Owney soon knew all on board, and, as on the Victoria, was a member of both starboard and port watches, and dined in the cabin and before the mast with equal satisfaction.
At Singapore, Owney went ashore with an officer, to the wonderment of the natives, who, noting his decorations, concluded that he was a personage of high rank. Some of the native dogs, it is said, looked upon him with distrust, and more than once they rushed out from narrow alleys and pounced upon the Yankee dog; but it is not on record that Owney was ever defeated. On November 30, Owney sailed from Port Said, where he put to flight more native dogs, and on the trip through the Suez Canal he attracted no little attention from the various vessels and from postal authorities. Many of the clerks gave Owney some memento.
Finally Algiers was reached, and the quaint shipping port visited, where Turks, Nubians, and others looked upon Owney with amazement. They handled his decorations, and some, though perhaps they did not understand just why, fastened to his collar medals which were thus sent to the American people. On December 13, Owney reached St. Michaels, the beautiful port of the Azores, spending a few hours there.
The trip from the Azores across the Atlantic was a rough one; but there was no evidence to show that Owney did not thrive in all kinds of weather. Finally the lookout of the Port Phillip sighted land, and a few hours later Owney's baggage was being examined by the custom house officers, who had never seen so strange an assortment of trophies. But having looked at his credentials, they decided that the collection of medals and tags, though representing a large amount of metal, was personal baggage, and so passed it.
Like all distinguished persons, Owney was met by the reporters and "interviewed," and from the bag of decorations and letters his story was probably obtained, and the news of his arrival telegraphed to Tacoma papers as follows:
"Owney, the postal clerks' dog, has arrived at quarantine from China, having completed the circuit of the globe. The steamer will dock to-day, and Captain Grant will take the dog to the post office, and start him on his journey westward at once."
As may be expected, this announcement created no little interest among the young people of Tacoma, and Owney was the hero of the hour.
Owney arrived in New York December 23, at noon. He was taken immediately to the post office, and, after a short reception by his many friends, started again by the New York Central for Tacoma, which he reached five days later, having completed the circuit of the globe in 132 days—a rapid rate of traveling for a dog who attracted so much attention. Owney was visited by hundreds, young and old, and so universal was the demand to see him that Postmaster Case placed him on exhibition in a public hall, and people, for miles around, made his acquaintance.
At the end of his trip Owney had over two hundred tags, medals, and certificates to add to his collection.
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FLYING WITHOUT WINGS.
ONE of the most interesting sights observed in southern California waters is a flock of flying fishes in the air; not one or two, but often forty or fifty, ten feet or more from the water, lifted by the wind and whirling away like quail or a cloud of insects, scintillating in the sunlight—a startling picture. The fish appear to be flying, but they are simply one variety of many animals which apparently fly without wings. I have had these fliers pass within a foot of my face, and have known several persons who have been struck by them; but while the fishes dash through the air and cover distances of an eighth of a mile out of water, they are not strictly fliers, as they have little or no power to move the wings, as in legitimate flight. The wings are merely enormously developed fins, the pectorals resembling wings, with powerful branches or veins, the anals being smaller. The fish, then, has not four wings in the strict acceptation of the word, but four winglike fins which it holds firmly, and which serve as sails or parachutes, bearing it up against the current of air as it rushes along. In this way these fish soar for long distances.
In the Gulf of Mexico there is a fish known as the flying gurnard, which bounds into the air when alarmed, spreading its wide pectoral fins, darting away like some gorgeous insect. It has vivid colors of blue, purple, and red, while its large winglike fins sparkle and gleam in the sun as though they were inlaid with gems. This flier possesses a singular armor, its head being incased in bone, so that a blow from the fish in its headlong flight through the air is liable to result seriously.
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There are instances recorded of men being knocked down and stunned by them.
Certain fishes have the faculty of propelling themselves into and through the air in other ways. Such is the large gar of the South Pacific, which, when alarmed, bounds from the water by a twist of its tail and goes whizzing away—a living arrow and a dangerous one. When the ship Challenger made her famous trip around the world, the naturalists on board had many opportunities to observe this flier without wings. One struck the cap of an officer, and instances came to the notice of the naturalists of fishes which had struck natives who were wading in the water.
The most perfect fliers without wings are found among the mammals and reptiles. One of the lizards has a peculiar frill connecting its limbs; this frill is braced by a series of false ribs. When the lizard wishes to escape from some enemy, it darts into the air and soars away downward, upheld for a long distance by the side wings, which are boomed out by the false ribs. The little animal now resembles a large dragon fly, its rich metallic colors flashing in the sunlight. On it rushes, making a graceful curve, rising and grasping the trunk of a tree when it seems to disappear, so marvelous is the protective resemblance. If still followed by some bird enemy, it will repeat the action, continually dipping down and rising, ultimately escaping.
The flying squirrel well illustrates this curious faculty of soaring like a bird. Its fore and hind limbs are connected by a web of flesh which hangs in a wrinkle when the animal is at rest, and would not be noticed; but the moment the little creature darts into the air and moves away the white parachutelike arrangement is seen. It catches the wind or rushing air as the squirrel bears down, and seems to expand and extend outward, bearing the little flier safely on, enabling it to cross from tree to tree and reach other points of vantage.
The flying lemur is one of the largest and most remarkable examples of this provision of nature. Here not only are the limbs connected by a web, but the tail and hind legs are booms for fleshy, fur-lined sails, so that the lemur, with its young clinging to it, leaps boldly into the air, swooping down with great velocity, rising again to grasp a branch or trunk, to climb to the topmost bough and launch itself again into space. In this way the lemur will, if followed persistently, cover miles in a forest, and, as a rule, escape its enemies.
"Flying Lemurs."
<!-- image -->The graceful ease with which they make these long flights is remarkable. The animal has but to extend its limbs, as one intuitively does in diving or swimming, and plunge down into space.
The islands of Sumatra and Borneo have produced some remarkable fliers of this kind. A party of explorers, in passing through a forest one day, saw what they supposed to be a bird swooping down from a limb.
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A native was sent in pursuit of it, but the creature rose at the end of its flight and alighted upon a tree, up which it seemed to crawl, then flung itself into the air again. It was finally captured, and proved to be a large tree toad. Instead of wings it had large elastic webs between its toes, which caught the air as it dashed away, buoying it up and acting as parachutes. The feet of the animal resembled those of a gull or a duck, so far as the webs were concerned, the four little parachutes offering surface sufficient to bear up the animal from tree to tree.
A spider with a diminutive flying or soaring apparatus has been discovered. On each side of the abdomen extends a triangular lobe which catches the wind when the spider leaps into the air, aiding its flight to some extent, and well illustrating this remarkable method of flying without wings.
THE DRAGON THAT SWALLOWED THE MOON.
THERE was unusual excitement at the great mission of San Juan Capistrano, and for several days natives had been pouring in from the outlying country. A fiesta had been announced by the Spanish troops, an ox was roasting in a huge trench, and one night, by the light of the full moon, a fight between a bear and a bull was to take place—an event which was looked forward to with interest, not only by the natives but by the Spanish soldiers.
It was still early in the afternoon, yet the tiled roofs of the old mission were crowded with spectators who had come early to secure good seats and had covered the tiles with dry hides upon which to rest. The long line of arches, the picturesque belfry, the shapely dome of the church, all caught the red rays of the setting sun and formed a charming picture, while away from the mission on every side extended green hills and fields of fragrant flowers, telling of the winter in southern California. On the cement walk in front of the mission stood a group of Spanish officers, and among them a young boy with long golden hair, a wide-brimmed sombrero, and enormous spurs, after the fashion of the time.
"It's a cruel and brutal sport," he said, "and if I were you, captain, I would stop it."
"I quite agree with you, my boy," replied the officer, smiling; "but it would be very poor policy to attempt to interfere with the sport, especially as we are so short of men. We are obliged to do something for the pleasure of the people, brutal as it is."
"But if you gave the order, captain, they wouldn't dare to go on," continued the boy.
Here the officer was called away, and the major-domo, a big, red-faced Spaniard, turning to the boy, said: "Listen, Don Antonio; do you really wish to break up the bull-and-bear fight?"
"Why, certainly I do."
"Then," said the major-domo, "do as I tell you;" and he whispered something in the boy's ear that made him laugh heartily. He then ran to his pony, which an Indian had been holding, leaped upon its back, and rode away in the direction of the tule huts of the Indians, down by the little river.
"Don Antonio soon reached the large hut of the chief."
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Don Antonio, as the man called him, soon reached the large hut of the chief, whom he found lying under a ramada of brush eating grapes, while near at hand the women crushed acorns in mortars of stone.