e toward the welkin, the relaxing keel parting the
mastheads to give it a fair chance. I have stood at Naples and seen
Vesuvius painting the town red--from Catania have marked afar, upon the
flanks of AEtna, the lava's awful pursuit of the astonished rooster and
the despairing pig. The fiery flow from Kilauea's crater, thrusting
itself into the forests and licking the entire country clean, is as
familiar to me as my mother-tongue. I have seen glaciers, a thousand
years old and quite bald, heading for a valley full of tourists at the
rate of an inch a month. I have seen a saturated solution of mining camp
going down a mountain river, to make a sociable call on the valley
farmers. I have stood behind a tree on the battle-field and seen a
compact square mile of armed men moving with irresistible momentum to
the rear. Whenever anything grand in magnitude or motion is billed to
appear I commonly manage to beat my way into the show, and in reporting
it I am a man of unscrupulous veracity; but I have seldom observed
anything like that solid gray column of Maltese cat!

It is unnecessary to explain, I suppose, that each individual grimalkin
in the outfit, with that readiness of resource which distinguishes the
species, had grappled with tooth and nail as many others as it could
hook on to. This preserved the formation. It made the column so stiff
that when the ship rolled (and the _Mary Jane_ was a devil to roll) it
swayed from side to side like a mast, and the Mate said if it grew much
taller he would have to order it cut away or it would capsize us.

Some of the sailors went to work at the pumps, but these discharged
nothing but fur. Captain Doble raised his eyes from his toes and
shouted: "Let go the anchor!" but being assured that nobody was touching
it, apologized and resumed his revery. The chaplain said if there were
no objections he would like to offer up a prayer, and a gambler from
Chicago, producing a pack of cards, proposed to throw round for the
first jack. The parson's plan was adopted, and as he uttered the final
"amen," the cats struck up a hymn.

All the living ones were now above deck, and every mother's son of them
sang. Each had a pretty fair voice, but no ear. Nearly all their notes
in the upper register were more or less cracked and disobedient. The
remarkable thing about the voices was their range. In that crowd were
cats of seventeen octaves, and the average could not have been less than
twelve.

N