our quarter. Then there is a wait, and presently a rushing to and fro on our bridge; then the clang of the engine bells, and the ship is brought to, lying idly rocking there for the next hour.
And then it is whispered about that the little pilot-boat was swamped, and that two more lives were given to the ocean's insatiate maw. And the news goes softly from deck to deck, and from cabin to cabin, and from hold to hold, until the ragged and grizzled animal man, between the cages far down forward, has heard it, and roused his mate from the straw to impart the sad intelligence.
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Meanwhile the ship is once more heading for the open sea, and the handle of the little dipper shines invitingly beyond the foremast.
THE DEATH OF THE GIRAFFE.
The third day out, we are startled by the announcement that our giraffe is dead. Poor "Daisy" was found doubled up in her roomy cage, under the forward hatch, with her neck broken in two places. She had evidently pitched forward in the heavy sea running the night before, and lost her balance. She had last been seen alive on Sunday, her keeper having made his usual inspection with some anxiety, owing to the
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rough weather. An hour later, he saw her down and congratulated himself on the animal's good sense. The next morning, at eight o'clock, he found her doubled up in the same position. She was dead. The catastrophe was especially depressing to the managers, for "Daisy" was one of their leading attractions. She belonged to a rare species, and one growing rarer year by year. She was the last giraffe in America, and had been heavily "billed" for London.
All hands and the cook gathered on deck to witness the burial of the dead giraffe. By means of a block and tackle rigged to a boom, the body was raised to the deck, and thence swung to the top of the elephants' cages. Here the animal was stripped of her beautiful hide. Then the sailors began to struggle with the denuded carcass. "Catch 'old of 'er rudder, you bloomin' lubber!" sang out the big boatswain's mate, a man with rings in his ears and a knife between his teeth. And overboard went all that remained of unfortunate "Daisy," the boatswain's mate saying tenderly, as she went, "Good-by, old sport "
AMONG THE ELEPHANTS.
The smaller elephants are ranged in narrow stalls in a row, on the side of the ship, aft, opposite the camels. There is just enough room for them to lie down, in elephant fashion, and, with their trunks, they can reach across the narrow passage-way. Whenever the voice of Mr. Conklin, the elephant man, is heard, they set up a chorus of trumpetings. And, when he makes his appearance in the
