The Mutiny of the Athol

The Mutiny of the Athol
By A. Hyatt Verrill
From ‘Sea Stories Magazine’ 1924 January. Digital conversion by Philip Bolton Jr., Betty Paulos and Doug Frizzle, 2009 December.

The life on a whaler is a series of feverish activities, working day and night after the whale has been caught, followed by spells of leisure cruising around awaiting the word “There she blows.” During the period of stripping the carcass, bailing the precious spermacetti from the case, mincing, boiling down, and filling the casks, the hands and brains of all aboard are too fully occupied to give even a thought to anything but their labors.
But when there is nothing to occupy one's mind and little more for the hands, the mischief makers, who are usually found on every ship, then get to work and stir up trouble.
The author has woven an interesting yarn about conditions similar to the above aboard the whaling bark Athol.


THE whaling bark Athol, sixteen months out of New Bedford, rolled lazily to the long swells of the South Pacific, her dingy brown sails slatting against the smoke-grimed spars at each leeward lurch. High upon her to'gallant crosstrees, the lookouts perched, scanning the vast rim of the ocean for telltale sprays from spouting whales and swung in wide arcs against the cloudless sky at every roll.
In the shadow of the spare boats on their cradle over the after deck, the captain and two mates sat, playing cards on the cabin skylight; the Portuguese helmsman dozed at the wheel, and the crew, seated about the decks, barelegged and with hairy chests exposed by open shirts, whiled away the time by carving odd curios from bits of bone and whales' teeth. In the doorway of the galley the negro cook crooned a plantation melody as he pared potatoes. Peace and calm brooded over the ship. There was no hint of trouble in the air. The men had been willing, content and obedient, the food was no worse than usual. In the hold were tiers of filled casks. The officers were neither brutal nor overbearing, and Christmas was but five days off. Already, in anticipation of the day, the "makings” of plum duff, puddings, pies and other delicacies had been broken out from the cabin stores, and a keg of rum and a barrel of Madeira were stowed in the cabin ready to be broached.
But among the riff-raff crew, drawn as whalemen always are, from slums and gutters, were all the elements of crime, all the fuel for tragedy which might flame up at the least provocation. And, as usual, there were malcontents, natural born trouble makers, men ever ready to break out against authority if they dared. In a secluded spot in the shade of the foresail sat two men earnestly talking in lowered tones. One was a large, burly ruffian with beetling brows, low forehead, piglike eyes and brutal, protruding jaw; the other a small, shifty-eyed, furtive fellow with lank, pale hair, sharp features and a ratlike face.
“It’s a bloomin’ shame, I says,” muttered Carmody, the big man; “here we be, workin’ like dogs, chasin’ whales an’ b’ilin’ ‘em down, sleepin’ in a pigsty of a fo’c’s’le an’ eatin’ wormy biscuit an’ rotten horse, an’ for what? Fer a measly lay o’ one bar’l o’ ‘ile outer every hund’ed an’ fifty! What we got comin’ to us now, I asks ye, Slim? Three bar’ls o’ ‘ile – sev’nty-five dollar – fer sixteen months o’ slavin’ an’ sweatin’. How’d they git the ‘ile if ‘twan’t fer us, I’d like to know? They orders us ‘round an’ makes us call ‘em ‘Mister’ an’ gits ten times our lays o’ ‘ile.”
“Sure,” agreed Slim; “but jes’ the same, it weren’t for the officers where’d we be? Think ye could handle a boat an’ strike a whale or nav’gate, do you? Course we couldn’t. Not that I ain’t sayin’ it’s not fair play fer us to get a rotten little lay like we does, but we knowed that when we signed on, ‘Sides, what yer goin’ to do about it?”
“Aw, what ye givin’ us?” growled Carmody. “Course we knowed it, but did we know we was goin’ to be robbed ev’ry time we drawed a chaw o’ baccy or a rotten dungaree out o’ the slop chest? Did we know we was goin’ to be stripped clean of advance money and what’s comin’ to us from the v’yage afore we come aboard? Ye bet we didn’t. What’s I goin’ fer to do ‘bout it? Aw, ye’re too cowardly fer me to tell ye. But there’s another thing I ain’t told ye yet. Did ye know the Old Man had ten thousan’ dollars in gold in his locker? Course ye didn’t. Nice crib to crack, eh? I thought that’d make yer eyes pop open. Say, look here. Do ye think ye could just kinder size up the boys, Slim? Just hint ‘bout that there gold an’ see how they talk.”
“How’d you know about the coin?” asked Slim suspiciously.
“How’d I know?” replied Carmody. “Steward told me. He heard the Old Man tellin’ the chief mate ‘bout it.”
“Aint aimin’ to start a mutiny, are ye?” demanded the other. “I’m agin’ that. Murder ain’t in my line.”
“Who said anythin’ ‘bout murder?” asked Carmody angrily. “A feller kin git hold o’ a bit o’ cash without murderin’, can’t he? Listen, ol’ man, here’s my idee.”
Bending close, the big fellow whispered earnestly into his companion’s ear. Suddenly, however, the cry “She blo-ows!” floated down from the lookout, and instantly all the men were on their feet, and there was bustle and rush everywhere as the crew peered anxiously ahead and waited for the orders to lower away.
To the skipper’s shout of “Where away?” came the answering call, “Two points on the lee bow, ‘bout two mile off.”
Then, as the whale spouted once more, the order was given to man and lower the boats, and a moment later the two tiny craft went tearing through the sea in the direction of the whale. For a time the two conspirators were separated. Carmody being bow oar in the chief mate’s boat while Slim was after oar in the boat steered by the second mate.

Each crew striving their utmost to outdistance its rival, the men bent to their long ash oars, fairly lifting the speedy whaleboats through the water, while in the sterns stood the mates, straining at the huge steering oars and urging their men to still greater efforts to win the honor of getting first irons into the whale.
Gradually the second mate’s crew drew ahead, until, when within a few hundred yards of the whale, his boat was half a length in advance. Then, as the men decreased their efforts and the boats crept cautiously near the great creature lazily rolling on the surface, the harpooners silently drew in their oars, lifted their irons, braced their legs in the knee chocks, and grasping the heavy weapons in both hands, stood ready to hurl them into the whale as soon as he was within striking distance.
Nearer and nearer they crept. At last the second mate’s boat was within a score of feet of the bit of black skin showing above the sea, and with set jaws and knotted muscles the harpooner raised his iron and with all his strength darted it at the giant monster. Scarcely had the point buried itself in the whale’s side when the chief mate’s boat was also fast. At the double swing of pain the whale raised high it flukes—throwing a deluge of water into the boats, and sounded, while the officers dropped their steering oars and leaped forward, the harpooners hurrying aft to seize the big oars and become boatsteerers.
Like streams of light the lines whirred from the boats, smoking through chocks, and leaping like living, writhing serpents from the tubs, as fathom after fathom was drawn into the depths by the diving whale.
Down, down he went, striving to rid himself of those stinging barbs, seeking safety at the bottom of the sea. One hundred fathoms of the stout hemp ran out. With lifted hatchets the mates crouched, ready to sever the lines and save the boats should the monster sound beyond the limits of the ropes. Then came the cry, “Haul slack!” and frantically the men labored, drawing in the lines which had slackened as the whale ceased his mad plunge. But long before the slack had been hauled and coiled the frenzied creature broke from the surface beside the boats. Throwing his stupendous head high in air and bringing it down in terrific trip-hammer blows with a noise like thunder, snapping and thrusting with his huge many-toothed lower jaw, thrashing to right and left with his twenty-foot flukes, the monster sperm whale churned the sea into foam in his madness.
Tossed on the heaving waves created by the creature’s struggles, half swamped by the water thrown into the boats from his lashing tail, the men alternately backed water, swung to left or right, drew closer, paid out line or hauled in slack, alert and ready for any move the quarry might make. Narrowly escaping death from the descending head, avoiding the shearing jaws by inches, saving themselves from the flailing flukes as by a miracle, they hung grimly on, until, anxious to get another iron into the whale, the second mate’s boat approached too near and the next instant was tossed a dozen feet in the air by a mighty blow of the whale’s flukes.
With their craft smashed to matchwood and one of their number instantly killed, the men of the stove boat struggled in the churning water, clinging to bits of wreckage and oars, until, at the risk of boat and lives, their comrades worked their craft near and rescued their half-drowned shipmates.
Hardly had this been done when, abandoning his tactics, the whale leaped into the air and with a mad, blind rush tore straight ahead, striving to escape from this tormentors. With line straight and taut as a bar of steel, the boat followed in his wake, a small mountain of foam about its bows, the boat steerer straining every muscle to keep the craft on its course, the men crouching low and frantically bailing out the water that poured in torrents over the gunwhales. Then, turning as on a pivot, the whale milled—swimming with express-train speed in circles—careening the boat perilously, dragging it in dizzy zigzags, spinning it like a top, but all in vain. Filled with the excitement of the chase, glorifying the deadly menace that beset them; thinking only of victory, the men waited, confident of the outcome of the battle, knowing that if the iron did not draw, if the line stood the strain, that in the end they would conquer.
Gradually the whale’s struggles grew less, his dashes became shorter, he swam more slowly and at last, exhausted, he rested motionless upon the surface of the sea. Instantly oars were slipped into rowlocks, and silently as ghosts the men worked their craft toward the tired whale. Now came the most dangerous part of the chase, the actual killing, the time of the death stroke with the lance. Carefully slipping the sheath from the keen-bladed weapon, the mate braced himself from the bow, both hands firmly gripping the lance haft, jaws set, teeth gritted, muscles tensed. Twenty, ten, six feet separated the mountain of flesh, bone and blubber from the frail craft. And then, just as the boat seemed about to bump into the whale’s side, the mate gathering all his strength for the effort, lurched forward and drove the lance deep into the creature’s vitals.
The next moment the stricken monster was transformed into a writhing, leaping, plunging demon of titanic fury. Heaving and tossing in the maelstrom, facing sure and swift death every instant, fighting for their lives, the whalemen, by marvels of skill and superhuman efforts, held their place, knowing no fear, oblivious to danger. Their slogan was, “A dead whale or a stove boat,” and presently a crimsoned spray rose from the creature’s blow-hole, the immense body rolled on one side, a flipper waved aimlessly in air and from the triumphant men rose the glad shout: “Fin up!” The battle was over, the whale dead.
But the whalemen’s labors and most dangerous work were not yet over, and as they toiled getting the fluke chain about the creature’s small end and towing him to the bark, Carmody and Slim had no chance to talk or even think of their plot, and for many hours thereafter, as the blanket piece was stripped from the carcass, as the creaking tackles were menaced and the dripping strips of blubber were hoisted in, as the precious spermacetti was bailed from the case and the crew toiled ceaselessly at mincing, boiling and filling the casks, hands and brains were too fully occupied to give even a thought to anything but their labors. But at last the final piece of blubber had been stripped from the whale, minced and boiled; the try-works fires had died down; the carcass, with its attendant swarms of sea birds and scavenger sharks was cast adrift; the decks were swabbed and cleaned; the men threw themselves down to a well-earned rest, and with eighty odd barrels of oil added to her cargo the Athol’s yards were squared and she wallowed on her course.
Well pleased with his luck, satisfied with the way his men had worked, and with visions of being homeward bound with a full ship, the captain decided to make a real holiday of Christmas, and accordingly headed for a nearby island that afforded a safe anchorage.
By mid-afternoon on the day before Christmas the cry of “Land ho!” rang out from the lookout, and rapidly the faint smudge of haze upon the horizon developed into a green-clad island, its crescent beach rimmed with waving palms and with turquoise water breaking in snowy foam upon the coral sand. Half a mile off the beach the Athol’s anchor splashed into the crystal-clear water, and with brailed and clewed sails the bark swung to her moorings off the tropic isle.
Upon the shore a crowd of naked savages watched curiously as the vessel came to anchor, and presently a fleet of swift canoes came speeding and bobbing toward the bark, their jabbering occupants holding up bunches of bananas, green coconuts, squealing pigs and other island produce. The natives had always been friendly, and the captain had no fears of them. As they swarmed over the ship’s side and gathered about, the skipper welcomed them, accepted their gifts and in return presented them with trinkets, cloth, tobacco and biscuits. Soon they were mingling freely with the crew, and preparations were made for a jollification, to include tests of strength and skill, games and general skylarking.
With the natives as an audience, the men boxed, ran, jumped, danced and wrestled in the best of spirits. Watching the fun, good-naturedly chaffing the losers and applauding the winners the officers stood near, until the burly Carmody, having worsted all competitors banteringly challenged any one to throw him in a wrestling match.
“Come on, any o’ ye,” he shouted. “There ain’t no line drawn to-day. All’s equals now. Where’s that there husky mate?”
“All right, Carmody,” cried the mate. “I’ll take you on. Think you’re champion of the ship, do you?”
Kicking off his shoes and stripping to the waist, the mate leaped to the deck and grappled with the man. With huge knotted muscles, straining, panting and chests heaving, the two men struggled and strained. Both giants in strength, hard as nails, accustomed for years to hard knocks, heavy toil and rough life, the pair were equally matched; but while the mate took it good naturedly and as a mere test of strength and skill, Carmody—surly, resentful and ugly—looked upon the struggle as a means of venting his hatred and injuring his opponent. His overpowering desire to play foul, however, defeated his own ends and made him careless, and presently skillfully shifting his grip, the mate threw his opponent heavily to the deck.
For an instant the sailor lay motionless and partly stunned, while roars of laughter and applause rose from men and savages alike. Thinking the fellow might be injured, the mate stepped forward to aid his enemy, only to be met with an oath as Carmody leaped to his feet.
“Damn ye!” he cried. “I’ll get ye fer this! Think ye can do me an’ git away with it, do ye? Jes’ wait an’ see!”
The mate flushed and his fists clenched angrily. “Lucky for you it’s a holiday,” he flashed back. “But let it go. I’m not holding any hard feelings. Forget it, Carmody. I threw you fair enough and you know it.”
Donning his shoes and clothes, the mate resumed his place beside the captain, while the fuming Carmody pushed his way among the crew and stood talking vehemently with his cronies.
The incident was presently forgotten as, tired by their skylarking, the men lowered the boats and pulled ashore, where, until evening, they frolicked on the sand, bathed in the tepid water, and made merry, as the natives pranced about in a weird dance to the music of tom-toms.
The captain, knowing the dire results that might follow, had given strict orders that no liquor should be served to men or natives, but surreptitiously a keg of gin had been smuggled ashore, and though there was not enough to produce intoxication among crew or natives, the taste of the liquor whetted their appetite for more and soon trouble began to brew.
The crew, excited by drink, took unwonted liberties with the natives and their belongings. The savages naturally resented this, and several were severely pummeled by the whalemen. This, however, was not at all to Carmody’s liking. He had no mind to incur the enmity of the islanders; it interfered with his plans, and being a recognized leader and feared by his fellows, he soon had matters smoothed out and peace once more established.
“Cut it out!” he commanded. “The first thing ye know the bloomin’ niggers will be stickin’ ye or shootin’ p’izened arrers into ye. They’re ten to one. What are ye aimin’ at? Want to be sarved up for their Christmas dinner, do ye?”
Thus, with common sense and a few blows, he restored order, and finally, approaching the chief, who spoke a queer “pidgin” English, he drew him to one side and talked earnestly to him.
His words evidently met with the chief’s approval, for the savage grinned and nodded, showing his gleaming, sharp-pointed teeth, and soon after the men tumbled into their boats and rowed back to the bark.
Knowing nothing of the trouble which had taken place ashore, the officers sat smoking on the after deck, chatting about people at home and of Christmas cheer. But they were not long to remain in ignorance. From the dark shadows a figure stole toward them and, touching his cap, spoke to the captain in hushed tones.
“The devil you say, Slim!” exclaimed the skipper. “So the swabs took gin ashore, did they? And you men know about gold, eh? I reckon ‘tis a pretty big temptation, but I guess they’re not such a bad lot. I’m sorry about that liquor and the natives, though. Thank ye, Slim.”
As the informer slunk away the captain turned to the mates. “I guess we’d better stow that gold somewhere else,” he remarked. “You never can tell what may happen. And you fellows had better shove pistols in your pockets. I don’t think there’s any danger, but it’s just as well to be ready. If ‘twasn’t Christmas to-morrow, I’d get out of here an’ not take any chances. I don’t trust the natives—they’re all right as long as sober, but once get ‘em started on drink and they’re fiends.”
But all was quiet ashore; there were no signs or sounds to indicate that the natives were not peaceably inclined, and so, having hidden the gold coin where they were sure none of the crew could find it, the other officers turned in, leaving the second mate on watch.
Listening for any suspicious sound, glancing frequently ashore and watching the deserted decks to detect any skulking figures or unusual movements, the second mate paced the deck, his thoughts on far-away New Bedford, but his senses alert and watchful, for he was fully alive to the dangers implied by Slim’s warning. Throughout the long hours of his lonely watch, however, nothing unusual happened, and waking the chief mate he threw himself upon his bunk and was soon sleeping soundly.
He was aroused by a piercing scream, the sound of rushing feet, the sharp reports of a pistol and the thud of a falling body on the deck above the cabin. As he leaped from his bunk and seized his revolver he noticed that it was broad daylight; then, springing to his door, he dashed out of the cabin and up the stairs.
Upon the deck lay the bodies of two of the men. Gathered in a knot and armed with lances, belaying pins, blubber spades and axes were the crew, obviously in mutiny, while facing them, with pistols in hands, stood the captain and chief mate.
Cowed for the moment by the deaths of their comrades the mutineers stood irresolute, for none wanted to be the next to fall. Then, his big bulk looming above his comrades, Carmody waved a boat spade threateningly. “Throw them guns overboard!” he shouted with an oath. “’Taint no use. We’re five to one an’ we’ll git ye. We ain’t aimin’ to kill ye, but we’re goin’ to have that gold if we have to murder ye to do it.”
A shot from the mate’s pistol was the only answer. At the report Carmody’s weapon fell clattering to the deck, and with a curse of pain and rage he staggered against the mast, half blinded by the blood streaming from a deep furrow cut by the bullet across his forehead. Maddened at the sight and forgetting all fear, the men leaped forward, but at the ragged volley from the officers’ pistols they again fell back, leaving three of their number sprawled upon the deck.
Seizing a whale spade from one of the fallen men, Carmody hurled it at the captain. Still dazed by his wound, his aim was far from true and the keen-edged weapon buried itself harmlessly in the woodwork. Even before it struck, the big mutineer fell lifeless, shot by the second mate, and, demoralized by the fall of their leader, the crew drew slowly back.
At this instant, and without the least warning, wild yells arose on every side, and naked savages poured over the bulwarks. Rushing to the rack of whale spades, the natives seized the terrible weapons and, like fiends incarnate, dashed at the three officers, who, amazed at the sudden and unexpected onslaught, were totally unprepared. Not until they saw the mutineers joining the savages did the three men realize that their own crew was being aided by the natives, and that, thus greatly outnumbered, their own case was hopeless.
Their only chance was to retreat and barricade themselves in the cabin. But it was already too late. Even as they turned, a hideously painted savage leaped forward with blood-curdling yell, and with a single blow of a spade almost beheaded the unfortunate captain. Wresting the weapon away, the second mate lunged with it at the native burying the spade in his breast. Then, as the yelling murderous mob stumbled over the bodies of the captain and their dead fellow, the two surviving officers dashed down the companionway.
There was no time to shut and bolt doors, for close on their heels came the savages and the mutineers. Rushing through the cabin, the mates found the lower decks almost deserted, the crowd being now on the after deck and in the cabin. Bounding across the deck, while lances and hurtling spades whizzed by them, the two men gained the open blubber hatch, and without hesitation plunged into it. Scarcely had they disappeared in the black hole when their enemies swarmed about the opening and the mates, feeling their end was near, cocked pistol, determined to sell their lives dearly.
The mutineers and their savage allies, however, had no mind to descend into the darkness where an invisible foe lay waiting with firearms, and after a short conference, the hatch cover was drawn shut and the imprisoned men heard the sounds of hammering as the hatch was battened down.
Shut in the foul, black hold, surrounded by cargo and stores, without food or water, and with a mob of blood-excited savages and murderous mutineers on deck, the officers’ case seemed hopeless indeed. But they were Yankee whaleman, brave, resourceful and indomitable, and instantly they set to work on hastily formed plans. Feeling their way among the stowed casks and supplies, they slowly worked their way aft toward the door which they knew communicated with the captain’s storeroom under the cabin. Here was food and drink, and from it they might be able to gain the decks unseen and escape under cover of night. The men, they felt sure, would soon drink themselves into a stupor, as would the natives, and there was a possibility that all would leave the bark and go ashore, when, if luck favored the prisoners, it might be possible to swim to the boats and get safely away.
To be sure, there was but one chance in a million of success; but they had spent their lives taking chances and one more or less was of no moment when life itself was at stake.
Suddenly the chief mate uttered an exclamation and drew sharply back. His outstretched hand had touched a human face! Instantly he reached for his revolver, but before he could draw it a few hurried words reassured him.
“It’s me, sir—Slim!” said a whining voice. “Don’t be skeered. We ain’t no mutineers. There’s just me an’ Pete an’ Portugese Joe an’ Chips. We ain’t takin’ part in no mut’ny. We just sneaked in here soon’s trouble started an’ are hidin’ till it’s over.”
Relieved and encouraged at finding four men yet faithful, the two mates rapidly outlined their scheme for escape. All agreed that it held a chance of success, and once more the men crept aft.
Suddenly from overhead came the sounds of loud voices, the rush of feet, savage yells and the uproar of battle. Beneath the decks the noises were muffled, but all knew what it meant. The mutineers and savages were fighting among themselves! A quarrel had arisen over something or other and the imprisoned men had no doubt of the result. Greatly outnumbered and out-classed in fighting ability, the mutineers would be vanquished and cut down without mercy, while such of them as were wounded or taken alive would, in all probability, be butchered to provide a cannibal feast.
But such thoughts held little consolation for the men in the dismal ‘tween decks. Although their original enemies might be destroyed, there were still more dangerous foes to reckon with. Beyond a doubt the natives would fire the ship, when the fugitives would either be smoked out and killed or would perish in the flames, unless, by nothing less than miracle, they managed to steal out as the cannibals feasted and drank and succeeded in reaching the boats and getting away unseen.
Gradually the sounds of fighting decreased, and by the time the men had reached the bulkhead at the end of the ‘tween decks only an occasional scream or a savage yell told of some poor fellow being put to death.
Entering the storeroom, the mate cautiously struck a match, and at the sight which met his eyes a sudden wild idea flashed through his brain.
Before him was a black keg boldly marked, “Gunpowder.”
There followed a hasty consultation, and a few moments later, the hatch to the room was cautiously lifted and the men set about carrying out their hazardous plan. Climbing to the cabin table, Slim and his three companions, armed with muskets and pistols from the stores, commenced firing at the savages who were gathered in the ship’s waist about a broached cask of rum. Utterly surprised at this unexpected attack—for they had completely forgotten the mates—the natives yelled in fright and scattered, seeking hiding places behind masts and hatches. Meanwhile, as the four men kept the savages at bay, the mates hurriedly dragged out two kegs of powder, placed them halfway up the companionway, and laying a thick train of powder, called to the others. All then hurried to the mates’ room and awaited results. As they had foreseen, the cannibals, at the cessation of the firing, decided that the men’s ammunition was exhausted, and with savage screams dashed for the companionway.
As the first pair of naked brown legs appeared in the opening, the mate touched the match to the powder train. There was a spiteful hiss, a flare and then a tremendous, deafening explosion. Stunned and shaken, the six men were hurled flat upon the cabin floor, the door was wrenched from its hinges and the ship rocked at her moorings. Regaining their feet and plunging through the reeking, choking fumes, the six men—yelling wildly and firing as they ran—rushed at the terror-stricken cannibals.
Thunderstruck at the sudden apparition of the shouting men, and with their superstitious minds filled with deadly fear at the inexplicable explosion, the savages threw down their weapons, and leaping over the rails, plunged into the sea and swam frantically for shore.
Upon the decks were strewn nearly a score of mangled bodies, mute testimonials to the fatal toll of exploding powder and leaden bullets. But the six victorious men gave no heed to these or to the corpses of the mutineers lying everywhere upon the bloody deck. At any moment the savages might rally, and overcoming their terror, return in force. There was no time to be lost. With two men to help him, the second mate rushed forward and slipped the cable, while Slim and the others busied themselves unfurling the great sails. Tailing onto the braces, the men, with Herculean efforts, swung the yards and slowly the bark headed for the open sea.
By sundown the ill-omened island was a mere cloud upon the horizon, the decks had been swabbed and cleaned, and under easy canvas the Athol swept steadily on before the trade wind. Then, with nothing but the calm surface of the vast Pacific in sight, and the sun sinking in glory in the west the ship was hove to and the six men, forgetting all differences of rank and station, seated themselves at their long-deferred Christmas meal.

The End

Driving the Motor Car - American Boy magazine 1916

Driving the Motor Car
How to Start the Motor, Use the Clutch and Shift the Gears
By A. HYATT VERRILL

THE BEST WAY to learn to drive a car is to have some experienced and competent driver accompany you, and show you each step in the process. This is not essential, however, if you are willing to go slowly and learn one thing at a time and in proper order. Most owners are so anxious actually to drive their car along the roads, or through the streets, that they start forth long before they have thoroughly mastered even the rudiments of driving. As a result they become nervous and "rattled" when an occasion arises which they have not foreseen, or else they are possessed with over-confidence. In either case, trouble and serious accidents are likely to follow.
In driving a car, you should school yourself to follow a definite and regular routine, especially as regards the preliminaries to starting out. If you make it a point to do this from the very first, you will eliminate a vast amount of trouble, and you will be free from many vexatious delays and minor accidents which are due to lack of care in seeing that the car is actually in condition for operation before taking it from the garage.
Always examine the lubricator or oil-container and grease-cups, and have them filled with the proper grade of oil and grease. Always fill the radiator with water, and if there are leaks about the hose connections, pump, etc., see that they are tight before starting forth. Examine the brakes, and see that they grip and release readily. Examine the tires, and be sure that they are properly inflated and are in good condition. A poorly inflated tire soon wears out, and a sudden blow-out or rim cut may cause a car to upset, skid, or collapse. See that the emergency brake-lever is set; make sure that the gear-shift lever is in neutral; open the throttle about one-third; retard the spark to the limit, and the car is ready to start (Fig. 1.)
An advanced spark lever may cause the engine to "kick back" when starting and thus break or injure the operator's arm. A gear, in mesh, will cause the car to jump ahead and run down the operator, if he is standing before the car; or even if he escapes injury, the car may dash into bystanders or vehicles. If the gears are free and the brake released there may be no danger in starting the car when on smooth, level ground; but sometime you may start it when on a hill or on an uneven surface and, if the brake is off, an accident may occur. If the brake is always set before starting the motor, such a disaster will never occur.
Starting the Motor
IF THE CAR is provided with a starter, it is only necessary to "press the button," so to speak, and the starter will "do the rest," but if the car is of the "cranking" variety, or the starter refuses to work, you should start the motor in the proper manner. Many drivers seem to think that it is necessary to open the throttle, retard the spark, turn on the switch, and turn the crank. In a general way this is perfectly true; but not one man in three uses any judgment in the amount by which he opens the throttle, or in the manner in which he holds or turns the crank. If the throttle is opened too far, the motor will start off with a roar at high speed, or in other words will "race," and one minute of racing will do more to injure a motor than several hundred miles of ordinary road work. The throttle should be opened just as little as possible, and it is an excellent plan to experiment by opening the throttle a notch at a time, until the motor starts. Then mark the exact spot where the throttle-lever was set, and place it at that spot whenever you crank the motor.
Most operators grasp the handle of the crank in the right hand, with the fingers on one side and the thumb on the other (Fig. 2). With the hand in this position, if the motor back-fires or "kicks," a broken arm, sprained wrist, or torn hand may result. Grasp the handle with the fingers and with the thumb on the same side, and there will be no danger. Another fault of many operators is that they stand in such a position that if the motor kicks, the crank may be thrown violently against the body, shoulder, or leg with serious results. If you can start the motor by using your left hand on the crank, by all means do so—it is the safer method. If you must use your right hand, turn your body away from the car, facing the right hand wheel of the car, and keep your left hand and arm out of reach of the crank. Very few engines will ever "kick" if the spark is retarded when starting, but if you always expect the motor to kick and act accordingly, you will be on the safe side. Never "push down" on the crank. Either pull up, or else "spin" the motor. A motor in good working order, with the carburetor properly adjusted and with a good, strong spark, should start readily by merely pulling up the crank once or twice. In cold weather it may be necessary to "spin" it, but it is usually easier and safer to prime the motor by injecting a little gasoline into the cylinders, through the pet-cocks. In very cold weather, if the motor is difficult to start, use half-and-half ether and gasoline for priming.
If you do spin the motor, never start the operation by pushing down; start with an upward pull, and whirl the crank completely around its circle. Most good motors, if properly adjusted, may be started "on the spark." which obviates all danger of a backfire and consequent injury from a flying crank. To start a cold motor "on the spark," spin it once or twice with the throttle well open and the switch off. Then turn on the switch, and if the motor does not start, move the spark-lever back and forth a slight distance. If your pistons arc tight and the mixture right, the engine will start when the electrical connection is made. If the car has been running and the throttle is swung well open as you turn off the switch to stop, the motor can usually be started on the spark by merely turning on the switch and moving the spark-lever back and forth. Whether the motor can be started in this way or not depends upon the condition of the engine, the temperature of the air, and the length of time it has been standing.
Using the Clutch
IT IS a good plan to become familiar with handling the steering wheel, applying the brakes, and shifting the gears before actually going out on the road, especially if you have no expert along to help you. A good way to do this is to jack up the rear axle until both wheels are clear of the floor, place blocking under them to support the car steadily, and fix good big cleats or chocks both in front of and behind the front wheels. Now start the motor, take your seat, shut the throttle and retard the spark until the motor is running slowly and smoothly, and imagine you are actually driving on the road. First try throwing the clutch out and in. Press your foot against the clutch-pedal, at the same time keeping your hands on the steering wheel, and hold the pedal down for a moment; release it slowly and gently, and then repeat the operation over and over until you can do it without even glancing: towards your feet. Next practice touching the accelerator slightly just after letting the clutch in, and keep at this until you can release the clutch, let it slip gently back, and accelerate the motor with perfect ease and confidence, and without giving the operation any voluntary thought.
Next try shifting gears. Depress the clutch-pedal, and at the same time swing the gear-lever in or out (as the case may be) and into the first speed position (Fig. 3). Just as it slides into this position, allow the clutch to slip in gently, and slightly touch the accelerator. The rear wheels, will at once commence to spin, you may now try throwing on the foot brake. Don't throw the brake on hard and suddenly with the clutch in; but depress the clutch and push slowly and firmly with the other foot on the brake-pedal until the wheels cease to revolve. Repeat this operation several times until you become thoroughly familiar with the motions, and then try the emergency or hand brake in the same way. When accustomed to doing this, without having to look for the brake-lever, try using both brakes together. Next try shifting to a higher gear. Depress the clutch-pedal, and swing the gear-lever through the gate into the position of second speed; at the same instant gently release the clutch and touch the accelerator. When you have practiced this until you can shift from first to second without any trouble, and without making a grinding or grating sound of the gears, try shifting from second to third, or high. As this merely necessitates bringing the lever straight back or straight forward from the second speed position, you will find it far easier than the more complicated motion required to shift from first to second. Don't try to shift too quickly or with a slam-bang; move the lever smoothly, firmly, and rather slowly from one position to another, and do not let the clutch jump back into position, but ease it slowly in with the pressure of your foot on the pedal. Care must be taken not to run the motor swiftly when practicing in this way, and if, when shifting the gears, there is a grating or grinding sound, press upon the foot brake to slow down the motion of the wheels which may be revolving too rapidly to allow the gears to be safely shifted.
Don't try to shift "down" from high to second, or from second to first, while the wheels are in motion. It's a hard matter to do this with the car actually moving on the road, and it's far more difficult when the wheels are running idle. If the lever is in high or second and you wish to shift to a lower gear, place the lever in neutral (with the clutch thrown out), stop the wheels by means of the brakes, and start all over again from first speed.
Learning on the Road
THE GREAT ADVANTAGE of this method of becoming familiar with the handling of clutch, gears, brakes, etc., is that when you first attempt a road lesson you will be able to give your entire attention to steering, and you will not have to look or feel about to find the levers and pedals. It is not absolutely necessary, however, and if there is a stretch of good, smooth, open highway in your neighborhood, you may learn to drive the car on the road from the first. Select a stretch where there is little traffic, no railway or trolley crossings, few crossroads, and no ditches or stone walls.
The first steps in road driving should be the same as already given in detail. That is, the beginner should look over his car. See that everything is in order, start the motor, release the hand-brake, throw-out the clutch, shift the gear-lever from neutral into first, let the clutch in gently, and press the accelerator slightly. The spark, however, should be further advanced than when practicing with the wheels free. As soon as the car is moving smoothly along on first speed, throw out the clutch, shift the gear-lever to second speed and set the clutch in. Don't attempt to drive faster than second until you have become familiar with the use of the brakes and the steering-wheel. As you proceed, try the foot brake; practice stopping within certain distances; and learn to steer straight and without zigzagging or wobbling from side to side of the road. You will find that a very slight motion of the steering-wheel will swerve the car, and a great fault with many beginners is in moving the wheel too much. Don't try to keep the wheel absolutely motionless and rigid. This will tire and strain your hands and arms and it is not necessary; only a firm, easy grip is required, and a little motion back and forth does no harm.
It is impossible to describe just how to steer a car; it is a trick which can only be acquired with practice, and if you learn while running on second, or even first speed, you will have little trouble. The main thing is to correct each deviation of the car by a slight touch of the wheel, and to avoid swinging the car back and forth by violent motions of the wheel.
When you can easily and safely guide the car along the road, can steer around imaginary obstacles, and can hug one side of the road without running into the bank, you may attempt running on third or high speed; but be careful not to go too fast, for it is far harder to steer when running rapidly than when running slowly. Also remember to keep one foot on the brake-pedal and the other foot on the clutch-pedal. If the car shows any signs of swerving or of becoming unmanageable, throw out the clutch and put on the brake at once. Then shift the control to neutral, wait till the car comes to a standstill, and start over again at first speed.
The secret of shifting gears easily, quietly and smoothly, lies in acquiring the knack of checking or accelerating the speed of the motor at just the right moment and the proper amount. This is necessary in order to bring the speed of the various gears into a more or less uniform speed so that they will mesh without grinding or jarring. When the ear is proceeding on a low gear, the motor and the driving or "lay" shaft are revolving a great deal faster than the main or driven shaft. Hence, if the gears are shifted to a higher speed or "shifted up," as it is termed, the motor and lay shaft must be slowed down until they are revolving at practically the same speed as the driven or main shaft. This is usually accomplished with little trouble, for as soon as the clutch is thrown out and the lever is moved to the neutral position, the free shaft and gears slow down of their own accord or are checked by a clutch-brake which operates in unison with the clutch-pedal. When changing from a high to a lower gear or "shifting down" the conditions are reversed, for then the main or driven shaft is revolving more rapidly than the driving shaft and gears. For this reason, it is more difficult to shift down than to shift up and a great deal of practice is required in order to accomplish the operation properly.
By throwing out the clutch, shifting the lever to the neutral position, letting in the clutch, accelerating the motor and then again throwing out the clutch and changing to the desired gear, the shift down may be carried out smoothly and safely. This is known as "double-declutching" and after you have learned to shift gears up without difficulty, you should practice shifting down in this way until proficient.
Having mastered the operation of the clutch, the brakes and the accelerator, you are in a position where further proficiency is largely a matter of practice coupled with good judgment. Study the instruction book furnished with the car and follow the directions for operation for your particular make of car.
Of course, you know the most elementary of all the rules of the road—that you turn to the right to pass a vehicle approaching you. When you are passing a vehicle which you have overtaken, always turn to the left and sound the horn before you attempt to go by. Slow down in rounding turns and keep close to the right-hand side of the road. Before you stop or attempt to cross the road to turn up a crossroad to the left, put out your arm horizontally so that the driver behind will be warned of your intentions and will not crash into you.
Every wise motorist makes Safety First his maxim. Do not take chances, proceed carefully. It is better to be safe than sorry.

IF YOU DESIRE information concerning any particular make of motor car in which you are interested, address " The Automobile Editor, THE AMERICAN BOY, Detroit, Mich.," and he will see to it that the information is supplied to you.

On Chocolate

This week there is Chocolate all over my blog!

I have had “Foods America Gave the World” on my desk for six months now. It is one of Verrill’s vintage nonfiction reads – it is a classic American. For some reason I have never found another book like this, a description of the history of all foods American (see FoodsIntroIndex for the Table of contents and introduction).
I have never understood why Google, etc. had not digitized the book – they have digitized over a dozen of his other books.
He wrote “Foods . . .” in collaboration with Otis W. Barrett a trained botanist and horticulturalist who was the Agricultural Director in Puerto Rico. Barrett also wrote, so I picked up “Tropical Crops” which he penned in 1928.
I have browsed the book and after a bit I started to compare the chapters on Chocolate or cacao, or cocoa.

In 2008, Gail and I visited Central America for most of a month. Nearing the end of the trip, in Copan, Honduras, we saw our first Cocoa (chocolate) tree, complete with a pod of chocolate seeds. It is a long way from these pods to some of the chocolates we see now.
That is what the three blogged titles below explain. I apologize for the clarity of the video, it’s old, and it’s 15 minutes long, but it does a great job in explaining the chocolate process.

Chocolate Production

Sorry about the low quality; it's an old video but well informed. When announcer says Aztecs of Mexico - he should have said Mayans.

The Story of Chocolate

From Foods America Gave the World 1937 by A. Hyatt Verrill
Digitized by Doug Frizzle October 2009

CHAPTER IX
THE STORY OF CHOCOLATE
WHEN Hernando Cortez and his little army of Spaniards were conquering Mexico they found the Aztecs using a strange beverage which they called cacaoquahitl made from the seeds of a tree. They also had another, even richer drink, as well as confections, made from the same seeds which was known as chocolatl. As the Aztec words were far too difficult for the Spaniards to pronounce they changed them to cacao and chocolate and so they have been known ever since.
So highly esteemed was cacao that in many parts of Mexico the seeds were used as money, and the beverages were so costly that only royalty and the members of the nobility could afford to use cacao and chocolate. The Emperor Montezuma was inordinately fond of the clear unsweetened cacao drink. Bernal Diaz who was a member of Cortez's army and who wrote a wonderful account of the conquest entitled La Verdad Historia de la Conquista de Nueva Espana or The True History of the Conquest of New Spain, states that Montezuma drank at least fifty cupfuls of cacao each day while his household consumed two thousand more. At first the Spaniards did not like the cacao which was made from the dried and roasted seeds boiled in water like coffee, but they took kindly to the thicker chocolate sweetened with honey and flavored with spices and vanilla. They discovered, however, that the cacao was a most nutritious beverage and very refreshing, relieving fatigue and "pepping" them up, and very soon they were drinking it almost as liberally as the Aztecs.
A few years after Cortez had conquered Mexico and had destroyed the Aztec Empire, Francisco Pizarro set forth to conquer the great Incan Empire in Peru, and there in South America, he found the Incan people using the same cacao and chocolate that Cortez had found in use among the Aztecs in Mexico. The Incans called the seeds and the drink made from them cacahua which was far nearer the Spaniards' cacao than was the Aztecs' cacaoquahitl. In Peru the seeds were not used as money, partly because there was no form of money in the communistic Incan Empire, and partly because the beanlike seeds were far more common and less valuable than in Mexico, so that even the common people of the highlands and interior towns used both cacao and chocolate freely (Fig. 1, chocolate cup from pre-Incan tomb at Nasca, Peru, showing a man holding cacao pods).
In all probability it never occurred to the Spaniards that it was rather remarkable that both the Aztecs and the Incans should have such similar names for the seeds which both races prepared and used in the same ways. But even if it did strike some of them as a bit strange, the Dons were far too busy robbing the Incans of their treasures, and enslaving and slaughtering the people, to bother about such matters as edible and drinkable food plants. Perhaps, even had they asked about the cacao and the Incans' traditions of its origin and history, they would have learned nothing of value; but on the other hand, at that time the Peruvian people may have possessed a real knowledge of the origin of cacao and many others of their cultivated plants. If so, that knowledge was forever lost to the world, and we of today cannot be at all certain whether the Peruvian or the Mexican or the Central American races were the first to cultivate and use cacao. But as the only wild cacao trees which might be the direct ancestors of the cultivated species, are found in the Guianas and northern South America adjacent to the old Incan and pre-Incan territory, it would seem probable that cacao was still another of the important American foods which the Peruvian Indians gave the world and that from Peru the seeds were carried northward into Central America and Mexico.
No doubt you wonder why it is that if the real name of the seeds and the beverage is cacao, we usually speak of "cocoa". But it is just another example of the Anglo-Saxons' strange habit of transposing letters and twisting foreign names about. For some inexplicable reason the early British voyagers and traders changed cacao to cocoa and then to scramble names still more, changed the Spaniards' coco, their name for the coconut, to cocoa-nut while to make matters still more confusing there is the plant called coca from which the cocaine is obtained.
Although today the term cocoa should be applied only to the prepared and ground seeds and the beverage made from them, the planters in the British West Indies always call their cacao groves cocoa walks. As Dr. Barrett so aptly puts it, the Trinidad merchant sells "coker-nuts" and cacao and buys Venezuelan cocos and local cocoa beans. But after all what's in a name?
Regardless of whether we call them by their correct name of cacao or by the Britishers' version, cocoa, the preparation of the seeds or beans is a most interesting process.
To a person who has never before seen a cacao tree in fruit it is a most remarkable sight, for the tiny pinkish flowers sprout directly from the bark of the trunk and limbs and form great rough red, green, yellow or purple fruits or pods covering the branches and main trunk of the tree (Fig. 2 and Frontispiece). As one northerner remarked when he first saw cacao trees, "they look like small beech trees with squashes hung on the trunks". Unlike squashes, however, the fruits or pods are not edible, but are filled with a whitish, sweet, slimy mucilaginous material enclosing numerous large seeds or "beans", which are fairly soft and are pinkish or purplish in color (Fig. 3).
The pods are gathered as fast as they ripen and are opened on the spot, being cut transversely in half with a blow of a machete, the slimy contents and seeds being emptied into boxes or trays to be carried to the fermentation sheds. The process of fermentation or "sweating" is essential and much of the quality of the "beans" of commerce depends upon it, for if not sweated sufficiently they will have the flavor of raw potatoes and are liable to deteriorate or mildew, while if over fermented they may be completely ruined. Although there are various methods of fermenting the beans, some growers dumping the slimy mass containing the seeds into bins or vats, others placing the contents of the pods on wooden gratings, while the owners of small groves of trees are often content to use empty kerosene-tin cases or to cover the seeds with leaves, yet the result is the same. In a few days the thick slimy pulp sours and ferments and runs off in a semi-fluid state so that the seeds or beans are easily separated from it.
Planters disagree as to whether it is preferable to wash the beans before drying them or to place them on the drying trays without washing, and both methods are followed. In order to dry the beans equally and thoroughly they must constantly be raked over and protected from rain, and while the larger estates are provided with huge drying trays equipped with tracks and wheels so they may quickly be run under a shed in case of a shower, and at night, while others use artificial heat for drying, there are many thousands of tons of cacao beans dried on small trays or even on cowhides spread upon the ground, often on the sidewalks or streets of the villages and towns. It is a common sight to see hundreds of trays and hides covered with cacao beans drying in the sunshine by the roadside and with sheep, dogs, fowls and other live-stock walking over them. But as in the preparation of the beans for cocoa the outer skin or shell is removed, this unhygienic condition of affairs need not trouble one, even though the final treatment or "polishing" of the beans is accomplished by having barefooted negroes, Hindus or Indians tread and shuffle the beans about with their feet. Very often red clay mixed with water is sprinkled over the beans during the "dancing" process. This imparts a fine color and polish to the beans and also protects them from mold and mildew.
When at last the beans have been properly cured they are packed for shipment in sacks containing two hundred pounds each. At the factories the beans are graded and selected, for cacao beans from various places are as different in flavor and qualities as are coffee beans and a definite proportion of each must be blended to insure uniform results.
The first step in the process of manufacture is roasting, after which the beans are de-hulled by machinery and pass to the "nibber" machine which breaks them into various sized pieces and at the same time removes the germ, or "chit" as it is called, of each bean. They are then screened or sifted and the various beans blended, after which they are run through the grinders whence they issue in a thick creamy paste known as "liquor". This liquor is then placed in the "conching" cylinder where it is beaten and churned for several hours to produce a smooth cacao cream. While still warm this is run into molds to form cakes which we know as chocolate. By removing the fatty oils or "cocoa butter" from the chocolate and pulverizing the remainder, cocoa is prepared, while the husks when pulverized are known as broma. Formerly, large quantities of the unground cocoa shells were sold and were used as a cheap substitute for cocoa, but nowadays good cocoa and chocolate are so cheap that there is little demand for the shells and most of them are used in making cattle feed.
Of course the old Aztecs and Incas did not put their cacao beans through this long process. Their only machines were mortars and grinding stones, but with these primitive utensils they accomplished nearly the same results as we accomplish with all our expensive and wonderfully designed machinery. To be sure, the Indians' hand-prepared chocolate is not so fine in texture as that we manufacture and their beverage is usually filled with bits of the broken seeds which have escaped being pulverized in the stone or wooden mortars. But the taste is much the same—oftentimes better—than the products of our factories and is just as nourishing and as stimulating. It may seem strange to speak of cocoa and chocolate as stimulants, but as a matter of fact they are far more stimulating than coffee, for cacao contains twice as much stimulant, in the form of theobromine, as most coffees have in the form of the similar caffein.
But did anyone ever hear of cocoa being accused of keeping people awake? Yet many, I might say most, persons believe that coffee taken at night will cause sleeplessness, and they blame the caffein it contains for keeping them awake, although they drink cocoa or chocolate with the idea that it will induce restful sleep. In fact there are certain brands of coffees which are widely advertised and sold because, so it is claimed, the greater portion of the caffein has been removed and they will not cause insomnia. But I do not think any manufacturer has ever thought of increasing the sales of cocoa or chocolate by announcing that the theobromine has been taken from them. Strange, is it not?
Both cocoa and chocolate are far more widely used than most persons realize, over three hundred million people consuming over half a million tons of cacao beans every year, and although the cacao tree is a truly American plant, more than half the world's cacao crop is produced in Africa.
Next to coffee and tea, cocoa is the world's most popular food beverage, but there are millions of persons who prefer still other vegetable drinks which are almost unknown to us, and two of the most important of these, described in the next chapter, are strictly American.

Cacao (Chocolate) Tree 1928

From The Tropical Crops by Otis Warren Barrett, B.Sc. 1928

CHAPTER V CACAO
CACAO is in a class by itself as it is both a beverage and food crop. Coffee should be in the same category, but is not. Tea is virtually and financially twice as important as cacao, but in commerce and industry the reverse is true. Coffee is between three and four times heavier in trade and six or eight times more valuable.
Coffee costs by the pound, production-center price, about twice as much as cacao, and tea between two and three times as much, depending on where the value is calculated. Yet this cheaper commodity has not only about the same stimulating power as these two other beverages but in addition is a very nutritious food. The industrial world is fortunate in obtaining cacao so cheaply. Were it not for the disconcerting but comprehensible fact that in a single African colony native growers are today producing over half of the world's crop at about half the production cost a pound in other countries, the buyers would be paying not around ten cents (on an average) but probably over twenty cents a pound for the raw bean.
Cacao is one of the most interesting strictly tropical export crops. If its "butter," or fat, were a little more readily digestible, it would excel, perhaps, both coffee and tea. Chemists are obviating this negative feature by taking out the heavy fat and substituting one or more lighter ones—just as the factory manager covers up the bitter taste with sugar.
Three or four species of Theobroma produce Cacao seeds; the sixteen or eighteen others are not used. All are tropical American in origin. Authorities differ as to whether they are all cultigens.
The family Sterculiaces has about 750 species; it is related to the Tea Family.
About 98 per cent of the crop is produced by T. Cacao. T. pentagona is cultivated in Nicaragua and adjoining republics. T. speciosa and T. angustifolia are unimportant. Of T. Cacao there are some twelve or fifteen distinct types, distinguishable largely by their fruits. These may be yellow or reddish, long or roundish, small or large, bottle-necked, ridged, smooth, and the seeds also differ in color and flavor.
Cacao is an ordinary-appearing tree, 15 to 25 feet high, with thin, fairly large leaves. The striking peculiarity is its habit of producing the very small pinkish flowers and fruits in clusters, on "buttons" on the trunk and larger branches; in fact, the fruits are so closely attached to these buttons that their removal without injury to the bark requires trained pickers. The beautiful pods, as the fruits are called, ripen at all seasons, though there is usually one large harvest and several minor pickings in the year. Inside the thick granular-woody shell there is a scanty white pulp, sweet and well flavored and cool tasting, and large irregular-shaped flattened seeds, twenty to forty or more, somewhat like large plump lima beans, of a beautiful lilac-purple shade inside, sometimes pink.
Cacao probably occurs in the wild state in the jungles of northern South America; at least very close relatives of it have been discovered there. Centuries before Colon (Columbus) came over searching for pepper and cinnamon at fifty dollars a pound, this denizen of the coastal rain forests had traveled perhaps from the Orinoco around up to the "Tierra Caliente" of eastern Mexico. The seeds dried and roasted and steeped, with or without other substances, like the seeds of the Ceiba tree, were consumed as a food-drink by the upper classes. Small bags of the seeds were used as money. Without milk and sugar, bitter and gritty, the Emperor Montezuma quaffed fifty mugfuls a day and gave 2,000 more to his household because, besides the nutritious fat, starch, and proteids, they got a 2 per cent caffein stimulus out of the theobromine. Most coffee has only about half as much of the similar alkaloid, caffein.
The Aztecs, who were unquestionably the first to use cacao largely, named it "cacaoquahuitl." The Spaniards, having little respect in those days for aboriginal words, dropped the latter half. The British later transposed the letters.
Chocolate, the preparation of the ground seeds, was called by the Aztecs "chocolatl." The Spaniards were in that case content with substituting an "e" for the final "1"; and the English lexicographers divided it into three syllables and set the accent back on the first. The British grower insists on calling his cacao orchard a "cocoa walk." But correctly speaking cocoa is the flour left after taking most of the fat out of the ground seed, or chocolate.
The Spanish for coconut is "coco"; hence to avoid confusion in trade parlance, the Trinidad merchant sells "cokernuts" and cacao and buys Venezuelan cocos, and also local cocoas.

ECONOMIC STATUS OP CACAO
Few realize that cacao has recently been climbing to a very prominent place in the world's commerce. It is nearly half as large as coffee, over 500,000 tons. Since the perilous slump in price of the raw bean on account of the vast output of very cheap-grown stuff in the Gold Coast, the confectioners have profited: cynically speaking, 10-cent chocolate plus 5-cent sugar equals 80-cent candy.
If 3 pounds of 10-cent cacao are put through the mill, resulting in 2 pounds of cocoa powder worth, say 15 or 20 cents, and 1 pound of cocoa butter (the yellowish at first, then white, fragrant rich vegetable tallow taken out of the hot ground semi-solid paste) worth, say 25 cents, there will be a gross profit of 35 per cent to 50 per cent for the factory.
The United States now imports about 425,000,000 pounds of cacao, or between three-sevenths and a half of the total production. The consumption in the confectionery trade is enormous and is increasing. All grades are used, but about 35 per cent comes from British West Africa, which produces about 225,000 tons, nearly half of the world's supply.
Brazil is producing heavily the past few years (since 1922) and has held rank as the second cacao country since the Great War. Ecuador is in danger of losing her place, in fact Nigeria is surpassing her already, and no one knows what Lagos will do later. Colombia and Venezuela could easily double their output. Trinidad and Sao Thome, old rivals, keep an even status, 18,000 to 30,000 tons. Costa Rica, Santo Domingo, and Nicaragua should expand, for they have ideal cacao climate and soil.
Cacao, as a food-drink, is not sufficiently appreciated. It is much more stimulating than coffee, ounce for ounce, and a good rich food; the butter is indigestible if taken in large amounts. Plenty of vanilla and cinnamon is needed to spice up cocoa and chocolate as a beverage; the semi-solid preparation is made from the powder—not too poor in oil—boiled thoroughly in as small a quantity of water as possible, then a little cream, spice, and plenty of sugar.

CULTIVATION OF CACAO
Cacao likes heat and humidity better perhaps than any other crop; i.e., it is a typical megatherm. Droughts it cannot well endure, nor elevations above 2,500 feet. It revels in red clay, probably because it holds moisture so well; but if this clay cracks under the strain of a long dry spell with no (almost indispensable) blanket of leaves, the roots suffer severely. Rich deep loamy alluvium along river banks is best, provided the valley is not exposed too much to the wind; or up along winding streams back into the hills if the slopes are not too rocky.
Forking is a common practice in most tropical American cacao orchards. The old method was very destructive to the roots, though it did, of course, aerate the heavy soils. In Trinidad in 1907 a laborer was ordered to fetch a spade and demonstrate to the writer the then current style of forking: he came with the spade, but said he could not proceed till he had a cutlass to chop the roots. Consequently, the writer devised the vertical forking method: a short-handled fork with strong straight prongs is thrust (by hand and foot) vertically into the earth, not too close to the trunk base; the handle is then moved backward and forward till the tines are loosened in the soil, then taken out. These tine holes let the air down 6 or 8 inches beneath the surface, no roots are broken—no "chopping" is necessary —and these enlarged tine holes fill gradually with fine surface silt and humus particles, held right where the feeding roots can utilize them. Twenty to forty vertical thrusts in the root radius of a medium-sized tree allow the roots to get their due supply of air, even in heavy clay soils.
Deep drains are necessary wherever the least trace of stagnant water might be suspected.
Cacao is a noble crop and will not endure the slights and lack of attention so commonly shown coffee and coconuts. In Trinidad the old creole planters have a wise adage, to wit: "Old Mis' Cocoa, she likes 'e soun' o' de human voice"; and, true enough, within ear-shot of the hut the trees bear twice as much as those receiving less attention.
Seed should be taken, of course, from the best parent trees, those which always carry a good number of pods, and which produce good plump beans of the correct color and flavor. This is not so easy as it sounds, but cacao planters are ahead of coffee growers in starting their seed selection right.
Seeds may be planted "at stake" or in beds in a regular nursery or in bamboo pots or palm-leaf baskets. Under favorable conditions, i.e., where there is shade and plenty of rain, two or three seeds may be planted in the hill, the most vigorous one to be left in situ in due course. In starting a new grove, however, where the young seedling has to meet sun, wind, and weeds, perhaps, there is better chance of success if it goes out into the open-space dangers well prepared to win out. In the writer's experience the bamboo-joint, one seed to the pot, is the best method; germination is better, and the seedlings can be kept in the pots till they show six or eight leaves, but by that time the tap-root is creeping out of the hole in the septum at the bottom of the joint. When taken to the hole, which should have been dug deep and wide and nearly filled with surface soil, weeks before the transplanting, the pot is thrust down into the loose soil, then with a hatchet or short machete one side is split off carefully and lifted out, earth is pressed up against the exposed soil cylinder still intact in the remaining half of the pot which is then left, erect and solid-set. The holes may be 10 x 10 feet on slopes but in rich soil 12 x 12 or 12 x 15 feet is better. This means 300 down to 240 to the acre.
Shade is nearly always necessary. Cacao is by nature a jungle denizen and dislikes wind; in fact, strong winds at the time the flushes of tender new leaves occur at the tips of the branches may whip them to pieces in a few hours. Too much shade, however, conduces to fungous attacks of all kinds and thus to low yield. Several species of Erythrina, called Dadaps in the Orient and Bocares in the American tropics, are the favorite shade-producers. They have one exasperating fault: whenever their shade is most needed, during a long drought, they always shed every leaf, letting the sun down to the ground, cracking open the red clay and torturing the cacao roots.
To make the trunk branch out at the height of 3 feet, three or four main branches preferred, a little cautious pruning may be necessary the second year after transplanting (or planting at stake). Thereafter pruning is a fine art in the cacao grove. Not only must the tree be kept balanced and open but the two sorts of vertical sprouts must be removed promptly, twice or thrice a year gone over by an expert with experience, a very sharp knife, saw, and paint-pot. One of these suckers has plenty of leaves and may be left to form a new trunk if the old one develops canker; the other water-sprout will shoot up 4 to 5 feet in a few months, with hardly any leaves, and will distract the tree's attention from fruit production unless promptly removed. The proper removal of cacao side-shoots is a very difficult pruning operation. They should be taken off carefully, close up to the parent trunk, without injuring the bark, and with the application of some thick bland paint or wound wax to promote quick healing-over of the scar.

HARVESTING CACAO PODS (PLATE IV)
The fourth or fifth year there should be a number of fruits. If any set the third year they should be removed to avoid lowering the young tree's vigor. From the fourth to the fortieth year the tree should bear two crops, one long and heavy and one a few months afterward more irregular and uncertain. A fruit cushion, or button, may produce four or even six pods almost simultaneously, so that their bases, crowded together on their one-inch peduncles, become squeezed out of shape. Cacao, when free from fungous pests, is almost too prolific.
Since by the tenth year some of the pods may be borne too high for the pickers to reach with the cutlass or shorter knife, there is on most estates a pole-picker—a triangular blade mounted on a handle 6 to 9 feet long. Some of these blades have on one side a down-curving prong with cutting edge, so that a downward pull will sever a pod on the upper side of a high cushion. Most pods are removed by upward jabs of the pole-knife, and probably one-third of these jabs cut into the bark of the cushion or wood near thereto. Knives nearly always carry germs of the black-pod rot (Phytophthora jaberi), and therefore every cut is an inoculation. A tarred rag, wrapped around the base of the blade, touched to the bark wound would prevent most of the trouble.
The pods drop to the ground. Unless weeds are unusually bad, the gatherers never miss a pod, red or yellow. To save bending over, a favorite trick of the gatherer is to thrust the point of the cutlass into the pod, then with a quick swing and recoil the pod is hurled 10 or 15 yards away to a pile which is later broken in situ, perhaps, or packed down by burro or mule (purposely bred very small to pass under the branches easily) to a general breaking ground.
Cacao picking is interesting work, requiring much more intelligence than coffee picking. The cacao pod shows certain indications of its maturity to those who know, but these signs can hardly be put into words and even the most intelligent experienced pickers cut many a pod that lacks a week or two of being fully ripe. Five to fifteen pods a tree at a picking is probably a fair average. Many fine old trees, 8 to 12 inches in diameter and 15 to 25 feet high, give less, while a vigorous young tree may yield twenty-five to seventy-five beautiful purple and orange fruits at one cut. About twenty pods are required to make a pound of dry seeds. From 300 to 500 pounds to the acre is the outturn: the average probably runs around 425 pounds.
The breaking is always an interesting task. Usually heaps of a few thousand pods, here and there near paths, are made in the shade. Two sharp short blows of the machete or heavy knife by an expert, three or four by the regular peon, breaks the semi-woody shell around its equator, disclosing the white pink-streaked mass of pulp and seeds, which is tossed in a pile for the women strippers. A good breaker will handle 500 or so pods an hour; but only a specially trained wrist can hold out all day without cutting either fingers or seeds. Stripping the seeds from the placental strings running lengthwise of the seed-pulp cylinder looks simple, but is a difficult operation. The seeds in their delicious but scanty ice-cream-like pulp are shoveled into sacks, pannier baskets, or head baskets, and sent down to the fermenting boxes. The empty half-shells are left to rot usually right where they were broken. In a year the crumbled black mass may be flung about under the near-by trees to help out the blanket. A liberal dusting of lime over the heap, occasionally, hastens decay and lessens the number of mosquito larvae in the up-turned shell halves.

CACAO FERMENTATION AND PREPARATION
When the seeds arrive at the "sweating room," the process is no longer agricultural but chemical. Much training and clear judgment is required in cacao fermentation. Much has been written regarding the proper temperature, size of bin or box, manner of mixing, duration, exposure to the air, but as no two batches are alike, no rules can be laid down. The smell of the almost hot (100° to 125° F.) pulp, the way the vinegary claret-like liquor flows out at the bottom of the (cubic yard more or less) box, the color of the seed-coats, the texture of the slippery beans, have to be learned very slowly.
After two or three, possibly four days, when the seeds have been mixed several times to mingle the cooler beans near the outside of the box with those getting too hot near the center, the batch, weighing a quarter of a ton, is taken to the drying trays or perhaps to the perforated floor of a dry-house, or possibly, if the weather is wet and the estate well outfitted, to a dehydrator.
Sometimes the seeds are washed when leaving the sweating house. If so, they present a cleaner appearance, but most growers believe that washed beans are weaker. In some estates in Venezuela the seeds are fermented in pits in the ground. Yeast germs, bacteria, and enzymes find the fermenting boxes a veritable paradise. The lees liquor is run off into a seep-tank or into a near-by stream. It might be utilized as a weak vinegar if filtered and clarified. The tight seed-coat of the cacao bean is not so easily handled as the loose parchment endocarp of the coffee drupelet. Moreover, the cacao seed is four to six times heavier than the coffee. If the weather happens to be cloudy, no amount of raking over, turning, stirring, on the huge trays can prevent molds from attacking the sticky surfaces of the seeds, and unless some form of artificial heat is available the batch may sour. However, if dried too fast at first the thin brownish-yellow or reddish hull may crack open exposing the purplish seed itself, which would certainly affect the price if not the flavor. A hundredweight of fresh beans gives about 47 pounds in the bag; 100 pounds of fresh pods turns out only 25 pounds of dry seed.
After some days of anxious attention, however, the beans begin to give the faint susurrant or murmuring sound which delights the tray gang. Every night and during every shower the big trays must be rolled in under a shed or a roof must be rolled over them; even dew would spoil them. In some countries the beans are "danced" when nearly dry. They are made up into a flat-topped heap, a foot deep by 6 feet in diameter, sprinkled with powdered fine red clay and then with a little water, trodden by four or five barefooted laborers, walking around and around on the heap, while two or three shovelers at the rim keep the pile from getting too shallow. After ten minutes or so every bean in the heap is glazed with a thin film of clay which protects the seed from molds between tray and chocolate factory. There is much variation in the thickness of this hull: a thin membrane over the Ceylon and Java seeds, and a tough coat on the tropical American.
Cacao goes into larger sacks than coffee, for no apparent reason: 200 pounds vs. 125 to 150. Unlike coffee it does not carry very well over long routes and great care must be exercised to avoid danger of mustiness or even dampness in the warehouses. During the World War many thousands of tons accumulated in the Accrá warehouses (Gold Coast), overflowed, grew stale and finally a vast quantity of this third-class stuff was offered gratis, it is said, to any and all ship's captains who needed ballast on the home run; and scarcely a pound was wasted after all, they say.
Arrived finally at the factory, the beans are carefully tested, no two lots being just the same, and a blend formula worked out: so many Accrá sacks for bulk, so many Arribas from Ecuador and perhaps a little high-class Granada, which ought to make a very fair grade liquor for the candy manufacturer. Liquor, of course, is the solid ground bean, usually run, while warm and therefore semi-solid, into cakes about 15 x 25 x 2½ inches.
After a slight roast, in order to toast the skin up brittle and to bring out the delightful aroma, not nearly so strong a bake as is given to coffee, the beans are de-hulled in one machine and sent on to the nibber which breaks them into coarse and fine pieces and removes the "chit," or embryo. These nibs, or broken seeds, may be winnowed and screened out into several grades. Then the different sorts, from several countries probably, are mixed and conveyed on belts or from spouts to the hoppers of the grinders. It is a strange sight to see the warm dry rattling nibs go into the open mouth in the center of the top stone, and run out a creamy paste at the outer rim.
If the ordinary liquor, which is well ground and finished, is taken to the conching cylinder and submitted to several hours furious beating by the relentless piston, back and forth rapidly, the result is a smooth mellow cream of distinct flavor and of higher price.
The bean is marketed as cocoa powder and cocoa-butter or as some form of bitter or sweet chocolate. The shells or hulls, however, are used for stock feed. The amount of clay adherent to the hulls is seldom or never sufficient to damage their value as a cattle-feed ingredient. Cocoa shells may still be obtained, cleaned, in packages for human consumption; formerly they came in sacks, cheap and popular. The shells or seed-hulls contain about 11 per cent fat, while the "dust" (embryo chits and particles of the seed) may have around 28.5 per cent, too rich for stock feed.

VARIETIES OF CACAO
Probably 98 per cent of world's cacao is produced by the fifteen or twenty varieties of Theobroma Cacao. In Central America, especially in Nicaragua, and to a very slight extent on some estates elsewhere, there is cultivated a weakish but rather high-quality species, T. pentagona. This is sometimes mentioned as the "Alligator" cacao, a name which should be dropped, since it leads to confusion with the patashte (Theobroma or Tribroma bicolor).
The varieties of the common species may be grouped under three types, the Forasteros, the Criollos, and the Calabacillos. Of these the Forasteros turn out at least ninety pounds in every quintal marketed, while the Criollos are probably a little ahead of the "poor little squashes", to translate Calabacillos literally.
Of the variations of color of pod, color of seed, shape and size of pod, there is almost no end. According to some cacao specialists, the pinching-in of the basal portion of the fruit indicates that the type is not pure.
The commonest form of the Forastero type is a purple-red fruit with only slight ridges, the tip moderately rounded, and the base with not more than a suspicion of a bottleneck. The seed should be slightly angled, plump, and of a pale purple or lilac shade inside. Yellows, in most tropical American plantations, are not common. They seem less resistant to disease, but there is a feeling that their beans have a better flavor, though no expert could pick out with certainty these beans from a basket of stripped seeds at the breaking heap. Some forms of Forastero pods are covered with a network of deep longitudinal corrugations and shallow crosswise warty wrinkles. Rarely the entire surface is smooth even at the base. Quite often considerable yellow color shows in the depressions between the red ridges, but practically never is a pod really two-colored.
The famous old Criollo type is much commoner in Venezuela than elsewhere. "Criollo" means native-born, and "Forastero" is the Spanish adaptation of the Portuguese word forasteiro, meaning foreigner. The Criollo pod is much more slender and more ridgy than the Forastero and is usually yellowish. The base of the pod is more or less prolonged into a bottle-neck and the tip is rather acute, never rounded. The seed is flatter, longer, and light-colored. The flavor of the well-fermented seed is unquestionably better in some hardly explainable way, and is less bitter, but it may lack body, as the coffee blenders say. The Criollos usually are shy bearers and weak growers.
The Calabacillo has a pod about one-half the size of the Forastero, very short, with a small sharpish tip and practically no ridges at all. The color is almost always dark purplish-red. The bean is small and very bitter. The reason for planting this inferior variety here and there throughout the plantation is because the pickers can always obtain a few pods, whether rainy or dry season, pod-rots and canker or no, from these vigorous but smaller-growing trees.
The Nicaraguan T. pentagona is undeniably a high-grade cacao but there are cases in which canker has wiped out whole plantations. The pod is hardly medium-sized, mostly yellow, strongly five-ridged.
The patashte (T. bicolor) does not resemble the true cacao at all. It makes a tree 30 to 50 feet high, straight and slender. The leaves are large and rounder. The fruit is a striking object: oval or oblong, twice the weight of a Forastero, covered with a dark olive skin, with sharp-edged ridges, the larger running lengthwise. The shell is woody or almost like pottery. The seeds are large, flattened and rounded in a scanty pulp. The natives of Central America employ these seeds in making "dulces" but they are never used like true cacao.

PESTS AND DISEASES OF CACAO
There are six fungous diseases which seriously affect the price of chocolate, besides about twenty species which in certain places may sometimes attack root, stem, leaf, or fruit. Of insect enemies cacao has perhaps fewer than any of the other major crops of the tropics.
Deer, squirrels, and monkeys spoil a few ripe pods now and then. In Trinidad and northern South America the agouti (a brown-meated rodent the size of a rabbit) and the closely related paca (the meat of which resembles chicken breast) are blamed for the loss of a small percentage of the fruits borne low on the trunk.
Pilfering by the human biped, in groves near settlements, is quite serious in many countries.
The terrible black pod-rot, Phytophthora faberi, is the worst pest in all cacao groves. In fact it is debatable whether tropical planters have a worse fungous enemy, since this species not only destroys at least 15 per cent of the world's cacao crop, but has long been killing coconuts by the thousand in nearly all the grove regions in both hemispheres, and lately has begun to attack the soft-barked hevea, increasing the cost of automobile tires. It works in two guises: The most noticeable is the attack on the fruits, from one-half inch in length to full maturity; and canker of the bark. Opinions differ as to which form is the more important. A minute white spore sprouting on the surface of a pod—of any size at any season, or of any variety—finds a pore in the skin. The hyphae, or white thread-like roots, burrow rapidly into the cells and in two or three days (for a young fruit just starting) or a week or so the whole tissue of the shell is rotten, a brown spot at first, enlarging apace and finally turning black. The pulp and seeds are not attacked till after the shell has been destroyed. Mature fruits even badly affected may contain healthy seeds but they are consigned to the heap of rodent-gnawed pods and under-ripes, second-class product which may go in with a half-musty batch, 1 per cent of the total output, perhaps.
The small fruits, killed by this insidious pest, dry up, hang, black and hard for weeks perhaps, and drop off. Of course, the optimist may say that the tree could not carry all its set fruits through to maturity, hence the fungus might as well thin them down. It is a marvel that flowers can come out of any cushion which has had a pod killed on it. When the rot finishes the pod it creeps up the peduncle into the soft thick bark covering the button. In three days after a spore has entered, a cancerous area of brown decayed tissue—canker—is beginning to spread around the point of inoculation; and unless the tree is in good health a large area of bark may be killed, a branch or even the trunk may be girdled. Although in most groves, 70 per cent or more of the cushions have been invaded, one time or another, by their greedy enemy, a very large proportion of them block the spread of the hyphae in some manner. Sometimes the canker, starting probably from several jab wounds made by the picker's hook, spreads rapidly and once the sap supply is cut off by a ring of infection that part of the tree above or beyond it is gone.
The brown pod-rot, Diplodia cacaoicola, is serious, but is not to the same extent as Phytophthora. It also may cause the terrible canker areas on the stem and larger branches.
The comparatively new water-pod disease, Monilia sp., of Ecuador is rather serious. Once the fungus gains entrance into a fruit the seeds are doomed to destruction.
The witches'-broom, Marasmius perniciosus, of Surinam has for twenty-five years or more caused very serious losses. Similar fungi on tea and coffee cause a peculiar bundling of abnormal branches which, of course, bear no fruit.
Various fungi invade the root system. In rich soil one can almost always find long white threads of fungus hyphae running along the cacao roots as if looking for a chance to break in. Species of Fomes have learned how to get through the bark cuticle, and the finest trees will wilt and die as if struck by lightning.
Thread blights, Marasmius spp., are not important, except in a newly planted grove, with rotting stumps and plenty of rain. They kill a few leaves, and hold them suspended by the threads.
Lichens do no harm to the trunk, but like mosses and ferns are unsightly. Bromeliads, or "wild pines", and all epiphytic growths should be pushed off with a forked stick once or twice a year. In very wet situations it may be necessary to brush the trunks occasionally.
The papery cacao leaf is not easily invaded by fungi, but the bark and fruits are good hunting grounds for parasites.
Plant-lice, Aphis spp., and scales often infest the flowers, peduncles, and young fruits. Boring beetles sometimes attack the branches or small trunks.
The economic status of the various kinds of thrips remains uncertain; while some of them may aid in fertilizing the flowers, others probably are harmful.

The American Boy - Contents

The American Boy Volume Number Year Month 12 7 1911 May Page Article Comment Links 1 Under His Own Flag Clarence B. Kelland Kelland 2 The Young American Privateers Cyrus Townsend Brady part/serial Ch 10 Brady 6 The Great American Game Irving E. Sanborn part/serial part2 Sanborn 7 "Our" Column editor column 8 Joe Weston, Book Farmer Garrard Harris part/serial ch 4&5 10 The Gage of Battle Clarence B. Kelland part/serial ch20 14 Bartley, Freshman Pitcher William Heyliger part/serial ch7 17 Ramon and Toro Negro Herbert Coolidge 18 Useful Hints for The Outdoors Boy A. Hyatt Verrill column Verrill 20 For the Boys to Make John L. Dougheny column 21 What Has Happened in May 22 The Stamp Collector Willard O. Wyle column 24 The Boy Photographer Dr. Hugo Erichsen column 25 Boy Mechanic and Electrician Capt. H.A.R. Gray column 27 Current Events column 28 Chicken Farming on a City Lot 30 The Great American Boy Army column 32 Just For Fun column