea of making a coffin in an unusual way, adhered to the usual shape, but instead of covering it with black cloth, he used a blue and gray striped material. The effect of the novelty was striking, him in the shape of a customer for it the It sold for a good price to a man who is known for his good taste in.ali matters. As soon as the man sagv it he would take nothiug else, even at a lower price. It was just what he wanted, because, as he said, it was not so sad looking as those in general use. The friends at the funeral had little to say about the novelty, but not a word was said in condemnation of it. Tle undertaker then made a second coffin of the same kind, intending to have it take the place of the one he had sold. Baut this sold also the day it was finished. Since that time several similar coffins have been made, and sll have sold as soon as finished. One in bright blue and white found a purchaser atonce, and the only difficulty has been to get enough of them to supply the demand. For some time there has been a desire to make these ceremonies less dismal than formerly. Flowers and brightness have been demanded instead of darkness and a general effect of despair. The feel- ing seems to grow out of the teachings of some of the new ethical societies, which hotd that the dead are only going to a better and happier-life, and there is no need for friends to feel sad about an event that must bring joy to the departed. e, Vel was on the point of going to sleep when he had his attention attracted to something moving on the top of a low cliff, about 500 feet away. He looked closely—it was a magnificent buck. Ed could have killed the animal from where he lay, but he wanted to be sure, so bidding the dogs be quiet, he crawled up a small ravine until it was a dead shot. At the crack of the rifle the buck jumped into the air and fell to the ground, but in- stead of remaining on top of the chff it rolled off to the bottom. The dead deer dropped into a shallow hole that was evidently formed by a water- fall 1n the rainy season, and lay hardly 100 feet from where Ed stood when he killed it. It was only the work of an instant for Ed to jump into the hole aiter his game, but he had hardly done so when he was startled by that terrible rattle feared by all sportsmen, Of course, the deer was forgotten, while a bullet was put through a big snake lying on a rock. This was no deer still lay, so Ed jumped in and found that none of the dead snakes had fallen within several feet of it. It was not in- jured in any way, s0 he got his prize after all. It was hard work getting it out of the hole; but Ed managed it, after which he went back to see how many snakes he had killed. He found fifteen altogether, tive of them being rattlers. There may have been several more, but Ed did not care to hunt for them. He was pretty well played out and the task of getting the deer back to camp took him until sundown. The canyon that led down to camp was wild and rugged in the extreme, with waterfalls every few hun- dred feet. Down he went tumbling over bowlders aud splashing through pools, the deer getting heavier every step, and continually being scratched by thorny underbrush. - But Ed didn't mind that, and when be reached camp got hisreward, for the deer was as fine venison as any man ever ate. She Guards His Grave Mother Latour in Her Doleful Home Once a Belle of New Orleans and Now a Hermit in a Ganyon. She is known to her few neighbors as “Mother” Latour, despite the fact that she is a childless widow named Arm strong. But, somehow, the name seems to suit her, and she does not object to it. Poor| woman, she does not object to anything, and only asks to be leit alone with her dead, to end her days in her tumble-down shanty in San Joaquin Canyon. Day and night is of little difference to her, and she feels that her only duty in life is to gunard the grave near the front door. There she stands hour after hour, regardless of weather, speaking to very few, and possibly thinking of her early irfe and the awful days that came to her before he wooed and brought her to Cali- fornia, long, long ago. Mother Latour’s bome is a most dole- ful place. Down between the frowning, rocky walls of the gulch her shanty stands and only a few feet from the front door is the grave, marked by avile of stone I Birds-and Beasts That Drink Die Quickly A Natural Spring of Poisonous Waters in Mendocino Gounty Mendocino County is noted for the many strange springs within its borders. They are of almost limitless variety, and a number of them are of kinds not to be founa in other parts of the world.’ The greater number of these springs throw off water that has beneficial medicinal quali- ties, but there is one that has the power of causing almost instant death to any ‘creature who drinks it. This strange spring is on what is known as tbe McNab ranch, not far trom Hop- land. It islocated in a flat piece of pas- ture land about a mile from a range of foothills lying to the east. There is no difficulty to tell this spring when one comes to it. As cattle had a habit of taking their last drinks out of it, a fence was put around it, which of course compels them to go elsewhere for water. But the fence cannot keep out everything, and as a consequence the spring is always surrounded by the dead bodies of beasts, birds and insects. The appearance of the spring israd- ically different from the dozen of others in the vicinity. Itcomes from the ground into a hole about three feetin diameter. The soil around it isof clay color, but there is not a sign of vegetation for at least twenty-five feet in any direction. Noth- ing will grow in the water. This has been tried by planting mosses and other plants tnat grow along streams, but they all died in & short time. When the water comes from the ground it is in an effer- vescent condition, but loses this quality belore it has run over the surface a dozen feet and disappeared in a gravel pit. On approaching this spring frpm any direction an unpleasant smell strikes the nostrils, This is caused by the decom- posing bodies of the numerous dead creat- ures around 1t. There are birds of all kinds, rabbits and squirrels and millions of insects. Occasionally a coyote isfound. The effect of the water l:l fl:‘l:dit nvl;l. i n seen to it and in Polo’ld:h:: 't:nb::eondl fell overdead. . Rab- bits seem to have time to crawla few feet from the spring before they die. But none of the dead creatures are ever found more thar fifty feet away. and a black cross. The surroundings are hard, barren and cheerless. Vegetation is scarce and the white rocks throw off a blinding glare in the light of the sun. From around the corner of the cliff comes the melancholy rush of the ereat river dashing over the boulders on its way to the sea. But Mother Latour would rather live here than in any other part of the world— she must be near his grave. She has means to live Wherever she pleases, a comely face and is but lttle over 50 years of age, but all the gold in the world could not tempt her to leave the lonely shanty in San Joaquin Canyon for even one day. The neighbors will tell you that the grave is that of her husband who was murdered in tkatspot twenty-five years ago. She buried him herself, and since that time has never left the place. The neighbors can also tell you the story of her life which they got from a stranger who knew her as a young woman, and who came out to try to induce her to re- turn to her old home and friends in Lou- isiana. Mother Latour will never speak of her early life to the neighbors, although she knows that thev know: all about it. She only wants to think of the dead man un- der the pile of stones and the cross. But why should she be sodevoted to a mem- ory? one might ask. ‘The answer is in the story the stranger told the neighbors. Mlle. Latour she was called—the days wher ske was the belle of New Orleans, shortly belore the war. The daughter of a wealthy man who lived in a palace not far from town, she did not know there was even fatigue in the world, let alone bunger and want. But she was soon to learn. When the war broke out she was 19 and could have had her choice ofa N7@z - 2} M ¢ 2 dozen wealthy suitors. refused them all. When the thurders of war rolled over the South she began to be deprived of her magnificent costumes and went into so- i ciety less and less as her father’s fortune | dwindled. Soon she used to shut herself in her room for days at a time, and then | as things went from bad to worse the | house was closed. Her mother and sister died of yellow fever, and just before the war ended her father died, penniless, so she was left alone in the big house and had to sell furniture bit by bit to get food. Two years went by and she was there alone, despised by the negroes as ‘‘poor white trash.”” Her friends had forgotten her and she did not have clothes to visit any of them. When she went for her scanty supplies she tied a dark, heavy veil over her face. She might have ve- mained in the empty house indefinitely had not the place been orderad sold under the hammer for her tathe’rs debts. | When the crowd of rough men piled into the house she had to leave and stood on the porch undecided what to do, but looking over toward the waters of the Mississippi and wondering whether they were cold or not. At this moment a young man whom she had known in the days gone by but had not seen for years came up and asked ner what she was going to do. Surprised, flurried and confused she could not ans- wer, but allowed him to lead her to a car- riage standing in the road. Once imside he told her he had always taken an in- terest in her and asked her to marry him. *8o you are my mysterious friend,” she answered, “‘the one who heiped me when I most needed itand isstill ready to do so. Yes, you have been my friend and 1 will devote myself to you as long as I hve” His name was Armstrong, and they were married on that same day. In less than a week they started for California. Millerton, in Fresno County, was the great gold ccuntry at tne time of their arrival, and thither they went, pitching their camp some distance up the San Joaquin Raver. They found a good location, and in a few years had a nice sum laid by. Arm- strong worked hard and things looked promising for the young couple. It was their intention to get enough money to- gether ana return to New Orleans. They might have realized their dreams had-pot a bullet laid Armstrong dead in froni of his door. The man who killed him did so by’mis- take, as he confessed afterward when dying in prison. He thought it wasan old enemy of his for whom he had long been looking. After the husband’s tragic death the woman lost all interest in life and at the same time fortune turned her way. The mine produced piles of gold and it seems that some ot her old Louisiana estates be- came very valuable. Agents came out to get her to sign papers and return to her old home, but she refused everything, saying that she will spend the rest of her life near her husband’s grave and that the world had no more charms for her, She luughingly Arizona lce Caves May Be Evidence of the Glacial Period Underground Palaces of Solid Ilce a Land of Heat in Arizona is known chiefly to the world at large as the hotte st place in Uncle Sam’s domain, and here the information of a great many otherwise intelligent people ends. But Arizona is not all hot, nmor are the hot spots hot all the time. Ari« zona is a country of extremes and contra- dictions. For instance, the southwest corner, near Yuma, approaches to within 100 feet of sea-level, while the San Frane cisco peaks tower 13,000 feet above. In the south are treeless deserts, but the up- lands of the central and northern sections are covered with magnificent pine forests. Five hours’ ride on the 8. F. P. and P, R. R. takes one from the tropical to the temperate zone, and apparently iuto a dif- ferent world. It was my privilege to make a thorough exploration of them on August 17, 1896. These curiosities are situated about ten miles south of the town of Flagstaff and not more than sixty miles north of the geographical center of the Territory, and may be reached by a delightful drive through the pine forests, over smooth and evel roads, or by rail over the Mineral Belt line, which passes within 400 feet of the entrance. Our party included W. W. Messenger, cashier Valley Bank, Pheenix; T. . Otis, merchant, Prescott; Rev. 1. T. Whit- | temore, pastor Presbyterian church, Flor- 1 ence; Professor E. Grant Randal of the | Pheenix High School; W. H. Gill, Ameri- | can steamship Evangelist; Ralph Murphy, | Pheenix, and your correspondent. ‘We chose the railroad route, and through the courtesy of the Arizona Lumber Com« pany ot Flagstaff were taken out and re- | turned on one of their iogging trains. 1t is the last place in the world where one would lodk for caves, for there is not a mountain within a dozen miles, and the rolling country is densely wooded. The entrance is from the level plain, and isdown through an opening apparently made by the caving-in of the crust which formerly covered the subterranean cav- erns. This sink or basin is probably | seventy-five feet in diameter and twenty- five deep, and the bottom is filled with large, irregular bowlders of black mala- | pais or volcanic rock. Admittance to the caves is gained by crawling through and under these bowl- ders, the opening being low, narrow, rough and precipitous. None but small men and new women may enter, for one must crawl backward through a passage just large enough to squeeze one’s body through, and then drop some six teet in darkness and faith to the floor of the first chamber. | Here theair is decidedly cooler, and a | Aittle ice is seen in thecracksof the irregu- lar walls. We continue our descent down a steep declivity and over huge masses of rock to room number 2, where a resident of the vicinity is discovered filling his pail with pure ice for use at home. Here is considerable ice on the floor and in the crevices, buc net 1n solid masses. The air is cold and damp, and we are reminded ot a regular professional icehouse. The passage to the third and lowest chamber is even mnyore perilous and diffi- | cult than any yet encountered. The exit | from the room above is through a narrow crevice in the wall, which inclines out~ ward, and immediately over a perpen- | dicular drop of five or six feet, and con- siderable ingenuity andagility is required both in descending and ascending to avoid | getting stuck in the jagged opening. But one is well repaid for his efforts and risk, for the room below is a veritable ice palace, although not more than 8 by 12 feet. The floor isof solid ice and the walls are wainscoted with sheets of pure ice that sparkle 1n the candle light like diamonds and crystals. It was the first opportunity I had ever enjoyed of sitting down on a real live iceberg to cool off and having spent fifteen summers in Southern Aris zona, where icebergs are rare, I gladiy embraced this opportunity. There are passages leading on and down from this chamber lined with solid ice, but no one knows how far they go or what they lead to, for they are not large enough even to craw] through. One of our adventurous young men es- sayed to explore the hidden depths below, but had to be pulled back by tha heels, as he could neither advance nor retreat. ThY cause of this strange phenomenon I am unable to give. Some have supposed that snow drifts in during the winter, and, freezing into ice, remains all sum- mer. But the configuration of the pass- ages and chambers is such that it would be impossible for snow to penetrate more than a few feet, unless it should be melted. If melted at the surface, why should the water freeze again in the lower levels? Unlike other well-regulated openings in the earth’s crust, the cold increases as greater depth is reached, and ice is ap- parently forming continually in the lower chambers. Above the warm summer sun smiles down through the balmiest of atmospheres and the mercury marks 85 degrees in the shade, This is tropical Arizona. One hun- dred feet below is the perpetual ice of the Arctic regions. That is the other ex- treme. Undoubtedly this subterranesn fissure was made by the seismic disturbance that cracked the earth’s crust in that region and formed the grand canyons of the two Colorados eighty miles distant, Canyon Diablo and Cosnino Canyon, which all show the same general characteristics. The ice caves are but a few miles dis- tant, and I am inclined to the opinion that they are but a continuation of Cos- nino Canyon, and that their subterrancan zes find an outlet 1n its depths. Taken all in gll these ice caves of Ari. zona are the most wonderful natural phe- nomenon that I bave ever seen. A. P, WALBRIDGE, | IS