Ivory Coast will create a $500 million green finance fund to support sustainable growth initiatives, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) said in a statement.

Ivory Coast to establish $500 mln green finance fund | Reuters

Skies in parts of B.C. were darkened on Friday by striking cloud formations known as asperitas, with social media getting lit up with posts about their odd-looking appearances

PHOTOS: What were those eerie clouds that covered B.C. South Coast skies?

"You really couldn't ask realistically for a better report for the economy, coupled with finding out that the (East Coast and Gulf Coast) port strike is not going to be an extended matter ... those are two pieces of very good news for the economy," Goolsbee told Bloomberg TV shortly after the ...

Fed's Goolsbee calls jobs report 'superb,' still sees rate cuts ahead

TechCox deletes ‘Active Listening’ ad pitch after boasting that it eavesdrops though our phones5 cybersecurity predictions for 2024Women outnumber men on the East Coast, especially these 6 cities

MoneyGram update: Financial service down in ...

New footage released by the US Coast Guard shows the remains of the OceanGate Titan submersible's pressure hull.

New Footage Shows Imploded Crew Compartment of Doomed Titanic Sub

The US Coast Guard has released the first public footage of the wreck of OceanGate's Titan submersible, which imploded in June of last year.

Ghostly Footage Shows Imploded Sub Resting in Freezing Darkness of Ocean Floor

During a hearing, the US Coast Guard shared the first picture of the Titan submersible's hull after it imploded on the way to the Titanic.

New Photo Shows Wrecked Titanic Sub on Ocean Floor

A major search and rescue operation was launched in the early hours of the morning, but the woman couldn&#x27;t be saved

Woman dies after being pulled from sea off Welsh coast - Wales Online

Services being cancelled and delayed because of incident on West <strong>Coast</strong> Main Line between Carlisle and Oxenholme Lake District

Freight train derailment sparks travel chaos between England and Scotland

Coast

coast

The Go-Getter: A Story That Tells You How to be One by Peter B. Kyne is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . I here I Mr. Alden P. Ricks, known in Pacific Coast wholesale lumber and shipping circles as Cappy Ricks, had more troubles than a hen with ducklings. He remarked as much to Mr. Skinner, president and general manager of the Ricks Logging & Lumbering Company, the corporate entity which represented Cappy's vast lumber interests; and he fairly barked the information at Captain Matt Peasley, his son-in-law and also president and manager of the Blue Star Navigation Company, another corporate entity which represented the Ricks interest in the American mercantile marine. Mr. Skinner received this information in silence. He was not related to Cappy Ricks. But Matt Peasley sat down, crossed his legs and matched glares with his mercurial father-in-law. " have troubles!" he jeered, with emphasis on the pronoun. "Have you got a misery in your back, or is Herbert Hoover the wrong man for Secretary of Commerce?" You "Stow your sarcasm, young feller," Cappy shrilled. "You know dad-blamed well it isn't a question of health or politics. It's the fact that in my old age I find myself totally surrounded by the choicest aggregation of mental duds since Ajax defied the lightning." "Meaning whom?" "You and Skinner." "Why, what have we done?" "You argued me into taking on the management of twenty-five of those infernal Shipping Board freighters, and no sooner do we have them allocated to us than a near panic hits the country, freight rates go to glory, marine engineers go on strike and every infernal young whelp we send out to take charge of one of our offices in the Orient promptly gets the swelled head and thinks he's divinely ordained to drink up all the synthetic Scotch whiskey manufactured in Japan for the benefit of thirsty Americans. In my old age you two have forced us into the position of having to fire folks by cable. Why? Because we're breaking into a game that can't be played on the home grounds. A lot of our business is so far away we can't control it." Matt Peasley leveled an accusing finger at Cappy Ricks. "We never argued you into taking over the management of those Shipping Board boats. We argued me into it. I'm the goat. You have nothing to do with it. You retired ten years ago. All the troubles in the marine end of this shop belong on my capable shoulders, old settler." "Theoretically--yes. Actually--no. I hope you do not expect me to abandon mental as well as physical effort. Great Wampus Cats! Am I to be denied a sentimental interest in matters where I have a controlling financial interest? I admit you two boys are running my affairs and ordinarily you run them rather well, but--but--ahem! Harumph-h-h! What's the matter with you, Matt? And you, also, Skinner? If Matt makes a mistake, it's your job to remind him of it before the results manifest themselves, is it not? And vice versa. Have you two boobs lost your ability to judge men or did you ever have such ability?" "You're referring to Henderson, of the Shanghai office, I dare say," Mr. Skinner cut in. "I am, Skinner. And I'm here to remind you that if we'd stuck to our own game, which is coast-wise shipping, and had left the trans-Pacific field with its general cargoes to others, we wouldn't have any Shanghai office at this moment and we would not be pestered by the Hendersons of this world." "He's the best lumber salesman we've ever had," Mr. Skinner defended. "I had every hope that he would send us orders for many a cargo for Asiatic delivery." "And he had gone through every job in this office, from office boy to sales manager in the lumber department and from freight clerk to passenger agent in the navigation company," Matt Peasley supplemented. "I admit all of that. But did you consult me when you decided to send him out to China on his own?" "Of course not. I'm boss of the Blue Star Navigation Company, am I not? The man was in charge of the Shanghai office before you ever opened your mouth to discharge your cargo of free advice." "I told you then that Henderson wouldn't make good, didn't I?" "You did." "And now I have an opportunity to tell you the little tale you didn't give me an opportunity to tell you before you sent him out. Henderson a good man--a crackerjack man--when he had a better man over him. But--I've been twenty years reducing a tendency on the part of that fellow's head to bust his hat-band. And now he's gone south with a hundred and thirty thousand taels of our Shanghai bank account." was "Permit me to remind you, Mr. Ricks," Mr. Skinner cut in coldly, "that he was bonded to the extent of a quarter of a million dollars." "Not a peep out of you, Skinner. Not a peep. Permit me to remind that I'm the little genius who placed that insurance unknown to you and Matt. And I recall now that I was reminded by you, Matthew, my son, that I had retired ten years ago and please, would I quit interfering in the internal administration of your office." you "Well, I must admit your far-sightedness in that instance will keep the Shanghai office out of the red ink this year," Matt Peasley replied. "However, we face this situation, Cappy. Henderson has drunk and gambled and signed chits in excess of his salary. He hasn't attended to business and he's capped his inefficiency by absconding with our bank account. We couldn't foresee that. When we send a man out to the Orient to be our manager there, we have to trust him all the way or not at all. So there is no use weeping over spilled milk, Cappy. Our job is to select a successor to Henderson and send him out to Shanghai on the next boat." "Oh, very well, Matt," Cappy replied magnanimously, "I'll not rub it into you. I suppose I'm far from generous, bawling you out like this. Perhaps, when you're my age and have a lot of mental and moral cripples nip you and draw blood as often as they've drawn it on me you'll be a better judge than I of men worthy of the weight of responsibility. Skinner, have you got a candidate for this job?" "I regret to say, sir, I have not. All of the men in my department are quite young--too young for the responsibility." "What do you mean--young?" Cappy blazed. "Well, the only man I would consider for the job is Andrews and he is too young--about thirty, I should say." "About thirty, eh? Strikes me you were about twenty-eight when I threw ten thousand a year at you in actual cash, and a couple of million dollars' worth of responsibility." "Yes sir, but then Andrews has never been tested----" "Skinner," Cappy interrupted in his most awful voice, "it's a constant source of amazement to me why I refrain from firing you. You say Andrews has never been tested. Why hasn't he been tested? Why are we maintaining untested material in this shop, anyhow? Eh? Answer me that. Tut, tut, tut! Not a peep out of you, sir. If you had done your Christian duty, you would have taken a year's vacation when lumber was selling itself in 1919 and 1920, and you would have left Andrews sitting in at your desk to see the sort of stuff he's made of." "It's a mighty lucky thing I didn't go away for a year," Skinner protested respectfully, "because the market broke--like that--and if you don't think we have to hustle to sell sufficient lumber to keep our own ships busy freighting it--" "Skinner, how dare you contradict me? How old was Matt Peasley when I turned over the Blue Star Navigation Company to him, lock, stock and barrel? Why, he wasn't twenty-six years old. Skinner, you're a dodo! The killjoys like you who have straddled the neck of industry and throttled it with absurd theories that a man's back must be bent like an ox-bow and his locks snowy white before he can be entrusted with responsibility and a living wage, have caused all of our wars and strikes. This is a young man's world, Skinner, and don't you ever forget it. The go-getters of this world are under thirty years of age. Matt," he concluded, turning to his son-in-law, "what do you think of Andrews for that Shanghai job?" "I think he'll do." "Why do you think he'll do?" "Because he ought to do. He's been with us long enough to have acquired sufficient experience to enable him--" "Has he acquired the courage to tackle the job, Matt?" Cappy interrupted. "That's more important than this doggoned experience you and Skinner prate so much about." "I know nothing of his courage. I assume that he has force and initiative. I know he has a pleasing personality." "Well, before we send him out we ought to know whether or no he has force and initiative." "Then," quoth Matt Peasley, rising, "I wash my hands of the job of selecting Henderson's successor. You've butted in, so I suggest you name the lucky man." "Yes, indeed," Skinner agreed. "I'm sure it's quite beyond my poor abilities to uncover Andrews' force and initiative on such notice. He does possess sufficient force and initiative for his present job, but--" "But will he possess force and initiative when he has to make a quick decision six thousand miles from expert advice, and stand or fall by that decision? That's what we want to know, Skinner." "I suggest, sir," Mr. Skinner replied with chill politeness, "that you conduct the examination." "I accept the nomination, Skinner. By the Holy Pink-toed Prophet! The next man we send out to that Shanghai office is going to be a go-getter. We've had three managers go rotten on us and that's three too many." And without further ado, Cappy swung his aged legs up on to his desk and slid down in his swivel chair until he rested on his spine. His head sank on his breast and he closed his eyes. "He's framing the examination for Andrews," Matt Peasley whispered, as he and Skinner made their exits. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Peter B. Kyne (2004). The Go-Getter: A Story That Tells You How to be One. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/12257/pg12257-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Mr. Alden P. Ricks, known in Pacific Coast wholesale lumber and shipping circles as Cappy Ricks

My Blogging Journey My personal journey in tech blogging has been a roller coaster ride. I have been blogging ever since I entered the IT industry as a new entrant in 2008. It was driven by the passion for learning new technology and exploring stuff that is contrary to my regular day-to-day job. So when I was working as an Android application developer, in my personal time, I was trying to learn J2EE and Apache Struts. And, I love taking notes along the way while doing small and simple POCs. At that time, there was no application like Notion, so I decided to create a website using Google Blogspot and started capturing all my notes there. Those notes mainly served as a bookmark, so I could refresh my memory whenever I wanted. Slowly, I started to like writing detailed tutorials and sharing my knowledge which some of my friends, and colleagues loved to read. And that is how I was introduced to blogging. But, I never wanted to be a full-time blogger. I never believed I had that spark, that would make my livelihood out of it. That made me a passive blogger. 7 Blogging Mistakes I Wish I Had Known Before Over the years, I've had my fair share of experiences as a passive blogger, and through trial and error, I've learned valuable lessons that I wish I had known earlier. In this blog post, I'll share these insights with you, in the hope that they'll help you on your own blogging journey. This post is probably too long for you. You don't need to spend all your time reading this unless you really want to hear my story. Let’s cut to the chase: Content is the king, but consistency is the key to success! Building a distribution channel is more important than building a great site. You don't need a perfect domain or perfect site design. No one gives a shit about your domain name or site design as long as you have the X factor in your content. Understand your niche. Don't try to be a jack of all; you may appear as a jackass. SEO is the secret weapon. The earlier you realize the better for your site growth. Engagements are more important than having a larger number of subscribers/followers. Social media can help you to create the hype, but a simple mistake can fuck up your whole strategy. So use it cautiously. Only, for not-so-busy people: Nothing new here, but I expand on these above topics. 1. Content Is the King, but Consistency Is the Key to Success! Great content is essential for any successful blog; this is a must-have. However, consistency is equally important. You need to strike the right balance between quality and quantity. As a lone worrier, I used to dedicate a few hours over a weekend to produce 2/3 articles for my blog. But I never realized that we need to be consistent in publishing stories. I used to publish 3/4 articles in a day, and then nothing for the rest of the month. Publishing many articles a day, makes your readers overwhelmed with content so it is very unlikely that all your stories will be read by everyone. But publishing a story on a regular interval, let’s say every Sunday, will definitely drive more engagement, and your readers will love to spend a few minutes reading a story per week. 2. Building a Distribution Channel Is More Important Than Building a Great Site Great content is like a hidden treasure; it is worth only when discovered by your readers. Without having an effective distribution strategy no one will ever find what you write. You need to plan your distribution strategy including content syndication, building email lists, social media groups, etc. 3. You Don't Need a Perfect Domain or Perfect Site Design Many aspiring bloggers get caught up in the quest for the perfect domain name or website design. While these factors are important, they are not as critical as the quality and uniqueness of your content. 4. Understand Your Niche Trying to cover too many topics can dilute your blog's identity and make you appear unfocused. Find out why it's crucial to understand your niche, and become an authority in it. 5. SEO is the Secret Weapon Search Engine Optimization (SEO) can be a game-changer for your blog's growth and to drive organic traffic to your blog. While SEO strategy might sound easy when you Google these topics, there is a vast amount of science behind it. Some of these include: Having a catchy page title (not clickbait) and page description. Maintain a structural hierarchy of your content on the page Canonical and SEO-friendly page links Backlinks and building trustworthiness Page loading speed Image and video annotations and structured content markup Submit the site to search engines These are just a few of these SEO strategies to start with. 6. Engagements Are More Important Than a Large Number of Subscribers/Followers It's not just about the numbers. Don't always throw your stuff; expand your social posts to other stuff including a photo from your pub night or day out with your kids. People love to connect with humans more than a BOT🤖. Engaging with your audience, building a community, and nurturing relationships can be more valuable than having a massive but passive following. 7. Social Media: Hype and Caution Social media can be a double-edged sword. Learn how to leverage its potential to create excitement around your blog while avoiding common pitfalls that can harm your strategy. In Summary, I am not a very successful blogger. I never made direct money out of my blogging. However, blogging enabled me to expand my horizons and build connections. Using my blogging connections, I have published books, built projects, and earned sufficient money to call out “My Blogging Journey has been Worthwhile!” Happy blogging! Also published here

Tech Blogging - A Roller Coaster Ride

A Floating City and The Blockade Runners by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Chapter VI here CHAPTER VI. The next day, the 27th of March, the “Great Eastern” coasted along the deeply-indented Irish shore. I had chosen my cabin at the bows; it was a small room well lighted by two skylights. A second row of cabins separated it from the first saloon, so that neither the noise of conversation, nor the rattling of pianos, which were not wanting on board, could reach me. It was an isolated cabin; the furniture consisted of a sofa, a bedstead, and a toilet-table. The next morning at seven o’clock, having crossed the first two rooms, I went on deck. A few passengers were already pacing the upper decks; an almost imperceptible swell balanced the steamer; the wind, however, was high, but the sea, protected by the coast, was comparatively calm. From the poop of the smoking-room, I perceived that long line of shore, the continual verdure of which has won for it the name of “Emerald Coast.” A few solitary houses, a string of tide-waiters, a wreath of white smoke curling from between two hills, indicating the passing of a train, an isolated signal-post making grimacing gestures to the vessels at large, here and there animated the scene. The sea between us and the coast was of a dull green shade; there was a fresh breeze blowing, mists floated above the water like spray. Numerous vessels, brigs and schooners, were awaiting the tide; steamers puffing away their black smoke were soon distanced by the “Great Eastern,” although she was going at a very moderate speed. Soon we came in sight of Queenstown, a small “calling-place,” before which several fishermen’s boats were at work. It is here that all ships bound for Liverpool, whether steamers or sailing-ships, throw out their despatch-bags, which are carried to Dublin in a few hours by an express train always in readiness. From Dublin they are conveyed across the channel to Holyhead by a fast steamer, so that despatches thus sent are one day in advance of the most rapid Transatlantic steamers. About nine o’clock the bearings of the “Great Eastern” were west-north-west. I was just going on deck, when I met Captain Mac Elwin, accompanied by a friend, a tall, robust man, with a light beard and long moustache which mingled with the whiskers and left the chin bare, after the fashion of the day. This tall fellow was the exact type of an English officer; his figure was erect without stiffness, his look calm, his walk dignified but easy; his whole appearance seemed to indicate unusual courage, and I was not mistaken in him. “My friend, Archibald Corsican,” said Fabian to me, “a captain in the 22nd regiment of the Indian army, like myself.” Thus introduced, Captain Corsican and I bowed. “We hardly saw each other yesterday, Fabian,” said I, shaking Captain Mac Elwin’s hand, “we were in the bustle of departure, so that all I know about you is that it was not chance which brought you on board the ‘Great Eastern.’ I must confess that if I have anything to do with your decision—” “Undoubtedly, my dear fellow,” interrupted Fabian; “Captain Corsican and I came to Liverpool with the intention of taking our berths on board the ‘China,’ a Cunard steamer, when we heard that the ‘Great Eastern’ was going to attempt another passage from England to America; it was a chance we might not get again, and learning that you were on board I did not hesitate, as I had not seen you since we took that delightful trip in the Scandinavian States three years ago; so now you know how it was that the tender brought us here yesterday.” “My dear Fabian,” I replied, “I believe that neither Captain Corsican nor yourself will regret your decision, as a passage across the Atlantic in this huge boat cannot fail to be interesting even to you who are so little used to the sea. But now let us talk about yourself. Your last letter, and it is not more than six weeks since I received it, bore the Bombay post-mark, so that I was justified in believing you were still with your regiment.” “We were so three weeks ago,” said Fabian, “leading the half-military, half-country life of Indian officers, employing most of our time in hunting; my friend here is a famed tiger-killer; however, as we are both single and without family ties, we thought we would let the poor wild beasts of the peninsula rest for a time, while we came to Europe to breathe a little of our native air. We obtained a year’s leave, and travelling by way of the Red Sea, Suez, and France, we reached Old England with the utmost possible speed.” “Old England,” said Captain Corsican, smiling; “we are there no longer, Fabian; we are on board an English ship, but it is freighted by a French company, and it is taking us to America; three different flags float over our heads, signifying that we are treading on Franco-Anglo-American boards.” “What does it matter,” replied Fabian, and a painful expression passed over his face; “what does it matter, so long as it whiles away the time? ‘Movement is life;’ and it is well to be able to forget the past, and kill the present by continual change. In a few days I shall be at New York, where I hope to meet again my sister and her children, whom I have not seen for several years; then we shall visit the great lakes, and descend the Mississippi as far as New Orleans, where we shall look for sport on the Amazon. From America we are going to Africa, where the lions and elephants will make the Cape their ‘rendezvous,’ in order to celebrate the arrival of Captain Corsican. Finally, we shall return and impose on the Sepoys the caprices of the metropolis.” Fabian spoke with a nervous volubility, and his breast heaved; evidently there was some great grief weighing on his mind, the cause of which I was as yet ignorant of, but with which Archibald seemed to be well acquainted. He evinced a warm friendship for Fabian, who was several years younger than himself, treating him like a younger brother, with a devotion which at times almost amounted to heroism. At this moment our conversation was interrupted by the sound of a horn, which announced the half-past twelve lunch. Four times a day, to the great satisfaction of the passengers, this shrill horn sounded: at half-past eight for breakfast, half-past twelve for lunch, four o’clock for dinner, and at seven for tea. In a few minutes the long streets were deserted, and soon the tables in the immense saloons were filled with guests. I succeeded in getting a place near Fabian and Captain Corsican. The dining-rooms were provided with four long rows of tables; the glasses and bottles placed in swing-racks kept perfectly steady; the roll of the steamer was almost imperceptible, so that the guests—men, women, and children—could eat their lunch without any fear. Numerous waiters were busy carrying round the tastily-arranged dishes, and supplying the demands for wine and beer; the Californians certainly distinguished themselves by their proclivities for champagne. Near her husband sat an old laundress, who had found gold in the San Francisco washing-tubs, emptying a bottle of champagne in no time; two or three pale, delicate-looking young ladies were eagerly devouring slices of red beef; and others discussing with evident satisfaction the merits of rhubarb tart, &c. Every one worked away in the highest spirits; one could have fancied oneself at a restaurant in the middle of Paris instead of the open sea. Lunch over, the decks were again filled; people bowed and spoke to each other in passing as formally as if they were walking in Hyde Park; children played and ran about, throwing their balls and bowling hoops as they might have done on the gravel walks of the Tuileries; the greater part of the men walked up and down smoking; the ladies, seated on folding-chairs, worked, read, or talked together, whilst the governesses and nurses looked after the children. A few corpulent Americans swung themselves backwards and forwards in their rocking-chairs; the ship’s officers were continually passing to and fro, some going to their watch on the bridge, others answering the absurd questions put to them by some of the passengers; whilst the tones of an organ and two or three pianos making a distracting discord, reached us through the lulls in the wind. About three o’clock a loud shouting was heard; the passengers crowded on to the poop; the “Great Eastern” had ranged within two cable-lengths of a vessel which she had overhauled. It was the “Propontis,” on her way to New York, which was saluting the giant of the seas on her passage, which compliment the giant returned. Land was still in sight at four o’clock, but hardly discernible through the mist which had suddenly surrounded us. Soon we saw the light of Fastenet Beacon, situated on an isolated rock. Night set in, during which we must have doubled Cape Clear, the most southerly point of Ireland. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2022). A Floating City and The Blockade Runners. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/67829/67829-h/67829-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

27th of March, the “Great Eastern” coasted along the deeply-indented Irish shore

Five Weeks in a Balloon by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Chapter XXXIII here CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD. Conjectures.—Reestablishment of the Victoria’s Equilibrium.—Dr. Ferguson’s New Calculations.—Kennedy’s Hunt.—A Complete Exploration of Lake Tchad.—Tangalia.—The Return.—Lari. On the morrow, the 13th of May, our travellers, for the first time, reconnoitred the part of the coast on which they had landed. It was a sort of island of solid ground in the midst of an immense marsh. Around this fragment of grew reeds as lofty as trees are in Europe, and stretching away out of sight. terra firma These impenetrable swamps gave security to the position of the balloon. It was necessary to watch only the borders of the lake. The vast stretch of water broadened away from the spot, especially toward the east, and nothing could be seen on the horizon, neither mainland nor islands. The two friends had not yet ventured to speak of their recent companion. Kennedy first imparted his conjectures to the doctor. “Perhaps Joe is not lost after all,” he said. “He was a skilful lad, and had few equals as a swimmer. He would find no difficulty in swimming across the Firth of Forth at Edinburgh. We shall see him again—but how and where I know not. Let us omit nothing on our part to give him the chance of rejoining us.” “May God grant it as you say, Dick!” replied the doctor, with much emotion. “We shall do everything in the world to find our lost friend again. Let us, in the first place, see where we are. But, above all things, let us rid the of this outside covering, which is of no further use. That will relieve us of six hundred and fifty pounds, a weight not to be despised—and the end is worth the trouble!” Victoria The doctor and Kennedy went to work at once, but they encountered great difficulty. They had to tear the strong silk away piece by piece, and then cut it in narrow strips so as to extricate it from the meshes of the network. The tear made by the beaks of the condors was found to be several feet in length. This operation took at least four hours, but at length the inner balloon once completely extricated did not appear to have suffered in the least degree. The was thus diminished in size by one fifth, and this difference was sufficiently noticeable to excite Kennedy’s surprise. Victoria “Will it be large enough?” he asked. “Have no fears on that score, I will reestablish the equilibrium, and should our poor Joe return we shall find a way to start off with him again on our old route.” “At the moment of our fall, unless I am mistaken, we were not far from an island.” “Yes, I recollect it,” said the doctor, “but that island, like all the islands on Lake Tchad, is, no doubt, inhabited by a gang of pirates and murderers. They certainly witnessed our misfortune, and should Joe fall into their hands, what will become of him unless protected by their superstitions?” “Oh, he’s just the lad to get safely out of the scrape, I repeat. I have great confidence in his shrewdness and skill.” “I hope so. Now, Dick, you may go and hunt in the neighborhood, but don’t get far away whatever you do. It has become a pressing necessity for us to renew our stock of provisions, since we had to sacrifice nearly all the old lot.” “Very good, doctor, I shall not be long absent.” Hereupon, Kennedy took a double-barrelled fowling-piece, and strode through the long grass toward a thicket not far off, where the frequent sound of shooting soon let the doctor know that the sportsman was making a good use of his time. Meanwhile Ferguson was engaged in calculating the relative weight of the articles still left in the car, and in establishing the equipoise of the second balloon. He found that there were still left some thirty pounds of pemmican, a supply of tea and coffee, about a gallon and a half of brandy, and one empty water-tank. All the dried meat had disappeared. The doctor was aware that, by the loss of the hydrogen in the first balloon, the ascensional force at his disposal was now reduced to about nine hundred pounds. He therefore had to count upon this difference in order to rearrange his equilibrium. The new balloon measured sixty-seven thousand cubic feet, and contained thirty-three thousand four hundred and eighty feet of gas. The dilating apparatus appeared to be in good condition, and neither the battery nor the spiral had been injured. The ascensional force of the new balloon was then about three thousand pounds, and, in adding together the weight of the apparatus, of the passengers, of the stock of water, of the car and its accessories, and putting aboard fifty gallons of water, and one hundred pounds of fresh meat, the doctor got a total weight of twenty-eight hundred and thirty pounds. He could then take with him one hundred and seventy pounds of ballast, for unforeseen emergencies, and the balloon would be in exact balance with the surrounding atmosphere. His arrangements were completed accordingly, and he made up for Joe’s weight with a surplus of ballast. He spent the whole day in these preparations, and the latter were finished when Kennedy returned. The hunter had been successful, and brought back a regular cargo of geese, wild-duck, snipe, teal, and plover. He went to work at once to draw and smoke the game. Each piece, suspended on a small, thin skewer, was hung over a fire of green wood. When they seemed in good order, Kennedy, who was perfectly at home in the business, packed them away in the car. On the morrow, the hunter was to complete his supplies. Evening surprised our travellers in the midst of this work. Their supper consisted of pemmican, biscuit, and tea; and fatigue, after having given them appetite, brought them sleep. Each of them strained eyes and ears into the gloom during his watch, sometimes fancying that they heard the voice of poor Joe; but, alas! the voice that they so longed to hear, was far away. “At the first streak of day, the doctor aroused Kennedy. “I have been long and carefully considering what should be done,” said he, “to find our companion.” “Whatever your plan may be, doctor, it will suit me. Speak!” “Above all things, it is important that Joe should hear from us in some way.” “Undoubtedly. Suppose the brave fellow should take it into his head that we have abandoned him?” “He! He knows us too well for that. Such a thought would never come into his mind. But he must be informed as to where we are.” “How can that be managed?” “We shall get into our car and be off again through the air.” “But, should the wind bear us away?” “Happily, it will not. See, Dick! it is carrying us back to the lake; and this circumstance, which would have been vexatious yesterday, is fortunate now. Our efforts, then, will be limited to keeping ourselves above that vast sheet of water throughout the day. Joe cannot fail to see us, and his eyes will be constantly on the lookout in that direction. Perhaps he will even manage to let us know the place of his retreat.” “If he be alone and at liberty, he certainly will.” “And if a prisoner,” resumed the doctor, “it not being the practice of the natives to confine their captives, he will see us, and comprehend the object of our researches.” “But, at last,” put in Kennedy—“for we must anticipate every thing—should we find no trace—if he should have left no mark to follow him by, what are we to do?” “We shall endeavor to regain the northern part of the lake, keeping ourselves as much in sight as possible. There we’ll wait; we’ll explore the banks; we’ll search the water’s edge, for Joe will assuredly try to reach the shore; and we will not leave the country without having done every thing to find him.” “Let us set out, then!” said the hunter. The doctor hereupon took the exact bearings of the patch of solid land they were about to leave, and arrived at the conclusion that it lay on the north shore of Lake Tchad, between the village of Lari and the village of Ingemini, both visited by Major Denham. During this time Kennedy was completing his stock of fresh meat. Although the neighboring marshes showed traces of the rhinoceros, the lamantine (or ), and the hippopotamus, he had no opportunity to see a single specimen of those animals. manatee At seven in the morning, but not without great difficulty—which to Joe would have been nothing—the balloon’s anchor was detached from its hold, the gas dilated, and the new rose two hundred feet into the air. It seemed to hesitate at first, and went spinning around, like a top; but at last a brisk current caught it, and it advanced over the lake, and was soon borne away at a speed of twenty miles per hour. Victoria The doctor continued to keep at a height of from two hundred to five hundred feet. Kennedy frequently discharged his rifle; and, when passing over islands, the aëronauts approached them even imprudently, scrutinizing the thickets, the bushes, the underbrush—in fine, every spot where a mass of shade or jutting rock could have afforded a retreat to their companion. They swooped down close to the long pirogues that navigated the lake; and the wild fishermen, terrified at the sight of the balloon, would plunge into the water and regain their islands with every symptom of undisguised affright. “We can see nothing,” said Kennedy, after two hours of search. “Let us wait a little longer, Dick, and not lose heart. We cannot be far away from the scene of our accident.” By eleven o’clock the balloon had gone ninety miles. It then fell in with a new current, which, blowing almost at right angles to the other, drove them eastward about sixty miles. It next floated over a very large and populous island, which the doctor took to be Farram, on which the capital of the Biddiomahs is situated. Ferguson expected at every moment to see Joe spring up out of some thicket, flying for his life, and calling for help. Were he free, they could pick him up without trouble; were he a prisoner, they could rescue him by repeating the manœuvre they had practised to save the missionary, and he would soon be with his friends again; but nothing was seen, not a sound was heard. The case seemed desperate. About half-past two o’clock, the hove in sight of Tangalia, a village situated on the eastern shore of Lake Tchad, where it marks the extreme point attained by Denham at the period of his exploration. Victoria The doctor became uneasy at this persistent setting of the wind in that direction, for he felt that he was being thrown back to the eastward, toward the centre of Africa, and the interminable deserts of that region. “We must absolutely come to a halt,” said he, “and even alight. For Joe’s sake, particularly, we ought to go back to the lake; but, to begin with, let us endeavor to find an opposite current.” During more than an hour he searched at different altitudes: the balloon always came back toward the mainland. But at length, at the height of a thousand feet, a very violent breeze swept to the northwestward. It was out of the question that Joe should have been detained on one of the islands of the lake; for, in such case he would certainly have found means to make his presence there known. Perhaps he had been dragged to the mainland. The doctor was reasoning thus to himself, when he again came in sight of the northern shore of Lake Tchad. As for supposing that Joe had been drowned, that was not to be believed for a moment. One horrible thought glanced across the minds of both Kennedy and the doctor: caymans swarm in these waters! But neither one nor the other had the courage to distinctly communicate this impression. However, it came up to them so forcibly at last that the doctor said, without further preface: “Crocodiles are found only on the shores of the islands or of the lake, and Joe will have skill enough to avoid them. Besides, they are not very dangerous; and the Africans bathe with impunity, and quite fearless of their attacks.” Kennedy made no reply. He preferred keeping quiet to discussing this terrible possibility. The doctor made out the town of Lari about five o’clock in the evening. The inhabitants were at work gathering in their cotton-crop in front of their huts, constructed of woven reeds, and standing in the midst of clean and neatly-kept enclosures. This collection of about fifty habitations occupied a slight depression of the soil, in a valley extending between two low mountains. The force of the wind carried the doctor farther onward than he wanted to go; but it changed a second time, and bore him back exactly to his starting-point, on the sort of enclosed island where he had passed the preceding night. The anchor, instead of catching the branches of the tree, took hold in the masses of reeds mixed with the thick mud of the marshes, which offered considerable resistance. The doctor had much difficulty in restraining the balloon; but at length the wind died away with the setting in of nightfall; and the two friends kept watch together in an almost desperate state of mind. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2002). Five Weeks in a Balloon. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/3526/pg3526-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The 13th of May, our travellers, for the first time, reconnoitred the part of the coast

The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Chapter II here Chapter II Those whom the hurricane had just thrown on this coast were neither aeronauts by profession nor amateurs. They were prisoners of war whose boldness had induced them to escape in this extraordinary manner. A hundred times they had almost perished! A hundred times had they almost fallen from their torn balloon into the depths of the ocean. But Heaven had reserved them for a strange destiny, and after having, on the 20th of March, escaped from Richmond, besieged by the troops of General Ulysses Grant, they found themselves seven thousand miles from the capital of Virginia, which was the principal stronghold of the South, during the terrible War of Secession. Their aerial voyage had lasted five days. The curious circumstances which led to the escape of the prisoners were as follows: That same year, in the month of February, 1865, in one of the coups de main by which General Grant attempted, though in vain, to possess himself of Richmond, several of his officers fell into the power of the enemy and were detained in the town. One of the most distinguished was Captain Cyrus Harding. He was a native of Massachusetts, a first-class engineer, to whom the government had confided, during the war, the direction of the railways, which were so important at that time. A true Northerner, thin, bony, lean, about forty-five years of age; his close-cut hair and his beard, of which he only kept a thick mustache, were already getting gray. He had one-of those finely-developed heads which appear made to be struck on a medal, piercing eyes, a serious mouth, the physiognomy of a clever man of the military school. He was one of those engineers who began by handling the hammer and pickaxe, like generals who first act as common soldiers. Besides mental power, he also possessed great manual dexterity. His muscles exhibited remarkable proofs of tenacity. A man of action as well as a man of thought, all he did was without effort to one of his vigorous and sanguine temperament. Learned, clear-headed, and practical, he fulfilled in all emergencies those three conditions which united ought to insure human success—activity of mind and body, impetuous wishes, and powerful will. He might have taken for his motto that of William of Orange in the 17th century: “I can undertake and persevere even without hope of success.” Cyrus Harding was courage personified. He had been in all the battles of that war. After having begun as a volunteer at Illinois, under Ulysses Grant, he fought at Paducah, Belmont, Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of Corinth, Port Gibson, Black River, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, on the Potomac, everywhere and valiantly, a soldier worthy of the general who said, “I never count my dead!” And hundreds of times Captain Harding had almost been among those who were not counted by the terrible Grant; but in these combats where he never spared himself, fortune favored him till the moment when he was wounded and taken prisoner on the field of battle near Richmond. At the same time and on the same day another important personage fell into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than Gideon Spilett, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had been ordered to follow the changes of the war in the midst of the Northern armies. Gideon Spilett was one of that race of indomitable English or American chroniclers, like Stanley and others, who stop at nothing to obtain exact information, and transmit it to their journal in the shortest possible time. The newspapers of the Union, such as the New York Herald, are genuine powers, and their reporters are men to be reckoned with. Gideon Spilett ranked among the first of those reporters: a man of great merit, energetic, prompt and ready for anything, full of ideas, having traveled over the whole world, soldier and artist, enthusiastic in council, resolute in action, caring neither for trouble, fatigue, nor danger, when in pursuit of information, for himself first, and then for his journal, a perfect treasury of knowledge on all sorts of curious subjects, of the unpublished, of the unknown, and of the impossible. He was one of those intrepid observers who write under fire, “reporting” among bullets, and to whom every danger is welcome. He also had been in all the battles, in the first rank, revolver in one hand, note-book in the other; grape-shot never made his pencil tremble. He did not fatigue the wires with incessant telegrams, like those who speak when they have nothing to say, but each of his notes, short, decisive, and clear, threw light on some important point. Besides, he was not wanting in humor. It was he who, after the affair of the Black River, determined at any cost to keep his place at the wicket of the telegraph office, and after having announced to his journal the result of the battle, telegraphed for two hours the first chapters of the Bible. It cost the New York Herald two thousand dollars, but the New York Herald published the first intelligence. Gideon Spilett was tall. He was rather more than forty years of age. Light whiskers bordering on red surrounded his face. His eye was steady, lively, rapid in its changes. It was the eye of a man accustomed to take in at a glance all the details of a scene. Well built, he was inured to all climates, like a bar of steel hardened in cold water. For ten years Gideon Spilett had been the reporter of the New York Herald, which he enriched by his letters and drawings, for he was as skilful in the use of the pencil as of the pen. When he was captured, he was in the act of making a description and sketch of the battle. The last words in his note-book were these: “A Southern rifleman has just taken aim at me, but—” The Southerner notwithstanding missed Gideon Spilett, who, with his usual fortune, came out of this affair without a scratch. Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett, who did not know each other except by reputation, had both been carried to Richmond. The engineer’s wounds rapidly healed, and it was during his convalescence that he made acquaintance with the reporter. The two men then learned to appreciate each other. Soon their common aim had but one object, that of escaping, rejoining Grant’s army, and fighting together in the ranks of the Federals. The two Americans had from the first determined to seize every chance; but although they were allowed to wander at liberty in the town, Richmond was so strictly guarded, that escape appeared impossible. In the meanwhile Captain Harding was rejoined by a servant who was devoted to him in life and in death. This intrepid fellow was a Negro born on the engineer’s estate, of a slave father and mother, but to whom Cyrus, who was an Abolitionist from conviction and heart, had long since given his freedom. The once slave, though free, would not leave his master. He would have died for him. He was a man of about thirty, vigorous, active, clever, intelligent, gentle, and calm, sometimes naive, always merry, obliging, and honest. His name was Nebuchadnezzar, but he only answered to the familiar abbreviation of Neb. When Neb heard that his master had been made prisoner, he left Massachusetts without hesitating an instant, arrived before Richmond, and by dint of stratagem and shrewdness, after having risked his life twenty times over, managed to penetrate into the besieged town. The pleasure of Harding on seeing his servant, and the joy of Neb at finding his master, can scarcely be described. But though Neb had been able to make his way into Richmond, it was quite another thing to get out again, for the Northern prisoners were very strictly watched. Some extraordinary opportunity was needed to make the attempt with any chance of success, and this opportunity not only did not present itself, but was very difficult to find. Meanwhile Grant continued his energetic operations. The victory of Petersburg had been very dearly bought. His forces, united to those of Butler, had as yet been unsuccessful before Richmond, and nothing gave the prisoners any hope of a speedy deliverance. The reporter, to whom his tedious captivity did not offer a single incident worthy of note, could stand it no longer. His usually active mind was occupied with one sole thought—how he might get out of Richmond at any cost. Several times had he even made the attempt, but was stopped by some insurmountable obstacle. However, the siege continued; and if the prisoners were anxious to escape and join Grant’s army, certain of the besieged were no less anxious to join the Southern forces. Among them was one Jonathan Forster, a determined Southerner. The truth was, that if the prisoners of the Secessionists could not leave the town, neither could the Secessionists themselves while the Northern army invested it. The Governor of Richmond for a long time had been unable to communicate with General Lee, and he very much wished to make known to him the situation of the town, so as to hasten the march of the army to their relief. Thus Jonathan Forster accordingly conceived the idea of rising in a balloon, so as to pass over the besieging lines, and in that way reach the Secessionist camp. The Governor authorized the attempt. A balloon was manufactured and placed at the disposal of Forster, who was to be accompanied by five other persons. They were furnished with arms in case they might have to defend themselves when they alighted, and provisions in the event of their aerial voyage being prolonged. The departure of the balloon was fixed for the 18th of March. It should be effected during the night, with a northwest wind of moderate force, and the aeronauts calculated that they would reach General Lee’s camp in a few hours. But this northwest wind was not a simple breeze. From the 18th it was evident that it was changing to a hurricane. The tempest soon became such that Forster’s departure was deferred, for it was impossible to risk the balloon and those whom it carried in the midst of the furious elements. The balloon, inflated on the great square of Richmond, was ready to depart on the first abatement of the wind, and, as may be supposed, the impatience among the besieged to see the storm moderate was very great. The 18th, the 19th of March passed without any alteration in the weather. There was even great difficulty in keeping the balloon fastened to the ground, as the squalls dashed it furiously about. The night of the 19th passed, but the next morning the storm blew with redoubled force. The departure of the balloon was impossible. On that day the engineer, Cyrus Harding, was accosted in one of the streets of Richmond by a person whom he did not in the least know. This was a sailor named Pencroft, a man of about thirty-five or forty years of age, strongly built, very sunburnt, and possessed of a pair of bright sparkling eyes and a remarkably good physiognomy. Pencroft was an American from the North, who had sailed all the ocean over, and who had gone through every possible and almost impossible adventure that a being with two feet and no wings would encounter. It is needless to say that he was a bold, dashing fellow, ready to dare anything and was astonished at nothing. Pencroft at the beginning of the year had gone to Richmond on business, with a young boy of fifteen from New Jersey, son of a former captain, an orphan, whom he loved as if he had been his own child. Not having been able to leave the town before the first operations of the siege, he found himself shut up, to his great disgust; but, not accustomed to succumb to difficulties, he resolved to escape by some means or other. He knew the engineer-officer by reputation; he knew with what impatience that determined man chafed under his restraint. On this day he did not, therefore, hesitate to accost him, saying, without circumlocution, “Have you had enough of Richmond, captain?” The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke, and who added, in a low voice,— “Captain Harding, will you try to escape?” “When?” asked the engineer quickly, and it was evident that this question was uttered without consideration, for he had not yet examined the stranger who addressed him. But after having with a penetrating eye observed the open face of the sailor, he was convinced that he had before him an honest man. “Who are you?” he asked briefly. Pencroft made himself known. “Well,” replied Harding, “and in what way do you propose to escape?” “By that lazy balloon which is left there doing nothing, and which looks to me as if it was waiting on purpose for us—” There was no necessity for the sailor to finish his sentence. The engineer understood him at once. He seized Pencroft by the arm, and dragged him to his house. There the sailor developed his project, which was indeed extremely simple. They risked nothing but their lives in its execution. The hurricane was in all its violence, it is true, but so clever and daring an engineer as Cyrus Harding knew perfectly well how to manage a balloon. Had he himself been as well acquainted with the art of sailing in the air as he was with the navigation of a ship, Pencroft would not have hesitated to set out, of course taking his young friend Herbert with him; for, accustomed to brave the fiercest tempests of the ocean, he was not to be hindered on account of the hurricane. Captain Harding had listened to the sailor without saying a word, but his eyes shone with satisfaction. Here was the long-sought-for opportunity—he was not a man to let it pass. The plan was feasible, though, it must be confessed, dangerous in the extreme. In the night, in spite of their guards, they might approach the balloon, slip into the car, and then cut the cords which held it. There was no doubt that they might be killed, but on the other hand they might succeed, and without this storm!—Without this storm the balloon would have started already and the looked-for opportunity would not have then presented itself. “I am not alone!” said Harding at last. “How many people do you wish to bring with you?” asked the sailor. “Two; my friend Spilett, and my servant Neb.” “That will be three,” replied Pencroft; “and with Herbert and me five. But the balloon will hold six—” “That will be enough, we will go,” answered Harding in a firm voice. This “we” included Spilett, for the reporter, as his friend well knew, was not a man to draw back, and when the project was communicated to him he approved of it unreservedly. What astonished him was, that so simple an idea had not occurred to him before. As to Neb, he followed his master wherever his master wished to go. “This evening, then,” said Pencroft, “we will all meet out there.” “This evening, at ten o’clock,” replied Captain Harding; “and Heaven grant that the storm does not abate before our departure.” Pencroft took leave of the two friends, and returned to his lodging, where young Herbert Brown had remained. The courageous boy knew of the sailor’s plan, and it was not without anxiety that he awaited the result of the proposal being made to the engineer. Thus five determined persons were about to abandon themselves to the mercy of the tempestuous elements! No! the storm did not abate, and neither Jonathan Forster nor his companions dreamed of confronting it in that frail car. It would be a terrible journey. The engineer only feared one thing; it was that the balloon, held to the ground and dashed about by the wind, would be torn into shreds. For several hours he roamed round the nearly-deserted square, surveying the apparatus. Pencroft did the same on his side, his hands in his pockets, yawning now and then like a man who did not know how to kill the time, but really dreading, like his friend, either the escape or destruction of the balloon. Evening arrived. The night was dark in the extreme. Thick mists passed like clouds close to the ground. Rain fell mingled with snow, it was very cold. A mist hung over Richmond. It seemed as if the violent storm had produced a truce between the besiegers and the besieged, and that the cannon were silenced by the louder detonations of the storm. The streets of the town were deserted. It had not even appeared necessary in that horrible weather to place a guard in the square, in the midst of which plunged the balloon. Everything favored the departure of the prisoners, but what might possibly be the termination of the hazardous voyage they contemplated in the midst of the furious elements?— “Dirty weather!” exclaimed Pencroft, fixing his hat firmly on his head with a blow of his fist; “but pshaw, we shall succeed all the same!” At half-past nine, Harding and his companions glided from different directions into the square, which the gas-lamps, extinguished by the wind, had left in total obscurity. Even the enormous balloon, almost beaten to the ground, could not be seen. Independently of the sacks of ballast, to which the cords of the net were fastened, the car was held by a strong cable passed through a ring in the pavement. The five prisoners met by the car. They had not been perceived, and such was the darkness that they could not even see each other. Without speaking a word, Harding, Spilett, Neb, and Herbert took their places in the car, while Pencroft by the engineer’s order detached successively the bags of ballast. It was the work of a few minutes only, and the sailor rejoined his companions. The balloon was then only held by the cable, and the engineer had nothing to do but to give the word. At that moment a dog sprang with a bound into the car. It was Top, a favorite of the engineer. The faithful creature, having broken his chain, had followed his master. He, however, fearing that its additional weight might impede their ascent, wished to send away the animal. “One more will make but little difference, poor beast!” exclaimed Pencroft, heaving out two bags of sand, and as he spoke letting go the cable; the balloon ascending in an oblique direction, disappeared, after having dashed the car against two chimneys, which it threw down as it swept by them. Then, indeed, the full rage of the hurricane was exhibited to the voyagers. During the night the engineer could not dream of descending, and when day broke, even a glimpse of the earth below was intercepted by fog. Five days had passed when a partial clearing allowed them to see the wide extending ocean beneath their feet, now lashed into the maddest fury by the gale. Our readers will recollect what befell these five daring individuals who set out on their hazardous expedition in the balloon on the 20th of March. Five days afterwards four of them were thrown on a desert coast, seven thousand miles from their country! But one of their number was missing, the man who was to be their guide, their leading spirit, the engineer, Captain Harding! The instant they had recovered their feet, they all hurried to the beach in the hopes of rendering him assistance. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1998). The Mysterious Island. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1268/1268-h/1268-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Those whom the hurricane had just thrown on this coast 

ON THE PACIFIC COAST

STRAIT OF MAGELLAN.—CLIMATE OF THE SOUTHERN COASTS

ON THE ELEVATION OF THE WESTERN COAST OF SOUTH AMERICA

ON THE ELEVATION OF THE EASTERN COAST OF SOUTH AMERICA

, "a global community of software as a service (SaaS) founders, executives, and investors" is an ambitious organization with successful events already held in Latin America, Asia, and the U.S. Eastern Coast. West Coast (happening now), Dublin, Australasia, are the final events planned out for this year. San Francisco and Silicon Valley is the birthplace of the world's biggest SaaS companies which brings symbolic significance for this particular event.  Unlike the other events held by SaaStock, the West Coast event is specially catered for companies with traction and already in the growth stage  doing $0-$10M in ARR. SaaStock We were graciously offered media passes to attend the event; it was a no-brainer for us as it is no secret that our company is beginning to ramp up its SaaS division. Over the next two days we'll be bringing you the best of SaaStock West Coast, as we embark on this learning journey ourselves. Currently there are 3 bootcamps going on for those in SaaS with different roles: the CEO bootcamp, the Growth Marketing bootcamp, and the Sales Leadership bootcamp. The team has split up into three and will be covering the best from each bootcamps. There's tons of information being shared, so please bear with us as we try to pump out the best content in the upcoming days. Tomorrow will be the actual "conference" in which industry leaders will give informative and insightful talks with topics ranging from scaling up, measuring useful metrics, retaining talent, and more. The speakers and panelists list is packed with stars from Zendesk, Asana, SurveyMonkey, Emergence Capital, Intercom, and many more. There will also be a startup pitch competition tomorrow, which should be very interesting and competitive. We'll definitely have fun with that. The 12th will be the beginning of the on beautiful Calistoga Ranch. Founders' Retreat Thank you David Smooke and Richard Forde for the media pass hookup!

Stories, News & Mentions about COAST

Coast’s Stories on HackerNoon

Coast's News & Mentions